to
Virginia. Vicksburg, too, was ours. Indeed, crucial was the day, July
4th, 1863. Every one of our ninety millions of united Americans should
ever give thanks for the events of that day.

FILE IV.

A taste of the Draft Riots, July 13, 1863, when conveying wounded
Confederates from Gettysburg to David's Island, New York Harbor--Governor
Seymour's questionable conduct--A mysterious Mr. Andrews of Virginia--
"Knights of the Golden Circle"--"Sons of Liberty" and a North Western
Confederacy--Uncle Burdette--The Laurel incident.

I had a little taste of the draft riots during that memorable week
beginning July 13th, 1863. I was ordered to David's Island, New York
Harbor, with seven hundred wounded Confederates from Gettysburg. The
demonstrations of the mob of onlookers in Philadelphia were so very
unfriendly that we had to use the butts of our muskets to control the
crowd. They threatened us saying, "to-morrow will be our day." I
understood the threat when I learned later of the rioting. We were
advised that our train was to be intercepted before reaching New York,
and transportation was, therefore, furnished on the steamer "Commodore,"
by the outside course. After leaving our prisoners at David's Island, we
landed at the Battery, and there I addressed my men, cautioning them not
to reply to any assault unless ordered by me. We marched up Broadway to
the City Hall Barracks (where the New York Post Office now stands) and
stacked arms inside the enclosure. I was proud of my men. Each one
appeared a giant, steady, firm of step, lips compressed; two-thirds of
them were foreign born, yet no better Americans ever paraded Broadway.

Immediately after stacking arms, a lot of rioters who had just overcome
their guards, seized our stacks. Our boys jumped on them and I had a big
job to keep them from crushing their ribs. Exceeding my orders, I
permitted my men to visit their homes, to report back at midnight. The
cars were running but had no passengers. I rode on the Eighth Avenue car
to 48th Street, my home. Our house was locked, but Cousin Wilbur F.
Strong was there alone. He said Brother A. P. had taken the family into
the country for safety. A. P.'s loyalty had made him a "marked man," and
he had been threatened. After eating, Wilbur and I walked down to John
Hardy's, in 35th Street. Stores were all closed, no one on the streets
but an occasional corner loafer, who snarled at us. Hardy had been
hiding his colored serv