TAPPING THE TELEGRAPH WIRE.—"ARE THE YANKS IN FREDERICKSBURG?"TAPPING THE TELEGRAPH WIRE.—"ARE THE YANKS IN FREDERICKSBURG?"
This was readily agreed to. I was furnished a couple of men and directed to the nearest "main road." This, as I now recall it, was a road running west from Richmond toward the Valley. My impression—gathered from the colored people—was, that the road led to Lexington or Staunton. Anyway, I followed it out some way until we found an old-fashioned telegraph line. I mean by this, one of the early kind built along the highways.
There seemed to be but little travel along that route just then, so we had a good chance to get at the wire without being seen. One of the men held our horses and kept guard while another climbed or reached up to the wire from a fence.
I felt sure, from its dilapidated appearance, that it was some abandoned old wire. It was rusted so deeply that it snapped asunder at the first touch of the nippers. While hastily drawing it together again I felt the shock of a live current in the hand which held the wire. This satisfied me that we would get something for our trouble.
After I had inserted my instrument into the circuit, the delicate little armature was at once strongly attracted to the magnet. Adjusting my spring, I discovered, to my surprise, that our cutting of the wire had interrupted some dispatches. That they were important, I gathered from the impatient manner of the operator, demanding to know why he should be stopped so long in such an important dispatch. I let the two operators fight it out among themselves for a few moments on that line, each accusing the other of being responsible for the delay. When they got started again, I quietly listened to the ticks of the sending operator. The first words seemed to be giving an account of a battle, in which certain friends had been injured.
Not being able to restrain my curiosity, and knowing, too, that we occupied dangerous ground on that highway, I "broke in," at the first chance, to say:
"Are the Yanks in Fredericksburg?"
"Not much," was the answer which came to my ears and made my heart sink.
"Why, I heard they were there."
"They were there, but Uncle Bob scattered them all back, and they are running on Washington. Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm a strange operator from New Orleans. I stepped in at this office to get the news, and found the operator out."
"Well, the news is, the Yanks are all gone to h—— again, and General Lee is marching on Washington."
I don't remember whether I thanked the Richmond man or not; it's likely not, as I was so much worked up that I didn't know what I was doing. I hastily told my companions what I had heard.
They indignantly denied the truth of the story, and insisted that the Rebel operator was fooling me. On being taunted with this insinuation, I returned to the key to ask further questions.
In the meantime the ticking kept up, and when I again directed my ear to it, I heard that which convinced me of the truthfulness of the report. A report, or long dispatch, was being sent, explanatory of Stonewall Jackson's being wounded, etc. Without again questioning the operator, I learned beyond a doubt, in a convincing way, that there had been a battle, and that the Rebels claimed a victory.
That was enough for that day. We didn't stop to fool any longer with that wire, but left it open on the ground, took to our horses and galloped back to the big house. The General and Staff were in the dining-room. I gave my information breathlessly to one of the Staff, who communicated it to the General. At once officers were ordered to go in certain directions, to confirm, if possible, this report. In a very little while my report was so far confirmed by other scouts that the mass of the force then scattered over the country, was ordered to move back rapidly under cover of the coming night.
We at headquarters lay around the house until dark, the General and officers assuming an air of cheerfulness and indifference they did not feel.
In order to deceive the landlord and any Rebel spies that might be hanging around about us, an order was openly issued for a large detachment to move forward, or in the advance to Richmond. The officer in command was, I think, Custer. He understood his business, and quietly let it be known, through his men and the colored people about, that they were all going ahead. As a matter of fact, his orders were to move cautiously in that directionand to conceal his force in the woods. At dark he was to retrace his steps and follow us, becoming our rear-guard on the retreat.
We were in a tight place, a mighty tight place, being miles from our own base, not only with a victorious army between us, but J. E. B. Stuart had got loose, and now had the leisure to follow us up. We must recross the Rapidan and Rappahannock at certain fords. I can not go into the details of this great movement. Anyone who reads must see that the problem of extricating this large body of cavalry was a most difficult military feat. Yet the movement was made completely and successfully by the skillful handling of the troops by General Stoneman and his efficient aides—Custer, Kilpatrick, Buford and Gregg.
At the time I knew General Stoneman he was a little past middle age. I think his short beard and mustache were tinged with gray. In features he somewhat resembled Sedgwick. He was not, therefore, a handsome man. In fact, to most persons, General Stoneman had rather an austere, dignified bearing that was somewhat repellant. He was cross—awfully cross about headquarters. The boys used to call him "Dyspepsia," which I think rather an appropriate title. As a rule, the pet names given the Generals were suitable.
Some of those who had probably run against him when his hardtack and bacon did not sit well on his stomach, were fond of intimating that he had conspired to beatPleasontonand his friends out of their commands. I don't know how this was, but it is certain Pleasonton was manœuvered out of it for the time being. Pleasonton recently told me this entire history. There were many "conspiracies" going on in Virginia about that time. Stoneman's loyalty was even questioned by some of our extra patriots from New England; probably because he was connected by marriage with an influential Southern family residing in Baltimore.
I reckon he was one of the McClellan-Franklin-Fitz-John-Porter-Smith-and-Hooker clique. One little incident on the march will serve to show his notion of the proper conduct of the war.
We all foraged a little, despite the general order prohibiting it. As a matter of fact, it was necessary that we should do so to procure feed for our jaded horses. While on these expeditions afterforage for horses, etc., the men took the opportunity to buy from the colored people.
We had a great supply of imitation Confederate money along. Indeed, the boys generally found out that any piece of paper that looked at all like a dollar bill would go among the ignorant contrabands. Paper money was new to them, and it was all alike, good, whether the label off a pill-box or a genuine greenback. In this way we got around the order against foraging. We also tendered to the white people their own Confederate money. If they got mad and demanded gold and silver, the boys were apt to get mad, too, and help themselves. One day a lot of us were clearing out a smoke-house in the rear of a big mansion. A certain officer—now a Brigadier-General in the Regular Cavalry Service—was in command of the detachment. We had tried to buy, but they wouldn't sell, so the boys helped themselves.
In that part of the country, the farmers, being so far distant from the towns, kept a large supply of provisions on hand. In addition to hams and shoulders, etc., there was a barrel of molasses inside. Every fellow there filled his canteen and everything he had with the long-drawn sweetness. It was this slow-running molasses that got us into trouble, by keeping the boys there too long, waiting their turn at the spigot. While we were leaving, Stoneman and Staff rode by the house. Seeing us coming away loaded down with hams, etc., he halted, asked for the officer, who rode up and saluted.
"What are you doing there?" yelled the General.
"The men were foraging." The officer only got this word out when Stoneman stopped him with an oath—
"Foraging h——! You're stealing; you're leading a band of robbers." Turning and putting spurs to his horse, he dashed down the road, leaving the discomfited officer standing at the head of his enlisted men, who had heard the unmerited rebuke. That officer was Wesley Merritt, now General. I suppose General Stoneman was afterward informed that we had tried to buy, etc.
On a long march of this kind, it is the horses that first give out. As a cavalryman, I believe I speak for the whole of that arm of the service in saying, that we were always willing to do without ourselves, but the poor horse must be provided for.
A cavalryman may be starved and tired almost to exhaustion, but he will walk miles, in all sorts of weather, doing without sleep or rest, to carry back an armful of hay or fodder for his horse. It's one of the dreadful things to be compelled to ride, day and night, a tired, hungry, but ever-faithful horse.
The men become so much attached to their horses that they will steal, and risk their lives recklessly, to get them a feed. In the Regular Service, the men were discouraged from forming any of these horse attachments. It was found that, when once a soldier made a pet of his horse, he was apt to be too careful of him.
Mr. Lincoln's jocular remark, that horses had become more valuable than their riders, because the horses were getting scarce, contains a great deal of truth.
More consideration was given to the horses than to the men. As an illustration of the point, the first night of this return march I was approached by an officer, who was hunting volunteers to ride in the advance to the river, to get help at the crossings. I explained that I had been out in the advance every hour and was played out, and was willing, but afraid I could not stand it. The only consolation I got from the officer was, "Can your horse stand it? We will risk you."
The officer explained further that he had been sent after me, because I was understood to be familiar with the country. I was not familiar with that part of the country, but I agreed to join this advance. Orders were given to be prepared to move quietly when called upon, and we all layed down for a little sleep.
In all the pictures of the war published, I have failed to find what I think would be one of the most striking—a squadron of cavalrymen, sleeping on their arms under their horses' noses. The horses, saddled, are all in line; the men, all heavily armed, are lying right in front sleeping, with the bridle-rein loosely fastened to their left hand. I have slept soundly, and sweetly, in a line like this. The horse will sleep and rest also. There is no fear of the horse treading on his sleeping rider. He seems instinctively to understand that they are both occupying dangerous ground and must stick together.
It was while resting in this position, after the interview withthe officer, that I formed a plan to go alone in advance of this advance to our army. At the first opportunity, I suggested to this officer that I should go alone and see the lay of the land. I preferred this to being one of a squad of mounted men to ride along to hunt the Rebel sharpshooters.
If there is anything in war that is embarrassing, it is to be on a cavalry line with orders to draw the enemy's fire.
On Stoneman's raid, and after, the force generally was fought dismounted; that is, No. 4 holds the horses of Nos. 1, 2 and 3, who advance as an infantry skirmish-line. They are armed with Spencer rifles, and go along gingerly over a big field, at the other end of which is a wood, to ascertain if the Rebels are in that wood. The poor skirmishers know damn well the Rebs are there, but their orders are to go down in this way, and find out by getting shot at.
Having had a taste of this sort of advance-guard service, wherein I had attracted too much Rebel fire, I was anxious to be excused. My plan was to go alone on my horse as a Scout or Spy. I should not carry any arms to be seen, and would dress as a Rebel or country farmer-boy. I thought that, in this guise, I could ride freely over the roads and get into our lines. The scheme seemed to please our officer immensely, and he reported the matter to General Stoneman's Chief of Staff. I was ordered to report to the Chief, and again unfolded my plan. He suggested, among other things, that I should, if I met any questioners, endeavor to mislead them as to the number and, especially, the route of our cavalry.
A disguise was obtained; it was a dirty old jacket, borrowed from a contraband cook. Several persons interested themselves in my make up; one got me a straw hat, another a pair of trousers, etc.
I left all my arms except a pistol, and, when ready to go, I paralyzed them by demanding a bunch of signal rockets. I explained that I should only use them in case of extreme danger; that the appearance of a certain rocket at night would indicate that that neighborhood was to be avoided. In carrying these rockets, and exploding them, I knew that I ran great personal risk, but somehow I felt that, alone, I would be able to get through. I was only nervous and doubtful of myself when working in company.
The General, or at least his Staff, was most solicitous that I should deceive or mislead the people as to their real force and purpose. We only anticipated serious trouble at the fords on the Rapidan, and possibly the Rappahannock.
The General had heard, through the Captain, of some sick and wounded Rebel soldiers who were returning from Chancellorsville to the interior, that Hooker had been defeated. He had also ascertained that the report I had brought about their marching on Washington City was exaggerated. We expected, naturally, that some steps would be taken by our army to help us out. We also expected that Stuart would endeavor to head us off and capture the entire force.
This was about the condition of things when I started out on the road alone towards the Rappahannock. For mile after mile I met nothing. At the few scattered houses I would dash up and breathlessly ask for information about the Yankees. At the colored quarters I scattered the news that the Yankees had gone back into the Valley.
On this return march, Stoneman did not once show a horse on a road during the daytime. This fact probably accounts for his success. During every day the men were all concealed in suitable places. Skirmishers, of course, kept guard, and, at a moment's warning, the whole cavalry force would have been up in arms as infantry behind breastworks to repel an attack. The marching was all done at night. Men sleep pretty well on horseback when they are as tired out as were Stoneman's raiders. A column of horses will follow each other without the use of any bridle over the most devious roads.
One of the funny things about the raid was, that nearly half of the cavalrymen were bare-headed when they got back. This resulted from sleeping in the saddle on these night marches. The narrow roads we were compelled to take were overhung with the branches of trees; these stripped the hats off the sleeping beauties. Very often, too, the rider in front would grasp a switch, or limb, and hold on till he was safely passed; then, without a thought of the sleepy rider in his rear, he would let go, and the switch, flying back, would strike the man in the face. This sort of thing wakened up a good many sleepers and made some disturbances inthe ranks. It had the effect, also, of making the faces of those who caught the switch look decidedly as if they had come out of a free fight, especially if they were hatless.
My ride along during that day was without special incident. I was more than surprised to find the path clear of Rebel soldiers. I did all that was expected of me as a Scout, in circulating freely the false information that our force had gone the other way.
With a great deal of trepidation I approached the crossing of the Rapidan. I knew that, if there was a force of Rebels any place in our path, they would be there. I inquired particularly of everyone I would meet if there were any Yankees on the road. I knew very well that, in asking this question, I'd find out whether there were Rebels around. There were no Yankees there, but a few of the Rebels had been seen over the river in the morning. Here was my dilemma. The crossing was clear now, but how long it would remain so was uncertain.
I was too far from our men to make any signal to them that the road was clear. I didn't like to venture over the river alone, where those Rebels had been seen. The important thing was to report that ford clear. I staked my horse in an adjoining grove, determined to conceal myself until night.
As the early evening wore on and no enemy showed themselves, I became impatient at lying idle, and boldly determined to ride back to our force before dark. I knew very well that, once we were safely over that river at this crossing, with its steep precipitous banks, with our men in force, we had a clear field for a run, or a fight with J. E. B. Stuart to the Rappahannock.
Therefore I rode back at a gallop over all the long road. Just after dark I met the advance of our force,—the same I had been asked to volunteer with.
Hastily informing the officer in command of my observations at the ferry, that the crossing was not occupied, etc., he reported to the General.
In a little while there came dashing up the road the head of our column. Nobody stopped to thank me for the good news that we could get over the river, but all were intent on getting there at once. In a word, the entire force got over all right, and, in duetime, we crossed the Rappahannock, and were once more safely within our own lines.
I do not know the figures for this raid. I have drawn my recollections of it to an abrupt termination. My impression is, that we lost nothing of material importance. We captured a good many prisoners, probably more than we lost. My notion is that the cavalry can boast that we brought back the force intact.
One great good was accomplished by the raid—the Rebels were again taught to show more respect to a Yankee on horseback. It was Hooker who failed, not his cavalry.
The truth should not be overlooked, that the partial success of the expedition was not due to General Hooker, nor even to his Lieutenant, General Stoneman. The one man to whom more credit is probably due than any other was General Alexander, the Chief of Staff of the Cavalry Corps, who served both with Stoneman and Pleasonton. It was he who planned and organized this great raid; it was his object and aim to go to Richmond, and that we did not go in while at the back gates of the city is to be charged solely to Stoneman or Hooker.
This is not an opinion merely. I rode close by General Alexander one day, and heard him with my own big ears urge, yes plead with Stoneman to go on into Richmond anyhow. I heard Stoneman's voice utter the words: "I know d—— well we can do it, but my orders are not to go to Richmond."
General Alexander was a large man, with a full beard, who talked in a slow, deliberate voice, but always in a kindly manner. He became somewhat ruffled at Stoneman's declining to act upon his suggestion, and I recall very distinctly how this ordinarily quiet man became as much interested in his subject as a Methodist preacher or politician in an argument, on horseback.
Both were so intent upon the question that neither took any notice of the little orderly in a dirty uniform who was riding near them.
My impression then was thatStonemanwas too much of a regular of the old school to disobey an order, even if he knew it would result in great good to his cause.
Whether there was such an order from headquarters can perhaps be established from the records—
That one could have gone into Richmond was freely admitted by the general officer in command.
We returned to our old camps at Fredericksburg again. In this way I hovered about that ill-fated Fredericksburg during all that winter, and until the movement to Gettysburg, without once having an opportunity to get into the town, though our troops had been there. It was my luck to have been absent at the time. For some unfathomable reason, the fates were against me every time.
I shall never do this subject justice until I write a novel, giving the entire story.
Fredericksburg during all these days presented, from our side, a gloomy, deserted appearance. There were always a few Confederate sentries on duty, which we could see on the streets. At the river crossing, or ferry, an occasional flag-of-truce boat would be rowed over, but on these occasions the General Staff-officers conducted the courtesies. Men and orderlies were invariably placed to prevent any but the two officers interested from getting a word with the Confederates.
Right here I will remark that I've witnessed innumerable flag-of-truce exchanges, but I do not recall a single instance in which a bottle was not passed around as a preliminary to the business in hand. I presume the custom originated from the Indians smoking the pipe of peace.
One funny remark on an occasion of this sort remains in my memory. An enlisted man near me, seeing a Rebel taking a long pull at the flask of Union commissary, which our officer presented with a supercilious bow, said: "Well, I'm —— if this is not getting to be too much of a civil war." He probably felt disgusted because he did not have an opportunity at the flask.
One day I was startled by the sounds of artillery, and an accompaniment, which, to me, resembled more than anything I can compare it with, a whole lot of carpenters tearing down a frame house. One would have thought there was a man with a hatchet, pounding sharply on every board, as if they were having a contest among themselves to see who could hit the fastest.
I rode hurriedly down to the river, below town, to see what it was all about. In those days, I never stopped to ask anybody's advice or consent, but followed my own impulses and inclinations.I passed some General officers and Staff on a hill-side near the batteries that were firing, who had their glasses pointed in the direction of the hammering.
When I got to the river, as close as my horse could go without jumping down the steep bank, I saw, to my surprise, that from all along the rifle-pits that lined the top of the bank on the Rebel side was a line of white smoke—indeed, the smoke almost concealed the rifle-pits.
It was from behind this bank of foggy smoke that all the hammering noises came. It was caused by the sounds of hundreds and hundreds of rifle-shots "at will," but in such rapid succession that it resembled, as I have said, innumerable hammers on a frame house.
My horse could not get me close enough to see down to the edge of the water on our side, and I was about to dismount and get closer, when I saw coming up the steep road, that had been cut in the bank, a procession that took the blood out of my heart. There were two men dragging (not carrying) a dead soldier, while a closer glance showed all along the side of that steep bank dozens of others, either dead or dying.
It was the Engineer Corps of the Army of the Potomac that were down there behind that bank trying to lay a pontoon bridge over the Rappahannock.
The artillery "support" had no more effect in quieting that incessant hammering than if their shots had been fired into the air.
I stood there for a while, absolutely paralyzed, at a distance not much greater than the width of a street, watching those Rebels bob up all along that rifle-pit, puff out the white smoke, and their heads go down behind the long line of yellow clay out of sight, all along the line.
I have often since wondered that one of those fellows did not pick me off my horse, as I sat there an absurdly-conspicuous mark.
If they had not been so busy watching those who were trying to lay that pontoon, they would undoubtedly have dropped me. My position on the horse would naturally be taken for that of an officer. I assert here that more desperate or more heroic service has never been performed than by those of our Engineer Corps intheir laying of pontoons in the face of the enemy's fire from rifle-pits.
It seemed to me, on a closer inspection of the work that day, that they carried out a dead man for every plank they laid on the pontoons. When it is remembered that these men necessarily worken masse, and that almost every shot from an enemy must hit something, it will be seen how much exposed to deadly fire the quiet Engineer Corps become. In the charges on rifle-pits or forts, or on an enemy's line, there is always something of the excitement of a rush or hurrah that impels men forward with loaded guns and pointed bayonets in their hands; but, in laying pontoons over a river in the face of the enemy, a courage and nerve are required that, to my notion, is far beyond the ordinary.
I often wonder that some of the accomplished Engineer officers do not give this matter their attention in the histories of the war that every other branch of the service is showering upon the land.
These men, supported by the artillery and a few infantry, succeeded at last in getting so many boats launched that the Rebels concluded it was time to quit bothering them any longer, when, all at once, every Rebel popped from behind his rifle-pits, took to his heels and ran for dear life across the plain toward the hills. Of course, our artillery opened upon them at a lively rate. In spite of the fact that the dead and wounded were thick around me, I yelled with as much fun and delight as I have since at baseball games to see a man make a home-run.
Not a single Johnny dropped, though they threw their guns away to lighten them in the race for the home-run.
This occurred some distance below Fredericksburg, and as there did not seem to me to be any intended movement of troops over the pontoons, which had been laid at such a terrible sacrifice of life, I rode off to the upper fords near the Lacey House, expecting to get over there. I was told, on reaching headquarters, that this was simply a "diversion," to detain, or ascertain if the enemy were still in our front.
Great Scott! what a disappointment to me. What a terrible thing is war, that will permit, as a simple diversion, the murdering in cold blood of hundreds of men without intending to profit by their work at all.
The services of a single reliable Spy, or Scout, would have accomplished more than all of this diversion. That evening the Staff moved off and I went along. I did not know then where we were going. I supposed, as did everyone else, that it was to be another battle somewhere near Fredericksburg. It never occurred to my mind then, that, in riding away from the Lacey House that June evening, I should never see it again.
I do not suppose a dozen persons outside of General Lee's staff, imagined we were going to ride home to Pennsylvania—to Gettysburg. That's where we went. And, before leaving Fredericksburg, I wanted to say a few words of farewell to Geno.
There are one or two old, old songs, which have always remained such particular favorites with me that my friends have learned to expect me to call for them, in season or out of season.
I mention them now for the benefit of the sons and daughters of veterans, and the other friends, young and old, who have followed the "boy" in his love-making under the great difficulties that a war develops.
They are beautiful songs besides and the words and melody more clearly define the romance than my pen could describe.
I have already detailed the experiences with Geno, who so gracefully handled a guitar in her beautifully-formed bare arms, as she skillfully played an accompaniment to "Juanita." It was that old, old song and "them" eyes that put me in Old Capitol Prison.
I would advise any of the young lady readers, with black hair and pretty eyes, to get a guitar and practice "Juanita" on the boys. It will bring them down every time.
Another old favorite is "Evangeline," which so fully expresses my sentiments on the past.
Surely, there never was a sweeter and more appropriate love song than my "Lost Evangeline." While the song of separation is the sweetly familiar "In the Gloaming."
Another beautiful air and words is entitled "Someday"—strikingly expressive of future hopes. This I heard sung first in the parlor of a hotel in the far, far West, when I was traveling in California, where it had the effect of making me homesick.
Since the close of the war, I have wandered all over the land, like Gabriel in search of his Evangeline. I was shipwrecked onthe Pacific Ocean at the mouth of the Columbia River, in the extreme Northwest. I sailed up the Columbia River with some such feelings as an explorer must experience on discovering a new continent. I visited the eternally snow-capped Mount Hood, rode around Puget Sound to British Columbia, went over the Cascades and The Dalles, in Oregon, to the western slope of the Rocky Mountains in Montana, thence over miles of wild mountain roads in Oregon and California on stage coaches, where Indians and stage-robbers thrive. I have lived in San Francisco, spent part of a winter in Los Angeles, lived among theMormonsin Utah for six months; in truth, I have been everywhere, but I have not yet found a trace of the long-lost Geno. While I have not exactly been searching for Geno on these travels, I have never given up the hope of some day seeing her, and as long as I live I never shall.
I don't know how it may be with Geno; it is likely she has a good husband—better than I would have been—and that she is devoted to him and her family; but, in my secret heart, I hope the old saying will prove true, that a woman never forgets her first love, and that some day, in some unseen manner, Geno may read this and see that I have not forgotten her. This has been to my life only a sweet memory, which I shall cherish fondly as such to the end. "Her bright smile haunts me still."
"Dear as remembered kisses after death,And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feignedOn lips that are for others; deep as love,Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;Oh, death in life! the days that are no more."
"Dear as remembered kisses after death,And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feignedOn lips that are for others; deep as love,Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;Oh, death in life! the days that are no more."
After leaving Falmouth, the headquarters of Cavalry corps were quartered in an old house somewhere convenient to the railroad and telegraph wires that run into Alexandria. It was probably close by the Sixth Corps' position, as General Sedgwick occupied the same house with his Staff, and as their horses were tied about the fences.
One little incident will serve to locate me. General Pleasonton was then the Chief of Cavalry, to whose General Staff I was afterward attached. He also occupied rooms in this same building. Late one night a message was brought in to me to deliver tothe General. The building we were in had been apparently deserted by the family. I was told by some of the officers that I'd find General Pleasonton in his room up stairs. I went tramping up the uncarpeted steps, with my big cavalry boots and spurs rattling and resounding through the great empty hall in the "wee sma' hours," so that I awakened Colonel Blake, who was wrapped up in his blanket trying to sleep on the hall floor. The old Colonel gave me a terrific blast from his bugle mouth, which awakened every officer in the house. Some one crawling from under another blanket pointed to General Pleasonton's room, which I entered unceremoniously, glad enough to get any place out of sound of the old Colonel's voice.
I found General Pleasonton, by the aid of the commissary candle I carried for a lantern, lying asleep on an ambulance stretcher. At the head of his couch stood an empty cracker-box, on which was the remnant of his student lamp—about an inch of candle—along side of which were two derringer pistols.
Probably because I was nervous or rattled, by the fuss I had raised in the hall outside, I abruptly awakened the General, at the same moment stooping down to light his candle with mine. The General must have been having a nightmare. The moment I spoke he started up, grabbed for his pistols, and scared me so badly that I dropped the candle on the floor, leaving us in the dark, retreating to the door, as I said: "Don't shoot; it's me." After another "blessing" for my midnight endeavor to deliver a message, I got the matter straightened out.
I was telling General Pleasonton of this incident recently, which he recalled in his usual pleasant manner, though he insists that he never carried a pistol during the entire war.
General Pleasonton was certainly one of the most courteous, gentlemanly General officers in the Army of the Potomac.
It was my privilege and pleasure to be near his person a great deal up to Gettysburg, and I cannot recall a single instance of his using harsh or ungentlemanly language toward his associates. Indeed, the General had more the appearance and manner of a Presbyterian minister than of a dashing cavalryman. During the war, he wore his full beard closely trimmed, going about the camps in his quiet, easy way, like a chaplain.
It was Custer, and Kilpatrick, and Gregg, who possessed the dashing, dare-devil style. Buford, like Pleasonton, was an old Regular, and went about among his troops as if the war was a business that could not be hurried.
I saw General Pleasonton angry one day at a matter that seemed so trifling that all the Staff enjoyed the affair. His servant, or hostler, who took care of his blooded riding horse, had been regularly supplied by the General with a little cash, to be used in keeping a supply of loaf or lump sugar on hand. It was the General's habit before mounting to receive from his hostler a lump of the sugar, which he fed himself to his horse. It is said, you know, that the feeding of a lump of sugar to a horse regularly has an effect similar to love powders, and creates a peculiar attachment of the horse to the feeder of the sugar.
On this occasion, either the contraband had spent the sugar allowance for "commissary," or some one desired to play a trick on the General by substituting some lumps of drugs from the hospital steward's chest for the sugar. The horse found out the deceit and kicked on it, and investigation showed the General that he had been trifled with, and he was very mad about it.
It is probably true that General Pleasonton, as the Chief of Cavalry, will be held responsible for not having obtained information of General Lee's escape from Fredericksburg. I have talked with General Pleasonton as recently as the summer of 1887 on this subject, but his explanation would make an interesting chapter in itself and does not pertain to this narrative of facts.
I hope it may not be considered egotistical in me to observe here that I, as a scout and spy at headquarters, was in no way responsible for the lack of information of Lee's departure. I was not Chief of the Secret Service. I cannot resist the temptation to say right here, in connection with my proposed services with Burnside, that, if he had remained in command, I would have been doing signal duty from Geno's house in Fredericksburg, or from some point in the enemy's lines.
If I had gone over the river, as proposed, and had mixed with the Confederates as a spy, I certainly would have secured information of the movement of two of Lee's corps. I should most assuredly have been able to have signaled this information over theriver, and then and there General Hooker would have received the credit for having "so wonderfully divined the enemy's movements and thwarted his purposes." The poor, despised Spy would probably have been hung, and his services never been heard of.
Just how long we of headquarters were on the march from Fredericksburg to Gettysburg is beyond my recollection. We went the longest way around to get there, I think, but we will hurry the reader along the war-path to Gettysburg. As it was Pleasonton's business to find out where Lee was going, we had to cover considerable ground in chasing the devil (Stuart) around the bush.
The first incident or date of importance was the great cavalry battle of Brandy Station, which has been so fully written up that I only need to mention that I was "thar or tharabouts"—in the rear of a haymow.
It was Buford, of my brigade, who should have the credit of manœuvering the cavalry there. In result, it rather astonished the Confederates. After this encounter, a "Yankee on a horse" was more respected by them. It was the only cavalry battle of the war. We had other little skirmishes on the outposts, of no particular interest to this narrative. One little circumstance remains vividly fixed in my mind in connection with our cavalry skirmish along the rugged, rough Blue Ridge Mountains or Gaps.
At one point—Middleburg, I think—we had a rumpus with some of Imboden's, or Stuart's, men, who were opposed to our looking through the Gap to see what Lee was doing in the Valley.
I had been sent out to scout, and for this mounted secret service a second man was sent along.
The instructions were to get on some untraveled road and reach the top of the mountain, or, at least, some position from which we could use our signal glasses to view the Valley on the other side. It was understood that Lee was moving down or up the Valley, but Pleasonton desired to know just what infantry force was yet infront. To obtain this information, two of us started out alone about three or four o'clock one morning, hoping to get a secure place in the woods on a mountain-top by the light of an early dawn, where we would remain quietly all day, using our glasses from tree-tops, etc., and signal back from the mountain.
Now, bear this in mind, we were to signal back, indicating our position by the old Indian plan of a column of smoke. The signal men about headquarters, seeing the smoke ascend, would level their glasses at the point from which it was supposed to originate. We rode along quietly enough, without meeting anyone, and dressed so that we would have passed ordinarily for the guerrillas that infested the country thereabouts.
I was particular, however, to keep on my uniform jacket and pantaloons, saber, etc., though I disguised them by rents and rags as much as possible.
I knew very well that to have been captured in the disguise of countryman meant being hung as a Spy. The uniform and arms protected me from detection and immediate execution.
We got to a point in the road from which we turned into the woods, leading our horses over the rough growth of underbrush a half mile or so, where we securely tethered them in a little ravine, safe from observation. The poor, tired horses were only too glad of a chance for a little rest and quiet, and on this account we did not fear their making any noise.
Laboriously climbing up the rough mountain on foot with our paraphernalia, we at last reached a point from which we had a clear view of a certain portion of the country on the other side.
We saw nothing at all like an army below us; in fact, the Confederate army had previously passed out of sight at that point,en routeto Gettysburg. I turned in leisurely to make our coffee and "smoke," while my chum stood guard with his glass.
After climbing half a dozen trees, to try to get a back view, we at last were compelled to give up, because of the presence of a dense wood below, behind which our headquarters were sunken completely from our sight. As the next best thing to do, we made the signal of "two smokes," which had been previously agreed upon to signify "no enemy in sight."
We remained long enough in the mountain to satisfy ourselvesthat there was no enemy there and not likely to be, and, as we could not flag back, we decided to smudge the two fires, so that the two smokes would be seen for some time after we should leave on our return.
Finding the horses all right, and feeling so well satisfied that there was no enemy near enough to trouble us, we probably became too careless. On reaching the road, I proposed riding ahead on the road to the summit before returning. My companion, who, by the way, was chief clerk of our Adjutant-General, and, being as big a fool as myself, consented, so we trotted on up the road, feeling perfectly safe. At a point right at the summit, probably, we were paralyzed to see a blockade or rifle-pit across the road.
We abruptly stopped at the sight of this, but receiving no salute of welcome, we sidled to one side of the road to make room for any cannon-balls that might want to pass down. Not stirring anyone, my friend suggested that it had been abandoned. Feeling assured by the deserted-looking appearance of the road, we were ready to advance again when, on looking to one side of the road in a direction we had not thought of scrutinizing, my comrade observed, as he jerked in his horse: "There's a man over by that old barn," pointing to the right, and then in hurried tones: "There come two more around the corner."
I looked in the direction indicated and saw a half-dozen mounted men at the edge of a wood; but the first one wore blue clothes, so I reassuringly said: "Why, it's some of our men who are out here foraging."
"No; I'm —— if it is. I'm going to get out of range, anyhow;" with that he turned his horse's head. I kept my eye on the men, and saw, to my horror, two of them raise their guns and point at us.
As quickly as if I had been shot, I jerked my horse around and dodged my head on the other side of his neck; the horse turning suddenly as I made this motion, threw me entirely out of the saddle on to my feet on the ground. Just as I turned there were two shots in quick succession.
As we were within very close range, the Rebel cavalrymen seeing me dropped out of the saddle, stopped firing, supposing, of course, I was hit. The funny part of it was, my companion's horsehad been so accustomed to going "double" that he could not be made to budge a step until my horse was ready to go along with him.
I had not lost the reins and was soon in the saddle, hanging by the neck of the horse. I spurred him for dear life and led the other horse out of the scrape. It was a close call, and I have not the least doubt but that my fall out of the saddle saved us both, as they supposed we were sure game and didn't follow up until we were galloping down the road, there being a fence between us.
These men were part of the Confederate cavalry that had been on the very mountain below us all the time we had been in the woods above.
We returned to camp at Aldie, reported the matter, and were complimented highly as "two —— fools."
During these every-day cavalry skirmishes, whileen routeto Gettysburg, I saw a great many horrible sights in the way of wounded cavalrymen and horses. One of the most disagreeable, to me, was to see them carry a dead soldier across a led horse's back, while a companion walked along side, holding him steady by the heels, precisely as if the man was a bag of potatoes, or corn, going to mill. There was a great deal of this, which seemed to be the only method to get the dead out of those mountains, where ambulances could not travel. It is not pleasant to think or write about; but, dear me, I sometimes feel as if all the horrible truths should be told. In the war-papers we find but little mention of the rough manner of taking care of the wounded, and the disgusting disposition of the dead heroes. As General Sherman says: "I don't want to make any more speeches about the war—it's not a pleasant subject. You know, boys, as well as I do, that war is hell."
I will just observe, in passing, that a chapter on the "ruling passions" and dispositions of men, as they lie in field hospitals, would be a curious study. My observation has always been that the big, blustering fellow, who was often a bully in camp, on getting a little wound, was the fellow to make Rome howl when he got under the Surgeon in a hospital. Quiet, inoffensive boys, probably lying near him with serious and painful wounds, were compelled to hear the booby howl like a school-boy who had stumped his sore toe.
We were at Aldie several days. General Hooker's headquarters were somewhere about Fairfax Court House, some ten or twelve miles distant, or to our rear. Between this cavalry outpost and the Army of the Potomac communication was kept up over one of the best of Virginia pikes. I think it must be a section of the National pike, leading to Winchester and the West; anyway, it is a good and a very straight road, running up and down the hills, so that it seems to be always in sight. I remember the road very distinctly, from an adventure with guerrillas over it.
I had been ordered to take a lot of Quartermaster and Paymaster papers into Washington from the Adjutant-General's headquarters. A headquarters ambulance, driver and two good horses were furnished me to reach the railroad at Fairfax Station. Mr. Emerick, the civil-service Telegrapher who had been at our headquarters, accompanied me on this return to Washington. This was the same operator whom I had described at Aquia Creek, whileen routeto Old Capitol. He did not recognize me at all, and, of course, I was not anxious to identify myself. Being on the move, there was no telegraphing to do, and he, as an independent civilian, left the army for Washington when he desired to do so, without consulting the Generals in the field.
Right here I will say, as serving to further emphasize the policy of the telegraphs as well as the signals being under military control, that the Army of the Potomac was practically without a word of telegraph communication with Washington from the time they left Fairfax and the railroad until two days after the battle of Gettysburg. There was, of course, some telegraphing from Frederick, Maryland, but it was not reliable, as Stuart was somewhere between the lines.
This is an important fact that should not be forgotten. The civil telegraphers abandoned the army when they saw proper, and this at a time when it was most important of all the War that they should have been in communication with Washington. The Signal Corps, on the other hand, established and operated a line of signals all along the march from Sugar Loaf Mountain to South Mountain, Monterey, Green Castle, Pennsylvania, up to Parnell's Knob, in the Cumberland Valley, Pennsylvania.
The ambulance that brought us to the railroad was ordered toawait my return from Washington. I reached Alexandria in the evening, when I was met by my elder brother, Spencer, then in charge of the railroad telegraphs. My brother took me to his boarding-house to spend the night. He, having recently married a wealthy Maryland lady, Miss Katie Hyatt, of Hyattsville, was living in considerable style for Alexandria war times. I therefore felt quite uncomfortable in their society, dressed only in my hard-used uniform. When shown to my room, in which was a comfortable, clean bed, I couldn't think of occupying it, so slept on the floor alongside, more comfortably than if I had been between the clean sheets.
The next day I delivered my package of papers, muster-rolls, pay-rolls and a whole haversack full of Adjutant-General's papers to the proper officers at the War Department, and started on my return via Alexandria and the railroad to Fairfax.
I found the ambulance waiting for me all right, and we at once started off via Fairfax Court House. Here I found a headquarters horse, and as the ambulance was to be detained at Fairfax for a couple of hours, waiting an escort to convey it out to Aldie, I concluded to ride on out in advance.
It was not a very sensible conclusion, to be sure; but, as I have so often said, I did not have very much sense, and acted usually as the spirit moved me, without thinking about the probable consequences.
I rode along nicely for several miles, passing our infantry and outposts, who were stationed along a little run some distance in advance of Fairfax Court House. Along in the evening, just about sunset, I reached a hill-top, from which I could see the road straight ahead over a valley and thence up another hill. The road on the other hill ahead of me was cut through a dense wood, such as is usually found on these hills.
I discovered something ahead, apparently standing in the road on the top of the further hill, but paid little attention to it, supposing it was merely a wagon-train stopping for a feed or going into camp for the night. I rode on down the hill carelessly, getting almost out of sight of the hill-top beyond while in the valley below.
Seeing considerable smoke ahead, I was confirmed in my first impression that it was a wagon-train camp just lighting their camp-fires.
On coming closer, I observed a great deal of bustle around the wagons, but, as that was nothing unusual among a lot of teamsters and mules, I paid but little attention to it, and jogged along on my horse, singing to myself the popular song of those days, "Gay and Happy."
But when I came in full view, and so close that I could see a wagon on fire, I began to get suddenly interested. Men were flying around at a lively rate, as I supposed putting out the fire. I didn't exactly like the looks of the thing, and determined, in my own mind, to reconnoiter and advance slowly. Discovering a little, old house in the edge of a clearing to the side of the road, a short distance from the scene I have described, I rode into the little yard, and called to a woman who was holding a baby in her arms: "Who are those men up the road?"
"Soldiers, I reckon, sir."
"Yes, I know; but what soldiers?"
"Colonel Mosby's soldiers, I reckon, sir."
That was enough. I had a package of reports and papers and some private letters in my pocket, to deliver to Pleasonton and other officers about headquarters. Feeling sure of my belt, pulling my cap down tight over my face, I took a short grip on the reins.
"What are they doing up there?"
"They done captured that wagon-train, sir; and I reckon they will burn the wagons when they get the horses away."
I turned my horse back to the main road, feeling a little nervous, but determined to run for my life.
The moment I got into the road, and without looking up at the burning wagons, I turned my horse's head back and put spurs deeply into his flanks. I had not made five jumps before I heard the cracks of at least a dozen rifles. This only nerved me to more desperate lashings with spurs, leaning forward to the horse's mane as I thrust the spurs into him at every jump. They came after me, yelling like a band of Comanche Indians; but I had a good start, and their guns were empty.
It was a good race for about three miles. I won, and saved my neck again. As I reached the picket-lines that I had passed, I reported to the officer in command that guerrillas were burning ourtrain, but this fellow—a Colonel—refused to cross his men over the run to help to save them.