The Rappahannock, at the point patrolled by our cavalry, was narrow and deep, the banks on either side being abrupt and covered in most places by a close undergrowth of willow. Directly opposite, and within speaking distance, were the Rebel pickets. Their outpost camp-fires were in a little grove of saplings, so close to the bank that, from our side, we could see their every movement at night by the light of their fires, and could count the number of men laying about on the ground. We imagined that we could hear their snores, so close were they. It seemed as if we were on guard over them.
When their fires would burn low, one of the number would crawl from under his blanket, stir up the embers, put on some more wood, and again lie down to sleep in perfect security. There was no firing on picket-lines at that time.
During the daytime there would frequently be a general exchange of agreeable, but sometimes sharp, words between the pickets.
On our side there was a general order prohibiting this communication, but, when the officers were not around, we talked more freely with the Rebels than we would have dared with the sentry on the beat adjoining our own.
It was only necessary to call "Johnny!" to get a quick "Hello," or if Johnny called first it was "Hello, Yank."
But little, if any, reliable information passes through the lines in this way. The pickets out on the line, as a rule, know less about their own army than anyone else. Of course a stranger, or even a soldier unknown to the officers, is not permitted on the line.
CAVALRY PICKET ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK.CAVALRY PICKET ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK.
What I am relating is an actual experience from real life in the picket-lines.
These incidents resulted in bringing about some remarkable developments that, in the days and months and years that followed, produced a sadly sweet influence on the lives, not only of myself, but upon that of some famous Confederate officers and the family of Captain Wells; but to tell the story of the "other side," at this time, is to be left for a future occasion. This is to be a straight narrative of one experience.
Picture to yourselves a stormy, snowy night. The men of the relief to which I had been temporarily attached, who were to be called, could not be found, because the snow had actually covered them out of sight.
Soldiers who lay down on the ground to sleep during a snow storm wrap themselves entirely with the blankets, which the snow soon covers. Strange as it may seem, we slept more comfortably and warmly when thus shrouded under the snow.
The night I had selected to cross to the enemy was of this kind. In the early part, I had slept sweetly under this white blanket of snow, and, when called up to take my position, I felt loth to stir, with such first thoughts, perhaps, as a criminal who is awakened from sound sleep on the morning of his execution.
At that time, in addition to two heavy flannel shirts and drawers, we usually wore two complete suits of fatigue uniform, one right over the other. The boots were large, and came high. Over the leather we learned, in very cold weather, to draw an old woolen sock. If the reader has never tried this, he will be surprised to see how much warmth even an additional cotton sock adds when drawn over the outside of a boot. It is equal to three pairs inside.
We also discovered that the placing of an old newspaper between blankets increased their warmth doubly without adding to the weight.
It will be seen from this description, or attempt at one, that a Union cavalryman on picket on a winter night, on the Rappahannock, resembled, as he sat on his horse, something that has not yet been pictured in any war-book that I have ever seen! Of course, under all this bundle of blankets and ponchos he carried across his knee his carbine, or perhaps it was "slung."
As a general thing, if the night was very cold, the poor picket allowed his heavily-loaded feet to hang out of the stirrups, because it assisted the circulation and kept the feet warmer than when resting in the stirrup.
Determined that I should settle the question that night, at a favorable opportunity I called, in a voice that I fear was somewhat tremulous, "Hello, Johnny!"
Not getting any reply, I waited a few moments, watching intently every movement around the fire in the little grove. Presently one tall fellow, with whiskers all over his face, whom I took to be an officer, called gruffly to one of the sleeping Rebels, as if directing his attention to the picket-line. There were a few words or growls in a sleepy tone, and all became quiet. Fearing that they would all go off to sleep again, I called out loudly, "Come down to the river a minute."
At this the officer got up, stared into the darkness over his fire as if the voice had come from a ghost in the tree-tops. Again I called: "Come over a minute; I want to give you some dry coffee."
This stirred up the officer, whose pleased smile I could see by the fire-light.
"Hello! is that you, Yank?" Then, urging the sleeper to get out, the two had some sharp words, which I didn't hear.
It was only a few moments before both strode away from the fire-light in the direction of the river. At the time I was so nervous that I thought it an hour's delay.
Our officer was conveniently absent at the time, and while I knew that I would not be molested, except as a feint, I still felt that for effect I must go quietly about this, and this feeling served to make me act the part nervously.
There was a flat-boat or raft tied on the other side. This little, square, coffin-shaped craft had been manufactured by some Georgia soldiers. The sides were straight up and down and the bottom flat. A good name for the thing is "a boy drowner"; that's what they call them on the river where I learned to swim. To navigate this concern, a rope had been stretched over the river and anchored at each side, the rope sinking under the water. That rope was there permanently, just in such shape as I had proposed to lay a cable. Our officers only knew in a general way of its existence from thefact that the little boat was drawn or ferried almost every night by means of it.
When the two Rebels that I had roused from sleep had gotten close enough and began to feel along the shore ice for the boat, which was always kept on their side, I excited them to greater exertion by saying in a whisper, intended to be confidential, but which was heard easily over the river: "I've got a canteen of commissary here I will sell or trade."
Whisky has its uses. It enters into almost every conspiracy in some shape or other; in this case it was only to be applied as a sort of taffy. The officer called back eagerly: "All right; we'll make some kind of a dicker."
The boat was scarcely safe for one and wouldn't carry double without kicking over. It was built on the theory that the one passenger would part his hair in the middle, and to get an exact balance, the "chaw" of tobacco could be shifted to that side of the jaw that required the weight. It would do well enough for a plaything in the summer time, but to risk a bath in the middle of a winter night was not to be so lightly considered.
The officer insisted on the soldier coming over. By way of persuasion I heard him tell him that if he should get a little wet, the commissary that Yank had would warm him up. That settled it.
He came over in less time than I had taken to tell about it, jumped through the bushes and stood before me on the hard-frozen ground.
Nearly all of the old soldiers of the Army of the Potomac have been a party to these little "exchange of courtesies" on the outposts, and will understand better than I can explain just how the thing was done. For those who have not seen the reality, I would suggest a picture. The scene is on the Rappahannock; the background shows the heights below Fredericksburg covered with snow. The characters in real life are the Rebel soldier and his boat. He stood by me wrapped in a dirty butternut blanket, in that style of drapery that only a Rebel soldier or an Apache Indian can adapt himself to.
I have already described my bundled-up appearance, topped off with a poncho. We were meeting at that lonely spot in the middle of a winter night, ostensibly to trade coffee and whisky for tobacco; but in fact it was, with me, a meeting for the purpose of hatchingout a conspiracy as important in one sense, if successful, as was that of Benedict Arnold and Major Andre's meeting. I was there for a purpose, with the indirect knowledge and consent of the Commander-in-Chief of the United States Armies.
I preferred very much to talk with the officer; he would have the authority to grant me the privileges I wanted to negotiate for, before I should surrender my liberty.
The man in front of me was a middle-aged, unshaven, ugly-looking specimen of a Georgian or North Carolinian Tar-heel. All he knew was to do as his officer directed, and he was of a kind that would do that at any cost. Whisky was the best or quickest way to reach his confidence. The rebel and I "drank from the same canteen" on the picket-line. He did the most of the drinking, while I only pretended to take swigs of it.
The officer on the other side couldn't see what we were doing; he became uneasy and called out: "Don't fool 'round thar too long."
My rebel called back, "I'm a-comin' with some good stuff."
He went back to his boat, hauled out a lot of leaf-tobacco, and after the style of the Indians trading, laid it down, saying: "It's all I got, but there's plenty of it."
I was not making a tight bargain just then, and agreed to all his terms so readily that probably, under the influence of the commissary, he could scarcely find words to express his good opinion of me, etc.
I broached the subject uppermost in my mind by growling at our hard luck in having to stand out there in the cold. His reply to this put me off my pins entirely:
"Well, why don't you all go to your own home in your own country?"
I explained that we would like to do so, but being soldiers we had to stay here against our will.
I then mildly suggested that we felt like going over to their side, that we might have such comfortable fires, etc.
"A right smart of your men do come over."
"What do they do with them?"
"Oh, they are sent away down to the coast some place, where they are in no danger of getting caught by you all."
That was one important point learned; they would send me offSouth if I should go over as a deserter. I didn't intend to be sent away so far from Geno, and I decided mighty suddenly just then that I wouldn't go along back with him.
The Johnny started to return, when I asked him if he ever went up to the town. He had been there, but was seemingly as dumb and indifferent as an animal about everything but the whisky and coffee.
"I've got some friends up in town there that I'd like to send some word to. Can't you go up there and see them for me?"
"Why, yes, I'll do anything I can to oblige you; but I'll have to ask the Captain about that, you know."
Then I drew from my pocket a letter or note, sealed in an ordinary envelope, addressed to Captain Wells, and confidentially whispered as I looked around me, as if afraid some of our officers would see or hear me: "I've a sweetheart up there, and between you and me I would like to send her some word explaining why I am here. The fact is," I continued, as the fellow reached his hand and took my letter, "I only came into this Yankee army for a chance to get to see her, and if I thought I wouldn't be sent South I'd go over now."
The fellow was then so much softened by the whisky that he tugged at my hand to "Come right along; come on, old fellow." I only got away from him by proposing that he see his officer about it first, and if they could give me any assurance that I'd not be sent South I'd go over the next night I was on duty.
Again assuring him that the letter contained nothing that I should object to his officer seeing, he left me, ramming into his pocket the document containing the misleading information that General Burnside's Staff-officer had suggested that I personally convey. I had prepared the document myself, which was in the form of a friendly letter to Captain Wells and family, detailing my experience in the Old Capitol Prison, and explaining that I had joined the army as the only means to get back there; then, as if it were an ordinary bit of news, I added the decoy information to the body of the note in these words:
"I have heard from my brother, who you know is a telegraph operator at the War Department, that General Burnside has been ordered to cross the river again; but next time it is to be awaydown the river at Hoop-pole Ferry, so that I hope to soon be with you all once more, etc."
When the Rebel got back and had talked a while, and had probably given the Captain a swig at the commissary, the Captain called back to me to say, "Thank you, old fellow; much obliged to you, sir." Then, in an undertone, "Are you all alone?"
I signified that I was, when he said: "I know those ladies very well, and will see them myself to-morrow."
What could have been better for my purpose? It will be remembered there were two older sisters, Miss Sue and Miss Mamie. I flattered myself with the reflection that Geno was then too young for company—especially Rebel company, or any other kind but me.
In this manner I was in every way as successful in accomplishing General Burnside's purpose as if I had gone over personally; perhaps more so, as there would be no doubt in the minds of the Wells family that I was sincere in these statements, and they would indorse me strongly to the Rebel officers. If the letter had been intercepted it would have answered precisely the same purpose. The message was delivered to the Wells family, and, no doubt, the contemplated move of General Burnside below town was reported to the Confederate officers.
While General Grant was preparing for his Wilderness campaign, I learned—in some way that I cannot now recollect—that Captain Wells was a prisoner in the Old Capitol.
At the first opportunity I procured a pass from the Provost-Marshal's Office in Washington, and, calling at the Old Capitol, asked for Captain Wells. I was then in uniform, so that the outside attendants did not recognize in their visitor a former prisoner.
In a little while the Captain was shown into the room. At sight of him my heart ached. The poor old man seemed to have aged wonderfully in the year since I had last seen him. He looked at me, but his eyes were not so good, and, seeing my uniform, he probably supposed that I was one of the guard, and was about turning to an attendant to ask who had called to see him, when I spoke and reached for his hand. Then his face brightened up as he heartily shook hands, and the first words he spoke, in answer to some remark about our altered appearance as he looked at my uniform, were: "We heard you were in Stoneman's cavalry."
General Stoneman was then Chief of Cavalry, and the Southern people, after their own manner, usually named the troops after the commander. When I asked how he had heard from me, when I could not get a word from them, he looked up with that curious smile of his, as he said, significantly: "We got word from a certain good friend of ours telling us about it."
Further conversation was carried on in this guarded way, as an officer sat in front of us and heard every word that was exchanged.
When I asked the Captain about his accommodations, and proposed sending him some fruit and eatables from the outside, he warmly thanked me, adding, with the same peculiar smile: "You know about what we get here, I suppose?"
At this I had to laugh, so did the old Captain, the officer between us looking curiously from one to the other, to try and discover what the joke was that created such merriment.
He told me, then, something of the dreadful experiences of the family, in Fredericksburg, during the bombardment and battles, declaring that he should take them away from there at the first opportunity.
The interviews of visitors were limited to a certain number of minutes, and when my time was up I had to go.
In a few days after the experience of negotiating the decoy over the river, the Army of the Potomac did move, and a demonstration was made precisely as I had indicated. But the history of General Burnside's famous stick-in-the-mud march has already been so well told that I need only to add that this was his plan. If the weather had not changed, or the dreadful Virginia mud had not prevented, General Burnside would have crossed above the town, and might have been successful then, and redeemed himself.
It is now certain that General Lee would have been surprised, and have been compelled to fight the Army of the Potomac on equal terms, outside of fortifications, with General Burnside for a leader. General Hooker afterward did precisely the same thing that General Burnside is so mercilessly criticized for attempting. Hooker failed miserably, after he was over, and when everything was in his grasp. Burnside might have managed it better in Hooker's position.
It is with considerable reluctance that I make this jump in my narrative from the date of Hooker's taking command until his first active movement at Chancellorsville. The months of February, March and nearly all of April were spent in comparative idleness. The massive Army of the Potomac, with its 100,000 men, were in their restful winter quarters on Stafford Heights, opposite Fredericksburg. It is a great mistake, however, to suppose that there was no activity at the headquarters of that army.
We were boiled and stirred up incessantly at headquarters by the little wars and inside conspiracies between our own general officers and against the War Office. The secret history of some of these bickerings would be interesting reading, by way of foot notes to the articles now being contributed to theCenturyand other war books by some of those who were active participants in these traitorous schemes. I however do not know enough of it (except from personal gossip about headquarters) to permit my venturing upon any detailed exposition.
Sufficient is known, however, in a general way, by the survivors, who were cognizant of the affairs at the time, to bear me out in asserting that among other schemes there was a widespread, organized conspiracy among certain officers to attempt acoup d'etat, by which McClellan was to be made Military Dictator, in place of President Lincoln.
This may be denied again and again, but the unadulterated facts are (and they froze so hard that winter that they will keep to the end) that there was such a conspiracy. The correspondence on the subject with the Copperhead politicians in the North, who were to manage that end, is probably yet in existence. Some day, when the active participators are dead and gone, perhaps the truth may be made known.
On the occasion of a visit to Washington during this long winter siege, I was questioned privately by the Covode Committee as to procuring some information on the subject.
As I have stated before, I had had enough of the politician secret-service business, and did not take kindly to their making any use of me as a spy on our own headquarters. But this much was established: there were agents in Washington, wearing the uniform of the Union Army, who were in communication with our Generals in the field and politicians in the North, who personally sounded certain officers at a certain hotel room on the subject. These officers procured from this traitorous committee all the information they could, and promptly gave it to the Government officials.
Only one more word of this: one, probably two, of the officers who procured this information are prominent officials in the Government service at Washington to-day. Their character for reliability and truthfulness is unimpeachable. That is all I have to say on this question at present.
General Burnside was aware of the intrigues—to call it by a mild term—that were going on among his own officers. As a telegrapher I handled some correspondence with the War Department at the time which, turned onto a screen, would make some "handwriting on the wall" that would more than surprise the war-reading public. The effect would be greater than any magic-lantern or stereopticon exhibition of battlefields.
Burnside wanted to arrest Hooker and his friends as public conspirators. I have heard him talk and act so wildly on this subject, that I believe, if the provocation had been given Burnside, he would have shot some of his corps commanders dead. This is not given as an opinion; I state that there was, and probably is to-day, correspondence on file in the secret archives that would confirm this statement.
It was Mr. Lincoln who personally and privately, through certain friends, held Burnside in check.
Of course Burnside was a little "off" on this subject, but under the distressing conditions and treacherous surroundings of the time it is not surprising that he should lose his balance at times. General Hooker probably was obliged to swallow, in secret, some terrible doses of the same medicine he and others had given to Burnside.
The unhappy condition of our family affairs at headquarters did not affect me directly. There was a general change of staff officers with the change of commanders. (Of course the orderlies followed their chiefs.) I have heretofore explained that I was a "special," on telegraph and signal duty. My work could not be performed by every one, therefore I was let alone.
In general appearance General Hooker was as fine a looking specimen of a General as one would wish to see. In this respect he had but slight advantage over Burnside, whose appearance was more of the "bishop" style of high-toned, gentlemanly dignity. Hooker was a soldier all over. In his ordinary talk he was short and abrupt. When he came out of his office for a ride, he would strut out to his horse, mount him in a jerky way, as if in a bad humor, and ride off on a gallop as if he were going into a fight every time. He was surrounded by a staff who were of course suited to the chief.
In this way the dreary months were passed at headquarters until just before the preparations began for the move to Chancellorsville, when I was ordered on special secret service to go with General Stoneman on his raid to the rear of General Lee.
I do not know either the exact date of Stoneman's raid nor the number of horses used. I have nothing in the way of histories of the war for reference. Desiring to secure something definite in the way of a date, I looked up Appleton's Cyclopedia, which is supposed to be the American standard of reference. Turning to "Cavalry," I found several closely-printed pages of fine type devoted to the subject. With the feeling that the entire Cavalry history of our war would be condensed in this American authority, I squared myself in a comfortable position to study up the subject. After wading through a good deal of ancient history of cavalry in foreign wars—which, by the way, was commended to the Americans as a model system—I at last got down to ourown war. Imagine my surprise, if not indignation, to find this authority stating, among other things, that the "Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac was not effectively organized until after General Grant had placed it in charge of General Sheridan."
This statement, so false and misleading, the writer mildly qualifies by admitting that the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac had been, in a manner, organized by General Hooker, etc. After those few lines of stinted praise devoted to the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac, this historian goes on at great length to detail the history, organization and work of the Cavalry in the great West.
The authority of General Grant is printed also for the reorganization of that arm of the service in the West, which seems to have required it too. The article shows that General Grant gave General Wilsoncarte blancheto put this arm into effective service in the West. Then follows a fulsome history of the Western Cavalry, in which the services of General Wilson prominently figure.
Such names as Pleasonton, Stoneman, Custer, Kilpatrick, Buford and Gregg on our side, or Stuart, Wade Hampton, Fitzhugh Lee, Butler, Mosby and others, on the Rebel side, are lost sight of.
I threw the standard American authority on Cavalry down in disgust, and after walking the floor long enough to cool off a little, I turned to the index of the contributors or authors. The explanation was found in one word—it was Wilson. General Wilson furnished the Cavalry article to Appleton's Cyclopedia.
I may be treading on somebody's toes in this little prelude, but I feel that I shall never get on with this story until I relieve my mind on this question. There is in my mind no disposition to criticize the soldiers of the Western Cavalry force, but this fact should be put down, that the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac did as much toward ending the cruel war as any other branch of the service.
Hooker offered a reward of fifteen dollars for the body of a dead cavalryman. That was Hooker's bluff way of talking, but the facts are, nevertheless, that the cavalry at Chancellorsville did their duty and cut Lee's communications, and if Hooker had done his share there, the Cavalry would have gathered up the trophies and laid them at his feet. Hooker, like some others, talked toomuch. We all remember his famous message to the President from Chancellorsville (which, by the way, is the only instance on record of the recognition of the Almighty on the part of our general officers in the conduct of the war):
"I have got Lee in such a tight place that God Almighty can't get him out."
Yet within two hours after Hooker had sent this he was running his 130,000 men away from Lee's 60,000.
The Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac was composed of as fine a body of men in 1863 as were to be found in the Army. Our officers were such men as Stoneman, Pleasonton, Buford, Custer, Kilpatrick, Gregg. Such men as the present Commandant at West Point, General Wesley Merritt, who was a Lieutenant in my Company, composed the line officers.
In the Rebel Army, against this force, rode the best blood of the South in such men as Wade Hampton, J. E. B. Stuart, Fitzhugh Lee, Mosby, etc. Not only this best blood in the riders, but the stock they mounted and the arms they carried were of the very best quality.
The Western armies had, comparatively speaking, a free field; they rode hundreds of miles unmolested, while we in Virginia dare not show a head without danger of getting it hit. I am saying all this here not only to relieve my mind, but to help establish the fact that Appleton's Cyclopedia is way off. The Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac made its reputation and did much of its best fighting before Grant and Sheridan saw it. History will prove this. If the reader will ride with me on this raid to Richmond and go over Brandy Station battlefield, also to Aldie and up to Gettysburg, he will be convinced on this point.
When I read of Sheridan's ride down the Valley, done up in poetry, song and painting, I think of Buford's cavalry battle and Hancock's ride to Gettysburg, on the first day, when he turned defeat into a great victory. It was then and there that the great anaconda of secession and rebellion had its back broken. When Grant and Sheridan came out of the West, the head of the serpent was, of course, alive and dangerous, but it was scotched. Therefore the Cavalry of the Army of the Potomac earned, by hard fighting against a superior force, much of its glory before Sheridan came.
Of course there was not much chance for the Cavalry to operate while we were in our winter quarters. The river served to separate the two armies as a sort of barrier or dead-line over which it was dangerous to venture. Yet, almost every winter night alarge force of Cavalry was detailed to ride to the upper fords to watch J. E. B. Stuart's raiders.
When spring opened at last, almost everybody expected and desired to get out of our tiresome quarters. Therefore, when the order came to pack our five-days' rations, I may say that the cavalry arm was rejoiced.
One of the reasons for my not being more familiar with the regimental brigade and corps history is that I was always on the staff. I only knew of the movements of such regiments as contained my friends, whom I visited while in camp. On the march I seldom saw any of them. We rode along in a loose, dashing way, seemingly as the spirit moved the General, without any rank formation; the orderlies bringing up the rear in the dust or mud.
I was ordered to hang to headquarters closely, as it was expected that I would be of valuable aid in tapping the Rebel telegraph lines between Richmond and Lee; also, to do any scouting or piloting in the advance to Richmond, and to signal, if necessary, by rockets, from the rear or otherwise, as would be found best, over the rebels' heads, to our army signal officers in Lee's front.
We moved off quietly at night, crossing the river at early dawn at one of the upper fords. I don't remember whether it was Kelly's or Beverly's; anyhow, we had to swim our horses partly over it. I didn't know exactly whither we were bound, except in a general way, that it was to be a big raid behind Lee and perhaps into Richmond.
We succeeded in a remarkable manner in getting started without detection. Stuart's cavalry had been led off on a stern chase after some of our fellows. We passed between Stuart's cavalry and Lee's army. This fact is important, because the Southern historians assert that General Lee was not surprised by Hooker's movement on Chancellorsville. He was, because Stuart couldn't communicate with his General.
I saw at headquarters a dispatch that had been captured by our advance, which indicated this so clearly that our officers were congratulating themselves over the fact of our safety as we rode along the first day.
That our movement was a complete surprise was also clearly seen by the conduct of the inhabitants. We went along quietlyenough for awhile, passing houses from which perhaps we could only see a few ladies gazing at us from behind the screened windows. At one door stood an old man leaning on a cane, looking about as old folks are supposed to do when a funeral procession is passing.
In the "quarters" of the contrabands, usually behind the houses, the sights were entirely different, however. Big fat aunties stood out in front of their cabins, but out of sight of the houses, and waved their bare arms or their aprons at us in a happy way; old uncles lined the fences, or stood in the fields with their hoes at a "present" as we went by; pickaninnies of all sizes and shades ran around laughing, showing their white teeth and white eyeballs, capering as they do now a days when a Barnum circus goes along.
At the first halt over the river a sort of general order was read, or, in most cases, talked to the different regiments by their officers, to the effect that "we were in the enemy's country on an important campaign." It was, therefore, imperatively commanded that there be no straggling, no foraging, except under proper escort and under command of an officer.
Each man was asked to exert himself to the utmost to make the movement a success. It was also explained that the movement not only required the greatest vigilance on the part of every man in the command, but it was expected also that the powers of endurance, both of men and horses, would be taxed to the utmost. We must conceal ourselves as much as possible during the daytime and march at night.
One of the towns we reacheden routewas Louisa Court House. In Virginia, all the county seats are named court houses. Louisa was not much of a prize, to be sure, but it was directly in General Lee's rear at Chancellorsville.
In this quiet old place we bivouacked for a half day or more, while our forces were up and down the roads, destroying railroad tracks.
Somewhere in this neighborhood is the railroad running between Gordonsville and Richmond. This track was torn up, and all the railroad route to Manassas Gap and Washington City from the South was made useless.
Most of the readers know how a railroad track is destroyed in war, so I shall describe it very briefly. Of course we were supplied with the "tools" for drawing spikes from the ties quickly. A number of rails at a certain point are lifted; the cross-ties are then taken up and built into a sort of open-work, brick-kiln-shaped pile several feet high, being quite narrow at the top. On top of this pile of well-oil-soaked, weather-dried logs are laid the iron rails which have been lifted from them. These are placed so that the middle of the rail rests on the ties, the long, heavy ends being balanced over the sides. A fire is kindled in the tie pile; the grease in the ties, perhaps aided a little by more combustibles, soon makes as hot a fire as comes from the top of a furnace. The ties burn up slowly, but with such a constant heat that the iron rails soon become red hot. While in this soft condition the overhanging weight of the long ends causes them to bend and twist out of shape. This renders the rails utterly useless for a railroad track. They become old scrap-iron, and must be worked over at a mill before they can be used again as rails. It cannot be straightened out by any process that will admit of its being again used in rebuilding the destroyed tracks.
I saw at one point on the track where these hot rails had been lifted off the fire and twisted around the trunks of trees. After they had cooled in that shape, the only way to get the old iron was to cut down the tree and lift the loop over the stump. Of course, the rebels could repair the tracks in time, but to do this required several days in which new rails could be transported to the spot.
One of the purposes of this raid to Richmond was to destroy the immense Tredegar Iron Works on the James River. This large establishment supplied the Confederates with nearly all their iron materials, such as cannon, shells, bridge material, and a thousand other articles necessary in war. To have effected its demolition would have most seriously crippled the Rebellion.
Of course the details for this anticipated railroad destruction had been carefully planned before we started. All the necessary appliances for the work had been brought along. Each officer knew exactly what he was expected to do, and, as a rule, they all successfully completed their tasks. It was expected that I shouldbe of service in tapping the telegraph wires, and to me was left, in a general way, the oversight of the telegraph business.
The General and his Staff, to which I was attached, did not, of course, ride in the extreme advance. Imagine my surprise and disgust, on coming up with a party of these railroad wreckers, to find that they had exceeded their instructions, and cut down nearly a mile of telegraph poles to burn with their ties. They had gathered the wire up and piled it in heaps on the fires. This was exactly what I did not want done. My purpose was to first tap the wires and attach my pocket instrument and have some fun out of it. Another reason for disappointment was, that I had discovered—if not patented—a safer and surer method of destroying telegraph lines. Of course a mile of wire is more easily transported then a mile of rails. Two men can carry a half-mile coil of wire. A telegraph line can be rebuilt and used with the wire lying on trees, or even fences, in dry weather. Therefore, the cutting out of a mile of poles was not an effectual interruption. My plan was—and I call attention of future war-telegraphers to it—to first take some of the small magnet wire, which is so thin as to be almost invisible, attach this to the insulator hook, or wire at the top of the pole, lead the thread of wire down the pole, imbedding it, if possible, in some seam or crack to further conceal it, and at the bottom of the pole run the other point of wire into the ground. If this is done, be the wire even as small as a silk thread, and made of copper, all electric communication is effectually conducted off its channel. Each current, or wave, or signal, sent from either side of this wire will take the short cut and follow it to the ground, where it becomes lost. Neither side can converse or signal over such an obstruction, and they do not know the character or location of the trouble, as the wire works as usual. Of course each operator will wonder why the other does not respond to his signals, and absence is taken for granted as the reason.
I had supplied myself with a quantity of this fine copper wire. Finding the point nearest Gordonsville where the wire had not been removed from the poles, I attached a thread of this thin wire to the line-wire and led it to the earth, so as to be concealed. I knew very well, from long experience, that the telegraph operator at Gordonsville would know, from the loss of all circuit, that thewire had been destroyed at some point, and it would become his first duty to send a man out along the road to find out and repair the damage.
We did not want Gordonsville to know that we, the Yankee raiders, were the destroyers. The piece of wire which I attached to the ground made the circuit short but complete, so that the wire worked as usual up to that concealed point, but no further. When the linemen should come out to repair breaks he would find the wire broken. This he would repair speedily and return to Gordonsville without discovering the little ground-trap that I had set. In time it would be discovered, by a system of tedious and expensive tests from pole to pole, but this would probably consume several days. A broken or destroyed gap of wire could be at once discovered and rebuilt in a few hours.
On the same evening, at a point some distance below this destroyed gap of railroad and telegraph wire, I drew the wire down from a convenient pole in a secluded way-side grove.
It was about sundown when I, with a few helpers, was dancing around a pole when the General and Staff road by. Seeing us engaged in this apparently mysterious business, their curiosity was of course, aroused; we were questioned, the General and his entire Staff stopping to watch the result of tapping the rebel wires.
Unfortunately, the premature cutting of the wires that morning had interfered with my plans for working quietly and secretly in this direction. When I got my little relay attached to the wire, you may imagine with what nervousness I took hold of the adjustment spring to feel for a signal from a distant rebel operator, probably in Richmond.
At first there were no signs of life on the wire. It was while my face was turned away from the instrument, talking to General Stoneman of the mistake of the men in cutting the wire, that I heard a faint click on the magnet. I turned from the General abruptly, bent my ear to the little ticker, and listened with every nerve and sense strained.
A second signal was soon made, which was lost to my ear by some loud talking among the Staff. I nervously turned to them and ordered General Stoneman and his Staff to "keep still."
That's a fact. The General laughed quietly, but didn't dare to open his mouth again.
I made the signal for interrogation, or question, which all operators understand to mean, "I did not hear you," or "What did you say?" The answer came back "Sign," which means give your signature or your office. I judged at once that, whoever it was, he'd got wind of the raid and was suspicious. I merely said, as any operator was likely to do after a wire has been interrupted, "Is this wire O. K. now?" The answer came back from some point that I dare not attempt to locate by a question: "The wire has been down all day."
I was compelled to break off the talk by wire to gratify the curiosity of the General and Staff by an explanation. I told them I had "got" somebody, but did not know who, and was afraid to give myself away by asking any questions. The General suggested, "You had better say that the Yankees cut the wires, and that they have been driven back home again."
As suggested by the General, I telegraphed: "The wire was cut by those Yankees on horseback, but it's fixed now."
"Is that so? Who is it?" were the questions fired at me.
"I'm a repairman sent out to fix this wire. The Yankees were chased back by J. E. B. Stuart to-day."
"Good enough. I thought Jeb wouldn't allow that," were some of the expressions which were used in reply.
I conveyed these messages to the General and Staff, to their great delight and amusement. The General was anxious to find out whom we had on the wire. They all saw from the automatic ticking of the little machine, when my hands were off it, that it was something at a distance making the signals. To gratify the General, and get around the question, I asked: "Is it 'Rd?'" which is the signal I had myself heard used, when I was at Beauregard's headquarters, from the Richmond office.
"No; it's Supt.'s Office." That was enough. It was the Railroad General Superintendent's Office. I had reason to think they had been led off by this talk, and hoped that they would notify the Richmond officials that the communication by wire had been restored, and that the Yankees had been driven off. In reality, we had more effectually destroyed their communication. Insteadof being driven off, these Yankees proposed moving south at once toward Richmond.
The General and Staff rode off, evidently well satisfied with the little experiment. I was directed to lose no time in following. I "fixed" this wire to the ground, as I had the other side of the gap, and, after reporting to the Superintendent's Office that everything was O. K., left.
I have no doubt that both the Superintendent's Office and Gordonsville "called" each other quite a long time that evening, and perhaps each supposed the other had closed his office for the night and gone home. Each one of the wires seemed to be all right; in reality it was, as far as these two taps to the ground.
To make a surer tap, or to more effectually blind the regular telegraph repair force, I carried with me some leather thongs rolled into a shape resembling an ordinary piece of line wire. These bits of leather "wires" were inserted in the telegraph line and connected by the twisted joint, precisely in the same manner as the real wire. The effect is to break the continuity of the wire, or metallic circuit. A piece of this sort of leather an inch in length, inserted into the wire, as completely destroys the use of 100 miles of wire as if 50 miles of it had been torn down. Of course, it will be understood that the leather is a non-conductor of electricity. Not a wave of the current will get over it. To prevent detection, the leather, or tarred twine, should be an exact imitation of the real wire. In time it will be detected, of course, but an ordinary repairman on the lookout for a break will inspect the wire for days without discovering the hidden flaw.
We traveled nearly all of that night, reaching, I think, nearly to the James River the next morning. We did not all go in a body or bunch, of course. Every road was occupied by detachments of the raiders. We went as we pleased, giving to the people of the interior of Virginia a sight of the Federal uniform for the first and only time.
A great many of those F. F. V.'s, whom we called upon at their mansions, discovered, to their chagrin, that the despised "Yankee on a horse" was a good soldier and a gentleman. Such men as Custer, Kilpatrick, Buford and Gregg were there.
It would fill a good-sized pamphlet to tell all that I saw on thisraid, so I shall condense as much as possible. We had destroyed all the railroads in our rear, and were ready to move on the direct line between Fredericksburg and Richmond.
Several days after we were out, the headquarters were resting or bivouacking at a large, old-fashioned tavern. I don't remember the name of the place, but it may be briefly described as one of those country stopping-places that are so frequent on roads traveled by stages and freight wagons. On the front of the house, along its entire length, was the wide porch, containing the usual row of benches and clusters of big hickory chairs. From this porch, doors opened into a broad hall running through the middle of the house, also into the office, or bar-room, at the end of the porch. Around the corner were the benches, or sinks, containing the basins, or bowls, for washing, while on the wall were hung a row of towels on rollers.
Seated about this porch, promiscuously, were General Stoneman and Staff. They had sampled some of the whisky in the bar, and ordered warm meals for themselves. The attachés and orderlies were scattered around, as were the bodyguard.
A little distance from the house was a stream of water, or "crick," which we learned emptied into the James River, near by.
We were then above or west of Richmond, on the James River. We were all feeling pretty tired, and, to put it mildly, we rested uneasily at the old house. The landlord was like every other landlord at such a place—pot-bellied, red-nosed, good-natured, and pompous.
I had expected, when we rode off so briskly, that I should ride into Fredericksburg from the rear. I felt on that side of the river, which had separated us all winter, I was sure of seeing Geno at last. The great obstruction of the river, which had been in sight all winter, was now out of mind for the time being. Having heard of the occupation of the town by our forces, it occurred to me that I might make a little break on my own hook, and ride up to Fredericksburg.
I said something about it to one of the Staff-officers, who replied that I'd better hold on and go along with the rest of them. Getting impatient at this point, where it seemed as if we were hiding (ourselves and horses) in the woods, I suggested going out to our advance, in hopes of finding a telegraph wire to tap for news.