Lincoln's Assassination and Camp Fisk.

Confederate Veteran
Volume 15, Number 4, Page 171
April 1907

By Rev. Howard A. M. Henderson.

Several weeks after the establishment of Camp Fisk, under a cartel made by the Federal and Confederate military authorities, with the execution of which I was charged as the Southerner Commissioner, an incident of a most dramatic character occurred of which this is the first publication. This unique camp was the product of a conversation, under flag of truce, between Col. A. C. Fisk, A. A. G. on Gen. Morgan L. Smith's staff, and myself. I had proposed that the United States send to Castle Morgan, the military prison at Cahaba, and the discomfort the men were suffering. I had in the fall secured from Gen. C. C. Washburne, of Memphis, a steamer load of such stores, which passed, under flag of truce, the lines, and were distributed by members of General Washburne's staff, then in captivity from Forrest's raid into that city. The men, instead of conserving these necessaries, had surreptitiously traded them with the guards for food their morbid appetites craved, and they were shivering in scanty clothing and ragged blankets in a climate particularly severe in the transition period from winter to spring.

Fisk casually remarked: "Why not bring the men here, under parole, and detain them in a camp on neutral ground until exchanged?" I caught up the suggestion, and added that I was ready to enter into such an arrangement if it were made to apply to the grays as well as to the blues.

He agreed, and before we parted drew up a cartel and the minor particulars in duplicate to be furnished the confirming authorities. The two governments ratified, and we set up the camp at Four-Mile Bridge, back of Vicksburg. The railroad and telegraph were put in order by prisoners, neutral ground was proclaimed for one mile on each side the track to "Townsends," on the Big Black River, and the territory patroled by cavalry. At my suggestion the cantonment was named "Camp Fisk," in honor of Colonel Fisk. Here the men on both sides were brought and paroled, each government being represented in the manege of the camp. Several thousand Union prisoners were here at the time of the incident. A battalion of the 9th Indiana Cavalry was sent to me to act as my bodyguard, commanded by Major Wall, as knightly a gentleman as ever wore a saber. I am perhaps the only Confederate who ever commanded a detachment of Federal soldiers under arms. My quarters were at the house of a Mr. Sweat, the father of the captain of the famous artillery company from Vicksburg.

Maj. Frank E. Miller, now Presbyterian pastor at Paterson, J. J., was the commandant o the camp, then, as now, a Christian gentleman of the Sir Philip Sydney type, full of "high-erected" thoughts in a heart of courtesy.

The officers of the camp and truce were gathered in the parlor of the Sweat home, having a gleeful time. Maj. Alex Grant, of my flag, yet living at Frankfort, Ky., was "a fellow of infinite jest," and could be as amusing as a comedian as he was superb as a gentleman. He was engaged in entertaining a coterie by showing some legerdemain tricks with cards. While "joy was unconfined" an orderly, his saber clanking the floor, strode into the room bearing a huge official envelope tied with a yard of black ribbon. All saw at a glance that it was a message of death, and every face blanched as if each were the mark of the ominous dart. Major Huntsman, a surgeon, was the ranking Federal officer present. He took the inclosure and nervously broke the seal. He turned as white as a shroud as he read, then nearly crushed the paper and cast it to the floor. He threw up his hands and fairly shrieked: "My God! they have murdered our President!"

He then stepped to the piano and was drawing a surgeon's sword, when Major Grant, standing in the only door, whipped out a navy revolver and covered the party, saying: "Doctor, sheathe that sword, and let not a man attempt to leave this room."

I then spoke: "Gentlemen, I understand from the emphasis put upon they that Dr. H. charges the assassination of President Lincoln on the South, which I repel. At any rate, we are here under a flag of truce, the most sacred ensign known to war. If at this time when tattoo is about to beat to quarters this news reaches these prisoners, and especially the Negro brigade guarding the bridge, our lives will be sacrificed in the unreasoning rage of a mob."

Turning to Major Miller, I asked his attitude. He unhesitatingly replied: "I will protect you if I have to sacrifice myself." I then asked him to send a trustworthy orderly, accompanied by my own, to Major Wall with an order to report to me at once with an escort of twenty mounted men and horses for the members of my staff.

In less than ten minutes the Major and the detail reported. I asked him who he regarded as his commander. He answered: "You, sir!" I then told him of the tragedy, and inquired whether he was ready to deliver us at General Danda's headquarters, where I would ask for protection. He replied: "I will as faithfully obey your orders as if you were General Dana himself."

In a few minutes we were galloping toward Vicksburg, which we reached in less than an hour, and I reported to General Dana. The city was a volcano. All paroled Confederates and recognized Southern sympathizers were corralled in the courthouse and its campus under heavy guard. General Dana advised that I return at once to the Confederate lines until the storm abated, and offered me an engine for the run to Big Black. In a short time our locomotive was thundering toward Townsends, I and my staff occupying the tender. We passed Camp Fisk at highest speed, but saw the wild excitement prevailing and heard the mad threats of violence if a victim could be obtained. It was about two o'clock in the morning when we reached the river. A German regiment was encamped on the western bluff, while the opposite bank was occupied by a squadron of Texas Rangers. A captain, officer of the day, furnished us with a boat to ferry the river without a suspicion of the cause of our hegira. An officer attended us who could speak only "pigeon English" and who imperfectly understood what was said to him in our tongue.

When the prow struck the nether shore, Major Grant twirled his huge mustache until it looked like the tusks of a wild boar, he distended his eyes, arched his thick brows, disheveled his long hair, and presented a most uncanny aspect. In sepulchral tones he recited the tragedy. I have never seen a more frightened man than the German officer. A score of Texas Rangers, their long, unkempt hair flowing from beneath their sombreros, reddened like Mephistopheles in "Faust" by the glare of the camp fires freshly fueled, stood around, walking arsenals. The scence reminded more of some of the situations depicted in Dante's "Inferno."

Seeing the fright of the boatmen, I interposed by rebuking Major Grant, who could not let an opportunity pass to "have his fun." I reminded him of the gravity of the tragedy until his gleesome mood changed into one of tenderness and tears.

I never heard one of those fierce-looking frontiersmen utter a mean or malignant expression. All felt that an awful blow had been struck the fainting fortunes of the South. The next day I ran up my colors, intertwined with the truce flag, at half-mast, and on both sides of the river the pikestaffs mourned.

In less than a week we were asked to return to Camp Fisk. A special car was sent to take me back. We were received with cheers; and as we threaded the camp, signs of congratulation on our return transformed it into an ovation. My quarters were draped in mourning, and were so clothed when the star of the Confederacy, the lost Pleiad, set in rayless night.

Of the actors in this scene, Colonel Fisk, Major Wall, Major Miller, Major Grant, Lieutenant Davenport, and I are living to verify this missing chapter of the great history-making period. From the distance at which I review the incident it seems to me to be as a weird reminiscence out of some previous life. But for the cool, resolute courage of Major Grant holding the Federals at bay the news would have spread like wildfire throughthe camp, reached the negro brigade guarding Four-Mile Bridge, and we would have been sacrificed to the mad fury of a mob. The suddenly awakened negroes especially would have roared and raged as so many uncaged beasts of a menagerie.

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