"Corinth, April 8th, 1862."To the Secretary of War at Richmond:—"We have gained a great and glorious victory. Eight to ten thousand prisoners, and thirty-six pieces of cannon. Buell reinforced Grant, and we retired to our entrenchments at Corinth, which we can hold. Loss heavy on both sides."BEAUREGARD."
"Corinth, April 8th, 1862.
"To the Secretary of War at Richmond:—
"We have gained a great and glorious victory. Eight to ten thousand prisoners, and thirty-six pieces of cannon. Buell reinforced Grant, and we retired to our entrenchments at Corinth, which we can hold. Loss heavy on both sides.
"BEAUREGARD."
On the same day he sent a flag of truce to General Grant with the following message, also asking leave to bury the Confederate dead:—
"Sir, at the close of the conflict yesterday, my forces being exhausted by the extraordinary length of the time during which they were engaged with yours on that and the preceding day, and it being apparent that you had received and were still receiving reinforcement, I felt it my duty to withdraw my troops from the immediate scene of the conflict."
From Shiloh to the close of the war, Beauregard's popularity was on the wane, and the Southern people lost confidence in him. I was at Island No. 10 when the battle was fought, but joined the army the week after.
As the army moved towards Corinth, there was abundant evidence that the defeat of the Rebels was most disastrous,—that their retreat was hasty. Blankets, knapsacks, haversacks, here and there muskets, wagons, one overturned in a slough, one with its tongue broken, tents, harnesses, oats, corn, flour, tent-poles, were confusedly scattered along the way. The carcassesof dead horses tainted the air. There were piles of earth newly heaped above those who died from their wounds. They fled in a fright on Monday night. I came unexpectedly upon a little log-hut, on a by-path leading toward Monterey. Two of McCook's cavalry rode up in advance of me. A widow woman, middle aged, with a little girl and two little boys occupied it. She kindly gave me a drink of water, and informed me that there were three Confederate wounded in the other room. I looked in upon them for a moment. Suffering had wasted them, and they had no disposition to talk of the past or the future. The good woman had been kind to them, but she had seen a great deal of sorrow. On Monday night one hundred wounded were brought to her house. Her two horses had been seized by the Rebels, her corn eaten, and no equivalent returned. She conversed unreservedly; deplored the war, and wished it over. There were seven new-made graves in her garden, and in her door-yard a heap of cinders and ashes, and charred brands,—fragments of wagons and tent-poles. On the upper Corinth road fifty wounded were lying, cared for by our surgeons.
I recall some of the scenes of the movement upon Corinth. Here is an open forest, undulating land with little or no underbrush; thousands of wagons, all plodding on, not in slow, easy motion, but by fits and starts, with cutting, slashing, shouting, swearing, a chorus of profanity resounding through the forests. A mule sticks fast; he tumbles; his mate falls upon him. The drivers become enraged; then follows a generalmelée, a long halt, frantic attempts to start again, an unloading and reloading. Other trains in the rear, tired of waiting, turn to the right or left, perhaps to pass the little slough safely, only to meet with a similar mishap ten rods farther along. A battery struggles along, with twelve horses attached to a single piece of artillery. The entire forest is cut up by passing teams. Mingled with the thousands of wagons are regiments. They, too, are in confusion. Buell's and Grant's forces have become mixed. The divisions have been ordered to move, but evidently with no prearranged system. As far as the eye can see it is one grand hurly-burly,—one frantic struggle to make headway,—and this for a half-dozen miles. What a waste of horse-flesh!Here are six mules attempting to draw six boxes of bread,—weight perhaps six hundred pounds. The cavalry bring out their supplies on horses, each cavalryman bringing a bag of oats. There is cursing, swearing, pounding. The army in Flanders could not have been more profane. The brutality of the drivers is terrible. A miserable fellow, destitute of sense and humanity, strikes a mule over the head, felling the animal to the ground. Noble horses are remorselessly cut up by these fiendish beings in human form. There is no check upon their cruelty. You see dead horses everywhere. All the finer sensibilities become callous. One must see, but not feel. There would be pleasure in snatching a whip from the hands of these savages and giving them a dose of their own medicine.
General Halleck advanced with extreme caution. He built four lines of breastworks, each line nearly ten miles long, so that if driven from one he could fall back to another. He sunk deep wells for water, he was preparing to be besieged instead of opening a siege.
He doubted all the reports of his scouts,—disbelieved the stories of negroes who came to him,—issued Order No. 57, that all "unauthorized persons" in his lines should be sent out, especially fugitive slaves,—threw up redoubts, dragged his heavy siege-guns through the mud from the Landing,—planted them behind sodded earthworks, erected bomb-proof magazines,—issued his final orders to his army of an hundred thousand men,—opened fire from his heavy guns,—threw forward his skirmishers, and found—a deserted town!
Joining the fleet upon the Mississippi once more on the 3d of June, I found Commodore (now Admiral) Davis in command, Admiral Foote having been relieved at his own request. His wound was painful, and he was so debilitated that he was unable to discharge his duties. The idea was generally entertained that the Rebels had evacuated Fort Pillow. The evacuation of Corinth was the basis for expectation of such an event. Fires were seen over the point on the bluffs and beyond, toward Randolph. Of course no one could say what was burning, but from the past conduct of Rebels, it was reasonable to suppose that the evacuation had taken place, inasmuch as there was anominous silence of Rebel batteries. But they suddenly waked up. Ascending to the pilot-house of the steamer, I could see handfuls of white cloud above and beyond the dense foliage of the forest. Then there came a dull, heavy roar,—boom—boom—boom,—and the nearer explosion of the shells which burst in the air above our gunboats. Not evacuated! They were there lively as ever.
This sudden and unexpected demonstration aroused Captain Maynadier, and right merrily answered the mortars till noon. Then there was a respite, while the mortar crews sat down beneath the dark green foliage of the forest, sheltered from the burning sun, and ate their rations, and rested the while.
Seven or eight miles below Craighead Point is Lanier's plantation. The proprietor being a Secessionist, burned his cotton, but for some cause he had lost faith, or pretended to lose faith, in the Confederacy, and desired to be permitted to return to his comfortable home, there to remain unmolested. He sent a note to Colonel Fitch, commanding the land forces, soliciting an interview. His request was granted, and he so ingratiated himself into Colonel Fitch's good feeling that he became again an occupant of his homestead.
Subsequently it was ascertained that he was supplying the Rebel fleet with ice, spring chickens, garden vegetables, &c. It was decided to spring a trap upon the gentlemen of the Southern navy. A small party was sent out by Colonel Fitch, which reached the locality undiscovered. After a few minutes' reconnoissance, eight men were discovered helping themselves to ice in Mr. Lanier's ice-cellar. They were surprised. One resisted, but was shot, and the rest, after a short parleying, surrendered. They were brought to the Benton, but were very uncommunicative and sour.
The loss of a lieutenant and seven men was not well relished at Fort Pillow. Soon after noon the guns on the bluff commenced a vigorous but random fire, as if ammunition cost nothing, and it were mere pastime to burn powder and hurl shell over the point at our fleet. It was very pleasant to see the round shot plump into the water all around our gunboats, with an occasional shell puffing into cloud overhead, andraining fragments of iron into the river,—for with such random firing, there was but little danger of being hit.
The day had been hot and sultry, but just before nightfall a huge bank of clouds rolled up in the western horizon, and burst with the fury of a tornado upon the fleet. Some of the transports dragged their anchors before the gale, but all kept up steam; they were not long in making head against the breeze. There was but little rain, but a dense cloud of dust was whirled up from the sandbars.
I was surprised to see, when the storm was at its height, two of our rams steam rapidly down to the point and turn their prows towards the Rebel batteries. They disappeared in the whirling dust-cloud, vanishing from sight like ships at sea when night comes on. They steamed swiftly down the stream and turned Craighead Point.
Their mission, at such a moment, was to take advantage of the storm,—of the enveloping dust-cloud,—to ascertain what the Rebels were doing. We could hear the sudden waking up of heavy guns,—those that had spoken to us in the past,—just as, in high party times, great orators hold forth the night before election. The rams were discovered, and at once the batteries were in a blaze. Then they quietly steamed across the bend, in face of the batteries, turned their prows up stream, and appeared in sight once more. Onward rolled the cloud, and the Rebel cannon belched and thundered, firing shot at random into the river. Bang—bang—bang,—two or three at a time,—roared the guns. It was amusing, laughable, to see the rams returning, and hear the uproar below.
The dust-cloud, with its fine, misty rain, rolled away. The sun shone once more, and bridged the Mississippi with a gorgeous rainbow. While admiring it, a Rebel gunboat poked her nose around the point. Then, after a little hesitancy, her entire body, to see what we were up to. She was a black craft, bearing the flag of the Confederacy. Seeing how far off we were, she steamed boldly past the point, up stream far enough to get a sight of the entire Federal fleet; turned slowly, placed her head downward, to be ready for a quick run home, if need be; then turned her paddles against the current, and surveyed us leisurely. The Mound City andCairo being nearest, opened fire upon the craft. A signal was run up from the Benton, and immediately from the chimneys of the entire fleet rose heavy columns of blackest smoke, which mingled with the white puffs of steam, and rolled away into the blackness of the receding storm. The sun had gone down.
Unheeding the shot falling close at her bows, or whistling over her decks, the steamer took her own time and slowly descended the stream and disappeared beyond the jutting headland.
At sunset on the 4th of June, the Rebel batteries opened a fierce and sudden fire upon the gunboats. Then there came heavy explosions, rising columns of smoke, faint and white at first, but increasing in volume and blackness. Another,—a third, a fourth,—expanding into one broad column, all along the height occupied by the Rebel batteries. Daylight was fading away, the lurid flames filled the southern sky, and a heaving, surging bank of smoke and flame laid along the tree-tops of the intervening forest. Occasionally there were flashes and faint explosions, and sudden puffs of smoke, spreading out like flakes of cotton or fleeces of whitest wool. This was all we could see. We were ignorant of what was feeding the flames, whether steamers or bales of cotton, or barracks or tents or houses, but were sure that it was a burning of that which had cost a pile of Confederate notes. After taking possession of the works in the morning, the fleet pursued the retreating Rebels down the river.
It was dark when we came to anchor four miles above the city of Memphis on the 5th of June.
Gunboats in line.
Gunboats in line.
"I think that we shall have a lively time in the morning," said the Admiral. My own quarters were on board of the J. H. Dickey, which lay a mile up stream. I was astir before daylight on the 6th. The air was clear,—the sky without a cloud. The stars were fading in the west, and the columns of light were rising in the east. The gunboats—five of them—were in a line across the stream, with the steam escaping from their pipes. The city was in full view. People were gathering upon the banks gazing upon the fleet. A dark column of smoke rose from above the green foliage of theforest opposite the city, but whether produced by burning buildings or by the Rebel fleet, was wholly a matter of conjecture.
The tugboat Jessie Benton, tender to the Admiral, came up to the advance boat, which was lying by our side.
"The Admiral thinks that the Rebel fleet is below the city, and that we are to have a fight. You can go down if you want to," said the captain.
I was on board in an instant, leaving the other gentlemen of the press asleep in their state-room. The soldiers were heaving the anchors as we approached the fleet, shouting in chorus, "Yeave ho! yeave ho!" The drummer-boys were beating to quarters, the marines were mustering, officers and sailors all were busy.
The Admiral was standing on the upper deck with Captain Phelps, commanding the Benton, by his side. The Admiral is a tall, well-proportioned man, about fifty years old, with gray hair and blue eyes. He is a perfect gentleman,—kind, courteous, and affable, not only to his officers, but to the crews. Captain Phelps is shorter, and smaller in stature. His features are sharply cut. He stands erect, looks upon the preparations with keen eyes, giving orders with precision and promptness. The Benton in a few moments is ready for action, so quickly are his orders executed.
"Drop down toward the city, sir, and see if you can discover the Rebel fleet," is the word of the Admiral to our captain.
We pass through the fleet, and move slowly down stream, followed by the Benton and Carondelet, which drift with the current.
June, 1862.
The sun was beginning to gild the spires of the city, and its slant rays came streaming over the waters into our faces. Men, women, and children were gathering upon the levee, on foot, on horseback, and in carriages. The crowd became more dense. Were they assembling to welcome us? Should we steam down to them, and ask them what they thought of the Rebellion? The Rebel flag was flying from the cupola of the court-house, and from a tall flagstaff on the levee. I remembered that on the 6th of May, thirteen months before, on theevening after the secession of the State, the people had torn down the stars and stripes, borne them out to the suburbs of the city, dug a grave, and buried the flag, trampling it in the mire!
Suddenly a Rebel gunboat steamed out into the stream, from the shelter of the Arkansas woods;—another,—another,—till eight had ranged themselves in two lines of battle. "Helm aport!" shouted our captain to the pilot, and we were rushing up stream again. The Admiral was not quite ready for action, and the Benton and Carondelet returned to their original position.
The appearance of the Rebel fleet,—the orderly formation of the battle line,—looked like work. The affair of the 10th of May, when the Rebel gunboats stole round Craighead Point above Fort Pillow, and sunk the Cincinnati, was sufficiently spirited to warrant the supposition that an engagement would be desperate. Several of the Rebel boats were fitted out at Memphis, and were manned by the old rivermen of that city, who would fight with great bravery under the eyes of their fellow-citizens, their wives and sweethearts.
"Let the sailors have breakfast," said the Admiral, who believed in fighting on a full stomach. I took mine on deck,—a cup of coffee, hard-tack, and a slice of salt junk,—for the movements in front of the city were too interesting to be lost sight of. The Little Rebel, the flag-ship of Commodore Montgomery, was passing from boat to boat. With my glass I could see the officers of the vessels. Montgomery was issuing his final orders.
Suddenly the Rebel fleet began to move up stream. A flag went up to the head of the Benton's flagstaff. It was the signal to be ready for action. Sailors dropped their plates, knives and forks, and sprang to their guns. The Benton was nearest the Tennessee shore, then the Carondelet, the St. Louis, Louisville, and Cairo. Our own little tug was close by the flag-ship, keeping its place in the stream by the slow working of its engine.
The Rebel fleet was composed of the Van Dorn, General Price, General Bragg, Jeff Thompson, General Lovell, General Beauregard, Sumter, and Little Rebel,—all gunboatsand all rams, built expressly with a view of butting our fleet out of existence. The Beauregard was nearest the shore, next the Little Rebel, then the General Price, next the General Bragg and the General Beauregard, which composed the front line. Immediately in rear was the General Lovell, near the Memphis shore, her position being directly in front of the city wharf boat; next the Van Dorn, then the Jeff Thompson, and lastly the Sumter.
How strange, peculiar, and indescribable are one's feelings when going into battle! There is a light-heartedness,—a quickening of all the springs of life. There is thrill in every nerve,—an exhilaration of spirit,—a tension of every fibre. You see every movement, hear every sound, and think not only of what is before you, but of home, of the loved ones there,—of the possibility that you may never behold them again. Some men review their lives, and ask themselves if they have left anything undone which ought to have been done,—if their lives have been complete.
The Little Rebel was opposite the Benton. There was a flash,—a puff of smoke from her side,—a screaming of something unseen in the air over my head,—a frightful sound. The shot fell far in our rear. Another puff from the Beauregard, and the shot fell near the Benton. A third came from the General Price, aimed at the Carondelet, passed very near her larboard ports, and almost took our own boat in the bow. My fear was all gone. I was in the fight. There was no possibility of escaping from it. Wherever the boat went I must go. I should be just as safe to keep cool as to be excited. Besides, it was a new experience,—a new sight,—a grand exhibition. Interest, curiosity, and reason mastered fear. I sat down in an arm-chair on the deck beside the pilot-house, and made rapid notes of all that I saw. I transcribe them:—
5.40A. M.Cairo opens with a stern gun,—shot strikes close under hull of Little Rebel. Our boats' bows up stream. Rebels advancing slowly. Bang—bang—bang—bang from each of the vessels. A whole broadside from Cairo. Another from Louisville. Air full of strange noises. Shells burst overhead. Pieces raining all round us. Columns of water tossed up. Both fleets enveloped in smoke. Very little wind. Splintersthrown out from General Price. Can see a shot-hole with my glass. Rebel fleet half-mile distant. Comes to a stand still. 6.00. Queen of the West cutting loose from shore. Monarch also. Great black clouds of smoke rolling up from their stacks. Steam hissing from their pipes. Commodore Ellet on the Queen. Stands beside the pilot-house. Sharpshooters looking from loop-holes. Queen wheels out into stream. Passes between Benton and Carondelet. Are near enough to say good morning to Commodore Ellet and wish him success. Monarch following Queen, passing between Cairo and St. Louis. 6.25. Rebels moving down stream. 6.35. Signal from Benton to round to and come to close quarters. Queen surging ahead under full speed. Ploughs a wide furrow. Aiming for Beauregard. Rebel fleet all opening on her. Shot crash through her. Exciting scene. Sharpshooters at work. Beauregard puts her helm down. Sheers off. Queen rushes by. Has missed her aim. Coming round in a curve. Strikes the General Price. Tremendous crash. Men jumping into water. Beauregard falling upon Queen of the West. Another crash. Monarch close at hand. Smashes into Beauregard. Cracking of rifles and muskets. Queen of the West sinking. Monarch throwing out a warp. Towing her ashore. Benton close upon the General Lovell. Shot strikes Lovell in bow. Rips from stem to stern. Water full of timber and fragments. Lovell sinking. Man on deck. Left arm shattered, crying help! help! help! Commotion on shore. Lovell goes down with a lurch. River full of poor wretches struggling for life. Throwing up their arms. Stream sweeps them away. Little Rebel fleeing to Arkansas shore. The Jeff Thompson on fire. 7.05. Rebel fleet broken. Their guns all silent. Beauregard sinking. We run alongside. Rebel officers lay shattered. Sides of vessel spotted with blood. Pool of blood on deck. Crew fled. Taken off by Little Rebel. Help lift wounded Rebel officer on our boat. Thanked us, and said, "You are kinder than my own comrades, for one of them was mean enough to steal my watch and pick my pocket." Little Rebel run ashore. Crew fleeing into woods. Cairo gives them parting broadside. Rebels crawling up the bank dripping with water. 7.10. Boats of Benton and Carondelet picking up the wretches. VanDorn escaping down stream. 7.25. Fight over. Van Dorn out of sight. Last gun fired. Jeff Thompson on fire in every part. Grand explosion. Whole interior of boat lifted five hundred feet high. Flames. Volumes of smoke. Bursting shells. Timbers, planks, fragments, raining all around us.
It was a complete annihilation of the Rebel fleet. Not a man was lost on our gunboats, and Commodore Ellet was the only one wounded.
The Rebel fleet began the action in good style, but maintained the line of battle a few minutes only. The appearance of the rams threw them into disorder. On the other hand, the line of battle taken by Commodore Davis was preserved to the end. Everything was as systematic and orderly as in a well-regulated household. The thought occurred, as I saw the steady onward movement of the fleet, which, after once starting to close in with the Rebels, did not for an instant slacken speed, that he was clearing the river of all Rebel obstructions with the same ease that a housewife sweeps dirt through a doorway. His orders were few. The main thing was to get to close quarters.
Embracing an early opportunity to reach the shore, I mingled freely with the crowd, to see how the thing was relished and to study the feelings of the people. Some looked exceedingly sour; some disconsolate; a few were defiant; many of the people were evidently good-natured, but deeply humiliated. A gentleman, resident of the city, informed me that he did not think the people cared anything about the Union, or had any desire to return to it, but they had an intense hatred of the tyranny to which they had been subjected, and were ready to welcome anything which would relieve them.
TheAvalancheof that morning, hardly issued when the conflict began, said:—
"There was not a little excitement about the levee last night, occasioned by an officer coming down in a skiff announcing that three of the Federal gunboats were in the 'shute' above the Island. The signals and movements of the boats seemed to confirm the report, but we have no idea that it was true."Yesterday was quite lively. All reports about Fort Pillow werelistened to with interest, and they were not a few. By noon it was known that the fort was evacuated, and there was not a little excitement in consequence. Nearly all the stores were closed, and those that were open, with few exceptions, were rather indisposed to sell. Even a spool of cotton could not be had yesterday in stores which the day before had plenty and to spare. Besides the soldiers from Fort Pillow a fleet made us a visit which attracted much attention and formed the subject of general conversation. All seemed to regret what had been done and wished it were otherwise. So prevailing was the excitement that the common mode of salutation on Main Street was, 'When do you think the Federals will be here?' Each one made arrangements according to the tenor of the reply. Many persons were packing up to leave."In a word, all who could began to consider anxiously the question whether to go or stay. There was much running about on the streets, and evidently more or less excitement on every countenance. Some took matters coolly, and still believe that the Federals will never go to Memphis by river. All obstructions to their progress have not been removed and probably will not be. In fact, the prospect is very good for a grand naval engagement, which shall eclipse anything ever seen before. There are many who would like the engagement to occur, who do not much relish the prospect of its occurring very near the city. They think deeper water and scope and verge enough for such an encounter may be found farther up the river. All, however, are rejoiced that Memphis will not fall till conclusions are first tried on water and at the cannon's mouth."
"There was not a little excitement about the levee last night, occasioned by an officer coming down in a skiff announcing that three of the Federal gunboats were in the 'shute' above the Island. The signals and movements of the boats seemed to confirm the report, but we have no idea that it was true.
"Yesterday was quite lively. All reports about Fort Pillow werelistened to with interest, and they were not a few. By noon it was known that the fort was evacuated, and there was not a little excitement in consequence. Nearly all the stores were closed, and those that were open, with few exceptions, were rather indisposed to sell. Even a spool of cotton could not be had yesterday in stores which the day before had plenty and to spare. Besides the soldiers from Fort Pillow a fleet made us a visit which attracted much attention and formed the subject of general conversation. All seemed to regret what had been done and wished it were otherwise. So prevailing was the excitement that the common mode of salutation on Main Street was, 'When do you think the Federals will be here?' Each one made arrangements according to the tenor of the reply. Many persons were packing up to leave.
"In a word, all who could began to consider anxiously the question whether to go or stay. There was much running about on the streets, and evidently more or less excitement on every countenance. Some took matters coolly, and still believe that the Federals will never go to Memphis by river. All obstructions to their progress have not been removed and probably will not be. In fact, the prospect is very good for a grand naval engagement, which shall eclipse anything ever seen before. There are many who would like the engagement to occur, who do not much relish the prospect of its occurring very near the city. They think deeper water and scope and verge enough for such an encounter may be found farther up the river. All, however, are rejoiced that Memphis will not fall till conclusions are first tried on water and at the cannon's mouth."
The "conclusions" had been tried and the people had seen their fleet unceremoniously knocked to pieces.
There were thousands of negroes on the levee, interested spectators of the scene. I asked one athletic man what he thought of it? "O massa, I tinks a good deal of it. Uncle Abe's boats mighty powerful. Dey go through our boats jus like dey was eggshells." Another one standing by at once became interested in the conversation. Said he, "Captain Jeff Thompson, he cotch it dis time! He; hi! O how de balls did whiz!" There was an unmistakable sign of pleasure on the countenances of the colored population.
In fifteen minutes after the occupation of the city, enterprising news-boys accompanying the fleet were crying, "Here's the New York Herald! Times and Tribune! Chicago and St. Louis papers!"
How wonderfully had the upper Mississippi been repossessed! One by one the Rebel obstructions had been removed. How often had we been told that they were impregnable! How often that the gunboats would be destroyed! How often that never would the river be opened till the Confederacy was a recognized independent power! One short year and their labors,—the ditch-digging, the cannon-casting, boat-building, their braggadocio, had come to naught.
The part taken by Commodore Ellet was glorious. He was a brave, gallant, dashing officer, the son of a noble mother, who lived in Philadelphia. Mr. Stuart, President of the Christian Commission, relates that later in the war he called to see her, at her request, to receive a large donation. He found a lady eighty-four years of age. A grandson had been killed in battle, the body had been brought home, and was lying in the house. Said Mrs. Ellet: "I have given my two sons, Commodore Ellet and General Ellet, and four grandchildren to my country. I don't regret this gift. If I had twenty sons I would give them all, for the country must be preserved. And if I was twenty years younger, I would go and fight myself to the last!"
August, 1862.
Great events were transpiring in Virginia. The magnificent army which passed down the Potomac in March, which had thrown up the tremendous fortifications at Yorktown, which had fought at Williamsburg, Fair Oaks, Gaines's Mills, Savage Station, Glendale, and Malvern, was once more at Washington. Manassas was a bloody plain. Pope had been defeated, sacrificed by Fitz John Porter. Day after day the booming of cannon had been heard in Washington, borne by the breezes along the wooded valley of the Potomac; far away at first, then nearer at Chantilly and Fairfax Court-House. Then came the stream of fugitives, and broken, disheartened ranks back to Arlington. The streets of Washington were thick with hungry, war-worn men. Long lines of ambulances wended into the city, with wounded for the hospitals, already overcrowded. The soldiers had pitiful tales to tell of the scenes of the Peninsula, and of the gory field of Manassas,—how near they came to victory,—how Hooker and Heintzelman rolled back the lines of Stonewall Jackson,—how Fitz John Porter lingered within an hour's march of the conflict, tardily coming into line, and moving away when lightly pressed by the enemy. There were curses loud and deep breathed against Porter, Pope, and McClellan. The partisans of Porter and McClellan called Pope a braggadocio, while the soldiers who had fought with obstinacy, who had doubled up Jackson in the first day's battle, retorted that McClellan was a coward, who, through all the engagements on the Peninsula took good care to be out of the reach of hostile bullets or cannon shot. The cause of the Union was gloomy. Burnside had been hurried up from North Carolina to aid in repelling the invader. The sun shone peacefully through the August days,—summer passed into autumn,
"And calm and patient Nature keptHer ancient promise well,Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweptThe battle's breath of hell."
General McClellan at Williamsburg.
General McClellan at Williamsburg.
Adversity is a test of faith. In those darkest hours there was no faltering of hope. The heart of the nation was serene. The people believed that God would give them the victory. The soldiers believed it. Those who were passing away from earth, who with quickened sight beheld the events of the hour in the light of eternity, trusted that Providence would give the victory to their companions in arms.
Colonel Broadhead, of Michigan, lying upon the battle-field of Manassas, with the shadow of death stealing over him, wrote a most touching farewell letter to his wife, in which he expressed his convictions as to who was responsible for the defeat.
"My dear Wife:—"I write to you mortally wounded, from the battle-field. We have again been defeated, and ere this reaches you your children will be fatherless. Before I die let me implore that in some way it may be stated that General —-- has been outwitted, and that —-- is a traitor. Had they done their duty as I did mine, and had led as I did, the dear old flag had waved in triumph. I wrote to you yesterday morning. To-day is Sunday, and to-day I sink to the green couch of our final rest. I have fought well, my darling; and I was shot in the endeavor to rally our broken battalions. I could have escaped, but would not until all our hope was gone, and was shot,—about the only one of our forces left on the field. Our cause is just, and our generals,—not the enemy's,—have defeated us. In God's good time he will give us the victory."And now, good by, wife and children. Bring them up—I know you will—in the fear of God and love for the Saviour. But for you and the dear ones dependent, I should die happy. I know the blow will fall with crushing weight on you. Trust in Him who gave manna in the wilderness."Dr. North is with me. It is now after midnight, and I have spent most of the night in sending messages to you. Two bullets have gone through my chest, and directly through my lungs. I suffer little now, but at first the pain was acute. I have won the soldier's name, and am ready to meet now, as I must, the soldier's fate. I hope that from heaven I may see the glorious old flag wave again over the undivided country I have loved so well."Farewell, wife and friends, we shall meet again."
"My dear Wife:—
"I write to you mortally wounded, from the battle-field. We have again been defeated, and ere this reaches you your children will be fatherless. Before I die let me implore that in some way it may be stated that General —-- has been outwitted, and that —-- is a traitor. Had they done their duty as I did mine, and had led as I did, the dear old flag had waved in triumph. I wrote to you yesterday morning. To-day is Sunday, and to-day I sink to the green couch of our final rest. I have fought well, my darling; and I was shot in the endeavor to rally our broken battalions. I could have escaped, but would not until all our hope was gone, and was shot,—about the only one of our forces left on the field. Our cause is just, and our generals,—not the enemy's,—have defeated us. In God's good time he will give us the victory.
"And now, good by, wife and children. Bring them up—I know you will—in the fear of God and love for the Saviour. But for you and the dear ones dependent, I should die happy. I know the blow will fall with crushing weight on you. Trust in Him who gave manna in the wilderness.
"Dr. North is with me. It is now after midnight, and I have spent most of the night in sending messages to you. Two bullets have gone through my chest, and directly through my lungs. I suffer little now, but at first the pain was acute. I have won the soldier's name, and am ready to meet now, as I must, the soldier's fate. I hope that from heaven I may see the glorious old flag wave again over the undivided country I have loved so well.
"Farewell, wife and friends, we shall meet again."
The military authorities were often indebted to newspaper correspondents for intelligence concerning the movements of the Rebels. One of the most indefatigable of the corps was Mr. U. H. Painter, of the PhiladelphiaInquirer. He was at Bristow Station when Stuart made his first appearance in Pope's rear, capturing the baggage of that officer. Mr. Painter was taken prisoner, but, true to his profession, kept his eyes and ears open, listening to all that was said by Stuart and his subordinate officers. Being in citizen's dress, he managed to slip through the guard, but not till after he had obtained important information relative to the movements of the enemy. Reaching Washington, he at once sent an attaché of the paper up the Potomac to Point of Rocks, also informed the government that the Rebels were intending to invade Maryland. No credence was given to his assertion; the government believed that Washington was the point aimed at. The Rebels made their appearance at Point of Rocks, the messenger on watch gave Mr. Painter information by telegraph that Stuart was crossing. That gentleman informed the government of the fact, and forwarded a despatch to his paper. The Washington papers in the afternoon contained semi-official denials of the despatch to theInquirer. But information from the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company that the Rebels had possession of the road at Point of Rocks could not be disputed. Even then the government was slow to believe that the Rebels seriously intended a movement upon Maryland.
General Lee was flushed with success. He had reason to think well of himself and of his troops. He had raised the siege of Richmond, transferred the war to the vicinity of Washington, had defeated Pope on the old battle-ground of Manassas, and driven the Union forces into the defences of the capital. The troops believed that they could accomplish anything,—overcome all obstacles,—sweep away the Union army, and march to Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York; and yet Lee had made a miscalculation of the power of endurance on the part of his troops, and the first invasion of the North failed, not only because of the courage and tenacity of the Union soldiers at Antietam, but also because the Rebel army had lost much of its aggressive power through hard marching, constantfighting, and want of food. Jackson had so worn down his troops that in the first day's fight at Manassas he was defeated by Hooker and Heintzelman, and had it not been for the timely arrival of Longstreet, would have been driven from the field. In the second day's fight he could only hold his own, while Longstreet, meeting with little opposition, was able to turn Pope's left flank, and win the victory.
Lee entered Maryland as a liberator, believing that the people would riseen masseto welcome him; but he was greatly mistaken.
Taking the train from Philadelphia, I went to Harrisburg, Lancaster, and York in Pennsylvania, and thence into western Maryland. Everywhere the people were arming. All the able-bodied men were drilling. All labor was at a stand-still. The fires of the founderies went out; the farmers left their uncut grain in the field. Men worth millions of dollars were in the ranks as privates. Members of Congress, professors of colleges with their classes, iron-masters with their workmen, ministers and the able-bodied men of their congregations, were hastening to the rendezvous. The State Capitol grounds were swarming with men, receiving arms and ammunition. It was a glorious exhibition of patriotism; yet I could but think that they would offer a feeble resistance in the open field to well-drilled troops. At Bunker Hill raw militia stood the fire of British veterans; but such instances of pluck are rare in history.
Going up the Cumberland Valley I reached Greencastle on the 14th of September, ten miles from Hagerstown. I could hear a dull and heavy booming of cannon to the south, in the direction of South Mountain; but the Rebels were at Hagerstown, and had made a dash almost up to Greencastle. The only troops in the place were a few companies watching the border, and momentarily expecting the Rebels to appear. Citizens of Maryland, some from Virginia, Union men, were there, ready to run farther North on the slightest alarm.
Sept., 1862.
The little village was suddenly excited by the cry, "They are coming!" "They are coming!" It was not a body of Rebels, however, but the Union cavalry, which had cut their way out from Harper's Ferry in the night before the pusillanimoussurrender of Colonel Miles. They crossed the pontoon bridge, moved up the Potomac, through wood-paths and by-ways, twice coming in contact with the Rebel pickets, and falling in with Longstreet's ammunition trains between Hagerstown and Williamsport, consisting of one hundred wagons, which were captured. Many of the teamsters were slaves, who were very glad to see the Yankees. They were contented under their capture.
"Were you not frightened when you saw the Yankees?" I asked of one.
"Not de leastest bit, massa. I was glad to see 'em. Ye see, we all wanted to get Norf. De captain of de guard, he tell me to whip up my horses and get away, but I done cut for de woods right towards de Norf."
He chuckled merrily over it, and said, "I's in de service of de Union now."
He was driving the horses with evident satisfaction at the sudden change in his fortunes.
When John Brown woke the world from its dreaming at Harper's Ferry, he had an accomplice named Cook, who escaped and concealed himself in the mountains of Pennsylvania, but who was hunted down by Fitz Hugh Miller of Chambersburg. Among the Rebel prisoners was this same Fitz Hugh, dressed in a suit of rusty gray, with a black ostrich plume in his hat, sun-burned, dusty, having a hang-dog look. He was a captain in the Rebel service. The Dutch blood of the citizens, usually as calm and steady in its flow as the rivers of their Fatherland, came up with a rush.
"Hang him! Down with the traitor! Kill him!" they shouted. They rushed to seize him, but the guards kept the populace at bay. The excitement increased. Miller appealed to the guards to protect him. He was quickly hurried into the jail, which was strongly guarded. A great change had taken place in the opinions of the people. They had been indifferent to the questions of the hour, but the Rebel raid, by which they had lost their horses, had taught them an excellent lesson. Self-interest is sometimes a stimulant to patriotism. They even began to look with complacency upon what John Brown had done.
General McClellan at the battle of Antietam.
General McClellan at the battle of Antietam.
The Rebels evacuated Hagerstown on the morning of the 16th of September, and an hour later I entered it on the first train, which was greeted by the people with shouts and hurrahs and demonstrations of joy, as if it brought emancipation from long bondage. Some of the citizens had manifested sympathy with the Rebels. Still there were groups of excited men in the streets, shouting, "We'll hang the cusses. We've spotted them, and if they ever come back we'll be the death of them, as sure as there is a God."
The battle of South Mountain had been fought, and the hostile armies were concentrating for a trial of strength along the peaceful banks of the Antietam.
I was awakened at daylight on the morning of the 17th of September by the booming of cannon. It was a dull, leaden morning. The clouds hung low upon the mountains, and swept in drifts along the hillsides. The citizens of Hagerstown were astir,—some standing on the house-tops, listening to the increasing thunder of the cannonade, some in the church-steeples, others making haste to visit the field of battle. I had no horse, but finding a stable-keeper, was soon the owner of one. The horse-dealer was quite willing to dispose of his animals. "Horse-flesh is mighty onsartin these days," said he. "The Rebels took my best ones, and if they should come here again, I reckon they would clean me out."
My first impulse was to push directly down the Sharpsburg turnpike and gain the rear of the Rebels, enter their lines as a citizen, and see the battle from their side.
"Don't do it, sir," said a citizen.
Upon reflection, it appeared to be good advice, and so turning about (for I had already gone a mile or more in that direction) I took the Boonsboro pike and rode rapidly towards the battle-field. Two or three miles out I came across a Rebel soldier,—barefoot and bareheaded, pale, sallow, worn out by hard marching, lying under an oak-tree by the roadside. His gun was by his side. He raised his head and held up his hand, as if to implore me not to harm him. He belonged to a Georgia regiment, and had dropped by the way, too feeble to keep his place in the ranks. He was taken care of by two citizens.
Striking off from the turnpike in a by-path, then acrossfields, through oak groves, directed by the roar of battle, descending a steep hill, and fording the Antietam, I gained the battle-field in rear of the right wing, where Hooker was in command. Passing beyond the field hospitals, I reached the hill, on Poffenberg's farm.
The fire was raging fearfully in front of Sumner; but Hooker's and Mansfield's cannon were silent, cooling their brazen lips after the morning's fever. In the hollow behind the ridge, east of Poffenberg's house, the Pennsylvania Reserve Corps—what was left of them—were lying, sad, yet not disheartened. How changed from what they were a year before, then fifteen thousand strong!
"We cannot lose many more," said one, as I talked of the morning's action. Gibbons's brigade, of Hooker's corps, had crossed the turnpike, and was holding the ground in the woods between it and the Potomac.
Ascending the ridge, I came upon Battery B, Fourth Artillery, also Cooper's and Easton's Pennsylvania batteries, the New Hampshire Ninth and Rhode Island Fifth,—thirty pieces bearing on the cornfield and the wood-crowned hill, where, alas! a thousand of as brave men as ever breathed were lying, who just before had moved to meet the enemy.
The firing was hot and heavy a few rods south.
The fight began with the pickets in the night, and was taken up by the artillery at daylight. The Rebels had concentrated a heavy force on their left, we on our right, because the lay of the land required it, the right being our strongest ground, and their left their weakest. The ridge behind Poffenberg's house was the door-post on which our fortunes hinged. Not so with them,—theirs was a double door, its hinge being in the woods bordering the turnpike south of the toll-house.
Hooker gave Meade, with the Pennsylvania Reserves, the right, Ricketts the left, and placed Doubleday in support in rear. Mansfield joined Hooker's left, but was an hour behind time. Sumner was slow to come into action. Hooker advanced, drove in the Rebel pickets, found a Rebel battery on his extreme right, which, as soon as he came within its range began to plough him with a flanking fire. Meade obliqued to the right, poured in a few volleys, and drove the enemy acrossthe turnpike. This was the extreme left of the enemy's line. Hooker crossed the turnpike a few rods north of Poffenberg's, marched through the fields to the ridge by the cornfield. Having obtained possession of the ridge east of Poffenberg's, he planted his batteries and opened a fierce cannonade upon the Rebels.
The ground in front of Hooker was the scene of repeated struggles. In the afternoon the Rebels made a desperate attempt to regain what they had lost. They came down through the cornfield, west of the turnpike, under cover of their batteries. Hooker, Dana, Sedgwick, Hartsuff, Richardson, and Mansfield, all general officers, had been carried from the field wounded. General Howard was in command of the right wing. I was talking with him, when an officer dashed up and said, "General, the Rebels are coming down on us."
We were in the open field, a few rods southeast of Poffenberg's barn. General Howard rode forward a few steps, looked through the leafy branches of the oaks along the turnpike. We could see the dark lines of the enemy moving through the cornfield. "Tell the batteries to give them the heaviest fire possible," he said. It was spoken as deliberately as if he had said to his servant, "Bring me a glass of water." How those thirty pieces of artillery opened! Crack! crack! crack! and then a volley by artillery! How those gray lines wavered, swayed to and fro, and melted away!
In Poffenberg's door-yard, along the turnpike, were two noble horses, both killed by the same cannon-shot, smashing the head of one and tearing the neck of the other. The dead of the Pennsylvania Reserves laid under the palings of the garden fence. The gable of the house was torn to pieces by a shell. In the field in front dead men in blue and dead men in gray were thickly strown; and still farther out, along the narrow lane which runs southwest from the house, they were as thick as the withered leaves in autumn. How the battle-storm howled through those woods, fiercer than the blasts of November! It was a tornado which wrenched off the trunks of oaks large enough for a ship's keelson,—riving them, splintering them with the force of a thunderbolt.
If the blow which Hooker gave had been a little more powerful,—ifMansfield had been ordered in at the same instant with Hooker,—if Sumner had fallen upon the Rebel centre at the same time,—there can be but little doubt as to what would have been the result. But the battle of Antietam was fought by piecemeal. Hooker exhausted his strength before Mansfield came up; Mansfield was repulsed before Sumner came in; while Burnside, who had the most difficult task of all, was censured by McClellan for not carrying the bridge early in the morning. Yet Franklin, who arrived at noon, was only partially engaged, while Porter was ordered to stand a silent spectator through the day. The several corps of the Union army were like untrained teams of horses,—each pulled with all its strength, but no two succeeded in pulling together.
It was not far from twelve o'clock when the arrangements were completed for Sumner's movement. The artillery prepared the way for advance, by pouring in a heavy fire from all directions. The configuration of the ground admitted of this. The cornfield sloped toward the Antietam, and by careful scrutiny the Rebels could be seen lying down to avoid the shot and shells. It was a moment of anxious expectation to us who beheld the movement.
The divisions moved past the cemetery, past Roulet's house, the left of French's and the right of Richardson's, joining in the ravine. A few rods beyond the house the Rebel skirmishers opened a galling fire. Our own advanced rapidly, drove them in through the nearest cornfield. They fled to the road, and the field beyond.
The road is narrow, and by long usage and heavy rains, has become a trench, a natural rifle-pit about two and a half feet deep. The Rebels had thrown off the top rails of the fence in front, and strengthened the position by making them intoabatti,—imitating the example set by General Stark on the northeastern slope of Bunker Hill, in 1775.
The roadway was their first line; their second was in the corn, five or six rods farther west.