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Story of the Hutchinsons,  Vol. 1:   Chapter 10, "In War Time," pp. 370-429.

The election of Lincoln, and the strong sentiment for freedom and union that made it possible, were firebrands to the spirit of secession that had been so long smouldering in the South. For many months the disloyal cabinet of Buchanan had been plotting to give the Slave States the advantage in the impending conflict, by storing munitions of war and supplies in the South, while the pussillanimous president looked helplessly on. I remember singing in Springfield during this period, and visiting the armory. The people there were all quiet, not a word was spoken, but many of them were packing guns to send away. I asked the reason, and all the answer I got was that it was done at

"For many months the disloyal cabinet of Buchanan":   Is it possible the amazing misspelling in this sentence was intentional?

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the command of the Secretary of War, John B. Floyd, and probably they were to be used to fight Indians. I was suspicious of their reticence, and thought the public should know of all the circumstance, and so acquainted the Springfield Republican with what I had seen.

To the minds of all but the over-sanguine, the election of Lincoln meant secession, and secession meant war. It was a peculiar fact, however, that even after many States had held conventions and formally passed resolutions withdrawing from the Union, a desire to avoid a conflict seemed to blind the eyes of the people to the real situation. I, however, was convinced that war was inevitable when Fremont was defeated by Buchanan.

During the campaign that had resulted in the election of Lincoln, I had been very industrious in his behalf. Wherever I was, in railroad trains, at hotels, at the door of concert halls, on the street  -  in fact, at any place where I could get a group of hearers, I had been urging the election of "Honest Abe."  We had been singing in New York State, and along the line of the Harlem railroad. Abby had been temporarily singing with us, and we were now preparing for city concerts. I found myself to be overworked. The care of the concert tour and of my two children had worn upon me. It had been my habit nightly to stand at the door and take tickets and money, following this labor up by stationing a substitute there, and going on the stage to sing and manage the concert.

For our series of concerts in New York and Brooklyn we secured the largest halls to be had. After a few concerts the labor had been so great that I was obliged to take a rest, and during the month of December, 1860, and a part of January, 1861, I was very

"We had been singing in New York State, and along the line":   Late in life, John's daughter, Viola G. Hutchinson, wrote, "Our reputation as the 'Tribe of John' was established within a year or two, when our primitive mode of conveyance was discarded, and we took to the railroad,  -  not that it was any pleasanter mode of travel, as most of the (so-called) drawing room cars were little better than our ordinary coaches of today and the sleepers were an abomination, but we could cover longer distances. There were no trains 'de luxe' then, as now, and at times it was very irksome, but we adjusted ourselves to conditions and reaped the benefits in better health and by a more intimate touch with humanity as we found it, and with more brotherly feeling than can possibly be obtained at this day. Real democracy it was, with less class feeling." [Viola Hutchinson Campbell, Memories of a Busy Life (Plymouth, Mass.: privately printed [The Rogers Print], 1926), 26.].

1860 odds and ends:   It's strange that John W. Hutchinson should stress his activities in campaigning for Abraham Lincoln in the presidential race of 1860 without making any reference at all to his (John's) Lincoln campaign songster.  "Lincoln and Liberty" is a notable song from that campaign. For some reason, about half the sources I've seen attribute the lyrics to Jesse Hutchinson, Jr., though he had been dead for seven years. Other sources credit the words to F. A. Simkins, who, as a candidate for the authorship of these lyrics, has the advantage of having been alive at the right time. Little is known about Simkins and his family. If you have information to share, please use the contact link near the bottom of the page to e-mail us.  Another important song dated 1860 is "My Trundle Bed; or, Recollections of Childhood" by John C. Baker of the Baker Family (singers). "My Trundle Bed" was very strongly associated with Lizzie Hutchinson of the Tribe of Asa.  1860 featured several notable births. The one I think I can mention here without getting too far ahead of this story of the Hutchinsons is that of Nellie Gray, daughter of Rhoda Hutchinson Gray and Matthew Gray. Descriptions of Nellie Gray's singing voice suggest that it may have been among the very sweetest of any of the Hutchinsons.  Marietta Caroline Bartlett was Rhoda's oldest daughter. We have been unable to locate her in the 1860 United States Census. If you know where Marietta resided in 1860, please use the contact link toward the bottom of the page to e-mail us.

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much affected by pulmonary troubles. I took a severe cold, and was threatened with pneumonia and quick consumption; but by dint of perseverance in exercise and a proper diet, I soon began to recuperate.

[1861]

My sister Abby invited me to Orange, N. J., and there, with good care, I completely recovered. Then I resolved to go to Washington. My brothers David and Andrew had attended the inaugurals of Pierce and Buchanan, they being Democrats. I now desired to view the inauguration of the man of my choice.

I remember going over to the depot in Jersey City on the day Lincoln left New York for Washington. The train not being made up on his arrival at the station, he sat in an open barouche a short time, surrounded by his friends. Meanwhile, we were in a balcony of the building. During the interval of waiting we struck up a song:

"I remember going over to the depot in Jersey City":   Late in life, John's daughter Viola G. Hutchinson wrote, "In the fall of '60 we worked our way back to our High Rock home, my mother being somewhat out of health, and we were hearing rumors of war. In the Spring of '61, leaving Mother at home, and adding a fourth singer to make up the quartette, we proceeded to New York and crossed to Jersey City to witness the arrival from the West of the newly elected President, Abraham Lincoln." [Viola Hutchinson Campbell, Memories of a Busy Life (Plymouth, Mass.: privately printed [The Rogers Print], 1926), 30.]

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When Lincoln heard our song, the good soul looked up and recognized us. He seemed to be very much pleased. He had attended our concerts in Springfield, his home, and of course, was aware of our sentiments on the great questions agitating the land, which had led to his election. The presidential party seemed to linger until our song was sung, and then passed to the train. Then Lincoln went on to his great work in Washington, the journey being accomplished with safety, though there was great anxiety on the part of his friends. He was established in Seward's home and watched over with the most tender and vigilant solicitude.

On my way to Washington, I passed through Baltimore, and stayed at the house of a friend, Nehemiah Hayward. His family were still in sympathy with the system of slavery, and had one or two slaves at their command. I said to Mrs. Hayward, "I am going to Washington to help inaugurate an anti-slavery president. We are going to liberate the slaves."  "Why, Mr. Hutchinson," said she, "do you mean it?"  I answered that I did, and a further discussion ensued on the way this was to be accomplished. My idea was that the means might be a war measure, or some peaceful method that might be devised, but I was sure the good time of emancipation was very near at hand.

While in Baltimore, I had an opportunity of learning the origin of the term "Secesh."  Two drunken men were on the street, staggering along, when one said to the other, "If they wa-nt to secesh, let u-u-m se-se-cesh!" and the other thick-voiced gentleman, addressing his companion, declared "if you are secesh-h, I am secesh-h-h-es-h too! ------ if I ain't!"

In company with a friend I arrived in Washington

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on the morning of March 4th, Inauguration Day. The word was soon passed around that General Scott had placed his forces on many of the roofs of the buildings along Pennsylvania Avenue, with guns loaded, ready to discharge upon the mob if it should show itself disposed to interfere with the progress of the procession. The soldiers could be seen peering over the edges of the roofs. Soon the procession started, proceeding through the avenue between lines of soldiers, acting as a guard, its entire length. Arriving at the Capitol, after the president-elect and suite had succeeded in coming down the steps upon the platform, they found themselves in the midst of a gathering of twenty thousand people, with scarcely standing room for themselves. Looking from the crowd we could observe on the platform the familiar form of Stephen A. Douglas, who had disputed the great national questions with Lincoln on the stump in Illinois in a famous senatorial contest a few years before. As Mr. Lincoln removed his hat, Douglas stepped forward, politely took it, and held it during the delivery of the inaugural. As the oath was administered, a colored man, who stood at one corner of the platform by a flagstaff, seemingly inspired by the momentous act, seized the halyards and raised the stripes and stars to the peak. As it floated proudly in the breeze over their heads, the incident seemed prophetic to me. The negro seemed to be helping in the ceremonies that were to pave the way to his own emancipation. After a few sentences uttered by Lincoln, I was pained to hear his deliberate statement that he would prove true to the Constitution, and would carry out the law of the land in regard to the return of fugitive slaves. The remark filled me with consternation, but I did not then

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consider, as afterward, certain facts. He was surrounded by the bitterest traitors, who had dogged his steps from his home in Illinois to the capital, putting him all the time in danger of assassination. I was later convinced that his announcement of the obligation resting upon him rendered him comparatively safe, and enabled him to take the oath of office.

The same day, after the inauguration I returned to Baltimore.

When I reached the depot in Washington I found it full of men who seemed completely possessed with a spirit of evil. They had had no chance to kill a "nigger" all day. They were "plug uglies" and as they swarmed about the station they kept up in a grim, growling, nasal tone, the refrain of "Dixie":

From Baltimore I went to Philadelphia, where after some successful concerts in that city and adjoining places, I determined on one more season in New York City. The excitement over the rebellion had reached a fever heat. I conceived the idea of showing my patriotism by having a big star-spangled banner printed as a part of the poster announcing my concerts. It was quite a task to engrave it on wood and print it in colors, much more than it would be to-day, with our improved chromatic printing devices. It was done, however, and a few weeks later, when the flag of Sumter was fired upon, I had the satisfaction of seeing my device become popular. In the three weeks after that event, my printer realized eight hundred dollars by printing impressions from that same flag-block, the calls for them

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being numerous from all over the loyal States. I also had a very handsome shield, with stars, designed, and printed in colors. This cost me sixty dollars. On this the announcements of concerts were printed.

There was the most intense excitement in New York, and earnest solicitude for the weal of the Union. The storm was fast gathering, and finally we read on the bulletin boards, "Our flag is dishonored! Fort Sumter in Charleston has been fired upon this very day!"  It was true.  The rebels under Beauregard had begun their work. Then followed scenes on Nassau Street such as had never been seen before. A rushing to and fro, showing great intensity of feeling, deep sympathy and high resolve. In my own heart, however, I rejoiced, for I felt the end was near, and to find a sympathizing friend to talk to, went into the Independent office. One of the editors, Mr. Joshua Leavitt, sprang from his chair and embraced me. He said, "I am no more an Abolitionist. The war spirit will take care of abolition. 'Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad.'"

There was great enthusiasm. A hall was soon secured, and recruits were solicited. Some one saw me and said, "Come in and sing 'The Star-Spangled Banner.'"  As I raised the tune their voices took it up, and it was glorious to hear them sing

It was folly to attempt to give popular concerts amid such excitement in the city. Though I had engaged the noted basso, Carl Formes, to sing with me, and secured a hall that would seat two thousand, I gave it up, and rested easy for a while. Meanwhile I sent my children

"Meanwhile I sent my children to school at Eagleswood, Perth Amboy, N. J.":   Late in life John's daughter, Viola G. Hutchinson, recalled, "At Eagleswood, on beautiful Raritan Bay at Perth Amboy, New Jersey, my brother and I had a term under Professor Theodore D. Weld, a dear old man whom we all loved. I was the youngest pupil that term, so was petted by the teachers, and picked on by the older girls. . . . " . . . "Here it was I learned to swim. It was a rule of the school that each day at high tide lessons were laid aside for an hour so that the pupils could take their swim turn about, under the care of competent instructors, jumping off the private dock into the bay, girls first, thus giving them a longer time for their more elaborate toilet, though we wore uniforms, consisting of neat wool gymnasium suits." . . . "We seemed to enjoy our studies much more for this attractive intermission, and it was for the best good of us all, so Professor Weld considered, and surely was great fun. The first time I attempted the jumping-off feat, I strictly obeyed the order to 'jump as near the instructor as possible' by landing directly on top of him so we both went under, he soon coming up, while I, wearing a heavy suit much too large for me, found myself going down, down, down. It seemed I would never stop going down and, unconsciously, I opened my eyes and saw nothing but green water above and around, until at last I bobbed up much to the relief of them all. I had again strictly obeyed orders, namely, 'always hold your breath while under water,' so escaped strangling, which would have added to everyone's distress, mine not the least. I was not allowed in the water any longer that day, but I was on hand with a lighter weight suit the next and tried it daily all through the term, and felt very proud when I could propel myself about, and I became quite an expert swimmer before the term closed." [Viola Hutchinson Campbell, Memories of a Busy Life (Plymouth, Mass.: privately printed [The Rogers Print], 1926), 22-23.]

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to school at Eagleswood, Perth Amboy, N.J., an institution kept by Theodore D. Weld.

When the Eighth Massachusetts Regiment reached New York, on its way to Annapolis and Washington, I stood on Broadway as it passed. One of the officers, a Marblehead man, whom I recognized, inquired the way to the Park, and I at once responded by taking a position by his side and marching along with the brave Essex County soldiery. I had one of the flags, of which I have spoken, furled on a stick. Suddenly a soldier stepped forward from the ranks, seized the flag, and swinging it round, unfurled it. He then passed it back and returned to his place. I heard some of the talk of the volunteers, such as: "We'll whip them out" in so many days, etc. I wept to hear it. When I thought of my own experiences in the South and my observation of the spirit of secession, I said, "O boys, you don't know what you have got to meet!"

After a while we started out to sing in Connecticut. I published an announcement that for the present the profits of our concerts would be devoted to the soldiers' aid societies, and issued editions of our songs for sale to aid the same object. We were comparatively successful, and sang along up to the Fourth of July. On that morning I passed from the town where I had just sung at a very early hour. I heard a[n] unusual noise, like the rumble of battle. It did not sound like thunder, but like the discharge of musketry and artillery, floating over my head. It seemed like the echo of a terrible conflict. We spent the day at West Colchester. It

"Brave boys are they, Gone at their country's call":   From "Brave Boys Are They" by Henry Clay Work.

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was being celebrated by a big drum corps, which had taken possession of the town hall. We went in and joined in the observance, singing "The Star-Spangled Banner" several times. In the middle of July we settled down once more at High Rock, and endeavored to rest our voices. I devoted myself to building a retaining wall along the Essex Street front of my premises. I was at work for some weeks on this wall, and during this time the first battle of Bull Run occurred.  "Mr. Hutchinson," said a man, "are you building a fortification?"  I thought High Rock was quite a fortification in itself. This wall was superseded by the "Centennial wall," built in 1876. August 11th we all drove over to Lynnfield, where the Twenty-second Regiment, recruited by Hon. Henry Wilson, was encamped and here had our first experience singing in camp. We tried to sing such songs as would give new courage to the daunted, stimulate the hesitating, and comfort those who were leaving home and all that was dear to endure the unknown issues of battle. Many words of thanks and praise were spoken by officers and men. I was entertained by Wilson's attempts to drill the regiment. It seemed much more like the work of a raw recruit than that of an ex-general in the State militia. A drill-master stood at his side and prompted him in giving the orders. He had quite a time trying to tell the recruits to "right shoulder, shift."  Of course, however, it had never been intended that Wilson should take the field. He did good service in raising and getting two regiments ready for the army, but his best work was as chairman of the Senate Military Committee.

On August 23d I sang at the memorial of Theodore Parker in Boston, spending the night at the home of Samuel Gould on Worcester Square. The next day I

1861 odds and ends:   Ellen Chace Hutchinson, last child of Asa and Lizzie Hutchinson, was born in April 1861. She was generally called Nellie. Not a lot is commonly known about little Nellie Hutchinson.   Her older brother, Oliver Dennett Hutchinson, made his debut as a touring musician in 1861. He was almost universally known as O.D. or Dennett. He would continue singing in concert tours off and on for thirty-five years.

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took my first ride from Boston to Lynn in the horse-car "over the marshes."  It was a tiresome journey then to what it is to-day in the swift moving electrics of the Lynn and Boston road. During the following autumn I visited the Lynnfield camp many times, with Asa and our families, singing songs of patriotism and courage. In November the Tribe of John went singing through New Hampshire and Maine, and in December while singing in Haverhill and Lawrence, I "had a call" to go to Washington. I left the team in which we travelled, for my wife and children to drive home, and started at once. I found the field was open for us to sing at the capital, for many meetings were being held, and the war spirit was high in every quarter. So I sent for my children to come to me, and also secured the services of Frank Martin, son of a ministerial friend, to sing with us as bass. A friend, by the name of George W. Atwood, whom I had met in England many years before, recommended that we take the Smithsonian Institution for our entertainments, and he assisted me in getting up a concert at that place, which was very successful. Soon after my arrival in Washington, I sought out Salmon P. Chase, Secretary of the Treasury. He expressed himself as very much pleased that I had come to the city. I had often met him at Columbus, Cincinnati and other places, and was at the conference when he was first nominated for Congress. He had been a true Abolitionist, and with my uncle, Kendrick Leavitt, was on a committee to form the first anti-slavery society in that region.

[1862]

Soon after my arrival I met Chaplain R. B. Yard, of the First New Jersey Regiment. He was then located amid thirty thousand troops near the Fairfax Seminary in Virginia, and though he was aware there was some

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risk in the venture, invited me to come there and give a concert to his "boys in blue." I told him I would come as soon as I could get the requisite pass within the lines, and at once set to work to get it.

Meanwhile we gave concerts in Washington, and kept our eyes open to the notable events transpiring. On one evening after giving a concert at Georgetown we were driven to the White House. The occasion was a levee. President Lincoln at once recognized me. Both he and Mrs. Lincoln treated us with great kindness, and in the course of the evening asked us to sing. We sang "The War-drums are Beating - Up, Soldiers, and Fight!"  We suffered under a slight inconvenience in singing. The key of the piano could not be found. As a contemporary writer put it, "The instrument belonged to the mansion, and possibly, in the latter part of Mr. Buchanan's occupancy, more discord than harmony prevailed in the presidential dwelling."  When the key was discovered, it was found that the piano was in shocking bad tune. No music stool could be found, and altogether it was evident that Mr. Lincoln and his family were thinking of something else than music in those days. The same writer says: "'There's nae luck aboot the house,' might perhaps have been played upon the rattling old keys, but it would have been little less than treason to have attempted 'Yankee Doodle' on such a rickety box of wires."  At President Lincoln's request, I sent for my melodeon, and sang the "Ship on Fire," he having heard me sing it before at Springfield, Ill. I can seem to see our martyred President now, as he stood, only a few feet from me, holding his sweet boy, "Tad," by the hand. We were warmly applauded as our songs concluded. The room was as full as it could be.

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It was natural that in my dilemma over obtaining permission to visit the camps, I should again seek out my old friend Salmon P. Chase. He was more than willing to do all in his power to smooth our pathway for us, and at once sent me to Simon Cameron, Secretary of War, with just the right sort of introduction to secure the coveted pass. Cameron courteously furnished us the following document, jocosely remarking: "But mind you don't sing secesh!"

War Department, January 14, 1862

Permit the "Hutchinson Family" to pass over bridges and ferries, and within the main lines of the Army of the Potomac. They will be allowed to sing to the soldiers, and this permit will continue good until 1st February, 1862.

Simon Cameron, Secretary of War.

While I was getting the pass, I turned, and there by the window stood General B. F. Butler. He seemed to be in deep thought. I think now that he was hoping to be appointed Secretary of War, for so far as I can learn, the issuance of this permit was Cameron's last official act. The next day he was superseded by Edwin M. Stanton.

Then followed our visit to the camps. Crossing the long, carefully guarded bridge over the Potomac from Washington, we soon passed the guard to General Franklin's division, under convoy and patronage of Chaplain Yard. We had intended to give a concert on the same afternoon, but unforeseen obstacles prevented. One was given in a magnificent church, that evening, on the elegant grounds connected with the Fairfax Seminary, meanwhile taking quarters and messing with Chaplain Yard and Surgeon Welling, where we were most hospitably entertained.

We had fixed the price of admission to the entertainment at one dime. The church would comfortably seat one regiment, so we arranged that one regiment at a

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time should come. The First New Jersey Regiment was to hear us on this first evening. Another New Jersey regiment had expected to hear us in the afternoon, and many of its members therefore came to the evening concert. The result was a very large crowd, soldiers sitting on the floor in the aisles, and standing in the rear of the pews and around the walls. It was an enthusiastic and largely sympathetic audience, and the programme went off splendidly, until we sung the famous hymn by John G. Whittier, which I had adapted to music, two verses of which head this chapter. Of course, we were aware that the army of the Union did not entirely consist of Abolitionists. Many of the brave men who composed our audience had enlisted to save the Union, but had yet to learn the lesson that time only taught Lincoln, that the backbone of secession must be broken by the abolition of the system it was inaugurated to sustain. The song was this:

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What a prophet Whittier was, and how clearly he saw what so many of his countrymen were slow in seeing! His prophecy was addressed to just such patriots as those to whom we were singing, but it needed just such opposition as it met to draw the attention of the army and the country to its truth. It might have saved us trouble to omit it, but it was not a characteristic of the Hutchinsons to forbear when a message was put in their lips. It seemed a testing-time for us, but it also served to open the eyes of the country to the devotion to the "peculiar institution," the opposition to emancipation, and consequent lukewarmness, not to say treason, of men in high places in the army, who were then the hope of the nation in the hour of its extremity, and

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a forlorn hope at that. No sooner had we finished the verse:

than a solitary hiss was heard, from a corner of the room. Major Hatfield, commanding the regiment, was seated in a front pew of the church, and immediately rose, and turning to the part of the room from whence the sign of disapprobation had proceeded, indignantly said that if the interruption was repeated the offender would be put out of the house.  "If there is to be any putting out, you had better begin with me," retorted Surgeon Oakley of his own command, evidently the culprit. The major, to whom the surgeon had made threats of disturbance before the concert commenced, then said, "I can put you out - and if I cannot, I have a regiment that will!"  At this the soldiers rose to a man, amid much confusion and cries of "Put him out!"  But no force was resorted to, and order was finally restored. The surgeon was heard sending a messenger for his pistols to defend himself. We at once bethought ourselves of our old expedient, and soon the soldier boys were melted to tears by the beautiful song, "No Tear in Heaven."

Chaplain Merwin, a chaplain at large, had used his good offices to help restore quiet, and there was no further disturbance, but after the concert certain persons refused to mess with the conciliatory chaplain. Major Hatfield, who interfered so decidedly in our favor, was afterwards killed, during McClellan's retreat from before Richmond.

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After the concert we retired to our quarters. We could hear loud talking in those adjoining, and could see nothing but trouble ahead. Soon General Birney, brother of James G. Birney, the noted Abolitionist, came into the place, with others, in full sympathy with us. We freely sang our radical pieces to them. Subsequently Birney told me he just escaped a challenge to fight a duel because of the matter. We felt that we had done nothing wrong, and our consciences were clear. The hour was late, but we understood a chaplain to have full control of his quarters, and so sang as long as our callers desired.

The next morning Chaplain Yard received a message to appear before General Kearney (afterwards killed in battle). When he returned it was with a sad countenance. Very great excitement had been caused by the proceedings of the night before, he said. Surgeon Oakley had complained of our singing; and the authorities had gone so far as to take the keys of the church from him. It was doubtful if the concerts would be permitted to proceed. Soon there came a second message, calling for both chaplain and singers at General Kearney's headquarters. We at once tramped through rain and mud to that place. General Kearney rebuked the chaplain and vocalists for singing without first submitting a programme of their songs to the authorities, and added that he "could not allow the concerts to go on."

"General," I said, "I have a permit from the Secretary of War to sing. We are no strangers to the soldiers, many thousands of whom know and have heard us  -  whatever the officers may think and feel on the subject."

"I rule supreme here," remarked the general quickly.

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"You are Abolitionists; I think as much of a Rebel as I do of an Abolitionist."

After saying this, however, the general seemed to hesitate, and the matter still appeared to be open when we left him. Soon after we reached our quarters, nevertheless, a fresh message came from him that we must forego all singing in the camp. This did not settle the matter, for subordinates must report to their superiors. When the news was sent to General Franklin, the following order came.

Headquarters,  Alexandria Division.

Camp William,  January [18], 1862.

Major Hatfield:  -  You will please send to these headquarters,  as soon as practicable,  a copy of the songs sung by the Hutchinson Family last night in the Seminary Chapel.

By order of Brigadier-General Franklin,

Joseph C. Jackson,  A.D.C.

It was the work of several hours to make copies of all the songs, but they were finally taken to the general by Chaplain Yard. He took them and wished to have the objectionable song pointed out. He read Whittier's song, and said, "I pronounce that incendiary; if these people are allowed to go on, they will demoralize the army."  The chaplain again returned to us, depressed and sad.

Another concert had been advertised. Many members of the regiment came and expressed their regret when it was announced that it was forbidden.

It was then Saturday night. Late in the evening General Franklin issued another order, evidently by instructions from General McClellan, who paused in his hot pursuit of means to carry out the country's mandate "On to Richmond!" to consider our innocent exhibition of treasonable propensities.

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Headquarters, Alexandria, Va.,

January 18, 1862.

General Orders, No. 3.

By command of the Major-General Commanding U.S.A. the permit given to the Hutchinson Family to sing in the camps, and their permit to cross the Potomac, are hereby revoked, and they will not be allowed to sing to the troops.

By order of Brigadier-General Franklin.

J. C. Jackson, A.D.C.

Official. - James M. Wilson, A.A.G.

Headquarters, 1st N. J. V.

This seemed to settle the question of further proceedings, especially as I at the same time received a verbal message to leave our quarters. It was late and the weather was bad. I at once wrote a note to General Franklin, asking permission to stay with our friends until Monday morning.

I still retain the original copies of all the correspondence I have quoted, as also this letter. In it I said:

Fairfax, January 18, 1862.

General Franklin:

Dear Sir:   Having had my pass, granted by the Secretary of War and General McClellan, revoked, and not being able to remove to the other side [of] the Potomac at this late hour, I ask of you the privilege of remaining with my friends the Rev. Mr. Yard, and Dr. Welling, till Monday, or if not, till Sunday morning, when at your command, we leave.

Wishing the best success to our glorious army, as when we came into its lines, - "God save the Commonwealth."

Yours, with the greatest desire for law and order,

John W. Hutchinson.

This was sent to Capt. E. S. Purdy, Assistant Adjutant-General, turned over to General Kearney, who forwarded it to General Franklin, with this endorsement:

January 19th.

Respectfully forwarded. Yesterday morning I had given the directions to the Hutchinsons to forego any further concerts.

P. H. Kearney, Brigadier-General.

"I still retain the original copies of all the correspondence":   These documents are now among the holdings of the Lynn Historical Society in Lynn, Massachusetts."

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Soon the letter came back, with this further endorsement:

Headquarters, January 19, 1862.

Brigadier-General Kearney: - There is no objection to these people staying until Monday morning, if they behave themselves properly.

W. B. Franklin,

Brigadier-General Commanding Division.

Of course we determined to be good, and stayed over. On Sunday Chaplain Yard went to General Kearney and obtained permission to use the chapel. He also asked if there would be any objection to his having a choir to sing. The general said no. The request was the result of an effort to give soldiers who had been disappointed a chance to hear us sing. When his service began the Hutchinson's were there and those soldiers who were desiring to do so, heard Chaplain Yard's choir, though they were forbidden to hear the Hutchinson Family. In the evening Chaplain Merwin gave a temperance lecture, and Chaplain Yard kindly lent his choir to sing temperance songs. The next day my daughter Viola received a twenty-dollar gold-piece sent her by the soldiers.

The next morning Henry and Frank Martin went on to Washington. I intended to follow with Viola on the boat from Alexandria, but the fog prevented its departure. Chaplain Yard said he would take me across the bridge in his carriage the next day, so I concluded to remain. I accepted an invitation to accompany the two chaplains on a visit to Colonel Farnsworth's regiment of cavalry, quartered a mile or so away. We started in a buggy, Chaplain Yard driving, with Merwin on one side and I on the other. The horse was high-spirited, and had not been harnessed to a buggy for months, being used only with the saddle. We had not

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gone far when the horse, being nervous from his harness, took fright going down a hill. We were in the utmost danger. I reached my arm around the chaplain and got hold of the right rein, pulling so hard that it broke. This was fortunate, for the strong pull on the other rein caused him to swerve from the road and knocked the vehicle against some trees, demolishing it, but leaving us unhurt. The frightened animal cleared himself, and with only the thills ran back to camp. Thousand of soldiers looked on at this catastrophe, and many shouted, "Forward movement!"  Poor fellows! they had been waiting in the mud many weary months for a forward movement.

When we returned to our quarters, we learned that an officer had been asking for the Hutchinson Family, and finding that some of us had remained, had remarked that we "might as well have gone off."  On hearing this, being anxious to give the authorities no ground for charging us with disobedience of orders, I determined to go at once and not risk disturbing the peace. So we went to Alexandria, where we called on General Montgomery. He took us to his own quarters, where we sang him psalms and hymns, and conjointly with the provost-marshal, he invited us to give a concert in the place. We declined for the time being.

When I returned to Washington from Alexandria, I went immediately to Chase. I found him at his home, and told him my experience. Said he: "I want you to write out [for] me that song, and I'll submit it to the cabinet. I'm Secretary of the Treasure; Stanton is Secretary of War, and he thinks just as I do."

As soon as I conveniently could, I passed to Chase a copy of the Whittier song. I had by this time discovered that the episode was one of far more importance

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than its merely personal bearing would indicate. There had been a good deal of complaint of McClellan, but thus far he had not before taken it upon himself to so directly countermand the action of the war secretary, who would naturally be his superior in a matter of this character. However, I did not wish to see a matter so closely identified with myself in any way embarrassing the administration, and therefore on the next day, the cabinet being in session, I sent in a note to Secretary Chase, requesting him, unless his judgment dictated otherwise, not to give to the papers the fact that the subject was under consideration. The next morning all the papers were silent on it, but I went to the treasury department, and met Mr. Chase on the stairs going to his office. He grasped me by the hand, and smilingly said: "I want to tell you that the poem was read at the cabinet meeting and they were all in your favor. Mr. Lincoln remarked that it was one of just the kind of songs he wanted the soldiers to hear. He also said you should have the right to go among any of the soldiers where you were invited to sing."

A few days later Representative Lovejoy, of Illinois, brother of the martyr Lovejoy, offered an order of inquiry concerning McClellan's arrogant attitude to Congress. It was the beginning of the end for that officer. Soon after he was allowed to report at Trenton, while another man took charge of the destinies of the Army of the Potomac and the campaign against Richmond, in which he had so signally failed. Two years later, when he was a candidate for the presidency, practically every man who took the stump for Lincoln found occasion to say that though "Little Mac" was not able to drive out the rebels, he did drive out the Hutchinsons.

"Mr. Lincoln remarked that it was one of just the kind of songs":   Accounts differ as to Lincoln's comments on the "Furnace Blast" incident. According to other versions of the story, Lincoln simply said that the Hutchinson Family could sing anywhere they want. To my way of thinking, that's the telling of the tale with the greatest ring of truth.

Notes by Alan Lewis