THE SERGEANT KINDLY GAVE HIM THE STEEL.THE SERGEANT KINDLY GAVE HIM THE STEEL.
Squeezer was a good-enough horse outside of his stall, or away from a fence-post or the side of a house. The trouble with him was, that he would invariably catch the man detailed to curry him against the side of the stall, and the vicious beast would deliberately put the weight of his whole body against the man so caught, to try and crush his bones. The only satisfaction the old horse seemed to get out of the dirty trick was, in listening to the cries of pain the poor fellow so caught was obliged to give vent to.
The Sergeants in charge of the stables were up to Squeezer's tricks so well that they always carried a sharp-pointed saber-blade to the stable, which was the only thing, well struck in, that would make the old rascal let go his hold of a victim.
It was the custom to let the recruit get caught by this horse trick, and I, as the latest in our squad, suffered the penalty. Squeezer put his haunches up against my breast and forced me up against the board stall until the bones began to crack, when the Sergeant kindly gave him the steel, and he let go of me, but began to kick viciously at the Sergeant. I was hurt badly, and suffered severely from it for some days. I learned afterward that every man in our squad carried a saddler's awl as part of the outfit, and when Squeezer became too affectionate with the man to whose lot it fell to tackle him, he kept the awl in one hand and the brush in the other, and used them alternately.
It was one of the games of the men to lay for a chance to catch the old Sergeant near his heels, when they would give Squeezer an inch of the awl, and the heels would reach for the Sergeant in a style that took all the military dignity out of him.
For a few days our detachment was encamped in the roughest kind of barracks, located on Capitol Hill, near Old Capitol. We drew our rations of soft bread, but our meat was the regulation pickled pork, fished out of the original barrels on the spot. Irecall now, with a good deal of surprise to myself, the truth that there ever was a time in Washington when I had to take my slice of raw pork on a slice of bread, standing in two inches of snow, warming up with a quart of black coffee drank from a tin cup.
I am at the present writing a resident of this same Capitol Hill, within gunshot of the Old Capitol Prison and this former camp-ground. We would consider it a great hardship to be deprived of any of the comforts and pleasures to be extracted from a residence in this beautiful city.
How few of those who now enjoy the blessings of this great Government ever think that all of these pleasures were made possible for the children by the willing sacrifices and hardships of their parents in 1861-65.
After many unsatisfactory days spent about the old barracks on the Hill, we were at length ordered into camp near Fort Albany, Virginia. This fort was located on the high ground just beyond the Long Bridge, close by Fort Corcoran, or between the Long Bridge and Arlington.
I was at heart greatly rejoiced to find myself once more in old Virginia, even if it were only over the Long Bridge and the Potomac River. Though yet in sight, I was out of Washington, and safely beyond the reach of the meddlesome War Department detectives, who had become so numerous and about as thoroughly despised as were the army insect pests. It does not speak so well for the shrewdness or effectiveness of Mr. Pinkerton's corps, that I am able to record the truthful fact that they had not, with all their vaunted facilities of telegraph and military and civil police connections, been able to locate me, or discover that I, who had been represented to the Secretary of War as a dangerous man, was freely circulating all over Washington City.
Had I been so disposed, it would have been a simple matter to have concocted much mischief, with the aid of information I had obtained in the Old Capitol of Rebel sympathizers who were living in the city. Miss Boyd had given me the names and addresses of pretty nearly everybody she had known as a friend of the South; but I made no use of this myself, except to give the information in writing to Covode's committee.
At our camp, near Fort Albany, we were quartered in the regulation Sibley tent, which all old soldiers will recognize without further description. As the company clerk, or private secretary of our Captain, I was pleasantly provided for in the First Sergeant's tent. There were but the two of us in the big concern, because we had to make room for the desks or writing-table and other storage for the company papers.
It is a little curious that I was selected to do precisely this same duty by the Rebels in their capital.
Through the good management of the Captain and the First Sergeant, who were, of course, my friends, and looked after my interests in the company while I was busy on the papers, I was supplied with a real beauty of a horse. He was one of the black Morgan type, a little small, but oh, my! I suspect that the Captain became personally solicitous about my being handsomely mounted, as I found myself detailed to act as an Orderly to himself and the other officers almost every time they rode into the city.
My little nag was what may be termed frisky and spirited. I am talking all this horse now, because in the days and weeks and months that immediately followed "Frisky" took an important part in all the adventures that I had. From this time forth most of my experiences were somewhat of a dashing character, dressed, as I was, in a neat uniform, and well mounted on a horse. One little trick of Frisky's will serve to illustrate better than I could describe in many words the nature of the animal.
The stable, in the field, you know, was simply a parallelogram composed of ropes tied to posts driven in the ground. Inside of this the horses were tied to the ropes. At every stable-call I usually went out to attend to my own horse, so as to get a chance to ride bareback to water. At a certain signal, all hands mounted their horses, and at the command all filed out of the ropes, under the leader, toward the water. Frisky, being well to the rear of the column the first time I got on him, astonished me and surprised the officer in command by suddenly jumping at a clear leap over the top of the rope and running off toward the head of the line. So that, at every water-call, it got to be a regular show for the officers to come around to Frisky's side of the corral to see him jump over the rope instead of marching around in the rear of the others.
I was at least as good a horseman as any of the rest of our batch of recruits, and probably my experience in Texas, supplemented by the lessons at Carlisle, had made me quite proficient in the regulation style of marching my horse.
We frequently rode over to Washington to spend an evening. I had lots of fun, but no adventures that I care to put in print. Nearly every Sunday a couple of us would get permission and passes and ride up to what was then called the Arlington House, and thence through the lines of heavy artillery sentries about the fortifications, over the Aqueduct Bridge, to Georgetown and Washington.
At last we were ordered to the front. I do not now remember the exact date, but it was sometime in December.
This is engrafted on my memory by the fact that the "front"—as the history of the war shows—was then at or near Fredericksburg, the same grand old historic town, so dear to my memory, from which I have been escorted a prisoner to the Old Capitol only a couple of months before.
But I was going back—so the fates had decreed, in spite of Stanton—to this very same place; not exactly the same place, as the Rebel Army occupied the town most of the time; but we were going to get as close as we could to it, and be neighborly, without getting into a fight.
Another circumstance which impresses this date upon my mind is, that I spent my Christmas of 1862 on the Rappahannock with the boys of the old Army of the Potomac.
I was as happy as a boy with a new pair of boots when the orders came for us to draw five days' rations and get ready to move. As company clerk, being in the ring, as it were, with the First Sergeant, I was privately advised that we were to go to the front, so that I got all the papers in my possession in shape, and had everything so packed away before the Sergeant was ready that I had to open up the box for him again.
I supposed, as a matter of course, we would ride our horses right through Fairfax to Fredericksburg, going the route leading somewhere near the old trail I had footed so faithfully while I was in the Rebel lines.
I had not told anybody in our company—not even my goodfriend Captain Rodenbaugh—of my previous experiences in Virginia.
It will be readily understood that I was not anxious to disclose these things, which had given me so much trouble; in fact, I desired above all things to conceal them.
When I heard of the proposed movement, I went to the Captain personally, and took occasion to tell him that I knew something of the road to Fredericksburg, and felt competent to act as guide for the regiment, and offered my services in that direction.
The Captain looked at me for a moment, then, with a significant smile, he took my breath away by observing, pleasantly:
"Well, yes, Corporal, I understand you have had some experience down here that would seem to make you familiar with the roads; but it has been ordered that we march down through Maryland on the other side of the Potomac."
Though the Captain's manner was so agreeable and assuring, I was so astonished by the revelation that he, of all others, had learned of my private history, that I was for the moment so taken down I could hardly look him in the face. I felt as though I had been deceiving my best friend, and he had caught me in the act, as it were. When I ventured to offer some explanation, the Captain, in his courteous way, said: "Why, my dear boy, that's all right; we all—that is, the officers—have heard of your services, and, as a consequence, you have in advance plenty of friends in the regiment."
I was gratified to hear this from him, and asked no further questions as to his source of information, but ever after that I was further convinced not only of the Captain's kindly feeling toward me, but of the other officers as well, by the fact that, on almost every important occasion, I was honored by being selected for special Orderly duty with the officers.
We marched or rode our squadron out of Fort Albany camp one cold, damp December morning, crossed the Long Bridge, passed through the lower part of the city, up over Capitol Hill, where I got a farewell glimpse of Old Capitol Prison from under my fatigue cap, seated on a horse, going to the front.
We crossed the old bridge, beyond the Navy Yard, over the Eastern Branch, went up over the hill, and were soon out of sightof Washington, traveling all day over the same route that Wilkes Booth took in his flight to Virginia the night of the assassination.
The next morning we reached the river at some point, and put in all that day in getting our horses and baggage ferried across about four miles of water.
The next night we slept on the sacred soil at or near Aquia Creek, in Virginia—precisely the same point from which I had embarked as a first-class passenger in charge of an officeren routeto Old Capitol Prison.
The following day we marched over a long, wind-about road to cover the fourteen miles from the Potomac to the Rappahannock. How shall I write it, but that evening at sundown, as soon as I could beg the privilege, I rode my horse down to the Lacey House, which, as all old soldiers know, is located on the banks of the Rappahannock directly opposite Fredericksburg. The Rappahannock river only was between me and Geno; but, oh! my heart ached when I realized what a great gulf it was; and that was as near as I could get to Fredericksburg. Though at this point it is but a narrow stream—so narrow indeed that a conversation in an ordinary tone of voice could be carried on over it—I could not, except under the penalty of being at once shot to death by our own or the rebel forces, make even the slightest attempt at signaling to the other shore. The Rebel Army occupied that side.
I could see walking about the streets some few persons in citizen's clothes, but all along the river, and at the foot of the street leading to the river, were armed men in gray uniforms. They had possession of the town that held all that was dear to me just then—little Geno Wells.
I lingered until the early twilight of that December evening began to drop down like a curtain; then with a heavy heart I rode slowly back to our own camp, determined in my own mind and heart that I should get into that town somehow, in spite of our own and the Rebel Army.
In my hurry to go down to the river, I had not taken sufficient care to get the bearings of our newly-located camp, and on my return at dark I experienced considerable difficulty in finding my way home. In my bewilderment, I ran afoul of so many camps and extra sentries that I was detained until quite late.
Our regiment was acting as Provost-Guard at Gen. Burnside's headquarters, and, as almost everybody knew where headquarters were to be found, I finally got on the right track.
It was fortunate for me, personally, that we were at headquarters, as I was enabled to at once make acquaintances that became useful to me.
With what exalted feelings I should have rushed over one of those pontoon bridges and charged up the streets to Geno's house, if I had been there at the right time, may be imagined. The anxiety and eagerness with which she must have looked for me among the first of the invaders I must leave to the imagination or fancy of the romantically-disposed young lady readers who may be following this narrative.
Captain Wells' house being located close by the river bank, near the point at which one of the pontoons was laid down, I have no doubt that its roof sheltered some of Barksdale's Sharpshooters, who so forcibly resisted this work of the Engineer battalion.
When we joined Burnside, we found that our regiment, the Second Regular Cavalry, was acting as Provost-Guard, one company doing duty as a headquarters or body-guard.
This took me personally right into the big family at the Army of the Potomac headquarters. I was delighted at this prospect. I realized that I should henceforth be privileged to enjoy riding a good horse in the cavalcade that always dashed along in the wake of headquarters. In addition to this, I should personally have the opportunity to rub against the headquarters men, which would also give me the facilities for knowing pretty nearly what was going on in advance of the other boys. There were other agreeable advantages in being at headquarters, as any old soldier who is not cranky with envy will readily admit.
One of these, which I appreciated very much indeed, was that, after I became a fancy Orderly, and stood around with clean clothes on, and wore white gloves, I enjoyed also the very best of rations.
I became familiar with the Surgeon's Hospital Steward, who happened to be from my native city, so we messed together. It therefore became one of the privileges at headquarters, especially with the Hospital Steward, to draw rations from the hospital stores, which was an immense thing while at the front. I don'tmean the sick rations of rice, soup, etc., but the good, nourishing things that are always reserved for the poor sick fellows. We got plenty of tea and rice, to be sure—so much, indeed, that I have soured on it ever since, and never take tea except when I am so sick that I can't bear the smell of coffee. As for rice, I am fond of it. As the Colonel said, "I like rice very much indeed, if it is properly cooked—that is, about a quart of cream and milk, a pound of butter, and some eggs and sugar and nutmeg and all the other things, nicely stirred up and baked—and, oh, yes, I forgot—about a half teaspoonful of rice may be added."
The Steward's name was Fulton—Johnny Fulton—formerly of Fahnestock's great drug house in Pittsburgh.
It became the duty of the Surgeons to inspect the boxes before they would admit their contents into the hospitals, because, you know, they often contained articles of food prepared and sent by kind friends at home that might have been as fatal to the sick soldiers, if they had been allowed to eat them, as would have been the Rebel bullets. For instance, all sweet cakes, raisins, nuts, apples and other fruits were sure death for those troubled with the great army epidemic—dysentery. Pickles, as well as the innumerable sorts of canned stuffs, became confiscated, as too dangerous to let pass, so that we had to eat them up in self-defense.
There was scarcely ever a box opened that did not contain a bottle of something contraband—some old whisky. These the Surgeons usually took care of.
I know that some of the boys even now will be ready to swear at the headquarters' "dog-robber." I've been called that so often, and become so accustomed to it, and "loblolly boy," that it had no effect. We went straight along, having as good a time as we could, wore the best clothes and rode fast horses, and when we were not doing anything else on Sundays, we would be out somewhere horse-racing.
There were, of course, some disagreeable things about headquarters too, and we of the Regulars had a standing fight with a lot of fancy boys who came down from Philadelphia that year. They were Rush's Lancers. As some of the Western soldiers have never seen this sort of a soldier, I shall describe him as a Zoo-zoo on a horse—that is, he wore a fancy Zouave uniform of manycolors, and carried a pole about fifteen or twenty feet long in a socket in his stirrup. On the end of the pole was a sharp spear or lance, and a few inches from the end of the lance a little red silk flag fluttered. They were an awfully nice-looking set of fellows on parade. A thousand of them made about as dashing a show as can be imagined when galloping along in line or column.
It was expected that these long poles, with the sharp spears on the ends, would be just the thing to charge on an enemy.
I have often heard the owners explain just how they were going to do it when they should get a chance at the enemy. The custom or style had been imported from Europe, but somehow it didn't take well in the Army of the Potomac. The boys called them "turkey-drivers," probably because of the red patch on the end of the pole.
For a time they were at headquarters as a brilliant, fancy-looking attachment to the Staff; but every time we would go out with the "turkey-drivers" the "doboys," or infantry, would yell and gobble at them in such a ridiculous way that they had to be suppressed. I have heard as many as 10,000 men in the camps in the woods gobble at the "turkey-drivers," as if it were droves of wild turkeys, every time the lancers would ride along.
We of the Regular Cavalry at headquarters were, of course, pleased to witness the frequent discomfiture of the "turkey-drivers," probably because we were a little bit jealous of them, and feared, that their bright, dashing appearance might give them a preference over us as the headquarters' favorites.
Pretty soon they, like the Zouaves, changed their uniform to the old blue blouse, and threw away their long sticks for the noisy saber.
Although we had some fun among ourselves at headquarters, yet about that time—Christmas and January, 1862-63—were the dark days of the war. Seemingly, everything had gone wrong with the Army of the Potomac. Burnside had left some of the best blood of the long-suffering old army on the frozen ground over the river; the hospitals were filled with the sick and wounded, who could not safely be transported North; and, to my intense disgust, it seemed to me that I never rode out to any place, or made a visit to my friends in other regiments, that I did not run intosome of those professional embalmers or packers, who would be engaged at one of their ugly jobs. The weather was cold, and these men went about their work as indifferently as we often see the dead beef and hogs handled in market!
One of the saddest duties to which we at headquarters were subjected, at times, was the piloting of visitors, who came down from Washington with passes and reported first at headquarters, to the regimental or brigade hospitals, in which their wounded or sick were to be found. Generally the visitor would be an old father, perhaps a farmer, sent by the mother to take home a sick or may be a dead son.
We were encamped on the side of the hill on the top of which was the large mansion house then occupied by Burnside and Staff. My memory is not reliable as to names, but I think it was called the Phillips House; anyway, it was a fine, large house, with all the usual surroundings of a Virginia mansion of the days. There were negro quarters, smoke-house, ice-house, stables, etc. These were filled up with the innumerable crowd that are always about headquarters. Our command was in camp in Sibley tents on the hill-side or in the orchard, almost within call of the house. It was my daily habit, when not otherwise engaged (and I had the liberty of the camp), to loaf around the porch of this house. Some way there seemed to be a strange fascination in the general officer's appearance, and I took great delight in watching his every movement and in listening to the talk of the big officers on the Staff.
There was always something going on at headquarters. Either General Franklin, or the old, almost feeble-looking, but grand E. V. Sumner, or Couch, would be there as visitors, and before they would leave probably other corps commanders in the uniform of Major-Generals, with swords, and followed by their Staffs, would dash up to the fence, dismount, and strut in, with swords rattling on the frozen ground and reverberating in the big hallway.
I saw Burnside every day, and several times a day. Whatever may be the judgment as to his generalship, there can be but one opinion as to his handsome appearance and his courteous manner. I became a personal Orderly to the General, and bear my cheerfultestimony that he was always courteous and kind, and most tenderhearted and thoughtful of the welfare of the boys in the ranks.
It was my privilege to have seen him frequently when alone during the dark, dreary days that followed his terrible disaster. I have often since thought that his mind became affected by his great trouble. He would do some of the queerest things; as, for instance, one evening he came out into the back part of the house, where I happened to be at the time, in company with a chum, there being no one else near. He, in his bare head, coolly walked up to us. We, of course, jumped to our feet, saluted and properly stood at attention, expecting that he would pass on, but, instead, he stopped, and, with a peculiar little laugh, said, in words that I do not now recollect, but, in effect, it was: "Tell them it's all right." Then, as if suddenly recovering consciousness, probably at our stupidity in staring at him, he turned abruptly away, saying, hurriedly: "Never mind, never mind."
My companion, being older and more experienced than I, probably felt it his duty to whisper to me, as he touched my arm: "Come; don't stare so. Don't you see the 'old man' is full?"
I believed at the time, and for a long time after, that my companion was right, but, in the light of subsequent events, and coupled with some other singular things that it was my privilege to witness in the few days that followed, I am reluctantly inclined to believe that General Burnside was crazed by his defeat, and that he had not recovered the possession of his faculties when he planned the "Mud Campaign."
But, to better explain my reasons for entertaining this view, I will explain that, a day or two after this singular occurrence, when I found an opportunity to see the General alone, I took occasion to boldly make a proposition to him. As I put the matter in writing at the time, at his request (for my own good, as he in such a kindly way suggested), it is probable that the paper may be among the records.
I wanted to go over the river very, very much—that goes without saying. As I knew Geno was in the house, the roof and one corner of which I could see, I made almost a daily pilgrimage to the Lacey House, and sat there on my horse by the hour, hoping and praying that it might be that she or some of the family would recognize me.
When I made bold to personally address General Burnside, I am afraid that I began in a rather nervous voice and manner to unfold my plan of going into General Lee's lines again. At first he looked at me a little incredulously, then, as he recognized me as being one of the telegraph and signal men about his headquarters, he said: "Why, my dear boy, I couldn't send you on such an errand as that."
But I persisted, and, to assure him further, I told him I had been there before, and wasn't afraid to go again.
"You surprise me," said the General, genially. "Come into my room and I'll talk it over a little."
I followed him into his room, where we found at least half a dozen officers already gathered; indeed, there was always a crowd of them around headquarters. While General Burnside greeted them cordially, I stood at attention, at a respectful distance, in one corner of the room, where I was wholly unobserved.
While waiting for the General to clear up the business with his callers—which, by the way, seemed to me a long, long while—I heard, among others, one little story that I do not think has ever been printed.
Some officers were quietly discussing the recent battle; indeed, this was a subject that would not down. It seemed as if the ghosts of the thousands of dead soldiers who were slaughtered before Marye's Heights and at the pontoons were haunting the memories of our Generals.
And, by the way, the boys who died doing their thankless duty at the pontoons are almost forgotten, though they are almost as numerous as those who charged up the heights. Well, one of the officers whom I heard talking on the subject that day was, to my mind then, quite an ordinary-looking man. He was a little bit stoop-shouldered; at least, his careless, loose dress gave him that appearance, while with his muddy boots and spectacles and generally unsoldierly bearing, he gave me the impression that he was a Brigade Surgeon. Another of the officers, speaking of the failure of the army, made some remark about the left not doing its share. At this the Surgeon jerked up his head and his eyes showed fire through his spectacles, as he said: "I want you to understand that my division on the left broke Jackson's line in our charge, and, if we had been sustained, the result would have been different."
There was a good deal more of this sort of talk, pro and con, to which I paid no attention at the time, because it seemed as if everybody that I heard speak was explaining something or finding fault with another, and it, of course, became tiresome. There was lots of this sort of thing around headquarters which we on the outside overheard.
One little circumstance indelibly impressed this one man's talk on my mind at the time. Holding up his battered, old, slouched hat, and sticking his bony finger through a bullet-hole, in the crown, he said, in a reply to a suggestion that "there was no enemy in front of him, as there was at Marye's Heights"—"I found it hot enough in my front."
After he left I asked who the doctor was. The man on duty at the door looked at me with disgust as he said: "That's no damned doctor, man; don't you know General Meade?"
That was my introduction to the future commander of the army. And I put it on paper here now, that Meade's Division, of the old Sixth Corps, made a charge, atFredericksburg, on Jackson's 30,000 men (the best position of the Rebels, because higher and more precipitous than Marye's Heights) that equaled that of Pickett at Gettysburg, yet we never hear the survivors blow of it.
I had a much longer wait for my opportunity to talk with General Burnside alone on this business than the reader has in reading this story.
I might tell some secrets that I overheard that day, while lying about headquarters. My ears were always as wide open as the proverbial little pitcher's, and, besides, I had been in training so much under similar circumstances in the Rebel country that I could scarcely help picking up everything that dropped in my hearing or sight.
However, at last they were all gone, excepting the Adjutant-General and his clerk; these two were busily engaged with some papers, seated at a long dining-room table that had been drawn out for a desk. After General Burnside gave some directions about his correspondence to the War Department, he turned to me and, taking a chair in each hand, asked me to sit down, and in as courteous a manner as if I were a Major-General he began apologizing for the delay. He drew his chair right up in front of mine, looking mestraight in the eye, as he said: "Now, my young friend, what is it that you propose?"
As briefly as I could put it I explained, what my plan was—to open telegraph communication from the town of Fredericksburg, inside the Rebel lines, direct with his headquarters telegraph operators. This at the first glance may seem to be a wild, visionary scheme, but that it was entirely feasible I soon satisfied General Burnside.
Those who were in the Army of the Potomac will remember the Signal Telegraph Corps. I do not mean the Military or Morse Corps, but theSignalTelegraph Corps. There were two distinct organizations doing practically the same character of work in the Army of the Potomac. As a natural consequence, these two army telegraph corps were in a state of active, bitter warfare against each other all the time. The Morse Telegraph Corps was a civilian or non-military affair under Mr. Eckert, who was located at the War Office. Through this fact, and the sinister influence of these jealous Washington telegraphers, they were successful in securing Mr. Stanton's hostility to the Army Signal Telegraph Corps.
Every old army man will remember the signal telegraph lines that were constructed, as if by magic, on the little ten-foot poles, which were stretched along the roads like miniature telegraphs, always taking the shortest cuts through the camps.
I presume that every Corps Headquarters was in immediate telegraphic connection with the General Headquarters, and that the little poles and gum-insulated wire extended to all the important outposts. This telegraph line was used in connection with the flag-and-torch system. For instance, from some elevated position on the outskirts of our lines, probably a tree-top or a distant hill, always overlooking the enemy's country (which was just over the river), would be located a signal station. Here would be found a signal officer and his squad of trained flag swingers. Those stations were equipped with the very best field-glasses and telescopes that were obtainable in this country and in Europe.
The telescope, being the larger glass, would always be found supported on a platform or tripod, and usually leveled so as to sweep the enemy's country. Each of these stations covered a designated field, equal in extent to five or ten miles. A number of these stations were arranged so that the entire front, as well as the rear, if possible, and both flanks of the enemy, were being minutely inspected every hour of the day, and any unusual movement of men or teams were at once noted and immediately reported to headquarters.
The telegraph lines were generally used while in permanent camps to convey these reports back from the front. But in case of their being disarranged or on the march, when telegraphs could not be operated, the flag-and-torch system was used.
Those who have seen these temporary wires will remember that they were apparently about the thickness of a lead-pencil, but an examination would show that a gum or rubber casing inclosed a very thin copper wire. For purpose of insulation the best quality of rubber was used, while the wire was of the purest copper. It was made in Europe to order, and, as it was expected that the wires would receive some pretty hard usage, great care was taken in its manipulation.
The wire, though as thick as a pencil, was as flexible as a piece of rope of the same thickness. It could be looped, tied and twisted into any sort of shape in the roughest, shortest manner, and be undone without damaging it. It will be understood without further explanation from me, that the purpose in having this army signal wire made in this way was to secure perfect insulation for the electric current. It was expected that, in certain emergencies, the wire could be rapidly reeled off the hose-carriage-looking vehicle that carried it on to the ground, even during a battle, and signal communication kept up through it even while it lay on the ground or in the water. A corps of men with wagons arranged to carry cords of their little circus-tent telegraph poles would run along after the reel, like a hook-and-ladder company, and were drilled to rapidly pick up the wire and suspend it overhead, where it was not liable to be injured by men or horses coming against it.
I didn't have to tell him all of this, because he already knew all about it. The telegraph and the wire were both in his sight continually. I merely said to him: "General, I will take some of that insulated wire, submerge it as a cable under the Rappahannock, and go over there myself and telegraph your headquarters every hour, if necessary, from inside the Rebel lines."
"Why, my boy, if you were to attempt to take that wire over there, the first use that would be made of it would be to make a rope to hang you."
"But I'm not going over there with a rope in my hands," I said. Then I fully explained to the General, first, that I could get into Fredericksburg in apparent safety, under pretense of being a Rebel, because I had actually been taken away from there in arrest and confined in Old Capitol Prison, by Mr. Stanton's orders, which fact was well-known by some friends in the town. At this the General's mouth opened in astonishment, and he probably began to think he was talking with a crazy man. But, after a long talk about my former experiences and my recent personal troubles with Mr. Stanton, which interested the General, especially the latter, seemed to renew his interest, and he apparently gave me his sympathy and encouragement. The poor old General was in great trouble with the War Office just then, and probably from this fact he was able to better appreciate my queer position. How very insignificant and trifling my affairs became, as compared with his own distressing, heart-breaking burden!
The General, with a deep sigh, as an expression of pain passed over his face that I shall never forget, said:
"My dear boy, I should like to avail myself of your offer, and will think it over; but," with hesitancy, as his brow wrinkled with something like a frown of distrust, "I want to say to you in the way of secret-service confidence, that the position and location of the Rebel forces has been incorrectly reported to me by the War Department Secret Service officials."
In this connection I can only explain this voluntary observation by the well-known fact that, undoubtedly, Burnside was indirectly obliged by public sentiment, expressed through Halleck and Stanton, and perhaps the President, to make his unfortunate movement over the river, in the face of an enemy intrenched on the almost-impregnable heights, against his better military judgment.
Perhaps the War Department had information of the Rebel Army that would seem to have justified the attempt. I don't pretend to know anything more about it than I have gathered from General Burnside in the way I have indicated.
In after years, when General Burnside became a Senator fromRhode Island, I was employed in the Senate as telegraph operator for the Associated Press. Major Ben. Perley Poore, the correspondent, learning from me that I had served with the General, incidentally mentioned the fact to him one day, and, in less time than I take to write it, the dear old General was in my office shaking me heartily by the hand. I met him in a business way frequently during his term, but he never talked on the subject of the war to me, except in a general, pleasant way.
I further explained, to the apparent satisfaction of the General, that I should submerge the wire in the river, at night, at a certain point, and not attempt to haul it out on the Rebel shore, except under certain contingencies, that were likely to occur, and which I could make use of from the other shore. I had studied the subject carefully; indeed, from my frequent visits to the river bank, I had evolved from my fertile brain the plan to kill two birds with one stone;i. e., to get to see Geno, at the risk of my neck, and while there, under the protection of her father and friends, who would undoubtedly vouch for me as a good Rebel, I should be able to go about unmolested, and learn the position and, perhaps, the plans of the Rebel Army, and then trust to a fortunate combination of circumstances to go and fish up my submerged wire and tap my important news to headquarters. Any telegrapher will see that this could easily have been done by the use of the little instrument, that could be concealed between the empty lids of a big watch-case. The current, or battery, was to be supplied from the other end, and all that I had to do to secure attention, or notify the operators at Burnside's headquarters that somebody was at the other end of their wire, was to merely lift the exposed end off the ground or out of the water. I can't explain all this, but that is the fact easily substantiated. The only difficulty about the plan was in getting hold of this end of the wire without detection. This was a very serious trouble; but, as I have said, I had carefully studied the thing out, and thought it over night and day.
I will admit, for the sake of argument, that my thoughts and plans were stimulated by the hope of getting over to see Geno. In my frequent rides along the river banks in search of a good landing for my cable, I had selected a point on the other side right below the piers of the burnt railroad bridge. Those who have beenthere will remember an old mill that was located right on the bank, the water-wheel of which seemed to be almost on the edge of the water. From this wheel was a deep ditch, or waste-way, for the escape of the surplus water into the river. Back of the wheel there was, of course, the mill-race, which was quite deep and, like a canal, sluggish. This race, as it is called, extended in a winding way up into an unfrequented part of the town.
Now, my scheme was to watch a favorable opportunity from the Union side, and, with the connivance of our own officers, the first dark night I proposed taking a coil of that wire, and, under the pretense of escaping over the river in a boat, I should, when near the Rebel shore, drop the coil with its anchor, and make a certain signal, at which our pickets were to fire their guns as if they had discovered me and were in hot pursuit.
Of course the Rebel pickets would be expected to be on the alert all the time, and, to prevent detection, I proposed suspending the coil of wire in the water from the start, attached to a rope, which I could quickly let go, and the coil and anchor would quietly drop out of sight to the bottom.
Once on the other side, I would have to run the risk of being recognized by the Rebel officers, to whom I should undoubtedly be taken at once. I hoped that by this time I had been forgotten by my old Rebel friends. Once safely through this gauntlet I should appeal to Captain Wells for recognition and release as a Rebel. There would be no trouble about that, you know.
Then, after looking the ground over, I could, at my leisure, go fishing for my coil of wire, and extend it up the mill-race either into the deserted old mill or beyond, out of the range of the pickets, and astonish the boys at Burnside's headquarters by signaling to them from the other shore. There was nothing about this plan impracticable, and General Burnside was so favorably impressed with my scheme that he heard me through with an apparently deep interest, and even suggested some changes in my project.
It did not occur to me at the time, though I learned subsequently, that one of the reasons which induced General Burnside to delay the consideration of my proposition was (very properly) to enable him to make some inquiries of my immediate officers about my past experience and supposed fitness for secret serviceamong the Rebels. I was quietly informed of this by a friend at court.
The result of this investigation must have been satisfactory to the General. He sent after me one evening, so late that the messenger had considerable difficulty in finding me, because I was wrapped up over head and ears in my army blanket for a nightgown, so sound asleep that I did not hear my name called.
As all of us were lying around loose in that shape, looking like mummies of the same age, he took the very great risk of resuscitating the wrong one, when the Orderly gave notice that "The General is waiting for that Telegraft Signal fellow to report."
Everybody within hearing at once took a part in the search, and I was rooted out of my snug corner by the order to "Git out of here damned sudden; you're wanted at headquarters." This sort of a summons aroused the curiosity of every old soldier that happened to be around, and that's saying a good deal.
It's only those who have lived among the old soldiers (I mean those regular chaps who have been in the service twenty or thirty years) that can understand fully what is meant by exciting their curiosity with an order for a comrade to report to headquarters.
They looked upon me with various expressions of pity, contempt, envy and wonder. The general impression was that I was getting into some kind of trouble, and one comrade sympathetically whispered words of cheer and comfort; another bade me "Good-by," etc.
Being only an enlisted man, I was quartered with the "non-coms" around headquarters, my immediate chum being the Hospital Steward.
As soon as I was wide enough awake to realize the situation and understand the summons, I knew well enough what it meant, but feigned wonder and surprise, and, hastily dressing myself, rushed through the dark yard to the house before any one could question me.
There were the usual sentries around headquarters, but my man got through them quickly, and we entered the house through the big hallway. There was but one light burning there, as every one of the numerous Staff had gone off to sleep. The Orderly gently knocked at the door as if he were afraid some one might hear. A quiet voice said, "Come"; the Orderly opened the door, put on his"Regular" face, jerked himself in sideways, stiffened up, saluted, and reported that he had "fetched the man he was ordered to."
"All right; 'fetch' him a little more, Sergeant, till I see him," were the exact words the General uttered in reply, in his pleasant way. Without waiting for any further introduction from my escort, I brushed my bangs down, wiped off my chin, and stepped inside of the door, saluting the General according to the regulations. The General dismissed the Orderly with a pleasant "Ah, here he is; that will do Orderly." Turning to me, with the pen he pointed to a chair, saying: "I wanted to see you, and it seems as if the only opportunity I have is after everybody else has left me. Take a seat till I finish this note."
After expressing my readiness to wait upon him at any hour, I sat down as directed, and for the time being I was alone with the Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the Potomac.
If I were permitted to live a thousand years, that lapse of time would not efface from my memory the impressions that this singular midnight interview with General Burnside has left upon my mind.
Previous to my reporting, the General had probably been engaged with his private correspondence, and was at that moment very intent in an awkward effort at steering his pen over a sheet of paper. The General, like all other great soldiers, was a poor penman. It made me nervous watching him scratch over the paper, so that I felt like volunteering my services as an amanuensis to help him out of his labor, though I am a poor penman myself—which, by the way, is the only claim that I have for comparison with great men.
Almost everybody is familiar with the broad, honest, generous face of Burnside, with his English side-whiskers—"Burnsides"; but, like most pictures, it fails entirely to show him with his face lighted up by his happy, encouraging smile.
Though there were upward of a hundred thousand soldiers sleeping on that cold, inhospitable ground in this darkness, all was as quiet in the Army of the Potomac along the Rappahannock at that hour as if it were a great national cemetery containing a hundred thousand quiet graves. As I sat there and watched the General's features as he continued to write, the thought occurred to my mind that this one man could, by a word, call into active life every one of those around, not only on this, but on the other side of the river.
Right over the little Rappahannock River, on every one of the hills that were in the background, we knew well enough was another sleeping army; but their dreary winter camps were enlivened somewhat by their hundreds of cheerful camp-fires, the light from which seemed to flicker in our faces a happy sort of defiance at our wretched darkness. All along the river front, almost within gunshot of our headquarters, was stretched a line of camp-fires at such regular intervals that the scene resembled the lights of lamps on a long, winding street. They were allowed camp-fires on their picket-lines. We were prohibited from lighting a match at the front.
After the General had finished his task of writing and sealing the note, he rose from his chair, threw up both arms, as if to stretch himself out of a cramp, as he walked toward me, saying, abruptly: "It seems to me, young man, that you are in a position that will enable you to do us great service."
When I made a move to get on my feet to assume the soldier's first position of attention, the General motioned me back into my chair, with a command to: "Sit still; I want to stretch my legs a little while I talk this matter over," and he halted in front of me as he put the question: "Do you think you can get to the other side in safety to yourself?"
I assured him that I had no doubt of that whatever, and went on to explain that my recent relations with the people there would serve to protect me, but that I must not go in the uniform of a Federal soldier.
"Are you sure that your friends over there have not heard of your being in the army?"
I thought not—indeed, I was sure they had not—as some of my best friends in the North were not aware of the step, because I had not joined with any of the State troops, but had united with the Regulars, where I had become lost, as it were, among strangers.
During this examination I had assumed that, as a matter of course, my proposition to submerge the cable was in the General's mind. I had spent some time and considerable labor in the interval in carefully preparing a section of the soft rubber or insulated wire for this use. Sufficient length had been carefully selected and tested with the electrical batteries, and then I had put the whole Quartermaster's Department in a stew by a requisition, approved byheadquarters, for some linseed oil, which was something that was not in the regulation list. I wanted to use the oil as additional coating to the rubber, as a better protection in the water. After much red-tape business, I got some oil, and put my coil of selected wire into the barrel for a good soaking.
When I began to tell the General about this additional security, he interrupted me: "Oh, never mind about that now. I fully appreciate your ingenuity, and believe that some such plan might become practicable hereafter, but (with an impressiveness that I shall never forget) we know pretty well the extent and disposition of the enemy's forces over there."
With a deep sigh he hesitated a moment, as if recalling his recent battle, that had so terribly demonstrated this fact.
"The Government was deceived to a great extent by Scouts; what I now desire is to deceive the Rebels."
I didn't "catch on," which the General probably discovered by his intent look into my eye.
"We must deceive them the next time; and if you are willing to take the risk on yourself of going into their lines, you can no doubt aid us very much better than by taking the wire along with you."
I expressed so decided a willingness to do anything, that the General smilingly said: "I see that you will do; and, as you have explained, it will be no great risk to you personally, I am satisfied to have you make the attempt." After a few more words of friendly caution, the General said, finally: "It will be better that you should make the crossing either above or below, and come up into the city. A few signals may be arranged beforehand with some of the Signal officers, which you can, no doubt, perfect yourself better than I."
I assured him that this could be easily done, and with a word or two more of caution and a suggestion to arrange my signals, and when I was ready to go to report to him, the General bade me "Good-night."
I left General Burnside's office that night without any very clear understanding of what he wanted me to do. I was only sure that I was expected to go over into the town for a purpose which he had not yet explained. This was sufficient for me. I went offin the dark to find my blanket, my head swimming with delight at the prospect of personally serving the General of the Army and the Government in a way that would at once secure advancement for me; but, best of all, I should at the same time be able to see Geno; and perhaps the fortune of war would be so altered by another move as to enable me to escort her and the Wells family away from the ill-fated old town.
But I shall leave the romantic portion—the love story—out of this narrative of fact. Perhaps some person better able than myself may in the future weave a romance from these plain statements of facts that I have somewhat reluctantly been putting down from time to time, in the midst of the bustle and confusion of my later-day work of a newspaper correspondent at Washington, yet scouting around among Rebels for news.
I found my blanket undisturbed during my absence. It had served as a sort of claim to that part of the floor in the large room over which were scattered a half-dozen sleeping men. One of the boys was wide enough awake to begin questioning me in regard to the nature of my business with the "old man"—the General was always the "old man," you know. In anticipation of this, and remembering a word of caution from the General, I had fixed up in my own mind a plan to put them on the wrong track. I explained—very confidentially, of course, knowing very well that it would get out the better and be believed if in that form—that I was to be questioned about the material necessary to build a telegraph line up to Washington on our side of the river.
It will be remembered that there was no direct communication with Washington by land from the army at Fredericksburg. Ostensibly, the Union forces occupied that portion of the territory, but, practically, the Rebel residenters, bushwhackers and guerrillas, assisted by Stuart's cavalry, infested the entire region between Alexandria or Manassas and Fredericksburg. Occasionally our cavalry were up in that region about some of the upper fords of the Rappahannock, but it was to all intents and purposes the enemy's country.
It was expected that I would convey some false or misleading information as coming from our forces to the Rebel officers. In a word, I was to become a decoy-duck.
While lying there all alone thinking this over carefully, and the exuberance of my feelings over a personal and pleasant interview with the General had subsided, I began to realize the dangerous position in which I might be placed.
The character of the decoy messages, and the manner of conveying them, the General had discreetly kept from me until the time for action. I was satisfied that I could easily get through to the Rebel headquarters and perhaps see General Lee personally. My "sympathizer"—Old Capitol story—would, no doubt, take well, especially in Fredericksburg.
The first danger that I should encounter would be a chance recognition of my "former services," but this was only equal to about one in a thousand. The only matter that I feared at all was going into the Rebel headquarters as the bearer of any important papers; they might, notwithstanding my friends in Fredericksburg, become suspicious and, perhaps, be induced to keep a watch over me as a sort of hostage for their fulfillment. If the intelligence I had taken to them had misled and caused disaster to their army, I would have to suffer.
The only way to circumvent this was to get out of the way before it was too late. Geno was over on that side, and the prospect of once more seeing her settled in my young impulsive heart the question. I determined that I would go, and go, too, as soon as possible; and with this thought fixed in my mind, I at last went off into a sound sleep, to dream of the happy hour when I should again take her hand in mine and tell her of the difficulties and the dangers I had met and so persistently overcome, that I might once more enjoy the happiness of being near her.
All the different headquarters were in direct communication with each other and the General Headquarters, as well as the Signal Station, from their points of observation, by means of this wire signal telegraph, which I have described.
This field telegraph was operated on the "induction" principle, which is the basis of the telephone patent. In the field telegraph, instead of vibrations, the induced current causes the deflection of a sensitive needle, which noisily points to letters of the alphabet on a dial synchronously with the transmitting apparatus.
Compared with the Morse system, it was a little tedious, and, attimes, as uncertain as a telephone. It had the advantage, however, of simplicity. We called these "coffee-mill telegraphs." Since the war the "coffee-mill," or English system, has been greatly improved—the same principle operating the Atlantic cables. Instead of a needle revolving on the face of a dial, it is made by a wave of electricity, to simply dip or deflect, as desired, either to the right or the left of a zero point.
In this way the two simplest of all known characters are formed;i. e., the "dot" and the "dash" of the American Morse system.
This principle has an important bearing, not only in the action of this narrative, but it is the basis of a system of signals first applied to use in war by myself, as developing the practicability of signaling from even the inside of an enemy's line into headquarters of his opponent. Since our war developed its uses, it has been adopted by nearly all the Governments of the earth.
It was designed by myself that, instead of being burdened by the attempt to lay a cable under the water and concealed in the earth, through which it was hoped to signal, that I should go over to Fredericksburg and, once safely in Geno's home, I could, by visual signals, communicate directly with an accomplished signal officer to be located at the Lacey House.
This was entirely practicable. Captain Wells' house was barely discernable from the Lacey House. I was to take a position at a certain window in the Wells' House and, when alone, signal directly over the water and through the air to a window in the Lacey House, by the simple use of this dot and dash system.
Those who have seen the signal-flags and torches will remember that there were but two simple motions, one to the left and the other to the right of a perpendicular—the stroke down, or in front, merely signifies a stop—the dot (or No. 2) is represented by a quick motionto the right; a dash (or No. 1) by a motion to the left of a sender.
At the end of each word, abbreviation, conventional or prearranged signal, a "front" motion is made.
I put in the cold days and long nights in studying up signals and in arranging with my "pard" for their exchange. He entered heartily into the scheme, believing, as we all did, that I, of all others, was just the person to undertake the business, because I would be recognized as a Rebel in that town.
From an up-stairs window of the Lacey House we discovered that two windows of Captain Wells' house were plainly visible. There was also a single "dormer" window in the roof, which the bombardment had seriously damaged.
These up-stairs windows were visible over the top of another house that stood between it and the river.
There was no other point on our side of the river from which signals could be quietly made that would not attract the attention of the watchful Rebels. Even from an obscure window of the Lacey House we feared it would be risky to attempt any demonstration in the way of signals. It was on this account settled upon that very few, if any, signals should be made to me.
There would be only some common recognition of my presence. We arranged that when one shutter of the Lacey House window was open it would signify to me in the Rebel lines that my man had his telescope leveled at my window, of which I was to open one shutter to signify my presence in that room.
Now, the telescopes used in the United States Signal Service were of the very best character. It will seem to many to be an exaggerated statement when I assert that I have distinctly and clearly read flag-signals a distance of twenty-five miles, and these at the rate of fifteen to twenty words a minute, too. At night torch-signals may be distinctly read by this method. It is only necessary that the exact point or bearings of the distant signal station be known. For this purpose a first-class pocket compass was furnished each signal officer.
In this case it was not necessary to see the compass to find the window, but we located with the telescope and compass certain other points miles to the rear of Marye's Heights and the Rebel Army, which I was to find in case the window was not available.
The window was altogether the best point, provided I could get use of it, because I could sit back in the shadow, and out of view of any person outside, and be seen by the use of the telescope, especially at night.
With my hand, or with a wand or a fan, I was supposed to seat myself in that room, my feet cocked up on a window-sill, smoking a cigar and nonchalantly signal or spell out this one-two alphabet by the waves of a fan. The objection to that was that it was wintertime,and fans were not necessary, but it was generally understood that I was to use anything that happened to suit best, and to change as often as possible—merely to show a right and left motion was all that was necessary.
Circumstances may arise in the future in which some such conditions may be availed of, as they were in our war on more than one occasion. Exactly what I was to telegraph back did not occur to me. In fact General Burnside did not seem to attach very much importance to this part of the plan, which was more attractive to my own and my chum's mind than his decoy matter.
It was my intention to travel at will, through my Rebel friends in the town, and, if possible, get into the lines even to General Lee's headquarters, and hear their telegraph instruments, and if anything important was learned I should at once "open my half-shutter" and watch for the open half-shutter in the Lacey House. When they were ready to "receive" both shutters were to be opened, and as long as both remained opened they were "getting me down" in black and white. In case of the loss of a signal or a word, an attempt would be made to close one shutter, when I would see that I was to stop until signaled to "go ahead" by the opening of both shutters again.
It is not to be understood that it was expected of me to "spell out," by this motion system, every word that I might want to communicate over the river. There is scarcely a word in general use that was not abbreviated by the phonetic spelling and pronunciation, so that every message became a blind cipher, excepting to those who understood the phonetic system. For instance, the long word "communicate," which I have just used here, is reduced to two simple letters, as follows:
The suffixes ing, ed, tion and ty to this word, and wherever they occur, were shortened by the use of the letters g, d, n, and y, respectively. I can "communicate" with a flag in shorthand as rapidly and as correctly at a distance of twenty miles as our official reporters will at twenty feet, and if the weather does not permit the use of flags, a battery of guns can be made to "km" as far as they can be heard, in a storm or in the dark.
For my own especial purpose, we had arranged a few additional signals by which I was to quickly "km" with headquarters. For instance, the important information that I had been successful in spreading the false information was to be known by a continuous repetition of the signals "sk, sk, sk," signifying successful.
I felt that I could with perfect safety to myself stand on the bank of the river, and, while apparently using my handkerchief in an ordinary way, make these two simple signs so that it would be readily understood. If I signaled re-rd, it meant General Lee was in Richmond; or Lt. was not Lieutenant, as would be supposed by any signal officer, but meant Longstreet; while a simple X was for Stonewall Jackson. Enh was "enough."
Before everything was in readiness, I was looking for an opportunity to see General Burnside and tell him of the character of our arrangements. I was disappointed in not seeing him for a couple of days; my recollection is that he was in Washington. Any way, I felt at the time that he was not as much interested in the matter as I had supposed he would be.
Finally, I succeeded in seeing the General, but not alone; indeed, he was seldom, if ever, without some sort of company. When he stopped his conversation long enough to hear me, he simply said, in his polite, kindly way: "Well, you come in and see me again, won't you?"
Of course that settled it for that interview, and I had to go off disappointed. I watched for the next opportunity, and when I sent a little note to his room to say that I was ready, he surprised me by sending out to see me one of his Staff officers, who, holding my note in his open hand, came up to me and began to explain that the General had directed him to see me, etc.
This officer said, very kindly: "The General has informed me of your proposed service, and has directed me to afford you every facility possible. What can I do for you? He is very much occupied just now."
That was very kind, but it was not exactly satisfactory, as I wanted to talk to the General; however, I told this officer I wanted to cross the river below the town, under the guise of a deserter, and, once over, to act as I should find best. He heard of my proposed signaling with amazement, and after explaining his grave doubtsabout the safety of such an undertaking, he told me, with a significant confidence for such a short acquaintance: "The army is to move in a few days right over into the town precisely as we did before. The General, you know, is determined to make a success of his former plan, but he especially desires that the Rebels should be led to believe that he proposed to cross below. Therefore, he directed me to say that the only directions he had were that the enemy should be made to believe this, and directed me to confer with you as to the best method of accomplishing this result."
He went on further to detail a plan of crossing the army at a place called Hoop-pole Ferry, and said they would make a demonstration in that direction, but they would cross into the town again.
It never once occurred to my innocent heart that this smooth-talking Yankee officer was lying to me. They did not intend to cross at the town, and he knew it. At this very time General Burnside was planning his campaign to cross above the town some distance, at Banks or United States Fords, and he was only prevented from doing so by the "stick-in-the-mud."
In stating so positively that he intended to redeem the army and "lead his own Ninth Corps" up that hill, right through town as before, he purposely and, perhaps, wisely deceived me, and I was in turn to further deceive, or attempt to deceive the Rebels by making them think he was to cross twenty miles below.
After I had gotten under my blanket, the night following the interview with General Burnside's Staff-officer, I instinctively felt it was my last peaceful sleep under the protection of the old flag.
It was then, when alone with myself, that I calmly and dispassionately thought over the entire matter.
I will admit that I was a little bit cowardly when the time neared for working this case in the dark. I am not afraid, however, to put myself down here in cold type as being afraid of the Rebels. I may be permitted to say, that no one soldier, in all that army, carried a greater risk than myself in being there.
It will be understood the prime motive with me was a longing desire to see Geno. For her dear sake I was willing to risk my life, knowing, if I were successful, I should win promotion and Geno at the same time.
I recalled, with feelings of intense gratification, the Staff-officer's words: "We shall cross into the town again as we did before."
It occurred to my dull comprehension that if this were to be so what would be the use in my taking any risk on myself to find Geno, by going over into the hands of the enemy, in advance of the army.
I reasoned very clearly, the more I thought over it, that it would be decidedly safer, and in every way better to answer my purpose, to ride a horse over the pontoons under the protection of our cannon than to go over alone only a day or two in advance.
General Burnside's Staff-officer, in thus lying to me about the crossing, unintentionally over-reached himself. But I had said to the General that I would go, and all the preparations had been made to signal. I could not, therefore, decently back down on my own proposal.
I was a coward both ways—afraid to go and afraid not to go.
I concluded, by way of compromise, to do as a great many of our Generals have done, who were also afraid sometimes—I would procrastinate, in hopes the army would move before I did—I would also make a "demonstration" below town, but hope to get into town by the convenient method of the pontoons.
The scene of this adventure is, of course, along the Rappahannock, the season that of the dreadful winter of 1862-3, on Stafford Heights, once the farm of Mrs. Washington, the mother of the Father of his Country.
The scenery was changing, like that on the stage, from the "snowy shroud that winter weaves around the dying year" to the more disagreeable mud that Virginia alone can supply, and that so effectively tied up everything that does not go on wings. In addition to the innumerable enemies in the front, in the rear, and on the flanks, that the old Army of the Potomac had to contend with, one of the most obstinate was the mud.
It was arranged that I should be quietly furnished with the facilities to enable me to "desert" over the river. All these arrangements were practically in my own hands. Everything that I desired was cheerfully afforded me.
During two of the coldest, most disagreeable days and nights of that memorable winter, I bivouacked with our cavalry outposts, located on the river bank some distance below the town.
I was there for the purpose of watching a favorable opportunity to desert to the other side.
That I did not go, was not to be charged to a lack of facilities. I was not in a hurry; in fact, I was hoping against hope that the whole army would move. I, at last, concluded that I should have to make a demonstration to satisfy my friends, with whom I had talked it over.
The weather was so terribly cold and rough along that river bottom that, after a few days' experience, I felt it would be a relief to get over the river, alongside of the snug camp-fires of the Rebels, which seemed to beckon me over, as anignis fatuus. The Confederates were allowed camp-fires all along their picket-lines. We were not even permitted to light a match.