Civil War Overview
Civil War 1861
Civil War 1862
Civil War 1863
Civil War 1864
Civil War 1865
Civil War Battles
Robert E. Lee
Civil War Medicine
Civil War Links
Civil War Art
Republic of Texas
Civil War Gifts
Robert E. Lee Portrait
Page) ordered that his wound be attended to secretly, and then
addressed himself again to duty, arguing that he had fired twenty-two rounds
since his hurt, and that he could fire at least as many more now that the wound
had been dressed. The next month he was made a Brigadier-General ; and in the
autumn, when the Army of the Tennessee was reorganized, he was appointed to the
command of a division with a Major-General's commission. Afterward, in all of
GRANT'S campaigns in the West, he was one of
the ablest of that General's division commanders. General LOGAN, in the late
advance of McPHERSON'S command on Dallas, and particularly in the repulse of the
enemy on the afternoon of the 28th of May, has given fresh proofs of the heroism
which has distinguished him in all previous campaigns.
REV. GORDON WINSLOW, D.D., whose
portrait we give on page 421,
and who fell overboard from a Sanitary Commission steamer on the Potomac, on the
7th of June, and was drowned, was born in Vermont in 1804, prepared for Yale
College at Andover, Massachusetts, and graduated at that institution. Soon after
his attention was drawn to the Episcopal Church, and he became rector of a
church in Troy, New York, and subsequently in Annapolis. Afterward he was for
many years rector of St. Paul's, Staten Island, and Chaplain of the Quarantine.
At the outbreak of the rebellion he was appointed Chaplain of the Fifth New York
(WARREN'S) Zouaves, and accompanied that regiment in all its trying scenes and
hard fought battles. He was distinguished for his bravery, and his services
gained for him high credit and renown among the army. He also served on the
Sanitary Commission, and when his regiment returned last year he was appointed
Inspector of the Army of the Potomac. His efficiency and valuable services will
not soon be forgotten.
Dr. WINSLOW possessed a fine
social nature, full of good heart and noble soul. His traits of character were
remarkably well blended. All his motives and plans were of a high and noble
cast. At the time of his death he was accompanying his son, Colonel WINSLOW, of
the Fifth New York Zouaves, who had been wounded, to Washington.
The photograph from which our
portrait is made was taken by GARDNER, corner of Seventh and D streets,
Washington, District of Columbia, to whom we were recently indebted for the fine
picture of Mr. LINCOLN and his Secretaries.
ESCAPED SLAVE AND THE
SURELY not the least interesting
of the varied war pictures which we present to our readers this week will be two
sketches on page 428-one, the picture of a negro slave, who fled from
Montgomery, Alabama, to Chattanooga, for the express purpose of enlisting in the
army of the Union; the other, a picture of this same negro, endowed for the
first time with his birth-right of freedom, and allowed the privilege dearer to
him than any other —that of fighting for the nation which is hereafter pledged
to protect him and his. Are these not affecting pictures which are here
presented to us ? On the one side, the poor fugitive oppressed with the
weariness of two hundred long miles of dusty travel, a journey interrupted by a
thousand necessary precautions, and harassed by timid suggestions of a fate more
horrible than death if he is discovered; with his meagre covering of rags about
him: and on the other side, the soldier crowned with freedom and honor. Can we
not at length have faith in that heroism which has been so gloriously
illustrated at Wagner and Olustee and Petersburg, and which, in the face of the
Fort Pillow massacre, yet offers itself afresh in the person of a poor fugitive,
who, from the heart of the enemy's country, gives himself, at the risk of death
or of a torture worse than death, to a cause simply because it is inevitably
associated, with the problem of his freedom ?
By GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.
LILY'S life in the Marais was,
for six months, peaceable, and uneventful, and happy. One day was like another,
but all the days were quiet and cheerful, and they passed swiftly by. Lily rose
at eight, and took Madame de Kergolay her coffee and milk in her bedchamber.
Lily read to her, over her own breakfast, the news from the only journal which
was permitted to penetrate into the establishment ; the Legitimist Gazette de
France. Madame de Kergolay was no very violent politician, but her convictions
were firm. The iron had long since been forged into steel. She spoke of Napoleon
as "the too celebrated M. de Bonaparte." Whenever she alluded to Robespierre it
was with a shudder, but without invective. She called him " that miserable man."
Louis the Sixteenth was to her always " the martyr king." Marie Antoinette,
Madame was not very enthusiastic about—her career, she observed, was
"equivocally tenebrous;" but she regarded the Duc de Berri as the victim of
perfidy, and the Duchesse d'Angouleme as a saint. The house of Orleans, then
regnant in France, she named with sorrow, but without asperity, as " the
ingrates of the cadet branch." She seemed (with one exception) to bear no malice
toward any of the deplorably famous characters of the revolutionary epoch. As
Talleyrand did, she always spoke of the philosopher of Ferney as "Monsieur de
Voltaire." She gave Mirabeau his title of count, and admitted the eloquence of
Camille Desmoulines and the patriotism of Ma-
dame. Roland. But if ever the
name of Jean Jacques Rousseau were mentioned in her presence, her cheek flushed,
and her voice trembled with indignation. " The vulture in dove's feathers !" she
was wont to cry. "The sentimentalist who wreathed his murderous poniard in fine
phrases. The philanthropist who would not have children whipped, and yet sent
his helpless babes to the Foundling Hospital !" And for poor crazy Jean Jacques
there was no charity to be expected from the Baronne de Kergolay.
About ten o'clock the lecture of
the Gazette de France was concluded, and Lily was allowed to enjoy what was to
her a most delightful privilege. She went out to market with Babette, the homely
femme de charge. At first her relations with this woman were of a slightly
embarrassing nature. Babette seemed to be under a continual nervous apprehension
lest Lily should think that she was jealous of her, but the girl's gentle and
unassuming nature gradually gained confidence in the housekeeper's mind, and
before a fort-night was over she told Lily that she loved her next to Madame de
Kergolay. The convict's wife was zealously but unaffectedly pious ; and she
never went to market without going to church for a few minutes.
When Lily returned from market it
was nearly noon, and the djeuner it la fourchette, or mid-day breakfast, was
served. Until two or three in the afternoon she worked at some of the marvelous
tasks of embroidery which were always in hand, or else she read to Madame de
Kergolay. Novels were not entirely banished from the good dame's intellectual
course. The feuilleton novel was, it need not be said, proscribed ; the wild
productions of the romantic school were likewise inadmissible ; and the baronne
had probably never heard of George Sand or of Paul de Kock. But the genteel
fictions of M. le Vicomte d'Arlincourt, and the decorous numbers of M. le
Vicomte de Chateaubriand, in French, with Walter Scott and Miss Porter in
English, were considered worthy of entry, and were listened to with complacency
by Madame, and absolutely devoured by Lily.
After this, if the day were fine,
came a walk. In her youth, perhaps, Madame had heard of the unholy kidnapping
expeditions in the streets of Paris, by means of which, during the reign of the
" well-beloved" and peculiarly abominable Louis the Fifteenth, the flesh and
blood preserves of the Pare aux Cerfs were recruited. At any rate, Madame would
never permit her protegee to go out alone. For seven years, confined by a
painful and hopeless malady to her bed and her invalid chair, she had never left
her third floor in the Marais ; but she recognized the necessity for regular
exercise in Lily's case. Sometimes Babette was deputed to accompany her in a
two-hours' walk on the quays or in the Champs Elysees. Sometimes Vieux Sablons
was commanded to escort her ; but there were draw-backs to the advantages
accruing from the protection of this faithful domestic. Vieux Sablons was a
slave to the exigencies of style. Although with great difficulty he had been
dissuaded from wearing, whenever he took his walks abroad, the silver-fringed
cocked-hat which had been specially made for him when the emigrants returned in
triumph with the allied troops in 1814, he insisted on carrying a portentous
cane, with a gilt copper knob and two pendent acorns, and in tapping this staff
on the ground from time to time as he walked, somewhat after the manner of the
beadle at St. Germain des Pres during an ecclesiastical procession. The
con-sequence was, that the gamins, or little black-guard boys of Paris, who are
assuredly not to be beaten for impudence and cruel acumen by the youths of any
other capital in Europe, were accustomed to laugh at Vieux Sablons, to call him
" Marquis de Carabas," " Micromegas," " Voltigeur de Louis Quatorze," and the
like, and to follow him, hooting and jeering, and occasionally casting mud and
stones at him after the unhappily too frequent fashion of democratic and
ill-trained juvenility. And these proceedings, naturally leading to "
explications" between Vieux Sablons and the blackguard boys, in which the bamboo
stick took somewhat too vivacious a part, a tumult was more than once the
result, when Vieux Sablons had unpleasant altercations with the sergents de
ville, not devoid of reference to a visit to the nearest post or guard-house.
Vieux Sablons experienced infinite pride and pleasure in escorting the " little
m'amselle," as he called Lily—she was always to be little—but his style stood in
his way, and the baroness would rarely suffer him to confront the perils of the
little blackguards' satire.
At all events, Lily contrived to
get a good bracing walk almost every fine day. At least twice a week Madame
Prudence would look in to pay her respects to the baroness, and then it was she
who would officiate as Lily's chaperon. Often, too, the Abbe Chatain would come,
but ecclesiastical etiquette forbade that worthy man to be seen in the street
with a young lady. Once, when Babette and Lily were walking in the gar-den of
the Luxembourg, they came upon the abbe, who was sitting on a bench reading his
breviary. He rose in haste as they approached, and, blushing scarlet, walked
away. He pettishly warned Babette, the next time he came to the Marais, against
"compromising" him. Poor Abbe Chatain! He, too, was a slave to style.
Once, also, when Lily and Madame
Prudence had ventured beyond the Triumphal Arch at the top of the Champs
Elysees, and were wandering through the then ill-tended thickets of the Bois de
Boulogne, they came upon the entire Pension Marcassin undergoing the dolorous
relaxation of the " promenade." The girls were all rigidly watched by
governesses and sub-governesses, and bad marks were plenteously distributed for
such offenses as not keeping step, or turning the head over the shoulder to gaze
at a quack's plat-
form, or a Punch's show ; while,
for a wonder, at the head of the procession marched the terrible
Mademoiselle—the Marcassin herself.
She eyed her former pupil and
victim narrowly, and with an evil countenance, as, trembling in every limb, and
feeling herself turn white and red by turns, Lily passed. The Marcassin had got
well rid of the unprofitable scholar ; she had a hold upon her, in case her
friends should ever come forward ; and yet she experienced a kind of cold rage
at the thought that the girl had slipped through her fingers. It was so easy to
punish the pupil who had no friends. It was so facile to torment the child who
dared not complain. The Marcassin was vexed that, in a moment of weakness, she
had permitted the abbe to take away the little English girl. Indeed, she was
angry with the abbe altogether. He did not come so frequently as he used to
come. He spent most of his leisure time in the Marais. He cared no more for
tric-trac. He sounded the praises of the Baronne de Kergolay too often and too
warmly. As for Lily, he spoke of her goodness, her meekness, her docility, in a
manner which, according to Mademoiselle Marcassin, was perfectly sickening. " Ce
bonhomme d'abbe radote —he maunders, " quoth the strong-minded school-mistress.
" I must seek out another director for the Pension Marcassin."
However, she knew that she had
lost her prey, and was content to glower at the girl as she saw her, happy and
prosperous, and with the glow of health upon her cheek. The governesses, taking
the cue from the Marcassin, surveyed Lily and her companion with supercilious
sneers, but their private comments failed to harmonize with the public
recognition they had bestowed on the ex-pupil.
" She has been adopted by a
duchess," one whispered.
" A duchess ; bah ! by a
poverty-stricken old emigrant baroness out of the Vendee, rather. A pensioner on
the ancient civil list, probably. My father was out in the Bocage. He was a
Bleu. He knew all ces gens-la, and had four Kergolays shot in one day."
" It is no matter. La petite
looks very well. She is not amiss, la petite."
" She was always an affectionate
and obedient little thing, and it went to one's heart to have to punish her when
she had committed no misdeeds, merely because such were the orders of superior
" Well, she is out of the lion's
den.—Will you walk straight, Tavernier l'Ainde, and refrain from using your
fingers as castanets, or shall I report you, for the fifth time during the
existing promenade, to Mademoiselle Espremenil, for ultimate reprimand and
correction by Madame ?"
The misdeeds of Mademoiselle
Tavernier, the elder, who was a very muscular young Christian indeed, and always
scandalizing the proprietors of the pensionnat by ill-repressed acrobatic feats,
drove Lily out of the minds of the governesses, and half a minute after the
scholastic cortege had passed by, she was forgotten by all save the Marcassin.
But the Marcassin remembered her very well.
Madame Prudence had not beheld
this little scene unmoved. She had, it will be remembered, an old feud with the
schoolmistress ; and, deliberately spitting on the ground, with certain solemn
expressions of disparagement and defiance, she drew Lily's arm under hers, and
walked on at a quick pace.
Lily did not fail to tell Madame
de Kergolay, when they reached home, of her little adventure. The baroness
deemed it her duty gently to chide the priest's housekeeper for her intemperance
of language toward Mademoiselle Marcassin, but added the expression of a hope
that she had not heard it.
" With a thousand reverences
toward your-self, Madame la Baronne, and begging pardon for having spoken in the
language of the people to which I belong, and against the canons of Christian
charity which have been taught me by M. l'Abbe Chatain, I most sincerely wish
that Mademoiselle Marcassin did hear what I said. Too long she tormented at her
ease this dear innocent child ; and the stories which the abbe has told me of
her cruelty and tyranny have made me, time after time, burn over with the desire
of tearing her wicked old eyes out."
" That would be very wrong
indeed, Madame Prudence"—it was the baroness who spoke. "We should forgive all
our enemies, even as we hope to be forgiven."
" I humbly ask pardon," replied
Madame Prudence with a low courtesy " and I will pray for Mademoiselle
Bluebeards this very night ; but I should like to pass a little quarter of an
hour with her nevertheless."
" And I am sure," interposed
Lily, " that I for-give her. It was nothing, perhaps, but temper."
" It was nothing, perhaps, but
choux-fleurs a la sauce," Madame Prudence said afterward, in good-humored banter
(but not in the baroness's presence), to Lily. " My poor little angel heart, I
tell you that woman was made of marble. Marble ! Lava of a volcano rather. Some
years ago it may have been boiling and red-hot, and now it is turned into
The dinner-hour on the third
floor in the Marais was invariably six o'clock. The bill of fare was always
simple ; but the style, on which Vieux Sablons so prided himself, was never
lacking. Twice a week the baroness fasted. She did not expect Lily to do the
same, and even endeavored to dissuade her from following her example ; but the
girl thought in her simple heart that it would be selfish not to abstain from
meat, as her friends did upon meagre days ; and besides she thought the sorrel
soup, the fish, the vegetables, and omelets which Babette served up on non-flesh
days, very nice and succulent. On Sundays and feasts they had generally some
little extra delicacy—a charlotte aux pommes, or a turkey stuffed with
After dinner came, on visiting
evenings—that is to say, when Madame " received" on Tuesdays and Thursdays—a few
very old gentlemen and a few very old ladies. They all seemed to have been
shipwrecked, to have been knocked to pieces like the porcelain dessert services,
and put together again. The Vidame de Barsae was seventy. He earned his living
now as a teacher of English, a language he had acquired during the emigration.
The Count de Panarion had been a mousquetaire gris. He was glad enough now to do
hack-work for a bookseller in the Rue St. Jacques. Monsieur de Fontanges had
been a Knight of Malta. How he managed to earn a crust of bread now was not
precisely known. It was a delicate subject, and not much talked about. Madame
Prudence, indeed, once hinted to Lily that the "poor dear man," as she called
him, had been compelled to accept a post in the orchestra of a theatre, and
played second fiddle at the Odeon for a hundred francs a month.
The ladies were as antique and as
dilapidated as the gentlemen. They were marchionesses, countesses, or plain
mesdames, but all of noble birth ; one, Mademoiselle de Casteaunac, was a
sentimental old maid, who had been a beauty. They were all miserably poor,
hiding their heads in cheap boarding-houses, or cheaper garrets, or pining on
the miserable pensions on the civil list, allocated by the government for the
support of the decayed Bourbon aristocracy, and the sparse funds of which were
supplemented every year by a grand ball at the Hotel de Ville. The sentimental
old maid had but one aspiration. She had an income amounting to the magnificent
sum of twenty-five pounds a year. If she could only manage to raise it to forty
(a thou-sand francs) they would receive her as a nun in one of the gloomiest and
rigidest convents of the Faubourg St. Germain. It was not a bright prospect, but
poor Sister Anne gazed at it wistfully from the tower of her spinsterhood. To be
allowed to 'rave your hair cut off, and to wear black serge and a veil ; to be
permitted to sleep on the boards, and scarify yourself with a horse-hair vest,
get up in the middle of the night to repeat the lamentations of Jeremiah, and
subsist chiefly on stale bread and black radishes, and scourge yourself twice a
week ! Well, there are ambitions of various kinds,. and Mademoiselle de
Casteaunac's ambition extended no further than this. :But she was deficient in
her budget just fifteen pounds per annum, and her long-coveted bliss was
unattainable. It is a practical age, indeed, when maceration costs money, and
the treasurer of the vestal virgins expects a novice to come prepared with a
corn-pact sum in the Three per Cents.
These poor old people came and
paid a feeble, fluttering court to Madame de Kergolay. She had lent—that is to
say given—most of them money ; the name she bore was honored and famous, and
they accorded her a sincere and awful homage. Of all the victims of the dreadful
revolution none had suffered more deeply than the Baronne de Kergolay. She was
al-most a martyr. She had sat upon the steps of the scaffold. She had been in
the tumbril. Her hair had fallen beneath Sanson's shears. Her husband, her
father, her dearest friends and kinsmen, had been drowned in Robespierre's red
sea. She said once, in sad playfulness, that she felt almost as though she had
been decapitated, and her head had been sewn on again.
The entertainments in the Marais
were not costly. Vieux Sablons, in connection with the yellow wax-candles in the
silver sconces, provided all that was requisite in the way of style. For the
rest, there was a little weak tea. The guests brought their own snuff, and what
more could they want? They paid their little compliments, vented their meek
complaints against the ungrateful government of the cadet branch, buzzed about
their small scandals, and some-times indulged in raillery, or drifted into
dispute. Now and then a game at tric-trac or Boston was made up ; and at ten
o'clock all took their leave, and the establishment on the third floor went to
SAID Vieux Sablons to Lily Floris,
one morning—it was in the sixth month of her residence in the Marais :
"Little m'amselle, to-day there
is `bombance.' "
"I don't quite understand you,
Vieux Sablons. Bombance ! What is that ?"
" True, I am an animal. Madame
would pull my ears for talking to you in so rude a manner. Madame always speaks
classically, and expects her domestics to observe good style in their language.
I mean, that to-day there is a festival, a holiday, a gala."
" And why, Vieux Sablons? It is
not a fete-day of your Church."
" Little puritan m'amselle ! What
do you know about our feasts or our fasts either ? Though, for the matter of
that, you insist upon making meagre whenever Madame does. But to-day is a
secular holiday. The Scape-grace is coming."
" The Scape-grace ! Who may he be
"Ah! you will find out soon
enough. The scamp— the brigand—the ne'er-do-well— the good-for-nothing."
Lily turned hot and faint. Who
was coming ? She recalled the horrible story of Babette's husband. Was the
"There !" exclaimed Vieux Sablons,
good-humoredly, as he observed the girl's agitation ; " I am a brute, a buffalo,
a rhinoceros, to terrify you so, little m'amselle. One would think I was
announcing the advent of Lo petit homme Rouge—the little Red Man who was wont to
( appear to Bonaparte. It is only M. Edgar Grey-