A CLOSE CALL AT GETTYSBURG.A CLOSE CALL AT GETTYSBURG.
While I was yet intently gazing over the valley in hopes of seeing the Rebels, there was a little "ping" noise near me, a sharp sting on my face, as if some one had thrown a handful of gravel at me. It was only some of the bark of the tree, which had been dusted into my face by a minie-ball.
I got behind the tree. I stayed there, too, standing up against it as stiff as a post, and hugging it as close as its own bark. I was afraid to turn my head either to the left or to the right. I had seen enough, and slid down to the ground and crawled back on all-fours, after the manner of the harlequin on the stage. I found the headquarters, which was located not very far from that spot, but out of reach of any hiding sharpshooters on the house-tops at the upper end of the town.
During all that morning I was about headquarters, trying to find out what in thunder was up; everything was oppressively quiet.
In the early afternoon I sent a note addressed to General Meade into the dingy little old shanty where he had his headquarters. They were having a prolonged caucus. I proposed to send a detail of men to try to open up telegraph communication with Baltimore and Washington. I had discovered that the wires were down at some point on the railroad, and wanted to rebuild the line. In reply to this suggestion, which may be on file some place, as it was a written communication, General Meade sent me out to see General Gregg. This officer, who is a native of Pennsylvania, and at present is residing at Reading, greeted me most courteously, saying: "General Meade directs me to say to you, sir, that he appreciates the importance of securing the telegraph service, and desires you to be prepared to act upon it."
I was at the headquarters later on, when all the Generals who had been attending the Council of War came filing out, with their swords rattling, their faces wearing a determined, if not anxious, expression.
Each of the officers, without uttering a word, but acting as if he had an important business engagement on hand and was behind time at the appointment, quickly mounted their horses, all darting off in different directions.
I took the liberty of propounding a question to General Gregg. I should consider it impertinent, at my present age, for any one to ask me such a question.
But these were war times, which is the apology I now tender to General Gregg publicly. He will get a copy of this book with the author's compliments.
I asked the General, bluntly, if there "was anything up." He answered by significantly pointing over his shoulder to General Meade, who was at the moment in big boots, strutting off to his horse, which an orderly held near the assembled Staff.
"It looks as if something was up, don't it?"
I thought it did;—and as everybody else was mounting their horses I followed the example; that is, I followed General Meade, who was my example, over toward what was then the front of the Round Tops or Sickles' salient.
I can not go into Sickles' fight at Gettysburg. I know nothing more about it than has been published, except the impression that I gathered at the headquarters, and throughout the army at the time, in the days that immediately followed, which in effect was, that General Sickles had played a big card in hopes of accomplishing something on his own account that would give him the command of the Army of the Potomac. As all know, it was a continual fight between our Generals as to who should be the Chief. Sickles lost his opportunity and his leg at the same time. It was the common talk then, and few cared to dispute it some years ago, when Meade and Hancock were yet alive, that, if Sickles had not lost his leg, he would have lost his commission.
I was at Gettysburg with General Sickles in July, 1886 and 1888, and interviewed him for the press on this subject. He showed considerable feeling over the hostile attitude of other distinguished officers toward his absurd claim of having won the battle of Gettysburg, by being defeated the second day.
At the time, it looked to me like another first day, and, as I wasanxious to be on the safe side, I retired to the valley between the Round Tops.
While riding out toward the rear, from between the Round Tops, I met a double line of battle slowly advancing. It was so long a line that I could not see either end of it through the undergrowth. In endeavoring to find a break, or hole, to get through, I asked some of the officers what troops these were, and my recollection is they were the Pennsylvania Reserves. I have often wondered since why some mention is not made of this reserve being on hand there to receive Longstreet if he had come through Sickles.
The appalling fear before me, as I faced those fellows advancing, with their guns loaded and bayonets fixed, pointing at my horse's breast, was that they wouldn't let me through, but might drive me ahead of them. I was not ambitious to lead them down through that valley, where so much noise was being made by Rebel yells and musketry.
I will never forget that double row of dirty faces. They had been on a forced march all day, perhaps, to reach the field. The dust of the roads had adhered to their perspiring faces, presenting a war-paint effect that was ludicrous even at so serious a time.
"How does a man feel in battle?" is a question often asked, or "Were you frightened the first time?" My answer is: "Yes, and every other time." I never heard a shell screech, or a minie-ball whistle or whiz, that I wished, with all my soul, that I had not come. I was scared when I went in the first and the last battle.
At the end of every fight I felt, somehow, as if the war was a failure, and we might as well go home, we so seldom had the satisfaction of seeing the Rebels run.
A majority of people have formed an idea that a battle is a continuous uproar, from daylight until dark, or during all of the day on which it occurs. As a matter of fact, the real fight is soon over, one way or another; that is, the actual contest of the larger bodies ends about as suddenly as a collision on a railroad.
It is a long time beginning; may be the picket-firing of the night previous is the first indication; then will come the more frequent clattering from the skirmish-line, with an occasional shot from a battery; perhaps it ends with this.
I have nearly always noticed that the officers and men thoughtit had ended, and were only suddenly awakened to the fact that it had not, by a tremendous boom from some battery, that would nearly always be discovered to be at some point they did not expect a hostile shot to come from.
It may not be an agreeable thing to print, but it has been my experience in battle, that it was always the unexpected that happened to our officers.
The first time I was under fire, I happened to be near a battery, and became so much excited by the booming of the guns, and the action of the men and officers, that I did not realize my danger.
A battery pounding shot into an enemy is the most inspiriting music a soldier can hear. Of course, you can not tell whether the shot hit any one or not, as they go so far, but you instinctively feel, from the big noise and fussy kick the thing makes every time it is fired, that something must get hurt at the other end.
As a rule, it is not the artillery that does the damage; the shells most frequently go entirely over the heads of a line of battle and drop far to the rear, where they stampede the mules about the wagon-trains and scare the skulkers.
The wounds are not always received at the front.It is the nastylittlebullets that do the greater damage to the men in line.
On this occasion I felt, from the way this battery had been pounding into the woods, a mile or so away, that they had killed everybody over there, so I boldly advanced on my horse to the front or skirmish-line. On my way out, I saw coming toward me two fellows carrying, or rather supporting, a third between them; getting closer, I discovered that the man they were carrying had his leg off; indeed, it seemed as if his whole lower body had been torn off at the hip, leaving his bleeding flesh hanging in shreds to his light-blue pantaloons.
I naturally stopped when they got nearer, when I discovered, to my horror, that the poor man's bowels were actually trailing on the ground. He was yet alive; his eyes were fixed upon me in a sorrowful, longing way that I shall never, never get out of my mind.
While paralyzed by this sight, I was so sick that I almost fell off my horse, by seeing one of the men accidentally tread on his bowels, which served to draw more of his entrails from his torn and bleeding body. The poor fellow was then past all pain. I hurriedforward to get away from the horrible sight, only to come on a boy in blue, who was lying flat on his face, as if he had been literally biting the dust, all choked up—dead.
You will notice in all the pictures of battles that the dying are usually represented as throwing up their hands and falling backward gracefully.
As a matter of fact, the men usually fall forward, unless they are struck by a missile so large that its weight will carry them backward by the momentum. I have observed that a wounded man's head drops forward; this, I presume, has a tendency to cause the body to fall forward with the weight of the head; and the fact that the dead, who die on the field, are nearly always found with their faces down, burrowed, has created the expression, "biting the dust."
As it generally rains after a battle, I have noticed the wounded and dying nearly always crawl to a pool of water, and their dead faces are often found as if they had died in an effort to wet their parched tongues.
Every person I have talked with for five minutes about Gettysburg, asks the question: "Were you there when Pickett charged?" as if that famous incident comprised the whole of the battle, whereas it was only the fire-works at the end of the three days' meeting.
When Pickett's charge was made I was behind the stone wall, about three miles away, and, consequently, did not see it.
At the "supreme moment," I was quietly picking blackberries in an old field where the reserve artillery had been parked.
When the tremendous firing began and the reserve artillery were ordered down, I stopped my blackberrying, out of season, and went down to the front to see what the fuss was all about.
Pickett's charge has been done—and over-done—so very thoroughly by both sides, that I shall not even attempt to add a word to the mass of stuff that has already been printed about it.
There is, however, a little story about a charge of Pennsylvanians in the Virginia "burg," led by the glorious but unobtrusive Meade, that theoldArmy of the Potomac should not themselves forget, nor allow their old-time enemies to obliterate, or snow under. I refer to the charge of Meade on the left at Fredericksburg, December 11th, 1862, where, with fewer numbers, he accomplished greater results than Pickett against greater odds:
With the Rappahannock River in the rear, Meade led his Division over a mile of plain under a heavy artillery fire, andbroke the celebratedStonewall Jackson line, and penetrated 600 yards beyond their line. If he had been sustained, the slaughter at Marye's Heights would have been avoided.
It was also at Marye's Heights, where greater heroism was shown, where not one grand attempt was made, but where charge after charge was made against an absolutely impregnable position, yet one never hears of these charges.
The gallant Allabach, the veteran of two wars, led the last final onslaught on Marye's Heights, at the head of a small brigade of Pennsylvania troops of Humphrey's Division that had never before been under fire, and this handful comparatively, went into the very jaws of death, and, though they did not reach the stone wall, they got nearest to it and kept their ground, within a few rods of it till dark, when they were ordered to fall back.
No prisoners were takenat Fredericksburg as there were at Gettysburg.
The snake, Secession, had its back-bone broken at Gettysburg to be sure, but boys of the dear old Army of the Potomac—patient, noble, long-suffering old Army of the Potomac—remember the early, the dark days, when Meade, Hancock, Reynold, Warren, Humphreys, etc., were our immediate commanders; do not forget theoldArmy of the Potomac and its numerous general officers when the proper praises are so freely being given to its later chiefs.
Though the final charge of Pickett, preceded and attended as it was by peculiarly dramatic surroundings, has furnished a subject for more speeches, historical essays, paintings, poems, than any other event which ever occurred in America, yet, in point of fact, history is wrong in ascribing the credit to Pickett.
The charge was not led by Pickett, neither were the troops who did the most gallant fighting Virginians.
It is reserved for these Spy papers to record, on the testimony of reliable, Confederate officers, that Pickett did not get within a mile of our lines.
Thebestfighting was done by the North Carolinians and Tennesseeans, led by Pettigrew; therefore, it should bePettigrew'scharge. In this, as in many other matters, the historians of the war are at fault.
May we hope that the humble efforts of the "Boys" in these pages, will, at least, call attention to some of those inaccuracies, with a view of getting at the truth.
As I have intimated, I have endeavored to collect some recent testimony from the Southern side, having spent some time on the old war-trail, which I hope to be able to put in shape soon. The time must come when the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, will be known, and then, perhaps, future generations may be taught to see that to the Pennsylvania Reserves is due some of the honor, valor, gallantry and patriotism that is now being so freely offered to the Pickett survivors.
No one will question their bravery at Gettysburg on July 3rd, 1863; but since then, and on July 4th, 1887, the survivors have left themselves open to attack, in assuming their positions in reference to monuments.
There remains among the Southern people an ignorant, deep-seated belief, which is being taught the "New South," that, if Longstreet had properly supported Pickett, they would have been successful, and the country would have become a Confederacy. There is a great deal of "if" in all the survivors' talk in the New South, so that we may indulge in the use of the little word, and propose a few conundrums—possibilities.
What would have been the result,ifMeade had been supported by Franklin, when he broke Stonewall Jackson's line at Fredericksburg? AndifSedgwick had been properly supported by Hooker, at Chancellorsville, when he drove Early from behind the "impregnable" works on Marye's Heights? Once more:IfPickett had succeeded and had broken into our line, and had been supported by Longstreet, thenifthe Sixth Corps, which had scarcely been engaged in the great fight, had turned in on them on the flank,ifany of them had gotten back at all it would have been a miracle.If, on the other hand, General Meade had taken Hancock's advice and turned the Reserves and the Sixth Corps loose after Pickett the war might have ended.Ifthey were to try it again they would be whipped worse.Ifthey don't believe it, fire on Fort Sumter.Ifwe had never been born we would not have to die.
There was one little episode I have never seen recorded. After the charge of Pickett—on the third day—had failed, everything had quieted down. Meade, accompanied by his Staff, went over the wall and rode along our entire front, from Cemetery Hill to the Round Tops, receiving the cheers of the whole army, or all that was left.
That was the only time I ever heard music on a battlefield; then it was from a band in the woods at Little Round Top, that played "Hail to the Chief."
I never hear that old tune, nowadays, on these fancy parades, but it brings up the recollection of that great day and causes the cold chills to creep up and down my spine.
I rode with General Meade this day; to prove which, I will ask some of the survivors who witnessed that event to recall a smooth-faced boy on a lame horse that brought up the rear of the dashing cavalcade. My nag got hurt the first day, and I did not have a chance to steal another, and, as I was bound to be on hand, I had to ride my lame horse.
The General and Staff always go at a break-neck gallop, the Staff tearing along in the rear, like a tail to a comet, so that, in this case, I "got left" about a gunshot to the rear; and, because I so energetically spurred the lame horse, to catch up, our boys, behind the stone wall, gave me the laugh and some cheers of derision. They were all feeling pretty good just then, and were excusable.
One of the Staff-officers told me that we had captured General Longstreet, and when I got over among the Reserves I told this bit of news, where it created a sensation.
I have never seen an account of that ride along the lines in print. It is correct, though it may have been the fourth day instead of the third. You will find in the Rebel reports of the battle, that General Lee states that, on hearing these shouts and cheers from our army, he thought it meant an advance on his line, and he made preparations to meet it. I think it was the cheers for General Meade that he heard, even so distant as his headquarters.
But we will leave Gettysburg. I want to say something about Kilpatrick and the Corn Exchange Regiment of emergency men, that came out of Philadelphia at that time to repel the invasion.
It is not for me to criticise General Meade for not closely pursuing Lee's shattered army. We all know that, when a rattle-snake is chased into his hole, he don't leave his tail exposed, but at once presents his head to the entrance. I remember that some days after Gettysburg, while we were at Emmittsburg, or between there and Frederick, Maryland, General Kilpatrick and some of his associates had an animated conversation about it, which everybody in the neighborhood heard, as Kilpatrick was a free talker when he became very much interested in a subject. On this occasion he freely expressed his disgust with the slow proceedings, but no one who knew Kilpatrick well paid much attention to his bluster. He was nick-named "Kill Cavalry," because of his recklessness and apparent disregard of his own and the lives of his men.
I will relate a single incident illustrating this General's character, that occurred in my hearing at Hagerstown. At the time of the Gettysburg campaign there had been quite a lot of emergency troops called out by the Governor of Pennsylvania—"ninety-minute men" we called them. On our march from Gettysburg we met with these home-guards at different points. I remember that just outside of the town of Frederick, Maryland, there was a regiment of these men doing guard duty. As we marched by, and these citizen-soldiers, who were fresh in their picturesque, zoo-zoo uniforms, or, as they are sometimes called, "Night-drawers Cadets," the dirty-looking, old, blue-bloused veterans chaffed them most unmercifully. It was wet weather, and the roads were muddy, as is always the case after a battle. Wherever these ninety-minute men were stationed on guard duty, they were to be found perched as sentries on top of a pile of cracker-boxes or fence rails, to keep their feet out of the mud, the boxes giving them the appearance of a statue on a pedestal.
"Pretty boys," "Nice little sogers," "Don't get your feet wet, sonny; you might take cold," "Let me kiss him for his sister," are mild specimens of the expressions hurled at them from the marching columns of old vets.
My recollection is that these were Philadelphia troops. When we reached Hagerstown, we ran into a lot more of them, that had come down the Cumberland Valley from Harrisburg and Chambersburg to head Lee off. One of these organizations was, I think, called the Corn Exchange Regiment, recruited, or at least fathered,and sent into the field by the wealthy gentlemen of the Philadelphia Exchange. They were composed of what may be termed the better class of men; at least, that was their own estimate of themselves. At their Philadelphia home they probably ranked as rather an exclusive set of boys. Their officers were decidedly "fresh," to use a slang term; at least, we around headquarters, who had become accustomed to pay some attention to military etiquette, were disgusted to see these line officers crowd around our Generals, to stare at and talk as familiarly as if they were all corps commanders.
Custer and Kilpatrick, with whom I was then serving, were at first immensely amused at the efforts of the militia officers to make themselves agreeable. The officers and men, too, felt, no doubt, that it was their only opportunity to see a live General, like Kilpatrick and Custer, and were bound to gratify their curiosity while they had a chance.
In addition to their curiosity, these chaps were continually imploring General Kilpatrick to let them have "just one chance at the Rebels." They begged that they might be permitted to have an opportunity to distinguish themselves before they returned to Philadelphia.
One evening Kilpatrick told Custer, in my hearing, to put some of these men out on the picket-line, which was really a most dangerous place, for they were in close proximity to the rear-guard of Lee's army. The rear of an army cornered, as was Lee's at that time, is an ugly place to put a recruit, and General Kilpatrick knew very well that, in yielding to their foolish requests, he was subjecting them to great danger. But General Kilpatrick concluded he would have a little fun out of the recruits, so he placed some of them on the advance line, and watched to see what they would do if attacked. We all dismounted, and were watching the lines of Rebels. The officer of the guard protested against having these new men on his line, saying they would be likely to raise a hornets' nest about our ears, but Kilpatrick told him to let them try their hands a little while. These men went up the hill a little distance, when their brilliant uniforms attracted the attention of the Johnnies, and, as they acted as though they were going to drive Lee's army across the Potomac, they let these recruits have a few shots by way of warning, which was answered by the Philadelphians, whobecame excited, with a broadside. The Rebel fire had injured about a dozen of the recruits, one big fellow keeling over and yelling like a boy stumping a sore toe. Instead of continuing up the hill, or even falling back, they all crowded together where the wounded lay, and began to console with them. They were finally brought away, with the loss of a few more men, and they did not bother General Kilpatrick again to be placed in the front rank of the army. But there was one thing about Kilpatrick: he never ordered a man to go where he was not willing to lead. I stood beside him the following day, near Williamsport, when a rifle-ball whizzed close by his ear. Jerking up his hand nervously, as if stung by a bee, or to brush off a mosquito, he turned to me and said: "Holy Moses! That ball came near hitting me." But he didn't move out of range of that sharpshooter—but I did.
We were all expecting another great battle at Hagerstown. I hung close to the headquarters in the stirring days, after Gettysburg, during which I witnessed some scenes that would make quite interesting reading. At this time there was frequent communication between the Washington War Department and Headquarters, the greater part of which, coming by wire, I had an opportunity of scanning.
In reading the recentCenturywar-papers, and also some of the official reports now being published, the thought oftenest occurring to my mind is, why don't they publisheverything, even the little straws, which significantly tell which way the wind was blowing at that time. We were in a manner besieged by the visitors who thronged about Headquarters, after Gettysburg, in acivil, inquisitive way that was very annoying to the officers.
General Meade has never received the full meed of praise to which he was entitled for his management of the Army of the Potomac during and in the days immediately following Gettysburg.
He was a peculiar man—in many ways, one not constituted to "command" attention. He was evidently conservative, and, perhaps, too cautious, but when one recalls that he hadwona great victory, and in forcing a second battle, unprepared, he not only staked his hard-earned laurels, but he risked the army and the Capitol.
I happen to know that General Meade felt keenly President Lincoln's severe criticism, though it was uttered in his usual, joking way. The General was an exceedingly sensitive man, and when he got to hear that the President compared him and his pursuit of Lee over the Potomac to an old woman shooing her geese over the river, he actually wanted to resign.
General Meade was every inch a soldier, as well as a gentleman, by birth and training.
In camp he was the most unpretentious looking of the Generalofficers. His spectacled face, rather quiet, scholarly bearing, reminds me of professors or doctors whom we frequently see; they resemble him in appearance.
He always wore a slouch hat, and around his neck was invariably worn the old-fashioned leatherstock, used in the Regular Army on recruits to keep their heads checked up.
He usually slept in an ambulance attached to Headquarters.
We learned that Lee had retreated the night before the impending battle, and early in the morning the cavalry were astir, in pursuit. I rode from Hagerstown to Williamsport, Md., with General Kilpatrick, following precisely the same road I had footed it when scouting, just before Bull Run. We passed through the deserted camps, in which the fires were still burning. The Rebels had so hurriedly left them that in many places their camp equipages were left behind.
Kilpatrick wasmad. He was very mad—on seeing the enemy had all gotten away, and, putting spurs to his own horse, dashed ahead of his advance guard, and rode so recklessly that those of us not so well mounted had difficulty in keeping up.
He instinctively saw that there was no force in his immediate front, and, without paying any attention to the hundreds of Rebel stragglers who were on the road, he gave order to his command to hurry on to the river after him.
On reaching Williamsport, we made a little haul of stragglers, but Kilpatrick sat on his horse sideways, looking over the river into Virginia with an expression of disgust on his face that I shall never forget.
Some of the colored residents of the town told Kilpatrick of the enemy's manner of retreat. Not a Rebel was in sight, but they also notified him of a Rebel battery that was slyly masked in the woods over the river, intended as a deadly ambuscade for any troop that should precipitately follow too close.
On hearing this, Kilpatrick quietly put a house between himself and the aforesaid masked battery. When our artillery came up with the cavalry, I was sent to conduct a section of it to a certain place behind the houses, but which admitted of the guns pointing between two adjoining houses.
The colored people who lived in them gave the gunners the exactlocation of the Rebels, and in less time than it takes for me to describe it, our section let them have a dose of the medicine they intended for us.
The Rebels were so surprised they did not have time to return the salute, but scampered away as fast as they could. At this, the entire colored population of the town, which had assembled, broke out in the wildest yells of delight I had ever heard.
Custer, accompanied by a few officers of his Staff dashed up to Kilpatrick, who, by the way, was the senior, or the General in Command, and in his eager, boyish way, said: "General, hadn't I better go down below here and see if we can't find some of 'those people'?"
General Lee never called the Union Army Federals or Yankees—it was always "those people."
Kilpatrick laughed as he said something to Custer that was not intended for his superior, General Meade's ears.
Custer, in his nervous manner, again suggested going after some of "those people" down below.
As if to gratify Custer's eagerness, not with any expectation of finding an enemy, Kilpatrick indifferently gave his consent, and Custer, turning to the Staff-officers, who were with him, gave a few orders and dashed off. I followed Custer at a gallop.
We rode three or four miles perhaps, when we reached some of our own cavalry and infantry.
This was in the neighborhood of Falling Waters, and here, on the Potomac river, almost the same place I had, as a Scout, crossed into Dixie a year previously. We will, for the present, say good-by to the grand old Army of the Potomac.
There was a little battle at Falling Waters, in which Custer's Division participated.
I cannot part from Custer, however, without a heartfelt word of praise and devotion for the gallant "Boy General." His Michigan troops were among the very best in our army. I hope some of the Western readers of this will see that I bear my humble testimony to the exalted opinion Custer had of them. It was the custom of the General to frequently discuss the relative merits of their troops, and Custer certainly did love his old Division.
On this occasion, one of Custer's aides was a Michigan Officer,and in my hearing, while still on horseback, under fire, I heard Custer assure the officer that he had given Michigan full credit for certain work in his official report.
While straggling off from the headquarters during a skirmish with some Rebels upon a hill-top, I was surprised to see two good-looking young men in gray uniform come out of the woods and ride up to me. While in the midst of our army, it had never occurred to me that I was in any danger of capture, but, as I was still some distance from any of our troops, these two rebel chaps had me sure. Both were armed and well mounted, while I was, at the time, dismounted. To my great relief, however, they surrendered to me, stating that they were tired of the war, and did not want to go back to Virginia, so they had concealed themselves in the woods until an opportunity offered of surrendering. I welcomed them cordially to the North. One fellow at once handed me his pistol, belt and saber, which are to-day in my possession as trophies of war. The pistol contains yet the five loads that were put in it by the Rebel soldier. As my horse had been struck in the leg by a spent ball while on South Mountain, and was lamed from the bruise, I also traded horses with the Rebel.
And now we will again say a reluctant good-by to the Army of the Potomac.
So it came to pass that I returned to the very same grounds on which we had first visited the Army of Patterson, previous to Bull Run. We are again on the Potomac, nearly at the same point we had started from two years previously.
Obtaining a furlough from the ever-accommodating General Alexander, Chief of Staff at Cavalry Corps Headquarters, I turned my horse's head North and, instead of following the Army back into Virginia, I rode my Rebel horse, as the "solitary horseman," dressed in my war clothes and wearing my captured saber and pistol, through Chambersburg to the little hamlet where I was born, where I enjoyed a few days' rest with a sister, who was attending school at Chambersburg, and who had witnessed the Rebel Army's occupation of the place. Her story would make an interesting chapter in this connection, but we are off duty now enjoying the furlough and must hurry home.
In the few days that immediately followed, I rode, solitary andalone, along the old pike, over the Blue Ridge Mountains to Bedford, Pennsylvania, and from there debouched across the mountain by an almost unfrequented path to my father's home at Wilmore near Cresson, where I surprised the homefolks by dashing up to the door about supper time, one summer evening, wearing the uniform that I had taken away from there less than a year previously. It had, however, received its baptism of fire at Gettysburg and all along the line.
The old Rebel horse remained on my father's farm for many years.
The story from this out must be told at another time. The wonderfully thrilling and romantic story of Geno and the Wells family—which represents the "other side"—will make a volume of romance in real life that is indeed stranger than fiction, and exceeds my own adventures in our lines.
"The story of our love is incomplete;"The leaves of many years are missing;Lonely apart we pined, each seeking truthTogether, we will find love's land enchanted.The past is flown, the future still have we;So let our twin souls blend beyond the ages,Till young and fair, beside the Jasper Sea,We may discover all love's torn out pages.
"The story of our love is incomplete;"The leaves of many years are missing;Lonely apart we pined, each seeking truthTogether, we will find love's land enchanted.The past is flown, the future still have we;So let our twin souls blend beyond the ages,Till young and fair, beside the Jasper Sea,We may discover all love's torn out pages.
One word of retrospect. As will be remembered, I was ambitious to secure a commission from the War Department. I had worked zealously and faithfully for it. My trials and troubles with the War Office have been told here. It had resulted in my being disappointed for many days. Yet, at the time of which I am writing, while I was serving as an enlisted man, drawing my rations and pay as such, I was in fact an officer and did not know it, and only learned it some months afterward. This anomaly was brought about after Gettysburg by Mr. Lincoln, who, on learning of my former services, ordered my commission ante-dated one year. So that, when I got my parchment at last, I found that I ranked some of the older officers in seniority.
As I have furnished other references to establish the correctness of my statements, I take especial pride in putting before the readers the following correspondence.
I lost my original parchment while traveling in California in 1884. General Stoneman, then Governor, to whom I wrote about my loss, kindly interested himself in assisting me in my search forit, but, not finding it, I applied to the War Department for a certified copy. The following is the reply, which explains itself:
[2677 A. V. P., 1885.]War Department,Adjutant-General's Office,Washington, April 29, 1885.Mr.—— ——,Sir:Complying with your request of the 27th instant, I inclose herewith copies of your commission as Second Lieutenant, Signal Corps, and of letter of June 12, 1865, from this office, notifying you of the acceptance of your resignation as such, to date June 9, 1865.Very respectfully, your obedient servant,C. McKeever,Assistant Adjutant-General, in charge.(Two inclosures.)
[2677 A. V. P., 1885.]
Mr.—— ——,
Sir:Complying with your request of the 27th instant, I inclose herewith copies of your commission as Second Lieutenant, Signal Corps, and of letter of June 12, 1865, from this office, notifying you of the acceptance of your resignation as such, to date June 9, 1865.
Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
C. McKeever,
Assistant Adjutant-General, in charge.
(Two inclosures.)
As will be seen in the copy, I did not resign until after the war was over.
The original was on parchment, with Mr. Lincoln's and Mr. Stanton's autograph signatures.
THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.To all who shall see these presents, greeting:Know ye, That, reposing special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities of J. O. Kerbey, I have nominated, and, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, do appoint him Second Lieutenant in the Signal Corps, in the service of the United States, to rank as such from the third day of March, eighteen hundred and sixty-three. He is, therefore, carefully and diligently to discharge the duty of Second Lieutenant by doing and performing all manner of things pertaining and thereunto belonging. And I do strictly charge and require all officers and soldiers under his command to be obedient to his orders as Second Lieutenant. And he is to observe and follow such orders and directions, from time to time, as he shall receive from me, or the future President of the United States of America, or the General, or other superior officers set over him, according to the rules and disciplineof war. This commission is to continue in force during the pleasure of the President of the United States for the time being.[Seal.]Given under my hand, at the City of Washington, this fifteenth day of July, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-four, and in the eighty-ninth year of the independence of the United States.By the President.Abraham Lincoln.Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War.
THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
To all who shall see these presents, greeting:
Know ye, That, reposing special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities of J. O. Kerbey, I have nominated, and, by and with the advice and consent of the Senate, do appoint him Second Lieutenant in the Signal Corps, in the service of the United States, to rank as such from the third day of March, eighteen hundred and sixty-three. He is, therefore, carefully and diligently to discharge the duty of Second Lieutenant by doing and performing all manner of things pertaining and thereunto belonging. And I do strictly charge and require all officers and soldiers under his command to be obedient to his orders as Second Lieutenant. And he is to observe and follow such orders and directions, from time to time, as he shall receive from me, or the future President of the United States of America, or the General, or other superior officers set over him, according to the rules and disciplineof war. This commission is to continue in force during the pleasure of the President of the United States for the time being.
Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War.
I especially call attention to thedatesof these papers.
I would like to put in parallel columns Mr. Stanton's order for arrest or confinement in Old Capitol, and his parole, wherein the words, "dangerous man, disloyal, Rebel spy," etc., were used.
The above copy of the original commission is furnished to the person named therein, the original commission having been destroyed or irrecoverably lost. This commission is not now effective, having expired previous to this date.
The above copy of the original commission is furnished to the person named therein, the original commission having been destroyed or irrecoverably lost. This commission is not now effective, having expired previous to this date.
C. McKeever,Assistant Adjutant-General.War Department, Adjutant-General's Office,April 29, 1885.COPY OF MY BREVET COMMISSION.Office of Chief Signal Officer,,Washington, D. C., January, 1865.Sir:I am directed to inform you that the Chief Signal Officer desires to send to the General of the Army your recommendation for brevet. You are requested, therefore, to forward to this office copies of any papers bearing upon your services which may be in your possession.It is the object of the Chief Signal Officer to secure whatever material may influence to favorable action in the case.Very respectfully, your obedient servant,Richard P. Strong,Acting Chief Signal Officer.
C. McKeever,Assistant Adjutant-General.
War Department, Adjutant-General's Office,
April 29, 1885.
COPY OF MY BREVET COMMISSION.
Sir:I am directed to inform you that the Chief Signal Officer desires to send to the General of the Army your recommendation for brevet. You are requested, therefore, to forward to this office copies of any papers bearing upon your services which may be in your possession.
It is the object of the Chief Signal Officer to secure whatever material may influence to favorable action in the case.
Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
Richard P. Strong,Acting Chief Signal Officer.
This accounts for my "Captain-Major's" title. Promotions in this branch were rare—indeed, there were none; but I enjoyed, as aGeneral Staff-officer, all the privileges and none of the responsibilities of the rank of a Major-General.
As I have indicated, I stayed till it was over, and would do it again.
As the reader will have seen, the work of a Spy is at all times unpleasant, exceedingly dangerous as well as thankless.
It is, however, a necessary service in war. There is with some minds a vague impression that this secret service necessarily implies deceit and treachery. This is so only in the same sense that the strategy so often applied by the General is treachery.
Strategy is an artifice of war that is considered honorable, and is practiced by all the nations, yet it is seldom, if ever, applied without resorting to deceit and treachery. Therefore a Spy may be as honorable as the General, who profits by his work. Often the victories of the Generals are made possible by the preliminary information obtained of the enemy's force and movements, yet the official reports of the victorious Generals give the despised Spy no credit.
It is themotivewhich should give character to any service. With me there was no mercenary consideration, and, as will be seen, the service became in a manner almost involuntary.
I was simply willing to sacrifice myself that I might accomplish some good for the cause.
After the lapse of so many years, there has recently been unveiled in Hartford, Connecticut, a monument to the memory of Nathan Hale, who was a Spy of the Revolutionary War, captured and executed on his first attempt to work in the enemy's lines. Upon this tablet are these words:
Stranger, beneath this stoneLies the dust of aA SpyWho perished upon the gibbet;YetThe storied marbles of the great,The shrines of heroes,Entombed not one more worthy ofHonorThan him who hereSleeps his last sleep.NationsBow with reverence before the dustOf him who diesA glorious death,Urged on by the sound of theTrumpetAnd the shouts ofAdmiring thousands.But what reverence, what honor,Is not due to oneWho for his country encounteredEven an infamous death,Soothed by no sympathy,Animated by no praise!
I would, as a last word, again say that my efforts as a Spy during the Rebellion were prompted solely by a disinterested patriotism and a single desire to do some good for the country.
When my time is up, and I am mustered out, I ask of my comrades, of the Grand Army of the Republic, not a monument, but a simple head-stone to a "Low green tent" with the bivouac of unknown at Arlington, marked—
Tombstone: "THE BOY SPY'
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SPEAKERS, DIALOGUES AND PLAYS