y's journey towards the South.
The Reverend Mr. Duncan, of the Methodist Church, did the same work of
necessity. Lumpkin, who for many years has kept a slave-trader's jail,
also had a work of necessity on hand,--fifty men, women, and children,
who must be saved to the missionary institution for the future
enlightenment of Africa. Although it was the Lord's day, (perhaps he was
comforted by the thought, that, the better the day, the better the
deed,) the coffle-gang was made up in the jail-yard, within pistol-shot
of Davis's parlor-window, within a stone's throw of the Monumental
Church, and a sad and weeping throng, chained two and two, the last
slave-coffle that shall ever tread the streets of Richmond, were hurried
to the Danville Depot. Slavery being the corner-stone of the
Confederacy, it was fitting that this gang, keeping step to the music of
their clanking chains, should accompany Jeff Davis's secretaries,
Benjamin and Trenholm, and the Reverend Messrs. Hoge and Duncan, in
their flight. The whole Rebel Government was on the move, and all
Richmond desired to be. No thoughts of taking Washington now, or of the
flag of the Confederacy flaunting in the breeze over the old Capitol!
Hundreds of officials were at the depot, to get away from the doomed
city. Public documents, the archives of the Confederacy, were hastily
gathered up, tumbled into boxes and barrels, and taken to the trains, or
carried into the streets and set on fire. Coaches, carriages, wagons,
carts, wheelbarrows, everything in the shape of a vehicle was brought
into use. There was a jumble of boxes, chests, trunks, valises,
carpet-bags,--a crowd of excited men sweating as they never sweat
before,--women with dishevelled hair, unmindful of their wardrobes,
wringing their hands,--children crying in the crowd,--sentinels guarding
each entrance to the train, pushing back at the point of the bayonet the
panic-stricken multitude, giving precedence to Davis and the high
officials, and informing Mr. Lumpkin that his niggers could not be
taken. Oh, what a loss was there! It would have been fifty thousand
dollars out of somebody's pocket in 1861, but millions now of
Confederate promises to pay, which the hurrying multitude and that
coffled gang were treading under foot,--literally trampling the bonds of
the Confederate States of America in the mire, as they marched to the
station; for the streets were as thickly strown with four per cents, six
per cents, eight pe