CHAPTER XXIII.

"Sir: My privet Apinion is Public express is that you ar A Dam Black harted ablichiness and if I ever hear of you open you mouth a gane you will get you head shave and cent Back to you free nigar Land Whar you be along these are fackes and you now I can prove them and I will Doet."

The Loyalist pocketed the affront, "ablichiness" and all, and nursed his wrath to keep it warm. Meeting his debtor on the street, after the arrival of our forces, he administered to him a merciless flagellation. Before our Provost-Marshal it was decided to be a case of "justifiable assault," and the prisoner was discharged from custody.

Challenge from a Southern Woman.

In the deserted office ofThe Appealwe found the following manuscript:—

"A CHALLENGE"where as the wicked policy of the president—Making war upon the South for refusing to submit to wrong too palpable for Southerners to do. And where as it has become necessary for the young Men of our country, My Brother, in the number To enlist to do the dirty work of Driving the Mercenarys from our sunny south.whoseWhosesoil is too holy for such wretches to tramp And whose atmosphere is to pure for them to breathe"For such an indignity afford to Civilization I Merely Challenge any abolition or Black Republican lady of character if there can be such a one found among the negro equality tribe. To Meet Me at Masons and dixon line. With a pair of Colt's repeaters or any other weapon they May Choose, That I May receivesatis factionsatisfactionfor the insult.""Victoria E. Goodwin.""Spring Dale, Miss., April 27, 1861."

"A CHALLENGE

"where as the wicked policy of the president—Making war upon the South for refusing to submit to wrong too palpable for Southerners to do. And where as it has become necessary for the young Men of our country, My Brother, in the number To enlist to do the dirty work of Driving the Mercenarys from our sunny south.whoseWhosesoil is too holy for such wretches to tramp And whose atmosphere is to pure for them to breathe

"For such an indignity afford to Civilization I Merely Challenge any abolition or Black Republican lady of character if there can be such a one found among the negro equality tribe. To Meet Me at Masons and dixon line. With a pair of Colt's repeaters or any other weapon they May Choose, That I May receivesatis factionsatisfactionfor the insult."

"Victoria E. Goodwin.""Spring Dale, Miss., April 27, 1861."

Confederate currency was a curiosity of literature and finance. Dray-tickets and checks, marked "Good for twenty-five cents," and a great variety of shinplasters, were current. One, issued by a baker, represented "twenty-five cents in drayage or confectionary," at the option of the holder. Another guaranteed to the bearer "the sum of five cents from the Mississippi and Tennessee Railroad Company, in freight or passage!"

A Droll Species of Currency.

One of my acquaintances had purchased in Chicago, at ten cents a dozen, lithographicfac-similesof the regular Confederate notes, promising to pay to the bearer ten dollars, six months after a treaty of peace between the United States and the Confederate States. A Memphis merchant, knowing that they were counterfeit, manufactured only to sell as curiosities, considered their execution so much better than the originals, that he gladly gave Tennessee bank-notes in exchange for them. My friend subsisted at his hotel for several days upon the proceeds of thesefac-similes, and thought it cheap boarding. While Curtis's army was in northern Arkansas, our officers found at a village druggist's several large sheets of hisprinted promises to pay, neither cut nor signed. At the next village one of them purchased a canteen of whisky, and offered the grocer a National treasury note in payment. The trader refused it; it was, doubtless, good, but might cause him trouble after the army had left. He would receive either gold or Confederate money. The officer exhibited one of these blanks, and asked if he would takethat. "O yes," he replied; "it is as good money as I want!" And he actually sold two hundred and fifty canteens of whisky for those unsigned shinplasters, cut off from the sheets in his presence!

Late in June, General Grant, accompanied only by his personal staff, often rode from Corinth to Memphis, ninety miles, through a region infested by guerrillas.

The guests at the Gayoso House regarded with much curiosity the quiet, slightly-stooping, rural-looking man in cotton coat and broad-brimmed hat, talking little and smoking much, who was already beginning to achieve world-wide reputation.

A party of native Arkansans, including a young lady, arrived in Memphis, coming up the Mississippi in an open skiff. When leaving home they expected to encounter some of our gun-boats in a few hours, and provided themselves only with one day's food, and an ample supply of champagne. Accustomed to luxury, and all unused to labor, in the unpitying sun they rowed for five days against the strong current of the Mississippi, burnt, sick, and famishing. For five nights they slept upon the ground on the swampy shore, half devoured by musquitoes. At last they found an ark of safety in the iron-clad St. Louis.

During a fight at St. Charles, on the White River, the steam-drum of the gun-boat Mound City was exploded by a Rebel shot. The terrified gunners and seamen,many of them horribly scalded, jumped into the water. The Confederates, from behind trees on the bank, deliberately shot the scalded and drowning wretches!

A Clever Rebel Trick.

Halleck continued in command at Corinth. From some cause, his official telegrams to General Curtis, in Arkansas, and Commodore Davis, on the Mississippi, were not transmitted in cipher; and the line was unguarded, though leading through an intensely Rebel region. In July, the Memphis operators, from the difficult working of their instruments, surmised that some outsider must be sharing their telegraphic secrets. One day the transmission of a message was suddenly interrupted by the ejaculation:

"Pshaw! Hurra for Jeff Davis!"

Individuality reveals itself as clearly in telegraphing as in the footstep or handwriting. Mr. Hall, the Memphis operator, instantly recognized the performer—by what the musicians would call his "time"—as a former telegraphic associate in the North; and sent him this message:

"Saville, if you don't want to be hung, you had better leave. Our cavalry is closing in on all sides of you."

After a little pause, the surprised Rebel replied:

"How in the world did you know me? I have been here four days, and learned about all your military secrets; but it is becoming a rather tight place, and I think Iwillleave. Good-by, boys."

He made good his escape. In the woods he had cut the wire, inserted one of his own, and by a pocket instrument perused our official dispatches, stating the exact number and location of United States troops in Memphis. Re-enforcements were immediately ordered in, to guard against a Rebel dash.

A Bit of Sherman's Waggery.

Later in July, Sherman assumed command. One day,a bereaved man-owner visited him, to learn how he could reclaim his runaway slaves.

"I know of only one way, sir," replied the general, "and that is, through the United States marshal."

The unsuspecting planter went up and down the city inquiring for that civil officer.

"Have you any business with him?" asked a Federal captain.

"Yes, sir. I want my negroes. General Sherman says he is the proper person to return them."

"Undoubtedly he is. The law prescribes it."

"Is he in town?"

"I rather suspect not."

"When do you think he left?"

"About the time Sumter was fired on, I fancy."

At last it dawned upon the planter's brain that the Fugitive Slave Law was void after the people drove out United States officers. He went sadly back to Sherman, and asked if there was no other method of recovering his chattels.

"None within my knowledge, sir."

"What can I do about it?"

"The law provided a remedy for you slaveholders in cases like this; but you were dissatisfied and smashed the machine. If you don't like your work, you had better set it to running again."

On the 7th and 8th of March, 1862, occurred the battle of Pea Ridge, in Arkansas. Our troops were commanded by General Curtis. Vandeveer's brigade made a forced march of forty-one miles between 2 o'clocka. m., and 10p. m., in order to participate in the engagement. The fight was very severe, but the tenacity of the western soldiers finally routed the Rebels.

There chanced to be only one New York correspondentwith Curtis's command. During the battle he was wounded by a fragment of shell. He sent forward his report, with calm complacency, presuming that it was exclusive.

Fictitious Battle Reports.

But two other New York journalists in St. Louis, hearing of the battle, at once repaired to Rolla, the nearest railway point, though one hundred and ninety-five miles distant from Pea Ridge. Perusing the very meager official dispatches, knowing what troops were engaged, and learning from an old countryman the topography of the field, they wrote elaborate accounts of the two days' conflict.

Indebted to their imagination for their facts, they gave minute details and a great variety of incidents. Their reports were plausible and graphic.The London Timesreproduced one of them, pronouncing it the ablest and best battle account which had been written during the American war. For months, the editors who originally published these reports, did not know that they were fictitious. They were written only as a Bohemian freak, and remained the only accounts manufactured by any reputable journalist during the war.

After the battle, Curtis's army, fifteen thousand strong, pursued its winding way through the interior of Arkansas. It maintained no communications, carrying its base of supplies along with it. When out of provisions, it would seize and run all the neighboring corn-mills, until it obtained a supply of meal for one or two weeks, and then move forward.

Curtis's Great March through Arkansas.

Day after day, the Memphis Rebels told us, with ill-concealed glee, that Curtis's army, after terrific slaughter, had all been captured, or was just about to surrender. For weeks we had no reliable intelligence from it. But suddenly it appeared at Helena, on the Mississippi,seventy-five miles below Memphis, having marched more than six hundred miles through the enemy's country. Despite the unhealthy climate, the soldiers arrived in excellent sanitary condition, weary and ragged, but well, and with an immense train of followers. It was a common jest, that every private came in with one horse, one mule, and two negroes.

The army correspondents, disgusted with the hardships and unwholesome fare of Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, and Mississippi, often predicted, with what they thought extravagant humor:—

"When Cincinnati or Chicago becomes the seat of war, all this will be changed. We will take our ease at our inn, and view battles æsthetically."

But in September, this jest became the literal truth. Bragg, leaving Buell far behind in Tennessee, invaded Kentucky, and seriously threatened Cincinnati.

Martial law was declared, and all Cincinnati began arming, drilling, or digging. In one day, twenty-five thousand citizens enrolled their names, and were organized into companies. Four thousand worked upon the Covington fortifications. Newspaper proprietors were in the trenches. Congressmen, actors, and artists, carried muskets or did staff duty.

A few sneaks were dragged from their hiding-places in back kitchens, garrets, and cellars. One fellow was found in his wife's clothing, scrubbing away at the wash-tub. He was suddenly stripped of his crinoline by the German guard, who, with shouts of laughter, bore him away to a working-party.

New regiments of volunteers came pouring in from Indiana, Michigan, and the other Northwestern States. The farmers, young and old, arrived by thousands, with their shot-guns and their old squirrel-rifles. The market houses,public buildings, and streets, were crowded with them. They came even from New York and Pennsylvania, until General Wallace was compelled to telegraph in all directions that no more were needed.

One of these country boys had no weapon except an old Revolutionary sword. Quite a crowd gathered one morning upon Sycamore street, where he took out his rusty blade, scrutinized its blunt edge, knelt down, and carefully whetted it for half an hour upon a door-stone; then, finding it satisfactorily sharp, replaced it in the scabbard, and turned away with a satisfied look. His gravity and solemnity made it very ludicrous.

Buell, before starting northward in pursuit of Bragg, was about to evacuate Nashville. Andrew Johnson, Military Governor of Tennessee, implored, expostulated, and stormed, but without effect. He solemnly declared that, if all the rest of the army left, he would remain with his four Middle Tennessee regiments, defend the city to the last, and perish in its ashes, before it should be given up to the enemy. Buell finally left a garrison, which, though weak in numbers, proved sufficient to hold Nashville.

"The Siege of Cincinnati."

The siege of Cincinnati proved of short duration. Buell's veterans, and the enthusiastic new volunteers soon sent the Rebels flying homeward. Then, as through the whole war, their appearance north of Tennessee and Virginia was the sure index of disaster to their arms. Southern military genius did not prove adapted to the establishment of a navy, or to fighting on Northern soil.

Gloomiest Days of the War.

Maryland invaded, Frankfort abandoned, Nashville evacuated, Tennessee and Kentucky given up almost without a fight, the Rebels threatening the great commercial metropolis of Ohio—these were the disastrous, humiliating tidings of the hour. These were, perhaps,the gloomiest days that had been seen during the war. We were paying the bitter penalty of many years of National wrong.

"God works no otherwise; no mighty birthBut comes with throes of mortal agony;No man-child among nations of the earthBut findeth its baptism in a stormy sea."

He that outlives this day and comes safe home,Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named.King Henry V.Much work for tears in many an English mother,Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground.King John.

He that outlives this day and comes safe home,Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named.

King Henry V.

Much work for tears in many an English mother,Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground.

King John.

Ordered to Washington.

During the siege of Cincinnati, the Managing Editor telegraphed me thus:

"Repair to Washington without any delay."

An hour afterward I was upon an eastern train.

At the Capital, I found orders to join the Army of the Potomac. It was during Lee's first invasion. In Pennsylvania, the governor and leading officials nearly doubled the Confederate army, estimating it at two hundred thousand men.

Reaching Frederick, Maryland, I found more Union flags, proportionately, in that little city, than I had ever seen elsewhere. The people were intensely loyal. Four miles beyond, in a mountain region, I saw winding, fertile valleys of clear streams, rich in broad corn-fields; and white vine-covered farm-houses, half hidden in old apple-orchards; while great hay and grain stacks surrounded—

"The gray barns, looking from their hazy hillsO'er the dim waters widening in the vales."

The roads were full of our advancing forces, with bronzed faces and muscles compacted by their long campaigning. They had just won the victory of South Mountain, where Hooker found exercise for his peculiar genius in fighting above the clouds, and driving the enemy by an impetuous charge from a dizzy and apparently inaccessible hight.

On the War-Path.

The heroic Army of the Potomac, which had suffered more, fought harder, and been defeated oftener than any other National force, was now marching cheerily under the unusual inspiration of victory. But what fearful loads the soldiers carried! Gun, canteen, knapsack, haversack, pack of blankets and clothing, often must have reached fifty pounds to the man. These modern Atlases had little chance in a race with the Rebels.

There were crowds of sorry-looking prisoners marching to the rear; long trains of ambulances filled with our wounded soldiers, some of them walking back with their arms in slings, or bloody bandages about their necks or foreheads; Rebel hospitals, where unfortunate fellows were groaning upon the straw, with arms or legs missing; eleven of our lost, resting placidly side by side, while their comrades were digging their graves hard by; the unburied dead of the enemy, lying in pairs or groups, behind rocks or in fence corners; and then a Rebel surgeon, in bluish-gray uniform, coming in with a flag of truce, to look after his wounded.

All the morning I heard the pounding of distant guns, and at 4p. m., near the little village of Keedysville, I reached our front. On the extreme left I found an old friend whom I had not met for many years—Colonel Edward E. Cross, of the Fifth New Hampshire Infantry. Formerly a Cincinnati journalist, afterward a miner in Arizona, and then a colonel at the head of a Mexican regiment, his life had beenfull of interest and romance.

A Novel Kind of Duel.

While living in Arizona he incurred the displeasure of the pro-Slavery politicians, who ruled the territory. Mowry, their self-styled Delegate to Congress, challenged him—probably upon the hypothesis that, as a Northerner, he would not recognize the code; but Cross was an ugly subject for that experiment. He promptly accepted, and named Burnside rifles at ten paces! Mowry was probably ready to say with Falstaff—

"An' I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him damned ere I had challenged him."

Both were dead shots. Their seconds placed them across the strong prairie wind, to interfere with their aim. At the first fire, a ball grazed Mowry's ear. At the second, a lock of Cross's hair was cut off.

"Rather close work, is it not?" he calmly asked of a bystander.

At the third fire, Mowry's rifle missed. His friends insisted that he was entitled to his fire. Those of the other party declared that this was monstrous, and that he should be killed if he attempted it. But Cross settled the difficulty by deciding that Mowry was right, and stood serenely, with folded arms, to receive the shot. The would-be Delegate was wise enough to fire into the air. Thus ended the bloodless duel, and the journalist was never challenged again.

A year or two later, I chanced to be in El Paso, Mexico, shortly after Cross had visited that ancient city. An old cathedral, still standing, was built before the landing of the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock. Ascending to the steeple, Cross pocketed and brought away the clapper of the old Spanish bell, which was hung there when the edifice was erected.The devout natives were greatly exasperated at this profanation, and would have killed the relic-hunting Yankee had they caught him. I heard from them a great deal of swearing in bad Spanish on the subject.

Now, when I greeted him, his men were deployed in a corn-field, skirmishing with the enemy's pickets. He was in a barn, where the balls constantly whistled, and occasionally struck the building. He had just come in from the front, where Confederate bullets had torn two rents in the shoulder of his blouse, without breaking the skin. A straggling soldier passed us, strolling down the road toward the Rebel pickets.

"My young friend," said Cross, "if you don't want a hole through you, you had better come back."

Just as he spoke, ping! came a bullet, perforating the hat of the private, who made excellent time toward the rear. A moment after, a shell exploded on a bank near us, throwing the dirt into our faces.

How Correspondents Avoided Expulsion.

We spent the night at the house of a Union resident, of Keedysville. General Marcy, McClellan's father-in-law and chief of staff, who supped there, inquired, with some curiosity, how we had gained admission to the lines, as journalists were then nominally excluded from the army. We assured him that it was only by "strategy," the details whereof could not be divulged to outsiders.

One of theTribunecorrespondents had not left the army since the Peninsular campaign, and, remaining constantly within the lines, his position had never been questioned. Another, who had a nominal appointment upon the staff of a major-general, wore a saber and passed for an officer. I had an old pass, without date, from General Burnside, authorizing the bearer to go to and fro from his head-quarters at all times, which enabled me to go by all guards with ease.

Marcy engaged lodgings at the house for McClellan; but an hour after, a message was received that the general thought it better to sleep upon the ground, near the bivouac-fires, as an example for the troops.

Shameful Surrender of Harper's Ferry.

Last night came intelligence of the surrender, to Stonewall Jackson, of Harper's Ferry, including the impregnable position of Maryland Hights and our army.

Colonel Miles, who commanded, atoned for his weakness with his life, being killed by a stray shot just after he had capitulated. Colonel Thomas H. Ford, ex-Lieutenant-Governor of Ohio, who was stationed on the Hights, professed to have a written order from Miles, his superior officer, to exercise his own discretion about evacuating; but he could not exhibit the paper, and stated that he had lost it. He gave up that key to the position without a struggle. It was like leaving the rim of a teacup, to go down to the bottom for a defensive point. He was afterward tried before a court-martial, but saved from punishment, and permitted to resign, through the clemency of President Lincoln. In any other country he would have been shot.

On September 16th, General McClellan established his head-quarters in a great shaded brick farm-house.

Under one of the old trees sat General Sumner, at sixty-four erect, agile, and soldierly, with snow-white hair. A few yards distant, in an open field, a party of officers were suddenly startled by two shells which dropped very near them. The group broke up and scattered with great alacrity.

"Why," remarked Sumner, with a peculiar smile, "the shells seem to excite a good deal of commotion among those young gentlemen!"

It appeared to amuse and surprise the old war-horse that anybody should be startled by bullets or shots.

Lying upon the ground near by, with his head resting upon his arm, was another officer wearing the two stars of a major-general.

"Who is that?" I asked of a journalistic friend.

"Fighting Joe Hooker," was the answer.

With his side-whiskers, rather heavy countenance, and transparent cheeks, which revealed the blood like those of a blushing girl, he hardly looked all my fancy had painted him.

A Cavalry Stampede.

Toward evening, at the head of his corps, preceded by the pioneers tearing away fences for the column, Hooker led a forward movement across Antietam Creek. His milk-white horse, a rare target to Rebel sharpshooters, could be seen distinctly from afar against the deep green landscape. I could not believe that he was riding into battle upon such a steed, for it seemed suicidal.

In an hour we halted, and the cavalry went forward to reconnoiter. A few minutes after, Mr. George W. Smalley, ofThe Tribune, said to me:

"There will be a cavalry stampede in about five minutes. Let us ride out to the front and see it."

Galloping up the road, and waiting two or three minutes, we heard three six-pound shots in rapid succession, and a little fifer who had climbed a tree, shouted:

"There they come, like the devil, with the Rebels after them!"

From a vast cloud of dust, emerged soon our troopers in hot haste and disorder. They had suddenly awakened a Rebel battery, which opened upon them.

"We will stir them up," said Hooker, as the cavalry commander made his report.

"Why, General," replied the major, "they have some batteries up there!"

"Well, sir," answered Hooker, "have'nthaven'twe got as many batteries as they have? Move on!"

Opening of the Battle of Antietam.—General HookerOpening of the Battle of Antietam.—General HookerOpening of the Battle of Antietam.—General Hooker.Click for larger image.

Opening of the Battle of Antietam.—General Hooker.

Click for larger image.

"Fighting Joe Hooker" in Battle.

McClellan, who had accompanied the expedition thus far, rode back to the rear. Hooker pressed forward, accompanied by General Meade, then commanding a division—a dark-haired, scholarly-looking gentleman in spectacles. The grassy fields, the shining streams, and the vernal forests, stretched out in silent beauty. With their bright muskets, clean uniforms, and floating flags, Hooker's men moved on with assured faces.

"'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,One glance at their array."

With a very heavy force of skirmishers, we pushed on, finding no enemy. Our line was three-quarters of a mile in length. Hooker was on the extreme right, close upon the skirmishers.

As we approached a strip of woods, a hundred yards wide, far on our extreme left, we heard a single musket. Then there was another, then another, and in an instant our whole line blazed like a train of powder, in one long sheet of flame.

Right on our front, through the narrow belt of woods, so near that it seemed that we might toss a pebble to them, rose a countless horde of Rebels, almost instantly obscured by the fire from their muskets and the smoke of the batteries.

Myconfrèreand myself were within a few yards of Hooker. It was a very hot place. We could not distinguish the "ping" of the individual bullets, but their combined and mingled hum was like the din of a great Lowell factory. Solid shot and shell came shrieking through the air, but over our heads, as we were on the extreme front.

Hooker—common-place before—the moment he heard the guns, loomedup into gigantic stature. His eye gleamed with the grand anger of battle. He seemed to know exactly what to do, to feel that he was master of the situation, and to impress every one else with the fact. Turning to one of his staff, and pointing to a spot near us, he said:

"Go, and tell Captain ---- to bring his battery and plant it there at once!"

The lieutenant rode away. After giving one or two further orders with great clearness, rapidity, and precision, Hooker's eye turned again to that mass of Rebel infantry in the woods, and he said to another officer, with great emphasis:

"Go, and tell Captain ---- to bring his battery here instantly!"

Sending more messages to the various divisions and batteries, only a single member of the staff remained. Once more scanning the woods with his eager eye, Hooker directed the aid:

"Go, and tell Captain ---- to bring that battery here without one second's delay. Why, my God, how he can pour it into their infantry!"

By this time, several of the body-guard had fallen from their saddles. Our horses plunged wildly. A shell plowed the ground under my rearing steed, and another exploded near Mr. Smalley, throwing great clouds of dust over both of us. Hooker leaped his white horse over a low fence into an adjacent orchard, whither we gladly followed. Though we did not move more than thirty yards, it took us comparatively out of range.

The Rebels Waver and Break.

The desired battery, stimulated by three successive messages, came up with smoking horses, at a full run, was unlimbered in the twinkling of an eye, and began to pour shots into the enemy, who were alsosuffering severely from our infantry discharges. It was not many seconds before they began to waver. Through the rifting smoke, we could see their line sway to and fro; then it broke like a thaw in a great river. Hooker rose up in his saddle, and, in a voice of suppressed thunder, exclaimed:

"There they go, G-d d--n them! Forward!"

Our whole line moved on. It was now nearly dark. Having shared the experience of "Fighting Joe Hooker" quite long enough, I turned toward the rear. Fresh troops were pressing forward, and stragglers were ranged in long lines behind rocks and trees.

Riding slowly along a grassy slope, as I supposed quite out of range, my meditations were disturbed by a cannon-ball, whose rush of air fanned my face, and made my horse shrink and rear almost upright. The next moment came another behind me, and by the great blaze of a fire of rails, which the soldiers had built, I saw itricochetdown the slope, like a foot-ball, and pass right through a column of our troops in blue, who were marching steadily forward. The gap which it made was immediately closed up.

Men with litters were groping through the darkness, bearing the wounded back to the ambulances.

A Night Among the Pickets.

At nine o'clock, I wandered to a farm-house, occupied by some of our pickets. We dared not light candles, as it was within range of the enemy. The family had left. I tied my horse to an apple-tree, and lay down upon the parlor floor, with my saddle for a pillow. At intervals during the night, we heard the popping of musketry, and at the first glimpse of dawn the picket-officer shook me by the arm.

"My friend," said he, "you had better go away as soon as you can;this place is getting rather hot for civilians."

The Battle of Antietam.

I rode around through the field, for shot and shell were already screaming up the narrow lane.

Thus commenced the long, hotly-contested battle of Antietam. Our line was three miles in length, with Hooker on the right, Burnside on the left, and a great gap in the middle, occupied only by artillery; while Fitz-John Porter, with his fine corps, was held in reserve. From dawn until nearly dark, the two great armies wrestled like athletes, straining every muscle, losing here, gaining there, and at many points fighting the same ground over and over again. It was a fierce, sturdy, indecisive conflict.

Five thousand spectators viewed the struggle from a hill comparatively out of range. Not more than three persons were struck there during the day. McClellan and his staff occupied another ridge half a mile in the rear.

"By Heaven! it was a goodly sight to see,For one who had no friend or brother there."

No one who looked upon that wonderful panorama can describe or forget it. Every hill and valley, every corn-field, grove, and cluster of trees, was fiercely fought for.

The artillery was unceasing; we could often count more than sixty guns to the minute. It was like thunder; and the musketry sounded like the patter of rain-drops in an April shower. On the great field were riderless horses and scattering men, clouds of dirt from solid shot and exploding shells, long dark lines of infantry swaying to and fro, with columns of smoke rising from their muskets, red flashes and white puffs from the batteries—with the sun shining brightly on all this scene of tumult, and beyond it, upon the dark, rich woods, andthe clear blue mountains south of the Potomac.

Fearful Slaughter in the Corn-field.

We saw clearly our entire line, except the extreme left, where Burnside was hidden by intervening ridges; and at times the infantry and cavalry of the Rebels. We could see them press our men, and hear their shrill yells of triumph. Then our columns in blue would move forward, driving them back, with loud, deep-mouthed, sturdy cheers. Once, a great mass of Rebels, in brown and gray, came pouring impetuously through a corn-field, forcing back the Union troops. For a moment both were hidden under a hill; and then up, over the slope came our soldiers, flying in confusion, with the enemy in hot pursuit. But soon after, up rose and opened upon them two long lines of men in blue, with shining muskets, who, hidden behind a ridge, had been lying in wait. The range was short, and the fire was deadly.

The Rebels instantly poured back, and were again lost for a moment behind the hill, our troops hotly following. In a few seconds, they reappeared, rushing tumultuously back into the corn-field. While they were so thick that they looked like swarming bees, one of our batteries, at short range, suddenly commenced dropping shots among them. We could see with distinctness the explosions of the shells, and sometimes even thought we detected fragments of human bodies flying through the air. In that field, the next day, I counted sixty-four of the enemy's dead, lying almost in one mass.

Hooker, wounded before noon, was carried from the field. Had he not been disabled, he would probably have made it a decisive conflict. Realizing that it was one of the world's great days, he said:

"I would gladly have compromised with the enemy by receiving a mortal wound at night, could I have remained at the head of my troops until the sun went down."

On the left, Burnside, who had a strong, high stone bridge to carry, was sorely pressed. McClellan denied his earnest requests for re-enforcements, though the best corps of the army was then held in reserve.

The Fifteenth Massachusetts Infantry took into the battle five hundred and fifty men, and brought out only one hundred and fifty-six. The Nineteenth Massachusetts, out of four hundred and six men, lost all but one hundred and forty-seven, including every commissioned officer above a first lieutenant. The Fifth New Hampshire, three hundred strong, lost one hundred and ten privates and fourteen officers. Colonel Cross, who seldom went into battle without receiving wounds, was struck in the head by a piece of shell early in the day, but with face crimsoned and eyes dimmed with blood, he led his men until night closed the indecisive conflict.

Best Battle-Report of the War.

At night, the fourTribunecorrespondents, who had witnessed the battle, met at a little farm-house. They prepared hasty reports, by a flickering tallow candle, in a narrow room crowded with wounded and dying.

Mr. Smalley had been with Hooker from the firing of the first gun. Twice his horse had been shot under him, and twice his clothing was cut by bullets. Without food, without sleep, greatly exhausted physically and mentally, he started for New York, writing his report on a railway train during the night, by a very dim light.

Reaching New York at seven in the morning, he found the printers awaiting him; and, an hour later, his account of the conflict, filling fiveTribunecolumns, was being cried in the streets by the news-boys. Notwithstanding the adverse circumstances of its preparation, it was vivid and truthful, and was considered the best battle-report of the war.

——Our doubts are traitors.And make us lose the good we oft might win,By fearing to attempt.Measure for Measure.

——Our doubts are traitors.And make us lose the good we oft might win,By fearing to attempt.

Measure for Measure.

In a lull of the musketry, during the battle of Antietam, McClellan rode forward toward the front. On the way, he met a Massachusetts general, who was his old friend and class-mate.

"Gordon," he asked, "how are your men?"

"They have behaved admirably," replied Gordon; "but they are now somewhat scattered."

"Collect them at once. We must fight to-night and fight to-morrow. This is our golden opportunity. If we cannot whip the Rebels here, we may just as well all die on the field."

The Day After the Battle.

That was the spirit of the whole army. It was universally expected that McClellan would renew the attack at daylight the next morning; but, though he had many thousand fresh men, and defeat could only be repulse to him, while to the enemy, with the river in his rear, it would be ruin, his constitutional timidity prevented. It was the costliest of mistakes.

Thursday proved a day of rest—such rest as can be found with three miles of dead men to bury, and thousands of wounded to bring from the field. It was a day of standing on the line where the battle closed—of intermittent sharp-shooting and discharges of artillery,but no general skirmishing, or attempt to advance on either side.

Riding out to the front of General Couch's line, I found the Rebels and our own soldiers mingling freely on the disputed ground, bearing away the wounded. I was scanning a Rebel battery with my field-glass, at the distance of a quarter of a mile, when one of our pickets exclaimed:

"Put up your glass, sir! The Johnnies will shoot in a minute, if they see you using it."

In front of Hancock's lines, a flag of truce was raised. Hancock—erect and soldierly, with smooth face, light eyes, and brown hair, the finest-looking general in our service—accompanied by Meagher, rode forward into a corn-field, and met the young fire-eating brigadier of the Rebels, Roger A. Pryor. Pryor insisted that he had seen a white flag on our front, and asked if we desired permission to remove our dead and wounded. Hancock indignantly denied that we had asked for a truce, as we claimed the ground, stating that, through the whole day, we had been removing and ministering to both Union and Rebel wounded. He suggested a cessation of sharp-shooting until this work could be completed. Pryor declined this, and in ten minutes the firing reopened.

"A great victory," said Wellington, "is the most awful thing in the world, except a great defeat." Antietam, though not an entire victory, had all its terrific features. Our casualties footed up to twelve thousand three hundred and fifty-two, of whom about two thousand were killed on the field.

Down Among the Dead Men.

Between the fences of a road immediately beyond the corn-field, in a space one hundred yards long, I counted more than two hundred Rebel dead, lying where they fell. Elsewhere, over many acres, theywere strewn singly, in groups, and occasionally in masses, piled up almost like cord-wood. They were lying—some with the human form undistinguishable, others with no outward indication of wounds—in all the strange positions of violent death. All had blackened faces. There were forms with every rigid muscle strained in fierce agony, and those with hands folded peacefully upon the bosom; some still clutching their guns, others with arm upraised, and one with a single open finger pointing to heaven. Several remained hanging over a fence which they were climbing when the fatal shot struck them.

It was several days before all the wounded were removed from the field. Many were shockingly mutilated; but the most revolting spectacle I saw was that of a soldier, with three fingers cut off by a bullet, leaving ragged, bloody shreds of flesh.

Lee Permitted to Escape.

On Thursday night the sun went down with the opposing forces face to face, and their pickets within stone's throw of each other. On Friday morning the Rebel army was in Virginia, the National army in Maryland. Between dark and daylight, Lee evacuated the position, and carried his whole army across the river. He had no empty breastworks with which to endow us; but he left a field plowed with shot, watered with blood, and sown thick with dead. We found thedébrisof his late camps, two disabled pieces of artillery, a few hundred of his stragglers, two thousand of his wounded, and as many more of his unburied dead; but not a single field-piece or caisson, ambulance or wagon, not a tent, a box of stores, or a pound of ammunition. He carried with him the supplies gathered in Maryland and the rich spoils of Harper's Ferry.

It was a very bitter disappointment to the army and the country.

The John Brown Engine-House.

Bolivar Hights, Md.,September 25, 1862.

Adieu to western Maryland, with the stanch loyalty of its suffering people! Adieu to Sharpsburg, which, cut to pieces by our own shot and shell as no other village in America ever was, gave us the warm welcome that comes from the heart! Adieu to the drenched field of Antietam, with its glorious Wednesday, writing for our army a record than which nothing brighter shines through history; with its fatal Thursday, permitting the clean, leisurely escape of the foe down into the valley, across the difficult ford, and up the Virginia Hights! Our army might have been driven back; it could never have been captured or cut to pieces. Failure was only repulse; success was crowning, decisive, final victory. The enemy saw this, and walked undisturbed out of the snare.

Three days ago, our army moved down the left bank of the Potomac, climbing the narrow, tortuous road that winds around the foot of the mountains; under Maryland Hights; across the long, crooked ford above the blackened timbers of the railroad bridge; then up among the long, bare, deserted walls of the ruined Government Armory, past the engine-house which Old John Brown made historic; up through the dingy, antique, oriental looking town of Harper's Ferry, sadly worn, almost washed away by the ebb and flow of war; up through the village of Bolivar to these Hights, where we pitched our tents.

Behind and below us rushed the gleaming river, till its dark, shining surface was broken by rocks. Across it came a line of our stragglers, wading to the knees with staggering steps. Beyond it, the broad forest-clad Maryland Hights rose gloomy and somber. Down behind me, to the river, winding across it like a slender S, thenextending for half a mile on the other side, far up along the Maryland hill, stretched a division-train of snowy wagons, standing out in strong relief from the dark background of water and mountain.

Two weeks ago shots exchanged between the army of Slavery and the army of Freedom shrieked and screamed over the engine-house, where, for two days, Old John Brown held the State of Virginia at bay. A week ago its walls were again shaken by the thunders of cannonade, when the armies met in fruitless battle. Last night, within rifle-shot of it, the President's Proclamation of Emancipation was heard gladly among thirty thousand soldiers.

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