Memories by Fannie A. (Mrs.) Beers

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After breakfast I sat long upon the little gallery of the log cabin
entertaining soldier visitors and enjoying the situation with all my
heart. I soon discovered, however, an air of sadness and restraint
which was unaccountable until my husband told me of the death of the
gallant Dreux, the first martyr of the war. Ah! then I knew. Struggle
as they might, their brave hearts were wrung with anguish, for their
gallant leader had succumbed to the only conqueror he ever knew. The
impassioned oratory that had never failed to fire the hearts of men
was hushed forever. The ardent patriotism ever prompting to deeds of
daring was now only a memory. The brilliant intellect and
administrative ability so early recognized, so highly valued, were
lost to the Confederacy.

I no longer wondered that manly brows were clouded, or that the eyes
of soldiers moistened, as, even amidst pleasant conversation, a sudden
remembrance of their loss overcame them. For them the memory of that
death-scene was fresh. The echo of his last brave words had not yet
died away: "_Steady, boys_, steady," as if he would have said, "Let
not my fate appall; _still_ do your duty."

Before the sun was high the ambulance reappeared to convey our party
as far as Williamsburg, where young Little was to remain until he
could hear from his father; I and my boy were to go on to Richmond. My
husband was granted a furlough of two days that he might escort his
family as far as Williamsburg. As may be imagined, the ride was most
delightful. Although often oppressed by thoughts of the parting hour
so rapidly approaching, we were at times charmed into forgetfulness,
and keen enjoyment of the beautiful scenery and the incidents of the
journey. I now, for the first time, began to use from my little store
of gold and silver, and it proved the "open sesame" to much enjoyment.
Watermelons and other fruit, roasting ears, buttermilk, etc., were
purchased without stint, also a chicken. At noon the little party
camped in a grove by the roadside, where my soldier-husband proudly
showed off his new attainments in the way of cooking. The dinner was
pronounced "just splendid" by the appreciative guests. Our boy having
gorged himself, fell asleep upon the grass; the negro driver was sent
off to buy a few dainties to send back to friends in camp, and the two
so lately reunited--so soon to part--enjoyed for the first time an
uninterrupted talk relating to the adventures that each had met with
since our parting in New Orleans. I unfolded my plans for the future,
receiving the full permission and sympathy of my husband.

Soon after the journey was resumed two horsemen appeared on the road
coming from the direction of Williamsburg. I was quite unprepared to
recognize a Confederate officer of high rank in either of the riders
who now approached, as neither were very handsomely uniformed.

The one who most attracted my attention appeared of middle age, was
rather stout, of florid complexion, and (as I thought) looked very
cross. He wore a sort of fancy jacket or roundabout, profusely trimmed
with gold lace.

"There is General Magruder!" exclaimed my husband, and, as the
officers came near, saluted. Bringing the ambulance to a halt with an
imperious gesture, the general sharply questioned him as to his
absence from camp, his name, command, destination, length of time he
expected to be absent, etc. I was then introduced, and began to
express my pleasure at the meeting, etc. The grim visage of the
general did not relax. My pleasant talk was cut short by another
question, this time, of importance. I then found myself subjected to a
series of questions so searching that all I had seen or heard while
passing through the enemy's lines was imparted to General Magruder
before I quite realized the situation.

What woman, denied the pleasure of talking, would not have felt and
expressed, as did my discomfited self, great indignation in view of a
deprivation so severe. But upon being reminded of the heavy
responsibility resting upon the mind and heart of the patriot who
could not withdraw his attention from the great and all-absorbing
interests committed to his guidance long enough to think of, much less
to practise, the amenities of life, I felt ashamed of my hasty anger,
and remembered only that I had been permitted to see and converse with
the hero of the battle of Bethel, the first Confederate victory of the
war.

At Williamsburg, under the roof of the queer, old-fashioned, but
comfortable inn, excellent accommodations were found, and here the
soldier partook heartily of the "square meals" which he knew were his
last for many a day.

A few hours of happiness was all that could be accorded to us. A
battle seemed imminent. My husband must return to his post. I, with my
little boy, proceeded to Richmond, where unbounded kindness and
hospitality awaited me.

Here began the realization of the dream which had haunted me while yet
compelled to linger among the foes of the South. Joining at once the
noble army of women who untiringly ministered to the sick and wounded,
I entered upon the performance of a vow to devote myself to this work
if only the opportunity were accorded me.

MEMORIES.

PART I.

CHAPTER I.

ALPHA.

_Richmond in 1861-62._

Who that witnessed and shared the wild excitement which, upon the days
immediately following the victory at Manassas, throbbed and pulsated
throughout the crowded capital of the Southern Confederacy can ever
forget?

Men were beside themselves with joy and pride,--drunk with glory.

By night the city blazed with illuminations, even the most humble home
setting up its beacon-light,--a sure guide to where loyal, devoted
hearts were throbbing with patriotism.

In the general rejoicing the heavy price of victory was for a time
unheeded. But Richmond had sent forth to battle her best beloved, and,
alas! many were the "unreturning braves."

The dazzling light fell upon many dwellings only to reveal the utter
darkness that reigned without and within. No need to ask why. All knew
that in each darkened home stricken hearts filled with an agony of
desolation struggled in vain to remember that they were mothers and
wives of heroes, but could not yet lift their eyes from the ghastly
wounds--the bloody graves of their dead.

Ah! the lovely, joyous, hopeful, patriotic days of that summer of
1861. The Confederate gray was then a thing of beauty,--the outer garb
of true and loyal souls. Every man who wore it became ennobled in the
eyes of every woman. These boys in gray were strangers to none. Their
uniform was a passport to every heart and every home. Broad Street was
thronged with them all day long.

Officers of all grades rode hither and thither, or congregated on the
steps of the hotels. Squads of soldiers promenaded, gayly chatting
with acquaintances whom they chanced to meet. Occasionally the sound
of drum and fife or the fuller music of a brass band would herald the
appearance of a company or regiment, perhaps just arrived from some
distant State, eager to reach the front. On more retired streets, at
their homes, humble or luxurious, sweet young girls welcomed with
kindly words and sunny smiles officers and private soldiers, extending
equal courtesy to both. The elegant mansions on Clay Street and
elsewhere were never without soldier guests. Impromptu meals were
served whenever needed. In elegant dining-rooms stately servants
supplied the wants of soldiers. No one asked who they were, whence
they came. They were Confederate soldiers--that was quite enough.

In the cool drawing-rooms pleasant chat beguiled the summer hours,
sweet songs floated out upon the air, or the more stirring notes of
"Dixie" or "The Bonnie Blue Flag," played with a spirit and vim which
electrified every listener.

If these warriors who lingered here could have chosen for themselves,
they would never have thus quietly rested upon the laurels won at
Manassas. Contrary to their wishes, they had been recalled from the
pursuit of the flying foe and consigned to temporary inactivity.

As the new companies or regiments came in they were marched into camp
in the suburds or temporarily provided for in the immense tobacco
warehouses which were numerous all over the city. Passing one of
these, at every window appeared laughing or discontented faces of
soldiers newly arrived, full of ardor, ready and expecting to perform
prodigies of valor, yet ignominiously shut up within four brick walls,
with a sentinel guarding every door.

The evening drills at the camp-grounds were attended by hundreds of
ladies. So enthusiastic were these, so full of pride and admiration
for the braves who had come to defend their homes and themselves, so
entirely in accord with the patriotic spirit which burned in every
manly heart, that not a soldier, no matter how humble, came near or
passed before a group of these animated beauties who was not literally
bathed in the radiance of kindly smiles,--transformed into a demigod
by the light of gloriously flashing eyes.

No pen can do justice to the scenes I would fain describe. Language is
quite inadequate to express the feeling which then lived and had its
being in the hearts of all Southern women towards the heroes who had
risen up to defend the liberties of the South. Exalted far above mere
sentiment, holding no element of vanity or selfishness,--idolatrous,
if you will, yet an idolatry which inspired the heart, nerved the
hand, and made any sacrifice possible. No purer patriotism ever found
lodgment in human breast. No more sacred fire was ever kindled by
human hands on any altar than the impulse which imperatively called
men from the peaceful avocations of life to repel the threatened
invasion of their homes and firesides. They were actuated by no spirit
of hatred or revenge (_then_). They sought not to despoil, to lay
waste. But, when justice was dethroned, her place usurped by the demon
of hate and prejudice, when the policy of coercion and invasion was
fully developed, with one heart and voice the South cried aloud,
"_Stand!_ The ground's your own, my braves."

Swift as a meteor, yet clear and unwavering, flashed and burned the
beacon-light first kindled in South Carolina. A million torches
lighted at this flame were borne aloft throughout the Southland.

And now the invader had been met and foiled in his first attempt to
conquer and desolate the homes of Virginia. Who can wonder that their
brave defenders were the idols of a grateful people? Their valor,
having been fully tested, had far surpassed the expectations of the
most sanguine. "Hope told a flattering tale." Alas! _too_ flattering,
for the confidence begotten by this first success inspired a contempt
for the foe quite undeserved.

Meanwhile, the summer sun still brightened the unharmed capitol. The
summer wind still bore aloft on the dome in Capitol Square the flag of
the new Confederacy, the "stars and bars." Here, after sunset and in
the moonlight, came young men and maidens, matrons and children. Old
men, too, who, baring their silvery heads to the cool breeze, gazed
upward at the bonnie flag, with a look half triumphant, half sad; for
the love of the "star-spangled banner" had grown with their growth and
strengthened with their strength, and it had been hard to tear it from
their hearts.

To young eyes the new flag seemed an emblem of glory. Young hearts
glowed with pride as often as they looked upon it. The story of the
eventful hour when it first replaced the "stars and stripes" and
floated over the capitol building in full view of the whole city,
hailed by acclamations from many thousand voices, is still told with
pride by the citizens of Richmond.

The moment it was known that Virginia had passed the ordinance of
secession, the cheering, enthusiastic crowd which had for hours
surrounded Mechanics' Institute, made a rush for the State-House to
"haul down" the old flag, and run up the "stars and bars." Upon making
the attempt, it was found impossible to move the United States flag,
some one having either nailed or driven it with staples to the staff.
Two boys, burning with zeal, started for the cupola to cut loose the
flag. One of these, although a lad of eighteen, was a member of the
Richmond Howitzers. Hoping to outstrip the other, he climbed hand over
hand up the lightning-rod. Just as he reached the goal of his
ambition, however, the staples securing the rod pulled out and the boy
was left swaying back and forth in mid-air, while the crowd upon the
top of the capitol and on the ground below looked on in horror. The
lightning-rod was one of the old-fashioned sort, and more than an inch
in diameter. One after another the staples gave way under the weight.
The rod swayed gently back and forth as if uncertain which way to
fall, but finally lurching towards the up-town side. Every one
expected that the lad would be so disconcerted and appalled when he
struck the edge of the roof, that he would be unable to look out for
his own safety. One of the party resolved to attempt a rescue,
although by so doing his own life would be endangered. Throwing
himself flat on the roof like a bat, he slid down headforemost to the
gutter, which, fortunately, was very wide. Placing himself on his back
in this gutter so as to be able to arrest the other poor boy in his
fall, he waited until the lightning-rod struck the roof, then called
out loudly, "Let go; I'll catch you." The boy obeyed, and as he
slipped down the roof in an almost unconscious condition, his rescuer
in the gutter grasped and held him until he recovered his
self-possession, when both pulled off their shoes and climbed the
steep roof to the skylight. Both boys were gallant soldiers, but
perhaps neither was ever again in greater danger than when excess of
patriotism cost the one that hazardous ride on the lightning-rod, the
other to assume the equally dangerous but noble position of rescuer.

Both are still living,--veterans now. One, occupying a position of
honor and of public trust, is a personal friend of the writer.

To me the Confederate flag was an object of profound love and
passionate devotion. It represented hopes that I thought could never
fail, possibilities so glorious that imagination was dazzled. I used
to go to the square before sunrise, leading my little boy, trying
vainly to make him understand and share in some degree my own
enthusiasm, but instead he only busied himself in trying to steal near
enough to pounce upon one of the many little birds flitting from spray
to spray with happy songs. Approaching the beautiful monument where
the statues are so lifelike as to appear real companions, sentient and
cognizant of one's presence, I chose always a seat where I could gaze
upon the face of Patrick Henry, recalling his stirring words, trying
to imagine what he would have thought and said now, and almost daring
to wish that soul of fire might come, if only for a moment, to animate
the cold form; that the silent lips might speak, the eyes look upward
to where the breeze of morning stirred the sacred flag which my own
heart saluted. Lingering thus until the first rays of the sun came to
glorify its waving folds, I drank in deep draughts of patriotism and
love for the holy cause, sweet, inspiring, elevating; a tonic powerful
and lasting in its effects, bracing mind and soul to persevere in the
course I had marked out for myself, to tread unfalteringly a path
beset by difficulties then undreamed of. Not long afterward the
capitol square became forever sacred to Southern hearts; for here,
standing upon the steps of the beautiful monument, beneath the bronze
statue of George Washington, the first President of the Southern
Confederacy took upon himself the solemn vows of office, and at the
same time the stirring airs of "Dixie" and "The Bonnie Blue Flag"
received the stamp of nationality. Ah! then how overwhelming the
applause. But no one dreamed of a time in the far future when the
Southern Confederacy should have become a thing of the past; of a time
when the first faint notes of "Dixie" would have power to sway the
hearts of thousands, to turn quiet crowds into excited, surging masses
of men who would rend the air with cheers and the dear old "rebel
yell," of women who, unable to control their feelings, would testify
by applauding hands, waving handkerchiefs, and streaming eyes how
precious were the memories awakened.

One moonlight evening I stood again before the statue of that grand
patriot and statesman, Patrick Henry. My companions were Mrs. Frances
Gawthmey, of Richmond, and Commodore Matthew F. Maury, a man whom the
scientific world delighted to honor, and of whom it may be well said,
"We ne'er shall look upon his like again." When Virginia cast her
fortunes with the Southern Confederacy, he held a distinguished
position under the United States Government. Had he sought
self-aggrandizement, renown, the fullest recognition of valuable
services to the Government, the way was open, the prospect dazzling.
But he was not even tempted. Beloved voices called him,--the voices of
love and duty. He listened, obeyed, laying at the feet of the new
Confederacy as loyal a heart as ever beat,--a resplendent genius, the
knowledge which is power.

In the days of my childhood I had known _Captain_ Maury, and had been
taught to revere him. When we met in Richmond, _Commodore_ Maury was
still my friend and mentor. His kindly offices were mine whenever
needed, and his care followed me through all vicissitudes, until,
after many months, the varying fortunes of war separated us, never,
alas! to meet again in this world.

On the evening referred to above, Mrs. Gawthmey and myself, escorted
by Commodore Maury, passed through the square on our way to the hotel,
where we expected to meet a brilliant circle of distinguished
Southerners. Arrived in front of the monument, we paused
involuntarily. The same thoughts which had before come to me seemed to
possess all our minds. Mrs. Gawthmey remarked, "If Patrick Henry had
been living, I reckon Virginia would have stepped out of the Union
side by side with South Carolina." "Well," replied Commodore Maury,
"he would have acted as he thought. There would have been no 'pros and
cons,' and his irresistible eloquence would have carried all before
it." Then baring his head, while the moonlight seemed to glorify his
grand intellectual countenance, he repeated a portion of that grand
oration of Mr. Henry ending, "Give me liberty or give me death." As
those immortal words fell from his lips all remained silent, though
wrought up to the highest pitch of patriotic excitement. After a
moment we walked on very quietly, until, passing out of the mellow
moonlight, we entered the brilliantly-lighted parlors of the
Spottswood Hotel.

The hum of conversation, the sound of careless, happy laughter, the
music of a band playing outside, soon brought us down from the heights
of enthusiasm to the delightful realities of the present. For, spite
of battle and death and perplexities, even certain trouble ahead,
Richmond was gay, hopeful, and "all went merry as a marriage bell."
The gaunt spectres of privation, want, disease, death, of ruined
homes, starving families, and universal desolation, were shadows which
fled before the legions of hope pressing so gladly and gayly to the
front. Here in one corner laughing girls bewitched and held in thrall
young soldier boys,--willing captives,--yet meeting the glances of
bright eyes with far less courage than they had shown while facing the
guns upon the battlefield. Thrilling tales of the late battle wore
poured into credulous ears: "_We_ were _here_. _We_ were _there_. _We_
were everywhere. Our company accomplished wonderful deeds of valor;"
and if Beauty's smile be indeed a fit reward, truly these young heroes
received it.

Our party exchanged greetings with several groups, seating ourselves
at last within the brilliant circle surrounding Judge and Mrs.
Hopkins, of Alabama. Here were several ladies, wives of distinguished
officers in the Confederate service, members of the Cabinet, and
others, and splendid-looking officers in handsome uniforms were
constantly coming and going, exchanging courteous greetings, lingering
for a few moments in conversation, grave or gay. Here, perhaps, a
stately form strode up and down the large rooms so engrossed in
thought as to be regardless of all that was passing. There, in deep
converse, stood a group equally regardless of their surroundings,
whose grave faces and earnest questions showed the importance of the
subject under discussion. Among those who upon that evening and
afterward, "many a time and oft," were met together in those brilliant
rooms there was not one heart untouched by the fire of patriotism,--a
flame fed by every thought, word, and action, burning ever with
steadily-increasing brightness.

I fail to recall many of the illustrious names which on that night
sounded like stirring music in my ears; but as often as memory reverts
to that scene, the forerunner of repeated pleasures, I seem to feel
anew the pressure of friendly hands, unforgotten faces appear through
the mists of the past, still aglow with "the light of other days."

Judge Hopkins was rather an invalid, but his high position, fine
appearance, his pleasant conversational powers, marked him as one
worthy of attention from all.

To Mrs. Hopkins had been entrusted the duty of caring for the sick and
wounded soldiers from Alabama. Two State hospitals had already been
established by her, and she had full power to control all matters
connected with these hospitals, except such as came within the
province of the surgeon in charge.

I have never seen a woman better fitted for such a work. Energetic,
tireless, systematic, loving profoundly the cause and its defenders,
she neglected no detail of business or other thing that could afford
aid or comfort to the sick or wounded. She kept up a voluminous
correspondence, made in person every purchase for her charges,
received and accounted for hundreds of boxes sent from Alabama
containing clothing and delicacies for the sick, and visited the wards
of the hospitals every day. If she found any duty neglected by nurse
or surgeon or hospital steward, her reprimand was certain and very
severe. She could not nurse the sick or wounded personally, for her
whole time was necessarily devoted to executive duties, but her smile
was the sweetest, I believe, that ever lit up a human face, and
standing by the bedside of some poor Alabamian, away from home, and
wretched as well as sick, she must have seemed to him like an angel
visitant. A more decided woman in dealing with all who came within her
influence or control I never knew, yet she was kindly withal, though
never expecting or brooking opposition. To her husband alone she
deferred in all things, and was gentleness itself.

On meeting her for the first time she called me to her side, saying,
in her abrupt way, "I like you, you are so in earnest; do you really
mean to nurse our sick soldiers during the war, as Mr. Maury tells
me?" I replied, as I distinctly recollect, with great fervor, "I do,
God helping me."

"But you are not strong enough, and you are too young."

Again I replied, "I feel that I am called to the work, and strength
will be given me."

She laid her hand kindly upon my shoulder, smiling as she said, "I may
put you to the test some day; be ready."

This conversation occurred on the evening of my visit to the hotel
with my friends. On the way home an earnest protest against my
"quixotic idea" was made by both, which ended in a truce of a few
days, during which it was hoped I would repent and rescind my
determination.

On the corner of Clay and Twelfth Streets stood the pleasant and
commodious residence of Mr. and Mrs. Booker.

My friend Mrs. Gawthmey resided here, and here the greater part of my
time was spent when "off duty" (of which more anon).

This model Virginia household was so true a type of the homes of
Richmond as they were at that time, that its description will present
to the reader _all_, for the same spirit pervaded every one. As in
almost every case, the young men of the family were in the Confederate
service (the sons of this household were of the Richmond Howitzers).
The father, in feeble health, yet lavished his means and his little
strength upon every patriotic duty which arose. The mother, far more
youthful, active, and energetic, full of enthusiasm for the cause,
exceeding proud of the brave boys whom she had freely sent out to
battle, loving and serving all soldiers with heart and hand, was
seconded with equal ardor and wonderful ability by her sweet young
daughters. The spare sleeping-rooms were always daintily prepared, and
at the service of any _soldier_ who needed care and rest. _Soldiers_
feeble from recent illness were encouraged to recline awhile in
restful arm-chairs in the cool flower-scented parlors, while the girls
often entertained them with music or pleasant conversation.

Not a meal was set in that house unshared by one or more _soldiers_.
The table was always as attractive as finest linen damask, elegant
china and glass, and handsome silver could make it. The meals were
abundant and nourishing, but plain. Delicacies of all kinds were
prepared constantly in that "Virginia kitchen," and daintily arranged
in the pantry by the ladies' own hands, but only to be sent to the
sick and wounded strangers lying in the numerous hospitals.

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