The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Burning of Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, by B. S. (Benjamin Shroder) Schneck

Rev. Mr. Niccolls:

Please write my father and give him my love. Tell him, too, as Mrs. Shoemaker will tell you, that I was most strenuously opposed to the burning of the town.

B. B. Blair,
Chaplain, and son of Thomas P. Blair, Shippensburg, Pa.

That there was a most formidable opposition to burning the town in McCausland’s command was manifested in various ways. In the morning before daylight, when McCausland was at Greenawalt’s, on the turnpike west of Chambersburg, a most boisterous council was held there, at which there were earnest protests made to McCausland against burning anything but public property. McCausland was greatly incensed at some of his officers, and threatened them with most summary vengeance if they refused to obey orders.[6] Many, however, did openly disobey, and went even so far as to give the utmost publicity to their disobedience.

The Order to Burn Chambersburg.

Captain Fitzhugh exhibited to J. W. Douglas, Esq., an attorney of this place, a written order, with the name of Jubal A. Early to it, directing that Chambersburg should be burned, in retaliation for the burning of six houses in Virginia by Hunter. The burning of Chambersburg was therefore by an order from one of the corps commanders of General Lee’s army, instead of the work of a guerrilla chief, thus placing the responsibility squarely upon the shoulders of General Lee. We have in support of this the statement of Rev. Mr. Edwards, Episcopal clergyman of Hagerstown, who was taken as a hostage after Chambersburg had been destroyed. He was brought to General Early’s headquarters at Williamsport, and there paroled to effect his exchange. General Early there informed him that he had directed Chambersburg to be burned, in retaliation for the destruction of property in Virginia by Grant, Meade, and Hunter, and that the account was now squared.

Retribution.

Several of the thieves who participated in burning Chambersburg were sent suddenly to their last account. An officer, whose papers identify him as Major Bowen, 8th Virginia cavalry, was conspicuous for his brutality and robberies. He got too far south of the firing parties to be covered by them, and in his desire to glut his thievish propensities, he was isolated. He was captured by several citizens, in the midst of his brutal work, and was dispatched promptly. When he was fired at and slightly wounded, he took refuge in the burning cellar of one of the houses, and there, with the intense heat blistering him, he begged them to spare his life; but it was in vain. Half the town was still burning, and it was taxing humanity rather too much to save a man who had added the boldest robbery to atrocious arson. He was shot dead, and now sleeps near the Falling Spring, nearly opposite the depot.

Mr. Thomas H. Doyle, of Loudon, who had served in Easton’s battery, followed the retreating rebels towards Loudon, to capture stragglers. When beyond St. Thomas he caught Captain Cochran, quartermaster of 11th Virginia cavalry, and as he recognized him as one who had participated in the destruction of Chambersburg, he gave him just fifteen minutes to live. Cochran was armed with sword and pistols, but he was taken so suddenly by Mr. Doyle that he had no chance to use them. He begged piteously for his life, but Mr. Doyle was inexorable; the foe who burns and robs must die, and he so informed him peremptorily. At the very second he shot the thief dead, and found on his person $815 of greenbacks, all stolen from our citizens, and $1750 of rebel currency. His sword, belt, and pistols were brought to this place by Mr. Doyle.

LETTER III.

“2. It has generally been conceded in the North, during this war, that what is called bushwhacking is contrary to the rules of war. A private citizen has no right to enjoy that protection and immunity which is accorded him by the armies, and then take his gun and shoot down a soldier. This, we think, is conceded, and it has been urged all along that private citizens who do so deserve summary execution. Suppose now that private citizens should employ violence against rebel soldiers, is it not plain that they would expose themselves to the vengeance of the rebel army, and that the end of it would be a war of savage butchery on both sides, a war of destruction and desolation? Would it not invite to pillage and arson and murder?

“3. But even if this had been attempted in the cases of invasion that have occurred, it would have been of no avail. Take the recent case of the capture and burning of Chambersburg. General Averill was not far from the place, with twenty-five hundred cavalry, when a detachment of Early’s corps, under McCausland, entered and burned it. If, then, General Averill felt himself too weak to interfere to prevent the rebels from entering the town, what could the unarmed citizens of such a place, without any one to lead them, have been able to do? It has been said by papers that ought to know better, that two or three hundred rebels captured and burned the town. Is it not to be supposed that General Couch would know what could be done, and when he despaired of being able to hold the town and left it, would it not have been sheer madness for the citizens to have provoked the rebel soldiery to shoot them down in the streets, without being able to effect anything?

“Besides it must be remembered that the citizens of Chambersburg did not know, and had no right to expect, that the rebel force intended burning their town before they entered it. As unarmed private citizens they submitted to what could not be averted, and expected to be treated according to the rules of war, under which private citizens are protected from personal injury by soldiers.

“That farmers should send away their horses, and merchants their goods, at the approach of the enemy, is not only natural, but eminently wise and proper. Allowing them to remain at home, without the ability to defend them from capture, would be giving aid and comfort to the enemy.

“As against New York, the city whose leading papers have been vilely slandering the border counties of Pennsylvania, the case would seem to need no explanation or vindication. It is still remembered how that city found it necessary to have regiments from our armies to come to their rescue in putting down a riot caused by opposition to the draft. It is known, too, how anxiously they clamor for the Government to provide ample defences for their harbor against some rebel iron-clad that might slip in unawares and destroy their city. If New York needs monster guns to protect it from the enemy, is it wrong for Pennsylvania to expect arms and men to be furnished by the Government, to protect her borders from invasion?

“As to the kind of philanthropy that would thus vilify and slander a town lying in ashes, and its inhabitants houseless and homeless, what terms can characterize it? It is not only unchristian but inhuman. These things are past, but they are not forgotten.

“Chambersburg had a right to claim help in its calamity, not as a charity, but as a right. But in these times rights are not always accorded. Some sections have to suffer more than others, who do fully as much in men and money to support the government. This is to be expected. Let us try at least to be just in our judgment.”

The following is from the graphic pen of the Rev. B. Bausman, late pastor of the German Reformed congregation here, now of the city of Reading, likewise a corresponding editor of the paper referred to, and author of “Sinai and Zion,” an interesting volume of Travels in the Holy Land. Mr. B. hastened to the scene of ruin as soon as the telegraph informed him of the fearful calamity. After a suitable introduction, he furnishes the following incidents and reflections:

“Persons were fired upon, who attempted to extinguish the flames. A rebel soldier threatened a young man to ‘blow his brains out’ if he would not let the fire burn. With a revolver in hand, his sister rushed out of an adjoining room, her eyes flashing with a more terrible fire than that of rebel kindling: ‘Begone, thou brutal wretch!’ said the heroine, as she aimed with precision at the rebel’s head, who scampered away in a terrible fright.

“Three sides around a lady’s home (Mrs. Denig’s) are on fire. The fourth is enclosed with an iron fence. An attempt to cross the fence burns her palm into crisp. She sits down in the middle of her narrow lot. Around her she folds a few rugs, dipped in water, to shelter her person against the heat. An old negro crouches down by her side, and helps to moisten the rugs. Her face, though covered, is blistered by the intense heat. Now and then God sends a breath of wind to waft the hot air away, and allows her to take breath. Virtually, it was a martyrdom at the stake, those two hours amid the flames. Only after she was rescued did the sight of her ruined home open the fountain of tears. ‘Don’t cry, missus,’ said Peter, the old negro; ‘de Lord saved our lives from de fire.’ In a few hours two thousand people are scattered through the suburbs of the town, in the fields, on the cemetery, amid the abode of the dead. A squad of rebels seized a flag, which a lady happened to have in her house. With some difficulty, she wrested it from their grasp, folded it around her person, and walked away from her burning house, past the furious soldiery, determined that the flag should become her shroud ere it should fall into the hands of the foe.

“Never was there so little saved at an extensive fire. Sixty-nine pianos were consumed. The most sacred family relics, keepsakes and portraits of deceased friends, old family Bibles, handed down from past generations, and the many objects imparting a priceless value to a Christian home, and which can never be replaced, were all destroyed.

“In the dim moonlight we meditated among the ruins. Chimney-stacks and fragments of walls formed the dreary outline of ruined houses. Not a light was left but the fitful glowing of embers, amid the rubbish that fills the cellars. The silence of the grave reigns where oft we have heard the voice of mirth and music, of prayer and praise. Now and then some one treads heavily along in the middle of the street; for the pavements are blocked up with fallen walls.

“Here we must pause a moment. More than fifty years ago, a happy young man brought his bride into yonder house, now in ruins. One room sufficed, on the second floor. A happier pair could not be found in the halls of affluence. The first day they said: ‘We will build an altar here.’ Around it they daily knelt. In 1812, the husband tore himself away from his weeping bride, to drive the British foe from our soil. From that day to this, his heart was aglow with the fire of Christian patriotism. Children were born to them, and children’s children. By industry, thrift and piety, they acquired a competent fortune, meanwhile giving much to Christ and His kingdom. Their children, too, they gave to Him. The first room continued a sacred ‘upper room.’ There were portraits, books and family keepsakes of fifty years’ gathering. Mementos of sorrow and joy were treasured up therein. Some years ago, the once happy bride, then an aged matron, died. Her death was like the falling of a great shadow on a sun-lit home. By this time the silvery locks of age adorned the brow of the bridegroom. Sorrow had made his home doubly sacred; trials riveted his heart to it. Still he prayed and read his old family Bible in the room where first he built the altar. With what a cheerful, buoyant spirit he bore the burdens of age! Under this room was a store, with a considerable quantity of powder. The fire is already hissing around the kegs. Still he lingers in his dear chamber, as if preferring death there to safety elsewhere. The violence of friendship forces him away just before the fatal explosion. Every domestic memorial, which piety and affection have gathered for more than half a century, are in the ashes. Two cases these, out of three hundred. Thousands of domestic and social ties bind the members of communities and of families together. To tear up and sunder all in a few hours, and cut hundreds of hearts loose from the moorings of past generations—who can fathom such a sorrow!

“The Rev. P. S. Davis, who lately entered upon the pastorate of the First Reformed Church, sustained a serious loss. A great portion of the clothing of his family and his manuscripts, the literary fruits of an earnest, laborious ministry, were consumed. Dr. Schneck vainly contended with the flames. His cozy, substantial house, with all that it contained—the costly relics borne home from two European tours, his valuable library, all his manuscripts, precious domestic keepsakes and furniture—all are a heap of undistinguishable ruins. To begin the world anew at his time of life, presents a cheerless prospect. Dr. Fisher’s is one of the four fortunate homes that were saved in the burned district.”

LETTER IV.

In regard to the first, I am enabled to say, that during the whole course of my life, I have not witnessed such an absence of despondent feeling under great trials and sudden reverses of earthly fortune, never such buoyancy and vigor of soul, and even cheerfulness amid accumulated woes and sorrows, as I have during these four weeks of our devastated town. And I leave you to imagine the many cases of extreme revulsion from independence and affluence to utter helplessness and want. The widow and fatherless, the aged and infirm, suddenly bereft of their earthly all, in very many instances, even of a change of clothing. Large and valuable libraries and manuscripts, the accumulations of many years; statuary, paintings, precious and never-to-be-replaced mementoes—more valuable than gold and silver—gone forever. And yet amid all these losses and the consequent self-denial and the necessity of adapting themselves to another and almost entirely different state of things, to which the great majority of the people were subjected, you seldom see a sad or sombre countenance on the street or elsewhere. Exceptions there are doubtless, traceable in part to feeble physical constitution, in part also to an inordinate love of and dependence upon transitory objects. But in a general way the sufferers by this wholesale devastation are among the most patient, unmurmuring, cheerful, hopeful people I have ever known. God really seems to have given special grace in a special time of need. When, on the morning after the burning and pillage (God’s sweet day of rest) I attempted to preach to an humble flock of Germans, whom I serve once a Sabbath, a godly woman belonging to the little congregation wept nearly during the whole service. On the way to my lodging-place, I overtook her and found her still in tears. Fearing I had been misinformed as to her safety from the recent calamity, I asked for the cause of her grief. “I weep for others, my dear pastor,” she replied, “and not altogether and entirely for others either, for I fear me that if my little all had been burnt before my eyes, I should not have had grace to bear up as you and the rest are enabled to do.” And then with an outburst of irrepressible emotion, she added: “And you can yet exhort us to forgive these our enemies, and not murmur and repine under all this, as not only you yourself but others have said, we should do. It’s this that makes me weep.”

I freely confess that I have never experienced in my own case, nor in the case of others, even under comparatively light and trifling losses and deprivations, such resignation, such quiet, gentle submission, and such calm endurance, amid the loss of all things, as in this instance. To such an extent have been these manifestations, that persons from neighboring towns, and strangers from a distance who in great numbers have visited the place, almost universally remark upon it. A highly intelligent and pious woman in a remote part of the county, a few days after the burning, called at the house in which a number of the homeless ones were kindly cared for. The large dining-table was surrounded by those who, a few days before, were in possession of all the comforts and many of the luxuries of life. Pleasant and cheerful conversation passed around the board. The visitor alone seemed sad and out of tune. Tears stood in her eyes as she looked around upon us. “I am amazed beyond measure at you all,” she said. “I expected to see nought but tears, hear only lamentations and sighs, and here you are as I have seen and known you in your bright and happy days, calm, serene, and even cheerful!” When one of our number replied, that no tear over the losses sustained had yet been shed by herself, but many tears at the numerous tokens of Christian sympathy and generous aid from far and near to relieve the immediate necessities of the sufferers, she added, “God be thanked for your words; they flow like precious ointment, deep down into my heart. Oh, what a commentary on the promised grace of God!” And we all felt, I am sure, that among the many gifts of our heavenly Father, not the least was

And in regard to the feeling of revenge, so natural to the human heart, I have been gratifyingly disappointed. Among the heaviest sufferers, by far the largest proportion have not only expressed themselves decidedly opposed to the spirit of retaliation, but have used their best efforts to dissuade our soldiers from carrying their threats into execution when an opportunity should offer. They have gone farther, and have drawn up a petition in which they earnestly implore the Government in Washington to prevent to the utmost anything of the kind on the part of our army. They believe it to be morally wrong, no matter what may be the provocation from the other side, and have always condemned the destruction of private property by our troops in the South, whenever isolated instances of the kind were reported. They believe, moreover, with our wise and judicious Governor, that retaliation “can do no good to our own people, but a great deal of harm, because we have more towns, villages, flouring and other mills to be destroyed in three counties than our enemies in the Southern States have in fifteen or twenty counties.”

Such a wholesale, premeditated, and cruel work of destruction as the burning of Chambersburg, was never perpetrated by Union troops, and when Richmond papers have said so, they have said what the facts in the case did not warrant. It must be admitted, however, that in too many instances, Union troops did destroy private property unnecessarily and wantonly. We hope in God it will never be done again. We trust our commanding officers in the army will not allow passion to set aside moral principle, military rule, and military honor. Within sight of our charred and desolated homes, we implore and beseech them not to bring reproach upon our Government, trample upon all law and order, inaugurate cruel barbarity instead of civilized warfare, and be guilty of such accumulated horrors as have been enacted here. And yet all this, and much more, will follow with unerring certainty, if the immoral, dishonorable, and unmilitary spirit of retaliation is carried into effect. God in mercy forbid it!

In this connection, and for the purpose of showing that I am not alone in the views expressed as regards the destruction of private property by Union troops on the one hand, and the exaggerated or untrue statements of the Southern press on the other, I will quote the following paragraphs from the pen of Colonel McClure, in his paper already referred to. I suppose his statements come as near the truth as can well be ascertained. He says:

“Jacksonville (Florida) was fired at a single point when our troops were retreating from it, because citizens fired on our men from the houses, and unfortunately most of the town—composed of wooden structures—was destroyed. The firing was in accordance with a well-recognized rule, that civilians who shelter themselves in their houses to fire upon troops, shall not only lose their property but suffer death. In Alexandria an accidental fire, resulting from a party of intoxicated soldiers, threatened the destruction of the entire town, owing to its inflammable buildings and unfavorable winds; but it was arrested before one-third of the village—the poorest portion of it—was burned. At the head of the force detailed to put out the fire was Major-General Banks in person, and by his orders and efforts the town was saved. Jackson (Mississippi) was partially destroyed by our guns when it was defended by the rebels, but it was not fired and burned by our troops after possession was gained. Wrongs, even atrocities, may have been committed by individual soldiers or isolated commands; but no such thing as deliberate and wanton burning and robbing of houses was practised by the Union army. Colonel Montgomery committed gross outrages on private citizens in two raids in South Carolina, which we have never seen reason to justify; but he was deprived of his command, or at least subordinated, and it may be dismissed, as he should have been. Kilpatrick burned mills unwarrantably, as we have ever believed, and other Union commanders may have done the same; but it was some excuse that they were filled with rebel supplies. While McCausland was on his way to Chambersburg to lay it waste, General Rousseau was penetrating the richest part of Georgia, and not a single private house or building of any kind was destroyed, nor were his soldiers permitted to enter a residence on the route. When private property was near to Government stores, which he had to fire, he detailed men to save all but the buildings belonging to or used by the rebel government. General Stoneman enforced the same rules rigidly in all his raids, and so did Grierson. The Union troops have captured and occupied hundreds of rebel towns since the war has commenced, and they have yet for the first time to demand the freebooter’s tribute, or destroy a town by order of a commanding officer. Repeatedly have our troops been fired upon and murdered by skulking rebels who protected themselves in their dwellings; but in no case has a town been destroyed therefor.”

LETTER V.

An elderly woman, of true Spartan grit, gave one of the house-burners such a sound drubbing with a heavy broom, that the invader retreated, to leave the work of destruction to be performed by another party, after the woman had left to escape the approaching flames of the adjoining buildings.

The wife of a clergyman succeeded in preventing one of the enemy from firing her house, by reminding him that she had fed him during Stuart’s raid in 1862, and that she also ministered to him when he was in the hospital in this place in the summer of 1863. The man recognized her, and frankly declared that he could not be so base as to destroy her house, now that he remembered her kind offices. He had been wounded and made a prisoner at the battle of Gettysburg, was brought to the hospital here, and afterwards exchanged.

Mr. Jacob Hoke, one of our most worthy and enterprising merchants, has furnished the following statement of facts and incidents for publication in the Religious Telescope, of Dayton, Ohio. As his residence and store were located in the centre of the town, he had an opportunity of witnessing the scenes of the day to greater advantage than most others. I may as well inclose the principal part of his article, as it explains more fully several general statements before given, whilst, at the same time, it brings out some points not alluded to before:

Mr. Editor: Not having seen in any published report, a satisfactory account of the late rebel raid on Chambersburg, and being a resident here, and an eye-witness, I will hastily sketch what came under my own observation, and what I have from reliable persons. In Thursday’s Philadelphia Inquirer, the correspondent at Frederick stated “that our troops were in such numbers, and so situated, that for the first time in the history of the war, glorious news might be expected from the Shenandoah Valley.” Very high military authority, but a few days prior to the raid, assured us “that every ford of the Potomac was strictly watched; that it was impossible for the enemy to cross; that if they only would cross it would be the best thing that could happen, as they could never get back again.” In this way our community was lulled into comparative security, until on Friday noon, July 29th, it was announced that the rebels had crossed in considerable force at Williamsport, and also at Cherry Run. No one could depict the scene of excitement which then occurred. Merchants and others commenced packing, shipping, and otherwise disposing of their valuables.

At eight o’clock in the evening General Hunter’s large wagon train commenced passing through our town toward Harrisburg, and continued passing during the greater part of the night. At least fifteen hundred cavalry and two hundred infantry passed through with that train as guards and as stragglers. That these men were not stopped here by General Couch, who did not leave town until three o’clock in the morning, is explained by the assertion that they were under orders from General Hunter to guard his train. That train was entirely safe after it had passed through Chambersburg, and that body of men, judiciously posted, could, with the artillery in town, and the citizens, have held the enemy in check until Averill could arrive, who was then ten miles distant, and threatened in his front by a force of rebels who, it is now evident, were only making a demonstration to hold him until the other and heavier column under McCausland and Gilmore, could effect their object in Chambersburg.

I sat at my window on the corner of the Diamond and saw them enter. Skirmishers, dismounted, led the advance, followed by cavalry. They came in simultaneously in all the streets and alleys, and called to each other as a signal, when they reached the centre of the Diamond. In five minutes after, a force of about five hundred cavalry filed around the Public Square, and immediately commenced the work of plunder. The first building broken open was Mr. Paxton’s shoe and hat store; then the liquor stores adjoining my residence. I met them at my store door and unlocked it, when about twenty entered and commenced a thorough search. Finding it empty, they inquired where I had my goods, to which I replied, I had shipped them to Philadelphia. Returning from the room, I locked the door, and sat down by it, and entered into conversation with a gentlemanly-looking man, who informed me he was the Chaplain to McCausland’s command. He gave his name as Johnson, born in Fayette County, Pennsylvania, and said he was a Methodist preacher. During our conversation an officer dismounted at my door, tied his horse, and listened to our conversation, where he remained until the circumstance occurred to which I shall presently refer. The Chaplain said to me, “Do you reside in this house?” I replied affirmatively. He then said they were rolling several barrels of combustible matter into the Court House, near my residence; that they were going to burn it, and I had better try to save something from our house. Leaving these two men at the door, I ran up stairs and carried a load of precious articles from the parlor table, consisting of a valuable family Bible, books, photograph album, &c., to a neighbor’s house, where I presumed they would be safe. They were all burned there, however. Next, I carried some bed-clothing to a different part of the town, and they were saved. Returning to the house, I encountered a rebel officer in one of the rooms. Said he: “Do you belong to this house?” On my replying in the affirmative, he said: “My friend, for God’s sake, tell me what you value most, and I will take it to a place of safety. They are going to burn every house in the town.” I told him if that was the case, it was no use to remove anything, as they might as well burn here as elsewhere.

By this time my wife and two other occupants of the house came down stairs each with a carpet-bag packed with clothing. The officer followed us to the door and entreated one of the women to mount his horse and ride him off, as he declared he did not want him any more in the rebel service. Another man unbuckled his sword and put it in our house, in disgust at the scene before him. It was afterwards found among the ruins. At the door I found the officer previously referred to, weeping bitterly. The flames were bursting from buildings all around us. “See,” said he, “this is awful work. O God! O, my God, has it come to this, that we have to be made a band of thieves and robbers by a man like McCausland!” I have seen many men weep, but never did I see a strong, robust man hide from his sight, with his handkerchief, the appalling scene, and cry at the top of his voice, “O God! O mighty God!—See, see!”

Imagine the feelings of my family, when an hour before this, without intending to select any particular passage of God’s Word, I read the 138th Psalm, in which the following words occur: “Though I walk in the midst of trouble, Thou wilt revive me: Thou shalt stretch forth Thy hand against the wrath of mine enemies, and Thy right hand shall save me.” We knelt in prayer and surrounded the breakfast-table under the conviction that it was for the last time in that dear home. Then came the hasty snatching of precious relics of dear departed ones, passing hurriedly from room to room, leaving clothing, beds, furniture, library, pictures—all to the devouring flames. In our parlor hung the photographs of several of our bishops, with many others. These were either carried away by the rebels or burned. At the door we encountered the incident previously narrated. Leaving the weeping officer, we pressed through flame and smoke, amidst burning buildings, to the suburbs of the town, where we sat down and watched four hundred buildings in flames, two hundred and seventy-four of which were dwelling-houses, the affrighted occupants running wildly through the streets, carrying clothing and other articles, while screams of anguish from lost children in pursuit of parents, the feeble efforts of the old and infirm to carry with them some endeared article from their blazing homes, the roaring and crackling flames, falling walls and blinding smoke, all united to form a picture of horror, which no pen could describe, no painter portray. For three hours the fire raged. At about 11 o’clock, the rebels left town, as Averill’s scouts captured five rebels within one mile of the town. In three hours after their exit, Averill filed through the streets.

Incidents.

In our flight through the streets, the rebel officer alluded to followed us half a square, entreating one of the women to mount and ride off his horse, declaring that he was done with the rebel service. No sooner did he turn away, than another rode up and demanded our carpet-bags; we ran on, and he turned back without them. Brother Winton, while fleeing with his wife and little children, was stopped by a cavalryman and compelled to deliver his shoes and hat. Hundreds of robberies occurred of hats, shoes, watches, money, &c. An old and very estimable lady, who had not walked for three years, was told to run, as her house was on fire. She replied that she had not walked for three years. With horrid curses, the wretch poured powder under her chair, declaring that he would teach her to walk; and while in the act of applying fire to his train, some neighbors ran in and carried her away.

The burning mass appeared to converge toward the Diamond, forming fearful whirlwinds, which at times moved eastwardly along the line of Market street. At one time an immense whirlwind passed over where a large lot of bedding and wearing apparel had been collected. Large feather beds were lifted from the ground. Shirts and lighter articles were conveyed with fearful velocity high in the air, alighting at a great distance from where they lay. It was grand and fearful, adding to the horror of the scene. In many cases soldiers set fire to houses, and to the tears and entreaties of women and children they said their “orders were to burn. We will fire; you can do as you please after we go away.” An officer rode up to our parsonage, and thus addressed Mrs. Dickson: “Madam, save what you can; in fifteen minutes we will return and fire your house.” They did not return. Our church and parsonage were saved. The printing establishment of the German Reformed Church was completely destroyed, with all the valuable presses, books, the bindery, &c. Dr. Fisher estimates the loss to the Church at over forty thousand dollars. Those of our readers who know the town will understand the extent of this destruction from the following:

Beginning at the Presbyterian lecture-room on the north, the fire swept every building on the west side of Main street, except four, up to Washington street, four squares; from King street on the north, every building on the east side of Main street up to Washington, three squares; from the Franklin Railroad to nearly the top of New England Hill, five squares, on both sides of the street; also eight or ten dwellings over the top of New England Hill; from the Market-house down Queen street, both sides, to the edge-tool factory, and several buildings on the street running parallel with the creek, up to Market street, with many buildings on Second street from Market, up near the Methodist Church. The Methodist, German Reformed, and Lutheran churches saved the parts of the town in which they were situated from being involved in the general conflagration. The Associate Reformed and Bethel churches, the latter belonging to “The Church of God,” were burned. The Associate Reformed was used as headquarters for drafted men; hence its destruction. The “Bethel”—so marked on a stone in the front—was supposed by the fiends to be a negro church. In most cases fire was kindled in beds or bureaus by matches, and in balls of cotton saturated in alcohol or kerosene.

I saw men and officers drinking liquor as it was carried from the hotels, the doors of which they broke open. Many were drunk. Women were insulted; cruel taunts and threats were repeatedly made.

I have thus hastily sketched the foregoing facts, for such they are. The reader will remember they are written by one who lost heavily by the fire; is now surrounded by the extended ruins; is aware of the sufferings and heart-breakings of over two thousand men, women, and children, many of whom have been reduced from affluence to poverty, are now dependent for the bread they eat, the clothes they wear, and the houses that shelter them, upon others more favored.

I also append to the foregoing the following graphic letter in the Pittsburgh Evening Chronicle, afterwards copied in the Chambersburg Franklin Repository. It is from the pen of the Rev. S. J. Niccolls, the esteemed pastor of the Presbyterian congregation in this place.

“So much misapprehension exists in many quarters concerning the facts connected with the burning of Chambersburg, that it has become a matter of justice to a wronged and suffering community to state them fully to the public. Many things have been written concerning this calamity, true in themselves, but disconnected from their attending circumstances, and so the most injurious impressions have been made on the minds of those who live remote from the border. A connected and truthful narrative of this sad event, it is hoped, will correct these.

“The history of the past month commences with the advance of Early up the Shenandoah, and the invasion of Maryland. The enemy, about fifteen hundred strong, soon occupied Hagerstown, and it was believed that they intended a raid on Chambersburg. At this time there were three hundred soldiers in the place, under command of General Couch, the whole number available in his department. The citizens rallied around these, and determined to defend the town. Barricades were thrown across the streets, cannon planted, houses occupied by sharpshooters, and every preparation made for defence. Soon, however, the enemy fell back across the Potomac, and the invasion was declared to be ended. The small body of troops under General Couch were withdrawn to protect the national Capital, and we were left defenceless. We were assured, however, that the fords of the Potomac were well guarded, and a large army lay between us and the rebels. The very papers in New York which now condemn us for our apathy were daily assuring us that it was “all quiet on the Potomac,” and that the enemy had fallen back. We were soon startled from our dream of security by the announcement that General Crooks had been defeated, and the rebels were again advancing to invade Pennsylvania.

“We did not then take arms, because it was plain to every one that if the forces of Crooks and Averill could not resist their advance, it would be folly in a few citizens to attempt it. We had seen an invasion once before, and knew what it meant. Anticipating a repetition of the scenes of last year, the people of the county began to remove their stock and valuables. In the midst of conflicting rumors nothing could be learned of the movements of the enemy until Friday, July 29th. In the afternoon of that day it was known that they had crossed the Potomac, and were advancing rapidly on Chambersburg. We also learned from Mercersburg that the invading force was three thousand strong, or as it afterwards appeared, by actual count, thirty-one hundred, with six pieces of artillery. To meet this force there were in the town one hundred soldiers, with two pieces of artillery, and the citizens capable of bearing arms. The number of the latter would not reach three hundred, a large portion of the population being already in the army, and quite a number absent, attending to the removal of their horses and valuables. The citizens who remained were willing to defend the place, had it been deemed practicable by General Couch; but with this small and inadequate force at his disposal, it seemed like courting destruction for the town to attempt its defence. A show of resistance, which none could hope would be successful, would only give them a pretext for burning. No word could be obtained from General Averill, who was then near Greencastle, though the most earnest efforts were made by General Couch to obtain his assistance.

“At four o’clock A. M. on Saturday the military authorities left, and soon after the combined forces of McCausland and Bradley Johnson were placed in line of battle upon the range of hills commanding the town. The Eighth Virginia regiment, numbering about five hundred men, was thrown forward into the streets. These were detailed to burn the place....

“The scene that speedily followed is indescribable in its horrors. The soldiers went from house to house, bursting open the doors with planks and axes, and entering, split up the furniture to kindle the fire, or else scattered combustible materials in the closets and along the stairways, and then applied the torch. In a little over half an hour the whole town was fired, so complete were their arrangements to accomplish their hellish designs. No time was given the inhabitants to save anything. The first warning of danger most of them had was the kindling of the fire in their houses, and even the few articles that some caught up in their flight were seized by the soldiers and flung back into the flames. Many such instances have come to the writer’s knowledge, that in their dark malignity almost surpass belief. The aged, the sick, the dying, and the dead were carried out from their burning homes; mothers with babes in their arms, and surrounded by their frightened little ones, fled through the streets, jeered and taunted by the brutal soldiery. Indeed their escape seemed almost a miracle, as the streets were in a blaze from one end to the other, and they were compelled to flee through a long road of fire. Had not the day been perfectly calm, many must have perished in the flames.

“The conflagration in its height was a scene of surpassing grandeur and terror. A tall black column of smoke rose up to the very skies; around it were wrapped long streamers of flames, writhing and twisting themselves into a thousand fantastic shapes, while through it, as though they were prayers carried heavenward by the incense of some great altar sacrifice, there went up on the smoky, flame-riven clouds the cries and shrieks of the women and children. But the moment of greatest alarm was not reached until some of the more humane of the rebel officers warned the women to flee, if they wished to escape violence to their persons. We cannot, in this letter, describe the scenes of the sad flight which followed.

“The ferocity of the rebel soldiers during this affair seems almost incredible. With all their fierce passions unrestrained, they seemed to revel in the work of destruction. An aged elder of the Presbyterian church was taken from his house and robbed; the building was fired while his wife, aged and infirm, was still in it. Upon his return, it was with the utmost difficulty she was saved. Escape by the street was impossible, and they were compelled to flee to a little garden in the rear of the house, where they sat for hours, surrounded by fire. The rebel Gilmore forbade a lady to remove her trunks from her house, and upon her telling him to his face what she thought of his conduct, he drew his pistol and declared “he would blow out her brains if she did not take that back.” Many such instances, and worse, might be recorded. There were, indeed, some among them who acted humanely, refusing to do the work assigned them, but they were exceptions.

“As soon as the town was thoroughly fired at all points, the rebels fell back. On their way out they burned the residence of the County Superintendent of Public Schools, because, as they told his family, ‘he had taught negroes.’ Two hours after their departure, General Averill entered the town, and we were once more inside the Union lines.

“Such is the story of the burning of Chambersburg. These outlines, however, form a poor picture of the reality. The blackened ruins of this once beautiful town must first be seen before the calamity can be understood, and not then, for it is only by looking at it in detail, by understanding the peculiar sadness there is in each separate loss, and seeing the strange diversity of sorrow there is in this common woe, that one can realize the full extent of the ruin. Eleven squares of blackened ruins and over three millions of dollars in property consumed is the outward estimate of the loss. But who can write the history of two thousand people suddenly made homeless, dashed from affluence to poverty, torn violently from the sacred associations of the past, and driven forth houseless wanderers among strangers?

“The question is often asked, ‘Who is responsible for this calamity?’ Many coldly and unhesitatingly lay it upon the citizens themselves; but surely it is not necessary to argue that a few hundred citizens could not have resisted successfully three thousand veteran soldiers with six pieces of artillery. Many, too, have blamed General Couch, and false representations have gone forth that the citizens were greatly incensed against him. The writer of this letter has had peculiar opportunities of knowing the true state of the case, and would ask attention to the following facts. When General Couch took command of this department one year ago, he urged upon the citizens the necessity of forming organizations for home defence. His appeal was readily responded to, and all the citizens in the borough capable of bearing arms enrolled themselves in some organization. General Couch then made application to the War Department, asking that we might be uniformed and enrolled in the general service, so that, if we were ever overpowered, we would be treated as prisoners of war and not as guerrillas. This request was denied. He then proceeded to organize a cavalry force, from what was known as the ‘six months’ men,’ for the defence of the border. Many of our citizens enlisted in this force. It was kept on the border until their term of service expired, when they re-enlisted for three years. But their new organization was scarcely completed, before they were taken from this department and sent to the Army of the Potomac. General Couch then proceeded to organize the ‘Provost regiment, for special service in his department.’ This was filled up to 1200 men, and then, as with the rest, taken from him by order of the Secretary of War. These gone, scarce a corporal’s guard was left under his command.

“Two weeks before the advance of Early up the valley, General Couch renewed the request of last year, asking that the citizens might be armed and enrolled; stating, also, that they were ready to attempt their own defence. This was again denied. Then followed the request made by Governor Curtin, and endorsed by General Couch, which is already published in the Governor’s Message. At the time of the invasion of Maryland the whole of the available force in the Department of the Susquehanna did not exceed three hundred men; and during the raid on Chambersburg, General Couch had but one hundred and thirty-five men under his command. Nor is he to blame for the smallness of this number. He had during this month of alarm organized six regiments of one hundred days’ men; but these, as soon as equipped, were ordered to Washington by the Secretary of War. Such are the facts in the case. We make no comments on the propriety of leaving the border thus defenceless. Its security is perhaps a small matter compared with the strengthening of our armies elsewhere. We only say, General Couch is not to blame. He did everything a brave, earnest and faithful officer could do to avert this calamity.

“Many also are under the impression that this place was disloyal, and consequently they have no sympathy with us in our affliction. Nothing does greater injustice to our suffering community than this. No town of its size in Pennsylvania has fewer “sympathizers” with the rebellion than Chambersburg. Its quotas have always been filled by volunteers, and many of its best citizens have fallen on the field of battle. Such was and such is the spirit of the inhabitants. The affliction into which they have fallen is so great that, were it the result of their own neglect, common charity should teach others to speak of them kindly. But they do not wish to be excused; they only ask to be judged by the facts in the case. The writer has stated such facts as he knows to be true, and subscribes his name to them.

LETTER VI.

“I was in my house with my wife and two little children, and also a lady whose husband was taken to Richmond last summer, her little boy, and sister. The earliest warning we received was from the stifling smoke that poured through the house, and from some one knocking at the door and crying: ‘If there is any one in this house, for God’s sake leave, for it is all on fire.’ I gathered my family together, and left with nothing but the clothes I had upon my person, two of the ladies not having time even to get their bonnets. Having gotten them out of the house, I ascended the stairs to see if any had been left behind in the haste. After having examined all the rooms, I met two of the infuriated wretches rushing up the stairs as I hurried down. At this time the house was filled with blinding smoke. I locked the front door, hoping that the unwelcome visitors would not be able to find their way out.

“I immediately hurried after my charge, and found them struggling their way through the streets, thronged with homeless women and children, the pavements blocked up by the rebels, who had ridden their horses in every imaginable way to hinder the course of the fugitives. The streets were filled with smoke and flame, and almost impassable. After we had reached a temporary shelter, my wife returned to the scene of destruction, as a bird to its nest, and on her way was stopped before a burning house, in which a corpse was lying, and a little child at the point of death. The dead woman was gotten out with difficulty, and buried in the garden without shroud or coffin, and the child was barely rescued and placed in her arms, when an officer in front of the house called out to his men: ‘Boys, remember Hunter!’ She ran up to him, uncovered the child, and said: ‘Here is a dying baby we have saved from the house you have fired. Is your revenge sweet?’ Shocked, the fellow burst into tears, and answered, ‘No, madam.’ He followed her some distance, and leaning down, asked her earnestly, ‘Madam, can’t I save something for you?’ Her answer was, ‘No, it is too late: I have lost all!’ Warned to leave the house in which we had taken refuge, a party of us left, but soon became separated, and I lost my little boy, aged about ten, and did not find him till the next day, at Shippensburg, whither he had walked, a distance of eleven miles. The rest of us kept upon the edge of the burning town, and for three or four hours watched the progress of the flames.

“One of the saddest sights I witnessed was the burning of the old Academy. I watched it burn, timber by timber. Fifteen years of associations as scholar and teacher were annihilated in the course of one short hour. My attention was then drawn to the flag-staff in the centre of the public square, and we all, of our party as well as others, expressed an ardent hope that it might stand, from which the American flag might wave, even over the ruins of the town. At noon we returned to the uninjured house of a friend, and spent the night in gazing upon the ruins of our once happy and beautiful town.

“The conduct of the rebel soldiery was barbarous in the extreme, though there were many honorable exceptions. Bundles were tired upon women’s backs; ladies were forced to carry back into the houses articles of clothing they had saved from the flames; drunken wretches danced upon the furniture and articles of value and ornament; women’s persons were searched in the most indecent manner; oaths and foul language abounded; aged women were locked in their rooms while their houses were on fire; trunks were rifled after being dragged by the owners from the ruins; promises of protection were made to be instantly broken. Everything was done to add to the terror and confusion of the panic-stricken women and children. Soon the hunger of the little ones added new horror to the scene. Families were separated, and distracted fathers and mothers could be seen everywhere, seeking amid the confusion for those that were missing. And yet no selfishness was apparent; every one was willing to aid and sympathize with his neighbor. No one complained, no one lost hope. A rebel officer stopped me, saying: ‘Sir, cannot a little money be raised to satisfy that brute, McCausland; a very little money would save this end of the town.’ My answer was: ‘If ten cents would do it, it would not be forthcoming.’ One rebel came running towards me, wringing his hands, saying, ‘Horrible, horrible! I did not think it could be so bad as this!’ Another told me that they had received orders, before they entered the town, to burn every house in it; and yet another informed me that their object was to effect an entrance during the night, and then burn it. In some cases the women attempted to extinguish the fire, and were prevented by threats and personal violence. Some were thrust from their houses, others were struck, and in some instances pistols were drawn upon them. One lady had a bucket of water, which she had brought to extinguish the fire, thrown in her face. In almost every case the sick and the infirm were hindered from leaving their homes. There appeared to be a desire to have some burned, if possible, by accident! One rebel, who helped a lady to save some of her clothing, was seen led out of the town handcuffed. An officer who suffered himself to be persuaded to save some property, said, as he left the house he refused to fire, ‘Madam, you have saved your house, but have cost me my commission, and perhaps my life.’ A negro saved his life by dressing himself in woman’s clothes, and carrying on his head a feather bed, thereby hiding his face and hands. Little children cried to ‘go home’—the home that was destroyed; old men wept over the town in which they had lived for three-quarters of a century; citizens looked on with dismay upon the destruction of their life-long labor and industry. Many fled to the cemetery for refuge, and there, in the midst of death, was one little life added to the wretched throng. The words of our Saviour, with regard to the destruction of Jerusalem, were forced upon us: ‘Let him which is on the house-top not come down to take anything out of his house; neither let him which is in the field return back to take his clothes. And woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck in those days!’

“The town soon became one mass of smoke and flame, which ascended straight up to heaven, as if to call down the vengeance of God upon the incendiaries. Here and there whirlwinds went up like gigantic corkscrews, carrying paper and clothing high into the air, and miles into the surrounding country, as if to bear witness of the foul outrage. I saw more than one rebel soldier weeping like a child over the desolation he had made. Hardened as they were to the horrors of war, this was too terrible even for them to bear. One cried out to me in an agony of remorse: ‘Oh, I never enlisted for this!’

“For miles around, the frightened inhabitants fled, they knew not whither; some continuing their flight until they dropped to the ground with exhaustion. Pocket-books and watches were taken by wholesale; bundles, shawls and valises were snatched out of women’s and children’s hands to be thrown away. Cows and dogs and cats were burned to death, and the death-cries of the poor dumb brutes sounded like the groans of human beings. It is a picture that may be misrepresented, but cannot be heightened. One young girl was crying; but, meeting a squad of the marauders she controlled her tears, saying: ‘They shan’t see me cry!’ Full grown men, forgetful of themselves, sobbed over the destitution of those they loved, and self-sacrificing women strove to comfort those of weaker hearts, who had lost no more than themselves. We know of instances where persons had saved money and valuables of others, with which they had, in the excitement, been entrusted, to the exclusion of their own. In the midst of this awful scene, the sympathy and encouragement we had all along received from our loyal friends of a sister State, through the columns of the Tribune, Times and Independent, arose before us like a dense cloud, and, for the time, we hesitated which was most our enemy,—New York or Virginia. Five hundred of the enemy in our streets, two hundred as guard outside, three thousand within supporting distance; this, too, with more than two thousand effective United States cavalry only nine miles off, for hours. Oh, for one-half of the brave Franklin County boys, that were then far away from their homes, fighting the battles of the Union! We blame no one. Our loyalty, as strong as ever, forbids us; but there is an awful responsibility SOMEWHERE.

“One scoundrel accepted five dollars from a frightened female, to carry her trunk to a place of safety, where he coolly broke it open, and helped himself to the most valuable part of the contents. A little dead child was enclosed in a chest, and buried by the terrified parents in their garden, for fear it would be burned in their house.

“A lady in delicate health was watched by one of the robbers, and allowed to drag her trunk outside of the town; after which he searched it, and appropriated the valuables it contained. She asked, whether that was Southern chivalry, and received for reply: “Take that back, or I’ll blow your brains out.” She did not retract, and did not have her brains blown out. It was sad to see ladies escaping from their houses with nothing but a few photographs or an album.

“In the evening of that dreadful day, it was overpowering to witness the change in circumstances. One of our prominent citizens went with his family to the house of his hostler; another to the residence of his negro servant. On the next day it was a still more sorrowful sight to see refined ladies flock to the church to draw Government rations, and receive articles of second-hand clothing, sent up by the spontaneous charity of persons residing along the line of the Cumberland Valley Railroad. It was hard to eat the bitter bread of charity, but this mortification was borne with the same heroism with which they looked upon the sacking and burning of the dear old town. To see the grey-haired men and women, the middle-aged, the youthful, and childhood, all represented in the destitute but uncomplaining throng, was one of the most solemn sights the world ever saw. Wyoming and Chambersburg will live in the history of Pennsylvania, and the infamous names of Butler and McCausland, will be handed down to posterity, as the types of savage barbarity.

“At 2 P. M., the Union forces advanced through the town. The citizens cheered the dusty and jaded warriors, but no soldierly huzzas came from their parched and suffocated throats, as they rode through smoke and flame and the intense heat of the smouldering ruins. One repeated exclamation of, ‘My God!’ was all that was heard, and then, as they passed the flag-staff, each one shouted, ‘Remember Chambersburg!’ And so they exclaimed, and so they shouted, as they dashed at a trot through the town. I may live to be an old man, but never, never shall I see such sights again, as I saw that day in the stricken town of Chambersburg.