POPE’S ARMY—A GENERAL’S REQUEST—AGAIN A CONTRABAND—ENTERING THE REBEL LINES AS A SPY—MY ESCAPE TO THE FEDERAL LINES—IN PERIL—KEARNEY KILLED—CRAWLING THROUGH THE WOODS—BURIAL OF A PICKET—LOOKING FOR A GENERAL—MR. NEGATIVE—MCCLELLAN AND POPE—THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM—A TOUCHING DEATH-SCENE—AN INTERESTING PATIENT—BURIAL OF A FEMALE SOLDIER.
POPE’S ARMY—A GENERAL’S REQUEST—AGAIN A CONTRABAND—ENTERING THE REBEL LINES AS A SPY—MY ESCAPE TO THE FEDERAL LINES—IN PERIL—KEARNEY KILLED—CRAWLING THROUGH THE WOODS—BURIAL OF A PICKET—LOOKING FOR A GENERAL—MR. NEGATIVE—MCCLELLAN AND POPE—THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM—A TOUCHING DEATH-SCENE—AN INTERESTING PATIENT—BURIAL OF A FEMALE SOLDIER.
Immediatelyafter arriving at Alexandria, I started for the battle-field, where a portion of McClellan’s army had gone to reinforce Pope. Everything seemed to be in a confused state. There was no definite information with regard to the force of the enemy in that direction, and it seemed impossible to obtain any from reliable sources. McClellan’s troops were ordered to the front, under new commanders, just as they came off the transports in which they arrived from the Peninsula, without any rest, or a proper supply of clothing, shoes, or blankets; all of which they much needed, after such a march as they had just accomplished.
While the battle raged, and the roar of cannon was reverberating over the National Capital, McClellan sent the following request to General Halleck: “I cannot express to you the pain and mortification I have experienced to-day,in listening to the distant firing of my men. As I can be of no further use here, I respectfully ask that, if there is a probability of the conflict being renewed to-morrow, I may be permitted to go to the scene of battle with my staff, merely to be with my own men, if nothing more. They will fight none the worse for my being with them. If it is not deemed best to intrust me with the command even of my own army, I simply ask to be permitted to share their fate on the field of battle.”
The troops under Pope were several days in the vicinity of the Shenandoah Valley, with no rations but those they found in the fields, such as fruit, green corn, and vegetables. They certainly were in a poor condition to fight, and there was evidently a lack of that cheerful, enthusiastic spirit, which had characterized them on the Peninsula.
I was ordered by General H. to pass the rebel lines, and return as soon as possible. I took the train at Warrenton Junction, went to Washington, procured a disguise, that of a female contraband, and returned the same night. I passed through the enemy’s lines in company with nine contrabands, men, women, and children, who preferred to live in bondage with their friends, rather than to be free without them. I had no difficulty whatever in getting along, for I, with several others, was ordered to headquarters to cook rations enough, the rebels said, to last them until they reached Washington.
The officers generally talked in low tones, but would sometimes become excited, forget that there were darkies around, and would speak their minds freely. When I had been there a few hours, I had obtained the very information which I had been sent for. I had heard the plan of the morrow discussed, the number of troops at several important points, and the number expected to arrive during the night; and this, too, from the lips of the commanding general and his staff.
AT REBEL HEADQUARTERS.—Page 263.
The rebel lines were guarded so strongly and so faithfully, that I did not dare to return that night, but waited anxiously for the dawn of the morrow.
Early on the following morning, while assisting the cook to carry in breakfast, I removed a coat from a camp-stool which stood in my way, and a number of papers fell from its pockets, which I instantly transferred to my own. I then hurried my arrangements in the tent, lest the documents should be missed before I could make my escape. Breakfast was announced, and I suddenly disappeared.
Going toward the picket line nearest the Federals, and seeing an old house in the distance, I went and hid myself in the cellar. Soon, firing commenced in different directions, and grew hotter and hotter, until the shot and shell began to shake the old house in which I had taken refuge, and by and by it came tumbling down around me. Apart of the floor was broken down, but still I remained unharmed, and did not attempt to leave the ruins. I remembered that good old Elijah remained in the cave during the tempest, the earthquake and the fire, and afterward came the still small voice. So I waited patiently for the still small voice, and felt secure; knowing that the Lord was a sure refuge, and could protect me there as well as in a drawing-room in the quiet city.
It was not long before deliverance came, and the rebels were obliged to fall back and take a new position. When the firing ceased, I was safely within the Federal lines. I went immediately to headquarters, and reported myself as having just returned from rebeldom; gave a brief relation of my experience, and delivered the documents which I had brought from rebel headquarters. These proved to be orders intended for the different corps commanders, with instructions how and when to move, so as to act in concert with the entire plan of the morrow, and insure the capture of Washington.
During those battles and skirmishes of Pope’s memorable campaign, I visited the rebel generals three times at their own camp-fires, within a period of ten days, and came away with valuable information, unsuspected and unmolested.
While the second battle of Bull Run was in progress, I was a part of the time with the Confederates,and then back again to the Federals, having made my escape while the battle raged most fiercely by concealing myself in a ravine, and watching until the rebels charged upon a battery. While they were engaged in a hand-to-hand fight, I escaped unobserved by friend or foe.
The last of these visits was made the night before the battle of Chentilla, in which the brave Kearney was killed. I was within a few rods of him when he fell, and was in the act of returning to the Union camp under cover of the extreme darkness of that never-to-be-forgotten night. I saw him ride up to the line, but supposed him to be a rebel officer until the pickets fired at him, and even then I thought they had fired at me, until I saw him fall from his horse, and heard their exclamations of joy when they discovered who he was; for the one-armed general was known throughout both armies for his bravery and brilliant career, and the name of Kearney had become a word of terror to the rebels.
When I learned who was their victim, I regretted that it had not been me instead of him, whom they had discovered and shot. I would willingly have died to save such a general to the Union army. But he was taken, while I, poor insignificant creature, was left; but left with a heart and soul as fully devoted to the Union cause as Kearney’s was; only lacking the ability to accomplish the same results.
I lost no time in making good my escape, while the attention of the pickets were drawn in another direction. When I came to our lines, I found it almost as difficult to get through as I had found it on the other side. The night was so dark I could not make any sign by which the pickets could recognize me, and I was in the depths of the forest, where the rustling of the leaves and the crackling of dry branches under my feet betrayed my foot-steps as I went along. However, after crawling up pretty close to the line, and getting behind a tree to screen me from the bullets, if they should fire, I managed to make myself understood. The picket said: “All right,” and I passed through in safety.
Coming within the lines, I saw a group of men kneeling on the ground digging a grave with their bayonets, with the least possible noise; for the picket lines were within half musket shot of each other. One of their comrades had been killed, and they were thus preparing his last resting-place.
They buried him darkly at dead of night,The turf with their bayonets turning.
But there were no “struggling moonbeams,” or glimmering stars, to shed a ray of light upon the midnight gloom of that solitary funeral—naught save the vivid flashes of lurid flame which the lightning cast upon the sad scene, lighting up for a moment the surrounding forest, and then dying away, leaving the darkness more intolerable.
We may well say of such as die at their post:
Sweet be the death of thoseWho for their country die;Sleep on her bosom for repose,And triumph where they lie.
After reaching headquarters and donning another costume, I was dispatched to Washington with official documents to McClellan, who was now in command of the defenses of the Capital, and had control of all the troops who came streaming in from the disastrous battle-field. I arrived in the city just as the morning light was breaking, drenched from head to foot, and looking as if mud was my native element.
Making my way to where I supposed headquarters to be, I saw an important looking individual near by, whom I addressed, and inquired if he could tell me where General McClellan was to be found? “No, I can not.” Could he tell me when he was expected at headquarters? “No.” Was there any person there of whom I could inquire? “Not a person.” Did he know of any place where the necessary information could be obtained? “Not a place.” Could he make any suggestion, or throw the least ray of light upon the subject, which might lead to the whereabouts of the general? “Not the slightest.”
Turning away in disgust, I said to the man, “Well, good-by, Mr. Negative. I hope the effort which you have made to assist me will not injureyou mentally or physically;” and so saying I rode away, feeling that if I was as big as he imagined himself, and as strong as he was indifferent, I would give him a vigorous shaking before leaving him.
I went next to General H.’s headquarters. No one there could tell me anything more definite than that the general had been gone all night, carrying out General Halleck’s orders and making the best possible disposition of the troops as fast as they came in, for the whole army was now in full retreat. After two hours search I found him, delivered the despatches, and returned to Washington, where I remained until the next day, being completely tired out, not having had a night’s sleep for five nights previous.
On the first of September, General McClellan had an interview with the President, who requested him to use all his influence with the Army of the Potomac to insure its hearty co-operation with General Pope’s army. In compliance with the President’s request, McClellan sent the following despatch to General Porter: “I ask of you, for my sake, that of the country, and the old Army of the Potomac, that you and all my friends will lend the fullest and most cordial co-operation to General Pope in all the operations now going on. The destinies of our country, the honor of our arms, are at stake, and all depends upon the cheerful co-operation of all in the field. Thisweek is the crisis of our fate. Say the same thing to my friends in the Army of the Potomac, and that the last request I have to make of them is, that, for their country’s sake, they will extend to General Pope the same support they ever have to me.”
Immediately after this followed the brilliant and triumphant victories at South Mountain and Antietam, which more than counterbalanced the disastrous campaign of Pope, and which sent a thrill of joy throughout the North.
But in this, as in most other instances of earthly bliss, the joy was not unmixed with sorrow—sorrow for the noble dead and wounded upon those bloody fields. At the memorable battle of Antietam there were nearly two hundred thousand men and five hundred pieces of artillery engaged during a period of fourteen hours without cessation; and at its termination two thousand seven hundred of the enemy’s dead lay upon the field. The report of the Federal general in command says: “Thirteen guns, thirty-nine colors, upwards of fifteen thousand stand of small arms, and more than six thousand prisoners, were the trophies which attest the success of our army in the battles of South Mountain, Crampton’s Gap, and Antietam. Not a single gun or color was lost by our army during these battles.”
At the close of the battle I stood by the side of a dying officer of one of the Massachusettsregiments, who had passed through the thickest of the fight unhurt, but just at the close of the battle he was struck by a random shot which wounded him mortally. As he lay there, conscious of approaching death, the musicians of the regiment happened to pass by. He requested that they might be asked to play the “Star-Spangled Banner.” They cheerfully complied with the dying man’s request, and while they played the grand old tune his countenance beamed with joy. He inquired the result of the battle, and when told that it was a victory he exclaimed—“Oh! it is glorious to die for one’s country at such a time as this!” Then turning to the chaplain he spoke in the most affecting manner; he said his trust was in the Redeemer; then he sent loving messages to his mother and friends at home. The chaplain read some comforting passages of Scripture and prayed with him, and soon after the happy spirit passed away.
Some one very appropriately says: “When such sacrifices are laid upon the altar of our country, we have surely new incentives to uphold the cause for which they are made, and, with God’s help, not to allow the treason which has slain so many victims, to accomplish its purpose. And, through this bloody baptism, shall not our nation be purified at length, and fitted to act a nobler part in the world’s history?” God grant it.
In passing among the wounded after they hadbeen carried from the field, my attention was attracted by the pale, sweet face of a youthful soldier who was severely wounded in the neck. The wound still bled profusely, and the boy was growing faint from loss of blood. I stooped down and asked him if there was anything he would like to have done for him. The soldier turned a pair of beautiful, clear, intelligent eyes upon me for a moment in an earnest gaze, and then, as if satisfied with the scrutiny, said faintly: “Yes, yes; there is something to be done, and that quickly, for I am dying.”
AN INTERESTING PATIENT.—Page 271.
Something in the tone and voice made me look more closely at the face of the speaker, and that look satisfied me that my suspicion was well founded. I went to one of the surgeons in attendance, and requested him to come and see my patient. He did so, and after a moment’s examination of the wound told me that nothing could be done whatever to save him. He then left me, and I administered a little brandy and water to strengthen the wounded boy, for he evidently wished to tell me something that was on his mind before he died. The little trembling hand beckoned me closer, and I knelt down beside him and bent my head until it touched the golden locks on the pale brow before me; I listened with breathless attention to catch every sound which fell from those dying lips, the substance of which was as follows:
“I can trust you, and will tell you a secret. Iam not what I seem, but am a female. I enlisted from the purest motives, and have remained undiscovered and unsuspected. I have neither father, mother nor sister. My only brother was killed to-day. I closed his eyes about an hour before I was wounded. I shall soon be with him. I am a christian, and have maintained the christian character ever since I entered the army. I have performed the duties of a soldier faithfully, and am willing to die for the cause of truth and freedom. My trust is in God, and I die in peace. I wish you to bury me with your own hands, that none may know after my death that I am other than my appearance indicates.” Then looking at me again in that earnest, scrutinizing manner, she said: “I know I can trust you—you will do as I have requested?”
I assured her that she might place implicit confidence in me, and that I would do as she had desired me. Then I sought out a chaplain, who came and prayed with her. She was calm and peaceful. I remained with her until she died, which was about an hour. Then making a grave for her under the shadow of a mulberry tree near the battle-field, apart from all others, with the assistance of two of the boys who were detailed to bury the dead, I carried her remains to that lonely spot and gave her a soldier’s burial, without coffin or shroud, only a blanket for a winding-sheet. There she sleeps in that beautifulforest where the soft southern breezes sigh mournfully through the foliage, and the little birds sing sweetly above her grave.
Her race is run. In Southern climeShe rests among the brave;Where perfumed blossoms gently fall,Like tears, around her grave.No loving friends are near to weepOr plant bright flowers there;But birdlings chant a requiem sweet,And strangers breathe a prayer.She sleeps in peace; yes, sweetly sleeps,Her sorrows all are o’er;With her the storms of life are past:She’s found the heavenly shore.
AFTER ANTIETAM—SURGEONS ON THE FIELD—THE HOSPITALS—LIEUTENANT-COLONEL DWIGHT MORTALLY WOUNDED—A BRUTAL SURGEON—A WOUNDED CAPTAIN—AGONY FROM THIRST—CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS—PRAYING AND FIGHTING—FOPS ON THE FIELD—A REBEL PROGRAMME—PENNSYLVANIA TO BE STRIPPED—CAMP LIFE—DAILY ROUTINE—BURIAL SERVICES.
AFTER ANTIETAM—SURGEONS ON THE FIELD—THE HOSPITALS—LIEUTENANT-COLONEL DWIGHT MORTALLY WOUNDED—A BRUTAL SURGEON—A WOUNDED CAPTAIN—AGONY FROM THIRST—CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS—PRAYING AND FIGHTING—FOPS ON THE FIELD—A REBEL PROGRAMME—PENNSYLVANIA TO BE STRIPPED—CAMP LIFE—DAILY ROUTINE—BURIAL SERVICES.
Afterthe battle of Antietam, one of the chaplains who was on the field paid a fitting tribute to the colonel commanding the regiment to which he belonged, and vividly described many scenes that came under my own observation on that day, he says:
“How faithfully many a surgeon labored! Ourown assistant surgeon was a hero; regardless of bullets in the hottest fire, he kept coolly on in his work, while near by Dr. Kendall, of the Twelfth Massachusetts, was killed. The nearest hospital, that of our own corps, was necessarily in range of the enemy’s shell, which every now and then fell around and beyond. Near by were five other hospitals, all for one wing. Here were generals and privates brought together. General Mansfield I saw dying, and a few feet off, an unknown private; General Hartsuff badly wounded, and by his side a throng of others now on the same level. There is no distinction as to what body or soul needs then.
“Our own regiment helped to fill these hospitals. Our gallant dead are remembered with all the other dead of Massachusetts. But one we lost, hard to replace: Our brilliant, brave, generous, kind-hearted Lieut.-Colonel Wilder Dwight, shot mortally, but living two days. Of wonderful promise at home, cheerful, resigned, strong in faith and trust, ready to die; his only wish being to see his father and mother. While lying in the garden, moved only on a stretcher, he sent our own surgeon to relieve the wounded who were lying all around, the surgeons being occupied in amputating limbs of men in the hospitals; and again and again sent water provided for himself to the poor fellows calling for it. Yet Colonel Dwight was not free from brutal insolence. While waitingthere in the night for an ambulance in which to place him, only for shelter, suddenly a harsh voice insisted on turning him out with all our men.
“I found a pompous little surgeon angry and furious. I informed him why the men were there, assured him of their good behavior, and requested permission for them to remain as we were momentarily expecting the ambulance. It was all in vain. Colonel Dwight himself was treated most harshly, although of higher rank than the brute himself; and notwithstanding I told the surgeon he was mortally wounded, he ordered the guard to turn them out at the point of the bayonet, and to prevent their return even to remove Colonel Dwight; refusing to tell his rank and even his name, until I obtained it of another party. The men were driven away while actually giving water to the wounded who had been calling in vain for help. I assured him I would take care that his conduct was made known, knowing from several scenes I had witnessed that day that he was, from brutality, pomposity and harshness, utterly unfit to be in charge of wounded men, and from gross disrespect to an officer higher in rank, unfit to be in the army. This fellow was a medical director in General Reynolds’ corps, Pennsylvania Reserves,” and the writer adds, “too good a corps to have such a fellow among them.”
The ordinary scene which presents itself after the strife of arms has ceased, is familiar to everyone. Heaps of slain, where friend and foe lie side by side, mangled bodies, shrieks and groans of the wounded and dying, are things which we always associate with the victories and defeats of war. But we seldom expect or hear of songs of praise and shouts of triumph from dying lips on the dreadful battle-field. The following account was received from the lips of a brave and pious captain in one of the Western regiments, as some friends were conveying him to a hospital from the battle-field:
“The man had been shot through both thighs with a rifle bullet; it was a wound from which he could not recover. While lying on the field he suffered intense agony from thirst. He supported his head upon his hand, and the rain from heaven was falling around him. In a short time a little pool of water collected near his elbow, and he thought if he could reach that spot he might allay his raging thirst. He tried to get into a position which would enable him to obtain a mouthful of the muddy water, but in vain; and he must suffer the torture of seeing the means of relief within sight, while all his efforts were unavailing.
“‘Never,’ said he, ‘did I feel so much the loss of any earthly blessing. By and by the shades of night fell around us, and the stars shone out clear and beautiful above the dark field, where so many others lay wounded, writhing in pain or faint from loss of blood. Thus situated, I began to think ofthe great God who had given His son to die a death of agony for me, and that He was in the heavens to which my eyes were turned; that He was there above that scene of suffering and above those glorious stars; and I felt that I was hastening home to meet Him, and praise Him there. I felt that I ought to praise Him then, even wounded as I was, on the battle-field. I could not help singing that beautiful hymn—
“‘When I can read my title clearTo mansions in the skies,I’ll bid farewell to every fear,And wipe my weeping eyes.’
“‘And though I was not aware of it till then,’” he continued, “‘it proved there was a christian brother in the thicket near me. I could not see him, but was near enough to hear him. He took up the strain from me, and beyond him another, and another, caught the words, and made them resound far and wide over the terrible battle-field. There was a peculiar echo in the place, and that added to the effect, as we made the night vocal with our hymns of praise to God.’”
The presence of such men in the army, animated by faith in God, and conscious of Serving Him in serving their country, adds materially to its elements of strength and success. The religious element has always been acknowledged as a great power in military success. The more intelligent that principle is, the more efficient it must be insecuring this result. There is every reason, natural as well as rational, why those who hold their lives in their hand should acknowledge the God of battle, and pray for themselves and their country in the midst of danger. The simplest expression of the relations of praying and fighting was, perhaps, the blunt order of the puritan chief, “Put your trust in God, and keep your powder dry.” Cromwell and his praying puritans were dangerous men to meet in battle. “The sword of the Lord and of Gideon was exceeding sharp, tempered as it was by hourly prayers.” Who can but admire the sublime spectacle which Gustavus Adolphus and his vast army presented on the eve of the battle of Lutzen, in which the King fell, praying on bended knees, and then chanting:
Be of good cheer; your cause belongsTo Him who can avenge your wrongs;Leave it to Him our Lord.
The King fell, but the battle was gloriously won.
“And so,” says a writer upon this subject, “unless we are untrue to our better nature, it must ever be. Before going into battle, the foolish, wicked oath is silent. With the bracing of the nerves for the shock of battle, there goes up a silent prayer for strength, and valor and deliverance. The wounded pray to be saved from death; the dying recall the words of old petitions learned in childhood, and in those broken accents commit their souls to God.”
The only amusing incident after a battle is, the crowd of spectators from Washington and other places. If they are in carriages, their vehicles are sure to get smashed, and then the trouble arises, what are they to do with their baggage? Carry it, of course, or leave it behind. Even the wounded soldiers cannot help laughing at their sorry plight, gesticulations, and absurd questions.
Among all this class of individuals, there are none to be compared with government clerks for importance and absurdity. On one of these occasions I remember of a number of those pompous creatures being distressed beyond measure, because they could not return to Washington on a train which was crowded beyond description with the wounded. After the cars moved off there they stood gazing after it in the most disconsolate manner. Said one, “I came out here by invitation of the Secretary of War, and now I must return on foot, or remain here.” One of the soldiers contemptuously surveyed him from head to foot, as he stood there with kid gloves, white bosom, standing collar, etc., in all the glory and finery of a brainless fop, starched up for display. “Well,” said the soldier, “we don’t know any such individual as the Secretary of War out here, but I guess we can find you something to do; perhaps you would take a fancy to one of these muskets,” laying his hand on a pile beside him.
The clerk turned away in disgust, and disdainingto reply to the soldier, he inquired, “But where shall I sleep to-night?” The soldier replied, “Just where you please, chummy; there is lots of room all around here,” pointing to a spot of ground which was not occupied by the wounded. A chaplain stepped up to him, and said: “If you wish to sleep, there is some hay you can have;” and went on to give him a brief lecture upon the impropriety of a young man, in perfect health, just fresh from the city, talking about comfortable lodgings, and a place to sleep, when so many wounded and dying lay all around him. He was horrified, and disappeared immediately.
Before the rebels attempted to cross into Maryland in force, the Richmond papers were full of editorials, of which the following is a specimen:
“Let not a blade of grass, or a stalk of corn, or a barrel of flour, or a bushel of meal, or a sack of salt, or a horse, or a cow, or a hog, or a sheep, be left wherever the Confederate troops move along. Let vengeance be taken for all that has been done, until retribution itself shall stand aghast. This is the country of the would-be-gentleman, McClellan. He has caused a loss to us, in Virginia, of at least thirty thousand negroes, the most valuable property that a Virginian can own. They have no negroes in Pennsylvania. Retaliation, therefore, must fall upon something else. A Dutch farmer has no negroes, but he has horses that can be seized, grain that can be confiscated,cattle that can be killed, and houses that can be burned.”
But when they really attempted to accomplish these feats, and found with whom they had to contend, they were very glad to re-cross the Potomac, without confiscating property or burning houses, and to escape, leaving their dead and wounded on the field.
After the battle of Antietam, the army was not in a condition to follow up the rebels; but as soon as the Capital was safe, and the rebels were driven from Maryland and Pennsylvania, vigorous efforts were made to recruit, clothe, and reorganize the army. Harper’s Ferry was again occupied, every weak point strengthened, and all the fords were strongly guarded. While the army thus remained inactive for a few weeks, camp duties and discipline were again strictly enforced and attended to.
I would not have my readers think that camp-life in the army is so very unpleasant, after all. I do not think so, for I have spent some of the pleasantest, happiest hours of my life in camp, and I think thousands can give the same testimony.
One of our good chaplains from the North says that even the city of New York itself can bear no favorable comparison to military life in the Army of the Potomac. “After all,” he says: “New York is a humbug compared with the army. It is tattoo, as I write; what music it is, compared with the nuisance noises of those city streets!Our candles are not brilliant; but the sight of the lights of the camps all around, is more pleasant than the glare of the city gas. The air is the pure air of heaven, not the choky stuff of the metropolis. The men are doing something noble, not dawdling away these glorious days in selling tape and ribbons. The soldier lives to some purpose, and if he dies it is a hero’s death. The silks of that wealthy mart may be coveted by some; but what are the whole to our bullet-riddled old flag, which passed from the stiffening hands of one color-bearer to another, in the days of many a battle?”
To give my reader a more definite idea of the routine of camp life, I will enter into a detail of it more fully. At sunrisereveillebeats, drum echoing to drum until the entire encampment is astir, and busy as a bee-hive. Roll-call immediately follows, which brings every man to his place in the ranks, to answer to his name. An hour later breakfast call is sounded by fife and drum, and the company cooks, who are detailed for that purpose, deal out the rations to the men as they sit or stand around the cook’s quarters.
At half-past seven o’clock sick call announces to surgeons and patients that they are expected to appear at the dispensing tent—if able to go there. Then comes a general examination of tongues and pulses, and a liberal distribution ofquinineand blue pills, and sometimes a littleeau de vie, to wash down the bitter drugs.
Guard mounting at eight, which is an imposing affair in itself. The band marches to the usual place of dress parade and strikes up some appropriate piece, which is the signal for the regimental details to march to the place of inspection. The line is formed, arms inspected, and general appearance noted. Then the men are marched in review, and divided into three reliefs—one of which is marched to the post of each sentinel, where, after various important conferences, the old sentinel is relieved and the new one takes his place, and so on around the whole camp. The old guard is then marched to their quarters and formally dismissed, having been on duty two hours out of every six during the last twenty-four hours.
At nine o’clock the music sounds for company drill, which drill lasts an hour and a half. The bugle announces dinner at one o’clock.
At three in the afternoon battalion drill commences, which occupies an hour. At half-past four is heard the first call for evening parade, and at five o’clock comes off the great display of the day—dress parade.
Supper at six, tattoo at half past eight, and roll-call again at nine; immediately after which comes “taps” on the drum, which means “lights out.”
But between all these calls drills and parades are more interesting services and duties. Away in one corner of the camp is our canvas or log meeting-house, and besides our regular preaching,we have conference and prayer meetings, debating clubs, military lectures, and numerous musical entertainments.
Then, too, comes visiting the sick in different hospitals, distribution of reading matter and delicacies, and the blessed privilege of religious conversation. And often the solemn services in connection with burying the dead. I will here give a brief description of this service:
The burial of a soldier in camp is a most solemn scene. A suitable escort is formed in two ranks opposite the tent of the deceased, with shouldered arms and bayonets unfixed. On the appearance of the coffin the soldiers present arms. The procession then forms—on each side of the coffin are the pall-bearers without muskets—and the escort moves forward with arms reversed, viz.: musket under the left arm, barrel downward, and steadied behind the back with the right hand. The band marches in front, with slow and measured tread and muffled drum they move, pouring out their melancholy wailings for the dead—a sadder dirge than which never fell upon mortal ear.
On reaching the place of interment the coffin is lowered into the grave, the soldiers leaning upon their muskets, muzzle downward, the hands clasped upon the butt of their guns, with heads uncovered and reverently bowed upon their hands. The chaplain, who has walked in the rear of the procession, conducts the burial service, at the end ofwhich three volleys are fired over the grave, the trench is filled up, and the soldiers return to duty.
Warrior, rest! thy toils are ended:Life’s last fearful strife is o’er;Clarion-calls, with death-notes blended,Shall disturb thine ear no more!Peaceful is thy dreamless slumber;Peaceful, but how cold and stern!Thou hast joined that silent numberIn the land whence none return!Warrior, rest! thy banner o’er theeHangs in many a drooping fold;Many a manly cheek before theeStain’d with tear-drops we behold.Thine was not a hand to falterWhen thy sword should leave its sheath:Thine was not a cheek to alter,Though thy duty led to death!Warrior, rest! a dirge is knellingSolemnly from shore to shore:’Tis a nation’s tribute, tellingThat a patriot is no more!And thy young bride weeps in sorrowThat no more she hears thy tread;That the night which knows no morrowDarkly veils thy laurel’d head!Warrior, rest! we smooth thy pillow,For thy last, long earthly sleep;And beneath yon verdant willowStorms unheard will o’er thee sweep!There, ’tis done! thy couch awaits thee!Softly down thy head we lay;Here repose, till God translates theeFrom the dust to endless day!
A MILITARY EXECUTION—THE PREPARATIONS—THE DEATH—HARPER’S FERRY—OLD JOHN BROWN—CONTRAST—ADVANCE INTO VIRGINIA—CONDITION OF THE ARMY—A DREARY RIDE—A GREEN GUARD—SEEKING SHELTER—A GUERRILLA FIGHT—MY HORSE KILLED—PLAYING POSSUM—MY POCKETS PICKED—A NARROW ESCAPE—RETURN TO CAMP—AN INTERESTING MEETING.
A MILITARY EXECUTION—THE PREPARATIONS—THE DEATH—HARPER’S FERRY—OLD JOHN BROWN—CONTRAST—ADVANCE INTO VIRGINIA—CONDITION OF THE ARMY—A DREARY RIDE—A GREEN GUARD—SEEKING SHELTER—A GUERRILLA FIGHT—MY HORSE KILLED—PLAYING POSSUM—MY POCKETS PICKED—A NARROW ESCAPE—RETURN TO CAMP—AN INTERESTING MEETING.
Aboutthis time one of those horrible and soul-revolting sights, a “military execution,” took place; in other words, a soldier was shot in cold blood by his comrades. I did not witness the execution, although it occurred within a short distance of camp, and I give the particulars relating to it from the record of the chaplain who attended the unhappy man to the place of execution:
“A painful episode, the first of the kind I have witnessed, took place last Friday. It was a military execution. The person thus punished belonged to the Third Maryland, which is in our division. On Tuesday last his sentence was formally read to him. He was to be shot to death with musketry on the next Friday, between the hours of noon and four in the afternoon. He had learned the decision on the Sunday before. The day of his execution was wet and gloomy. Thatmorning, in the midst of the provost guard, he was sitting on a bag of grain, leaning against a tree, while a sentry with fixed bayonet stood behind, never turning away from him, save as another took his place. Useless seemed the watch, for arms and feet had been secured, though not painfully, since the sentence was read. The captain of the guard had humanely done all he could, and it was partly by his request that I was there. A chaplain could minister where others would not be allowed. The rain fell silently on him; the hours of his life were numbered, even the minutes. He was to meet death, not in the shock and excitement of battle, not as a martyr for his country, not in disease, but in full health, and as a criminal. I have seen many a man die, and have tried to perform the sacred duties of my station. I never had so painful a task as this, because of these circumstances. Willingly, gladly, he conversed, heard and answered. While such a work is painful, yet it has its bright side, because of the ‘exceeding great and precious promises’ it is one’s privilege to tell.
“When the time came for removal to the place of execution, he entered an ambulance, the chaplain accompanying him. Next, in another ambulance, was the coffin; before, behind, and on either side a guard. Half a mile of this sad journey brought him within a short distance of the spot. Then leaving the ambulance, he walked to theplace selected. The rain had ceased, the sun was shining on the dark lines of the whole division drawn up in three sides of a hollow square. With guard in front and rear, he passed with steady step to the open side of the square, accompanied by the chaplain. There was a grave dug, and in front of it was his coffin. He sat upon the coffin; his feet were reconfined, to allow of which he lifted them voluntarily, and then his eyes were bandaged. In front of him the firing party, of two from each regiment, were then drawn up, half held in reserve, during which there was still a little time for words with his chaplain.
“The General (not McClellan) stood by, and the Provost Marshal read the sentence and shook hands with the condemned. Then a prayer was offered, amid uncovered heads and solemn faces. A last hand-shake with the chaplain, which he had twice requested; a few words from him to the chaplain; a lingering pressure by the hand of the condemned, his lips moving with a prayer-sentence which he had been taught, and on which his thoughts had dwelt before; and he was left alone. The word of command was immediately given. One volley, and he fell over instantly, unconscious. A record of the wounds were made by the surgeons who immediately examined him. The troops filed by his grave, and returned by the way they came. He left a mother and sister, and was twenty years of age.”
Soon after I spent a night at Harper’s Ferry. John Brown is still remembered there, and the soldiers go round singing “His soul goes marching on.” That medley of a song does not seem so senseless after all, for the spirit of John Brown does seem to march along wonderfully fast, and our troops are becoming imbued with it to a greater extent than is generally supposed.
I also visited the court-house, where public service was held by a Massachusetts chaplain in the very room where John Brown was tried, convicted and sentenced. There was the spot where he had lain upon his litter. There in front of the judge’s platform were the juror’s seats. The chair which the judge had occupied was now tenanted by an abolition preacher. Oh! if old John Brown had only lived to see that day! but he is gone, and
His soul goes marching on.
On the 25th of October, the pontoon bridges being completed at Harper’s Ferry and at Berlin, the army once more advanced into Virginia. The ninth corps and Pleasanton’s cavalry occupied Lovettsville, a pretty little village reminding one of New England. The army was now in admirable condition and fine spirits, and enjoyed this march exceedingly, scarcely a man dropping out of the ranks for any cause whatever, but entering into the spirit of the campaign with an energy which surpassed all their former enthusiasm. As the army marched rapidly over the country fromvillage to village, the advance guard driving the enemy’s pickets from one covert to another, many thrilling adventures occurred, several of which came under my own observation, and as I am expected particularly to relate those in which I was personally concerned, I will here relate one which came very near being my last on this side the “river.”
On the morning of the third day after we left Lovettsville I was sent back to headquarters, which was said to be some twelve miles in the rear. I was then with the advance guard, and when they started forward at daylight I went to the rear. In order to go more quickly I left all my traps in an ambulance—blankets, overcoat and grain, excepting enough to feed once. Then starting at a brisk canter I soon lost sight of the advancing column. I rode on mile after mile, and passed train after train, but could find no one that could tell me where McClellan’s headquarters were.
On I went in this way until noon, and then found that I was six miles from headquarters. After riding a distance which seemed to me all of ten miles, I at length found the place sought for. I fed my horse, attended to the business which I had been sent to transact, and then tried to find something in the way of rations for myself, but failed utterly. Not a mouthful could I procure either at the sutler’s headquarters, cook-house, orin any other place. I went to two houses and they told me they had not a mouthful in the house cooked or uncooked—but of course I believed as much of that story as I pleased.
The day had been very cold; there had been several smart showers during my ride, and now it began to snow—a sort of sleet which froze as fast as it fell. This was an October day in Old Virginia. Oh! what an afternoon I spent in the saddle on my return; hungry, wet, and shivering with cold. I traveled as fast as my horse was able to go until ten o’clock at night, with the hope of overtaking the troops I had left in the morning, but all in vain, for the whole line of march and programme for the day had been changed, in consequence of coming in contact with the enemy and having a sharp skirmish, which resulted in our troops being nearly outflanked and cut off from the main body of the army.
Of course I had no opportunity of knowing this that night, so on I went in another direction from that in which the advance guard had gone. By and by I came to some fresh troops just from the North, who had lately enlisted and been sent down to Washington, and now were on their way to join McClellan’s army. They had been put on guard duty for the first time, and that too without any definite orders, their officers having concluded to remain there until the main column came up, and they scarcely knew where they were or whatorders to give their men. As I rode up, one of the boys—for if boy he was, not more than sixteen summers had graced his youthful brow—stepped out in the middle of the road with his musket at a “trail arms,” and there he stood till I came up close to him, and then he did not even say “halt,” but quietly told me that I could not go any farther in that direction. Why not? Well, he didn’t exactly know, but he was put there on guard, and he supposed it was to prevent any one from going backward or forward. Whether they have the countersign or not? Well, he did not know how that was. I then asked him if the officer of the guard had given him the countersign. Yes, but he did not know whether it was right or not.
“Well,” said I, “perhaps I can tell you whether it is correct; I have just come from headquarters.” He seemed to think that there could be no harm in telling me if I had been at headquarters, so he told me without any hesitation. Whereupon I proceeded to tell him of the impropriety of doing so; that it was a military offense for which he could be punished severely; and that he had no right to give the countersign to any one, not even the general in command. Then told him how to hold his musket when he challenged any one on his beat, and within how many paces to let them approach him before halting them, etc. The boy received both lecture and instructions “in the spirit of meekness,” and by thetime I had finished a number of the men were standing around me eager to ask questions, and especially if I knew to what portion of the army that particular regiment was to be assigned.
After passing along through these green troops I rode on till I came to a little village, which I never learned the name of, and intended to stop there the remainder of the night; but upon learning that a band of guerrillas occupied it, I turned aside, preferring to seek some other place of rest. I traveled till two o’clock in the morning, when my horse began to show signs of giving out; then I stopped at a farm-house, but not being able to make any one hear me, I hitched my horse under cover of a wood-shed, and taking the blanket from under the saddle, I lay down beside him, the saddle-blanket being my only covering. The storm had ceased, but the night was intensely cold, and the snow was about two or three inches deep. I shall always believe that I would have perished that night, had not my faithful horse lain down beside me, and by the heat of his beautiful head, which he laid across my shoulders, (a thing which he always did whenever I lay down where he could reach me,) kept me from perishing in my wet clothes.
It will be remembered that I had started at daylight the previous morning, and had never been out of the saddle, or fed my horse but once since I started, and had not eaten a mouthfulmyself for twenty-four hours, and had ridden all day and almost all night in the storm. In the morning my feet and hands were so chilled that they were perfectly numb, and I could scarcely stand. However, as soon as daylight came I started again. About a mile from there I went into a field where the unhusked corn stood in stacks, and fed my horse.
While employed in this manner, there came along a party of our cavalry looking after that band of guerrillas which I had passed the night before. It was known that they were in the neighborhood, and these men were sent out in search of them. I told them what I knew about it, and intimated that if I were not so hungry, I would go back with them to the village. That objection was soon removed, by supplying me with a substantial breakfast from their haversacks. We started for the village, and had gone about five miles when we were suddenly surprised and fired upon by the guerrillas. Two of our men were killed on the spot, and my horse received three bullets. He reared and plunged before he fell, and in doing so the saddle-girth was broken, and saddle and rider were thrown over his head. I was thrown on the ground violently which stunned me for a moment, and my horse soon fell beside me, his blood pouring from three wounds. Making a desperate effort to rise, he groaned once, fell back, and throwing his neck across my body, he saturated me fromhead to foot with his blood. He died in a few minutes. I remained in that position, not daring to rise, for our party had fled and the rebels pursued them. A very few minutes elapsed when the guerrillas returned, and the first thing I saw was one of the men thrusting his sabre into one of the dead men beside me. I was lying partially on my face, so I closed my eyes and passed for dead. The rebels evidently thought I was unworthy of their notice, for after searching the bodies of the two dead men they rode away; but just as I was making up my mind to crawl out from under the dead horse, I heard the tramp of a horse’s feet, and lay perfectly still and held my breath. It was one of the same men, who had returned. Dismounting, he came up and took hold of my feet, and partially drew me from under the horse’s head, and then examined my pockets. Fortunately, I had no official documents with me, and very little money—not more than five dollars. After transferring the contents of my pockets to his own, he re-mounted his horse and rode away, without ever suspecting that the object before him was playing possum.