"Our flag is there! Our flag is there!We'll hail it with three loud huzzahs!Our flag is there! Our flag is there!Behold the glorious stripes and stars!Stout hearts have fought for that bright flag,Strong hands sustained it mast-head high,And oh! to see how proud it wavesBrings tears of joy to every eye."That flag has stood the battle's roar,With foeman stout and foeman brave;Strong hands have sought that flag to lower,And found a traitor's speedy grave.That flag is known on every shore,The standard of a gallant band,Alike unstained in peace or war,It floats o'er Freedom's happy land."
"Our flag is there! Our flag is there!We'll hail it with three loud huzzahs!Our flag is there! Our flag is there!Behold the glorious stripes and stars!Stout hearts have fought for that bright flag,Strong hands sustained it mast-head high,And oh! to see how proud it wavesBrings tears of joy to every eye."That flag has stood the battle's roar,With foeman stout and foeman brave;Strong hands have sought that flag to lower,And found a traitor's speedy grave.That flag is known on every shore,The standard of a gallant band,Alike unstained in peace or war,It floats o'er Freedom's happy land."
"Our flag is there! Our flag is there!We'll hail it with three loud huzzahs!Our flag is there! Our flag is there!Behold the glorious stripes and stars!Stout hearts have fought for that bright flag,Strong hands sustained it mast-head high,And oh! to see how proud it wavesBrings tears of joy to every eye.
"That flag has stood the battle's roar,With foeman stout and foeman brave;Strong hands have sought that flag to lower,And found a traitor's speedy grave.That flag is known on every shore,The standard of a gallant band,Alike unstained in peace or war,It floats o'er Freedom's happy land."
Then there came thoughts of home, of loved ones, of past scenes, and pleasant memories, and the songs become plaintive. They sung the old song:—
"Do they miss me at home—do they miss meAt morning, at noon, or at night?And lingers a gloomy shade round them,That only my presence can light?Are joys less invitingly welcome,And pleasures less bright than before,Because one is missed from the circle,—Because I am with them nomore?"
"Do they miss me at home—do they miss meAt morning, at noon, or at night?And lingers a gloomy shade round them,That only my presence can light?Are joys less invitingly welcome,And pleasures less bright than before,Because one is missed from the circle,—Because I am with them nomore?"
There was sadness, but not discouragement. It was the welling up of affection, the return of sweet recollections, which neither hardship, suffering, privation, or long absence could efface. They loved home, but they loved the old flag better. Missed at home? Ah! how sadly!
Thearmy commanded by General Lee in the battle, according to Pollard, the Southern historian, numbered seventy thousand. General McClellan states in his report that it was ninety-seven thousand. His estimate was made up from information obtained from deserters, spies, and prisoners:—
General McClellan's forces were:—
Each division had its own artillery, which is enumerated in the above statement.
There were twelve thousand four hundred and sixty-nine killed, wounded, and missing from McClellan's army in this battle. About two thousand of them were killed, and nine thousand five hundred missing.
The Rebel loss is supposed to have been about fifteen thousand.
Thirteen guns, fifteen thousand small arms, six thousand prisoners, and thirty-nine colors were taken from the Rebels at Antietam, South Mountain, and Crampton's Pass.
The army expected a renewal of the attack on the morning of the 18th. It was a beautiful day. Two divisions, Couch's and Humphrey's, had arrived, which, with Porter's corps and Slocum's division of Franklin's, were fresh. Smith had been engaged but a short time on the 17th. There were nearly thirty-five thousand troops which could be relied upon for a vigorous attack. The reserve artillery could be brought in. There were several thousand Pennsylvania militia at Hagerstown, not of much account for fighting, but which could be used for train guards.
"Whether to renew the attack on the 18th, or to defer it, even with the risk of the enemy's retirement, was the question with me," says General McClellan.
He deliberated, and decided not to attack for the reasons, that, if he lost the battle, Lee could march on Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York, without an enemy to oppose him, living on the country; the troops were tired; and the supply trains were in the rear. Sedgwick's division and Hooker's corps were somewhat demoralized and scattered. Sumner thought Sedgwick's division could not be relied upon to attack the enemy vigorously. Meade commanding Hooker's corps, said his troops could resist better than make an attack. The efficiency of the troops was good as far as it went.
"The morale of some of the new troops under Burnside was impaired," says General McClellan.78
"My command was in good condition, holding its position on the opposite side of Antietam. One brigade had been severely handled, but I considered it in fighting condition," says General Burnside.79
General McClellan expected fourteen thousand more men, and taking all things into consideration he decided not to renew the attack.
General Lee's army had seen great hardship. The Rebels had marched from Richmond. "One fifth of them were barefoot, one half of them in rags, and the whole of them famished," writesPollard the Southern historian.80Lee was far from his supplies. He had no reinforcements at hand. His troops were much exhausted. A. P. Hill had marched with great rapidity from Harper's Ferry. Jackson's corps had suffered as severely as Hooker's. D. H. Hill had lost more than Sedgwick. Longstreet could hardly be a match for French, Richardson, and the whole of Franklin's corps. Lee, if defeated, had a great river in his rear which must be crossed at one ford, which would give McClellan the shortest line to Richmond. Sigel was in front of Washington. Heintzelman was at Alexandria. Keyes was at Yorktown. Could not these forces cut off his retreat to Richmond? He was in a perilous situation. He sent his wounded across the Potomac to Martinsburg and Winchester,—also his wagons, and made preparations for a rapid movement of his army into Virginia.
Early in the morning I rode to the right, came upon the line by Poffenberger's. Rations had been served; and the troops were in position, expecting orders to move.
Colonel Andrews, commanding Gordon's brigade in Mansfield's corps, was riding along the line. "How are your men, Colonel?"
"All right. They had a pretty hard time yesterday; but having had a good breakfast, they feel well. We expect to advance in a few moments."
I talked with the soldiers. "We gave them a good thrashing yesterday, and mean to drive them into the Potomac to-day," said one. The sharpshooters were lying in the field in front of the church. All were ready.
At noon, I rode once more along the lines. Some of the batteries which had exhausted their ammunition in the battle had refilled their caissons, and were waiting orders to take position. The gunners were lying on the ground.
"Do you think there will be a battle to-day?" I asked an officer.
"O, yes. We shall be at it in a few minutes. We are all ready."
One o'clock,—the wounded men were all removed. The flag of truce had been taken down.
Two o'clock,—and no order to begin the attack. Officers were impatient. They wondered at the delay. I rode to Elk Ridge, and went up the mountain's side. Beyond Sharpsburg there was a cloud of dust. Baggage wagons were moving west. Lee's troops were in line, where they had been in the morning, but there were some indications of a retreat.
At sunset, I looked once more from the mountain. The evidences had increased that Lee intended to cross the Potomac.
The morning of the 19th dawned. Lee was gone! He took away all his artillery, except one iron gun and some disabled caissons and wagons.
Riding now over all the field, I found many Rebel dead in the woods by the church. Among them were bodies clothed in the Union blue, lying where they fell, close up to the Rebel line.
There was one soldier whose pulse was forever still, whose eyes looked straight toward the sky. The ground was stained with his blood, which had flowed from a wound in his breast. Uponhis countenance there was a pleasant smile, and a brightness as if a ray of glory had fallen upon him from heaven. His Bible was open upon his heart. I read:—
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."
I could not discover his name. He was unknown to the living. He belonged to a New York regiment, that was all I could learn. Doubtless the Lord was with him when he passed through the valley.
The slaughter had been terrible in the sunken road, where French and Richardson had charged. Across the fences, twenty thousand muskets had flashed. Williston's, Walcott's, Owen's, and Ayer's batteries had made terrible havoc in the ranks of Hill. Some of the enemy had fallen towards the advancing columns; some were lying across the fence behind them, shot while endeavoring to escape; some were killed while loading their guns; one while tearing the cartridge with his teeth. He had died instantly, and the cartridge was in his hand.
There was an officer still grasping his sword. He had fallen while cheering his men, with all his muscles set, his nerves under tension, the word of command on his lips. It was a fearful sight along that road. It was as if a mighty mower had swept them down at a single stroke.
Sharpsburg was full of Rebel wounded. I conversed with an officer of Walker's command.
"I have been in all the battles before Richmond and at Manassas, but I never experienced such a fire as you gave us yesterday," he said.
"I noticed that you lost heavily at the sunken road."
"Yes. It was a terrible slaughter. We couldn't keep our ranks closed, and if your troops had pressed on they might have broken through our line."
"They came pretty near it as it was, did they not?"
"Yes. We were all tired out. We got up from Harper's Ferry on the morning of the battle. We had no supper Tuesday, marched all night, had no breakfast, and went right into the fight as soon as we reached the field. We have lived on green corn and apples half of the time since we left Richmond. Half of our men are barefoot. We were in no condition to fight. We wondered that McClellan did not renew the battle yesterday. We expected it."
General McClellan was at the hotel, looking careworn and troubled. Lee was beyond his reach. The army was pouring through the town. Some soldiers cheered him as they passed, while others expressed their dissatisfaction because Lee had escaped.
The invasion of the North was ended. Neither Washington nor Baltimore had fallen into the hands of the Rebels. Lee had not dictated terms of peace in Independence Square. Maryland had not responded to the call to join the Confederacy.
The dreams indulged at the South of an uprising of the people of the State had proved delusive. Lee had captured Harper's Ferry through the incompetency of the commander of the place. That was the only material advantage gained. He had won a victory at Groveton, through the treasonable failure of General Porter to join General Pope, and the tardiness of General McClellan's withdrawal from the Peninsula, but had been defeated at South Mountain and Antietam.
General Lee retreated to Martinsburg and Winchester to rest his exhausted troops. General McClellan marched to Harper's Ferry and Berlin, on the Potomac, and went into camp. Lee could not take the offensive. His troops were worn and disheartened. They had marched with great rapidity; fought at Groveton; had moved on to Maryland; fought, some of them at South Mountain, others at Harper's Ferry; had lived on short rations, making up the lack of food with green corn. They were barefoot and ragged. They slept without tents or blankets. They were exposed to all the storms. The men of Georgia and Alabama and Texas shivered with the ague in the keen air of the mountains through the October nights. Some of them, for the first time in their lives, beheld the beautiful spangles of the hoar-frosts. At Winchester, in the heart of one of the loveliest and most fertile valleys in America, they were in want of food. Lee seized all the forage and provisions he could find among the farmers. He was obliged to wagon his supplies from Culpepper, eighty miles distant, over roads which became muddy after a half-hour's rain.
General McClellan, on the other hand, receivedhis supplies by rail within a mile or two of his camp. He thought that the army was not in condition to undertake another campaign; nor to bring on another battle, unless it had great advantages over the enemy.
"My present purpose," he wrote to General Halleck on the 27th, "is to hold the army about as it is now, rendering Harper's Ferry secure, and watching the river closely, intending to attack the enemy should he attempt to cross."
President Lincoln visited the army, and urged General McClellan to attack Lee. There was a favorable opportunity. Large reinforcements had been received, and the troops were in good spirits; the weather was favorable. Lee was far from his supplies; his army was smaller than McClellan's. But General McClellan was not disposed to move. On the 6th of October, he received orders from General Halleck to cross the Potomac and give battle to the enemy, or drive him south. "You must move while the roads are good," was the telegram.
Some of the troops needed clothing, and were in want of shoes. The cavalry were deficient of horses. Complaint was made that supplies were withheld.
"The railroads are now embarrassed to supply you; and supplies here wait for the return of cars detained while loaded near your position," was the telegram of General Meigs fromWashington.
On the 10th of October, General Stuart with two thousand Rebel cavalry crossed the Potomac, near the town of Hancock; visited Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, turned toward the east, rode roundMcClellan's army, and escaped with little loss into Virginia. General McClellan's plans for his capture failed. The army was mortified, and the people indignant; but the raid, although nothing came of it, gave great pleasure to the Rebels.
President Lincoln sent a friendly letter to General McClellan.
"You remember," he wrote, "my speaking to you, of what I called your over-cautiousness. Are you not over-cautious when you assume, that you cannot do what the enemy is constantly doing? Should you not claim to be, at least, his equal in power, and act upon the claim? As I understand, you telegraph General Halleck, that you cannot subsist your army at Winchester, unless the railroad from Harper's Ferry to that point be put in working order. But the enemy does now subsist his army at Winchester, at a distance twice as great from railroad transportation as you would have to do without the railroad last named. Again, one of the standard maxims of war, as you know, is to operate upon the enemy's communications as much as possible without exposing your own. You seem to act as if this appliesagainstyou, but cannot apply in yourfavor. Change positions with the enemy, and think you not, he would break your communications with Richmond within the next twenty-four hours? You dread his going into Pennsylvania. But if he does so in full force, he gives up his communications to you absolutely, and you have nothing to do but to follow and ruin him; if he does so with less than full force, fall upon and beat what is left behind all the easier.... You know, I desired but did not order youto cross the Potomac below, instead of above, the Shenandoah and Blue Ridge. My idea was, that this would at once menace the enemy's communications, which I would seize, if he would permit. If he should move northward, I would follow him closely, holding his communications. If he should prevent our seizing his communications and move toward Richmond, I would press closely to him, fight him, if a favorable opportunity should present, and at least try to beat him to Richmond on the insidetrack.
"I say 'try.' If we never try we never shall succeed. If he make a stand at Winchester, moving neither north nor south, I would fight him there, on the idea that if we cannot beat him when he bears the wastage of communication to us, we never can when we bear the wastage of going to him. This proposition is a simple truth, and is too important to be lost sight of for a moment.
"As we must beat him somewhere, or fail finally, we can do it, if at all, easier near us, than far away. If we cannot beat the enemy where he now is, we never can, he again being within the intrenchments of Richmond."81
The army numbered one hundred and twenty-three thousand men present and fit for duty. If General McClellan moved east of the Blue Ridge he was to receive thirty-five thousand reinforcements from Washington, making a total of about one hundred and sixty thousand.82Lee's army was supposed to number about eighty thousand.
General McClellan still delayed to advance."The troops are in want of clothing," he said. But the chief quartermaster of the army cleared the government from all blame. "You have always very promptly met all my requirements. I foresee no time when an army of over one hundred thousand men will not call for clothing and other articles," was the telegram of Colonel Ingalls to General Meigs.
Among the wounded in the hospitals at Antietam was a young soldier of the Nineteenth Massachusetts. He was an only child of his parents. He had been kindly nurtured, and knew nothing of hardship till he enlisted in the army. He was very patient. He had no word of complaint. He trusted in Jesus, and had no fear of death. His mother came from her Massachusetts home to see him.
"Do you know that we think you cannot recover?" said the chaplain one day to him. It did not startle him.
"I am safe. Living or dying, I am in God's hands," he calmly replied.
"Are you not sorry, my son, that you entered the army, and left home to suffer all this?" his mother asked.
"O mother, how can you ask me such a question as that? You know I am not sorry. I loved my country, and for her cause I came," he replied.
He wanted to be baptized. It was Sabbath morning. The soldier lay upon a stretcher, and the weeping mother knelt by his side,—her only child. There was some water in his canteen. The chaplain poured it upon his marble brow, where death was soon to set his seal, and baptized him in the name of the Father, Son, and Spirit.Thus trusting in God and loving his country, he passed into a better life.83
There was another soldier who had been wounded in the leg. Mortification set in. The surgeons told him it must be amputated. He knew there was little chance for him to live, but calmly, as if lying down to slumber, he went to the amputating table, singing cheerfully, as if he were on the threshold of heaven:
"There'll be no sorrow there!In heaven above, where all is love,There'll be no sorrow there."
"There'll be no sorrow there!In heaven above, where all is love,There'll be no sorrow there."
He took the chloroform, became insensible. The limb was taken off. He never knew his loss, for after a few hours of drowsy, half-waking slumber, his spirit passed away.
Themonth of October passed. Pontoons were finally laid across the Potomac. They were down several days before the enemy moved, and General Lee, through his scouts and spies, undoubtedly had information of what was going on.
The army commenced crossing on the 27th, but the divisions were not all over till the 1st of November. Lee had moved a week before, and was at Culpepper, with the exception of his rear-guard,Stuart's cavalry, and a force in the Shenandoah Valley.
Up to this period of the war there had been but few brilliant cavalry achievements on either side. At Springfield, Missouri, Zagonyi, with his fearless riders, had cut their way through the hosts which surrounded them. It was gloriously done. The cavalry, with the army of the Potomac on the Peninsula, had accomplished nothing worthy of mention.
General Stuart, commanding the Rebel cavalry, had audaciously rode round General McClellan's army at the Chickahominy and at Harper's Ferry. On the march from Berlin to Warrenton, General Pleasanton commanded the Union cavalry. He had the advance in the line of march. General Stuart covered the retreat of Lee. Day after day, from morning till night, there was an interchange of shots by the flying artillery of both armies,—Stuart holding his ground till Pleasanton's fire became too hot, then limbering up his guns, and retiring a mile to a new position.
The Rebels had not all left the Shenandoah Valley. But a force of ten thousand men remained there prepared to pass through the gaps of the Blue Ridge, and fall on McClellan's rear, if he left it exposed. General Hancock's division of Porter's corps, which was nearest the Blue Ridge, or which held the right of the army, in its march, moved upon Snicker's Gap. Arriving at the top and looking westward, there was a beautiful panorama; the town of Winchester, its white houses and church spires gleaming in the November sun; the trees yet wearing their gorgeous livery; the numerous camp-fires of theenemy on the western bank of the Shenandoah; the blue smoke rising in columns and spirals to the clouds, the troops of the enemy moving with their long baggage trains towards the south.
Captain Pettit wheeled his Parrott guns into position on the top of the mountain, and sighted the guns. The first shell exploded in the Rebel line. In an instant, evidently without waiting for orders, the men took to their heels, disappearing in the woods. An unexpected shot sometimes unnerves old soldiers, who never think of shrinking from duty on the battle-field.
On the ridge west of the Shenandoah, two Rebel batteries were in position, with jets of white smoke bursting from the cannon in quick discharges. There was a small body of Rebels east of the river. Colonel Sargent, commanding the First Massachusetts cavalry, was ordered to drive them across the river. His troops deployed in the open field. At the word of command, they dashed down the hill, supported by a detachment of General Sykes's infantry. The Rebel cavalry did not wait their charge, but fled across the Shenandoah.
"Advance skirmishers!" was the order of Colonel Sargent. He had no intention of moving his whole detachment to the river bank, but only his skirmishers.
The cavalry and infantry misunderstood the order. Their blood was up. Away they went with a hurrah down to the river-bank. The houses on the other side were full of Rebel infantry. Two cannon commanded the ford, and swept it with canister.
"Down! down!" shouted Colonel Sargent.He meant that the soldiers should fall upon the ground, and not expose themselves to the terrible fire which was coming upon them. They thought that he would have them rush down the steep bank and cross the stream, and with wilder enthusiasm—that which sometimes comes to men when in the greatest danger—they went down to the water's edge; some of them into the stream. There they saw their mistake, but they faced the storm a while, and gave volley for volley, although ordered back by their commander.
Six or eight were killed, and thirty wounded, during the few moments they were there.
Among the killed was the brave Captain Pratt, of the cavalry, shot through the heart. His pulse had just ceased its beating as I stood over him. The blood, still warm, was flowing from the wound. His countenance was calm and peaceful. He had died while doing his duty,—a duty he loved toperform, for he felt that he could not do too much for his country:—
"Wrap round him the banner,It cost him his breath,He loved it in life,Let it shroud him in death.Let it silently sweep in its gorgeous foldO'er the heart asleep, and the lips that are cold."
"Wrap round him the banner,It cost him his breath,He loved it in life,Let it shroud him in death.Let it silently sweep in its gorgeous foldO'er the heart asleep, and the lips that are cold."
Having secured Snicker's Gap, Pleasanton pushed on to Piedmont and Markham, pleasant places on the Manassas Gap Railroad. Markham is nestled easily at the foot of the mountain, where the railroad begins its long, steep gradient toreach the summit of the gap. At this place, Stuart planted his guns, and a spirited engagement took place.
Pleasanton dismounted his cavalry, and advanced them as infantry, and drove Stuart, who retreated a mile, made another stand, and was again driven. The last fight took place in front of a pretty farm-house, occupied by a near relative of the Rebel General Ashby, who commanded a body of cavalry in 1861, and who was killed in Western Virginia. He was the boldest of all the Southern horsemen. He trained his horses to leap a five-barred gate. He could pick a handkerchief from the ground while his horse was upon a run. He was dashing, brave, and gallant, and a great favorite with the Southern ladies, who called him the bold cavalier.
After the battle, my friend and I visited the farm-house. Our appetites were keen, and we wanted dinner.
I found the owner at the door.
"Can I obtain dinner for myself, and oats for my horse?" was the question.
"Yes, sir, I reckon. That is, if my wife is willing. She don't like Yankees very well. Besides, the soldiers have stolen all our poultry, with the exception of one turkey, which she is going to have for dinner."
Roast turkey in old Virginia, after weeks of hard-tack and pork, was a dinner worth having.
"Please tell your wife that, although I am a Yankee, I expect to pay for my dinner."
A conference was had in-doors, resulting in an affirmative answer to my request.
A friend was with me. The cloth was laid,and a little colored girl and boy brought in from time to time the things for the table. At last, there came the turkey, done to a nice brown, steaming hot from the oven, filling the room with a flavor refreshing to a hungry man, after the events of the morning. The hostess made her appearance, entering like a queen in stateliness and dignity. She was tall, and in the prime of womanhood. Her eyes were jet. They shone upon us like electric flashes. Her greeting was a defiance. Seated at the table, she opened the conversation.
"I should like to know what you are down here for, stealing our chickens and niggers?"
It was the first gun of the battle,—a rifle shot. Without any skirmishing, she had opened battery.
"Your Union soldiers, your thieves and ragamuffins, have stolen all my chickens and turkeys, and I had to kill this one to save it. And you have run off my niggers. I should have lost this turkey if I had not aimed a pistol at the soldier who was about to take it. I threatened to shoot him, and the coward sneaked off."
"Our generals do not permit depredations upon private citizens, when they can help it, but there are thieves in all armies," was the reply.
"O, yes; it is very well for you to apologize! But you are all thieves. General Geary's men, when they were here, stole all they could lay their hands on, and so did Blenker's, and so do McClellan's. You want to steal our niggers. We never should have had this war if you had minded your own business, and let our niggers alone."
"I am not aware that we stole your negroes before the war, but, on the contrary, our free citizens of the North were kidnapped, and sold into Slavery. South Carolina began the war by firing on the flag. It was the duty of President Lincoln to defend it."
"Lincoln! old Lincoln! He's an ape. I would shoot him if I could have the chance!"
"That would be a tragedy worth writing up for the papers. You would immortalize your name by the act. You would go down to history. The illustrated papers would have sketches of the thrilling scene," said my friend with provoking good humor.
"Yes, you would do just as you have done for twenty years,—get up lying pictures and stories about the South. You are a pack of liars. You think you are going to crush us, but you won't. Never, never! We will fight till the last man, woman, and child are dead before we will surrender!"
She was at a white heat of passion, pale and trembling with rage, the tears for a moment hiding the lightning flashes of her eyes.
"My dear madam, we may as well understand each other first as last. The people of the North have made up their minds to crush this rebellion. They have counted the cost, and the war will go on till every man, woman, and child in the South are exterminated, unless they yield. We are several millions more than you, and we shall conquer you."
"Never,—never,—never,—never,—never,—never!—Never!—Never!—Never!"
It was a sudden outburst of passion and defiance; a sudden explosion, like the howl of a bulldog. All of her energy, hate, and bitterness was thrown into the word. Her lip quivered; her cheek put on a sudden whiteness. I was prepared to see the carving-knife hurled across the table, or a dish of gravy dashed in my face. She could utter only the one word—never! After the whirlwind, there was a shower of tears. Then she regained her composure.
"You outnumber us, but you can't subdue us. Never! never! We are a superior people. We belong to a high-born race. You are a set of mean, sneaking Yankees."
My brother-correspondent informed the lady that he had lived in the South; had traveled from Maryland to Savannah, Mobile and New Orleans many times, and was well acquainted with Southern society in all its aspects; and that the people of the South could lay no claim to superiority, unless it was in following the example of the patriarchs—sustaining the system of concubinage, and selling their own children intoslavery.
A blush overspread her features. She knew that the assertion was true. But notwithstanding this home-thrust, she continued: "We are not half so bad as you represent us to be. You Yankees, from Massachusetts and Vermont, who go down South, do nothing but lie about us."
"I am not from Massachusetts, madam," said my friend. "I am a Pennsylvania Dutchman. I was born in Lancaster, and am well acquainted with your friend, James Buchanan."
"You Pennsylvanians are the meanest of all Yankees. You are an ignorant set. You liveon cabbage and sour-krout. You are a mean, stupid set of thieves as ever lived. General Geary's men stole all my cabbages. I hope both of you will be captured and put in prison. I hope you will get shot. If you will stay here to-night, I will have both of you on your way to Richmond before morning. There is a brigade of Rebels up in the gap."
"We are aware of that, and do not doubt, madam, that you would hand us over to them if you could, but we will keep our eyes open."
It was somewhat hazardous to get dinner so near a large body of Rebels, with no Union troops near at hand, but the flavor of roast turkey, after weeks of camp fare, was not to be resisted under the circumstances.
It would require much space to give a full report of our "table talk" on that occasion. It was rare and entertaining. But the dinner over, and our bills paid to the satisfaction of host and hostess, I said:—
"I hope that you will be delivered from the horrors of war. I do not wish you to suffer, but I do hope that those who have caused thewar, who are now in arms, will be speedily crushed; and when the conflict is over, I hope we shall meet under more auspicious circumstances."
The storm of passion had subsided. "I beg your pardon, sir. You have treated me like gentlemen, and I have acted like a fool," she replied, extending her hand, and we parted good friends. There was, after all, a tender place in her heart.
After dinner we rode on again. Stuart, instead of passing through the gap, had turned southalong a rough and rocky road. Six miles below Markham, he made another stand at a place called Barbee's cross-roads,—roads which crossed from Markham to Chester Gap, from Thornton's Gap to Warrenton.
There was a rickety old house, once a tavern, where travelers from the valley to Warrenton and Alexandria found refreshment for themselves and food for their horses. But now grass was growing in the roads. There were old hats and cast-off garments in the windows. The roof was falling in; and there were props against the sides of the house to keep it from falling flat to the ground. The few farm-houses around were also tumbling down. Energy, enterprise, and industry had fled from the place; and it was as if the curse of God was upon it and upon the whole State. The people were reaping the inevitable reward which sooner or later must, according to the immutable laws of nature, come upon those who deliberately and systematically raise slaves for sale, as they would cattle, horses, sheep, and pigs.
Stuart placed three of his guns under the locust-trees, which shaded the road west of the old tavern. There were two more guns on a knoll, east of the tavern and south of it, hidden from sight, but so placed, that if Pleasanton charged down the turnpike, he would be cut to pieces by grape and canister. Stuart thought to get Pleasanton into a trap. He erected a barricade in the road behind a knoll, which Pleasanton could not see. He piled up wagons, rails, plows, harrows, boxes, and barrels. If Pleasanton charged, he would bring up against thebarricade, where he would be destroyed by the cross-fire of the batteries.
But Pleasanton was cautious as well as courageous. He came into position half a mile distant, and opened a fire which cut down the locust-trees, tore through the old tavern, and made it more than ever a ruin. He kept three hundred men in the road sheltered by a hill, and out of Stuart's sight, ready for a charge, and deployed a squadron of the Eighth Illinois, the Eighth New York, and a portion of the Sixth Regulars in the fields on the right-hand side of the road, keeping them mounted. They faced south. He dismounted the remainder of the Sixth Regulars, who left their horses in the woods, and moved round upon Stuart's left, east of the old tavern. They saw the barricade, and told Pleasanton what they had discovered. They commenced a sharp fire, to which Stuart replied. He weakened his force behind the locust-trees, and sent reinforcements to his right to hold in check the dismounted Regulars.
Suddenly the bugles on Pleasanton's right sounded a charge. The men drew their sabers. The sharp, shrill music set their blood in motion. It thrilled them.
"Forward!"
Away they dashed. The three hundred men filing from the road into the field on the right, deploying into line, wheeling, then, with a hurrah, with a trampling of hoofs which shook the earth, increasing from a trot to a gallop, they fell upon Stuart's left. The Rebels fired their carbines.
The Rebel artillerymen under the locust-treeswheeled their guns towards the northwest, but before they could fire, the three hundred were upon them. Instead of firing, the cannoneers leaped upon their horses, and made all haste to escape. They succeeded in carrying off their guns, but left twenty-two prisoners in the hands of Pleasanton.
The affair did not last more than twenty minutes, but it was the most brilliant of all the operations of the cavalry connected with the army of the Potomac up to that date,—the 6th of November, 1862.
The orders which General McClellan had issued to the army forbade the soldiers to forage. If supplies were wanted, the quartermasters and commissaries would supply them. Notwithstanding the order, however, the soldiers managed to have roast chickens and turkeys, and delicious mutton-chops, legs of veal, and pork-steaks. At night, there was stewing, frying, and roasting by the bivouac fires.
One night, I found lodgings with a farmer. He had a large farm, a great barn, and a well-filled granary. Fat turkeys roosted in the trees around his stables, and a flock of sheep cropped the clover of his fields.
He was a secessionist. "I was for the Union till the President called for seventy-five thousand men to put down the rebellion, as he calls it," said he.
"Why did you become a secessionist then?"
"Because that was interfering with State rights. The government has no right to coerce a State. So, when Virginia seceded, I went with her."
We were sitting by the cheerful fire in his kitchen. The evening was stealing on. There was a squeaking among his poultry. We went out, and were in season to see the dusky forms of men in blue moving towards the camp-fires. Every turkey had disappeared.
"I notice that you have a fine flock of sheep yonder," I said.
"Yes, sir, seventy Southdowns. One of the best flocks in the OldDominion."
"I am afraid you will find some of them missing in the morning."
"I will get them into the barn," he said. "Here, you lazy niggers! Peter, John, Sam,—turn out and get up the sheep!"
He had twenty or more negroes. Those who were called started to get the sheep.
A half dozen soldiers unexpectedly appeared in the field.
"We will help you get up your sheep," they said.
The flock came slowly towards the fold, driven by the soldiers.
"Sho——o!" they suddenly shouted and made a rush forward. The sheep scattered everywhere, disappearing in the darkness, followed by the soldiers, laughing and chuckling, leaving the negroes and the farmer astonished and amazed. It was too dark to collect them again.
Morning came. The flock had disappeared. The nearest encampment was that of a regiment of Zouaves. The farmer, raving over his loss, visited it, and saw seventy sheep-skins lying behind the wall near the encampment. Hecalled upon the Colonel of the regiment, who received him with courtesy.
"Colonel," he said, "I see that your soldiers have killed my flock of sheep, and I want pay for them."
"You are mistaken, sir. The orders are very strict against taking anything. The quartermaster and commissary alone can forage. I do not allow any marauding."
"Well, sir, whether you allow it or not, they have stolen my sheep."
"I will see about that, sir. If I find that my men have been marauding, I will have them punished," said the Colonel. The regiment was ordered to appear on parade. The men were questioned, and all denied having killed any sheep. The camp was searched, but no saddles of mutton were discovered.
"It must have been some other regiment, sir, who committed the depredation," said the Colonel.
The farmer visited the next regiment, the Fifth New Hampshire, commanded by Colonel Cross.
"I come to see, sir, if it was your soldiers who stole my sheep last night," said the farmer.
"Impossible, sir. It couldn't have been the soldiers of this regiment. My men are from New Hampshire, sir,—the Old Granite State,—the State of Daniel Webster and Franklin Pierce. My soldiers would scorn to do a mean thing, sir. They come from a moral community. They are above suspicion, sir," said Colonel Cross.
"Will you have the camp searched, Colonel?"
"I could not think of such a thing, sir. I shouldwrong the men. I would not have them think that I suspected them, sir. If an officer is continually suspecting his men they lose confidence in him. It never would do to let them mistrust that I had a doubt of their honor."
The farmer visited other regiments, but with no better success. He could not find out who had taken the sheep. The evidence was all against the Zouaves, the pelts being in their encampment.
At noon I dined with Colonel Cross. We sat around the camp-chest, which was our table. There was a saddle of mutton, hot, juicy, tender, and savory.
"My cook has a wonderful faculty of finding mutton, chickens, and pigs," said the Colonel, "but I obey the injunction of the apostle Paul, to eat what is set before me, asking no questions for conscience' sake." As I passed through the camp, on my way to the Colonel's quarters, I saw that the soldiers generally were dining on mutton.
"You live well," I said to a soldier.
"Yes, sir, I found a leg of mutton last night. Strange, wasn't it?"
He chuckled merrily and looked knowingly.
"I'll tell you how it was," said he. "The Zouaves played a joke on us a while ago, so last night we paid them. We knocked over the sheep and divided the spoil. We kept the carcasses and left them the pelts. That was fair, wasn't it." He chuckled again as he thought of the fun of the thing. "Of course the Colonel and the other officers don't know anything about it. They never smell round through the camp." He laughed again.
Thus the soldiers had their fun and their fresh provisions, notwithstanding the orders from headquarters. Few of the officers thought it worth while to inquire of the soldiers where they purchased their chickens, turkeys, and mutton.
The next day was cold, raw, and snowy,—an unusual day in the Old Dominion. The forests were in russet and yellow, for the leaves had not fallen. Winter had ushered itself prematurely into the presence of retiring Autumn. The driving storm shut the Blue Ridge from sight. My horse had lost his shoes. I found a blacksmith-shop built of logs. While the smith was putting on the shoes, I sat upon the forge warming my feet. The wind was high, and swept through the forest with a wild, surging roar, and came into the shop through the cracks and crevices, drowning the roar of the bellows. The snow-flakes sifted through the crazy roof, which had lost nearly half its time-worn shingles. Let the reader sit by my side on an old box, and take a look at the blacksmith.
He is fifty years old. We are reminded of the village blacksmith described by Longfellow, whose shop was beneath a spreading chestnut tree.