13
GENERAL BURNSIDE DISAPPROVED of President Lincoln’s change of sentence for Vallandigham from imprisonment to exile. But when his protests came to naught, he reluctantly took steps to convey his famous prisoner to Maj. Gen. William S. Rosecrans, commanding the Army of the Cumberland. Burnside asked Captain Alexander M. Pennock of the Mississippi Squadron to lend him one of the gunboats tied to the Cincinnati docks. Since Rosecrans had asked Burnside to effect the transfer with “the greatest secrecy,” lest the prisoner be shot by some “lawless person,”1 Captain Pennock was given no reason for the loan of a gunboat. It was therefore ironic that Pennock loaned out a gunboat named the Exchange. Since the Exchange had not as yet received her armament, General Burnside placed a battery and “a small guard” aboard the borrowed boat “for temporary purposes.”2
Shortly after midnight on May 19, General Burnside’s aides led Vallandigham from his room in the Newport Barracks to the wharves and onto the Exchange, commanded by Captain John Sebastian. Burnside kept the borrowed gunboat at the dock for several days, evidently still hoping Lincoln would come around to his point of view and send the prisoner to Fort Warren.
Vallandigham and Captain Sebastian had a chance to get acquainted while awaiting orders to proceed down the river. Captain Sebastian, always courteous, treated Vallandigham as a gentleman rather than a convicted criminal. In fact, the erudite captain seemed to sympathize with his famous prisoner, and a friendship developed between the two which lasted into the postwar years.3
While waiting in his room on the Exchange, Vallandigham spent considerable time at a table which doubled as a desk. He wrote several letters to his wife. She definitely was not well, still suffering from the shock of seeing her husband led off by soldiers armed with guns and bayonets. He also wrote again to Manton Marble to tell the editor of the New York World that he appreciated the firm stand which he and the New York Democracy had taken against Burnside’s summary action. He hoped that “a united Democratic party” might still save “the Constitution, the Union, and liberty.” Also, he assured Marble that he had an ace up his sleeve; he would “foil and counteract” Mr. Lincoln’s plan to degrade and stigmatize him.4 Vallandigham also composed another address “To the Democracy of Ohio.” He hoped to swell the wave of indignation which lapped Ohio’s shores, transforming a prisoner into a hero and bringing the Democratic gubernatorial nomination within reach.
In this address C.L.V. depicted himself as a martyr to free speech and a knight-errant fighting “an arbitrary and tyrannic power.” Whether imprisoned or banished, he wrote, nothing could affect his allegiance to his state and his country. He still loved his country, respected the Constitution, and revered the rights which it conferred upon all citizens. He ended his discourse with the hope that the people of Ohio would not cower before the threats of arbitrary power, and would prove themselves “worthy to be called freemen.”5
After procrastinating for several days, Burnside finally ordered the Exchange to begin its downriver journey. The general’s aides called upon Vallandigham early on the morning of May 22 to tell him his sentence. Had Vallandigham been given a choice, he would unhesitatingly have chosen imprisonment—it fitted the martyr concept much better than banishment, which could be claimed to put him among his “friends.”6
At eleven o’clock, Captain Sebastian ordered the Exchange untied from the dock, and the cumbersome gunboat began its journey downriver to Louisville. It must have been an emotional moment for the prisoner to look back upon the Ohio shoreline and wonder when and how he would return. If his heart beat faster and his throat was dry, he did not show it. He appeared calm as if confident that all things would end well. His friends had earlier apprised him of the public reaction to his arrest and trial, a reaction which they hoped might put him in the governor’s chair. Then Lincoln would have to retract his sentence and eat humble pie.
All things considered, the trip down the river was a pleasant one. The weather was ideal and Captain Sebastian was a gracious host. Captain Alexander Murray, in charge of handing Vallandigham over to General Rosecrans, joined in the conversation while his detail of soldiers played cards at the other end of the deck. William S. Furay of the Cincinnati Gazette contributed to the discussion of a dozen questions, many of them irrelevant. Furay was the only newspaperman with the party, going “loosely and ad libitum.”7 Captain Murray gave his prisoner considerable latitude; at times it seemed as if the would-be exile was a guest rather than a prisoner.
As the gunboat neared Louisville, Vallandigham asked permission to write another note to his wife. Some newspapers had reported that she had lapsed into insanity. He was pleased to read that she was better in the latest issue of the Cincinnati Enquirer,8 brought on deck just before the Exchange started on its downriver journey. His note was brief and to the point—he was “in fine spirits and enjoying excellent health.” He asked his wife to persevere and trust the future. There was little more he could say.9
The stay in Louisville was brief indeed. After the Exchange docked, Captain Murray and C.L.V. stepped off the boat together, and started for the railroad depot. The squad of soldiers served as a “strong guard.” Newspaperman Furay tagged along behind. Citizens in the streets ignored the soldiers and the prisoner; details of soldiers were a common sight in Louisville, and no one recognized the would-be exile. When the party arrived at the depot, Captain Murray conducted Vallandigham to a special train, waiting on a spur nearby, to start on its journey to Nashville.
It was less than 180 miles from Louisville to Nashville, but it was a tiring, drawn-out trip. Trains carrying provisions and reinforcements for Rosecrans’s army clogged the railroad, so the special train carrying Vallandigham spent as much time on side-tracks as on the main line. All heaved a sigh of relief when the train finally pulled into the railway depot in the capital city of Tennessee.
Although General Rosecrans had asked Burnside to effect the transfer with “the greatest secrecy,” a fair-sized crowd was on hand to witness the arrival of the well-known prisoner. Somehow, reports or rumors had brought an inquisitive audience to the depot. The curious saw little. Vallandigham was hurried aboard a bus and driven across town to the Chattanooga depot, where another special train waited to convey him to Murfreesboro. This segment of the trip passed without much delay and the special train arrived at the Murfreesboro depot “a little past 10 o’clock” on Sunday evening, May 24. None save those on General Rosecrans’s staff knew of Vallandigham’s arrival.
Rosecrans sent his provost marshal general, Major William M. Wiles, and several other aides to meet the special train. Wiles brought along a small open-spring carriage. He boarded the train as soon as it came to a complete stop, introduced himself to Captain Murray, and said he had been instructed to conduct the party to General Rosecrans’s headquarters. After all had detrained, Major Wiles invited Vallandigham, Captain Murray, and newsman Furay to ride in the carriage. They bounced along the dusty and well-worn streets, though the darkness blanketed some of the dust. There was little conversation, for all were very tired and the situation discouraged levity.
Major Wiles directed the party to the house of Charles Ready, once a congressman and Vallandigham’s colleague in Washington. Wiles had promptly preempted this fine building as his headquarters—after all, he was Rosecrans’s provost marshal general and deserving of the better things in life. In the presence of General Rosecrans and one of his aides, Colonel Joseph C. McKibbin, Vallandigham was officially transferred from the Department of the Ohio to the Department of the Cumberland. Captain Murray, representing General Burnside, turned over his prisoner to Major Wiles, representing General Rosecrans. The battered lantern and the flickering candles cast light upon the strange scene which occurred but slightly more than an hour before midnight.10
After Rosecrans greeted Vallandigham, the prisoner renewed his acquaintance with Colonel McKibbin. Vallandigham recognized McKibbin as a one-time friend; the two had first met during the sessions of the Thirty-fifth Congress, when Vallandigham contested Lewis D. Campbell’s seat and McKibbin was a Democratic congressman from California. McKibbin voted with the majority to give Vallandigham Campbell’s seat. After the start of the Civil War he sought a colonelcy and happened to be one of the first six cavalry officers appointed by President Lincoln. The hand of fate placed him in the Charles Ready house in Murfreesboro when Rosecrans and Vallandigham met for the first time shortly before midnight on May 24.
Although the hour was late, General Rosecrans’s curiosity prompted him to visit with Vallandigham, probing reasons for his views and actions. Colonel McKibbin and Major Wiles also joined in the discussion. It was a strange interview, and, considering the circumstances, much more agreeable than could have been expected. Rosecrans, always rather self-righteous, turned the discussion to the question of war aims and disloyalty. As a friendly favor he tried to lecture Vallandigham concerning his opposition to the war. The prisoner argued back in a friendly, polite, and dignified manner, and his line of reasoning soon put the articulate general in a corner. “Why, sir,” Rosecrans said by way of extricating himself from an untenable position, “do you know that, unless I protect you with a guard, my soldiers will tear you to pieces in an instant?”
“That, sir,” replied Vallandigham quickly and tartly, “is because they are just as prejudiced and ignorant of my character and career as yourself.” Then, to prove that he meant what he said he made a proposition to General Rosecrans: “Draw your soldiers up in a hollow square tomorrow morning, and announce to them that Vallandigham wishes to vindicate himself, and I will guarantee that when they have heard me through, they will be more willing to tear Lincoln and yourself to pieces than they will Vallandigham.” He still believed in his own righteousness and still had confidence in his ability to practice the art of political persuasion which he had developed through the years.
General Rosecrans heard Vallandigham’s proposition with interest and good nature. He shook his head, saying he had too much respect for the life of the prisoner to try it. Soon after, the conversation became less personal. The prisoner’s congenial manner completely disarmed Rosecrans, and the interview evolved into a convivial session. Before the discussion ended it became quite apparent that Rosecrans regretted having to perform the duty of enforcing the penalty against his prisoner.
Long after midnight Rosecrans arose to take leave of Vallandigham. Laying his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder, Rosecrans turned toward Colonel McKibbin and asked, “He don’t look a bit like a traitor, now does he, Joe?” Then, warmly shaking the prisoner’s hand, the general took leave and departed into the night.11
Major Wiles now began preparations to conduct the prisoner into the Confederate lines. The clatter of hoofs indicated that a company of cavalrymen, assigned to accompany Vallandigham to the front lines, had arrived. The major went outside to check whether “the conveyance” and the troops were fully ready for the assignment. When he came back into the room he informed C.L.V. that all was in readiness—his “journeying” would be resumed. Newspaper correspondent Furay looked at his watch. It was two o’clock—still several hours before daylight—when the prisoner stepped through the door of the Ready house into the darkness outside. Major Wiles escorted Vallandigham to the same open-spring carriage which had met him at the Murfreesboro railway depot about four hours earlier. Just as Vallandigham got ready to step up into the conveyance he turned to Colonel McKibbin and said in a jocular vein, “Colonel, this is worse than Lecompton.” He evidently referred to the prewar days when he and McKibbin, as fellow congressmen, had contested President Buchanan’s efforts to foist a proslavery constitution upon Kansas.
It was a strange party that moved off into the night, heading southward on the Shelbyville pike toward the Union outposts. A company of cavalry led the way, raising dust which the nostrils could feel but the eyes could not see. Next came the wagon bearing the prisoner; Lieutenant Colonel Arthur C. Ducat sat on the front seat with the driver, while Vallandigham and Colonel McKibbin sat in back. Then came a second small wagon, carrying Major Wiles, correspondent Furay, Captain John C. Goodwin, an assistant provost marshal, and the prisoner’s trunk. Another company of cavalry followed, serving as escort and rear-guard.12
The strange procession passed along the dusty road through the quiet and slumbering army camp and down, down the Shelbyville road toward the fringe of rebellious Dixie. It passed guard after guard, picket after picket, and sentinel after sentinel. The magic counter-signs opened the gates in the wall of living men. Those on guard gazed in silent wonder at the unwonted spectacle, barely discernible, fully unaware that “the most notorious Copperhead in the North” rode by silently and unknown.
Vallandigham and Colonel McKibbin exchanged differing opinions and observations freely, and the other two riders in the lead wagon occasionally joined in the discussion. The prisoner proved most talkative, exhilarated perhaps by the excitement of the occasion. He explained his views on the war and his scheme for restoring the Union. He avowed himself as firm a Union man as any in America. He did not believe in the efficacy of war as a means to settle sectional disputes, allied and related as the South and the North were. He said that while in exile he would not lift his voice or raise his arm against the Federal Union. Someone in the party asked Vallandigham if his criticism of the Lincoln administration had not weakened the arm of the government. After all, the government had chosen war and the people had sustained that choice—congressional action endorsed administration policy. The prisoner replied that, as he understood it, the war was being prosecuted in vindication of the free principles of the Constitution. These principles had been violated in his arrest, and if the war meant the “sacrificing” of “rights and liberties,” it was not worthy of support. He did admit, however, that if the government was to be restored by a war calling for the full use of all physical force, the government could tolerate no opposition, and all “rights and liberties” might disappear in the process. Vallandigham, however, again stated his earlier contention that constitutional guidelines must be respected and revered. He evidently still believed that his proposal of “compromise and concession” would restore the Union ultimately, at the same time conserving and preserving basic constitutional rights and liberties.13
After crossing the Stone River, the procession continued its southward journey for several more miles. Just as the first faint light of dawn appeared in the east, the cavalcade stopped at a farmhouse to wait for daylight. Colonel McKibbin and Major Wiles advanced to the front door of the well-kept house to awaken the occupants, who came downstairs to meet their uninvited guests. Members of the household stared at the prisoner and the army officers, and then made haste to prepare whatever conveniences they could in order to give the courteous intruders “an hour’s repose.” Considerable time, however, was spent in conversation. Again Vallandigham talked freely and frankly, discussing dispassionately the circumstances of his arrest and trial. He seemed to manifest no bitter feeling whatsover, either toward the government, General Burnside, or those who were conducting him into exile. Even such a prejudiced partisan as William S. Furay, whose newspaper had abused Vallandigham relentlessly, developed sympathy and respect for the prisoner, who was always self-confident, sincere, and decorous. Vallandigham’s self-confidence and self-righteousness underwrote his martyr complex and convinced him that time would vindicate him.
As the conversation lapsed, the principals made an effort to obtain a little sleep. Just after Vallandigham dozed off, Colonel McKibbin came over to awaken him; it was daylight and time to resume the journey. Some poetical remark having been made about the morning, the sleepy-eyed prisoner raised himself upon his right elbow and said dramatically:
Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
He paused, his mind evidently failing to tap his memory for the remaining line of the quotation. Newspaperman Furay came to the rescue: “I must be gone and live, or stay and die.” The closing line seemed so applicable to Vallandigham’s case that it startled everyone, even the prisoner himself. An embarrassing silence settled upon those present, and little more was said until the cavalcade was set in motion again.14
Just as the first rays of the sun tinted the leaves of the trees on the western hills with gold, the procession reached the remotest outposts of the Union army. Major William M. Wiles stopped and instructed Lt. Col. Ducat to take charge of the prisoner while he and Colonel McKibbin advanced toward the Confederate lines to make arrangements for the transfer of the prisoner. Wiles and McKibbin, astride their nervous horses and carrying a flag of truce, then trotted off toward the Confederate vedettes, half a mile or more down the Shelbyville pike.
Lt. Col. Ducat, charged with keeping the prisoner, led him toward the nearest farmhouse, the home of a Mr. Alexander, and asked if the ladies would serve breakfast to the “guests.” The Alexanders avowed they could and seated Ducat, Furay, and Vallandigham at the dining room table. The officer in charge then informed Mrs. Alexander that one of the gentlemen before her—he pointed to his prisoner—was Clement L. Vallandigham of Ohio. Mrs. Alexander, quite excited, exclaimed, “Can it be possible? Mr. Vallandigham!” Turning toward the prisoner she said, “Why I was reading only last night of your wonderful doings! I must introduce you to the old man, shure.”15
Soon Mrs. Alexander reappeared with her husband and a “not remarkably handsome daughter.” The three gave Vallandigham a warm, albeit rather embarrassing welcome. The soldiers who witnessed the affair thereupon reached the conclusion that the Alexanders were at least half “secesh.”16
After breakfast, the participants waited rather impatiently for Colonel McKibbin and Major Wiles to return. The two Union officers, meanwhile, encountered considerable difficulty in arranging for the transfer. The Confederate captain who had charge of the pickets expressed a reluctance to let Vallandigham enter his lines and he insisted upon first contacting his immediate superiors. Since his superiors were still asleep and he did not wish to disturb them, McKibbin and Wiles had to wait two hours, pacing to and fro impatiently. It seemed more like two days than two hours.
Finally the unnamed captain and Colonel James D. Webb of the Fifty-first Alabama Regiment appeared, and the two Union officers again explained their mission. Colonel Webb, in turn, refused to accept Vallandigham on his own; he wanted the consent or approval of General Braxton Bragg, the Confederate commander, whose headquarters were in Shelbyville. The two Union officers argued convincingly that Colonel Webb should accept Vallandigham under a flag of truce. Webb, however, remained adamant, refusing to accept the exile “in any official manner.” While the two Union officers pondered their next move, they noticed that quite a number of men and children, Tennessee residents wanting “the protection of the Union army,” passed between the lines under flags of truce.
Rebuffed in their attempt to arrange an official exchange, Major Wiles then sought Colonel Webb’s permission to conduct Vallandigham close to the Confederate pickets and “dump” him there “unofficially.” Colonel Webb could hardly say “No.” If the prisoner were put down in no-man’s land and he approached Confederate pickets, seeking the protection of the Confederate flag, he would be received.
Colonel McKibbin and Major Wiles mounted their horses and dashed off toward the Alexander house to get their prisoner and conduct him toward the Confederate pickets. The two Union officers said nothing to Vallandigham about the reluctance of the Confederates to receive him. In fact, they misled him into believing that he would be welcomed with open arms. While McKibbin remained at the Alexander house to have breakfast, Wiles and Captain Goodwin conducted their notorious prisoner near a Confederate picket, unloaded his trunk and carpetbag, and hoped the transfer could be completed without incident.
As an orderly from Colonel Webb’s staff approached the trio, Vallandigham got ready to recite a statement he had memorized, intended to counteract President Lincoln’s effort to stigmatize him by exiling him to the Confederacy. Addressing himself to a Confederate soldier and calling upon Captain Goodwin to witness the ceremony, the would-be exile recited his piece: “I am a citizen of Ohio, and of the United States. I am here within your lines by force and against my will. I therefore surrender myself to you as a prisoner of war.”17
Visibly relieved, yet fearful that the Confederates might change their minds, Wiles and Goodwin said a hurried farewell to their onetime prisoner and galloped away to rejoin their fellow officers at the Alexander house. Then reforming their “procession,” they led the way back to Murfreesboro and Rosecrans’s headquarters. They had no intention of letting the Northern public know that the Confederates were most reluctant to receive the exile. By suppressing some of the facts and distorting others, they contributed to the legend that Vallandigham, as an exile in the Confederate States of America, was really “among friends.” Wartime propaganda very often is based upon distortion, suppression, and fabrication.
The Confederate soldier to whom Vallandigham surrendered “as a prisoner of war” seemed greatly perplexed how to address his prisoner or whether to treat him as a friend or foe. He guided the exile to Colonel Webb’s headquarters and turned him over to some aides. Colonel Webb meanwhile waited for instructions from General Bragg, some sixteen miles away. While awaiting word as to his fate and future, Vallandigham had a chance to spend several hours in solitude. “These were hours,” Vallandigham said in the postwar years, “. . . calmly spent—the bright sun shining in the clear sky above me, and faith in God and the future burning in my heart.”18 Yet he must have realized the novelty and irony of the situation. His fate hinged on the wishes of others, not his own. He could not go back, and he did not know, as yet, whether he could go forward.
About noon, Webb received a message from Bragg’s headquarters instructing him to send the exile to Shelbyville. Webb immediately provided Vallandigham with an escort which had instructions to go directly to Bragg’s headquarters. The exile and his escort arrived in Shelbyville about dusk. Since Bragg was out in the field and not expected to return until late that night, one of his aides conducted Vallandigham to the home of a Mrs. Eakin, where a spacious and pleasant room had been reserved for him.
A correspondent for the Chattanooga Daily Rebel witnessed Vallandigham’s arrival at Bragg’s headquarters. Mixing observation with propaganda, he wrote, “Mr. Vallandigham is cheerful and seems to breathe freer on escaping from Lincoln’s despotism. He very properly desires to avoid all public demonstrations, and only asks that he may find a quiet refuge in our midst, until such time as the people, relieved from the despotic influence, shall call him back again to their midst. He seems fully to realize the embarrassment of his position, and will, beyond a doubt, be equal to its responsibilities. . . .”19
Exhausted from the day’s ordeal and knowing he would be conducted into General Bragg’s presence next morning, Vallandigham decided to retire early. “I retired at once,” he later wrote to a friend, “having slept but half an hour since Saturday night, and was awakened early the next morning by the rays of a bright Southern sun piercing the eastern window of my room. There were no sentinels at the door and I walked out unchallenged.”20
1 Rosecrans to Burnside, 19 May 1863, published in Official Records, ser. 2, 5: 658.
2 Report, Captain Alexander M. Pennock, dated 26 May 1863, Official Records of the Union and Confederate Navies in the War of the Rebellion, 26 vols. (Washington, D.C., 1894-1922), ser. 1, 25: 140.
3 Vallandigham, Vallandigham, p. 295.
4 21 May 1863, Manton Marble Papers, Library of Congress.
5 This address, dated 22 May 1863, is in the Samuel L. M. Barlow Papers, Henry E. Huntington Library, San Marino, California.
6 George E. Pugh, Vallandigham’s counsel during the trial, said that Val would have chosen imprisonment if given a choice. See Pugh’s speech of 11 June 1863, published in the Ohio State Journal (Columbus), 11 June 1863.
7 Cincinnati Daily Gazette, 29 May 1863.
8 Cincinnati Daily Enquirer, 21 May 1863.
9 23 May 1863, published in part in Vallandigham, Vallandigham, p. 297.
10 Furay in Cincinnati Daily Gazette, 29 May 1863; Nashville Dispatch, 26 May 1863; Vallandigham, in speech of 24 October 1867, published in Crisis, 30 October 1867.
11 Furay’s account of the interview appeared in the Cincinnati Daily Gazette, 29 May 1863. The conversation is also reported in Vallandigham, Vallandigham, pp. 298-99, and Henry Howe, Historical Collections of Ohio: An Encyclopedia of the State, 2 vols. (Norwalk, O., 1898), 1: 444. The event, as reconstructed and related by Vallandigham, also appeared in Crisis, 30 October 1867.
12 Cincinnati Daily Gazette, 29 May 1863.
13 Ibid.
14 Ibid. The quotation is from Act III of Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet.”
15 The comment was reported by Furay in the Cincinnati Daily Gazette, 29 May 1863.
16 Louisville Daily Journal, 3 June 1863; Hamilton True Telegraph, 18 June 1863; Cincinnati Daily Gazette, 26, 29 May 1863; Dayton Daily Journal, 26, 27 May 1863.
17 W. D. Kendall to his parents, 31 May 1863, William D. Kendall Papers, Huntington Library; Merritt Miller to “Br. Clement,” 30 May 1863, Merritt Miller Papers, in possession of V. L. Rockwell, Union Grove, Wisconsin; report, Wiles to Brig. Gen. James A. Garfield, 25 May 1863, Citizens’ File, 1861-1865, War Department Collection of Confederate Records; Official Records, ser. 2, 5: 705-6; Cincinnati Daily Gazette, 29 May 1863; Louisville Daily Journal, 3 June 1863; Chattanooga Daily Rebel, 28 May 1863; Dayton Daily Journal, 26-28 May 1863; and S. F. Nunnelee, “How Vallandigham Crossed the Lines,” in Under Both Flags: A Panorama of the Great Civil War, Written by Celebrities of Both Sides (St. Paul, 1896), pp. 316-17.
18 Speech of 24 October 1867, in full in Crisis, 30 October 1867.
19 Chattanooga Daily Rebel, 28 May 1863.
20 Quoted in Vallandigham, Vallandigham, p. 300-301.