EVACUATION OF RICHMOND.
Night passed away, and the day brought such a scene as had only been
witnessed in the abandoned cities of the Old World. A government
was preparing to move; wagons were hastily laden with boxes and
trunks at the departments, and driven to the depot of the Richmond &
Danville railroad. Thousands of citizens determined to follow the fortunes
of the fugitive government, and as much as a hundred dollars in
gold was offered for a conveyance. Night came again and brought with
it a reign of terror. No human eyes in Richmond were closed in sleep
that night. The city council convened and resolved to destroy all the
liquor in the city, and at midnight the work of destruction began. Hundreds
of barrels were poured into the gutters, but despite every effort
the straggling soldiers secured a quantity of it, and from that moment
law and order ceased to exist. Many stores were pillaged, the lawless
marauders crashing windows and battering down doors, that they might
grasp the coveted merchandise within. Wild cries of distress mingled
with the yells of the pillagers rent the air and a livid pallor rested upon
every face.
But the worst element of destruction had not yet appeared upon the
scene, although it hovered near. General Ewell, then in charge of the city,
now ordered the four principal tobacco warehouses in the city to be fired.
Mayor Mayo, through a committee of citizens, remonstrated against the
order, the execution of which placed the entire business portion of the
city in jeopardy, but without avail. The torch was applied, and the
rams of the Confederate navy lying in the James were blown up. Daylight
dawned upon the awful scene. The beautiful city was a sea of
fire; tongues of flame shot from block to block, and far in beneath the
dense columns of smoke might be seen the figures of the rioters rushing
amid the glare like demons to and fro, laden with plunder of every
kind. It was a scene indeed that beggared description.
The victors were near. A short distance below the city, and on the
north bank of the James, lay the division of General Godfrey Weitzel,
and to his eye and ear the lurid flames and thundering explosions conveyed
an assuring conviction. He knew that Richmond had been
abandoned by the Confederate authorities. His martial bands filled the
air with inspiring national strains, and as the day dawned orders were
given to advance and occupy the city. As the sun arose long lines of
cavalry—the 4th Massachusetts in advance—entered the city and filed
along Main street. A body of fifty cavalrymen occupied the city square,
and Lieutenant Johnson de Peyster ascended to the top of the Capitol
building and unfurled the National flag. The dread scene deepened in
awful intensity; the hissing of the conflagration, the sullen curses of
the vanquished, the shouts of the victors, the screams of women and
children united to form a very pandemonium. But at last, through the
efforts of the soldiers and citizens, assisted by a favorable change of the
wind, the flames were stayed. Martial law was proclaimed, the discordant
elements stilled, and order once more reigned.
