“Thy Will Be Done” – Chapter 19 Henry K. Douglas Writes Tippie From a Cold Island Prison by Jim Surkamp.

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Chapterette 19 – December 17, 1863 – Imprisoned Henry Kyd Douglas writes Tippie Boteler from his deep-frozen island prison on Johnson’s Island in Lake Erie.

Douglas wrote another: “Johnson’s Island is just the place to convert visitors to the theological belief of the Norwegian that Hell has torments of cold instead of heat. (This winter) two men would squeeze into one bunk so as to double blankets, would wrap themselves up heads and feet, and in the morning break through the crackling ice, formed by the congealing of the breath that escaped, as one has seen on the blankets of horses at sleighing time. – (1).

Needing a woman to dream of in his adverse state, Douglas continues to write Tippie from his freezing and harsh prison. It is the kind of letter from a man who is pushing uphill against the gathering evidence that the woman he continues to write to has wearied of him, and even has become hostile to his very chiding, very – however contradictory – self-absorbed attentions. One senses that she has turned her heart toward her future husband, Dudley Digges Pendleton who is also away at war.

My Dear Miss Tippie
Circumstances have prevented my answering your last (letter) sooner but it makes no difference, for neither my precepts nor examples seem to have the slightest effect in making you more prompt. The fact is that on that subject you are perfectly incorrigible. And, moreover, who had riled you so thoroughly that you were compelled to vent some of your temper upon my unoffending head? In your last, you certainly laid aside your good humor and reminded me of a certain character in romance that I’ve read of lately who used to display his indignation by demonstrations that meant a great deal but did really little harm. He was a good-natured fellow withal. And here let the comparison stop. All this by way of preamble.

On his sub-freezing prison:
This is great country up here, – or at least that pent-up part of it that I inhabit – and of most remarkable climate. Snow, rain, ice, and winter generally. The normal condition of the thermometer is below “freeze.” I will mention an instance illustrative told me by the reliable gentleman himself. Several gentleman were engaged in rather an earnest conversation near the woodpile one day after sunset. The next morning, a cook collected chips, sticks, etc. and placed them upon the fire. Directly afterwards, there were heard to proceed from the stove disconnected fragments of oaths, cuss words, intermingled with several laughs and a few sneezes — all in the well-known voices of the two gentlemen aforesaid. What was it, think you? Nothing more than part of the conversation of the said gentlemen, which had frozen as it was spoken and was now being melted and dissolved into sound and space. Maybe you will doubt it? If you do and will come up here, I can show you the stove. I dare you to test the matter. Indeed I could tell you many similar facts, equally reliable and illustrative of this icicle isle . . .

Bravely, or maybe blindly, Douglas continues:
You call my effusions attacks and seem to imply that you think the muses are ill treated and imposed upon: next, you tell me that you have an “omnium gatherum” in which you keep all the absurd ridiculous productions that reach you and gravely ask me to contribute to it. No, I’m obliged to you. I have recovered from the scathing criticism you inflicted upon me in our salt-box days (referring to a small academy that was a salt box structure in Shepherdstown located on the north side of New Street between King and Church streets before the war.-JS).

Douglas continues concluding with a remark certain to achieve his demise with Tippie Boteler – he denies Christmas:
Xmas is apace. I always despised the time of year and shall in all probability drop it very pleasantly.

Yet he persists to the end:
Can’t you get me up an individual poem on the subject? When you next write, don’t forget to send me your carte de visite – please.
. . .Yours as usual Henry Kyd Douglas. . . Write! And at once! – (2).

References/Image Credits:

Chapterette 19: December 17, 1863 – Imprisoned Henry Kyd Douglas writes Tippie Boteler from his Deep-Frozen Island Prison on Johnson’s Island in Lake Erie.

1. Henry Kyd Douglas Papers, Duke University.

NEXT: Chapterette 20 https://civilwarscholars.com/uncategorized/thy-will-be-done-chapter-20-april-1864-u-s-colored-troops-stop-at-the-lees-home-by-jim-surkamp/ 

“Thy Will Be Done” – Chapter 20 April, 1864 – U.S. Colored Troops Stop at The Lees’ Home by Jim Surkamp.

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Chapterette 20 – April 5, 1864 – The United States Colored Troops’ Company G of the 19th Regiment Knocks on Henrietta Bedinger Lee’s Door at Bedford, then Overnights in Charlestown.

April 5, 1864 – From a diary of a Shepherdstown resident, who lived there at the time:
Something new! Three hundred black soldiers came to town and some are quartered in the Jim Lane Towner storeroom and they are in the command of Colonel Perkins. Others with white skin and black hearts took Dan Rentch’s parlor for headquarters. These negroes were hailed with much joy by some of our loyal citizens and some five or six negro soldiers were invited to breakfast with her by Mrs. C__ (A leading Unionist family in town were the Colberts.-JS)

April 7, 1864 – The diarist continues: The black yankees left hurriedly for Harper’s Ferry, for the river was up and they could not get back into Maryland, and rebels were reported to be coming.

April 9, 1864 – The diarist continues: Twenty-six negro soldiers and a white officer came to town and quartered in Mohler’s store (Possibly “Moulder’s” Store at southwest corner of German and King Streets. – JS)

April 12, 1864 – Diarist continues: Twenty-four black yankees and a white officer passed through, going to Martinsburg.

Then twenty-year-old Netta Lee was living at Bedford outside Shepherdstown at that time with her mother Henrietta, her younger brother, Harry, and enslaved African-Americans: a worker named Nace; father and daughter, Tom and Keziah Beall; Peggy Washington and her three grand-sons – Thompson, William and George, and her grand-daughter Virginia, also called “Jinny.” Edmund Lee, Sr., Netta’s father, was away; son/brother Edwin Grey was in the Confederate army and Edmund, another brother, had enlisted the year before in 1863 when he became old enough to serve.

The United States Colored Troops organization was created by presidential order in May, 1863. In letters of Henrietta Lee and Tippie Boteler, they write that most able-bodied, enslaved African Americans left the County for good as of May, 1863, posing challenges in household upkeep and crop production for them. – (1).

Netta Lee wrote:

The months sped by and we were in the second (should be: “third”-JS) year of this terrible war. All of our men, including Edmund, the next to the youngest brother, had gone to join the army, leaving Harry, a boy of about thirteen, as our protector, and seized every opportunity to come home, or as near home as possible when our troops were in the Valley. Mother and I were seated on the portico one bright morning, playing a game of chess. So intent were we upon our play that not one word had been spoken, save an occasional monosyllable: “Check!” when Harry came running up the gravel walk toward us. The boy’s eyes seemed black with indignation, his face flushed with anger.

“What is it, Harry?” we both exclaimed in a breath. “What has happened – another battle? Tell us quickly!”

“. . . The white yankees, who were quartered here at the river to picket the town have been removed, and Heaven knows they were bad enough, but now a negro regiment has replaced them and will be here tonight!”

Our Mother’s face grew pale. She arose and placed her hands on Harry’s and my shoulders as we stood beside her, saying: “Through Captain Cole’s reign, our Father in Heaven has guarded us, my children: I do not believe the negroes can be worse than Captain Cole’s men were. . .”

(Netta to Harry): “A regiment of them, did you say, Harry?” I asked. “Yes, And we hear they are going to draft all the able-bodied men under forty-five years.”

“Have they white or negro officers?”
“Oh, white officers, all of them. And what is worse, I hear they are going to camp out of town in this lot of ours next to the meadow.”
“Oh, that is too outrageous,” exclaimed Mother.

Just at this moment was seen approaching from one of the servant’s cottages, a stately elderly negro woman with a tall white turban on her gray head and a red kerchief crossed over her chest. She was walking briskly and talking to herself.

“There comes Aunt Peggy (Washington),” I said. “Mother, she must have heard the bad news.”

“Yes,” continued Harry, ”for George was in town with me.”

Peggy Washington said: “Lord Miss Netta, is that so about the soldiers coming to this town and drafting everybody they can?”

Netta: “Yes, Peggy. Harry says they really are to be here tonight. I was just going to send for you and tell you to fix up something to eat for the boys, Bill, Thompson and George, and send them out to the farm (Oak Hill on the Kearneysville Pike) before sun up tomorrow morning. They must stay there all day tomorrow. Be sure they start very early.”

Peggy: “Yes, that’s so. I’ll get them off in time. The nasty trash. They aren’t going to get my grandsons, all the children I’ve got left, and make them fight against the ones they they played with all their lives.”

Netta: “Well, you see, Peggy, we don’t know what these new men will do; but the boys will be safe at Oak Hill.”

Peggy: “Yes, that’s so. I’ll get them off in time.”

Henrietta: They must hide during the day and return home at night for food; and none of them must go to town tonight,” said Mother.

“No m’am! They won’t want to go to town tonight!”

Netta Lee wrote:
Sure enough, it was well. Peggy got her boys off early to Oak Hill for the report was true and next day negro troops encamped in our fields; and Harry called to me: “Just come and see how they are shooting down all the hogs in sight.” And Mother added: “I am glad I made the boys lock up all the sheep, which are quieter animals than these hogs, though, no doubt they will soon follow, except (they will) love hog meat better than anything unless it is chickens.”

. . . (As he looked through a field-glass, his mother asked Harry): “What are they doing now, Harry?” “A squad of them seems to be coming this way.”

Mother hastily turned to the door, saying: “Come, let us go in. I don’t want them to see us looking at them.”

We went into the library, where I busied myself buckling the belt of my little six-shooter around my waist, taking care that its bright silver mounting could be seen. On a table near her was Mother’s larger one, similarly mounted. She was just about to lay her hands upon it when Jinny, her old Granny’s (Peggy Washington) favorite, came bursting into the room . . .

“Oh Mistiss, Granny says come down in the kitchen quick, please ma’am. Those soldiers are down there.”

Hastily Mother placed her pistol in her pocket, keeping her hand upon it. Then all of us started to the basement kitchen. There we found a party of six or seven stalwart negro soldiers insolent and swaggering. None however were actually inside the door; but two were on the threshold and swearing at Peggy, who had thus far kept them at bay with a large butcher knife and her tongue – the latter weapon being the sharper of the two. She was arguing manfully with them, saying: “I’m not afraid of yankees!”

“What does all this mean?” asked Mother, who met the two of them as they succeeded in pushing past Peggy, starting to come up the basement stairs. “What are you here for; who sent you?” asked Mother.

“We were sent here for your three young colored men,” the man replied. “We’re gathering up recruits.” (NOTE: William, Thompson and George were all draftable age in their late teens. – JS)

Peggy broke in with: “I told them, Miss Netta, that there weren’t any men here. Then they told me they were going to search my room and the house and see if I didn’t hide them.”

“Well,” said mother, “. . . and tell your officers there are only young boys. Go now, and don’t dare to come to this house and try to steal our young servants.”

“We’re only doing what we’ve been sent and ordered to do. We have to obey orders or get shot,” replied the spokesman.

“Yes,” said mother, “We heard before you came here that one of your officers shot a man for refusing to black his boots. Is that true?”

“Yes, ma’m, he did that very thing. ’Twas our Captain.” (NOTE: An in-depth review of service records shows no accidental death of men in Rickard’s company G, the company in Shepherdstown. In letters and speeches after the war, Rickard conveyed an attitude of an abolitionist on a mission when speaking of his role as a USCT officer. One might see this account as Netta Lee and Henrietta B. Lee projecting their perception of a cruel slaveholder in Virginia on the persona of a USCT officer.-JS)

“Well, now you obey my orders and go to your officers and tell them what I have told you: “There are no men here; and also tell them that Southern women know how to shoot as well as their men do. Go!” said Mother. (Netta wrote): I was not slow to let them see the hilt of my pistol, and Mother kept her hand on hers. Harry, too kept around, with his military belt and Confederate buckle, showing that he also might be carrying arms, as he was, for in that belt was hidden a sharp, two-edged dagger.

Only for a short time were the negro soldiers encamped near Bedford; they seemed to have been sent here to gather up negro recruits, and having accomplished their purpose, were soon replaced by a company of white men under the command of Captain Teeters.

George, Thompson, and Bill had kept well out of sight of the negro soldiers and Harry had kept his chickens in close confinement, too, up to the day of their departure. So the day the negroes marched across the Potomac, Harry came in saying: “Mother, I think I may as well let all those fowl out.” Those two game roosters have fought every day since I penned them in the chicken house and have nearly killed each other. Bill and I have named them Abe and Jeff.

“Well,” said Mother, “put one of them in the cellar and tell Peggy she can kill him tomorrow.” “All right!” says Harry, “I will imprison Abe. – (2).

There are records suggesting two of Peggy Washington’s three grandsons did, indeed, wind up in uniform with the U.S. Colored Troops.

Service records indicate enlistments into the U.S. Colored Troops by two men with the names of 56-year old (1864) Peggy Washington’s grandsons, both enlistees also born in Jefferson County. It should be noted that the Lees refer to enlistment men in their households as “boys,” creating a wrong impression of their age.

There is a record of a Jefferson County-born African American named William H. Washington, who was born in 1834 in Jefferson County, and who enlisted in 1864 in the 32nd USCT Infantry at Chambersburg, PA. He was at least the same generation of the Lee’s butler named “Bill.”

Service Records also show a Jefferson County-born African-American named George Washington, enlisting September 12, 1864 at Harper’s Ferry into the 37th U.S. Colored Troops in Company K. He deserted October 1, 1864.

There are no service records by the name of Ms. Washington’s third grandson, Thompson, but a 35-year old African-American by that name appears in the 1870 Census in the adjacent Loudoun County, Va. – (3).

Robert Summers, curator and webmaster for 19usct.com website gives details of men who were with Co. G of the 19th USCT at the time of the visit to the County in April, 1864.

Summers gives a brief biography of their white commander:

25-year-old James H. Rickard, from Woonsocket, Rhode Island, joined the 18th Connecticut Volunteers on August 7, 1862, fought at Winchester, Virginia on June 13-14-15, 1863, received an appointment as Captain in the 19th Regiment, U.S. Colored Troops on March 12, 1864, and joined the regiment at Camp Birney, Baltimore, Maryland, on March 31, 1864. He was discharged from the Union Army by reason of physical disability (malaria) on March 26, 1866. After the Civil War, Rickard lived in Woonsocket, Rhode Island, working as a merchant. Captain Rickard died on May 5, 1914 and is buried in Union Cemetery, North Smithfield, Rhode Island.

Summers provides the text of an 1894 lecture by Captain Rickard before the Rhode Island Soldiers and Sailors Historical Society.

. . . at least 186,097 black soldiers, mostly ex-slaves, fought for the United States government, and that 36,847 of this number (nearly twenty percent) were either killed or died in United States hospitals. That they took part in 449 engagements, and for soldierly bearing and heroism challenged comparison with their more fortunate white comrades.

Soon after joining my regiment, Lieutenant-Colonel Perkins, in command, obtained permission to take the regiment up the Shenandoah Valley recruiting. Arrived at Harper’s Ferry, with much difficulty we obtained a four-mule baggage wagon and started up the Valley for Winchester.

Col. Perkins was a peculiar individual, and seemed bent on making some kind of a demonstration with his regiment of colored men. When about halfway from Berryville to Winchester our advance guard were fired upon, and returned the fire; for a moment some confusion prevailed, as it was expected we were intercepted by a rebel force. After forming a line to the left of the road in a rocky piece of woods, an officer was sent forward to ascertain the cause of the firing. It was found that a company of our scouts, dressed in gray, had opened fire on our men to see how they would stand. Our men then returned the fire and did not flinch. One colored man was struck on the forehead by a minie ball, and a piece of his skull as large as a silver half dollar knocked out, but it did not knock him down. He was assisted by his comrades, and when the wagon came up he was put in, and when after several days we returned, he was sent to the hospital, and came back healed, and did good service afterward. Our expedition continued to Winchester, where the Colonel intended to pass the night, but having served in this valley previously and knowing the danger of remaining there, I prevailed upon him to move on to Bunker Hill, where we might be within supporting distance from Martinsburg should we be attacked; and I had information that a superior mounted force of the enemy were present.

Rickard provides the larger context in which Company G came to Shepherdstown:

On the way to Bunker Hill that night we met about eight hundred of our cavalry passing up the valley from Martinsburg; they were attacked the next morning and entirely routed, proving the wisdom of my insisting that we move on and not stop over night there with our small force of less than 750 men, untrained and untried.

From Martinsburg we passed over into Maryland to Shepherdstown and back to Harper’s Ferry. I was then ordered to proceed with my company to Charlestown with three days rations, and “recruit vigorously.” My men had only five rounds of ammunition. I asked for 40 and was refused. I went under protest, as I knew that with less than one hundred colored men, ten miles away from any assistance, with only five rounds of ammunition, it was a foolhardy adventure, as Mosby with his guerrillas was scouring that country continually, and there were probably more Confederate soldiers in Charlestown at that time, well-armed, than my company numbered. It was a cold stormy night, about the first of April, when I arrived there. I quartered my men in a church, situated on the south of a square, the country to the south of the church being open toward a knoll where John Brown was hung. After seeing that the men were comfortably cared for, I found quarters near by in a cottage. The woman, whose husband was in the rebel army, was violently loyal to the Confederate cause. After much bantering and my offer to pay, I got a good supper, and a feather bed on the floor in front of a good fire. I was very anxious, and placed four or five pickets out and a sentinel in front of my door, with orders to report to me immediately any noise like the tramp of cavalry.

I was just getting into a doze, between one and two o’clock. The sentinel knocked on the door and said, “I hear cavalry.” Having removed only my sword and boots, I was outside in an instant. I could hear the heavy tramp of a large force of horsemen apparently entering the place from the northwest. I had the men quietly aroused, and knapsacks packed without lights, and held a hasty consultation with my lieutenant (Raymore) and decided that “discretion was the better part of valor.” It was raining and intensely dark. I moved down the macadamized pike towards Harper’s Ferry, where if attacked I might be within reach of assistance if necessary. We continued our march about four miles, when we reached a cavalry vidette, thrown out from Harper’s Ferry. I ascertained from him that a force of cavalry of our own troops had gone up the valley on a reconnoitering expedition, and on account of the muddy condition of the roads had gone up the road to the north, and entered the place from the northwest. Knowing now that there were troops between me and the enemy I was relieved of my anxiety, retraced my steps, and went back to the same quarters and slept soundly. – (4).

According to Summers’ research, these are some of the men who were active in Co. G. of the 19th U.S. Colored Troop in April, 1865, at the time the company participated in recruiting in Jefferson County and in Shepherdstown:

Alexander, James
39-year-old James Alexander enlisted in Frederick, Maryland on December 31, 1863. Older men were prized for their maturity, and Alexander was immediately promoted to 1st Sergeant of Company G. He served with the regiment throughout the war, and afterwards in Texas. He was mustered out with the rest of the regiment on January 15, 1867 in Brownsville, Texas.

Banks, Jenkins
30-year-old Jenkins Banks enlisted in Dorcester, Maryland on January 6, 1864, and mustered into the 19th Regiment on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. Private Banks was taken sick on June 11, 1865 while the regiment was en route to Texas after the war, and taken to the New Orleans quarantine hospital. After recuperating, he joined the regiment in Texas. Unfortunately, Banks contracted dysentery while in Texas, and died of that disease on September 7, 1865 at Galveston, Texas. Other records show the date of death as July 22, 1865. Private Banks was originally buried in Galveston, Texas, but his remains were later transferred to the Alexandria National Cemetery in Pineville, Louisiana.

Bond, John
30-year-old John Bond enlisted on January 7, 1864 in St. Mary’s County, Maryland, and mustered into 19th USCT on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. In the early spring of 1864 Private Bond served as part of a Union Army recruiting party that recruited slaves from the farms and plantations He died of pneumonia five months later, on August 21, 1864, at the City Point, Virginia, Army Hospital. The hospital failed to report Bond’s death to the regiment, which carried him as sick for the balance of the war, and as a deserter after the war. Finally, in 1883, when processing his widow’s pension application, the Army discovered and corrected its mistake, removed the charge of desertion, and corrected Bond’s records to show that he had died in the line of duty.

Briscoe, James
18-year-old James Briscoe was a slave of Edward Wilkens of Kent County, Maryland when he enlisted on January 1, 1864. He mustered into the 19th Regiment USCT on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. Wilkens was awarded $300 compensation for James Briscoe’s enlistment. Private Briscoe served with his regiment throughout the war, and afterwards in Texas. He died in the Post Hospital at Brownsville, Texas on July 31, 1865 of chronic diarrhea. He was buried in National Cemetery at Fort Brown in Brownsville, Texas. In 1911, National Cemetery was closed and his remains were moved to Alexandria National Cemetery in Pineville, Louisiana.

Butler, John
23-year-old John F. Butler enlisted on January 7, 1864 in St. Mary’s County, Maryland, and mustered into the 19th Regiment USCT on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. Corporal Butler was wounded by a minie ball at Petersburg, Virginia on September 30, 1864 and sent to the Summit House Army General Hospital in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania where he died of erysipelas on March 20, 1865. Mr. Butler was survived by his wife Sylvia Butler.

Chambers, Samuel
20-year-old Samuel Chambers enlisted in Queen Anne’s County, Maryland on January 2, 1864, and mustered into the 19th Regiment on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. Private Chambers died of pneumonia on August 1, 1864 at the Army hospital in City Point, Virginia.

Cooper, Lewis
30-year-old Lewis Cooper, a married man, enlisted in Cecil County, Maryland on January 2, 1864 and mustered into the 19th Regiment on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. Private Cooper fell ill and was sent to the L’Ouverture Army Hospital in Alexandria, Virginia on October 14, 1864. He died there on November 30, 1864. The cause of death was listed as Ascites. He was buried at Alexandria’s Freedmen’s Cemetery, but subsequently interred at Soldiers Cemetery, now known as Alexandria National Cemetery.

Demby, Emery
26-year-old Emery Demby was married to Sarah M. Demby when he enlisted on January 6, 1864 in Talbot County, Maryland. He mustered into 19th USCT on January 10, 1864. Demby was with the regiment throughout the war, and in Texas afterwards. He died of cholera on November 20, 1866 in Brownsville, Texas.

Hackett, Thomas
23-year-old Thomas Hackett enlisted on January 7, 1864 in Dorcester County, Maryland, and mustered into the 19th Regiment, U.S. Colored Troops on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. Private Hackett served with the regiment throughout the war, and afterwards in Texas. He became ill while in Texas and died of bone fever at the Post Hospital in Brownsville, Texas on August 10, 1865. He was buried in National Cemetery at Fort Brown in Brownsville, Texas. In 1911, National Cemetery was closed and his remains were moved to Alexandria National Cemetery in Pineville, Louisiana.

King, Thomas
18-year-old Thomas King was a slave of Henry King in Somerset County, Maryland when he enlisted there on January 6, 1864. He mustered into the 19th Regiment USCT on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. Private King fell ill with inflammation of the lungs and was sent to L’Ouverture Army Hospital in Alexandria, Virginia on April 26, 1864. He was released from the hospital on June 6, 1864 and returned to his regiment outside Petersburg, Virginia. Private King was killed in action at the battle of Cemetery Hill near Petersburg on July 30, 1864.

Kinnard, Charles
24-year-old Charles Kinnard enlisted on January 7, 1864 in Dorchester County, Maryland. He mustered into the 19th Regiment, U.S. Colored Troops on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. Private Kinnard served with the regiment for the rest of the war, and went with the regiment to Texas after the war. He fell sick on February 25, 1865 and died in the Army hospital in Brownsville, Texas on November 12, 1865 from chronic diarrhea.

Lindsey, Stephen
21-year-old Stephen Lindsey enlisted on January 2, 1864 in Kent County, Maryland, and mustered into the 19th Regiment USCT on January 10, 1864. Private Lindsey was killed in action at the battle of Cemetery Hill outside Petersburg, Virginia on July 30, 1864.

Matthews, Judson
Matthews enlisted on January 5, 1864 and mustered into the 19th Regiment, U.S. Colored Troops as a Sergeant on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. While the regiment was stationed in Texas, Sergeant Matthews was sick most of the time in the post hospital at Brownsville, Texas, suffering from pains in his stomach, legs, feet, and head. The common diagnosis for this illness at the time was bone fever. He was still sick when he mustered out of the Army on January 15, 1867 at Brownsville.

Murray, Henry
30-year-old Henry Murray enlisted on January 1, 1864 in Kent, Maryland, and mustered into the 19th USCT on January 10, 1864 at Camp Stanton, Benedict, Maryland. Murray was judged to have valuable leadership skills, as he was soon promoted to Corporal. Corporal Murray died during the regiment’s march to the battlefield at Petersburg, Virginia.

Captain Rickard wrote his widow:

To all whom it may concern

Camp in the field near Petersburg VA
June 19, 1864

Madam:

I have to announce to you the sad intelligence that your husband “Henry Murray,” a Corporal in my Company died this morning. He has not been well for some time & yesterday he accidentally fell into a small stream which we crossed on a march. He was brought along in an ambulance & died this morning. He was a good & faithful soldier. I regret his loss & sympathize with you in your bereavement.

Respectfully Yours,

J.H. Rickard
Capt., 19th U.S.C. Troops
Comd’g Co. G

It should also be noted that thirty-year-old free African-American William Spellman in Charlestown enlisted in the 19th USCT regiment in Frederick, MD, May 24th that same year, fought at the “Mine” and Petersburg and mustered out January 15, 1867 in Brownsville, Texas. – (5).

Overall, Service Records indicate that as many as 158 African-American men who were born within Jefferson County served in the United States Army with a rank of private up to major, which was the rank of Martin R. Delany, who was personally recommended by President Abraham Lincoln for appointment and promotion to major following an interview at the White House in early February, 1865.

Two other enlisting African—Americans from Jefferson County who may have also worked for the Botelers and or Pendletons were William Bunkins who enlisted July 13, 1864 into the 23rd USCT Infantry Regiment when he was about 24-years-old, and Randolph Thornton, who enlisted into the 3rd USCT Infantry Regiment on July 3rd, 1863, when he was twenty-three-years old.

William, who served as a hospital steward at Camp Casey in Virginia throughout the war and lived in Jefferson County in 1880, is a likely relation to a Wilson or Nelson Bunkins, who was born in 1841 and was the husband of Margaret Bunkins, a servant, along with their daughter Fanny, for the Botelers on the fateful day in July, 1864 when Fountain Rock burned.

Randolph Thornton, who mustered out in Jacksonville, Florida in 1865 and was living with his family in Charlestown in 1880, may have been a relation to the only African-American Thornton family in the County in the 1850s, a large enslaved family that worked for both the Pendletons and the Botelers, and some of whom emigrated to Liberia in 1855. – (6).

Referencecs/Image Credits;

Chapterette 20: The United States Colored Troops’ Company G of the 19th Regiment Knocks on Henrietta Bedinger Lee’s Door at Bedford.

1. Jefferson County Historical Society Magazine, Volume LXII. December 1996.
Fragments of a Diary of Shepherdstown – Events During the War 1861-5.

2. Netta Lee Diary, pp. 8-11.

3. Service Records, United States Colored Troops. National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).

4. Robert Summers – Curator/Webmaster for http://19usct.com

5. Ibid.

6. Service Records of the United States Colored Troops.

NEXT: Chapterette 21. https://civilwarscholars.com/shepherdstown/thy-will-be-done-21-tom-beall-kizzie-and-her-secret-society-by-jim-surkamp/ 

“Thy Will Be Done” – Chapter 22 Edmund Lee’s Horse-Snatching Caper by Jim Surkamp

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Chapterette 22 – About April, 1864 Netta Lee Remembers Clever Horse-Snatching by Edmund, Her Brother.

Her brother and others almost get caught at their home while stealing Federal horses; A spy in the household is suspected.

One day Mother and I were playing chess on the porch when up came a ragged, barefooted little boy, who looked all around to see if he was observed, then pulled off his cap, turned the lining inside out and produced a crumpled piece of brown paper which he handed to Mother; on it was written:

“Clemmons, Jones and I will be with you all about dark. Keep the coast clear.”

The note was unsigned. The boy had vanished. Mother turned pale and said.: “Oh, how terrible it would be if Edmund and the others were captured here!”

We held council; it was agreed that about dark, if the coast was clear I was to whistle “Dixie” otherwise, “Yankee Doodle,” should be the air. Then Mother went to tell Peggy to have a good supper because Miss Virginia (Bedinger) and Miss Pink (Boteler) were coming out: I went into town to invite these girls and to gather up letters to be sent South. Later, the two boys, Harry (the youngest son) and Laurie (his cousin Lawrence Rust) went to the Charlestown road to watch, while I kept watch over the servants.

When it was quite dark, the boys returned with Edmund, who was taken upstairs to my room, where we had closed the shutters and pulled down the shades. We had had our supper downstairs and Mother had saved some for Edmund which she brought up. Clemmons and Jones had gone to their own homes.

“You see, Pink,” said Edmund, “we have no horses. Ours are just worn out and we had to turn them loose to pasture. We cannot buy others”

“But, Edmund,” said Pink, “your mother offered you her carriage horses.”

“I know,” he replied, “but they are old and unfit to ride, or the yankees would have taken them long ago.”

“This is very true,” said Pink, “but you see, so far only their infantry has been here to guard the river and the B&O Railway. And how vigilantly they do guard both.”

“How on earth did you boys manage to evade them?” asked Virginia.

“Well, you see, Cousin Virginia, we know this country much better than they do and we have friends on both sides of the line, who keep us posted, so we easily slip in between the pickets.”

Mother and Virginia were keeping tab on the time. A goodly supply of edibles had been prepared. Only too soon the hour of departure arrived. Harry and Laurie Rust went out with Edmund, leaving us to silent fears.

Next day, it was decided that Virginia and I should walk across the country to the farmhouse, from whence the crumpled note regarding Edmund’s arrival had concealed where we could leave the bundles of letters to be forwarded southward. These letters were carefully placed in a basket, that a neighbor had sent my mother at the time the note was delivered, which was then filled with peaches.,

Having arrived at the farmhouse, we did not ask for our soldiers but in a lowered voice, we stated that: “These are some of our peaches in return for the pretty yellow ones you sent mother.” The woman nodded looking from the corner of her eyes at at a man standing near us, whom we recognized as a Union sympathizer. “It is all right,” she said.

The second morning after our young soldier left, William Washington, our butler, upon coming into the breakfast room, said: “Marse Harry, Aunt Kiz says she heard in town that the rebel pickets attacked the union pickets out at Kearneysville and got two of the yankees’ horses!”

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Harry, dropping the book he was reading. “What else did she say, Bill?” Was anybody killed or hurt?”

“Not as she heard, sir.”

“How many rebels attacked them, Bill?”

Bill gave a knowing toss of his head and replied: “Aunt Kizzie says they told her in town there were fifteen or twenty rebs and they cut their bridles and fired a volley and before the yankees could see which way they were, the rebels had gone!”

“I’m glad they didn’t get any of our fellows!” exclaimed Harry, with a sigh of relief.

“So am I, Marse Harry, because who knows who those rebels were?”

“That’s so,” agreed Harry.

“I don’t believe it, either, Marse Harry, they were more than three or four of our fellows. Those yankees always see them double and two can scare them as much as four.”

“Bring in some hot waffles, William.” said his mistress (Mrs. Lee). Upon his exit, she said: “Harry, do you think he suspects anything?”

“I verily do, Mother dear, but he will never betray what he knows. I’ll question him in a day or two, after I have seen some of our boys and learn that our fellows are well out of the county.”

There was a great deal of talk about the attack at Kearneysville, both in and out of town, and many surmises as to who the rebs might be. Laurie came over that night, as he did so often to stay with Harry. They went to bed early as they were going fishing next day. Virginia had gone home and Mother and I occupied her room in the western wing, while the boys slept upstairs in the main building. About two o’clock in the morning Mother was aroused by a fearful pounding on the front door. We sprang from the bed.

“What can it be?” I cried in a terrified tone.

Mother went to the window, raised it, and cautiously peered through the closed shutters asking: “Who is there?”

The pounding ceased upon the opening of the window.

“Who is it and what do you want?” again demanded Mother.

“I am Captain Teeter of the United States Army; open this door instantly or I will break it down,” a savage voice replied.

“I must know first,” returned my brave mother, “why Captain Teeters of the United States Army should be admitted into my house at this hour of the night.”

“Madam, open this door instantly, or I’ll break it down!” said the Captain, banging again. “Your house is surrounded by armed men and anyone trying to escape will be shot down. Open the door at once, do you hear me? I will tell you why when I get in.”

“Well, surely,“ said my mother. “You will give me and my young daughter time to dress?”

He replied: ”Yes, of course, but don’t keep me waiting, or I’ll break down this door.”

In the meantime my mother said to me: “Here, my child, is your pistol. If a man puts his hand on you, shoot to kill. I will do the same.”

With white lips, I caught up my “war-pocket” containing the letters that had come two days before to be taken South and tied them around my waist. I then followed closely behind Mother, each of us holding a light tallow candle in one hand, while the other grasped a loaded revolver, concealed in the folds of our dresses. As Mother unlocked the front door, Captain Teeters, followed by four armed men, pushed rudely by us into the room. Mother followed them and said: “Again, sir, I demand to know why have you come to my house at this hour of the night, with an armed force, to distress two defenseless women?”

“I will tell you now,” said the Captain, as he stepped closer to Mother, thrusting his face insultingly almost into hers as she stepped back indignantly and defiantly raised her head. She firmly clutched her pistol, while I stepped closer to her. Perhaps the officer remembered that a desperate woman is a dangerous one, for he moved back; then with his cold, green eyes fixed intently upon her face, he hissed: “Lead me to the room where those two rebel soldiers are sleeping.”

The sudden relaxation to our tense nerves was so great that we both heaved a sigh of relief. The yankees thought, no doubt, they they had trapped their game. Mother’s eyes danced with an unwonted light as she said:

“My soldiers? Yes, I’ll take you to my soldiers, follow me.” We two women mounted the stairs, while five armed men followed,. As Mother put her hand upon the knob of the door, five pistols clicked as the men cocked them. Mother threw open the door where the two young boys were sleeping, saying as she did so:

“Here, Captain Teeters, are my rebel soldiers, my men, my protectors, God bless them.”

The soldiers seemed astonished and for a moment, stood speechless. Then one man said: “Oh, Captain, don’t wake up the little fellows.”

But Harry had already sprung up. In a few minutes, he and Laurie were dressed and went in advance of Mother and me, with candles in their hands, leading the yankees from room-to-room. When they came to the garret, every soldier stepped back, holding the lights over their heads and allowing the boys to go first. Finding nothing, they slunk off, baffled, and ashamed, not even making an apology for their intrusion.

Of course there was very little sleep for the family at Bedford that night. We assembled in Mother’s room, talking over these events until dawn.

“Do you think, boys, that Bill could have betrayed us to the yankees?” asked Mother.

“No, that we don’t!” answered both boys emphatically, and Harry continued: “I am going to have a talk with Bill in the morning.”

(The next morning) Bill, when questioned, said: “I know Edmund was home the other night. George saw him and Mr. Billy Clemmons when they came over the orchard hill, but we didn’t say anything to no one because we were afraid Aunt Kiz would find out.”

“Why Aunt Kiz, Bill? Do you think she is not fond of us?” asked Harry.

“Yes, sir, but then she isn’t one of our family servants, you know. Besides that, she belongs to that Society in town.”

“What kind of society is it, Bill?”

“Oh, she says it’s a secret society.”

“What kind of secrets do they keep, Bill?”

“I don’t know, Marse Harry,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t think they keep any secrets, but they find out all they can about other people’s secrets and tells them.”

“Do you believe she knew about our boys, being home?”

“I don’t know Marse Harry; we never told her, but she never got home until almost daylight, Wednesday night.”

Harry told Mother what he had pumped out of Bill and we all agreed that Kizzie must have seen the boys as they were leaving and thought they were arriving; hence her report to the society was one night too late. This put us on our guard and each decided to watch Keziah closely.

Within a week, Mother received a note from Edmund; it came by the same boy who brought the first note inside the lining of his cap:

“Mother darling! I know how anxious you have been about us and I take this, our first chance to send you a letter. We found Jones waiting for us at the appointed place and as he had the only horse in the party, he carried all the belongings. And oh, we have enjoyed the good things to eat. We were well posted about the yankee pickets and their horses, tied at a fine place for us, near a clump of cedars.”

“We stole up on the sleeping fellows, and when the only one on guard had this back turned, we cut the halters of two find horses, mounted them and made for the briars. We were covered by a clump of pines and as the other horses were making a fuss, it was some moments before they found out what was the matter. Then they opened fire, but we had the start and the cover. Each of us let fire two pistols apiece in the air, as fast as possible so they thought us double their number and were afraid to follow. No one was hurt and two Confederates are well mounted. More than like our horses were stolen by the yankees from confederate farmers. – (2).

References/Image Credits:

Chapterette 22: About April, 1864 Netta Lee Remembers Clever Horse Snatching by Her Brother.

1. Alexandra Lee Levin’s book “This Awful Drama” implies without specifying that this incident occurred in the spring of 1863. It has been placed in the spring of 1864 here, because Edmund Lee’s service record indicates that in April-May, 1864 Lee was on “horse detail.” The mentioned soldiers, Clemmons and Jones who were with him, also have service records showing their presence in April-May, 1864 in Shepherdstown was easily possible.

2. Netta Lee, pp. 23-24.

NEXT: Chapterette 23. https://civilwarscholars.com/uncategorized/thy-will-be-done-chapter-23-july-17-19-1864-the-three-burnings-by-jim-surkamp/

“Thy Will Be Done” – Chapter 23  July 17-19, 1864 – The Three Burnings by Jim Surkamp.

10,812 words

https://web.archive.org/web/20190710022425/https://civilwarscholars.com/2014/12/thy-will-23-july-17-19-1864-the-three-burnings/

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Chapterette 23 – July 17-19, 1864 – The Three Burnings; David Hunter Torches Hunter Hill, Fountain Rock and Bedford While their Families Watch and Become Homeless, Another Is Saved by Clever Dealings; Gen David Hunter Planned Widespread Burnings and Was Replaced.

Federal Gen. David Hunter’s raid on County homes, as viewed by David Hunter Strother. Strother, who was born in Martinsburg and whose wife’s family resided in Charles Town, was chief-of-staff to his cousin, Gen. David Hunter, when Gen. Hunter shelled the Virginia Military Institute in Lynchburg in June, 1864. Earlier in late May, 1862 under Gen. Banks’ command, he prevented the firing of structures in Charles Town by an unruly mob of Federal soldiers who had set some buildings alight.

Sunday, July 17th: An order arrived from Washington. Col. Strother wrote in his diary:
Received a telegram from General Halleck informing Gen. Hunter to follow (the enemy) to Chancellorsville if practicable and then fall back if forced toward Washington. He was to devastate the valleys south of the railroad as far as the crows flying over would have to carry knapsacks.

The exact wording of this order was: Captain Martindale, First New York (Lincoln) Cavalry will proceed with cavalry under his command to Charlestown, WV and burn the dwelling house and outbuildings of Andrew Hunter, not permitting anything to be taken therefrom except the family. – (1).

Strother’s diary rejoins: “This need not involve the burning of houses, dwellings. I have begged off Charles Town from being burnt for the third time. He continued: July 18, Monday: The house of Andrew Hunter was burned yesterday by Martindale. I am sorry to see this warfare begun and would be glad to stop it, but I don’t pity the individuals at all. A war of mutual devastation will depopulate the border countries which contain all my kindred on both sides of the question. (NOTE: Strother was a cousin to Gen, Hunter and Gen. Hunter a cousin to Andrew Hunter, who had been the prosecuting attorney in the John Brown Trial in 1859, apparently one reason for his being targeted). Strother goes on: I would fain save some of them but fear that all will go under alike in the end . . .Martindale returned and reports Hunter’s house and made prisoner of Hunter himself, who was concealed in the house. He (Hunter) snapped his fingers and told Martindale he would not care that for the burning if he were ten years younger. – (2).

Sunday, July 17, 1864 – The Charlestown home of Andrew Hunter’s family is burned by the First New York Cavalry on orders. Young neighbor Richard Rutherford describes what happened.

In Charlestown, 14-year-old Richard D. Rutherford, whose family lived on Washington Street and a very short walk from the home of Andrew Hunter’s family, wrote later:

General Hunter had been in command in the valley before Sheridan came . . .One Sunday (July 17th, the day the order was given to burn the Hunter home-JS) we were all at church (Presbyterian Church on Washington Street.-JS) except my father, who had stayed home. Some ten or fifteen of Baylor’s boys had come into town, and as all seemed quiet and peaceful, some of them had ventured to attend church. The minister was in the midst of his sermon when we were startled by several shouts out in front. All made a rush to get the soldiers out first. A squad of yankees had passed, shooting at some of our boys who were visiting at their homes, but who had fled at the first alarm of their picket. Those at church had their horses tied behind the church and so succeeded in getting away over the fence in the rear before the main body of yankees got as far as the church. One of our men, a friend of my fathers, Newton Sadler, had left his horse downtown and walked up to see my father. They were sitting on the porch talking when the yankees dashed by. My father put him up in the attic right under a slate roof, and as it was very warm through the day, he almost roasted to death. My sister took him ice water often through the day, which enabled him to survive the imprisonment.

These yankees had come from General Hunter to burn Mr. Andrew Hunter’s house. They were first cousins and General Hunter, I was afterward told, had on a very handsome ring which Andrew Hunter had given him before the war. Mr. Hunter was at home at the time, but they caught him and brought him to our house, where his daughters were so now we were in a tight place with Mr. Hunter and yankee officers downstairs and Nate Sadler hidden up in the attic. My mother talked to the officer in command and tried to persuade them not to burn the Hunter house, but to give her time to go to Harper’s Ferry to see General Kelley, who was of no use. The men carried great armfuls of hay into each room and put it all to the match. The beautiful home was soon in flames. Nothing was saved but the clothes the family wore. My mother and I, with the help of an old Irishman who lived with us dragged the piano to the door and would have gotten it out had the soldiers not made us let it alone.

When I saw that beautiful home in ruins, I thought no punishment too great for General Hunter. – (3).

THE FAULKNERS SAVE THEIR BOYDVILLE HOME IN MARTINSBURG FROM MARTINDALE’s TORCHES:

The orders also included that “Capt. F. G. Martindale, First New York (Lincoln) Cavalry, will proceed with the cavalry under his command via Charlestown to Martinsburg, W. Va., and burn the dwelling-house and outbuildings of Charles J. Faulkner, not permitting anything to be taken therefrom except the family.” At the last minute the Faulkners reached higher ups in Washington who countermanded the order to burn their beautiful home on Queen Street Boydville.

July 17, 1864 – Martindale is foiled from burning Boydville, the Faulkner’s home in Martinsburg:

As Captain Martindale was leading his cavalry contingent to Martinsburg from Charlestown to burn the estate of Charles and Mary Faulkner, called Boydville, Federal General Averell, commanding in Martinsburg, was working behind the scenes to sabotage the extreme order.

Mrs. Faulkner waited indoors and her friend Mrs. Pierce waited, sitting on the porch as Martindale’s cavalrymen appeared on their long lane coming from Queen Street around nine o’clock.

“I want to see Mrs. Faulkner,” Martindale said ascending the porch. “This is a fine old place,” he said as he was led into the drawing room to see Mrs. Faulkner.

“I have to inform you, Madame, that I have orders from General Hunter to burn Boydville to the ground.”

“Will you let me see your orders?”

“No, my order is a sealed one.”

“Perhaps, you will, however, let me see it.”

Martindale took the order from his pocket, reading: “You are ordered to burn the property of Charles J. Faulkner to the ground and everything in it.”

Mrs. Faulkner said: “Give me one hour’s notice. This is not the property of Mr. Faulkner and neither you nor General Hunter will dare to put a torch to this house. It was given to me by my father, General Elisha Boyd, who was an officer in the War of 1812.”

Martindale was busied with the conversation of Judge Edmond Pendleton and Dr. E. Boyd Pendleton, Mary Faulkner’s nephews and “Union” men. Soon a crowd grew outside antagonizing Martindale’s design. – (4).

Then at last a telegram from President Lincoln arrived:

To Franklin G. Martindale

[c. July 17, 1864?]
The property of Charles J. Faulkner is exempt from the order of General David S. Hunter for the burning of the residences of prominent citizens of the Shenandoah Valley in retaliation for the burning of the Governor Bradford’s house in Maryland by the Confederate forces. ABRAHAM LINCOLN
– (5).

Home Burnings Continue in Shepherdstown as Part of Federal Gen. David Hunter’s More Widespread Plan of Retributive Home-Burning.

Monday, July 18, 1864 – Gen. Hunter reportedly tells the railroad engineer at Harper’s Ferry that he planned to burn many homes, to the alarm of the head of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. B&O President Garrett wrote Federal Secretary of War Edwin Stanton:

Camden Station, Baltimore, July 18, 1864. (Received 8.30 PM)

Hon. E. M. Stanton: I have just received the following report from our engineer at Harper’s Ferry:

“I called to see General Hunter this morning and asked him to send a force upon the line of our road between Harper’s Ferry and Opequon, to enable us to relay the track and get road open. He replied: ‘Will send a force in a day or two.’ He also stated that he had burned Andrew Hunter’s residence at Charlestown, and had given orders to burn Faulkner’s house at Martinsburg, and, that it is his intention if he finds guerrillas at Charlestown to burn that town; and as Clarke County only polled two votes against the ordinance of secession, he will burn every house in the county.”

If this course is pursued I apprehend such retaliation will follow as will largely add to the losses and sufferings of our border. . . – John W. Garrett, president of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad. – (6).

General Hunter Issues More Orders to Threaten Home-Burnings and the Continued Imprisonment of Andrew Hunter In Charlestown.

Harper’s Ferry, W. Va., July 19, 1864.

Brig. Gen. W. W. Averell, Commanding Troops, Martinsburg, W. Va.:
GENERAL: The major-general commanding (HUNTER) directs that you release the citizens of Hedgesville, now in custody at Martinsburg, only upon the condition that they pay to Mr. Cookus, of North Mountain Station, double the amount of property destroyed for him during the recent rebel raid. If the money is not paid at once their houses will be burned, and their families will be sent across our lines south. He also directs that you keep Mr. Andrew Hunter, of Charlestown, in safe custody, not permitting him to escape under any circumstances. I am, general, most respectfully, your obedient servant, P. G. Bier, Assistant Adjutant. – (7).

Strother continues in his diary:
Tuesday, July 19: Orders given to burn the houses of E. J. Lee and Alex Boteler. Martindale went forward to execute it. His description of the women and the scene is heartbreaking. Saw Gen. Hunter at dinner . . . – (8).

JULY 19, 1864 – THE BURNING OF THE BOTELERS’ HOME – FOUNTAIN ROCK – OUTSIDE SHEPHERDSTOWN:

Recalled by Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton from the recollections of her mother, Tippie Boteler:

In the summer of 1864, a corps of fifteen thousand Federal soldiers entered the Valley of Virginia, and growing crops, railroads, mills, barns, and dwelling houses were destroyed by the order of the commanding general, David Hunter. Among the homes laid in ruins in this campaign was that of Alexander R. Boteler, at that time a member of the Confederate Congress at Richmond. His home, Fountain Rock, was situated a short distance from Shepherdstown and both armies had passed many times over the farm till there was little left to be taken by the raiders that could be of any value as munitions of war. The house itself, however, with its valuable library, pictures and furniture had until then remained uninjured. A magnificent spring of water on the place made it a favorite halting spot for soldiers on the march, and situated, as it was, at the junction of two important roads traversed constantly by Union and Confederate troops, it is no wonder that the little household of women at Fountain Rock passed through many terrible experiences and grew accustomed to dangers and mischiefs and fear of them.

I seem to be with the little group at Fountain Rock on that hot day in July – my mother, my widowed Aunt Elizabeth (Mrs. Rezin Davis Shepherd), with her little three children, and Margaret Bunkins, the only servant left upon the place. I can see my frail, white-faced aunt looking like death after a severe illness, just creeping about the house. It is easy to recognize my mother in the vigorous, cheerful charming young girl who has looked after her sister’s comfort, minded the babies, cooked the dinner, and at last goes wearily up to her room for a moment’s rest.

It is all as if I had been there in spirit. The oppressive stillness of the mid-summer afternoon, the loneliness of the place, the voice of the negro woman singing in the laundry room of the spring house coming faintly up through the lilac hedge to the upper chamber. The slight dark-eyed girl brushing out her auburn hair preparatory to her nap. And then the appearance of my aunt at the door and her startled whisper, “Don’t undress – come with me – a party of yankees is here.” They went down and were met at the end of the front porch by a small band of cavalrymen gathered before the house. The captain dismounted and came forward handing a paper without a word. The two sisters read it together. “You are ordered to proceed to the houses of A. R. Boteler and E. J. Lee and to burn everything under cover on both places with their contents. The order was addressed to “Captain Martindale, of the 12th Pennsylvania Cavalry” (CORRECTED: “1st New York Cavalry”-JS) and signed “David Hunter, Maj. Gen., U.S.A.”

As the sisters realized the meaning of the words in the border to burn their beloved home, everything grew black before Helen’s eyes, until her sister’s voice recalled her to her senses. “Don’t give way,” she said, “If you give way, I cannot act,” and they immediately separated to save what they could. The mother flew to her children and sent them at once with Kitty, Margaret Bunkins’ child, a capable young girl, to a safe place under the oaks at some distance from the house. The little ones started off hand-in-hand, six-year-old Fanny in her new flowered hat and her night dress under her arm, with four year-old Alexander clinging to her, and the baby in the nurse’s arms.

By this time the soldiers were scattering all over the place. Helen ran straight up to the garret, followed by several men, and nerved by grief and excitement pulled an immense box of linen to the top of the stairs. The box itself empty could with difficulty be moved by one person. She asked some of the soldiers to carry it down and they did so in a kind of dazed confusion of purpose. One man followed her everywhere, trying to help and doing everything she asked. Others were only intent on securing things for themselves. Sometimes the soldiers would take up an article. “Let that alone,” would come the order and they would hurriedly turn to something else.

Going to the pantry, Helen found Captain Martindale looking curiously around.

“Please put this china here,” she said to him, holding up her skirt by the hem so as to make a kind of bag.

He obediently piled in piece-after-piece of a beautiful, new flowered dinner set and other favorite pieces.

“Why, gir-r-l,” he said, at last poking her in the belt with his forefinger, “Your dress will give way, there, see.”

“Never mind my dress, but just do as I say,” she answered, and he put it in with the rest of the china. In the midst of the hurry and confusion it was amazing to see one of the men vainly trying to fasten a big Sheffield waiter to his saddle. He turned it in every possible way, but the thing was much too large to be adjusted to the situation, and at last he threw it down with an oath. Another soldier was found in a bedroom trying on a suit of Davis Shepherd’s clothes – Davis, who had come home from Old Capitol prison to die only a few months before. “Take those off,” he was commanded sternly. “You may burn them, but you shall not wear them.” He jerked off the coat and said, ”Certainly, certainly,” in hurried embarrassment.

A quiet young man came up to Helen with a small photograph on porcelain of Murillo’s Immaculate Conception. “I’m a Christian,” he said crossing himself, “and I cannot let this be burned.” He was responsible also for the preservation of an old steel engraving, the picture of the interior of a Capuchin monastery with the monks at their devotions.

Elizabeth saved Grandfather Stockton’s picture, and some other oil portraits and a few things for the children, and bundles of her father’s papers. But the soldiers threw her baby’s cradle back into the flames, and one of them kicked a hole in a toilet pitcher she had carried down the stairs. The soldiers’ task of firing the house was soon accomplished. Chairs were piled up in the centre of the rooms, some combustible fluid poured over them, and the men ran about from place-to-place with lighted brooms setting them ablaze.

The efforts made to burn the springhouse proved useless for the damp mossy roof and the stone walls were not very combustible material. It burned so slowly that by the time the soldiers left only a small hole had been made in the roof, and boys from the town put out the fire entirely. The library building, containing thousands of volumes and many valuable papers, autograph letters, and curios were set on fire last, and the townspeople who gathered on the scene tried to save some of the contents. Unfortunately they selected handsomely bound presentation volumes and congressional books of little interest for preservation, judging them by their size and dress to be the most valuable books.

“Aunt” Hannah’s cottage and the two smaller cabins where the family servants had lived were also entirely destroyed. Up to the last moment the sisters were absorbed in the practical business of saving a little store of necessities and a few cherished treasures, but when finally everyone was forced to leave the burning building, in a sudden uncontrollable impulse of passionate grief, Helen rushed back into the parlor and touching the keys of her beloved piano for the last farewell to her home, the young girl sang these stanzas of Charlotte Elliott’s beautiful hymn:

“My God my Father while I stray
Far from my home in life’s rough way,
Oh teach me from my heart to say
Thy will be done”

“Though dark my path and sad my lot,
Let me be still and murmur not
Or breathe the prayer divinely taught,
“Thy will be done.”

What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved, no longer nigh,
Submissive still would I reply–
Thy will be done.”

Should grief or sickness waste away
My life in premature decay,
My Father, still I strive to say,
Thy will be done.”

Let but my fainting heart be blest
With Thy sweet Spirit for its Guest;
My God, to Thee I leave the rest–
Thy will be done.”

Renew my will from day to day;
Blend it with Thine and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
Thy will be done.”

Then, when on earth I breathe no more,
The prayer, oft mixed with tears before,
I’ll sing upon a happier shore,
Thy will be done.”

One of the soldiers seized her by the shoulder and tried to lead her away into safety, but she pulled away from him and sang again:

“If Thou shouldst call me to resign
What I most prize, it ne’er was mine;
I only yield Thee what is Thine,
Thy will be done.”

The soldiers looked at her in scared amazement, probably thinking her distracted with grief and terror, but with her music books and guitar she then quickly joined the little group outside watching the final work of the fire.

How often in the vivid story of this war-time tragedy have we pictured the scene. The cluster of white roses hanging over the porch as they were caught one-by-one in the climbing flames, and sent whirling upward shriveled and broken; the trembling black tracery of the window shutters outlined against the red flame within; and the sound of the clanging piano strings through the roar of the fire, as they snapped in the melting heat. – (9).

July 19, 1864 – Mid-day – The Near-Burning of the Morgan’s Home, Falling Spring

Anna Morgan Getzendanner wrote of the experience of the son of Col. William Augustine Morgan, the then very young Augustine C. Morgan:

One day (the day of the Shepherdstown burnings-JS) while roaming through the woods, I heard men’s voices, excitedly giving orders, and then a sound as of flames, roaring and soon I perceived the house of our good neighbor (Botelers’ Fountain Rock-JS) to be burning, the barn also was afire and as the roof fell there was a terrible crash which frightened me not a little, this fire was destroying a beautiful Southern home, the residence of an officer on Gen. R. E. Lee’s staff (NOTE: Alexander Boteler and Edwin Grey Lee of Bedford had close ties with Gen. Lee but were not on his staff for any appreciable time.-JS), I ran to tell Mother but already she had seen the destruction and had gathered the children and servants into a terrified group for we feared our home (Falling Springs) would be the next invaded and it was not long when we saw the soldiers in their blue coats, rapidly approaching; the foremost man doffed his cap and informed my Mother that he held an order, issued by Genl Hunter to destroy and burn our home. We all became panicky with terror but were permitted to save what we needed most for Mother and the children. Almost despairing of saving our home, my Mother interviewed the officer and asked if the order was correctly understood. The officer asked if our home were not “Bedford,” finding his mistake, he soon apologized and learning that “Bedford” was an adjoining farm, withdrew his men and repaired at once to the home of a near kinsman of Gen. R. E. Lee. Leaving Liza and old Ned to restore our belongings to their proper places, my Mother donned her war pockets and taking me by the hand, led me quickly to “Bedford” but as the soldiers had preceded us, already their fiendish work had begun. There was little one could do to save anything valuable from destruction, my Mother and a daughter of the house in attempting to save a feather bed found their efforts useless as the rear end of the bed was burning. So here was another old Southern home laid in ashes. I remember it as a long, low house with dormer windows and a spacious portico, its roof supported with columns taken from the old ship “Constitution,” the home set high upon a grassy slope and the grounds were terraced to the turnpike. The burning of a house was a terrible thing to me as I stood watching the destruction of the cruel soldiers; they had piled furniture in a central part of the house, sandwiched it with straw, and emptied jugs of kerosene over it all. When the match or torch was applied, the result was indeed a conflagration. Sadly we returned homeward and found things replaced with but little loss.- (10).

Henrietta B. Lee described Bedford, her ancestral home in Shepherdstown:

Bedford, a red brick residence built on a knoll, had a two-story central portico, flanked by rambling wings. The lofty front portico with its soaring pointed roof was supported by four huge white wooden columns whose bases and caps had been carved from the splintered, battle-scarred masts of the U.S. frigate Constitution. Daniel Bedinger, while commandant of the Norfolk Naval Yard had bought chunks of the historic wood when “Old Ironsides” had been brought there for re-fitting . . One entered from the portico by way of the parlor, a large room, furnished with high-backed sofas and chairs, with portraits lining the wall in such a manner to focus attention of a portrait taken from life of General Washington wearing gold epaulettes. A door led from the parlor into the spacious dining room with a crystal chandelier, imported glassware, and silverware. And the spacious well-stocked library. – (11).

THE BURNING OF BEDFORD

JULY 19, 1864, LATE AFTERNOON – THE BURNING OF THE LEES’ HOME, BEDFORD:

Tippie Boteler later recalled to her daughter Elizabeth how the soldiers then turned their sights towards, Bedford, the third target home in their orders:

In less than half an hour from the time the soldiers started their work of destruction, the company was filing down the avenue on its way to Bedford, the home of Edmund J. Lee.

Just as the soldiers started off, Virginia Bedinger and her little brother, Harry – they lived at nearby Poplar Grove – arrived at Fountain Rock their faces white with distress and sympathy. “Go back to your Aunt Henrietta, they are coming there next.” But the captain interrupted: “Not before we do” – and thus prevented their giving warning to the Lee household.. When the squad of men, however, had gone well over the hill, Virginia and Harry ran across the fields and reached Bedford first. Mrs. Lee and Netta were just starting on their way to Fountain Rock. Old Sally had brought them word of the burning of the house, and Mrs. Lee had gotten out of a sick bed to fly to her friend’s home. “Those children are all alone, Netta, their mother is in Baltimore. I must go. Tippie was with us when Leeland was burned in 1856. I must go,” she insisted. But Virginia’s frantic gestures made them pause, and when she came panting up and told of the orders to burn their own loved home, they turned back to the pitiful tasks of saving what they could. A number of negroes on the place and some of the townspeople dragged out the parlor furniture, and then secured Mr. Lee’s valuable law papers, which were hidden under the parlor floor. But Captain Martindale and his men came up in time to prevent further work. The soldiers were rougher in their behavior than they had been at Fountain Rock, but one man sat down in weary protest against the services required of him and declared that he would not lift his finger in such work. The pale-faced soldier who helped the two sisters at Fountain Rock helped at Bedford also, but after all was over the little store of rescued goods made but a pathetic showing for two homeless families. – (12).

Mrs. Lee (Henrietta Bedinger Lee) wrote the following month to a cousin her “exact account.” (The recipient was likely Benjamin Franklin Bedinger, who lived in Kentucky, with views more “Northern”):

August, 1864
My dear friend

According to your earnest request I will send you an exact account of the burning of my beautiful old home by the United States troops under Captain Martindale of the New York Cavalry, I perform the task with a sick heart as you can imagine.

The morning of that eventful day was calm and lovely – no one dreaming that such dire calamity and mischief was near. I with Netta, my young daughter, and little son, were all the members of my family at home. About four o’clock in the afternoon, Harry rushed into my sick room saying: “O mama, the yankees have burned Col. Boteler’s house.” At this startling intelligence I immediately rose and dressed; resolving to go if possible to Col. Boteler’s, as there were only two helpless ladies and three very young children there. I reached the yard when I met my niece Virginia Bedinger in breathless haste she told me that she had just come from Fountain Rock – Col. Boteler’s home – to inform me that Col. Boteler’s house was in flames and the Federal officers were coming to “burn my house also.” That she had read the order from Gen. Hunter to that effect. Of course the scene which followed was one of grief and consternation! in a few moments the enemy was upon us! I met the Captain on the portico; when the following conversation took place: “Is this Mrs. Lee?” the Captain asked. “It is,” I replied. “Well, I have come to burn your house,” he said cooly, ”by order of General Hunter.”

“Here! Read the order,” handing at the same time a printed order to “Burn the house, its content, and all out buildings” and signed by Gen. David Hunter.

“Surely,” I replied, “you will not – can not execute such a barbarous, infamous order! Do spare this house!”

“It was built by my father, a Revolutionary soldier and officer. O! have respect for his memory and his deeds! I implore you! Do not burn this home! An honorable house!” – (13).

(NOTE: Her father, Daniel Bedinger, was indeed a much-suffering hero in the Revolutionary War, as this account by Danske Dandridge about him shows, describing the moment he was rescued from death by a brother in a soldiers’ hospital:In January Henry Bedinger and his brother officers were sent to Flatbush and Gravesend, Long Island, and billeted on the inhabitants there, at the rate of two dollars a week, supplied by Congress for their maintenance. Daniel was, of course, separated from his brother, and was, at first confined in the infamous Sugar-house, where he saw his companions die from starvation every day, and where he was so reduced by famine as to have endeavored to sustain life by scraping the deposit of sugar left in some refining kettles in that place of torment. He, however, was young and healthy, and he made a brave struggle for existence. After some weeks he was removed to the hold of a prison ship, and there he seems at last to have given up the hopeless fight for life, and to have laid down to die.Fortunately for him an exchange of prisoners took place late in 1776, the exact date of which I have been unable to ascertain. When the officer who had the matter in charge came to select men to go on shore to be exchanged, he twice passed Daniel by as too far gone to be taken away. But Daniel had found a soft spot in the heart of a Hessian officer, whose name is unrecorded, and begged him so pitifully, in his mother tongue, to give him a chance for his life, that this man took compassion on him, and had him lifted into a boat, where he lay down in the bottom, being unable to stand or sit. The prisoners were conducted to a large church, where they were exchanged. It is said that the British were quite fond of giving up men who were almost sure to die on the way home for hale and serviceable English soldiers, who had not received such diabolical treatment at the hands of the Americans.Somehow or other Daniel and a few of his comrades in misfortune made their way to Philadelphia. Arrived at this place the boy completely broke down, and lay there in a wretched hospital, more dead than alive. What next happened to him a son of George Michael Bedinger has told so touchingly in a letter that he wrote in 1871 to one of Daniel Bedinger’s children that I will give the story in his own words. He says: “My father went to the Hospital in search of his brother, but did not recognize him. On inquiry if there were any (that had been) prisoners there, a feeble voice responded, from a little pile of straw and rags in a corner: ‘Yes, Michael, there is one.’“Overcome by his feelings my father knelt by the side of the poor, emaciated boy, and took him in his arms. He then bore him to a house where he could procure some comforts in the way of food and clothing. After this he got an arm-chair, two pillows, and some leather straps. He placed his suffering and beloved charge in the chair, supported by the pillows, swung him by the leather straps to his back, and carried him some miles into the country, where he found a friendly asylum for him in the house of some good Quakers. There he nursed him, and, by the aid of the kind owners, who were farmers, gave him nourishing food until he partially recovered his strength.

“But your father was very impatient to get home, and wished to proceed before he was well able to walk, and did so leave, while my father walked by his side, with his arm around him to support him. Thus they travelled from the neighborhood of Philadelphia to Shepherdstown, of course by short stages, when my father restored him to the arms of his mother. Your father related some incidents of that trip to me when I last saw him at Bedford (his home) in the spring of 1817, not more than a year before his death. “Our uncle, Henry Bedinger, was also a prisoner for a long time, and although he suffered greatly, his sufferings were not to be compared to those of your father. After your father recovered his health he again entered the service, and continued in it to the end of the war. He was made lieutenant, and I have heard my father speak of many battles he was in, but I have forgotten the names and places.” – (14)).

But Captain Martindale Dismisses Mrs. Lee’s Plea:

Mrs. Lee continued:
Martindale’s reply was in those coarse and unfeeling words: “Lord woman, you must be a fool. Can I help it? You are old enough to know that. And now I give you ten minutes to take out your clothing.” Ah! I saw from his cold cruel eyes and the iron hardness of his face; there was no more for me; and that farther appeal was useless! O, what could I do? My mind was too distracted to guide me: So many memories clustered round my childhood’s precious home! I left him and tried to collect some necessary articles. As I passed my pantry door Martindale stepped in and seized a decanter; which doubtless he thought contained brandy, but which proved to be black berry wine. How I did wish it had been drugged with “ipecac” I think this noble Captain would have been sick of that day’s work! But don’t suppose I include all his men in his heartless acts: no indeed; for some of the soldiers were far more merciful and noble than their leader. They offered to help me; and did behind their leader’s back. What they dared not do before his face! and their simplicity was sincere I know. They expressed themselves disgusted with the whole proceedings and several of them swore they would have nothing to do with burning the house. Seeing Netta’s grief at the thought of having her elegant Knabe piano burnt; six of these men said to her, “If you ask Capt. Martindale to spare it, we will move it for you.” With streaming eyes she pled with him for her instrument, which was a birthday gift from her father, but all in vain. It went to ruin with all else of the furniture. After the house was in full blaze, he turned to my niece Virginia Bedinger and said in the most insolent and scoffing tone. “Now go in and help yourself.” Nothing in nature could not have been more hard and cruel than that man’s whole bearing. A group of friends had hastened to me when they discovered what was going on and with them I was standing on the lawn gazing at the awful conflagration for all the outbuildings were burning at the same time. Then with the most self important and swaggering step Martindale approached me and dared to offer me his pity. “I scorn your pity,” I cried “You talk of pity, after such an act as this, it is mockery indeed, the qualities of mercy and pity are strangers to your heart.”

But dear it would make this letter too long to tell you all the burning words that fell from my tongue, let it suffice to say I was warm enough to give it to him in round numbers I assure you. One lady said to one “What did you say to that man? He went away looking like a whipped dog.” Well he was a whipped dog. But my home, my blessed lovely home! The fire ran from base to dome, and as the all devouring pitiless flames snapped each wire; the bell of that dear home tolled out its dirge. What is it now? The blackened walls, the frightful skeleton of what was once so fair looms up against the sky and the wind as it sighs around the ruin whispers: “Man’s inhumanity to man, Makes countless thousands mourn” The trailing vines are scorched and dead! The flowers bloom there no more; and the bright silver streams, which so added to its beauty and grace glides in its desolation murmuring a perpetual requiem for that dead home. My painful task is finished dear friend. How kind and soothing your sympathy is. We are refugeeing now miles away from that scene of sorrow and dismay – What we are to do without a home, and scant of clothing the future is too dark to penetrate. But He that feedeth the sparrows & clothed the lilies and in whom we all trust will I know provide. Ever truly and affectionately your friend and Cousin Henrietta B. Lee. – (15).

Netta Lee wrote her recollections of being at the burning many years later, first for The Shepherdstown Register Editor, H. L. Snyder for the paper’s July 16, 1914 edition (the event’s 50th anniversary), later in greater detail in 1928 for the Society of the Lees of Virginia:

It was the afternoon of July, the nineteenth, 1864. Mother had been ill in bed for some days; but on that date she was able to dine with us and later she came upstairs to my room, where I made her take a nap. Harry then fourteen years of age, was the only other member of the family home. He had gone to the dairy and with the assistance of two young negroes had made a freezer of ice cream. At the dinner table, Mother had given him permission to do this, provided he did not use up all of the one – and only – nutmeg to be found on our side of the Potomac, nor more than one cupful of the last of our sugar. She laughed as she said: “How can it be fit to eat?”

“Well, Harry,” said I, “you bring me a taste if it’s clean and you wash your hands.” So just as Mother awoke from her nap, Harry came running up bearing a cup and a saucer, each containing a helping of very presentable ice cream.

“Mother, I’ve brought each of you a taste of my cream. We thought it so good that maybe you would eat a little; just because I made it, you know.” Mother barely tasted hers, simply to please the boy, but I ate all of mine. Then Harry left us and Mother finished her nap. I had been writing a letter on my little mahogany lap-desk, purchased from the sutler’s store with money given me at Christmas by Mother, and purchased after paying a “duty” of ten per cent. The cup which had held my ice cream was on the floor. Presently a little mouse crept up to it, dipped his paw into the bottom and licked it, much as a child would have done. I was much absorbed in this performance, when Aunt Peggy appeared with a small basket of blackberries she had gathered along the Charlestown road. After bemoaning the scarcity of berries, Peggy continued:

“While I was there, a lot of yankees came along, more than a dozen and the Captain, he said: ‘Old woman, are there any rebs in Shepherdstown?’ “And what did you say Peggy?” I asked. “Oh I just told him I don’t know anything about it. Then he cussed and said: ‘When were the last ones in town?’ and I said: ‘I’ve told you once I don’t know anything at all about any rebels.’ Then he cussed again and said to the other soldiers: ‘Boys you just go ahead to the edge of town and I’ll slowly follow. Then you all can tell me what you can find out.’ Then he said, pointing to me: ‘That ain’t nothing but a damn old secesh negro anyhow.’ So they went on to town and I came onto the house, because they aren’t berries anyway and I was afraid they’d take those I had if I stayed ‘till they come back from town; and I didn’t want them yankees to cuss me anymore and call me names. Nasty poor white trash they are anyhow. I just know Miss Netta they are after some kind of deviltry, anyways.”

With this warning, Aunt Peggy departed, but a few minutes later she burst into my room, crying: “Oh! Oh! Oh! Miss Henrietta and Miss Netta! Look over to Colonel Boteler’s! Just look! The house is all on fire and those yankees are coming right here down the pike, as sure as I’m born. I knew they were after some deviltry just as I told you all! O Lord! Oh Lord! What can we do?”

Dear Mother, ill as she was, sprang from the bed and began to dress, saying: “I must to go Fountain Rock; Colonel Boteler is South, Mrs. Boteler is in Baltimore; Helen and Lizzie are there alone with Lizzie’s little children.”

We started down the yard, pursued by Harry, calling to us: “Oh Mother and Sister Netta! Don’t go over there. Those yankees are coming here. See how they are pointing and looking this way as they come through the toll-gate!” “And Mother,” I added. “there comes Virginia Bedinger, as fast as she can run. She would not be leaving them now unless she had bad news to tell us before our enemies arrive. She would stay and help them.” Mother paused and then turned back. I feared she would fall, she was so weak: “Run children, run servants and save what you can, but first of all, do not forget your father’s command: ‘Should the house ever take fire, save my papers first.’”

Before Father left home he secured extra heavy canvas bags with secure padlocks; children and servants knew where they were to be found. All did our Mother’s bidding; the negroes and Harry hid them in the weeds and bushes around the garden, far from the house.

“Run, run, all of you, save all that you can before the enemy arrive,” cried Mother, as Virginia arrived with the tidings that she had read General Hunter’s order to: Burn both houses and every out building, allowing nothing but wearing apparel.” My little maid, Margaret, followed at my heels as I rushed to my own sweet room for the last time. I put my gold watch and chain, which was Father’s wedding present to Mother, with a few other trinkets in my little writing desk and gave it to Margaret saying: “Here, you keep these, for the yankees will not take them from you, while they may from me.”

Captain Martindale and troopers from the 1st New York Cavalry arrived and dismounted. Ill as she was, Mother met the Captain bravely at her drawing room door.

“Madam,” he said. “ I have orders from General Hunter to burn this house and its contents and also every outbuilding.”

“But you surely will not carry out such a wicked order?”

“Yes, I will,” he replied emphatically.

“You shall not burn the house which my father, a soldier of the Revolution, built. What did he, or I, ever do to you?”

“Woman, you must be a fool,” he replied, “here are my orders; read them; I shall carry them out to the letter.” With that he thrust a paper, signed by General Hunter, before Mother’s eyes, signaling to his men to begin the work of destruction. Harry handed Mother a glass of wine which I had sent one of the servants to bring her. She then turned to the servants and to the friends who has hastened to help us, showing them what we most valued. But Martindale ordered them to put down the things they tried or remove, threatening to shoot them. Our handsome Knabe piano, a gift from my Father the previous Christmas, had been pulled onto the portico of the drawing room, when the gallant Captain made his men push back this bit of contraband, although I pled for it with tears in my eyes.

In a frenzy, I turned with dear little Harry and my cousin, the wife of Colonel William Morgan, who were standing near Martindale when he ordered the boys to desist, and said: “We defy you to shoot us, we will not take orders from you.”

The boys were trying to pull a featherbed through a downstairs window. We made a dash for the bed and pulled it out. Alas! A huge cloud of smoke and flames burst from it, compelling us to let go. With a Satanic grin of triumph, the Captain turned to Mrs. Morgan and myself: “Now you may go in and get out what you please,” he said.

Some of the soldiers were Dutch or German and did not appear to understand a word of English, for when I was in my room and pointed to my old black trunk, in which I kept my party dresses, old laces, and jewelry, and asked them to lift it down stairs, they did not seem to understand a word I said, but when I pointed through a window to the back-porch roof, they picked it up and allowed it to fall to the flower-beds below, where the lock and hinges were broken and most of the jewelry and trinkets were stolen.

There was one little, pale-faced, blond fellow whom I shall never forget. He followed me everywhere, trying to help me, when he could elude the vigilance of his Captain. One incident made me smile in the midst of my grief and terror. I was standing on the eastern end of the long back porch, on the servant’s side of the house, watching the train of straw, just lighted, as the flames crept towards me. I stepped back to the pavement; when this young man, with eyes full of tears, came up to me, and carefully wrapped my heavy fur cape, around my shoulders – on a hot July day, as I was standing between two blazing fires – as if it ’twas mid-winter and I was cold. Possibly I was shivering from nervousness. Both of us smiled, and I took the cape to add to the armful of clothing I had rescued.

It may be well to record the technique of house-burning. I was on the back porch, and, looking in the dining room window, saw the sofa and chairs all piled up where the extension table stood, with a large mantle mirror and pictures upon them. Straw had been thrown under and around the table and coal oil poured over all. The match must have been struck before I appeared, for no one was in the room yet the blaze was burning rapidly.

At last, when flames enveloped every part of the house and the seven out buildings were ablaze, Mother and I, with a group of kind friends, were standing near the eastern end of the portico, watching the four old columns which supported it, as one by one they tottered and fell to the ground. Mother was so weak that I was trying to make her lean on my arm, when we saw Martindale approaching with a swaggering air, as if he was proud of his accomplishments. Bracing herself, and looking very much the daughter of a Revolutionary soldier, our brave Mother faced the man, whose eyes quailed before hers. He began in a patronizing tone:

“Madam, I have come to tell you that I have been obliged to carry out my orders in burning your home; I also wish to offer you my pity.”

“Stop sir, I command you!” cried my Mother, stamping her foot. “You pity me? I scorn your pity. But listen to me! Do you see the one remaining column about to fall? That sir, is the last of the original masts of the Federal frigate Constitution, Old Ironsides. My Father, a brave officer of the revolution, built this home after that war. He went in as a boy, young and strong; he came out after serving seven years, weak and broken. He died at the early age of forty-five. Your grateful country has honored his memory by turning me, his daughter, and these, my children upon the world, homeless and destitute. Now you may go, sir. You have done all the harm of which you are capable; I defy you to do more, and I utterly scorn your pity. Be gone out of my sight!”

Mother was pallid, save for two red spots upon either cheek. Her eyes were ablaze with righteous indignation. The brave Captain quailed under their flash as he turned and slunk off like a whipped dog. They all left hurriedly, appearing to fear that the rebels might se the blaze against the twilight sky and pounce down upon them. – (16).

Recalled young Augustine Morgan:
The next day (July 20), two yankees rode up to our door, one being wounded, for his bluecoat, open at the throat, showed in the front of his shirt, marked with splotches of blood; he moaned with pain while the other soldier supported him. He asked Mother if she would not care for the wounded man who had been shot in the arm, but the maimed soldier proudly protested and insisted that no rebel woman should dress his wound, but my gentle mother quite won him over and I was sent for Liza who brought clean linen and fresh water. The arm was finally dressed, bandaged and the soldier made comfortable. – (17).

The following day Mrs. Lee writes a letter of protest to Gen. Hunter, the originator of the order to burn her home, a letter which unfortunately for many got into the hands of Confederate General Jubal Early who took revenge on the town of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. The letter has been called by some “a masterpiece of sublime invective.”

She wrote:

Jefferson County, July 20, 1864.

General Hunter:

Yesterday your underling, Captain Martindale, of the First New York cavalry, executed your infamous order and burned my house [“Bedford”]. You have had the satisfaction ere this of receiving from him the information that your orders were fulfilled to the letter; the dwelling and every out-building, seven in number, with their contents, being burned. I, therefore, a helpless woman [age 54] whom you have cruelly wronged, address you, a Major-General of the United States army, and demand why this was done? What was my offense? My husband was absent, an exile.[Edmund Jennings Lee] He had never been a politician or in any way engaged in the struggle now going on, his age preventing. This fact your Chief-of-Staff, David Strother, could have told you. The house was built by my father [Lieut. Daniel Bedinger], a Revolutionary soldier, who served the whole seven years for your independence. There was I born; there the sacred dead repose. It was my house and my home, and there has your niece (Miss Griffith) who has tarried among us all this horrid war up to the present time, met with all kindness and hospitality at my hands. Was it for this that you turned me, my young daughter and little son out upon the world without a shelter? Or was it because my husband is the grandson of the Revolutionary patriot and “rebel,” Richard Henry Lee, and the near kinsman of the greatest of Generals, Robert E. Lee? You and your Government have failed to conquer, subdue or match him; and disappointment, rage and malice find vent on the helpless and inoffensive.

Hyena-like, you have torn my heart to pieces! for all hallowed memories clustered around that homestead, and, demon-like, you have done it without even the pretext of revenge, for I never saw or harmed you. Your office is not to lead, like a brave man and soldier, your men to fight in the ranks of war, but your work has been to separate yourself from all danger, and with your incendiary band steal unawares upon helpless women and children, to insult and destroy. Two fair homes did you yesterday ruthlessly lay in ashes, giving not a moment’s warning to the startled inmates of your wicked purpose; turning mothers and children out of doors, you are execrated by your own men for the cruel work you give them to do.

In the case of Colonel A. R. Boteler, both father and mother were far away. Any heart but that of Captain Martindale (and yours) would have been touched by that little circle, comprising a widowed daughter just risen from her bed of illness, her three fatherless babies—the oldest not five years old—and her heroic sister. I repeat, any man would have been touched at that sight but Captain Martindale. One might as well hope to find mercy and feeling in the heart of a wolf bent on his prey of young lambs, as to search for such qualities in his bosom. You have chosen well your agent for such deeds, and doubtless will promote him!

A colonel of the Federal army has stated that you deprived forty of your officers of their commands because they refused to carry on your malignant mischief. All honor to their names for this at least! They are men — they have human hearts and blush for such a commander!

I ask who that does not wish infamy and disgrace attached to him forever would serve under you? Your name will stand on history’s page as the Hunter of weak women and innocent children; the Hunter to destroy defenseless villages and refined and beautiful homes—to torture afresh the agonized hearts of widows; the Hunter with the relentless heart of a wild beast, the face of a fiend and the form of a man. Oh, Earth, behold the monster! Can I say, “God forgive you”? No prayer can be offered for you! Were it possible for human lips to raise your name heavenward, angels would thrust the foul thing back again, and demons claim their own. The curses of thousands, the scorn of the manly and upright and the hatred of the true and honorable, will follow you and yours through all time, and brand your name infamy! infamy!

Again, I demand why you have burned my home? Answer as you must answer before the Searcher of all hearts, why have you added this cruel, wicked deed to your many crimes? – (18).

Wednesday night, July 20, 1864 – Tippie Boteler wrote to her sisters, from the family’s second home in Shepherdstown (located today on the northeast corner of Church and New Streets) – about Bedford’s burning.

My precious sisters – Well my darlings I suppose that you have heard before this reaches you that our dear beautiful home is in ashes. Yesterday just after dinner 15 yankees of the 1st New York Cavalry under Captain Martindale came with orders from Mr. Hunter to burn everything under roof on the places of A. R. Boteler and E. J. Lee. They came to us first & in twenty minutes after their arrival, it would have been dangerous to enter the house. Of the furniture we saved were two little rocking chairs, Lizzie’s workstand & three other chairs including those on the porch. This is literally all except two tables & a chest of drawers that the boys got from the library after the fiends left – The barn in which was stored all the hay just out & the negro house & library are all gone. The meat house & Dairy are still standing as the wind blew from them. Writing this is harder work than I thought it would be after all I’ve gone through with. We saved all out clothes & have the poor comfort of knowing that we did all that anyone would have done & more than many could have done. We have many things that we all value yet. The men from the Capt. down obeyed my orders like subordinates & I kept them busy. They piled up the furniture & with camphine etc. built the fire that has branded deep in our hearts . . . and I am glad to say we were accounted worthy to suffer. Netta & I are both at Aunt Nannie’s tonight, Lizzie & children at the Grove. Mrs. Lee has found her husband & Fount Rock & Bedford are desolated.

I have my guitar with me. As the house was burning I sang my last hymn “Thy Will Be Done” at our dear old piano. It sent up one shriek afterwards as the ceilings fell on it & the bells all sang out as the flames reached them. They were rejoicing with us that no yankee had ever been entertained within those walls – tho’ Jackson, Stuart, Fitz Lee & Ransom had all used it as their headquarters. No Confederate soldier ever met with anything but a warm greeting & warmer welcome there. Oh how my heart aches for you all to have such terrible tidings of the dearest spot in all the world to you. I fear I loved it too much but my greatest grief is for our darling Pa & Ma. We are young & can bear such changes better but their life ties were formed & riveted there. I’ll write more in the morning when I’ll be fitter for it. Good night. – (19).

Thursday, July 21, 1864 – Tippie Boteler continued writing the next day to her sisters.

Thursday morning – I wrote my dear Lottie one of my long letters telling of the happy happy time that we had when our men were in here & whilst waiting for an opportunity to send it, it was burned. I am sorry for it will be hard for me to re-write it now. But I’ll do it for you all some day. It is such a comfort dear Lottie to me now to know that you have a husband’s heart & home to rest in. I have been selfishly grieving for you, ever since you left me but I was wrong. I wish George could have seen it in its beauty. I have said nothing of Ma because we have been expecting her home every day. Miss Griffith who takes this for me is going this morning via Hagerstown. I think we will have a home for her before she gets here and will be comfortably settled with our few treasures around us. Everybody is very kind to us indeed. I wrote to Pa yesterday morning if Ma comes home soon she can see him. This wholesale destruction would not go on if the enemy expected to hold this country. Thank God that we are all alive and can look forward to a happy reunion somewhere with our hearts chastened and our Land free we will be happier than ever. We received a letter from Alex written the 12th. He was well and said he hoped to bring his little family on to see us this summer. Every body speaks very highly of Alex. He has had some thrilling adventures during this last campaign. Alex, Henry, Charley & Henry G. won’t they be sorry to hear of the destruction of their home for it is theirs too. I have always felt that it was the home of the whole family. Give my love to Aunt Liney. Tell her we saved Grandma’s picture & Grand Pa’s for Ma. The trees nearest the house are burned to the ground & those standing will die from the effects. The lawn in front is a blackened mass, the grass was so dry it burned easily. How many in the army will be so sorry to hear of all this. I read Hunter’s order myself, had it in my hands & tried to keep it to send to them but it was taken out of my hands. We can all of us look back with nothing but pleasure to our home we had nothing but happiness there. The grounds can & will be kept as beautiful as ever so when you all come to us in the summer we can have picnics there. “Ah! there is life in the old land yet.” They may break they may burn but they cannot subdue. Lizzie was home yesterday & says that the head of Alexander the Great, you know that little medallion, is still hanging on the nursery walls. The walls of the old part of the house crumbled & fell very soon, their great age could not stand such a trial. Those which Grandpa built are still standing & good. The hen house burned though the shingles were saved. The wind was so high that Grandison Hall was with difficulty saved. The fences on & across the turnpike burned. One yankee had tied little Davis’ mug to his saddle. I quickly undid it & told him it wasn’t pure silver but that he shouldn’t have it. I made the Captain look at the fiercest flames & told him to tell Hunter for me that hot & fierce as they were it was not to be compared to the Hell that was being prepared for his heart. The boys saved some of Pa’s books after the yankees left, at Mr. Lee’s when some one brought out some chairs they pitched them back in the flames. It is all right and our cause is brightening under such conduct. Mrs. Lee is heart-broken. You know she was born at Bedford. I see and acknowledge a higher hand in all this and feel that it is all right. We saved Ma’s clock. I think I’ll fit up the pigeons’ house for my apartments. Thank brother Harry for the guitar strings they gave me a great deal of pleasure & will give me more. I know Mamie is so glad she was with us this summer. Oh the beautiful roses how the flames sported with them. The largest stone of the front steps is broken in many pieces. What a life little Fannie has led. Poor child she will never forget the scenes through which she is passing. She put her hat on & took her dolls under her arm. The yankees tore the feather out of the white hat – and one was decking himself out in poor Davis’ clothes but he quickly peeled them off. The barn was the most fearfully grand sight I ever saw. Lizzie told them that if Hunter had ordered his horses fed there it would have been trouble. Rather than that she would gladly see it burn. The dinner table burned as it was & they pocketed the spoons etc. that we were using. Lizzie has just come in & sends her best love to you all. I must go & dress myself & so must stop. God ever bless you my darlings and give you strength to bear this will be the prayer of your devoted sister’s heart. Give my warmest love to George & Henry – Ever yours – Tippie – (20).

Not yet 10-year-old Caroline “Danske” Dandridge, the precocious step-sister of George Rust Bedinger and Virginia Rust Bedinger, was probably home when Henrietta B. Lee, her aunt, took fresh refuge in their home, Poplar Grove, after the burning. Danske wrote:

To Hunter:
O cruel serpent. King of scorpions thou.
Curse on thy barb’rous act!
May never the Goddess of Pity send her smile
Upon thy blasted heart!
Behold on yonder verdant hill a house once stood.
It was the house of love, of peace and glee.
How soon that home was rendered desolate
By whom? Oh Hunter ’twas by thee! – (21).

“REFUGEEING” – HOMELESS BOTELERS AND LEES SEEK SHELTER, SUPPORT.

After the Burnings, the Botelers and Lees sought refuge with friends:

Wrote Elizabeth Pendleton of her grandparents, mother and Aunt Lizzie’s family:
Kind neighbors gave shelter for the night, and for many nights afterward until both families were again under a roof of their own. Tippie Boteler and her sister moved into a little house in the village. It is now the Methodist parsonage. Every fair Sunday until she left Shepherdstown, Tippie would take her Bible and go to Fountain Rock to read; there was peace there even in its desolation. – (22).

References/Image Credits:

Chapterette 23: July 17-19, 1864 – The Three Burnings; David Hunter Torches Hunter Hill, Fountain Rock and Bedford While Their Families Watch and Become Homeless, Another Is Saved by Clever Dealings; Gen. David Hunter Planned Widespread Burnings; But Lincoln Took Operational Powers From Him.

1. Hunter to Halpine, Official Record Vol. 37, Part II. p. 367.

2. The Diaries of David Hunter Strother, p. 280, edited by Cecil Eby.

3. Rutherford, pp. 38-39.

4. Evans, p. 263.

5. Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln. Volume 7. p. 446.

6. The war of the rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies. ; Series 1 – Volume 37 (Part II). pp. 374-375.

7. Ibid. p. 394.
Title: The war of the rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies. ; Series 1 – Volume 37 (Part II).

8. The Diaries of David Hunter Strother, p. 280, edited by Cecil Eby.

9. Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton, “The Burning of Fountain Rock” The Shepherdstown Register, February 8, 1934.

10. Then eight-years-old. Augustine Morgan as retold by Anna Getzendanner, pp. 6-7.

11. Levin, pp. 11-12.

12. Letter, Tippie Boteler to her sisters – The Boteler Collection – courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

13. Henrietta Bedinger Lee, Goldsborough Collection, Shepherd University.

14. Danske Dandridge. pp. 27-29.

15. Letter, Henrietta Bedinger Lee, Goldsborough Collection, Shepherd University.

16. Netta Lee, pp. 29-34.

17. Augustine Morgan, as recorded by Anna Getzendanner, pp. 6-7

18. Copy, in Henrietta B. Lee’s handwriting, Goldsborough Collection, Shepherd University.

19. Letter, Tippie Boteler to her sisters – The Boteler Collection – courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

20. Ibid.

21. The Dandridge and Boteler Collections, Duke University.

22. The Boteler Collection – courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

NEXT: Chapterette 24. https://civilwarscholars.com/uncategorized/thy-will-be-done-chapter-24-netta-lee-refugee-by-jim-surkamp/

“Thy Will Be Done” – Chapter 24 Netta Lee Refugee by Jim Surkamp.

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Mother spent the night after the burning of Bedford at Poplar Grove, the home of her sister-in-law, Mrs. Henry Bedinger. I went to that of my dear Pink and the servants were cared by other friends. On the following morning, Mother and Harry left quite early to drive to Clarke County, search for Father and acquaint him with our terrible loss. She promised to send Harry back with their plans. On the following day, he returned, telling me to collect the servants and the small remnant of household possessions and to go to Clarke, where arrangements to stay with some cousins had been made. That evening, my last in Shepherdstown. Pink and I walked out to Bedford to gather up any fragments that were to be found. We came upon an old blank ledger of Father’s, which we cut in half, each promising to keep a diary of our daily thoughts and nightly dreams for the other while we were separated, as we had rarely been apart for many days in our lives. I kept mine which forms the basis of his story. I am sorry to say that Pink’s was lost.

July 23rd, 1861 – Dunham, Clarke County
Well, here I am, my sweet Pink, at the home of our dear friends and relatives, the Pages. This is the very first opportunity I have had since we parted to fulfill my promise to write you every day in my half of the old black book which we cut in two as we stood so mournfully over the pile of debris left on the ground midst the still smouldering ruins of old Bedford. I have had but little time to write or even think, which is probably the best thing that could have happened to me. Mother is sick and very weak; I relieve her all I can and try to make her rest. Father is greatly distressed, but cheered and comforted at being reunited with Mother.

It was a great comfort to have Tippie come with me on the trip; I suppose she has now returned as she found her father sooner than she expected and told him of the burning of Fountain Rock.

I would like to read your description of how we appeared as our caravan moved off from Aunt Carrie’s (Caroline – Mrs. Henry Bedinger) gate at Poplar Grove. Harry, Tippie, and I seated in the old rockaway, with innumerable boxes and bundles packed around is, and old Fly hitched to it with harness made of parts and pieces rescued from the stable. I had wondered how the old rockaway escaped, when they burned all the other carriages. The boys tell me they had taken to the spring to be washed. Behind us came the big farm wagon from Oak Hill, with our fat tenant, Ray, driving his own sleek horses to it, loaded with servants perched on top of the remnant of furniture we saved. Aunt Peggy, with her high bandanna headkerchief, seated in a huge rocking-chair, which Mother gave her, saved from the Leeland fire years ago. Behind all came the horses and cows, with negro boys riding driven and leading them. That was all. – (1).

Netta Lee wrote Pink of encounters on the trip to Clarke County:

Well, I had a little excitement after leaving your house. You know your mother wanted to make one good bundle out of the packages of letters given me to take through the lines, but I told her I would do them up at Poplar Grove, and off I started. Just as I came in sight of the gate, there was an uproar and over the hill on the turnpike came a party of yankees, riding wildly. I ran to take the shortest cut from the road to the yard, which, as you know, is through Shindler’s field and over the stone fence. I got safely to the top of the fence, but when I jumped to the ground, lo, the string of my war pocket, tied around my waist, broke with a snap, and to the four winds blew all my letters. To my dismay, the yankees also left the pike, turning into the gate just below me. “Mercy,” I thought, “My time has come. They’ll send me and all the writers of these letters to the Old Capitol prison!” I tried to cover them with my hoop-skirts, like an old hen on her chicks. A silent prayer was in my heart, when, joy, oh joy, every yankee dashed past me at a furious rate, almost riding over me and the letters as they sped along in their mad career. Hurriedly I scrambled the letters together and back into the pocket, as I heard, other horsemen coming from the same direction as the first. But, again, oh joy! These men wore grey uniforms and began to fire right over my head at the fast retreating yanks, who were taking the shortest cut to the Potomac river, right through dear old Bedford. My, but it was exciting! I’m really glad though that none of the poor fleeing fellows got shot.

From whom, Pink, do you think I had parted on the turnpike, a few moments prior to the above occurrence? Lee Lysle and Captain Christian. I expect both of them are making soft speeches to you at this moment, for their faces were turned your way. Who do you do, Pink, to fascinate all these poor fellows the way you have? Captain Christian went on to town, while Lysle and I sat on a big rock under the locusts and talked about you.

I reminded that gentleman of a bet he made with me on November 24th, 1862, when you had not altogether blasted his hopes. The wage was this – his bet was: “I will never marry unless I get the girl who has my heart in Shepherdstown.” My bet was this: “You will marry as soon as the war is over or before, and not a Shepherdstown girl.” If I win, he is to give me a box of the best kid gloves to be found; if he wins, I am to get him a box of the best cigars to be had in the South. I asked him today if he had been saving up his Confederate notes, or otherwise arranging to capture or even smuggle those gloves for me. He looked very disconsolate and said: “Now, Miss Netta, you wouldn’t work against me for a pair of gloves, would you?”

“No, indeed, Mr. Lysle.” I replied, “but it is because I am your very good friend that I do not encourage you uselessly.”

Harry and I walked out to Oak Hill where our horse was left for greater safety and from there drove to Mr. Moore’s, a mile or so the other side of Kearneysville, where we found ourselves almost in General Imboden’s camp. I delivered a message for Mr. Moore from Father, and then asked Betty if there was a short-cut through her father’s farm to Dr. Gibson’s house, which would save a return to the turnpike.

“Oh yes,” she replied, “you can save at least a mile by going through that wood,” pointing to a dense forest between the two places. It looked to be a plain road until we had penetrated well into its depths, where we found that leaves had blown over the main track, making it undistinguishable from the many other tracks made by wagons hauling wood.

We wound around and around, going four miles out of our way and at one time I thought we would land in either Charlestown or Harper’s Ferry. I must confess I felt a bit uneasy at having only little Harry with me, though we both had our pistols, and then it was a tower of strength to know that we were within the Confederate lines. At last we found ourselves in Dr. Gibson’s yard, with soldiers scattered around under the fine old trees.

The first one to jump up and greet me was another of your special friends, Captain Lee Heiskell. He was very cordial and nice, begging us to get out of the rockaway. Hus aunt, Mrs. Gibson, also came and insisted on our taking dinner as they had just arisen from the table. I was sorry enough to decline, but there was a long drive before us and we had already lost so much time.

We were at Dr. Gibson’s an hour or more. We then continued our journey without interruption until we came to the last Confederate picket post, this side of Leetown, where there was a large squad of soldiers. One of them stepped to the side of the rockaway, saying: “Your pass, lady, please.

I could not help smiling, when I replied: “I have none, sergeant.”

“Oh my,” replied the man, trying to look stern, though his eyes twinkled mirthfully. He continued:

“We can never let ladies by without halting them. for you know some ladies cannot be trusted. So tell me where you are from and where you wish to go?”

“We are going to Clarke county, this side of Berryville, and are just from the banks of the Potomac at Shepherdstown. You see we have driven a long way and still have eight or ten miles to drive before dark, so please do not detain us.”

Just then another fine-looking man, with a pleasant mouth and beautiful teeth, stepped up. The first man addressed him as lieutenant.

“You must pardon us, little lady,” said the lieutenant, “if we ask you a few questions. Our orders are to let no one by without a pass. Where is your home?”

Then I grew serious and my voice changed as I repeated the word. “Home.” My eyes filled and I answered: “I have no home; I don’t live anywhere, but I stay in Clarke county. Our beautiful home in Shepherdstown was burned by the Federals only a few days ago.”

Then a bright lad looking chap came forward, clapping his hands and saying: “Oh, Shepherdstown! That is the place for me. Not in the whole South are Confederate soldiers treated better than in Shepherdstown. I just love that pretty little place on the river bank.”

I felt like patting the enthusiastic boy on his shoulder for that speech, but the lieutenant said: “Tell me your name and I will go and see headquarters.””

My name is Netta Lee and this young boy is my brother, Harry Bedinger Lee, my soldier and my protector.”

“Lee!” the officer exclaimed, while the first soldier lifted his hat with deference, saying: “Surely Miss Lee, your name should pass through all Confederate lines.”

“May I ask if you are related to our dear general,” inquired the lieutenant, lifting his hat.

“Yes, he and my father are first cousins,” I replied, my face flowing with pride and pleasure.

“Boys, that is enough pass. This lady and her brother can go anywhere through these lines she wants to go.”

Gratefully thanking those splendid Southern gentlemen, as each man took off his hat and bowed a farewell, we passed on our way.

In two hours we were safely at the Pendleton home, Dunham, but disappointed that Father and Mother were not there to greet us, they having accepted an invitation to dine at Wee Haw, the beautiful home of our old friends, the Blackburns. – (2).

References/Image Credits:

Chapterette 24: The Journey of a Refugee by Netta Lee – The Lees Go To Clarke County.

1. Netta Lee, pp. 36-37.

2. Ibid. pp. 42-45.

Chapterette 24a Continued (slightly out of time sequence)

1. Netta Lee, pp. 45-47.

2. Ibid., pp. 48-53

3. Ibid. pp. 54-55.

4. Franklin G. Martindale, 1st New York Cavalry. Service and Veterans Records from the Civil War, National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).

5. Netta Lee, pp. 55-56.

6. Ibid., pp. 61-63.

NEXT: Chapterette 25. https://civilwarscholars.com/uncategorized/thy-will-be-done-chapter-25-july-30-1864-the-burning-of-chambersburg-by-jim-surkamp/

“Thy Will Be Done” – Chapter 25 July 30, 1864 The Burning of Chambersburg by Jim Surkamp

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Chapterette (25) – July 30, 1864 – The Burning of Chambersburg
In retaliation for Gen. Hunter’s burnings, Confederate Gen. Jubal Early orders the same on the town of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania – but on an “industrial” scale, citing the burned homes in Jefferson County as a key motivation:

In an interview with a Richmond newspaper after the war Early was reported to have said:
The act was done in retaliation for outrages committed by General David Hunter in the Valley of Virginia. I thought it was time to try and stop this mode of warfare by some act of retaliation, and I accordingly sent a cavalry force to Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, to demand of the authorities of that town compensation for the houses of Messrs. Hunter, Lee and Boteler, upon pain of having their town reduced to ashes on failure to pay the compensation demanded. The three houses burned were worth fully $100,000 in gold and I demanded that, or what I regarded as equivalent in greenbacks. No attempt was made to comply with my demand and my order to burn the town was executed.

This was in strict accordance with the laws of war and was a just retaliation. I gave the order on my own responsibility, but General Lee never in any manner indicated disapproval of my act, and his many letters to me expressive of confidence and friendship forbade the idea that he disapproved of my conduct on that occasion. It afforded me no pleasure to subject non-combatants to the rigors of war, but I felt that I had a duty to perform to the people for whose homes I was fighting and I endeavored to perform it, however disagreeable it might be. – (1).

Eyewitnesses describe the burning of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania:

After the order to burn the town was given by the rebel commander, squads of four and six under command of proper officers, were detailed for the purpose, and within fifteen minutes the town was on fire in a hundred places, the flames spreading in every direction with fearful rapidity.

Confederate Gen. McCausland allowed his men to scatter in squads over the town, . . . Their first move was for the taverns in the town and here they drank to excess, and then visited private residences, and demanded of the occupants certain sums of money, threatening to lay their dwellings in ashes. Some of these citizens saved their residences by complying with their terms, others gave them to understand that they would suffer death rather than give them money. A guard of half a dozen men had been detailed by the rebel General to visit the residence of Col. Alexander K. McClure, situated about a mile and a half out of town. . . .They visited the splendid residence, ordered Mrs. McClure – who was very sick at the time- out of the house, stole everything that was of value, and burned the house. They next proceeded to the barn which was well filled with wheat and this structure shared the same fate. They were not aware that Mr. McClure had several other buildings and barns in the immediate neighborhood, or they would surely have been destroyed. Mrs. McClure, although sick, was obliged to walk nearly eleven miles. The Colonel had left the place before the rebels entered and had gone to Harrisburg. . . There were many aged persons whose sole support was derived from the rents of houses now in ashes. What these persons and the poorer classes are to do we know not. God help them! – (2).

Another account said: When orders were given to fire the Court House, a strong breeze was blowing which communicated the flames to the adjoining buildings; while their soldiers, who having sacked several drug and chemical stores, made turpentine balls and were throwing them in all direction, setting fire to various places in the city

These detachments, armed with axes and crow-bars, broke into every building as they progressed, and nothing escaped the torch. No notice whatever was given to the citizens until their doors were assailed, and women and children driven into the street, without being allowed time to save any article whatever.

The scene at this time was fearful and heart-rending beyond description, The streets were filled frantic women and children wild with fright, not knowing where to fly for safety, yet urged on by the lashing, roaring flames which enveloped both sides of the streets behind.
– (3).

Wrote another reporter: The roar of the flames – the screams of women and children – and the pitiful appeals of old helpless women, was an indescribable scene of horror. Two hundred and sixty-five of the most valuable and elegant buildings and private buildings were destroyed.

Men were rushing madly hither and thither, incapable of resistance, and only anxious for the safety of their families, while the shrieks and wailings of women and children filled the air, drowning even the dull roar of the raging fire.

The whole work of destruction was accomplished in a very short period. The burning of the town commenced at nine o’clock; at eleven o’clock the rebels had left and at two o’clock the best part of Chambersburg was in ashes. – (4).

Reverend Joseph Clark wrote in The Presbyterian, August 6, 1864:
Between 300 and 400 dwellings were burned, leaving at least 2, 500 persons without a home or a hearth. In value, three-fourths of the town were destroyed. The scene of desolation must be seen to be appreciated. Crumbling walls, stacks of chimneys and smoking embers, are all that remain of once elegant and happy homes. As to the scene itself, it beggars description. My own residence being on the outskirts, and feeling it the call of duty to be with my family, I could only look on from without. The day was sultry and calm, not a breath stirring, and each column of smoke rose black, straight and single, first one, and then another, and another, and another, until the columns blended and commingled; and then one vast and lurid column of smoke and flame rose perpendicular to the sky, and spread out into a vast crown, like a cloud of sackcloth hanging over the doomed city; whilst the roar and the surging, the crackling and the crash of falling timbers and walls broke upon the still air with a fearful dissonance, and the screams and sounds of agony of burning animals, hogs and cows and horses, made the welkin horrid with the sounds of woe. It was a scene to be witnessed and heard once in a life-time.” – (5).

None of the churches were burned with the exception of the Associate Reformed Church, on Second street.

The most lamentable feature of the affair is that all of the parties burned out have not saved not a single article, not even a change of clothing, children not having been allowed by the incendiaries to secure even a covering for their heads before being ejected into the streets. A very large proportion of the sufferers have lost their all, and much suffering must be the consequence, unless immediate aid is rendered them.

The number of homeless is not less than one thousand seven hundred or one thousand eight hundred persons, and nearly all are entirely destitute. In many cases citizens, after being driven from their burning homes, were relieved of their watches and pocket-books by the rebel soldiers.

The work of destruction was very speedy. The whole was done within about four hours. The value of the property destroyed is estimated at about a million and a half of dollars.

It is but just to say that many of the subordinate rebel officers were much opposed to McCausland’s order for the burning of the town, and earnestly but unsuccessfully remonstrated against it.

There were many honorable exceptions to this brutality and they spoke of this savage deed in appropriate language. They admitted that the Yanks have never been guilty of such wholesale destruction of private property. One of the declared that it would damn the Confederacy forever. – (6).

Slowly the men of Averell rode up the ruined street.
And warm were the cobble stones beneath their tir’d horses’ feet;
High o’er their heads and banners, upward in eddying whirls,
Above the blacken’d buildings the smothering smoke-cloud curls.
‘To their right and left lay ruins, the marks of rebel rage,
‘Twas a scene of desolation, a blot on history’s page.
Homeless were maid and mother, and houseless were son and sire.
No sheltering roof to shield them, surrounded all by fire;
And most harmonious music to those so helpless made
Were the sounds of Union trappings, the clatter of the blade.
Loudly they greeted the troopers with joyful shout and cheer,
But silently sat the soldiers, amid the scene so drear;
Warm were the stones beneath their steeds, and warm their welcome, too,
And warm with a thirst for vengeance each soldier’s heart then grew.
– (7).

NEXT: Chapterette 25a. https://civilwarscholars.com/uncategorized/thy-will-be-done-25a-netta-lee-the-refugee-continued/ 

“Thy Will Be Done” (25a) – Netta Lee, The “Refugee” – continued

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Chapterette (25a) – Netta Lee, The “Refugee” – continued

August 10, 1864 – Dunham:

Well, my dear Pink, when I wrote last night, while awaiting the return of Father and Mother from We Haw, little did I dream that this evening I’d be in the Yankee lines.

We thought this place was entirely out of the path of either army, but they are pouring down upon us like locusts from every quarter and making a road diagonally across this lovely green yard, coming from the direction of Charlestown and going to the Berryville turnpike. Thousands are passing; I am at Mother’s window; there are three or four officers on the porch below. I heard one say: “We have fifteen thousand men in this corps. I expect we will go on to Winchester tomorrow.” Another says: “We will likely go on to Lynchburg after we run the rebs out of Winchester.” Mother remarked, sotto voce, to me: “Yes, AFTER.”

Another officer is saying: “We cannot subsist upon the country entirely; so it will depend upon the result at Winchester whether they will send a wagon train from Washington or not.”

The children have just come running up to tell us that the yankees have broken into the smokehouse. “Goodbye,” I say to all our fine old hams, a dozen of which were saved from Bedford. They have begun “to feed upon the fat of our land.”

The party of officers, being sufficiently refreshed have departed.

Old Peggy called from the yard to me to “please come down.” I went and found an impudent young soldier had taken one of the two kerchiefs I have in the world from the clothesline. Aunt Peggy told me about it; so I boldly walked up to the man and remonstrated: “That kerchief around your neck, sir, is mine, not yours, as you can see by my name there in full. I will thank you to return it to me.”

“No,” he said, “I will not! I want it to keep my neck from getting sunburned.” Then glancing at my name: “I like the name, too ’Netta Lee.’”

“Insolence! I insist upon your giving it to me!”

“I will pay you for it,” he said. “So I told that old woman,” pointing to Aunt Peggy, who broke in:

“You know I told you that it belongs to my young Miss, and I couldn’t let you have it.”

Unabashed, Mr. Yankee turned to go off, when I said scornfully: “Of course, I might have known you would hardly be gentleman enough to give me what you have stolen,” and was turning to leave, when he jerked the kerchief off his dirty neck, tossing it toward me, saying: “Damn it, take your old handkerchief!”

I smiled as I picked it from the ground on the end of a stick. “Here, Peggy take this and wash it. Be sure to boil it well!” The Yankee looked daggers and left amidst a general chuckle from servants and soldiers nearby. – (1).

August 29th, 1864, Mansfield:

Dear Pink, With what joy I now write. We are within the Confederate lines. Just before sundown Sunday our men arrived. They drove the federals from two miles this side of Winchester to Rippon, three miles this side of Charlestown. With joy, not unmingled with anxiety we listened to the cannonading as it came near and nearer. At last it was on the farm. We could see the smoke from our men’s guns and the enemy retreating. You know too well, from the Antietam battle, what it is to be in this dreadful suspense . . .

August 31st, 1864 – Mansfield:

Yankees, Yankees everywhere,
Their shouts and curses fill the air.

You see darling every few days we change masters. Here comes one of the masters to demand something to eat. – (2).

NETTA LEE – BY CHANCE – ENCOUNTERS CAPTAIN MARTINDALE:

September 5th, 1864 – Mansfield:

I have had trials lately, but those of today have surpassed them all for I have just met face-to-face that creature, Martindale. Brevet Major General A.T.A. Torbert sent him here to ask Cousin Mann if he would object to his having his headquarters here in the yard at Mansfield. From my window I saw an officer in a Captain’s uniform walk up and introduce himself to Brother Charles. At the same time another officer of the same rank came from behind and greeted him: “Good day, Mr. Lee.”

“Why, Captain Prentiss,” exclaimed brother Charles, giving him his hand. ”Where did you come from?”

“General Wright’s headquarters, about a mile from here,” replied Captain Prentiss.

Then turning to the other officer, Brother Charles said: “I presume you gentlemen know each other?” and invited them to seats on the porch.

In a little while Cousin Edmonia came to my room. “Netta,” she said. “Captain Prentiss is down on the porch. Father sent to ask you to come down and meet him.”

“Certainly,” I replied, “I will be down in a moment.”

I bathed my face and went down to the portico. Captain Prentiss was seated on the bench near the door, talking to Cousin Edmonia. At the far end of the porch, Cousin Mann was conversing with a man whom I recognized as Captain Martindale of the First New York Cavalry. Introducing us, Cousin Mann said: “Miss Lee, Captains Martindale and Prentiss.”

I bowed low to Captain Prentiss, then I stood erect and faced Martindale, my hands clenched, head high and lips parted, though out of them not a word came. I held Martindale’s, looking steadily into his face, which at first turned crimson, then deadly, as he quailed before my gaze. All eyes were upon us. The craven moved uneasily, then dropped his eyes to the floor. Without uttering a word, I turned my back on him and stepped into the hall. Then my power of speech returned to me. I felt an irresistible desire to make him recognize me before all the company.

So I faced him a second time. His eyes couldn’t look me in the face; his color changed from crimson to a livid white. Before I could speak, I caught the beseeching look of poor, dear old Cousin Mann. Quivering with pent-up emotion and outrage, I could only curl my lips with with scorn and again turn my back on the man.

Oh, if I could only have said my say to Captain Martindale. But Cousin Mann had never been in Federal lines before and lived in daily dread of having his house burned, for be it remembered, he, too, is a near relative of our great general, though he has not his name, which seems to be our great offence. We all fear that his giving shelter to one of us may bring trouble upon him; therefore, I am most circumspect in my speech.

Cousin Edmonia told me that Martindale left a few minutes after I did. Then Captain Prentiss turned to her and asked: “Miss Page, are all yankees so obnoxious to your cousin that the sight of us affects her so strangely?”

“No, Captain Prentiss,” said Edmonia, “But that man,” pointing to Captain Martindale, who was mounting his horse, ”burned her beautiful home in Shepherdstown a couple of weeks ago. This is their first meeting since that occasion.”

“Is it possible,” he exclaimed, “poor little girl. No wonder her eyes flashed. She was superb. My! but I am glad she didn’t look that way at me!”

Edmonia told him all about Bedford. When she had finished, he remarked: ”Well, it is not likely that Captain Martindale will take any meals in this house while they camp on your lawn.

“I guess he will not,” said Edmonia, emphatically. – (3).

(Self-destructive acts have many causes and origins. While its sources are unknowable, it should be noted that many years later, this same Franklin G. Martindale, while residing at a veteran’s home near Los Angeles, California, on October 2, 1896, died. The cause according to the official report: “Strychnine taken with suicidal intent.” He was buried in Home Cemetery Section 2, Row 5-13.-JS). – (4).

September 7, 1864 – Mansfield:

Brother Charles told me that while conversing with General Torbert, he said: “I suppose, General, you heard of the disagreeable episode that occurred on the portico yesterday.”

His reply: “Yes, Captain Martindale told me that he had met Miss Lee, whose home he had been ordered by Major General Hunter to burn. Martindale said he had been compelled to obey the orders given to him, but had been as merciful as he could.”

“General,” my brother answered, “my sister tells me that he was neither merciful nor manly – he was brutal.”

“Of course, Mr. Lee, it was all brutal in that young girl’s eyes and war is brutal at best. Martindale said he let them save everything excepting the parlor furniture, while his orders were to allow the removal of nothing save wearing apparel.”

“General Torbert,” replied my brother, “I assure you it was just the contrary. The only things saved were a part of the parlor furniture, which were removed before the men reached my father’s house, and while they were burning Fountain Rock. Our servants had pulled the piano to the drawing room door, when Martindale arrived and made them push it back. Some small boys had pulled a feather bed through a down-stairs window. The captain ordered them to let do or he would shoot them. My sister watched Martindale select books from the shelves in the library. When the flames were pouring out of doors and windows, he jeeringly offered to let them go in and save what they could.”

General Torbert looked very grave as he replied: “It is useless to make war worse than necessary. I should never give or execute such an order. Captain Martindale does not belong to my staff; he was ordered to my service as a guide through this country, to which I am a stranger. – (5).

September 15, 1864 – Mansfield:

The army still surrounds us and General Torbert’s headquarters are still at Mansfield. He is such a good man and a gentleman. Some of his staff officers I like very much too – I mean, of course, as much as I allow myself to like Blue Coats. The General is quite young, good enough looking, slender, and soldierly in bearing, with an exceedingly pleasant expression. He is modest and has a quiet dignity that at once charms and commands respect. What is more important, he does not force himself upon us. He has done all within his power to help us and to make war less brutal. Then, too, he is from Delaware and not a Yankee in the full significance of the word; he is also an old army officer. There are also two brothers from Elkton, Maryland – Ellis – who are refined. They have shown us many kind attentions.

The other day, General Torbert came on the porch, wearing a pair of superb new riding boots; they reached ‘way above his knees. He was equipped for a trip. He said:

“I have come to tell you goodbye, Miss Lee. I am leaving camp for a day or two.

“Oh,” I said, “would it be treason to tell a Rebel whither?”

“Oh, no, not so long as she is in my lines,” he said. “I am going on a little raid to Winchester, and by the way, I may see your brother, and bring him back with me.” He continued. “At any rate, I’m going to look him up.”

September 17, 1864 – Mansfield:

Oh, Pink my darling. I feel so happy! For father and all of us are going back to live in Shepherdstown; and in the old Rectory, too, so near to you. All of this great joy I owe under providence to General A. T. A. Torbert. I wrote you that, at the first opportunity, I was going to tell General Torbert all about the way Father had been persecuted and driven away from home by the malignity and petty spite of the Union men in Shepherdstown. He listened with much interest to all I told him and I do him but scant justice when I say he is kind and good.

“Miss Lee,” he said, “my advice to you all is to go at once to Shepherdstown as all your father’s property and interests are there, even if your house is destroyed.”

”But General, while that is true, there is where his enemies, persecutors and slanderers are, and not in the Federal army.”

“Well, you tell your father I say: “Go back to Shepherdstown and as far as I am concerned he shall not be molested by any of those petty officers of whom you have told me”

“But suppose they do arrest him and send him to prison, General?”

“Well, if they do, let me know at once and I’ll settle them and see that they don’t try it again.”

“Oh, my darling Pink, I am so happy, I don’t know what to do. You may be sure I expressed my gratitude to General Torbert. Everything is for the best. If we hadn’t lost our house, Father and Mother would have been separated indefinitely; and both are old and growing feeble. Now we can go to Shepherdstown if not to our beautiful Bedford, and start a new home. I thank God for this though I have not told Father and Mother for fear something may prevent. – (6).

References/Image Credits:

Chapterette 25: July 30, 1864 – The Burning of Chambersburg

1. Early’s interview with The Richmond State, June 22nd, 1887; The Wilmington Morning Star, North Carolina, Sunday, June 26, 1887. p. 478.
Lieutenant General Jubal Anderson Early C.S.A.
Autobiographical Sketch and Narrative of the War Between the States. Appendix.

2. Letter to The Philadelphia Inquirer, August 1, 1864.

3. (Subscription to service required:)Rocky Mountain News August 3, 1864.

4. (Subscription to service required:) Evening Post (New York, NY) August 2, 1864.

5. History of Franklin County, p. 386.

6. Evening Post (New York, NY) Aug. 2, 1864.

7. Public Opinion, July 30, 1886; History of Franklin County, p. 386.

NEXT: Chapterette 26. https://civilwarscholars.com/uncategorized/post-thy-will-be-done-chapter-26-by-jim-surkamp/ 

Thy Will Be Done (26) Gen. Phil Sheridan Brings “Total War” to the Valley by Jim Surkamp

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Within the next month, war would widen its wrath under Federal General Phil Sheridan leading war and devastation in the Shenandoah Valley, which was later taken to even greater vastness under Gen. Sherman in his march to the sea through Georgia. As time passed the Civil War became just warring, ever meaner and final, following the inevitable, insane calculus of all-out war.

Federal Commander U. S. Grant brought in Maj. Gen. Philip Sheridan, making him Hunter’s subordinate, but making it clear that Sheridan would lead the troops in the field and that Hunter would be left with only administrative responsibilities. Hunter, feeling that Grant had a lack of confidence in him, requested to be relieved. – (1).

The actual “depredation order” had come from Gen. Grant on July 14, 1864, before the burnings of the three local homes. The orders were amended under Sheridan to avoid the burning of homes, but targeting barns, mills and all other buildings, destroying fences, seizing livestock and freeing previously enslaved persons.

Grant wrote his order:
If the enemy has left Maryland, as I suppose he has, he should have upon his heels veterans, militiamen, men on horseback, and everything that can be got to follow to eat out Virginia clear and clean as far as they go, so that crows flying over it for the balance of this season will have to carry their provender with them. – (2).

Grant also told Sheridan: “Do all the damage to railroads and crops you can. Carry off stock of all descriptions, and negroes, so as to prevent further planting. If the war is to last another year, we want the Shenandoah Valley to remain a barren waste.” – (3).

Then, in a short, violent campaign known to this day among Valley folk as, simply, the Burning, Sheridan led his troops on a 13-day rampage through the region, beginning on Sept. 26. The swath of destruction spanned 70 miles long and 30 wide. The men were ordered to spare homes, empty barns, the property of widows, single women and orphans, and to refrain from looting – but everything else was fair game. – (4).

Sheridan wrote later in his Memoir:
In war a territory like this is a factor of great importance, and whichever adversary controls it permanently reaps all the advantages of its prosperity. Hence, as I have said, I endorsed Grant’s programme, for I do not hold war to mean simply that lines of men shall engage each other in battle, and material interests be ignored. This is but a duel, in which one combatant seeks the other’s life; war means much more, and is far worse than this. Those who rest at home in peace and plenty see but little of the horrors attending such a duel, and even grow indifferent to them as the struggle goes on, contenting themselves with encouraging all who are able-bodied to enlist in the cause, to fill up the shattered ranks as death thins them. It is another matter, however, when deprivation and suffering are brought to their own doors. Then the case appears much graver, for the loss of property weighs heavy with the most of mankind; heavier often, than the sacrifices made on the field of battle. Death is popularly considered the maximum of punishment in war, but it is not; reduction to poverty brings prayers for peace more surely and more quickly than does the destruction of human life, as the selfishness of man has demonstrated in more than one great conflict. – (5).

On October 7, Sheridan reported to Grant, “I have destroyed over 2,000 barns filled with wheat, hay and farming implements; over 70 mills, filled with flour and wheat; have driven in front of the army over 4,000 head of stock, and have killed and issued to the troops not less than 3,000 sheep.” While the agricultural devastation was important, Sheridan also assessed the psychological impact on the residents,”The people here are getting sick of war.” – (6).

Recalled Richard Rutherford in his memoir of the burning of Hunter’s Hill and the subsequent depredations of Gen. Sheridan through the County:
I have stood at our windows at night and seen fires all around the town, where barns, mills. wheat and hay stacks were burning as a result of his orders. Stock of all kinds were taken and, in several instances, houses occupied by only women and children and to our mind were burned for no reason other than that a father or son had been home to see them. This was nothing but warring on women and children and was to our mind shocking and uncivilized warfare. I don’t think there is any punishment severe enough for a man who gave orders for such depredations. – (7).

References/Imae Credits:

Chapterette 26: GEN. PHIL SHERIDAN ADDS UP THE MAD CALCULUS OF WAR AND GETS “TOTAL WAR.”

1. David Hunter.

2. General Grant to Gen. Halleck – order stating “a crow would have to carry its own provender” on July 14, 1864: OFFICIAL RECORDS: Series 1, vol. 40, Part 3 (Richmond, Petersburg); Chapter LII. CORRESPONDENCE, ETC. – UNION. p. 223.

3. Grant to Sheridan August 26, 1864 City Point, Va. The war of the rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies. ; Series 1 – Volume 43 (Part I), p. 917.

4. Jed Morrison, “Sheridan’s Ride” The New York Times Opinionator, October 21, 2014.

5. Sheridan, pp. 487-488.

6. The war of the rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies. ; Series 1 – Volume 43 (Part II), p. 308.

7. Rutherford, p. 39.

Chapterette 27-28: https://civilwarscholars.com/uncategorized/6080/

Thy Will Be Done (27-28) – War Ends; Tender Sprouts of a New World by Jim Surkamp

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Fountain_Rock_Ruin_People_1900

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Chapterette 27 – April, 1865 – THE WAR ENDS. Dudley Pendleton Returns Home with a Servant; George Slow Finds a New Life in Philadelphia.

Sometime Congressmen to the Confederacy Alexander Boteler struggles for physical and spiritual footing while Richmond, the seat of Southern power, crumbles in to chaos and ruin all around him. He writes Helen, his wife, following the third battle of Petersburg, Va in April, 1865: (1).

Richmond, April 25, 1865 Tuesday

My own dearest wife:
I have written to you through Gettie (Angelica Peale Boteler), Pris (Priscilla Boteler, or Mrs. Henry Boteler, his other sister) and Charlie (Charles Peale Boteler) since I arrived here but as there is great uncertainty in the mails, I fear my letters may not have reached you. I write this hoping to have a chance to send it by some private opportunity across the country.

Taking it for granted, therefore, that my previous notes have failed to reach you, I’ll give you a brief resume in this of the circumstances attending my capture. On that terrible 2nd of April, my furlough expired and I left this city for Petersburg little thinking of the scenes I should see on my arrival there. When I got to P. the battle was raging all around the city which was on fire in several places. Our Quarters were abandoned and our Court with my baggage gone, I knew not whither. The enemy were within half a mile of the town, the day was intensely hot, I quite unwell and the confusion utterly indescribable. Well, here was a fix! To make my story short I stayed in P. till night, then having seen that all hope was lost, I crossed on the only remaining pontoon bridge and walked out to Dunlop’s three miles, to take the cars for Richmond which I did with 500 wounded in a freight train arriving in Richmond an hour after midnight. I had no idea that Richmond was also to be evacuated. Of course I was horrified when I got here to find if possible worse confusion and panic. The pickets around the city had been withdrawn. The yankees were looked for before morning, and the firing of warehouses had begin. I hurried to Ewell’s Hd Qtrs and saw the mobs gathering in the streets.

Well, here was another and a worse fix! Men think rapidly and decide promptly when they have their wits about them, and I rarely lose mine, so I footed off to my unfailing friend, Mr. Lersner, roused him up and told him the situation. He had a fine full-blooded mare. I told him I must have her, for my liberty if not my life depended upon it, and he proved himself to be a friend in need. After a hasty lunch and a glass of “viskey vater paff”, I mounted my mare and then felt ready for anything. What a difference it does make in a man’s feeling to have a fine horse under him on an occasion of this sort. Well might Richard III have offered his kingdom for a horse when his Richmond was in the field.

As I rode down main street it was three o’clock and I was involved in a mob there and on Cary street. After much difficulty and no small amount of danger, I got across on Mayo’s bridge to the southside of James River, and then before I struck off in the dark up the Manchester pike to intercept our army towards Farmville, I stopped on the hill to make my farewell look at the doomed city. The roar of drunken mobs, the clatter of cavalry and rattle of wagons, artillery, etc. hurrying off rose audibly above the noise of the falls. How little I thought even then that all that part of the town I had just traversed, including the bridges I had crossed and the others also, would be utterly destroyed in a few hours.

I pushed on alone in the dark, and by daylight had gotten some miles away. I then began to overhaul organizations and selecting my company, attached myself to a pleasant party of friends. The next day I came up with the army, having ridden all night, and here my real troubles began! Such a time as we had of it, such confusion, such privation and fatigue! On the second day the enemy’s cavalry overhauled us and began their attacks. It was my luck always to be just where the enemy chose to pitch into us, and I had the worry of being in four of the worst stampedes I ever saw and to lose everything I had but the clothes on my back, including my English saddle, cloak, and (I shall never cease regretting it) my cherished field glasses that I valued so highly and which the children saved for me last summer when our home was burned. My experience in Lee’s retreat to Appomattox, C. H. furnished incidents enough to fill a volume, and I must defer the details until I see you. On the 9th inst., as you know, we surrendered and were paroled on honorable terms by Genl. Grant, who did more by his magnanimity to conquer us than all his fighting has accomplished.

So on the Sunday or our surrender I was a prisoner of war, without a change of clothes, or blanket or morsel to eat, sick, suffering with three horrible boils (carbuncles), without shelter in the woods and the rain coming in torrents, and a cold rain at that. Is it not a wonder that I didn’t die, considering that I’m naturally delicate and will be in less than a month fifty years of age? By the way how old are you! When I last saw you last summer, you seemed to be about 25, but I can’t see more than half as well as other folks. After starving for a couple of days in the yankee lines I was lifted into an army wagon (without springs) and jolted down here over about 130 miles of rough country roads with little or nothing to eat in the way, suffering agony every inch of the journey, and the pains of death at every jolt. Whew! But it hurts me to think of it, and I’ll never forget my jaunt from Appomattox to Richmond. When I got here, to L’s. house of course, I was put to bed, a physician sent for and properly cared for. Now I’m well again with the exception of the natural weakness arising from my illness. By the terms of our surrender we are allowed to go home and to remain there “undisturbed,” and I would have been home by this time via Baltimore, if it had not been for the unfortunate and infamous assassination of Lincoln, which threw the North into a state of angry excitement and made it dangerous for paroled prisoners to go there, so that we are for the present detained here, no permits being allowed to Washington or Baltimore. They tell me I can go overland home, and I will go that way if not allowed to go by water to Baltimore as soon as the railroad is finished to Gordonsville through Culpepper, Loudoun or by way of Luray, New Market, and Winchester. I’ll get home somehow, if I have to foot it, in time to celebrate my 50th birthday with you all.

I have not heard from Alex (Alexander Boteler, Jr. in the Rockbridge Artillery, who met and married in Lynchburg.-JS)) since our surrender, there being no communication with Lynchburg. I learned that he was in Lynchburg when we were captured and that he left there with a number of others to go to Joe Johnston in North Carolina. If not captured before he got there he will be (or perhaps by this time has been) surrendered with the rest of Johnston’s army. For I suppose you are aware that we can no longer keep a force in the field this side of the Mississippi and that the cause of the South is utterly lost. The collapse has been a sudden one, and it is as complete as the worst enemies of the Confederacy could desire.

The government is trying to get across the Mississippi and great fears are felt lest Mr. Davis and Breckinridge shall be captured. I have decided upon my course. I need rest and yearn for peace. I did all I could to prevent this war and to preserve the Union and Constitution as our forefathers made them. I have been faithful to the trust reposed in me, both in the U.S. and Confederate Congresses, and I regard it to be the duty now of all good citizens to make the best of circumstances and bow to the manifest decree of Providence to do what he can to soften the asperities and heal the wounds of civil war by restoring order and good feeling.

We must acquiesce in the present status and return in good faith to our former positions in the Union (so far as our altered situation allows). This is the part of wisdom, good sense, and patriotism. Blood enough has been shed. We have written our protests in blood and can do nothing more but to submit. More of this, however, when we meet. I now go down to the post office to see if I can get a letter from Baltimore, as there is a mail in. I am very happy, darling wife, to hear of you, for I’ve just gotten Gettie’s letter, telling me you are in Baltimore. That intelligence makes me more anxious than ever to get off from here and I’m like a caged wild beast. Today I made a strong appeal to Gen. Ord and Gen. Patrick to let me go, but they are immovable and cannot tell when this confounded restriction upon us will be removed. It may exist for a fortnight yet, and every day now that keeps me from you is an age.

My friend L. took a package of letters from my trunk after I left here, and going to N. York took them with him to hand over to some of my family for safe keeping. He didn’t stop in Baltimore on his return, but in Washington, and thence forwarded them by Express to Mr. D., finding his address, “Commercial Building,” in the directory. Did Mr. D. get the package? If so, take care of them, as they are interesting letters from Lee, Jackson, Stuart. Benny Andrews is here safe and well. I have no doubt but that Alex is paroled and at Lynchburg. Perhaps communication is open from Baltimore to L. and you can hear of him by writing to his wife. I am doing well, kindly cared for, all my necessities supplied. But I cannot be happy held in duress from you. True it might be worse. I might have been captured, as 2,000 of our poor fellows are now in Libby Castle Thunder, on bread and water. I am a prisoner of war, it’s true, but have liberty to go about the city and the pledge of Gen. Grant’s honor to go home and “remain there till properly exchanged,” which will be never, as we never can have an equivalent of prisoners to exchange for Lee’s army. Many old political friends are calling on me and all (friends and foes) now say I was right to resist secession as long as i did and to stand by the State afterwards.

I have been true to Virginia and am now laboring to have Virginia true to herself by acquiescing in the necessities of the hour. Today I have had conferences with Johnson, Barbour, A. Marshall, Alex Rives, Duff Green and others about the affairs of our State. There never was a time when our dear old commonwealth more needed the wisdom and devotion of her sons. Tell Charlie to cast his eyes about for capitalists to buy the Mill. It should be held by a joint stock company. L. thinks men can be found in N.Y. to take hold of it and I want him to aid me in finding them. Give my love to my darling children. Kiss dear little Eddie for his Grandpapa. Tell Gettie to read this letter as an answer to hers and to accept my heartfelt thanks for her welcome note.

The illustrated papers don’t exaggerate in their pictures the devastation of Richmond. I can hardly recognize the streets where I was familiar with every house. I’m utterly lost and bewildered in the midst of ruins which extend as far as the eye can reach.

It’s all like a horrible dream to me. I can give you no idea of the last three weeks. Love to all around you. I’ll daily to some of you. Let me hear from you, addressing your letters to L.’s care. God bless you, my own sweet wife. Your devoted Husband – (2).

GEORGE SLOW AND THE “SERVANT” OF WESTWOOD

When Dudley returned home to his family farm in Jefferson County at Westwood and to Tippie in Shepherdstown he was accompanied by a “servant,” a freed African- American man who had been with him throughout the war, just as George Slow, another Westwood African-American man accompanied and assisted the officer from Pennsylvania named Frank Donaldson, beginning in March, 1862 for the duration of the war. Both African-American men were at Westwood when Dudley’s father, Hugh Pendleton, freed them in March, 1862 as Federal General Nathaniel Banks and his army entered the County. Some returned and were helping run Westwood after the war with son Dudley.

The Pendleton household at Westwood after the war shows several members of the Slow family still there. The literate, 37-year old male named “Hugh T. Slow” could perhaps be the “servant” with Dudley Digges Pendleton during the war and perhaps helped Dudley in his considerable work at Westwood, as described in Pendleton’s letters to Tippie in the late 1860s. – (3).

Chapterette 28 – After The War and Tender Sprouts Appear, New Lives Unfold; Memories Blow Like a Breeze – Always.

Jordan Norris the African-American sexton of the Trinity Church worked for the Shepherd family before the war and was known for his fine presentation. The very day war ended, he was roused from sleep in his night shirt, taken toTrinity Church and ordered by Federal soldiers to ring the church bell proclaiming the war’s end and victory for the Federal army – and locking him inside. – (4).

Henry Kyd Douglas Finds His Glory.

One of the terms of surrender was the prohibition of Confederate officers to wear their uniforms. Yet, Henry Kyd Douglas characteristically returned to Shepherdstown in uniform. He arranged immediately upon his return to have his studio photo taken, in fact, by a Mr. Darnell, with his friend, Florence Hamtramck, also posed with him in a somewhat adoring posture. This cost Douglas yet another stay in a Federal prison from May through August, 1865. – (5).

After the war he was an ever-present personage at reunions, met the aging former Federal general George McClellan when the retired General came to Antietam. Douglas tried his hand with limited success at law in Maryland, and as told Mr. Surkamp by the late Henry Shepherd, Douglas liked to defy the strong animal odors aswirl about German Street by keeping a rose in his clenched teeth as he sauntered on through. He never married. If the statements of respected retired Confederate Gen. Tom Rosser to an audience on May 10, 1897 in Raleigh, North Carolina were to be accepted on their face, then Douglas would be on the short list of candidates for having lost the Special Order 191 of Lee’s Maryland Campaign in 1862, an altogether unknowable fact. Just the same, Douglas’ unquenchable flair for self-drama, in the end, served him well in writing his book “I Rode With Stonewall,” one of the few still-in-print, personal memoirs from the Civil War with an enforceable copyright in 2015 and that is regularly sold in book stores. – (6).

The Lees in Shepherdstown:

The Lee’s rebuilt a home on the west end of town using foundation stone from Bedford and with monetary support from the Lee relative who served in the Federal Navy, Admiral Samuel Phillips Lee. This Lee, when asked about his loyalty, replied “When I find the word Virginia in my commission I will join the Confederacy.” – (7).

November 5, 1865 – 22-year-old Netta would marry Charles Goldsborough, said to be the first marriage conducted at Trinity Episcopal Church. Recorded by George Byers, a Unionist in town during the war. – (8).

Henrietta Bedinger Lee Makes Her Traditional Year-End Entry in Her Diary for 1865.

December 31, 1865

I thank God for the mercies of this year. That the horror of wars have ceased that I have met again those friends from whom the war had separated me – and for the safe and pleasant journeys I have made and I pray, that He will sanctify for me the afflictions of the year – that are the deepest I can ever know. Since the first day of the year . . .and my sister Louisa was taken to her rest in Paradise. God grant the separation may not be a long one!! – (9).

Henrietta’s eldest son, Edwin, spent the balance of the war years in Canada overseeing Confederate Secret Service operations. He came home his health failing. His wife, Susan Pendleton Lee, traveled to warmer climes with him. He remembered in poems. He remembered the sight of the Manassas/Bull Run field and his time with dying Willie Lee, the fanciful innocent day when he was the Knight of Alhambra in the harmless ring tournament; then, in 1863, having to write an obituary for beloved George Bedinger, whose body was obliterated before the mouth of a cannon.

Wiser, he wrote:
Once they sprang to Battle’s call
As to a revel’s sound.
Then War-kings! Now – ah! this is all,
A nameless, storm-washed mound.

Edwin died in his sleep Wednesday, August 24, 1869. – (10).

Within a year of Edwin’s, Julia Pendleton Allen, the widow to James W. Allen, also died, leaving behind a young son. The wages of war had gathered upon her. – (11).

Autumn, 1867 – John Esten Cooke re-visits The Bower once more and sees fonder, former scenes.

In the autumn of 1867, I revisited the old hall where those summer days of 1863 had passed in mirth and enjoyment; and then I wandered away to the grassy knoll where ‘Stuart’s oak’ still stands. The sight of the great tree brought back a whole world of memories.

Seated on one of its huge roots, beneath the dome of foliage just touched by the finger of autumn, I seemed to see all the past rise up again and move before me, with its gallant figures, its bright scenes, and brighter eyes.

Alas! those days were dust, and Stuart sang and laughed no more. The grass was green again, and the birds were singing; but no martial forms moved there, no battle-flag rippled, no voice was heard. Stuart was dead; — his sword rusting under the dry leaves of Hollywood, and his battle-flag was furled forever.

That hour under the old oak, in the autumn of 1867, was one of the saddest that I have ever spent. The hall was there as before; the clouds floated, the stream murmured, the wind sighed in the great tree, as when Stuart’s tent shone under it. But the splendor had vanished, the laughter was hushed — it was a company of ghosts that gathered around me, and their faint voices sounded from another world! – (12).

The Dandridge sons returned home and helped out at the farm.

Formerly born, raised and enslaved at The Bower, John Fox and other family members lived in their own home adjacent to The Bower and offered their labor for hire.

John Fox had been a teamster with the Confederate Army, probably Grahem’s Artillery with Lemuel Pendleton Dandridge. They both returned to The Bower where the Dandridges’ once owned John and his three siblings, Mary, Humphrey and Benjamin. When very young and motherless (“Mary” their mother was forcibly taken away in the 1850s, according to the Fox family oral tradition because she refused to be a “brood” or frequent child-bearing woman). Owner Adam Stephen Dandridge had these four “little foxes” raised in and near the main house. The children were assumed to taste milk from the same bowl of the house pets at the mistress’ instruction, but, that aside, they ever since rejoiced at learning how to read and write – a benefaction that came with doing work around the home with its books and the practical need for them to read. Each would prosper in life.

John Fox would, after a few years working The Bower, become a neighboring property-owner and was employed by Lemuel Dandridge running their timber milling operation on the Opequon. Fox would own three farms at the time he died May 19, 1911 in Kearneysville, WV. – (13).

Sallie Dandridge, the Dandridge’s eldest daughter who had a romance with one of J.E.B. Stuart’s artillerymen in the fall of 1862, would marry another after his wartime death and would die young in 1879.

Lastly The Bower dream would settle back to earth, indistinguishable from decaying leaves, then etherealize into Memory.

1865-1868:
Dudley Pendleton Works Westwood, The Family Farm, With Paid Labor, & Writing At Night Love-Filled Letters To Tippie at the Boteler Home in Shepherdstown, 20 Miles North.

His aging father, Hugh Nelson Pendleton needed his help. At that time, two elderly African-American women refused to leave and stayed at Westwood until they died. Their Philadelphia relatives, however, visited them and other friends in the Valley and when Hugh N. Pendleton’s first grand child, Helen, was born on April 2, 1867, they sent the baby a lace handkerchief. – (14).

During the war, one of these freed servants from Westwood made his way to Massachusetts and to Lydia Maria Child, a noted New England writer and abolitionist. Ms. Child wrote to Hugh Pendleton that his former slave was ill with consumption and asked for money to help him. Mr. Pendleton wrote back that he had no money to send but if the man was sent “home” he would receive every care and attention. But it didn’t happen. – (15).

Home November 24, 1865
Friday night My darling,
I felt almost as if you were cruel in asking me not to go further than H.Ferry, so hard was it to leave you, yet I know you were right & on getting home & finding my father so unwell. I felt that glad as I would have been to be with you longer twas right for me to return. He is better than he was but still suffers greatly with severe cold. I found it hard to say goodbye putting an end to the pleasure of those days we were together, for tho’ the meaning of that time & its results gives me such happiness, it is very different from being with you from being able to look in your face & touch your hand. If I failed in ploughing as well as usual today you may regard yourself as the innocent cause. I could not help forgetting my work sometimes so busy were my thoughts with you. Each succeeding occasion that requires my parting with you will be harder for me to bear. Tell me did you experience any thing of that sinking of heart when we go to the Ferry and were to part after such a time together that I did? From your eye and manner I thought that you did. Was I right? I hope so, for my happiness now consists as much in the love you have for me as in loving you. I fear Mr. Lee suspected a good deal and if so you were plagued I know which I am sorry for. I wish I could relieve you from these disagreeable things. or, If you find this shockingly written you may set that down too to the effect of ploughing and to a quickening of the blood at my writing to you for the thought of you makes it run faster. I was anxious to get to Winchester before my return, but twill be impossible for me. To do so, as I expect to come up for Lilla on Monday if the weather proves good and tomorrow I must remain here. My visit will be very short. I must return the next day so pray give me as much of your time as you can. What would I give to be able to touch your hand tonight, it seems a long time already since I parted with you. Do not forget the picture for me. It will give me great pleasure while separate from you. My heart beats faster at the thought of seeing you on Monday. I am truly yours, D.D. Pendleton – (16).

Westwood
November 30, 1865
My Darling
What will you think when I tell you that last night I intended writing you but was prevented by weariness? I could not keep my eyes open long enough after all had retired to do so yet in the night I awakened and then I was certainly wide enough awake and had no thought but of you, but my opportunity of writing by the mail I intended was gone. I have no chance of writing except at night unless some accident occurs to keep me from my ordinary outdoor business which generally fills up the entire day.

Lilla’s account that we returned on Tuesday or she would have suffered greatly from Cold. Today she told me that one night at Mr. Rusts’ when we were alone she as usual on the sofa, she was greatly alarmed lest one of us might “say something” while she was falling asleep which that fear partially prevented “not intended for other peoples ears.” She went off just now saying she knew I was desiring it greatly, the presence of a third party being always unavailable. So you see she considers us together in thought tonight. Is she wrong? I hope not? Will you not be good while I am away & try & persuade your sisters and yourself that it will be best to listen to my anguish & desire and fix upon February as the time when you will be to me all you have.

So you may know hereafter that my letters will be written between 9 at night and the next morning. It always adds to the pleasure I feel in getting a letter & know the precise circumstance of the writer when twas written & their form I tell you this. In writing to me do not neglect to tell me every circumstance of your life however trivial it may appear, for if I were with you all these little things that together make up our existence would deeply interest me & bring temporarily apart does not in the least make them the less so. So place your self before me as nearly as possible in thought, word and action in your letters. My mother has already half-fallen in love with your likeness and I think a few more glimpses will suffice to complete the victory. The longer I look at it the more I like it, tho’ certainly it does not flatter you. You were so good to me on Monday and Tuesday, it gives me great pleasure to think of it, if you had not been I would have had a terrible time with your Father & Mother, for tho’ not at all bashful, I dreaded that talk very much; you know conversation however, made it easy. Please send me the words to “What will you do love”? It is constantly before me, so for my own peace, I must have the words correctly. This likeness looks at me almost as kindly & pleasantly as you do. But I wish it were you instead. I can communicate with it but there’s no reply.

Twas well too kind in any letter of mine. So let that rest. I read not long ago – when I was more at leisure – Kitto’s life in which were some lines that he wrote which I instant. like them. So will you.

Mary, one sparkle of thine eyes
I’ll not exchange for all the gems
That shine in kindly diadems.
Or spices of rich Araby.
My heart would count the refined gold
Which eastern kings have left untold
But as a beggars price to buy.
One sparkle of my Mary’s eye.

As Horace says tho’ name being changed the same is said of you. Instead of Mary read your own name. It is as true as it was with poor Kitto. I think you said you did not like the ending of my letter. Tell me what you think of the beginning. Any alteration that you may suggest will be cheerfully made. Tho’ I like well my mode of beginning & would not change it – perhaps you may suggest an improvement, if so it must be a word that means more & where’ll you find it? Tell me how I must end my letters to my mind when I say I am “truly yours,” I say a great deal – indeed I say all. “Yours” in thought, word, and deed. Nobody else has right or title in me in any respect. There! Does it not say enough? Let me hear those intended writings. This so that you would have no difficulty in reading it, lest I forgot care and have been thinking of you. I promised that I give you the months of Dec., January and as much of Feb. or you require. Surely enough for all preparation. Will you also do this? Do not for an instant think that there is any feeling of distrust that ails me of either myself or of you. I hear people say sometimes that such & such couples had best make the thing sure before either party changes their minds. Not so with us. But to look forward to a happiness that there is no physical hindrance to one’s enjoying within 3 months for it is hard. I will however look forward very cheerfully. But Ah! how I wish you may think with me. If this gives you trouble ’twill be disagreeable and I want nothing of it too closely to exercise it. Today I was summoned together with two black hands and told to work a road for two days. Each must go for himself. I can’t send my employee as was the case heretofore. Tomorrow it being very inconvenient I went to see the supervisor & he agreed to let me take a piece of road very near by and work it at my leisure so the greatest difficulty is saved. If I don’t stop soon you will object to the time & place of my writings as well as the manner. Don’t send your own too soon. Remember it and look at our talk to you just now. How will you begin? Let me see very soon. Summit Point is the post office.
God bless you,
My darling Yours truly
D.D. Pendleton

Westwood
December 27, 1865

Darling Helen
I can clearly prove to you how complete has been the surrender of my whole heart to you. For last night tho’ there were 20 pretty & agreeable girls in Berryville arranging for the Tableaux – which I cannot escape – I could not interest myself in the affair while if only You had been there all would have been so different. And not once were you forgotten. In one scene I died gracefully for them with Miss Nannie McConniker holding my hand. She agreed because she (knew) I was an engaged man. I can’t count her as to being confident on that point. Tonight is the main affair. I wish instead of being there I could be quietly with you. Papa says that these young young Ladies will think me very unsociable if I do not join in the effort and to satisfy him I went in. When I took my last letter to the Depot I expected yours but have not quite yet gotten it. Yesterday evening I was away. I hope it is there today & now I have not time to write more than this note. Else Kenneth will not get to the office at all. It is going to rain again very soon and hard too. . . . I dislike sending you such a letter, but still more to send than none. Tell me of your X-mas tree etc. Give my love to all. I cannot tell as to my going to Rockbridge yet.
God bless you my dear one,
Yours truly
Dudley D. Pendleton
– (17).

In 1870, after son Dudley married and moved to his home outside Shepherdstown, seventy-year-old Hugh Pendleton worked the land and kept house with his wife Elizabeth at Westwood with the help of their 29-year-old son, Robert, 19-year-old Kenneth and their daughter, 27-year-old Fanny. In addition to a 67-year-old African-American farm worker, Hugh Slow lived and worked at Westwood with his thirty-year-old wife, Millie and their four young children – Mary, Ellen, Lizzie and Ellen.

Meantime, 39-year-old George C. Slow family lived in Philadelphia with: Charles (70), Charity (67), Thomas E. (21), Alice L. (19), along with four members of the Williams family: Thomas (12), James (9), Erie (7), and Charity (4). – (18).

TIPPIE BOTELER’s 1872 CHRISTMAS WITH FAMILY:

Tippie Boteler describes Christmas for her mother from the home of Dudley’s parents:

Wythe County, Dec. 29th, 1872, Sunday Morn. 9th

My own darling Ma,

This last letter which I shall write this year will I hope reach in time to give a New Year greeting from your far away child and as it will be almost entirely about myself & my surroundings and prospects I hope it may relieve your mind of many of its anxieties concerning me, so that the New Year may be clouded by no thought of me. May it be a bright & happy one to you & all you love is the prayer of my heart. First let me tell you of how our Xmas was spent. Three happier more delighted children you never saw, & I was fully repaid for any trouble I might have taken to make them so. Their three little stockings were hung at the foot of their bed & were the first pleasure before daylight Xmas morning then the coming downstairs & the tree & baby house. Thanks to Pa for the number of “Hearth & home” from which I got the patterns & so was able to make some beautiful furniture. The box was divided into two rooms & papered within & without, the “London dolls” dressed in the latest style. Dudley made a nice bedstead & Kenneth sent Helen & Alice each a set of ten things. The tree was very pretty, pop corn colored papers on the sugar plums & the paper dolls make it very pretty. Father and Mother came over & dined with us. Aunty was not well enough to come. The dinner was Turkey (a present from Father) a spiced ham, corn, tomatoes, potatoes etc. Plum pudding peaches & tangle breeches but oh what a fearful day it was. It stormed so that Mother could not go back but stayed all night which was the crowning glory of the day the children thought. This is one of the deepest snows and has lasted longer than has been seen in this country for many years and so far they say has been the most severe winter. Your letter and a bundle of papers from Pa were brought in just before dinner Xmas day. I was too sorry to hear of your having been sick. I took it for granted that the reason I had not heard from you was because the girls had gotten home and had so much to tell and you to hear that it was impossible to write. I thank God I never think that you all don’t care for or think of me, and I am the last one to judge anyone for not writing – Dudley has just come in with two bundles of papers from Pa and a long letter from Sue Lee – I trust that you are now feeling your self again. You did not tell me what had been the matter with you. I was glad to hear such good reports of Lizzie, Lottie and poor little Alex. Will it be possible for him to study any during this winter. I started a box to you last week which I hope has reached you safely. Dudley could only prepay its way as far as Lynchburg some difficulty between Gen. Mahone’s and the Adams Express Companies but I do not mean you to pay it. How comfortable you all must be with the orientals all over the house.

I should like to be near enough to come sometimes & see and enjoy it, but I can rejoice in it even at this distance. We have managed to keep very comfortable bitter as the weather has been with this big open fireplace and the stove in my room above and I think we are more comfortable as regards furniture than at any time since we were married. Indeed, I have many comforts and blessings that I cannot be too thankful for. The children are all so well and such sweet ones (I can say this once a year) – that they add to the happiness of our little household I can safely say that they have already repaid me for all the trouble I’ve taken with them so all the enjoyment I may yet have in them will be clear again. Helen learns very well and every morning reads to me from the Bible while I wash up the breakfast table not more than six or eight verses at the time. I was amused at her coming to me that day after Xmas with a half eaten cake in her hand and saying: “Mama I must be unhealthy – I have no appetite.” Alice don’t fuss as much but is more steady and accurate. She was so distressed at not having a Xmas gift for you that I told her one of the cans I sent was for her which satisfied her. Of Lizzie I can’t say without writing volumes. I wish you could hear her say “Gentle Jesus meek and mild” and sing “Rock of Ages” and “Glory to God.” Her tongue is the sweetest in the world and she talks with her head besides. I don’t think she has grown any since you saw her last. She looks like a robin does in cold weather – a perfect ball. We think her a miracle of smartness. In regard to our staying here we will have to do so until a purchaser is found for the place – another Englishman the other day to look at it – We will certainly stay until after my confinement next March or April. My discernment (if it may be so called) at being here is a matter of principle with me. I don’t think it would be right to rest satisfied here with these surroundings or to be willing to bring up a family of daughters in this neighborhood so you see my discontent is not unhappiness. There are some things which if told or written would sound like hardships but which are not so in reality. So set your heart at rest my dear Ma and enjoy all you can in your own surroundings – and let me hear of your being happy or otherwise and it will be all I ask for. The mail is all we have outside these walls. My fondest love to dear Pa, Lizzie, Lottie, Alex and a kiss to each one of the dear children – Good bye God bless and have you all in his Holy keeping during the coming months of the New Year is the prayer of your most devoted daughter –

Tippie

I did not tell you that mother gave each of the children a very pretty mouseline dress. Dudley gave me a bottle of cologne. Thank your stars I did not sing Dudley’s as well as the children’s praises both in the same letter. – (19).

Fountain Rock No More

Alexander Boteler never had a home of his own after Fountain Rock burned. For a few months after that tragic event the family found refuge in the house which was later the Southern Methodist Rectory, then moved into the Episcopal Rectory. The rector, Dr. C. W. Andrews, had married Mrs. Henry Boteler, widow of Alex R. Boteler’s brother, and Alec and Elizabeth lived at her home across the street. Later for several years the Botelers with their daughter, Mrs. R. D. Shepherd, lived at The Grove, (In 1934, the home of Miss Violet Dandridge and Miss Nina Mitchell). Still later they occupied the house on lower Main Street known later as “Gray Lodge.” Nearly every winter was spent at the old Metropolitan Hotel in Washington, where there was pleasant association with old college friends and Southern Congressmen. In each of their Shepherdstown dwellings there was beauty and comfort. Books and pictures seemed to gravitate toward them and it was in these years that the older Pendleton children found appreciation with their grandfather a liberal education. It was a joy to be allowed to sit quietly on the floor of his study at The (Poplar) Grove, while he wrote or painted, and read Punch, The London Illustrated News, The London Graphic, Littell’s Living Age, American magazines and poetry, history and novels – books digestible and indigestible. Occasionally the children would be questioned as to poetry, history and lessons. When away in Washington or in the South or West, never a day passed which did not bring some book or paper from the grandfather to these children.

From time-to-time visitors, distinguished in the world of politics, art or letters, came to see him in Shepherdstown, and the grandchildren were sometimes allowed to be in the periphery of his circle, although inconspicuously seen and, of course, never heard. But they absorbed with thrilled interest much of what was going on in the world beyond the Blue Ridge and longed to breath that enchanted air.

On Friday, the 9th of July, 1880, the first railway train crossed the Potomac over the new bridge constructed by the Shenandoah Valley Railroad Company. Alex. R. Boteler had been a director for nearly ten years and devoted much time and had advanced money, in his warm advocacy of its building. It was one of the satisfactions of his life that the road was built through the village instead of being deflected to another point, as was threatened at one time. – (20).

The sharp, but aging Alexander Boteler encountered journalist George Bagby at the Entler Hotel, then run by former veteran cavalryman, big-bearded Henry Hagan. So captivated by Boteler’s light air and fond memories of the lost past, specifically Henry Bedinger, Bagby wrote: Friendship is beautiful. The love of man for man is rare, and it is divine. Would there were on the wide earth a friend to talk about me when I am gone as Boteler talked about Henry Bedinger, and his poetry. Bedinger, said Boteler, loved poetry and still remembered one Bedinger wrote just for him called an Invitation to Alec. With much feeling he recited them. His heart was warm with the memory of his dead friend.

An Invitation to Alec
by Henry Bedinger

My wife’s awa;’ my wife’s awa’,
Na mair she can me tease;
She’s gan til her father an’ mither an’ a’,
And I can do as I please.

So if you’re in for a night of joy,
And gin grat fun ye wad see,
Just don your plaidie my merry boy,
And o’er the meadow to me.

A wee bit room in eastern wing,
A ceiling so love and snug,
A cheerfu’ bleeze in the chimney neuk
And ablains a bit of a jug.

A bit of jug wi’ the barley bree,
A jest and merry sang,
And twa, thra friends what helping me
To push the hours along.

The wind may roar an’ the rain may fa’,
My wife’s awa’, my wife’s awa’;
Na mair she can me tease,
She’s gan til her father an’ mither an’ a’,
An’ we can do as we please.
– (21).

Helen Stockton Boteler died in February, 1891, and he did not tarry, dying in May, 1892 of a short but painful affection of the heart. – (22).

Monday, August 14, 1876 – At the Mt. Pleasant farm of Charles and Fanny Aglionby, they were paid a visit by a former enslaved member of the household Charles wrote in his diary:
It is interesting that Ralf Madison Hall Junior, aged 26, when he left, visited Mt. Pleasant with his wife and we gave them dinner. (Much later in September, 1899, Ralf came again and presented Frank Aglionby, Aglionby’s son, with a black walking-stick with a gold top and band on which is engraved: “For my masters, Charles Aglionby Esq. son Rev. Frank. K. Aglionby from his former slave – John Madison Hall . .”) – (23).

August 10th 1877 – Edmund Jennings Lee, husband of Henrietta and father to Netta, Edwin, Edmund and Harry, dies.

February, 1880: 65-year-old Abram Dixon who worked for the Bedingers at Poplar Grove during the war and after, is killed in a tree accident. – (24).

August 10, 1880 – Henrietta Bedinger Lee, widowed and now living at her home, Leeland in Shepherdstown, writes to herself:

Anniversary of my beloved husband’s death. Three years a widow. The first dream I had after his death was short and brief and oh so comforting. He came to me and said, “Come with me and I will show you something beautiful” – (25).

November 6, 1880 – The Lee’s burned out home Bedford is put up for sale. The Lees lived in Leeland, their rebuilt home on the Old Philadelphia Wagon Road, today Route 480. Anxiously Henrietta writes in her diary:

November 6, 1880 The sale is not confirmed, so it is still mine. This day, Bedford, the home and birthplace of my dear Father and sisters as well as myself and two brothers, was sold. It has passed away forever from me. I have shed so many tears in the last ten years that I thought the font was dry. But when my boys came from town and told me Bedford was sold the sobs came up and my tears gave way. How I prayed that this portion of the wreck of my poor husband’s property might be kept for me. God alone knoweth. It has not pleased my Father to grant this prayer and I bow submissively and humbly to his will. No tie of earthly goods remains to keep me united to the world. My grasp upon perishable things is loosened and my wearisome journey to the end will be easier, “Near to thee my God, nearer to thee even though it be a cross that raiseth me.” Thou hast given me the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet thine hand upholdeth me still.

November 19th, 1880 – Henrietta makes a final good-bye visit to her ancestral home.
“November winds howl idly by” This evening alone and sadly I turned my footsteps to Bedford. Now Bedford no more. The house and name dead. As I walked pensively over its once beautiful, now ruined grounds, I wondered what had been the especial sin of my forefathers that thus it was swept away from the earth with such destruction scarce one stone upon another to tell it had once been a beautiful stately habitation of joy and happiness, my grandfather’s home and my father’s birthplace as well as mine. And my heart asks, “who did sin, this man or his father?” that their home and memory are swept away from the children of men. Alas who can tell? Perhaps they reject the way, the truth, and the life” and this is the end. Ah me! Lovely homes are given us, but ruin and destruction follow the gift. I sat me down upon a part of the old foundation and wept aloud. Not even a bird heard the sobs as they welled up from my desolate heart. I called each dear familiar name of my childhood but none answered. There was neither voice nor sound. I stood in the ruin which was once my angel mother’s room and called blessed name of mother. But the cold gray sky only heard. I put my arms and faded grief worn cheeks upon every tree. My arms encircling the old decaying trunks and my cheek pressed to the bark as furrowed and almost old as the tree, yet my dear father planted them and in childhood I rest under their shade or with active and nimble limbs climbed and sat happily among the branches. Alas childhood! What a brief period. Visitations of dark grief and sorrow have been visited upon me. Such a checkered life that I almost am inclined to doubt I was ever a child. That period is so far away and the flowing shadows of the present so entirely envelope my existence. Oh why is it that we so cling to life. From cradle to grave tears are meted out to us. Has it been so with everyone born on earth? Yes! For all have sinned and sin brings sorrow and death. A beloved house is like a mother’s bosom, go from it afar, yet we can never forget or cease to love and cling to it. Often I wish I was miles and miles away from my scattered and ruined home, but here it is constantly before my eyes, saddened by what it is and what it was. The dear old beech trees where my angel sister Virginia and I played in childish merriment have all gone, dead or dying. My lovely sister’s poem written to unworthy me.

From Virginia to Henrietta, Bedford 1827:

Oft pensive memory wakes,
With all her feeling train,
And silently her way she takes,
O’er childhood’s paths again,
Thine image then she brings to me,
And me thinks thy form I see,
With laughing eye and curls of jet,
Little blooming Henriett;

When thru fields and meadows gay,
Decked with blooming flowers,
Joyously we used to stray,
And spend the rosy hours,
Or beneath the beech trees shade,
Oft in sportive mood we played,
The moss grown rock, it is there yet,
Doth remember Henriett?

Every joy my childhood knew,
Is blended still with thee,
Rapidly the moments flew,
Which brought such bliss to me,
The stream which wandered thro’ the wood.
How oft upon its banks we stood,
I cannot think without regret,,
Of these loved scenes now, Henriett.

But though these joys have passed,
Which gilded life’s bright morn;
Unfading still our love will last,
Its evening to adorn.
When Pain or sickness pales my cheek,
Thy sympathies heart I seek,
Oh do not think I can forget,
Thee, my sister, Henriett.

Through this world you rove,
And many friends you find,
No love is like your sister’s love,
So constant true and kind,
And when this weary life is o’er,
Oh may we meet on yon bright shore,
No more to part when once we’ve met,
My gentle sister Henriett.

Here at dear Bedford or what was once Bedford my angel sister next in age to me, in 1827 wrote this poem. She was the most lovely and highly gifted. And now, for the last time alone I visited her home and mine. What utter ruin and desolation lay around me, Then wearily and heart sick, I bent my way to both springs. It seemed to me that the hand of spite had tried to destroy even the spring, for the spot which was once the dairy an deep refreshing fountain of water, was filled in with huge stones, what was once the doorway was blocked with rocks and rubbish as if it were the design of wicked mischief to utterly and for all time make useless and ruin that beautiful dairy and spring which had so comforted and blest us. A little irresponsible stream was gushing from under the obstruction from which I drank, I wandered to the second and more beautiful spring. How brightly the water sparkled and murmured a perpetual requiem for the memory of my dead home. This spring the hand of violence and mischief could not injure for it gushed from in between two friendly planted rocks. Oh how my young heart in years gone by rejoiced to sit and listen to its singing, drink of the sparkling water so refreshing and grateful. That rushing stream was the only thing unchanged. I stooped and drank of its precious life-giving waters of Lethe to me, and cause entire forgetfulness of the past, “O memory cease nor wake one thought that slumbers in this aching breast.” How cool, how deliciously sweet was the water, the last drop I should ever take from that consecrated spot. I filled my cup, a little drinking cup, my dear little grandson George Rust gave me. And I poured the water out as libation to my once happy home and the joys of my childhood. And why on this chill gray evening with November wind sighing, moaning idly past did I go to this dear and sacred spot. Because in one month more it will be no longer mine. Another will have it in possession, as his, and the one I cannot bear to name as the possessor of my home. Therefore it is mine no longer. My home is gone, swept away by enemies, and now an enemy of my husband’s has purchased it as it is his. As I retraced my sad and long footsteps homeward I knelt upon a cold gray rock the last prayer that shall ever rise to heaven from the spot. Lord they will be done I cried. There is nothing now to hold my heart from thee, or keep me clinging to this world. Make me resigned and satisfied. My life is rapidly drawing to its close and the beloved ones “oh may we meet on your bright shores! No more to part whence once we’ve met.” – (26).

September, 1885 – Morgan’s Grove under its new owner became the site of the County Fair and remained so into the 1930s:

The Second Annual Exhibition to be held at Morgan’s Grove near Shepherdstown, September 8th, 9th, and 10th, promises to be one of the most magnificent exhibitions that has ever been held in the Valley of Virginia. An immense amount of machinery of every describable character has been entered for exhibition, and, in addition to this, live stock, agricultural products, ladies’ handiwork, etc. will be shown in the greatest profusion. The railroad companies will run excursion trains at low prices and the attendance of people each day will run up far into the thousands. At the Grove two large new buildings have just been put up – one of which is a hundred feet long by twenty-five feet wide, and the other, the ladies’ building, is almost as large. These buildings are water-tight, and will afford protection to visitors as well as the exhibits in case of rain. The Grove has been cleared up and made ready for the exhibition, and we are sure no more beautiful spot can be found anywhere. Each one of the three days will be full of interest, as eloquent speakers and various amusements will be provided. – (27).

Tragedy at the White Oak – 1886:

A Terrible Accident and Its Fatal Result
A feeling of gloom was thrown over the community on Tuesday afternoon by the announcement of a severe accident to Mr. D. D. Pendleton, who resided a little more than a mile from town, and this feeling was greatly intensified when his death was announced a few hours later. Mr. Pendleton was having his crop of grain threshed, and was superintending the work at the threshing machine. While the machine was running at full speed he stepped on the platform over the cylinder, one of the boards broke through and his left leg went into the cylinder. In an instant the limb was ground into a shapeless mass. Mr. Pendleton was tenderly removed to his house, nearby, and physicians summoned. He was fully conscious and gave directions as to what should be done until they arrived. His self-control is spoken of by those who were with him as being wonderful. The Drs. Reynolds, Dr. Tanner and Dr. Butler soon arrived, and did what they could to revive him. Amputation of the mangled limb was the dangerous necessity of the case, and about eight o’clock the operation was performed. Mr. Pendleton died two hours afterward. He had never rallied from the first shock of the accident, and this, together with the great loss of blood he had sustained caused the fatal result.

Mr. Pendleton was a native Virginian, and came from a long line of distinguished ancestors. He was a brave soldier during the civil war, having been a captain on the staff of General Pendleton. Shortly after the war he was married to Miss Helen Boteler, daughter of Hon. A. R. Boteler. His wife survives him, together with seven children – five girls and two boys. Mr. Pendleton was for a number of years a teacher and for several terms principal of Shepherd College. He was about 44 years of age.

The funeral services were announced for Thursday at four o’clock from the Episcopal Church. We would that we were able to pay a fitting tribute to the character of Dudley Digges Pendleton. But our pen fails us. Yet we cannot pass by a reference to his life and death. No nobler epitaph can be written than this: “He was a Christian gentleman.” His life was that of an earnest, active, manly courageous Christian, and, in his death he showed an unshrinking, undoubting faith in Him who doeth all things well. Always ready to lend his heart and hand to the cause of right, he will be missed by those who have labored with him and by those who have been helped by him. The sympathetic prayers of the community go out to the stricken wife and children and to those who were near and dear to him. – (28).

Dudley Digges Pendleton (husband Helen Macomb Boteler)
Birth: Mar. 2, 1840
Louisa County
Virginia, USA
Death: Aug. 24, 1886
(29).

November 21, 1888 – John Brown prosecutor Andrew Hunter, whose home burned Hunter’s Hill, was burned in July, 1864, died at this same, rebuilt home in Charlestown. His son, Andrew Junior, had been killed fighting in the Civil War.

Andrew Hunter died at his home November 21, 1888. He was 84 years old and up to his present illness of two weeks continuance, has enjoyed remarkable exemption from sickness. His beautiful residence in the eastern suburbs of Charlestown was burned by the order, it is alleged, by his own cousin, Gen. David Hunter of the United States Army. After the war, Mr. Hunter returned to Charlestown resumed the practice of his profession which he successfully pursued until a few years ago. In the meantime he rebuilt and reoccupied his old house. – (30).

THE BOWER BURNS & IS REBORN:

In 1892, the home itself, then owned by Stephen Dandridge’s son, Lemuel, burned to the ground. They rebuilt it on the same place, quickly and bigger. The same family today has lovingly placed The Bower within a permanent farmland protection easement and maintained its standing on the National Register of Historic Places. The Bower is a home and is private property. – (31).–

Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton (1871-1916), a daughter of Tippie’s, remembered growing up in the shadow of Fountain Rock and its legends:

At the upper end of Fountain Rock farm was another fine spring, known as the White Oak Spring, and it was near this source of living water that our father built our country home years after the struggle between the states was ended. The old place as by this time an overgrown ruin, exceedingly picturesque and interesting, surrounded by a hedge of orange so high as to shut in all but the tops of the trees from the view of passersby. The walls of the house remained standing, solid stone masonry built by Dr. Henry Boteler, but only by careful searching could be found traces of the long brick wings which dated back to colonial times. In the sheltered hollows of the foundation under what had been the two-storied front porch we found every year white and blue violets blossoming long before any other spring flowers could be discovered. The dairy was a cool retreat on the hottest mid-summer days – a stone building with pointed moss and lichen-covered roof which had escaped destruction. We never entered the great hollow, high-raftered main room without a desire to shout or sing, our voices sounding strangely magnificent, we thought, in that empty, water-traversed chamber. Outside the spring house great willow trees bent above the stream where it poured forth to meet the open air again. The courses of the stream leading from the spring was a big curve around three sides of the garden. Both banks were edged with willows, alder bushes, with wild growths or locust and sassafras and dogwood, with here and there a flowering quince or other reminder of the horticultural pride of forty years ago.In our day the garden was usually planted in corn, and under the long stone wall which bounded the higher level of the grove, snakes of prodigious size were supposed to abound. We never liked to pass the steps leading from the terrace above into that suspicious serpent-haunted region. But down at the end of the garden where the stream ran out through the hedge, across the road and way to alien fields was a group of big oak trees, and beneath their shade grew hundreds of jonquils (“Easter flowers,” we called them), and narcissus, and a carpet of tangled periwinkle crept to the water’s edge. This was the part of the garden we loved to explore, and we had names for every little bag and cape and inlet along those green-fringed banks. We never thought of calling our new home by the old name, “Fountain Rock” a name associated in our minds with all that is romantic and exciting to one’s imaginations. Fountain Rock belonged to the past, the past we dreamed of after a talk with our mother on long winter evenings.Ours was a very plain prosaic little home, in spite of our crude attempts to beautify it but it was made very dear to seven happy children whose greatest delight always followed the proposition, “Let’s go down to Fountain Rock.”“Down at Fountain Rock” we searched for hidden treasure, possibly buried in the mortar and bricks that lay beneath the light soil and overgrowth of grass and weeks and mosses with which the years had covered and beautified them. There we would play at war, battles and retreats, ambuscades, and thrilling escapes. “The yankees,” our mysterious entirely impersonal enemies behind every tree and lurking in every darkened thicket.“Down at Fountain Rock” we learned to know the songbirds, intimately and well. There were many in the trees and shrubbery of the old place that we seldom heard among the young maples and fruit trees of our home. “Down at Fountain Rock” we built dams in the stream and often followed its course to distant, sun-warmed pools where we could wade without aching feet. “Down at Fountain Rock” we tried to realize a home of ideal loveliness where a little girl whom we knew intimately, named Helen Boteler, moved in a continual round of interesting happenings.For Fountain Rock, as it had been before and during the war, was the scene of almost every story told us by our mother, whose memory held dear every nook and corner of her childhood’s home. It is no wonder that the very name for us had magic in it.The story that thrilled us more than any other was of the burning of the house, and it was a story often asked for by the young friends who visited the home. The story did not always come readily but a little talk about the place, a few questions answered, a reference to some war episode and soon mother would be in the midst of the narrative we wanted.I wish I could in some way suggest the vivid realism of her story. Her soft, splendid dark eyes did half the talking for her; her wonderful voice added special meaning to every word, and a remarkable half-unconscious power of mimicry made every character mentioned a real personality to us. So real, indeed, has it become to me that now, after many years, the memory of experiences other than my own home comes back to me with something of the effect of things actually seen, heard and felt by myself.Fountain Rock has passed into other hands, and ”the plow has passed over its pleasant places.”But we should like to think with dear Ella that, “as men when they die do not die all, so of their extinguished habitations there may be a hope, a germ to be revivified.” – (33).July 14, 1896 – Fifty-year-old Edmund J. Lee Jr. dies after a flawed surgery. (34).

THE REVILED FRANKLIN G. MARTINDALE TAKES HIS OWN LIFE:

Self-destructive acts have many causes and origins. While its sources are unknowable, it should be noted that many years later, this same Franklin G. Martindale, while residing at a veteran’s home near Los Angeles, California, on October 2, 1896, died. The cause according to the official report: “Strychnine taken with suicidal intent.” He was buried in Home Cemetery Section 2, Row 5-13. – (35).

Oct. 7, 1898 – Henrietta Bedinger Lee dies:

They Rest From Their Labors

Mrs. Henrietta Bedinger Lee, of Shepherdstown, died suddenly of heart disease last Friday at Litchfield, the home of her daughter, Mrs. Charles Goldsborough, at Walkersville, Frederick County, MD. She had spent most of her time for several years past with Mrs. Goldsborough. Mrs. Lee was the daughter of Lieutenant Daniel Bedinger of the Revolutionary Army, and his wife, Sarah Rutherford. She was the sister of Henry Bedinger, who represented with distinguished ability a Virginia district in the United Sates Congress from 1845 to 1849, and who was minister to Denmark from 1853 to 1858. She married Edmund Jennings Lee, a grandson on his mother’s side of Richard Henry Lee and nephew on his father’s side of Light-Horse Harry Lee, his father and mother having been cousins. Mrs. Lee, who was in the 89th year of her age, is survived by one son and two daughters: Rev. Harry B. Lee, a minister of the Episcopal Church at Charlottesville, Va.; Mrs. Ida Lee Rust, of “Rockland,” Leesburg, Va.; and Mrs. Charles Goldsborough, of Walkersville, Md. She was the mother also of General Edwin G. Lee, a gallant Confederate soldier, who died soon after the civil war, and of Edmund Jennings Lee, whose death occurred a year or two ago.Mrs. Lee was a woman of the highest intelligence, and her strength of character have ever caused her to be regarded with the highest respect and affection.She endeared to her all who came in contact with her, and her influence was always for good in this community, where most of her long life was spent. Her body was brought for burial, and on Sunday the funeral was held in the Episcopal Church, of which she had been a member for many years. The service was conducted by Rev. Dr. Neilson, of this place and Rev. Dr. Magill, of Frederick County, MD. The church was filled with relatives and friends who had gathered to pay to her their last tribute of respect. The earthly tenement from which so bright a spirit had fled was laid to rest in Elmwood Cemetery, so close to her old home that the birds that sing in the trees above her grave may be heard in the very spots that are hallowed by her associations. May the clods of valley rest gently upon her.– (36).

February 14, 1899 – William Morgan Dies in Shepherdstown

The death of Col. William A. Morgan, deputy sheriff of Jefferson County, which occurred last evening (Feb. 14th) after an illness of less than twenty-four hours, caused a great shock to this community, where he had long been one of the most popular citizens. Col. Morgan was born March 30, 1831 near Mt. Vernon, Fairfax County, Va. and, with his parents, came to Jefferson County in 1837. In 1854, he married Miss Annie J. Smith of Winchester, daughter of Col. Austin Charles Smith. She died some years ago. At the breaking out of the civil war, Col. Morgan entered the Confederate service as captain of Company F of the First Virginia Cavalry. He was subsequently promoted to be colonel of this regiment. He was one of the most gallant soldiers in the Confederate army and participated in almost every important battle in which the cavalry was engaged. He commanded various brigades from time-to-time during the last year of the war. After the surrender he returned to his home, near Shepherdstown, and engaged in farming. He was soon chosen deputy sheriff and held this office for about twenty-six years continuously. He was very popular in this county with all classes. Col. Morgan is survived by the following children: Augustine Morgan and Mrs. Anna Getzendanner of Shepherdstown; William A. Morgan of Kansas City, Mo.; Dr. Daniel H. Morgan of the U.S. Navy; and Archibald M. Morgan of the 2nd West Virginia Regiment at Greenville, SC. – (37).January 19, 1900 – George Slow dies in Philadelphia:J. E. Gillingham, for whom George Slow had for many years been a coachman and handy man, wrote Frank Donaldson:My dear Mr. Donaldson:Our old friend, George Slow, died this morning and will be buried on Monday, from his sister’s. Yours truly.

FUNERAL NOTICE George C. Slow, aged 70.

The relatives and friends of the family are respectively invited to attend the funeral on Monday, January 22nd, 1900. at 12 o’clock, from the residence of his sister, Mrs. Davis, No. 511 South 13th Street. Interment at grounds of Church of Holy Redeemer, Bryn Mawr, PA.I attended the services at his late residence, in company with Mr. and Mrs. Joseph E. Gillingham, and Captain Newhall, Mr. Gillingham’s private secretary, and with Mr. Gillingham and Captain Newhall, was present at his interment, at the grounds of the Church of the Redeemer. Slow had been a coachman for the Gillinghams for thirty years.Donaldson remembered his long-time friend:George Slow, irreproachable in character, kindly, manly, brave faithful, true, always to be depended upon, was endeared to me not only for these sterling qualities, but for the tenderness with which he watched over me, a young soldier, and for his unassailable honesty, unhesitating willingness in the performance of his duties. It is told of him that his search for me among the dead and wounded at Fair Oaks, was most moving, his finding his way afterwards to my home in Philadelphia illustrates his faithfulness, and his conduct at Gettysburg, where he crawled between the lines to Round Top that my haversack might be replenished, bespeaks his bravery.

He passed away with his heart full of tenderness for me, and the highest tribute I can pay his memory is that he was a man that always did his duty as God gave him the light to see it. From his friend,Francis A. Donaldson

George Slow’s niece, Lucy Digges Slow, named after Mrs. Hugh Pendleton’s sister, would later become the Dean of Women at Howard University in Washington, D.C. – (38).

Sunday, May 8, 1903 – John Wesley Seibert, the town barber, cook for Company B in the 2nd Virginia Infantry, dies.

John Wesley Seibert, who was born enslaved and raised by Eliza Morgan, an aunt of William Morgan at Falling Spring, cooked for Company B in the 2nd Virginia Infantry, had for many years until his death a fastidiously kept barber shop at the Entler Hotel, a hangout for his old comrades and the town.His funeral and burial were a truly remarkable event, as “The Shepherdstown Register” editor, H. L. Snyder wrote:

J. Wesley Seibert, the well-known colored barber, died at his home in Shepherdstown last Sunday (May 8, 1903-ED) night. The deceased was a much respected man, and had a wide circle of white friends in this section who will regret his death. Wesley who was about 59 years old, belonged in his youth to Mrs. Betsy Morgan. At the outbreak of the Civil War, he went with Company B, of this place, as cook, and all through the war he was with the Confederate soldiers in the Second Virginia Regiment, serving them faithfully and standing by them through all the adversities. After the war he settled in Shepherdstown, where he conducted a barber shop, having been located in the Entler building on Main Street for 36 years. For the past year his heart has been giving him serious trouble, and in February last he sold his business to Lester Wells and retired from work. He grew worse as time passed, and peacefully passed away Sunday night. He stood by his friends manfully and his influence was used in the right way in all matters pertaining to the public welfare. He was economical and prudent, and had accumulated a snug fortune, his home being among the neatest most comfortable in the town. He was married, but had no children. The funeral service was held in the colored Methodist church yesterday afternoon. It was one of the most remarkable demonstrations ever seen in Shepherdstown – indeed, we do not know that a similar occurrence has ever been known in this country. The Confederate Veterans and the Sons of the Confederate Veterans commanded by Capt. M. J. Billmyer, marched in the funeral procession and attended the service. The most prominent business men of the town and a number of ladies were among the white persons at the service – bankers, lawyers, merchants and businessmen generally paying their respect to the memory of a man whose skin was dark, but whose life had been faithful. The service was in charge of his pastor, Rev. J. E. Carter, and Revs. Murray, of Charles Town, and Greenfield of this place. Three white ministers of our town also assisted in the service, Rev. Charles Ghiselin, D.D. of the Presbyterian Church, Rev. H. O. McDaniel of the M. E. Church, and Rev. J. Thrasher, of the M. E. Church South. The church was filled with white and colored people, and the service was a very impressive one. – (39).

June 3, 1914 – Danske Dandridge, the once ten-year-old-girl who vilified “serpent” Gen. Hunter dies.

Now aging and ailing for many months, a gunshot rang out in the upper floor of her home. Alexandra Lee Levin, a descendant, wrote:

Helen Goldsborough of Shepherdstown, (a relative), will never forget the day when she and her brother and their governess had driven over to Rose Brake (The Grove, Poplar Grove-JS) Danske’s home, to visit. Suddenly a servant came running out, screaming that Mrs. Dandridge had shot and killed herself. The two Goldsborough children were quickly whisked away in their pony cart, while their father hastened over to help poor Steve Dandridge. – (40).

Enormously gifted, hard-working, sometimes feeling misunderstood, Danske Dandridge worried over her fragile health when she wrote one of her best, late-in-life-poems, called “The Struggle,” that poet John Greenleaf Whittier acclaimed:

Body I pray you, let me go!

It is a soul that struggles so.

Body, I see on yonder height

Dim reflex of a solemn light;

A flame which shineth from the place

Where Beauty walks with naked face;

It is a flame you cannot see,

Lie down, you clod, and set me free.

October 20, 1914 – Tippie dies:Entered Into Rest

We are sincerely sorry to record the death of Mrs. Helen M. Pendleton, the much-beloved former resident of Shepherdstown, who passed away at her home in Pittsburghh Tuesday morning. She had been in failing health for several years past, and her death had been anticipated for some weeks, as she gradually grew weaker. She had suffered much since first her health gave way and it is a consoling thought to her loved ones, in the hour of their sadness, that she has entered into the rest that comes to people of God. Mrs. Pendleton was born and reared in this community and most of her life was spent here. She was daughter of the late Hon. Alexander R. and Helen Stockton Boteler, whose home Fountain Rock, near Shepherdstown, was burned during the Civil War by order of General Hunter. She was married to Captain Dudley Digges Pendleton, whose tragic death occurred as the result of an accident twenty-eight years ago. About eleven years ago she went to Pittsburgh to make her home, several of her children having located there ever since.

Mrs. Pendleton was one of the most lovable characters who has ever graced with womanly virtues this community. From her girlhood she was the object of genuine regard of a wide circle of friends. Full of kindness and unselfish thought for others, active and helpful in every good work, high-minded and cultured, she was a truly noble woman, and this community is the better for her pure life and Christian character. She leaves behind a memory that is as sweet incense and which will be an influence for good continually. During her last illness she time and again expressed the wish that she might get back to Shepherdstown and be among friends of former years. She has indeed come back – her spirit still lives among us and her body sleeps in Elmwood where so many of her friends of her youth lie in the quiet tomb.Mrs. Pendleton was 73 years of age. She was born in 1841, a year of great political excitement, when Vice-President “Tippecanoe“ Tyler became President of the United States by the death of President Harrison. She was affectionately nicknamed “Tippie” and all her life she was “Tippie” to her relatives and friends. She is survived by two sons and four daughters: Dudley Digges Pendleton of Elizabeth, New Jersey; Hugh N. Pendleton of Connellsville, Pa.; Miss Helen Boteler Pendleton, of Newark, N.J.; Elizabeth S. and Charlotte Pendleton and Mrs. C. D. Scully of Pittsburg.The body will be brought to Shepherdstown for burial, arriving here Friday morning at half-past ten o’clock. The funeral service will be held immediately afterward in Trinity Episcopal Church, of which the deceased had been a consistent member from her girlhood and interment will take place in Elmwood Cemetery.Then, when on earth I breathe no more,The prayer, oft mixed with tears before,I’ll sing upon a happier shore,Thy will be done.”– (41).Helen Macomb Boteler PendletonBirth: May 4, 1840Death: Oct. 20, 1914– (42).January 12, 1915 – Helen Hunter, a Shepherd College student on the yearbook editorial staff, published her visit to Fountain Rock:Dearest Peggy:We have just come back from a walk to the Morgan’s Grove Fair Grounds. It’s a rather desolate place in winter, but in a summer it is beautiful. It’s a grove of handsome old trees with our Town Run beginning in its famous spring, and the misty Blue Ridge in the far distance. I’m sending you a picture of the old ruin on the grounds. It was a magnificent Colonial home that was burned during the Civil War.Several persons here who knew the owner told me all about it. A company of Federal soldiers were sent to burn the house, for the Botelers were well-known Southern sympathizers. The soldiers wouldn’t allow the family to take anything from the house. One daughter carried her grandmother’s portrait out, but had to return it. The most thrilling incident of all, I think, is about the girl who played Dixie (CORRECT: Charlotte Elliott’s “Thy Will Be Done”) as hard as she could on the piano. They say she would have kept right on till she burned up with her piano if she hadn’t been carried out, struggling all the while. The barn was burned too, but as the cattle pens were built around it, I couldn’t get a picture of that.We all drank from the spring near the old house. Someone remarked that it used to be called the spring of ’76, where the young men of Shepherdstown and the country round about gathered for a barbecue before they started on the long march to Boston to take part in the Revolution.We were corrected, however, by a Jefferson County girl. These people are all strong on their local history. She said that this spring is Fountain Rock Spring and that the Spring of ’76 is on the other side of the railroad. (Danske Dandridge preserved the song her ancestor, possibly one of the three Bedinger brothers – Henry, Daniel or Michael – composed and sung this broad, patriotic song at Falling Springs for 10 June, 1775, prior to their 25-day march to Boston to join the Continental Army.

That seat of science, Athens,

And Earth’s great mistress, Rome,

Where now are all their glories?

We scarce can find their tombs :

Then guard your rights, Americans,

Nor stoop the pliant knee,

Oppose, oppose, oppose, oppose.

The landing of the tea.

Far from a world of tyrants.

Beneath the western sky.

We formed a new dominion.

In the Land of Liberty.

The world shall own their masters here.

Then hasten on the day, —

We’ll shout and shout, and shout, and shout,

For brave America.

We led fair Freedom hither.

And lo, the deserts smiled,

A paradise of pleasure

Just opened in the wild;

Your harvest, bold Americans,

No power shall snatch away.

Then let’s huzza, huzza, huzza.

For brave America.

Some future day shall crown us

The masters of the Main,

By giving law and freedom

To men of France and Spain :

And all the isles and ocean spread

Shall tremble and obey

The laws, the laws, the laws,

the laws,Of North America.

Proud Albion bowed to Caesar

And numerous lords before.

To Picts, and Danes, and Normans,

And many masters more . . .– (43).)

Helen Hunter continues:The grounds are now used for the Morgan’s Grove Fair, held every year, and for a general picnic ground all through the summer. The railroad runs close by and trains stop there during fair week. I’m going skating again soon. We skate on the canal and it’s great fun, especially when we build a bonfire and sit along the bank by it. After school yesterday we had our fire built on a rather steep bank. It was icy, too, but so muddy the ice could not be seen. In trying to get down the bank Virginia slipped and fell right into the fire – I should say through it, for she slid right on down the bank scattering the fire to the four winds. Luckily she wasn’t burned at all, though she was rather badly bruised.My Chemistry needs my undivided attention now.Write soon Lovingly Helen – (44).

April 1, 1932 -“Miss Netta” – the last surviving witness to The Burnings – moves on with grace.

Netta Lee, a widow, lay back, suffering from uremic poisoning, her 88-year-old frame at ease in the Leeland home. On April first, 1932. She died and was buried beside her husband Charles at Mt. Olivet Cemetery in nearby Frederick, Maryland, with the headstones of almost all her family peeking thru a narrow grove of trees at Leeland in adjacent Elmwood Cemetery. Graveside respect was organized for the last one who was really there at The Burning. – (45).

A square mound of earth among stones. Nettie’s precious ones turn home.Everything starts again.Daily tasks repeat a recurring theme.The new wind blows sighs and cries, Knowing it is our Song.Netta_Last_WordsWhen the swallows homeward fly,

When the roses scatter’d lie,

When from neither hill nor dale,

Chants the silv’ry nightingale,

In these words my bleeding heart,

Would to thee its grief impart.

When I thus thy image lose,

Can I, oh! can I e’er know repose?

Can I, oh! can I e’er know repose?

When the white swan southward roves,

To seek at noon the orange groves,

When the red tints of the west,

Prove the sun is gone to rest,

In these words my bleeding heart,

Would to thee its grief impart.

When I thus thy image lose,

Can I, oh! can I e’er know repose?

Can I, oh! can I e’er know repose?

My poor heart, why do you cry,

Once also you in peace will lie!

All things on this earth must die;

Will then we meet, you and I?

My heart asks with boding pain

Will faith join us once again?

After today’s bitter parting pain.

Can I, oh! can I e’er know repose?

Can I, oh! can I e’er know repose?Sunset_Two_Swallows_TITLE2

References/Image Credits:

Chapterette 27-28: April, 1865 – THE WAR ENDS. Dudley Pendleton Returns Home with a Servant; George Slow Finds a New Life in Philadelphia.

1. Third Battle of Petersburg.

2. The Boteler Collection – courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

3. Ibid.

Chapterette 28: After The War and Tender Sprouts Appear, New Lives Unfold; Memories Blow Like a Breeze – Always.

continued from Chapterette 27:

4. Bushong, p. 188.

5. Kenamond, p. 122.

6. Arnold, Thomas Jackson. (1922). “The Lost Dispatch – A War Mystery.” Confederate Veteran, Volume 30, p. 317. (NOTE: Arnold was incorrect on one point. Douglas lived until 1903 and was serving as a courier during the Maryland Campaign for Gen. Jackson, and smoked cigars. Arnold says he was at the address by Rosser and wrote down his information on the following day).

7. Samuel Phillips Lee. wikipedia.org.

8. Pendleton-Boteler. Jefferson County Clerk Records, West Virginia. Marriage Records.

9. Year end letter The Goldsborough Collection.

10. Levin, pp. 190-193.

11. Julia Pendleton Allen GET ADD

12. Cooke, pp. 101-102.

13. Hamstead, Elsie. (2000). “One Small Village: Kearneysville 1842-1942.” Hagerstown, MD: Hagerstown Printing. Print.

15. The Boteler Collection

16. Ibid.

17, Ibid.

18. 1870 Census.

19. The Boteler Collection.

20. Shepherdstown Register, February 21, 1934.

21. Shepherdstown Register, December 21, 1933.

22. Shepherdstown Register, February 21, 1934.

23. Aglionby Farm Diary Vol. 1 p. 6.

24. U.S., Federal Census Mortality Schedules Index, 1850-1880.

25. The Goldsborough Collection, The Lee Society.

26. Ibid.

27. The Boteler Collection.

28. Shepherdstown Register, September, 1885.

29. Shepherdstown Register, August 26, 1886.

30. Thursday, November 22, 1888; Sun (Baltimore, MD) Volume: CIV Issue: 5 Page: 4. Local Matters
Date: Thursday, November 22, 1888. Paper: Sun (Baltimore, MD) Volume: CIV Issue: 5 Page: 4
This entire product and/or portions thereof are copyrighted by NewsBank and/or the American Antiquarian Society. 2004. genealogybank.com.

31. Bower Burns VFP ADD

32. Mary B. “Pink” Boteler Mason.

33. Shepherdstown Register, February 21, 1934.

34. July 14, 1896 – Fifty-year-old Edmund J. Lee findagrave ADD

35. Military Service Records National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).

36. Shepherdstown Register, October 13, 1898.

37. The Baltimore Sun, February 16, 1899.

The Late Colonel Morgan. a Popular Citizen of Jefferson County and a Gallant Soldier
Date: Thursday, February 16, 1899. Paper: Sun (Baltimore, MD) Volume: CXXIV Issue: 79 Page: 3.
This entire product and/or portions thereof are copyrighted by NewsBank and/or the American Antiquarian Society. 2004.Source: genealogybank.com

38. The Boteler Collection.

39. The Shepherdstown Register, May 8, 1903.

40. Levin, The Shepherdstown Good Newspaper, fall, 1985, p. 7.

41. Shepherdstown Register, October 22, 1914.

42. Helen Macomb Boteler Pendleton
Birth: May 4, 1840
Death: Oct. 20, 1914

43. Dandridge, p. 85.

44. The Cohongaroota, Shepherd College. 1915. pp. 97-98.

45. Netta Lee Goldsborough Burial.

Chapterette 29: https://civilwarscholars.com/uncategorized/thy-will-be-done-chapter-29-endnotes-by-jim-surkamp/

Thy Will Be Done Chapter 29 Endnotes by Jim Surkamp

2327 words

https://web.archive.org/web/20190710015205/https://civilwarscholars.com/2014/12/thy-will-be-done-endnotes/

Chapterette 1: 1850s – The “Days That Never End” – But That Did
The Day of the Horses – The Ring Tournament in Leeland Field.

1. The Shepherdstown Register, August 8, 1857.

2. Crayon, Porte (Strother, D. H.). “The Mountains – X.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. Volume 51. Issue: 304 (September, 1875). pp. 475-486. Print.

3. The Shepherdstown Register, August 8, 1857.

4. Crayon, Porte (Strother, D. H.). “The Mountains – X.” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine. Volume 51. Issue: 304 (September, 1875). pp. 475-486. Print.

5. The Baltimore Sun, September 1, 1849.

6. The Shepherdstown Register, August 8, 1857.

7. The Baltimore Herald, August 2, 1848, (Thornton Perry collection, Virginia State Library).

Chapterette 2: Working Jefferson County’s Peaceful, Fertile Lands

1. Serena K. Dandridge undated letter, Dandridge Collection, Duke University.

2. Adam Stephen Dandridge Account Books, Jefferson County Museum.

3. A. R. H. Ranson. “Reminiscences of a Civil War Staff Officer By A Confederate Staff Officer, First Paper: Plantation Life in Virginia Before the War.” The Sewanee Review. Vol. 21, No. (4 Oct. 1913), pp. 428-447.

4. Helen Boteler Pendleton, “A Nineteenth Century Romantic” The Shepherdstown Register, December 21, 1933.

5. Magazine of the Jefferson County Historical Society. Volume LXXV December 2011. “Jefferson County to Liberia: Emigrants, Emancipators, and Facilitators.” by Jane Ailes and Marie Tyler-McGraw pp. 43-76.

6. A. R. H. Ranson. “Reminiscences of a Civil War Staff Officer By A Confederate Staff Officer, First Paper: Plantation Life in Virginia Before the War.” The Sewanee Review. Vol. 21, No. (4 Oct. 1913), pp. 428-447.

Chapterette 3: Henry Bedinger and Alec Boteler – The Creative Congressmen

1. Mary Bedinger Mitchell, “Memories,” edited by Nina Mitchell. Shepherdstown, WV: Printed privately.

2. Helen Boteler Pendleton, “A Nineteenth Century Romantic” The Shepherdstown Register, December 21, 1933.

3. Boteler Collection, Duke University.

4. Mary Bedinger Mitchell, “Memories,” edited by Nina Mitchell. Shepherdstown, WV: Printed privately.

5. Serena K. Dandridge undated letter, Dandridge Collection, Duke University.

Chapterette 4: The War Storm Gathers Over Jefferson County.

1. wikipedia.org – Great_Seal_of_the_Confederate_States_of_America

Chapterette 5: April, 1861 – Drumbeats

1. James Walkenshaw Allen – VMI Historic Rosters Database.

2. Strother, Harpers New Monthly, June, 1866. pp. 1-26.

3. National Park Service, Civil War Soldiers and Sailors System.

4. Report of Inspection made at Harper’s Ferry, Va. by Lieut. Col. George Deas, Inspector General C.S.Army. May 23, 1861.

5. Moore, Edward Alexander, pp. 36-38.

6. Ann C. Reeves Collection.

7. Levin, p. 24.

8. Levin, p. 26.

9. Douglas, p. 3, pp. 6-7.

10. Ibid.

11. Driver, p. 76.

12. Serena K. Dandridge undated letter, Dandridge Collection, Duke University.

Chapterette 6: A Wartime Tragedy – Rezin Davis & Lizzie Shepherd & Their Soon-To-Be Three Children

1. Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton, “A Wartime Tragedy,” The Shepherdstown Register, September 25, 1924.

Chapterette 7: The Battle of Manassas/Bull Run Is Over; William Lee Is Dying: William Morgan Writes “My dear Anna” About Events.

1. The Ann C. Reeves Collection.

2. Western Historical Manuscript Collection, Columbia, Mo.

3. Casler, John O. (1906). “Four years in the Stonewall Brigade, containing the daily experiences of four year’s service in the ranks from a diary kept at the time.”

4. Cummings, Col. Arthur. (1906) “Colonel Cumming’s Account.” Southern Historical Society papers. R. A. Brock (ed). Volume 34. Richmond, VA.: Southern Historical Society. pp. 367-371

5. The Bedinger/Dandridge Collection, Duke University.

6. The C. W. Andrews Collection, Duke University.

7. The Boteler Collection – Courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

8. Provided by A.M.S. Morgan to Raymond and Natalie Parks and included in their compilation “Bits & Pieces” in the Perry Room, Charles Town Library.

9. The Bedinger/Dandridge Collection, Duke University.

Chapterette 8: August-September, 1861 – Returning to Home and Family Does Not Exceed The Reach of Armies.

1. Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton, “A Wartime Incident,” The Shepherdstown Register. March 8, 1934

2. Helen Boteler Pendleton, The Shepherdstown Register, January 25, 1934.

3. Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton, “A Wartime Tragedy,” The Shepherdstown Register, September 25, 1924.

4. Driver, p. 61.

Chapterette 9: October-December, 1861 – Fountain Rock’s Nighttime Search Takes Away Rezin Davis Shepherd Junior To Prison.

1. Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton, “A Wartime Tragedy,” The Shepherdstown Register, September 25, 1924.

Chapterette 10: A Love-Prospecting Henry Kyd Douglas Writes Tippie Boteler from a 2nd Virginia Infantry Encampment Amid the Worst Winter Weather Conditions in West Virginia, Yet Perhaps Unable to Warm Her Heart.

1. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

2. Henry Kyd Douglas Papers, Duke University.

3. Small portion of a letter by Julia Allen February 11, 1862 – Virginia Military Institute Archives. Collection note: The original letter is privately owned. The owner provided the VMI Archives with a copy of the original and granted us permission to publish the letter on our website, so that its content could be made available to researchers.

Chapterette 11: March, 1862 – Freedom Comes Hard To Rezin Davis Shepherd and Almost Too Late; But Freedom Offered by Hugh Pendleton at Westwood to His Many Enslaved is the Long-Awaited Day.

1. Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton, “A Wartime Tragedy,” The Shepherdstown Register, September 25, 1924.

2. The Richmond Enquirer correspondent in Winchester reporting the number of enslaved driven from Harper’s Ferry after its capture by Confederates. – September 23, 1862.

3. Strother Diaries, p. 10.

4. Dandridge Account Books – Jefferson County Museum, Charles Town, WV.

5. James, Anne Hooff Farm Journals, Wednesday, March 12, 1862. Perry Collection, Charles Town Library.

6. Charles Aglionby, The Day Book.

7. Ibid.

8. 1860 Slave Schedules, Jefferson County, Virginia, United States Census.

9. A Young Northern Soldier’s Journey thru Jeff. in March 1862 – The Boteler Collection – Courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

10. Ibid.

11. Ailes, Tyler-McGraw, p. 52.

12. Jefferson County Death Records show the death December 6, 1858 of enslaved person, Mary Frances Thornton and reported by her owner, Hugh N. Pendleton.

13. A Young Northern Soldier’s Journey thru Jeff. in March 1862 – The Boteler Collection – Courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

14. History of the Corn Exchange Regiment, 118th Pennsylvania Volunteers, p. 642.

15. A Young Northern Soldier’s Journey thru Jeff. in March 1862 – The Boteler Collection – Courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

Chapterette 11a: Steve Dandridge Finally Gets a Uniform, James W. Allen Falls

1. A Young Northern Soldier’s Journey thru Jeff. in March 1862 – The Boteler Collection – Courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

2. Serena K. Dandridge undated letter, Dandridge Collection, Duke University.

3. Moore, p. 62.

4. Ibid., pp. 36-38.

5. Gaines’ Mill Battle.

Chapterette 12: The Battle of Antietam/Sharpsburg Repurposes the War and Fills Shepherdstown’s Structures with 5,000 Wounded . . . and the Echoes of Indelible Memories.

1. Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton, “A Wartime Tragedy,” The Shepherdstown Register, September 25, 1924.

2. Civil War Scholars, Decisions Sorely Missed.

3. Mitchell, p. 686.

4. Frye, “Harpers Ferry Under Fire – A Border Town in the American Civil War.”

5. Mitchell, p. 687.

6. Frye, “Harpers Ferry Under Fire – A Border Town in the American Civil War.”

7. Mitchell, p. 687.

8. Ibid. p. 690.

9. Dawes, p. 87.

10. Gordon, p. 82.

11. Mitchell, pp. 690-691.

12. Ted Hughes from “Crow’s Account of the Battle.”

13. Field Artillery in the American Civil War.

14. Williams, p. 127.

15. Neese, p. 125.

16. Gordon, p. 83.

17. Sears pp. 271-273.

18. Longstreet, pp. 251-252.

19. Sears, p. 396 fn. 22.

20. Alexander, p. 146.

21. Ted Hughes, “Crow’s Account of the Battle.”

22. Douglas, p. 175.

23. Mitchell, p. 691.

24. Ibid.

25. Netta Lee, pp. 15-16.

26. Mitchell, pp. 691-692.

27. Ibid.

28. Serena K. Dandridge undated letter, Dandridge Collection, Duke University.

29. “The Coral Island” (book).

30. Mitchell, p. 692.

31. J. F. J. Caldwell, p. 53.

32. Mitchell, p. 693.

33. Moore, pp. 156-157.

34. Serena K. Dandridge undated letter, Dandridge Collection, Duke University.

35. Mitchell, p. 695.

36. Letterman, p. 855 (p. 98 in Appendix). Reference to cared for Confederates just prior to “Table X.”

37. Hard, pp. 190-194.

38. Henrietta Lee to daughter Ida, October 3, 1862, Shepherd University Library.

39. Netta Lee, pp. 16-17.

40. Henrietta Lee to daughter Ida, October 3, 1862, Shepherd University Library.

Chapterette 13: September-October, 1862 – The Bower – “If these walls could talk”

1. “Serena Catherine Dandridge Memoir.” p. 73 – Dandridge Collection – Jefferson County Museum, Charles Town, WV.

2. Hotchkiss, p. 85.

3. Von Borcke pp. 183-186.

4. Von Borcke p. 190.

5. Charles Aglionby’s Farm Journal, p. 34.

6. Netta Lee, p. 12.

7. Ibid.

8. Peggy Vogtsberger. “This Fine Music.”

9. Blackford, pp. 161-162.

10. Blackford, pp. 158-159.

11. Von Borcke, pp. 202-203.

12. Von Borcke, p. 204.

13. Von Borcke, pp. 221-222.

14. Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton, “A Wartime Tragedy,” The Shepherdstown Register, September 25, 1924.

Chapterette 14: November 14, 1862 – Henry Kyd Douglas Writes Tippie Boteler . . Longingly.

1. Henry Kyd Douglas Papers, Duke University.

Chapterette 15: Thursday, December 11 – Monday, December 15, 1862 – Dudley Digges Pendleton, Tippie’s Future Husband, Vividly “Paints” the Battle of Fredericksburg, Va. including His Own Heroic Act.

1. The Boteler Collection – courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

Chapterette 16: December, 1862-April, 1863 in Jefferson County – The Calm Between Storms.

1. “The Day Book Kept By Charles Aglionby at Mount Pleasant, Charles Town, Jefferson County, Virginia.” 6 March, 1861 to 1 January, 1866.” – Jefferson County Museum, Charles Town, Wv.

2. Levin, p. 2.

3. Henrietta Bedinger Lee, Goldsborough Collection, Shepherd University Library.

Chapterette 17: George Bedinger on a Gettysburg Hill; Henry Kyd Douglas Falls.

1. Moore, p. 136.

2. The Dandridge and Boteler collections – Duke University.

3. The University Memorial: Biographical Sketches of Alumni of the University of Virginia who Fell in the Confederate War. pp. 477-478.

4. Casler, pp. 180-181.

5. Golladay, p. 530.

6. Obituary in The Lynchburg Virginian, July 21, 1863; Levin, p. 66.

7. Douglas, p. 250.

8. Levin, p. 67.

Chapterette 18: Tippie Boteler Recalls The Fight Near Fountain Rock in July, 1863; Kyd Douglas’ Letters to Tippie Don’t Take Hold.

1. Shepherdstown Register February 1, 1934.

2. Henry Kyd Douglas Papers, Duke University.

Chapterette 19: December 17, 1863 – Imprisoned Henry Kyd Douglas writes Tippie Boteler from his Deep-Frozen Island Prison on Johnson’s Island in Lake Erie.

1. Henry Kyd Douglas Papers, Duke University.

Chapterette 20: The United States Colored Troops’ Company G of the 19th Regiment Knocks on Henrietta Bedinger Lee’s Door at Bedford.

1. Jefferson County Historical Society Magazine, Volume LXII. December 1996.
Fragments of a Diary of Shepherdstown – Events During the War 1861-5.

2. Netta Lee Diary, pp. 8-11.

3. Service Records, United States Colored Troops. National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).

4. Robert Summers – Curator/Webmaster for http://19usct.com

5. Ibid.

6. Service Records of the United States Colored Troops.

Chapterette 21: Spring, 1864 – Netta Lee Remembers Tom Beall and Kiziah and Kizzie’s “Secret Society.”

1. Netta Lee, pp. 25-29.

Chapterette 22: About April, 1864 Netta Lee Remembers Clever Horse Snatching by Her Brother.

1. Alexandra Lee Levin’s book “This Awful Drama” implies without specifying that this incident occurred in the spring of 1863. It has been placed in the spring of 1864 here, because Edmund Lee’s service record indicates that in April-May, 1864 Lee was on “horse detail.” The mentioned soldiers, Clemmons and Jones who were with him, also have service records showing their presence in April-May, 1864 in Shepherdstown was easily possible.

2. Netta Lee, pp. 23-24.

Chapterette 23: July 17-19, 1864 – The Three Burnings; David Hunter Torches Hunter Hill, Fountain Rock and Bedford While Their Families Watch and Become Homeless, Another Is Saved by Clever Dealings; Gen. David Hunter Planned Widespread Burnings; But Lincoln Took Operational Powers From Him.

1. Hunter to Halpine, Official Record Vol. 37, Part II. p. 367.

2. The Diaries of David Hunter Strother, p. 280, edited by Cecil Eby.

3. Rutherford, pp. 38-39.

4. Evans, p. 263.

5. Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln. Volume 7. p. 446.

6. The war of the rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies. ; Series 1 – Volume 37 (Part II). pp. 374-375.

7. Ibid. p. 394.
Title: The war of the rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies. ; Series 1 – Volume 37 (Part II).

8. The Diaries of David Hunter Strother, p. 280, edited by Cecil Eby.

9. Elizabeth Stockton Pendleton, “The Burning of Fountain Rock” The Shepherdstown Register, February 8, 1934.

10. Then eight-years-old. Augustine Morgan as retold by Anna Getzendanner, pp. 6-7.

11. Levin, pp. 11-12.

12. Letter, Tippie Boteler to her sisters – The Boteler Collection – courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

13. Henrietta Bedinger Lee, Goldsborough Collection, Shepherd University.

14. Danske Dandridge. pp. 27-29.

15. Letter, Henrietta Bedinger Lee, Goldsborough Collection, Shepherd University.

16. Netta Lee, pp. 29-34.

17. Augustine Morgan, as recorded by Anna Getzendanner, pp. 6-7

18. Copy, in Henrietta B. Lee’s handwriting, Goldsborough Collection, Shepherd University.

19. Letter, Tippie Boteler to her sisters – The Boteler Collection – courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

20. Ibid.

21. The Dandridge and Boteler Collections, Duke University.

22. The Boteler Collection – courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

Chapterette 24: The Journey of a Refugee by Netta Lee – The Lees Go To Clarke County.

1. Netta Lee, pp. 36-37.

2. Ibid. pp. 42-45.

Chapterette 24a Continued (slightly out of time sequence)

1. Netta Lee, pp. 45-47.

2. Ibid., pp. 48-53

3. Ibid. pp. 54-55.

4. Franklin G. Martindale, 1st New York Cavalry. Service and Veterans Records from the Civil War, National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).

5. Netta Lee, pp. 55-56.

6. Ibid., pp. 61-63.

Chapterette 25: July 30, 1864 – The Burning of Chambersburg

1. Early’s interview with The Richmond State, June 22nd, 1887; The Wilmington Morning Star, North Carolina, Sunday, June 26, 1887. p. 478.
Lieutenant General Jubal Anderson Early C.S.A.
Autobiographical Sketch and Narrative of the War Between the States. Appendix.

2. Letter to The Philadelphia Inquirer, August 1, 1864.

3. (Subscription to service required:)Rocky Mountain News August 3, 1864.

4. (Subscription to service required:) Evening Post (New York, NY) August 2, 1864.

5. History of Franklin County, p. 386.

6. Evening Post (New York, NY) Aug. 2, 1864.

7. Public Opinion, July 30, 1886; History of Franklin County, p. 386.

Chapterette 26: GEN. PHIL SHERIDAN ADDS UP THE MAD CALCULUS OF WAR AND GETS “TOTAL WAR.”

1. David Hunter.

2. General Grant to Gen. Halleck – order stating “a crow would have to carry its own provender” on July 14, 1864: OFFICIAL RECORDS: Series 1, vol. 40, Part 3 (Richmond, Petersburg); Chapter LII. CORRESPONDENCE, ETC. – UNION. p. 223.

3. Grant to Sheridan August 26, 1864 City Point, Va. The war of the rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies. ; Series 1 – Volume 43 (Part I), p. 917.

4. Jed Morrison, “Sheridan’s Ride” The New York Times Opinionator, October 21, 2014.

5. Sheridan, pp. 487-488.

6. The war of the rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies. ; Series 1 – Volume 43 (Part II), p. 308.

7. Rutherford, p. 39.

Chapterette 27-28: April, 1865 – THE WAR ENDS. Dudley Pendleton Returns Home with a Servant; George Slow Finds a New Life in Philadelphia.

1. Third Battle of Petersburg.

2. The Boteler Collection – courtesy Ms. Leslie Keller.

3. Ibid.

Chapterette 28: After The War and Tender Sprouts Appear, New Lives Unfold; Memories Blow Like a Breeze – Always.

continued from Chapterette 27:

4. Bushong, p. 188.

5. Kenamond, p. 122.

6. Arnold, Thomas Jackson. (1922). “The Lost Dispatch – A War Mystery.” Confederate Veteran, Volume 30, p. 317. (NOTE: Arnold was incorrect on one point. Douglas lived until 1903 and was serving as a courier during the Maryland Campaign for Gen. Jackson, and smoked cigars. Arnold says he was at the address by Rosser and wrote down his information on the following day).

7. Samuel Phillips Lee. wikipedia.org.

8. Pendleton-Boteler. Jefferson County Clerk Records, West Virginia. Marriage Records.

9. Year end letter The Goldsborough Collection.

10. Levin, pp. 190-193.

11. Julia Pendleton Allen GET ADD

12. Cooke, pp. 101-102.

13. Hamstead, Elsie. (2000). “One Small Village: Kearneysville 1842-1942.” Hagerstown, MD: Hagerstown Printing. Print.

15. The Boteler Collection

16. Ibid.

17, Ibid.

18. 1870 Census.

19. The Boteler Collection.

20. Shepherdstown Register, February 21, 1934.

21. Shepherdstown Register, December 21, 1933.

22. Shepherdstown Register, February 21, 1934.

23. Aglionby Farm Diary Vol. 1 p. 6.

24. U.S., Federal Census Mortality Schedules Index, 1850-1880.

25. The Goldsborough Collection, The Lee Society.

26. Ibid.

27. The Boteler Collection.

28. Shepherdstown Register, September, 1885.

29. Shepherdstown Register, August 26, 1886.

30. Thursday, November 22, 1888; Sun (Baltimore, MD) Volume: CIV Issue: 5 Page: 4. Local Matters
Date: Thursday, November 22, 1888. Paper: Sun (Baltimore, MD) Volume: CIV Issue: 5 Page: 4
This entire product and/or portions thereof are copyrighted by NewsBank and/or the American Antiquarian Society. 2004. genealogybank.com.

31. Bower Burns VFP ADD

32. Mary B. “Pink” Boteler Mason.

33. Shepherdstown Register, February 21, 1934.

34. July 14, 1896 – Fifty-year-old Edmund J. Lee findagrave ADD

35. Military Service Records National Archives and Records Administration (NARA).

36. Shepherdstown Register, October 13, 1898.

37. The Baltimore Sun, February 16, 1899.

The Late Colonel Morgan. a Popular Citizen of Jefferson County and a Gallant Soldier
Date: Thursday, February 16, 1899. Paper: Sun (Baltimore, MD) Volume: CXXIV Issue: 79 Page: 3.
This entire product and/or portions thereof are copyrighted by NewsBank and/or the American Antiquarian Society. 2004.Source: genealogybank.com

38. The Boteler Collection.

39. The Shepherdstown Register, May 8, 1903.

40. Levin, The Shepherdstown Good Newspaper, fall, 1985, p. 7.

41. Shepherdstown Register, October 22, 1914.

42. Helen Macomb Boteler Pendleton
Birth: May 4, 1840
Death: Oct. 20, 1914

43. Dandridge, p. 85.

44. The Cohongaroota, Shepherd College. 1915. pp. 97-98.

45. Netta Lee Goldsborough Burial.