My reflections were by no means gay. The scenes at the lonely house had not been cheerful and mirth-inspiring.
That grinning corpse, with the crust of bread in the bony fingers; that stain of blood on the floor; the grave of Achmed; lastly, the appointment of the mysterious Nighthawk with the Federal spy; all were fantastic and lugubrious.
Who was Nighthawk, and what was his connection with Mohun? Who was Mohun, and what had been his previous history? Who was this youth of unbounded wealth, as Nighthawk had intimated, in whose life personages supposed to be dead, but still alive, had figured?
“Decidedly, Mohun and Nighthawk are two enigmas!” I muttered, “and I give the affair up.”
With which words I spurred on, and soon debouched on the Orange plank road, leading toward Mine Run.
As I entered it, I heard hoof-strokes on the resounding boards, and a company of horsemen cantered toward me through the darkness. As they came, I heard a gay voice singing the lines:—
“I wake up in the morning,I wake up in the morning,I wake up in the morning,Before the break o’ day!”
There was no mistaking that gay sound. It was Stuart, riding at the head of his staff and couriers.
In a moment he had come up, and promptly halted me.
“Ah! that’s you, Surry!” he exclaimed with a laugh, “wandering about here in the Wilderness! What news?”
I reported the state of things in front, and Stuart exclaimed:—
“All right; we are ready for them! Coon Hollow is evacuated—head-quarters are in the saddle! Hear that whippoorwill! It is a good omen. Whip ‘em well! Whip ‘em well!—and we’ll do it too!”{1} Stuart laughed, and began to sing—
“Never mind the weatherBut get over double trouble!We are bound for the Happy land of Lincoln!”
{Footnote 1: His words.}
As the martial voice rang through the shadowy thickets, I thought, “How fortunate it is that the grave people are not here to witness this singular ‘want of dignity’ in the great commander of Lee’s cavalry!”
Those “grave people” would certainly have rolled their eyes, and groaned, “Oh! how undignified!” Was not the occasion solemn? Was it not sinful to laugh and sing? No, messieurs! It was right; and much better than rolling the eyes, and staying at home and groaning! Stuart was going to fight hard—meanwhile he sang gayly. Heaven had given him animal spirits, and he laughed in the face of danger. He laughed and sang on this night when he was going to clash against Grant, as he had laughed and sung when he had clashed against Hooker—when his proud plume floated in front of Jackson’s veterans, and he led them over the breastworks at Chancellorsville, singing, “Old Joe Hooker, will you come out of the Wilderness!”
Stuart cantered on: we turned into the Brock road, and I found myself retracing my steps toward the Rapidan.
As I passed near the lonely house, I cast a glance toward the glimmering light. Had Nighthawk’s friend arrived?
We soon reached Ely’s Ford, and I conducted Stuart to Mordaunt’s bivouac, which I had left at dusk. He had just wrapped his cloak around him, and laid down under a tree, ready to mount at a moment’s warning.
“What news, Mordaunt?” said Stuart, grasping his hand.
“Some fighting this evening, but it ceased about nightfall, general.”
Stuart looked toward the river, and listened attentively.
“I hear nothing stirring.”
And passing his hand through his beard he muttered half to himself:—
“I wonder if Grant can have made any change in his programme?”
“The order at least was explicit—that brought by Nighthawk,” I said.
Stuart turned toward me suddenly.
“I wonder where he could be found? If I knew, I would send him over the river to-night, to bring me a reliable report of every thing.”
I drew the general aside.
“I can tell you where to find Nighthawk.”
“Where.”
“Shall I bring him?”
“Like lightning, Surry! I wish to dispatch him at once!”
Without reply I wheeled my horse, and went back rapidly toward the house in the Wilderness. I soon reached the spot, rode to the window, and called to Nighthawk, who came out promptly at my call.
“Your friend has not arrived?” I said.
“He will not come till midnight, colonel.”
“When, I am afraid, he will not see you, Nighthawk—you are wanted.”
And I explained my errand. Nighthawk sighed—it was easy to see that he was much disappointed.
“Well, colonel,” he said, in a resigned tone, “I must give up my private business—duty calls. I will be ready in a moment.”
And disappearing, he put out the light—issued forth in rear of the house—mounted a horse concealed in the bushes—and rejoined me in front.
“Swartz will not know what to think,” he said, as we rode rapidly toward the river; “he knows I am the soul of punctuality, and this failure to keep my appointment will much distress him.”
“Distress him, Nighthawk?”
“He will think some harm has happened to me.”
And Mr. Nighthawk smiled so sadly, that I could not refrain from laughter.
We soon reached the spot where Stuart awaited us. At sight of Nighthawk he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, and explained in brief words his wishes.
“That will be easy, general,” said Nighthawk.
“Can you procure a Federal uniform?”
“I always travel with one, general.”
And Mr. Nighthawk unstrapped the bundle behind his saddle, drawing forth a blue coat and trousers, which in five minutes had replaced his black clothes. Before us stood one of the “blue birds.” Nighthawk was an unmistakable “Yankee.”
Stuart gave him a few additional instructions, and having listened with the air of a man who is engraving the words he hears upon his memory, Nighthawk disappeared in the darkness, toward the private crossing, where he intended to pass the river.
Half an hour afterward, Stuart was riding toward Germanna Ford. As we approached, Mohun met us, and reported all quiet.
Stuart then turned back in the direction of Chancellorsville, where Nighthawk was to report to him, before daylight, if possible.
I lingered behind a moment to exchange a few words with Mohun. Something told me that he was intimately connected with the business which had occasioned the appointment between Nighthawk and Swartz—and at the first words which I uttered, I saw that I was not mistaken.
Mohun raised his head quickly, listened with the closest attention, and when I had informed him of every thing, said abruptly:—
“Well, I’ll keep Nighthawk’s appointment for him!”
“You!” I said.
“Yes, my dear Surry—this is a matter of more importance than you think. The business will not take long—the enemy will not be moving before daylight—and you said, I think, that the appointment was for midnight?”
“Yes.”
Mohun drew out his watch; scratched a match which he drew from a small metal case.
“Just eleven,” he said; “there is time to arrive before midnight, if we ride well—will you show me the way?”
I saw that he was bent on his scheme, and said no more. In a few moments we were in the saddle, and riding at full speed toward the house where the meeting was to take place.
Mohun rode like the wild huntsman, and mile after mile disappeared behind us—flitting away beneath the rapid hoofs of our horses. During the whole ride he scarcely opened his lips. He seemed to be reflecting deeply, and to scarcely realize my presence.
At last we turned into the Brock road, and were soon near the lonely house.
“We have arrived,” I said, leaping the brushwood fence. And we galloped up the knoll toward the house, which was as dark and silent as the grave.
Dismounting and concealing our horses in the bushes, we opened the door. Mohun again had recourse to his match-case, and lit the candle left by Nighthawk on an old pine table, and glanced at his watch.
“Midnight exactly!” he said; “we have made a good ride of it, Surry.”
“Yes; and now that I have piloted you safely, Mohun, I will discreetly retire.”
“Why not remain, if you think it will amuse you, my dear friend?”
“But you are going to discuss your private affairs, are you not?”
“They are not private from you, since I have promised to relate my whole life to you.”
“Then I remain; but do you think our friend will keep his appointment?”
“There he is,” said Mohun, as hoof-strokes were heard without. “He is punctual.”
A moment afterward we heard the new-comer dismount. Then his steps were heard on the small porch. All at once his figure appeared in the doorway.
It was Swartz. The fat person, the small eyes, the immense double chin, and the chubby fingers covered with pinchbeck rings, were unmistakable.
He was clad in citizens’ clothes, and covered with dust as from a long ride.
Mohun rose.
“Come in, my dear Mr. Swartz,” he said coolly; “you see we await you.”
The spy recoiled. It was plain that he was astonished beyond measure at seeing us. He threw a glance behind him in the direction of his horse, and seemed about to fly.
Mohun quietly drew his revolver, and cocked it.
“Fear nothing, my dear sir,” he said, “and, above all, do not attempt to escape.”
Swartz hesitated, and cast an uneasy glance upon the weapon.
“Does the sight of this little instrument annoy you?” said Mohun, laughing. “It shall not be guilty of that impoliteness, Mr. Swartz.”
And he uncocked the weapon, and replaced it in its holster.
“Now,” he continued, “sit down, and let us talk.”
Swartz obeyed. Before Mohun’s penetrating glance, his own sank. He took his seat in a broken-backed chair; drew forth a huge red bandanna handkerchief; wiped his forehead; and said quietly:—
“I expected to meet a friend here to-night, gentlemen, instead of—”
“Enemies?” interrupted Mohun. “We are such, it is true, my dear sir, but you are quite safe. Your friend Nighthawk is called away; he is even ignorant of our presence here.”
“But meeting him would have been different, gentlemen. I had his safe conduct!”
“You shall have it from me.”
“May I ask from whom?” said Swartz.
“From General Mohun, of the Confederate army.”
Swartz smiled this time; then making a grotesque bow, he replied:—
“I knew you very well, general—that is why I am so much at my ease. I am pleased to hear that you are promoted. When I last saw you, you were only a colonel, but I was certain that you would soon be promoted or killed.”
There was a queer accent of politeness in the voice of the speaker. He did not seem to have uttered these words in order to flatter his listener, but to express his real sentiment. He was evidently a character.
“Good!” said Mohun, with his habitual accent of satire. “These little compliments are charming. But I am in haste to-night—let us come to business, my dear sir. I came hither to ask you some questions, and to these I expect plain replies.”
Swartz looked at the speaker intently, but without suspicion. His glance, on the contrary, had in it something strangely open and unreserved.
“I will reply to all your questions, general,” he said, “and reply truthfully. I have long expected this interview, and will even say that I wished it. You look on me as a Yankee spy, and will have but little confidence in what I say. Nevertheless, I am going to tell you the whole truth about every thing. Ask your questions, general, I will answer them.”
Mohun was leaning one elbow on the broken table. His glance, calm and yet fiery, seemed bent on penetrating to the most secret recess of the spy’s heart.
“Well,” he said, “now that we begin to understand each other, let us come to the point at once. Where were you on the morning of the thirteenth of December, 1856?”
Swartz replied without hesitation:—
“On the bank of Nottoway River, in Dinwiddie, Virginia, and bound for Petersburg.”
“The object of your journey?”
“To sell dried fruits and winter vegetables.”
“Then you travelled in a cart, or a wagon?”
“In a cart, general.”
“You reached Petersburg without meeting with any incident on the way?”
“I met with two very curious ones, general. I see you know something about the affair, and are anxious to know every thing. I will tell you the whole truth; but it will be best to let me do it in my own way.”
“Do so, then,” said Mohun, fixing his eyes more intently upon the spy.
Swartz was silent again for more than a minute, gazing on the floor. Then he raised his head, passed his red handkerchief over his brow, and said:—
“To begin at the beginning, general. At the time you speak of, December, 1856, I was a small landholder in Dinwiddie, and made my living by carting vegetables and garden-truck to Petersburg. Well, one morning in winter—you remind me that it was the thirteenth of December,—I set out, as usual, in my cart drawn by an old mule, with a good load on board, to go by way of Monk’s Neck. I had not gone two miles, however, when passing through a lonely piece of woods on the bank of the river, I heard a strange cry in the brush. It was the most startling you can think of, and made my heart stop beating. I jumped down from my cart, left it standing in the narrow road, and went to the spot. It was a strange sight I saw. On the bank of the river, I saw a woman lying drenched with water, and half-dead. She was richly dressed, and of very great beauty—but I never saw any human face so pale, or clothes more torn and draggled.”
The spy paused. Mohun shaded his eyes from the light, with his hands, and said coolly:—
“Go on.”
“Well, general—that was enough to astonish anybody—and what is more astonishing still, I have never to this day discovered the meaning of the woman’s being there—for it was plain that she was a lady. She was half-dead with cold, and had cried out in what seemed to be a sort of delirium. When I raised her up, and wrung the wet out of her clothes, she looked at me so strangely that I was frightened. I asked her how she had come there, but she made no reply. Where should I take her? She made no reply to that either. She seemed dumb—out of her wits—and, to make a long story short, I half led and half carried her to the cart in which I put her, making a sort of bed for her of some old bags.
“I set out on my way again, without having the least notion what I should do with her—for she seemed a lady—and only with a sort of idea that her friends might probably pay me for my trouble, some day.
“Well, I went on for a mile or two farther, when a new adventure happened to me. That was stranger still—it was like a story-book; and you will hardly believe me—but as I was going through a piece of woods, following a by-road by which I cut off a mile or more, I heard groans near the road, and once more stopped my cart. Then I listened. I was scared, and began to believe in witchcraft. The groans came from the woods on my left, and there was no doubt about the sound—so, having listened for some time, I mustered courage to go in the direction of the sound. Can you think what I found, general?”
“What?” said Mohun, in the same cool voice; “tell me.”
“A man lying in a grave;—a real grave, general—broad and deep—a man with a hole through his breast, and streaming with blood.”
“Is it possible?”
And Mohun uttered a laugh.
“Just as I tell you, general—it is the simple, naked truth. When I got to the place, he was struggling to get out of the grave, and his breast was bleeding terribly. I never saw a human being look paler. ‘Help!’ he cried out, in a suffocated voice like, when he saw me—and as he spoke, he made such a strong effort to rise, that his wound gushed with blood, and he fainted.”
“He fainted, did he? And what did you do?” said Mohun.
“I took him up in my arms, general, as I had taken the woman, carried him to my cart, when I bound up his breast in the best way I could, and laid him by the side of the half-drowned lady.”
“To get a reward fromhisfriends, too, no doubt?”
“Well, general, we must live, you know. And did I not deserve something for being so scared—and for the use of my mule?”
“Certainly you did. Is not the laborer worthy of his hire? But go on, sir—your tale is interesting.”
“Tale, general? It is the truth—on the word of Swartz!”
“I no longer doubt now, if I did before,” said Mohun; “but tell me the end of your adventure.”
“I can do that in a few words, general. I whipped up my old mule, and went on through the woods, thinking what I had best do with the man and the woman I had saved, I could take them to Petersburg, and tell my story to the mayor or some good citizen, who would see that they were taken care of. But as soon as I said ‘mayor’ to myself, I thought ‘he is the chief of police.’Police!—that is one of the ugliest words in the language, general! Some people shiver, and their flesh crawls, when you cut a cork, or scratch on a window pane—well, it is strange, but I have always felt in that way when I heard, or thought of, the word,police! And here I was going to have dealings with the saidpolice! I was going to say ‘I found these people on the Nottoway—one half-drowned, and the other in a newly dug grave!’ No, I thank you! We never know what our characters will stand, and I was by no means certain that mine would stand that! Then the reward—I wished to have my lady and gentleman under my eye. So, after thinking over the matter for some miles, I determined to leave them with a crony of mine near Monk’s Neck, named Alibi, who would take care of them and say nothing. Well, I did so, and went on to Petersburg, where I sold my truck. When I got back they were in bed, and on my next visit they were at the point of death. About that time I was taken sick, and was laid up for more than three months. When I went to see my birds at Monk’s Neck, they had flown!”
“Without leaving you their adieux?”
“No, they were at least polite. They left me a roll of bank notes—more than I thought they had about them.”
“You had searched them, of course, when they were lying in your cart,” said Mohun.
Swartz smiled.
“I acknowledge it, general—I forgot to mention the fact. I had found only a small amount in the gentleman’s pocket-book—nothing on the lady—and I never could understand where he or she had concealed about their persons such a considerable amount of money—though I suppose, in a secret pocket.”
Mohun nodded.
“That is often done—well, that was the last of them?”
Swartz smiled, and glanced at Mohun.
“What is the use of any concealment, my dear Mr. Swartz?” said the latter. “You may as well tell the whole story, as you have gone this far.”
“You are right, general, and I will finish. The war broke out, and I sold my truck patch, and invested in a better business—that is, running the blockade across the Potomac, and smuggling in goods for the Richmond market. On one of these trips, I met, plump, in the streets of Washington, no less a person than the lady whom I had rescued. She was richly dressed, and far more beautiful, but there was no mistaking her. I spoke to her; she recognized me, took me to her house, and here I foundthe gentleman, dressed in a fine new uniform. He was changed too—his wound had long healed, he was stout and strong, but I knew him, too, at a glance. Well, I spent the evening, and when I left the house had accepted an offer made me to combine a new business with that of blockade runner.”
“That of spy, you mean?” said Mohun.
Swartz smiled.
“You speak plainly, general. We call ourselves ‘secret agents’—but either word expresses the idea!”
Mohun raised his head, and looked Swartz full in the face. His glance had grown, if possible, more penetrating than before, and a grim smile responded to the unctuous expression of the spy.
“Well, my dear Mr. Swartz,” he said coolly, “that is a curious history. Others might doubt its accuracy, but I give you my word that I do not! I did well to let you proceed in your own way, instead of questioning you—but I have not yet done; and this time shall return to the method of interrogation.”
“At your orders, general,” said Swartz, whose quick glance showed that he was on his guard, and foresaw what was coming.
Mohun leaned toward the spy.
“Let us proceed to ‘call names,’” he said. “The man you rescued from the grave was Colonel Darke?”
“Exactly, general.”
“Is that his real name, or a false one?”
Swartz hesitated; then replied:—
“A false one.”
“His real name?”
“Mortimer.”
“And the lady is—?”
“His wife, general.”
“Good,” said Mohun, “you are well informed, I see, my dear Mr. Swartz; and it is a pleasure to converse with a gentleman who knows so much, and knows it so accurately.”
“You flatter my pride, general!”
“I do you justice—but to the point. Your story was cut off in the middle. After the interview in Washington, you continued to see Colonel Darke and his wife?”
“I saw them frequently, general.”
“In the army—and at their home, both?”
“Yes, general.”
“Where did they live?”
“Near Carlisle, Pennsylvania.”
“Where you were on a visit, just before the battle of Gettysburg?”
“Yes, general.”
“Very good!”
And rising quickly, Mohun confronted the spy, who drew back unconsciously.
“Where is the paper that you stole from the woman that night?” he said.
Swartz was unable to sustain the fiery glance directed toward him by Mohun.
“Then Nighthawk has told you all!” he exclaimed.
“Colonel Surry saw you hide the paper.”
Swartz looked suddenly toward me—his smiles had all vanished.
“The paper! give me the paper!” exclaimed Mohun; “you shall have gold for it!”
“I have left it in Culpeper, general.”
“Liar!—give me the paper!”
Swartz started to his feet.
Mohun caught at his throat—the spy recoiled—when suddenly a quick firing was heard coming rapidly from the direction of Germanna Ford.
“The enemy have crossed, Mohun!” I cried.
Mohun started, and turned his head in the direction of the sound.
“They are advancing!” I said, “but look out!—the spy!—”
Mohun wheeled, drawing his pistol.
Swartz had profited by the moment, when our attention was attracted by the firing, to pass through the door, gain his horse at a bound, and throw himself into the saddle, with an agility that was incredible in one so fat.
At the same moment Mohun’s pistol-shot responded, but the bullet whistled harmlessly over the spy’s head. In an instant he had disappeared in the woods.
Mohun rushed to his horse, I followed, and we were soon riding at full speed in the direction of the firing.
As we advanced, however, it receded. We pushed on, and reached the bank of the Rapidan just as Mohun’s men had driven a party of the enemy over.
It was only a small body, who, crossing at a private ford and surprising the sleepy picket, had raided into the thicket, to retire promptly when they were assailed.
The affair was nothing. Unfortunately, however, it had enabled the Federal spy to elude us.
Swartz had disappeared like a bird of the night; and all pursuit of him in such a wilderness was impossible.
An hour afterward, I had rejoined Stuart.
Such were the singular scenes which I witnessed, amid the shadows of the Spottsylvania Wilderness, in the first days of May, 1864.
The narrative has brought the reader now to an hour past midnight on the third of May.
An hour before—that is to say, at midnight precisely—the Federal forces began to move: at six in the morning, they had massed on the north bank of the Rapidan; and as the sun rose above the Wilderness, the blue columns began to cross the river.
General Grant, at the head of his army of 140,000 men, had set forth on his great advance toward Richmond—that advance so often tried, so often defeated, but which now seemed, from the very nature of things, to be destined to succeed.
Any other hypothesis seemed absurd. What could 50,000 do against nearly thrice their number? What could arrest the immense machine rolling forward to crush the Confederacy? A glance at Grant’s splendid array was enough to make the stoutest heart sink. On this 4th day of May, 1864, he was crossing the Rapidan with what resembled a countless host. Heavy masses of blue infantry, with glittering bayonets—huge parks of rifled artillery, with their swarming cannoneers—long columns of horsemen, armed with sabre and repeating carbines, made the earth shake, and the woods echo with their heavy and continuous tramp, mingled with the roll of wheels.
In front of them, a little army of gaunt and ragged men, looked on and waited, without resisting their advance. What did that waiting mean? Did they intend to dispute the passage of that multitude toward Richmond? It seemed incredible, but that was exactly the intention of Lee.
It is now known that General Grant and his officers felicitated themselves greatly on the safe passage of the Rapidan, and were convinced that Lee would hasten to retreat toward the South Anna.
Instead of retreating, Lee advanced and delivered battle.
The first collision took place on the 5th of May, when the Federal army was rapidly massing in the Wilderness.
Ewell had promptly advanced, and about noon was forming line of battle across the old turnpike, when he was vigorously attacked by Warren, and his advance driven back. But the real obstacle was behind. Ewell’s rear closed up—he advanced in his turn; assailed Warren with fury; swept him back into the thicket; seized two pieces of his artillery, with about 1,000 prisoners; and for the time completely paralyzed the Federal force in his front.
Such was the first blow struck. It had failed, and General Grant turned his attention to A.P. Hill, who had hastened up, and formed line of battle across the Orange plank road, on Ewell’s right.
Hancock directed the assault here, and we have General Lee’s testimony to the fact, that the Federal attempts to drive back Hill were “repeated and desperate.” All failed. Hill stubbornly held his ground. At night the enemy retired, and gave up all further attempts on that day to make any headway.
Grant had expected to find a mere rear-guard, while Lee’s main body was retreating upon Richmond.
He found two full corps in his front; and there was no doubt that a third—that of Longstreet—was approaching.
Lee was evidently going to fight—his aim was, plainly, to shut up Grant in the Wilderness, and drive him back beyond the Rapidan, or destroy him.
It was twilight and the fighting was over.
The two tigers had drawn back, and, crouching down, panted heavily,—resting and gathering new strength for the fiercer conflict of the next day.
From the thickets rose the stifled hum of the two hosts. Only a few shots were heard, now and then, from the skirmishers, and these resembled the last drops of a storm which had spent its fury.
I had been sent by General Stuart with an order to General Hampton, who commanded the cavalry on Hill’s right.
Hampton was sitting his horse in a field extending, at this point, between us and the enemy; and, if it were necessary, I would draw his outline. It is not necessary, however; every one is familiar with the figure of this great and faithful soldier, in his old gray coat, plain arms and equipments, on his large and powerful war-horse,—man and horse ready for battle. In the war I saw many great figures,—Hampton’s was one of the noblest.
Having delivered my message to General Hampton, who received it with his air of grave, yet cordial courtesy, I turned to shake hands with Captain Church—a thorough-bred young officer, as brave as steel, and one of my best friends—when an exclamation from the staff attracted my attention, and looking round, I saw the cause.
At the opposite extremity of the extensive field, a solitary horseman was seen darting out of the woods occupied by the Federal infantry, and this man was obviously a deserter, making his way into our lines.
At a sign from General Hampton, Captain Church went to meet him, and as my horse was fresh, I accompanied my friend in his ride.
The deserter came on at full speed to meet us, and for a moment, his horse skimmed the dusky expanse like a black-winged bird.{1} Then, all at once, his speed moderated; he approached at a jog-trot, and through the gathering gloom I recognised, above the blue uniform, the sweetly smiling countenance of Nighthawk!
{Footnote 1: This scene is real.}
“Good evening, colonel,” said Nighthawk; “I am glad to see you again, and hope you are well.”
“So you have turned deserter, Nighthawk?” I said, laughing heartily.
“Precisely, colonel. I could not get off before. Will you inform me where I can find General Stuart?”
“I will take you to him.”
And riding back with Captain Church and Nighthawk, I soon found myself again in presence of General Hampton.
A word from me explained the real character of the pseudo-deserter. General Hampton asked a number of questions, Nighthawk replied to them, and then the latter begged me to conduct him to General Stuart. I did so without delay, and we soon reached Stuart’s bivouac, where he was talking with his staff by a camp-fire.
At sight of the blue figure he scarcely turned; then suddenly he recognized Nighthawk, and burst into laughter.
“Well, my blue night-bird!” he exclaimed, “here you are at last! What news? Is Grant going to cross the river?”
Nighthawk hung his head, and sighed audibly.
“I could not help it, general.”
“Why didn’t you come before?”
“It was impossible, general.”
Stuart shook his head.
“Strike that word out of your dictionary, my friend."{1}
{Footnote 1: His words.}
“That is good advice, general; but this time they nonplussed me. They blocked every road, and I had to join their army.”
“Well, I hope you got the $600 bounty,” said Stuart, laughing.
“That was another impossibility, general; but I enjoyed the very best society yonder.”
“What society, Nighthawk?”
“That of Grant, Meade, and Sedgwick.”
“Ah! my old friend, General Sedgwick! But where are Grant’s headquarters, Nighthawk? Tell me every thing!”
“At Old Wilderness Tavern, general.”
“And you saw him there?”
“In the midst of his generals,—I was temporarily one of his couriers.”
“I understand. Well, their intended movements?”
Nighthawk shook his head.
“I could have foretold you those of to-day, general.”
“How?”
“I heard General Meade dictating his order, through the window of his head-quarters, and can repeat itverbatim, if you desire.”
“By all means, Nighthawk,—it will reveal his programme. But is it possible that you can do so?”
“I can, general; I engraved every word on my memory.”
And, fixing his eyes intently upon vacancy, Nighthawk commenced in a low, monotonous voice:—
“The following movements are ordered for the 5th May, 1864. General Sheridan, commanding cavalry corps, will move with Gregg’s and Torbert’s divisions against the enemy’s cavalry, in the direction of Hamilton’s Crossing. General Wilson, with the Third cavalry division, will move at 5 A.M., to Craig’s meeting-house, on the Catharpin road. He will keep out parties on the Orange Court-House pike, and plank road, the Catharpin road, Pamunkey road, and in the direction of Troyman’s store and Andrew’s store, or Good Hope church. 2. Major-General Hancock, commanding Second Corps, will move at 5 A.M., to Shady Grove church, and extend his right toward the Fifth Corps at Parker’s store. 3. Major-General Warren, commanding Fifth Corps, will move at 5 A.M., to Parker’s store, on the Orange Court-House plank road, and extend his right toward the Sixth Corps at Old Wilderness Tavern. 4. Major-General Sedgwick, commanding Sixth Corps, will move to the Old Wilderness Tavern, on the Orange Court-House pike, as soon as the road is clear.”
The monotonous voice stopped. I had listened with astonishment, and found it difficult to credit this remarkable feat of memory, though it took place before my eyes, or rather, in my ears.
“It is really wonderful,” said Stuart, gravely.
“You see,” said Nighthawk, returning to his original voice, so to speak, “you see, general, this would have been of some importance yesterday.”
“It is very important now,” said Stuart; “it indicates Grant’s programme—his wish to get out of the Wilderness. He is at Old Wilderness Tavern?”
“He was this morning, general, with Meade and Sedgwick.”
“You were there?”
“I was, general.”
“What did you gather, Nighthawk?”
“Little or nothing, general. True, I heard one or two amusing things as I loitered among the couriers near.”
“What?”
“General Grant came out talking with Meade, Sedgwick, and Warren. General Meade said, ‘They have left a division to fool us here, while they concentrate, and prepare a position toward the North Anna,—and what I want is to prevent these fellows from getting back to Mine Run.’”{1}
{Footnote 1: His words.}
Stuart laughed.
“Well, ‘these fellows’ don’t appear to be going back. What did Grant say?”
“He smoked, general.”
“And did not open his lips?”
“Only once, when General Meade said something about ‘manoeuvring.’”
“What did he say?”
“I can give you his words. He took his cigar from his lips—puffed out the smoke—and replied, ‘Oh! I never manoeuvre!’”{1}
{Footnote 1: His words.}
“So much the better,” said Stuart: “the general that does not manoeuvre sacrifices his men: and I predict that General Grant will soon alter his programme.”
Stuart had ordered his horse to be saddled, and now mounted to go to General Lee’s head-quarters.
“By the bye,” he said, “did you hear Warren or Sedgwick say any thing, Nighthawk?”
Nighthawk smiled.
“I heard Sedgwick utter a few words, general.”
“What?”
“He said to Warren, ‘I hear Hood is to take Stuart’s place. I am glad of it, for Stuart is the best cavalry officer ever foaled in North America!’”{1}
{Footnote 1: His words.}