Southern Storm (73 page)

In other instances there was a more formal interaction between North and South. “Took dinner with a secesh family,” scribbled a New York diarist. “Had a good dinner and a warm argument.” A Connecticut man found other civilians not interested in arguing, merely proclaiming that they were “heartily sick of the war.” When Frances Thomas Howard answered a knock on the door of her family’s home, she found a Yankee officer on her steps preparing to requisition the place for Colonel Barnum’s headquarters.

“There are eight children here, all under five years of age,” protested Mrs. Howard’s companion. “I don’t think you would find a stay in this house very pleasant.”

The staff officer threw up his hands. “Good God!” he exclaimed. “Eight under five! I’ll go
anywhere
else!”

The women directed him to a vacant house across the street. As he departed, they smiled at their little joke. Yes, there were eight little children in the house—four white and four black.

Sherman reached Savannah at 9:00
A.M
., according to Major Hitchcock’s watch. Entering from the south, the General’s party turned onto tree-lined Bull Street, which they followed to the river. At Bay Street they went inside the U.S. Customs House, whose roof offered a panoramic view of the captured city. “The navy-yard, and the wreck of the iron-clad ram
Savannah
were still smouldering, but all else looked quiet enough,” observed Sherman.

The General had served in the area as a young army officer, so he knew the best places to stay. The party rode directly to the Pulaski House, where Sherman was soon holding court in the same building that Confederate president Jefferson Davis once occupied. Hitchcock quickly lost count of the number of people who craved an audience
with their conqueror. There was a brother of Lieutenant General Hardee, the town’s mayor, and other citizens of importance. Most intriguing was Mr. Charles Green, a banker and British citizen who offered his spacious, well-furnished house for Sherman’s headquarters. (Green later stated that he made the offer to spare a Georgia citizen indignity, though the Pulaski House manager seemed willing enough to provide the General with space. Less charitable wags viewed Green’s gesture as an effort to win a favorable opinion regarding his seized cotton holdings.) At first Sherman was reluctant to accept the proposal, but he was easily persuaded. The Green mansion—richly appointed with expensive furniture, pricey art, and exotic plants—would serve as the General’s command post throughout his stay in Savannah.

It wasn’t long before Savannah’s white residents began to experience changes in the order of their society. Mrs. Caro Lamar had always been suspicious of William, one of her house servants. This day, she wrote, “as I feared and expected, William proved to be a traitor.” Mrs. Lamar’s husband had been engaged in the risky but lucrative business of bringing commodities through the blockade; as one of the perks of the work, he had amassed a sizable store of liquors and wines. Barely four hours after William vanished, the first Yankees appeared at her door, polite but insistent, and they knew where to look. This party was followed by another, and before sunset much of the Lamars’ liquid capital (along with a quantity of food) was confiscated. This night, Mrs. Lamar “felt so awfully weak, and peculiarly that I dreaded sickness and evil consequences.” She would survive.

“You can form no conception of the utter demoralization of the servants,” declared another Savannah resident, Mrs. G. W. Anderson. “Many families are left without a single one, & in every household several have taken leaves…. All the petted servants of all the Owens have left for ‘freedom.’…All the country negroes are crowding into the city, & must plunder for a living. With such a population we have much to dread if left without proper police regulations.”

Viewed through the other side of the lens, sentiments were quite different. “When the morning light of the 22d of December, 1864, broke
in upon us, the streets of our city were thronged in every part with the victorious army of liberty;” declared a black Baptist preacher, “every tramp, look, command, and military movement told us they had come for our deliverance, and were able to secure it to us, and the cry went around the city from house to house among our race of people, ‘Glory be to God, we are free!’”

Squads of Yankee troops continued to secure the Savannah area, occupying defensive works and locking down caches of munitions. A detail from the 58th Indiana Pontoniers was handed the task of repairing Hardee’s floating bridge linking Savannah to Hutchinson Island. Most of the sections had survived, though some had been lost, while others were drifting loose. Much of it now lay snagged against the cityside bank, held there by the current. The existing segments were reattached, and long ropes were strung preparatory to swinging it back into place. One of the engineers noted approvingly that it had been constructed with docks on either end, “so the rising and falling of the tide does not lengthen or shorten the bridge.”

“The amount of property left behind is enormous,” crowed a Connecticut soldier, “especially cotton[,] also RR machinery[,] cars[,] engines &c[;] so fast they left all & fled[,] even the guns in the forts were so poorly spiked out boys pulled them out with their fingers.” A correspondent on the scene reported that the “depots of the Savannah and Gulf Railroad, and of the Georgia Central Railroad were captured, with all their furniture etc. intact. Thirteen locomotives, in good order, and one hundred and ninety-three cars of various description were taken.” A final accounting would add 167 artillery pieces captured and 38,500 cotton bales to the tally. The latter would prove an embarrassment to Lieutenant General Hardee, who was taken to task for allowing so much to fall into enemy hands. Hardee argued, none too convincingly, that most of it was in small batches, privately held, so to have torched it would have destroyed many residences.

Miss Frances Thomas Howard stared out her window at a ragged line of Confederate prisoners being held under guard opposite her house. “They looked tired and hungry, and we determined to feed them,” she
said. Food was gathered, but how to carry it past the Yankee guards without having it hijacked? Approaches to several senior officers were rebuffed, until she at last decided to target the man commanding the guard detail. To his pleased amazement, Miss Howard and two of her female companions invited him to dinner, where they made him comfortable.

“Do you know why we invited you to dine?” asked one of her friends.

“Because you like us, I suppose,” answered the officer.

“No, indeed!” explained the Southern lady. “We hate you as all good Confederates should!”

“Then what made you ask me to dinner?”

The ladies sprang their velvet trap. “Because you are the captain of the guard, and now that we’ve fed you, our enemy, you cannot refuse to let us feed our friends, the Confederate prisoners.”

The officer reluctantly agreed, and issued the necessary orders. “Our poor fellows were nearly starved, but waited patiently and quietly to be helped,” said Miss Howard. “Hungry as they were, there was no snatching or pawing, although they saw that the supply of food we had brought was not half enough.”

When numbers of Sherman’s soldiers took stock today of what they had achieved, all felt good about it. “General Sherman, the bravest and best military man in the United States, has again won a victory which the nation ought to be proud of,” puffed an officer. An Illinois soldier writing today to his wife said: “I…feel as if it were an honor to belong to Sherman’s Army.” Not far away an artilleryman was penning thoughts to his spouse: “Savannah has fallen!…Thus one more Rebel stronghold has succumbed to the Union army, and we are nearing the termination of this rebellion.”

Besides the scores of civilians seeking assurances, or officers requesting orders, Sherman was also visited this day by a determined agent for the United States Treasury, one A. G. Brown. On behalf of his department, Agent Brown staked a claim for all captured Confederate property, especially cotton. Sherman agreed only insofar as his
quartermaster and commissary officers had first pick; then the Treasury could have whatever was left. Having few cards in his hand to play, Agent Brown agreed.

Before departing, Brown mentioned that he was about to catch a fast steamer for Fortress Monroe, an army post on the Virginia peninsula in telegraphic communication with Washington. Knowing of President Lincoln’s fondness for the whimsical gesture, Brown suggested that Sherman might consider a Christmas offering for the chief executive. That being all the hint Sherman needed, he immediately wrote out a message:

D
ECEMBER
23, 1864–J
ANUARY
21, 1865

A
t the time Sherman’s forces arrived, Savannah’s population was 20,000-plus—the plus representing an unknown number of refugees, said by some to number in the thousands. The Yankees promptly set up shop, the officers finding space in vacant houses or rooms in occupied ones, the enlisted men building shantytowns in available open spaces. Nearby outbuildings and various loose construction goods soon found their way into the designs, which were as diverse as the soldiers themselves. “All hands are working like bees this morning getting material to build houses and clearing the camp ground,” said a Wisconsin soldier. “Nails had been collected from houses or taken out of the stores, and nothing prevented us from having more commodious quarters than the pup tents,” added an Illinoisan. “The lovely square in front of our house soon became a village with [the] streets its parade ground,” grumbled one resident. Other parts of the town were less orderly. “All of our Squares [are] built up with wooden houses so that I scarcely recognized the streets,” complained another citizen.

The military administration headed by Brigadier General Geary took care of security issues, while Mayor Arnold’s people maintained city services, including the water and gas supply. Commandante Geary kept a measured distance from his civilian charges, looking down on them as a “spectacle of humbled aristocracy.” Still, he ruled with an even hand, prompting Mayor Arnold to term him “noble Geary.” For
his public face, Geary professed to be “activated by no motives but which were in every respect compatible with those of a soldier, dictated by the true principals of charity and humanity.” The bottom line was performance, and here Geary’s details delivered. “In fact, 24 hours after its occupation it was as orderly as any New England city,” boasted an Illinois soldier.

Savannahians divided between those resigned to the way things turned out and those who mingled defiance with a grudging compliance. The female species of the latter could usually be identified by their mourning dress or walking route. “On the street, at church, or in the drawing-room nearly every lady you meet is dressed in black,” observed one newspaperman. For these women a simple promenade around the block could mean a complicated zigzag course, for according to one of them, high on the list of “things that seemed hard for us to bear was the suspending of [U.S.] flags across the streets so as to compel us to walk beneath.” Still, the generally soft hand of Union occupation presented many diehards with a quandary. “They are all astonished at the generosity of General Sherman’s orders,” chuckled a New Yorker, “and some seem indignant that he was not a barbarian, that they might vent their pent up spleen on him.”

The leading voice for reconciliation in the town came from its mayor, Richard D. Arnold, whose pragmatic philosophy was: “Where resistance is hopeless it is criminal to make it.” He was a leading speaker at an assembly of citizens that met in late December to set the agenda for the coming months. Resolutions were passed that acknowledged the Union victory, heaped praise on Brigadier General Geary for his “uniform kindness,” and urged Governor Brown to call a special constitutional convention to reconsider secession. All those who signed the resolutions vowed to lay “aside all differences” and bury “bygones in the grave of the past” in order to “once more…bring back the prosperity and commerce we once enjoyed.”

(Lest Mayor Arnold come across as a rubber stamp for Federal rule, he bristled when asked to help turn out crowds to cheer Union soldiers marching in review, knowing full well that many still had family or friends fighting for the other side. “Do you think I would order them out to see your soldiers parade?” he exclaimed. “Sir, I’ll be damned if I do!”)

The conciliatory declarations from captured Savannah did not sit
well with others throughout the Confederacy who were still resisting. “Oh it is a crying shame, such poltroonery!” exclaimed one Southern matron upon reading the declarations. In distant Richmond there was anger aplenty—aimed at the surviving Southern newspapers that were permitted to reprint the material. “The proceedings will be used as a ‘form,’ probably, by other cities—thanks to the press!” griped an official. The editors of the
Augusta Daily Constitutionalist
chose to ignore how close they had come to sharing Savannah’s fate when they thundered: “If there is one sink lower than any other in the abyss of degradation the people of Savannah have reached it.”

The biggest problem facing city leaders was maintaining the food supply. At first, Sherman wasn’t interested. “No provision has been made for the families in Savannah, and many of them will suffer from want,” he declared on Christmas Eve, “and I will not undertake to feed them.” Cooler heads prevailed, and within two days Sherman had struck a deal with Mayor Arnold, granting the civilian leader access to all captured rice among the Confederate army stores. An arrangement was worked out, allowing Savannah’s leaders to sell the rice in New York with the proceeds applied toward food purchases.

The man entrusted to carry out this mission was Julian Allen, a northern social activist and entrepreneur who used his commission to solicit a broader collection of aid for a starving Savannah. Allen’s call to action snagged heartstrings in New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, so that by mid-January ships were docking in Savannah filled with donated foodstuffs. While some Savannahians were embarrassed at becoming national objects of charity, most welcomed the helping hand.

These civilian events were background noise to the Union occupation. There was much work to be done, including sanitation, infrastructure repairs, and clearing the river channels. Men badly wounded in the course of the march or otherwise incapacitated were put onto hospital boats for transport north. When it became evident that the army would be moving on, Captain Orlando Poe was set to work designing a ring of fortifications running close to the city making it possible to hold the place with a division-sized garrison. Taking advantage of the existing Confederate inner line, Poe incorporated much of it into his scheme.

Some soldiers were employed putting these defenses into shape, but
most found themselves with time on their hands. Many became tourists. “The city is beautifully laid out, with broad streets densely shaded, interspersed with numerous parks, squares and monuments,” proclaimed a member of the 50th Illinois. “Many of the parks were lined with beautiful trees,” added an Ohio comrade, “while others contained large marble shafts, erected to the memory of noted men of American history.” “Every alternate square is a public square fenced, with entrance gates at each of the four corners,” contributed another Buckeye, “with walks leading from each gate to the center where benches and seats were provided for the use of the public.”

A Fifteenth Corps soldier was drawn to the Catholic cemetery, “a place of somber beauty long to be remembered,” while a Twentieth Corps comrade was much taken with Jasper Springs, a historic site marked by a “wonderful spring…noted for its beautiful crystal water.”

Mentioned by almost every soldier-tourist was the impressive monument honoring the Revolutionary War hero Casimir Pulaski, killed in a failed assault on the then British bastion in 1779. Located in Monterey Square, it reached toward heaven with a thirty-foot white Carrara marble shaft crowned by a statue of Lady Liberty, set atop a twenty-foot-square limestone base. Numerous carvings adorned the shaft and foundation stones, freighted with symbolic meanings that struck a sympathetic chord with one Indiana visitor. “The guns, the shot, and the spears are emblematic of war—the profession of the gallant dead,” he wrote. “The wreath represents the reward of those who perish in the cause of liberty. The flame and the color of the [green-painted iron] fence call to our minds the immortality of the deeds of those who give their lives that men may be free.” Another Hoosier visitor could not resist the ironic observation that the residents who built and maintained this temple to American liberty “have been exposing their lives for American slavery.”

Beyond the cultural stops, there were lighter forms of entertainment for the soldiers. The camp of the 66th Ohio was located next to “one of the theaters of the City, which was occupied every night by either an amateur variety troupe or by some leading band of the army giving a concert,” said one. “One thing I must mention and that is the most beautiful levee all along the river front proper,” observed a Wisconsin soldier. “I have seen many thousands sit there on the morning
after pay day gambling with all kinds of games.” “Oh the wickedness that is practiced in the army,” proclaimed an Illinoisan. “We have [a prayer] meeting at times while others are right under our notice gambling and swearing all around us.” South of the town a racetrack opened for business. “Thousands of soldiers every day witnessed these races until some fist-fights occurred,” reported a Hoosier, “when they were discontinued by order of the commanding general.”

A local seafood soon became an exotic staple of many a Federal dinner. “Our squad was well provided for…,” wrote a Minnesota diarist, “went out foraging and found some oysters.” “There is a hundred and twenty men detailed out of the Brigade to go to Thunder Bay to rake Oysters for us,” added a Wisconsin man in the Twentieth Corps. “Listen to the
menu
from my diary of Sunday, January 1, 1865, and pity the poor soldier,” kidded an Illinois officer. “Dinner for headquarters’ mess. Oyster soup, oysters on the half shell, roast goose, fried oysters, roasted oysters, rice, raisins, and coffee, with condensed milk, of course. A little top-heavy as to oysters, but we don’t complain.”

More than one Yankee boy had eyes for Savannah’s opposite sex. “There was quite a lot of citizens out,” wrote an Illinois diarist on Christmas Day, “[including] some very good looking young ladies.” A member of Sherman’s staff retained fond memories of the “delightful entente cordiale between the officers and ladies,” while a line officer deemed Savannah’s women “the tastiest Secesh I have ever seen.” “Each little knot of soldiers made acquaintance with fair ones,” recorded another officer, “glad to entertain and be entertained with cards, dance, and song.” Sometimes the entertainment went further. “There is the most hoars here that I saw in my life both black and white,” exclaimed an amazed Federal. “I thought that Washington had enough but this beats that.”

One spontaneous amusement took place on a rainy December 28; in fact, a Pennsylvania soldier went so far as to proclaim it “the best joke of the season.” This day, recorded a Federal officer, “a rebel blockade runner came into port, not having heard that the city had changed hands, with a cargo of tea, coffee, sugar and bacon.” Continued an Illinois man: “They did not find out that things had changed until they saw at Fort Jackson (several miles below the river,) the stars and stripes flying from every prominent house and steeple; but it was too late then to return.” “She was a long, low, three masted schooner, painted a dull
grey color, her long, slender masts and otherwise trim appearance, indicated speed,” reported an observer from the 50th Illinois. “Cannon upon her deck gave her a warlike appearance, and as she passed up the river in custody of Uncle Sam’s navy, reminded us of a culprit arrested for some crime.”

The timing of Sherman’s march put 60,000 Yankee boys in the Savannah area at holiday time. “While I am writing this Christmas eve, guns are firing all around and the boys are having a fine time of it,” scribbled a Minnesota correspondent. Signal corps men added to the merriment by shooting off some of their rockets. Things got so raucous in one Fourteenth Corps division that neighboring units belonging to the Seventeenth Corps, thinking an attack was under way, scrambled into a line of battle, which they maintained most of the night. “Quite a joke on Granny Blair,” snorted an Illinois soldier.

In the 26th Wisconsin’s camp, the men on Christmas Eve “cleaned our quarters. Each person planted a Christmas tree in front of his tent.” Attending Episcopal services, an Indiana volunteer eyed the collection plate as it was passed. “I saw one hundred dollar Confederate bills spread out on the basket; that kind of money was cheap; but I saw many [U.S.] greenbacks in that basket.” Another soldier present at services where civilian and military intermingled in the pews thought aloud: “It did not seem as though we were enemies.” Pennsylvanians in the 147th regiment attended a Catholic church where they “witnessed the imposing ceremony of celebrating ‘High Mass’, after which we partook of a royal dinner, especially prepared for the occasion.”

Not every holiday repast was so fine. Christmas supper for the 63rd Illinois consisted of “rice boiled in water, baked beef, coffee and hard tack.” For some of the soldier boys the thought of loved ones at home was hard to bear; one Iowan pronounced this day the “most awful lonesome for Christmas,” and an Indiana man proclaimed it “rather a dull Christmas—not like our Northern merry makings.”

It was Sherman’s wish that the campaign be consummated with a grand march past him by each corps in turn. The ceremonies began on Christmas Eve with the Fifteenth Corps. “Had a Review today,” noted an Iowa diarist. “Sherman looked pleased.” “The arms glistened in the sunshine,” contributed a Minnesotan, “banners gaily fluttered in the breeze.” Three days later it was the turn of the Fourteenth Corps.
“The troops made a good appearance,” bragged an Ohio participant. “Uncle Billy’s dolled up like a duke,” exclaimed a Michigan boy. Another Buckeye reported that the General “is a keen looking man of about forty five with short sandy beard and red face—though not caused by whiskey.” The next day the Seventeenth Corps assembled for the occasion. “The Generals looked well and I think the men did too,” said an Iowan, “considering the campaign that they have just ended by taking this city.”

The infantry proceedings ended on December 30, when the Twentieth Corps stepped off. “‘Uncle Billy’ is the pet of this command,” proclaimed a New Englander. “Gen. Sherman was very much pleased. Each Brigade Band of course wheeled out in front of the General and played till the brigade had passed,” wrote a proud New Jersey officer. “One regimental column after another passed all as one man, in perfect time with the soul stirring music. As each tattered flag is dipped on passing Sherman, the drums beat the roll ‘to the colors’ & the General raises his hat.” According to another soldier present, “Gen’l Sherman himself, who was often rather careless in dress upon the march, was resplendent in full dress, and presented a commanding and inspiring presence as he returned the salutes and cheers of his admiring columns.”