Ten American Girls From History

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"My! what a spanking you would have got if your aunt had turned
around!" She did not dare to stand there talking to him long, for she
was old enough to realize that there must be a reason for his being in
hiding, and that if the secret room should be discovered it might
bring unhappiness to her aunt. So in a very few moments the little
white-gowned figure flitted silently, swiftly down-stairs again, and
no one knew until years later of that midnight excursion of hers--or
of the secret room, for which the old house was thoroughly searched
more than once.

The winter of 1863-4 was one full of tense situations and of many
alarms for both Confederates and Unionists. In February, after the
daring escape of the Federal officers from the Libby, there were
several alarms, which roused young and old to the defense of the city.
The enemy made a movement to attack the city on the east side, but
were driven back. Again on the 29th of the month, the bells all rang
to call men to service. The city battalions responded, while General
Wilcox ordered all men who were in the city on furlough, and all who
could bear arms, out to protect the city, for Kilpatrick was
attempting a raid on Richmond, along Brook turnpike. "But while he was
dreaming of taking Richmond, Gen. Wade Hampton suddenly appeared with
his troops and routed him, taking three hundred and fifty prisoners,
killing and wounding many, and capturing a large number of horses."

Then came an event for which the Federal sympathizers, and especially
those in the Union Secret Service, had prepared with all the caution
and secrecy possible, trying to perfect every detail to such a degree
that failure would be impossible. To release all Federal prisoners in
Richmond--this was but a part of the audacious scheme in which Betty
Van Lew and a Union sympathizer called "Quaker," for purposes of
disguise, played an important part.

On the 28th of February, 1864, Col. Ulric Dahlgren left Stevensburg
with a company of men, selected from brigades and regiments, as a
picked command to attempt a desperate undertaking. At Hanovertown he
crossed with his men, all dressed in Confederate uniforms, confidently
expecting to get into Richmond by stealth. Unfortunately their
movements were discovered, and when they rode along through the woods
near the road at Old Church, in their disguise, a party of
Confederates in ambush opened fire on them, captured ninety white men
and thirty-five negroes, and killed poor little crippled Dahlgren, a
small, pale young officer, who "rode with crutches strapped to his
saddle, and with an artificial leg in the stirrup, as he had lost a
limb a few months before. His death was as patriotic as was his
desperate attempt, for bravely his eager band rode into the
ambush--there was a volley of shots from the thicket by the roadside,
and the young colonel fell from his horse, dead. Some of his men
managed to escape, but most of them were captured."

In Dahlgren's pocket was found an order to all of his men and
officers. To the officers he said:

"We will have a desperate fight, but stand up to it. When it does
come, all will be well. We hope to release the prisoners from Belle
Isle first, and having seen them fairly well started, we will cross
James River into Richmond, destroying the bridges after us, and
exhorting the released prisoners to destroy and burn the hateful city,
and do not allow the rebel leader Davis and his traitorous crew to
escape."

To his guides and runners he said:

"Be prepared with oakum, turpentine, and torpedoes. Destroy
everything that can be used by the rebels. Shoot horses and cattle,
destroy the railroads and the canal, burn the city, leave only the
hospitals, and kill Jeff Davis and his Cabinet."

A dangerous plan indeed! Small wonder that when its details became
known in their diabolical cruelty, the people of Richmond cried out
for revenge, and the hanging of the prisoners; but this was not heeded
by the officials, who had a saner judgment.

The raid had failed! Ulric Dahlgren had lost his life in a daring
attempt to which he was evidently urged by Betty Van Lew and the
so-called Quaker. Bit by bit the reasons for its failure filtered
through to the Spy, chief of which was the treachery of Dahlgren's
guide, by which the forces of the raiders, after separating in two
parts for the attack, lost each other and were never able to unite.
The brave, crippled young commander riding fearlessly on to within
five miles of the city into the ambush, his command falling under the
volley of shots from a hidden enemy--when these details reached Betty
Van Lew her anguish was unbearable, for she had counted on success
instead of failure. And now, there was work to do! Pacing the floor,
she made her plans, and with swift daring carried them out.

Dahlgren was buried on the very spot where he fell; but a few days
later the body was taken to Richmond by order of the Confederate
government, where it lay for some hours at the York River railroad
station. Then, at midnight, it was taken away by the city officials
and buried, no one knew where. But Betty Van Lew says in her diary:
"The heart of every Unionist was stirred to its depths ... and to
discover the hidden grave and remove his honored dust to friendly care
was decided upon."

Admiral Dahlgren, father of the unfortunate colonel, sent one hundred
dollars in gold to Jefferson Davis, asking that the body of his son be
sent to him. The order was at once given to the chief of police, with
the added command to have the body placed in a decent coffin; but when
the police went to carry out the order, taking with them the soldiers
who had buried Dahlgren, the grave was empty!

Through the daring act of Secret Service agents, doubtless, and of
Betty Van Lew's assistants, on a bitter cold and stormy night, two
Union sympathizers went out to the grave, the location of which had
been cleverly discovered by the Unionists. The body of young Dahlgren
was quickly taken up and carried to a work-shop belonging to Mr.
William Rowley, who lived a short distance in the country. He watched
over the remains all night, and during the hours of darkness more than
one Union sympathizer stole out to the shop to pay their last respects
to the pathetic young victim of the attempted raid. At dawn the body
was placed in a metallic coffin and put on a wagon, under a load of
young peach-trees, which entirely concealed the casket. Then Mr.
Rowley, who was a man of iron nerves and great courage, jumped to the
driver's seat and bravely drove the wagon with its precious freight
out of Richmond, past the pickets, without the visible trembling of an
eye-lash to betray his dangerous mission.

"As he had feared, at the last picket post, he was stopped and
challenged. His wagon must be searched. Was his brave hazard lost? As
he waited for the search to be made which would sign his death
warrant, one of the guards recognized him as an old acquaintance, and
began a lively conversation with him. Other wagons came up, were
searched, and went on. Presently the Lieutenant came from his tent and
called to the guard to 'Search that man and let him go!'

"The guard looked with interest at the well-packed load, and remarked
that it would be a shame to tear up those trees.

"Rowley gave no sign of fear or nervousness. Nonchalantly he said that
he had not expected them to be disturbed, but that he knew a soldier's
duty.

"Another wagon drove up, was searched, and sent on. Again the
Lieutenant gave an order to 'search the man so that he can go!' Could
anything save him now? Rowley wondered. If he had not been a born
actor he would have shown some sign of the terrible strain he was
under as he waited for the discovery of his hidden burden.

"A moment of agonizing suspense, then the guard said, in a low voice,
'Go on!' and Rowley, without search, went on with his concealed
burden.

"Meanwhile, two accomplices had flanked the picket, and they presently
joined Rowley and showed him the way to a farm not far away, where a
grave was hastily dug and the coffin lowered into it. Two loyal women
helped to fill it in, and planted over it one of the peach-trees which
had so successfully prevented discovery. So ended the Dahlgren
raid--and so the Spy had been foiled in one of the most daring and
colossal plots with which she was connected. Because of the stealing
of the young Colonel's body, Admiral Dahlgren's wish could not be
complied with until after the war."

The raid had failed, and with the return of spring, the Union Army was
closing in around Richmond, which made it an easier matter for Betty
Van Lew to communicate with the Union generals, especially with
General Grant, through his Chief of Secret Service. As the weary
months wore away, more than once the Spy was in an agony of suspense,
when it seemed as if some one of her plots was about to bring a
revelation of her secret activities; as if disclosure by some traitor
was inevitable; but in every case she was saved from danger, and was
able to continue her work for the Union.

And now the Confederate forces were ransacking the South in search of
horses, of which they were sorely in need. The Spy quickly hid her one
remaining animal in the smoke-house, but it was not safe there.
Confederate agents were prowling about the city, searching every
building in which a horse could be secreted. In the dead of night
Betty Van Lew led her steed, with feet wrapped in cloths to prevent
noise, from the smoke-house into the old mansion itself, and stabled
it in the study, where she had covered the floor with a thick layer of
straw to deaden any sound of stamping hoofs. And the horse in his
palatial residence was not discovered.

General Grant was now at the head of all the armies of the United
States, and to him was given the duty of attacking Lee. General
Sherman was at the head of a large force in the West, and his duty was
to crush the force of General Johnston.

On the fourth of May, 1864, each general began his task. Sherman
attacked Johnston, and step by step drove him through the mountains to
Atlanta, where Johnston was removed, and his army from that time was
led by General Hood. After trying in vain to beat Sherman, he turned
and started toward Tennessee, hoping to draw Sherman after him. But he
did not succeed; Sherman sent Thomas, the "Rock of Chickamauga," to
deal with Hood, and in December he destroyed Hood's army in a terrible
battle at Nashville. Meanwhile Sherman started to march from Atlanta
to the sea, his army advancing in four columns, covering a stretch of
country miles wide. They tore up the railroads, destroyed the bridges,
and finally occupied Savannah. There Sherman stayed for a month,
during which his soldiers became impatient. Whenever he passed them
they would shout: "Uncle Billy, I guess Grant is waiting for us in
Richmond!" And on the first of February they resumed their march to
North Carolina.

Grant, meanwhile, had begun his attack on Lee, on the same day that
Sherman had marched against Johnston. Starting from a place called
Culpepper Court House, Grant's army entered the Wilderness, a tract of
country covered with a dense growth of oak and pine, and after much
hard fighting closed in around Richmond, laying siege to Petersburg.
Bravely Lee and his gallant men resisted the Union forces until April,
1865, when, foreseeing the tragic end ahead, Lee left Richmond and
marched westward. Grant followed, and on the ninth of April Lee
surrendered his army at Appomattox Court House. Johnston surrendered
to Sherman near Raleigh, in North Carolina, about two weeks later, and
in May Jefferson Davis was taken prisoner.

This ended the war. The Confederacy fell to pieces, and the Union was
saved. "In the hearts of all Union sympathizers was a passionate
exultation that the United States was once again under one government;
but what a day of sorrowing was that for loyal Southerners!"

It is said that on Sunday, the second of April, when the end was in
sight, children took their places in the Sunday Schools, and
congregations gathered as usual in the churches, united in their
fervent prayers for their country and their soldiers. The worshipping
congregation of St. Paul's Church was disturbed by the sight of a
messenger who walked up the middle aisle to the pew where Jefferson
Davis was sitting, spoke hastily to him, then went briskly out of the
church. What could it mean?

"Ah!" says an historian, "the most sadly memorable day in Richmond's
history was at hand ... the day which for four long years had hung
over the city like a dreadful nightmare had come at last. The message
had come from General Lee of the order to evacuate Richmond!
Beautiful Richmond to be evacuated! It was like the knell of doom.

"President Davis and the other officers of the Confederate government
hastily prepared to leave, and to carry such records and stores as
they were able. The officers of the State government and the soldiers
were preparing to march. The news of the evacuation swept over the
city, spreading dismay and doom as it went. The people began to
collect their valuables and hide them or pack them to carry to a place
of safety, if any such place could be found; and throughout the city
there were scenes of indescribable confusion. The streets were blocked
with furniture and other goods which people were trying to move. All
government store-houses were thrown open, and what could not be
carried away was left to be plundered by those who rushed in to get
bacon, clothing, or whatever they could take. The Confederate troops
were rapidly moving toward the South.... At one o'clock it became
known that under the law of the Confederate Congress all the tobacco
and cotton in the city had been ordered burned to keep it out of the
hands of the enemy. In vain the Mayor sent a committee to remonstrate
against burning the warehouses. No heed was paid to the order, and
soon tongues of lurid flame were leaping from building to building,
until the conflagration was beyond all control. Men and women were
like frenzied demons in their efforts to save property; there was
terrific looting. Wagons and carts were hastily loaded with goods;
some carried their things in wheel-barrows, some in their arms. Women
tugged at barrels of flour, and children vainly tried to move boxes of
tobacco. The sidewalks were strewn with silks, satins, bonnets, fancy
goods, shoes, and all sorts of merchandise. There was no law and there
were no officers; there was only confusion, helpless despair on every
side. Before sunrise there was a terrific explosion which shook the
whole city; the magazine back of the poorhouse was blown up.... At six
o'clock in the morning the evacuation was complete, and the railroad
bridges were set on fire."

The conflagration was at its height when the vanguard of the Federal
army entered the city, the cavalry galloping at full speed.

"Which is the way to the Capitol?" they shouted, then dashed up
Governor Street, while a bitter wail rose from the people of Richmond.
"The Yankees! The Yankees! Oh, the Yankees have taken our city!"

As the cry went up, a United States flag was unfurled over the
Capitol. At once General Weitzel took command and ordered the soldiers
to stop all pillaging and restore order to the city; but it was many
hours before the command could be fully carried out. Then and only
then did the exhausted, panic-stricken, heart-sick people fully
realize the hideous disaster which had come to their beloved city;
only when they saw the destruction and desolation wrought by the fire
did they fully grasp the awful meaning of the cry, "On to Richmond!"
which for four long years had been the watch-word of the Union forces.

And how fared it with the Federal Spy during those hours of anguish
for all true Southerners? Betty Van Lew, who had been in close touch
with the Union generals, had for some time foreseen the coming climax
of the four years' struggle, and weeks earlier she had sent north to
General Butler for a huge American flag, eighteen feet long by nine
wide, which in some unknown way was successfully carried into Richmond
without detection by the picket guard, and safely secreted in the
hidden chamber under the Van Lew roof.

And now General Lee had surrendered. Virginia was again to be a State
of the Union; came a messenger fleet of foot, cautious of address,
bringing breathless tidings to the Spy: "Your house is to be
burned--the Confederate soldiers say so. What can you do to prevent
it?"

Even as she listened to his excited words, Betty Van Lew's heart was
throbbing with joyful excitement, despite the uproar in the city from
the constant explosion of shells, the sound of the blowing up of
gun-boats in the harbor, and of the powder magazines, which was
shaking the foundations of the city, as red flames leaped across the
black sky. Even then there was in the heart of the Spy a wild
exultation. "Oh, army of my country, how glorious was your welcome!"
she exclaims in her diary.

She heard the news that her home was about to be burned. With head
erect and flashing eyes she went out alone and stood on the
white-pillared portico, a fearless little figure, defying the mob who
were gathering to destroy the old mansion which was so dear to her.

"I know you--and you--and you!" she cried out, calling them each by
name, and pointing at one after another. "General Grant will be in
this city within an hour; if this house is harmed your house shall be
burned by noon!" At the fearless words, one by one they turned,
muttering, and slunk away, and the Van Lew house was neither burned
nor harmed in any way.

The Union troops were coming near now, marching to the center of the
city. As the long, dusty line of men in blue swung into Main Street,
Betty Van Lew ran up to the secret room under the garret roof, drew
out the great flag for which she had sent in anticipation of this day,
and when the Union soldiers marched past the historic old mansion, the
Stars and Stripes were waving proudly over its portico. The
Confederacy was no more!

Despite her bravery, Betty Van Lew's life was now in danger. There was
urgent need of special protection for her. Feeling against the
northern victors was at fever height in poor, desolated, defeated
Richmond, and it is small wonder that one born in their city, who yet
stood openly and fearlessly against all that the Southerners held
sacred, should have been despised, and worse than that. Realizing her
danger, and knowing the priceless service she had rendered the Union
generals in the four long years of the war, Colonel Parke, with a
force of men, was sent to protect the Spy. To the General's utter
amazement they did not find her in the old house. She was found in the
deserted Capitol, ransacking it for documents which she feared might
be destroyed and which would be a loss to the Government.

As "Crazy Bet" and as a Union Spy, Betty Van Lew's long and remarkable
service of her country was ended. The Confederacy was dissolved, and
again the flag of the United States of America could rightfully wave
from every building in the land. At the beginning of the war, when
Betty took on herself the role of Federal Secret Service agent, she
was light of heart, alert of body and mind. Now, for four years, she
had born a heavy burden of fear and of crushing responsibility, for
the sake of a cause for which she was willing to sacrifice comfort,
wealth and other things which the average woman counts dear, and her
heart and brain were weary.

Two weeks after the inauguration of Grant as President of the United
States, as a reward for her faithful service, he appointed Betty Van
Lew postmistress of Richmond. Well she knew that her enemies would
declare the appointment a reward for her services against the
Confederacy, and that it would but make her more of an alien in
Richmond than ever she had been before. But she was desperately poor,
so she accepted the position and for eight years filled it
efficiently. When she came in contact with old friends from time to
time in a business way, they were politely cold, and in her diary she
writes:

"I live, as entirely distinct from the citizens as if I were
plague-stricken. Rarely, very rarely, is our door-bell ever rung by
any but a pauper or those desiring my service." She adds: "September,
1875, my Mother was taken from me by death. We had not friends enough
to be pall-bearers."

When Grant had been succeeded by Hayes as President of the United
States, the one-time Spy was obliged to ask for his aid:

"I am hounded down"--she wrote to his private Secretary. "I never,
never was so bitterly persecuted; ask the President to protect me from
this unwarranted, unmerited, and unprecedented persecution."

From her own point of view, and from that of those who fought for the
abolition of slavery and the preservation of the Union, Betty Van
Lew's persecution was indeed "unwarranted and unmerited." But there
was another side to the matter. Elizabeth Van Lew, although the child
of a Northern mother, was also the daughter of John Van Lew, one of
Richmond's foremost citizens. The loyalty of the Southerners to the
Confederacy and to one another, from their viewpoint, was
praiseworthy, and there is every reason why they should have shunned
one of Richmond's daughters, who not only approved the cause of the
hated Yankees, but who aided the Union generals in their determination
to sweep "On to Richmond, to the defeat of the Confederacy."

What to one was loyalty, to the other was treason--what to the Spy was
a point of honor, to her old friends was her open and lasting
disgrace, and never can the two viewpoints be welded into one, despite
the symbol of Union which floats over North and South, making the
United States of America one and "indivisible, now and forever!"

Betty Van Lew remained postmistress of Richmond for eight years, then
she was removed, and there were black years of poverty and loneliness
for her, as she had not laid by a dollar for a day of want, but had
given lavishly to all in need, especially to the negroes. She was not
able to sell her valuable but unproductive real estate, and was
reduced to actual need. "I tell you really and solemnly," she
confesses to her diary, "I have suffered for necessary food. I have
not one cent in the world. I have stood the brunt alone of a
persecution that I believe no other person in the country has
endured.... I honestly think that the Government should see that I was
sustained."

At last she was given a clerkship in the Post-Office Department at
Washington, but after two years this was taken from her, probably for
political reasons, and it was recommended that she be given a
clerkship of a lower grade. This was done, and although she was cut by
the injustice of the act, she clung patiently to her only means of
support. Two weeks later, it is said that a Northern newspaper
contained an editorial which spoke sneeringly of "A Troublesome
Relic," and ended with, "We draw the line at Miss Van Lew." Even
though she had not a penny in the world, she could not bear the sting
of that, and she wrote her resignation, and went back to the great,
lonely house on Church Hill a heart-broken, pitiable woman, who had
given her all for what she believed to be the cause of right and
justice.

But she could not live in the old mansion alone, and without food or
money. In despair she wrote a letter to a friend in the North, a
relative of Col. Paul Revere, whom she had helped when he was a
prisoner in the Libby. She had to borrow a stamp from an old negro to
send the letter, and even worse to her than that was the necessity of
revealing her desperate plight. But she need not have felt as she did.
As soon as the letter reached its destination there was a hurried
indignation meeting of those Boston men who knew what she had done for
the Union, and immediately and gladly they provided an ample annuity
for her, which placed her beyond all need for the remaining years of
her life. This was, of course, a great relief; but even so, it could
not ease the burden of her lonely isolation.

"No one will walk with us on the street," she writes; "no one will go
with us anywhere.... It grows worse and worse as the years roll
on...."

And so the weary months and years went by, and at last, in the old
mansion with its haunting memories, nursed by an aged negress to whom
she had given freedom years before, Elizabeth Van Lew died. Among her
effects there was found on a torn bit of paper this paragraph:

"If I am entitled to the name of 'Spy' because I was in the Secret
Service, I accept it willingly, but it will hereafter have to my mind
a high and honorable significance. For my loyalty to my country, I
have two beautiful names; here I am called 'Traitor,' farther North a
'Spy,' instead of the honored name of Faithful."

And well may she be called "Faithful" by both friend and enemy, for
she gave freely of youth and strength, of wealth and her good name, of
all that human beings hold most sacred, for that which was to her a
consecrated and a just cause.

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