President Lincoln Reviews the Army.
October 2.
President Lincoln arrived here yesterday, and reviewed the troops, accompanied by McClellan, Sumner, Hancock, Meagher, and other generals. He appeared in black, wearing a silk hat; and his tall, slender form, and plain clothing, contrasted strangely with the broad shoulders and the blue and gold of the major-general commanding.
He is unusually thin and silent, and looks weary and careworn. He regarded the old engine-house with great interest. It reminded him, he said, of the Illinois custom of naming locomotives after fleet animals, such as the "Reindeer," the "Antelope," the "Flying Dutchman," etc. At the time of the John Brown raid, a new locomotive was named the "Scared Virginians."
The troops everywhere cheered him with warm enthusiasm.
October 13.
The cavalry raid of the Rebel General Stuart, around our entire army, into Maryland and Pennsylvania, and back again, crossing the Potomac without serious loss, isthe one theme of conversation. It was audacious and brilliant. On his return, Stuart passed within five miles of McClellan's head-quarters, which were separated from the rest of the troops by half a mile, and guarded only by a New York regiment. Some of the staff officers are very indignant when they are told that Stuart knew the interest of the Rebels too well to capture our commander.
Charlestown, Virginia,October 16.
A reconnoissance to the front, commanded by General Hancock. The column moved briskly over the broad turnpike, through ample fields rich with shocks of corn, past stately farm-houses, with deep shade-trees and orchards, by gray barns, surrounded by hay and grain stacks—beyond our lines, over the debatable ground, past the Rebel picket-stations, in sight of Charlestown, and yet no enemy appeared.
Dodging Rebel Cannon-Balls.
We began to think Confederates a myth. But suddenly a gun belched forth in front of us; another, and yet another, and rifled shot came singing by, cutting through the tree-branches with sharp, incisive music.
Two of our batteries instantly unlimbered, and replied. Our column filled the road. Nearly all the Rebel missiles struck in an apple-orchard within twenty yards of the turnpike; but our men would persist in climbing the trees and gathering the fruit, in spite of the shrieking shells.
I have not yet learned to avoid bowing my head instinctively as a shot screams by; but some old stagers sit perfectly erect, and laughingly remind me of Napoleon's remark to a young officer: "My friend, if that shell were really your fate, it would hit you and kill you if you were a hundred feet underground."
We could plainly see the Rebel cavalry. Far in advanceof all others, was a rider on a milk-white horse, which made him a conspicuous mark. The sharpshooters tried in vain to pick him off, while he sat viewing the artillery drill as complacently as if enjoying a pantomime. Some of our officers declare that they have seen that identical steed and rider on the Rebel front in every fight from Yorktown to Antietam.
After an artillery fire of an hour, in which we lost eight or ten men, the Rebels evacuated Charlestown, and we entered.
"His Soul is Marching On."
The troops take a very keen interest in every thing connected with the historic old man, who, two years ago, yielded up his life in a field which is near our camp. They visit it by hundreds, and pour into the court-house, now open and deserted, where he was tried, and made that wonderful speech which will never die. They scan closely the jail, where he wrote and spoke so many electric words. As our column passed it, one countenance only was visible within—that of a negro, looking through a grated window. How his dusky face lit up behind its prison-bars at the sight of our column, and the words—
"His soul is marching on!"
"His soul is marching on!"
sung by a Pennsylvania regiment!
An Eminently "Intelligent Contraband."
Our pickets descried a solitary horseman, with a basket on his arm, jogging soberly toward them. He proved a dark mulatto of about thirty-five, and halted at their order.
"Where are you from?"
"Southern army, Cap'n."
"Where are you going?"
"Goin' to you'se all."
"What do you want?"
"Protection, boss. You won't send me back, will you?"
"No, come in. Whose servant are you?"
"Cap'n Rhett's, of South Caroliny. You'se heard of Mr. Barnwell Rhett, Editor ofThe Charleston Mercury; Cap'n is his brother, and commands a battery."
"How did you get away?"
"Cap'n gave me fifteen dollars this morning. He said: 'John, go out and forage for butter and eggs.' So you see, boss" (with a broad grin), "I'se out foraging. I pulled my hat over my eyes, and jogged along on the cap'n's horse, with this basket on my arm, right by our pickets. They never challenged me once. If they had I should have shown them this."
And he produced from his pocket an order in pencil from Captain Rhett to pass his servant John, on horseback, in search of butter and eggs.
"Why did you expect protection?"
"Heard so in Maryland, before the Proclamation."
"What do you know about the Proclamation?"
"Read it, sir, in a Richmond paper."
"What is it?"
"That every slave is to be emancipated after the first day of next January. Isn't that it, boss?"
"Something like it. How did you learn to read?"
"A New York lady stopping at the hotel taught me."
"Did you ever hear of Old John Brown?"
"Hear of him! Lord bless you, yes; I've his life now in my trunk in Charleston. I've read it to heaps of colored folks. They think John Brown was almost a god. Just say you are a friend of his, and any slave will kiss your feet, if you will let him. They think, if he was only alive now, he would be king. How he did frighten the white folks! It was Sunday morning. I was waiterat the Mills House, in Charleston. A lady from Massachusetts breakfasted at my table. 'John,' she says, 'I want to see a negro church. Where is the best one?' 'Not any open to-day, Missus,' I told her. 'Why not?' 'Because a Mr. John Brown has raised an insurrection in Virginny, and they don't let the negroes go into the street to-day.' 'Well,' she says, 'they had better look out, or they will get their white churches shut up, too, one of these days.'"
"The Lord Bless You, General!"
This truly intelligent contraband, being taken to McClellan, replied very modestly and intelligently to questions about the numbers and organization of the Rebel army. At the close of the interview, he asked anxiously:
"General, you won't send me back, will you?"
"Yes," replied McClellan, with a smile, "I believe I will."
"I hope you won't, General" (with great earnestness). "I come to you'se all for protection, and I hope you won't."
"Well, then, John, you are at liberty to stay with the army, if you like, or to go where you please. No one can ever make you a slave again."
"May the Lord bless you, General! I thought you wouldn't drive me out. You'se the best friend I ever had. I shall never forget you till I die."
Bolivar Hights,October 25.
"The view from the mountains at Harper's Ferry," said Thomas Jefferson, "is worth a journey across the Atlantic."
Curiosities of the Signal-Corps.
Let us approach it at the lower price of climbing Maryland Hights. The air is soft and wooing to-day. It is the time—
——"just ere the frostPrepares to pave old Winter's way,When Autumn, in a reverie lost,The mellow daylight dreams away;When Summer comes in musing mindTo gaze once more on hill and dell,To mark how many sheaves they bind,And see if all are ripened well."
——"just ere the frostPrepares to pave old Winter's way,When Autumn, in a reverie lost,The mellow daylight dreams away;When Summer comes in musing mindTo gaze once more on hill and dell,To mark how many sheaves they bind,And see if all are ripened well."
Half way up the mountain, you rest your panting horse at a battery, among bottle-shaped Dahlgrens, sure at thirty-five hundred yards, and capable at their utmost elevation of a range of three miles and a half; black, solemn Parrotts, with iron-banded breech, and shining howitzers of brass. Far up, accessible only to footmen, is a long breast-work, where two of our companies repulsed a Rebel regiment. How high the tide of war must run, when its waves wash this mountain-top! Here, on the extreme summit, is an open tent of the Signal-Corps. It is labeled:
"Don't touch the instruments. Ask no questions."
Inside, two operators are gazing at the distant hights, through fixed telescopes, calling out, "45," "169," "81," etc., which the clerk records. Each number represents a letter, syllable, or abbreviated word.
Looking through the long glass toward one of the seven signal-stations, from four to twenty miles away, communicating with this, you see a flag, with some large black figure upon a white foreground. It rises; so many waves to the right; so many to the left. Then a different flag takes its place, and rises and falls in turn.
By these combinations, from one to three words per minute are telegraphed. The operator slowly reads the distant signal to you: "Two— hundred— Rebel—cavalry— riding— out— of— Charlestown— this— way— field-piece— on—road," and it occupies five minutes. Five miles is an easy distance to communicate, but messages can be sent twenty miles. The Signal-Corps keep on the front; their services are of great value. Several of the members have been wounded and some killed.
Beautiful View from Maryland Hights.
You are on the highest point of the Blue Ridge, four thousand feet above the sea, one thousand above the Potomac.
Along the path by which you came, climbs a pony; on the pony's back a negro; on the negro's head a bucket of water; then a mule, bearing a coffee-sack, containing at each end a keg of water. Thus all provisions are brought up. Here, in the early morning, you could only look out upon a cold, shoreless sea of white fog. Now, you look down upon all the country within a radius of twenty miles, as you would gaze into your garden from your own house-top.
You see the Potomac winding far away in a thread of silver, broken by shrubs, rocks, and islands. At your feet lies Pleasant Valley, a great furrow—two miles across, from edge to edge—plowed through the mountains. It is full of camps, white villages of tents, and black groups of guns. You see cozy dwellings, with great, well-filled barns, red brick mills, straw-colored fields dotted with shocks of corn and reaching far up into the dark, hill-side woods, green sward-fields, mottled with orchards, and a little shining stream. A dim haze rests upon the mountain-guarded picture, and the soft wind seems to sing with Whittier:
"Yet calm and patient Nature keepsHer ancient promise well,Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweepsThe battle's breath of hell."And still she walks in golden hoursThrough harvest-happy farms,And still she wears her fruits and flowers,Like jewels on her arms."Still in the cannon's pause we hearHer sweet thanksgiving psalm;Too near to God for doubt or fear,She shares the eternal calm."She sees with clearer eye than oursThe good of suffering born,—The hearts that blossom like her flowers,And ripen like her corn."
"Yet calm and patient Nature keepsHer ancient promise well,Though o'er her bloom and greenness sweepsThe battle's breath of hell.
"And still she walks in golden hoursThrough harvest-happy farms,And still she wears her fruits and flowers,Like jewels on her arms.
"Still in the cannon's pause we hearHer sweet thanksgiving psalm;Too near to God for doubt or fear,She shares the eternal calm.
"She sees with clearer eye than oursThe good of suffering born,—The hearts that blossom like her flowers,And ripen like her corn."
See the regiments on dress parade; long lines of dark blue, with bayonets that flash brightly in the waning sunlight. When dismissed, each breaks into companies, which move toward their quarters like monster antediluvian reptiles, with myriads of blue legs.
Burnside at his Tent.
On that distant hill-side, just at the forest's edge, in the midst of a group of tents, are Burnside's head-quarters. Through your field-glass, you see standing in front of them the military man whose ambition has a limit. He has twice refused to accept the chief command of the army. There stands Burnside, the favorite of the troops, in blue shirt, knit jacket, and riding-boots, with frank, manly face, and full, laughing eyes.
Under your feet are Bolivar Hights, crowned with the tents of Couch's Corps—dingy by reason of long service, like a Spring snow-drift through which the dirt begins to sift. You see the quaint old village of Harper's Ferry, and glimpses of the Potomac—gold in the sunset—with trees and rocks mirrored in its mellow face.
The sun goes down, and the glory of the western hills fades as you slowly descend; but the picture you have seen is one which memory paints in fast colors.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.Taming of the Shrew.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.Taming of the Shrew.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.
Taming of the Shrew.
On the March Southward.
When the army left Harper's Ferry, on a forced march, it moved, with incredible celerity, thirty miles in nine days!
The Virginians east of the Blue Ridge were nearly all hot Secessionists. The troops, who had behaved well among the Union people of Maryland, saw the contrast, and spoiled the Egyptians accordingly. I think if Pharaoh had seen his homestead passed over by a hungry, hostile force, he would have let the people go.
In the presence of the army, many professed a sort of loyal neutrality, or neutral loyalty; but I did not hear a single white Virginian of either sex claim to be an unconditional Unionist.
At Woodgrove, one evening, finding that we should not go into camp before midnight, I sought supper and lodging at a private house of the better class. My middle-aged host and his two young, unmarried sisters, were glad to entertain some one from the army, to protect their dwelling against stragglers.
Rebel Girl with a Sharp Tongue.
The elder girl, of about eighteen, was almost a monomaniac upon the war. She declared she had no aspiration for heaven, if any Yankees were to be there. She would be proud to kiss the dirtiest, raggedest soldier inthe Rebel army. I refrained from discussing politics with her, and we talked of other subjects.
During the evening, Generals Gorman and Burns reached the house to seek shelter for the night. The officers, discovering the sensitiveness of the poor girl, expressed the most ultra sentiments. Well educated, and with a tongue like a rapier, she was at times greatly excited, and the blood crimsoned her face; but she out-talked them all.
"By-the-way," asked Burns, mischievously, "do you ever readThe Tribune?"
She replied, with intense indignation:
"Read it! I would not touch it with a pair of tongs! It is the most infamous Abolition, negro-equality sheet in the whole world!"
"So a great many people say," continued Burns. "However, here is one of its correspondents."
"In this room?"
"Yes, madam."
"He must be even worse than you, who come down here to murder us! Where is he?"
"Sitting in the corner there, reading letters."
"I thought you were deceiving me. That is noTribunecorrespondent. I do not believe you." (To me:) "This Yankee officer says that you write forThe New York Tribune. You don't, do you?"
"Yes, madam."
"Why, you seem to be a gentleman. It is not true! It's a jest between you just to make me angry.'"
At last convinced, she withheld altogether from me the expected vituperation, but assailed Burns in a style which made him very glad to abandon the unequal contest. She relentlessly persisted that he should always wear his star, for nobody would suspect him of being ageneral if he appeared without his uniform—that he was the worst type of the most obnoxious Yankee, etc.
At Upperville, the next day, I inquired of a woman who was scrutinizing us from her door:
"Have you seen any Rebel pickets this morning?"
She replied, indignantly:
"No! Why do you call them Rebels?"
"As you please, madam; what do you call them?"
"I call them Southern heroes, sir!"
The Negroes "Watching and Waiting."
The negroes poured into our lines whenever permitted.
"Well, Uncle," I asked of a white-haired patriarch, who was tottering along the road, "are you a Rebel, like everybody else?"
"No, sir! What should I be a Rebel for? I have been wanting to come to you all a heap of times; but I just watched and waited."
Watching and waiting! Four millions of negroes were watching and waiting from the beginning of the war until President Lincoln's Proclamation.
On the march, Major O'Neil, of General Meagher's staff, started with a message to Burnside, who was a few miles on our left. Unsuspectingly, he rode right into a squad of cavalry dressed in United States uniform. He found that they were Stuart's Rebels in disguise, and that he was a captive. O'Neil had only just been exchanged from Libby Prison, and his prospect was disheartening. The delighted Rebels sent him to their head-quarters in Bloomfield, under guard of a lieutenant and two men. But, on reaching the village, they found the head-quarters closed.
"I wonder where our forces are gone," said the Rebel officer. "Oh, here they are! Men, guard the prisoner while I ride to them."
And he galloped down the street to a company ofapproaching cavalry. Just as he reached them, they leveled their carbines, and cried:
"Surrender!"
He had made precisely the same mistake as Major O'Neil, and ridden into our cavalry instead of his own. So, after spending three hours in the hands of the Rebels, O'Neil found himself once more in our lines, accompanied by three Rebel prisoners.
The slaveholders complained greatly of the depredations of our army. A very wealthy planter, who had lost nothing of much value, drew for me a frightful picture of impending starvation.
"I could bear it myself," exclaimed this Virginian Pecksniff, "but it is very hard for these little negroes, who are almost as dear to me as my own children."
He had one of the young Africans upon his knee, and it was quite as white as "his own children," who were running about the room. The only perceptible difference was that its hair was curly, while theirs was straight.
Removal of General McClellan.
At Warrenton, on the 7th of November, McClellan was relieved from the command of the Army of the Potomac. He issued the following farewell:
"An order from the President devolves upon Major-General Burnside the command of this army. In parting from you, I cannot express the love and gratitude I bear you. As an army, you have grown under my care; in you I have never found doubt or coldness. The battles you have fought under my command will brightly live in our nation's history; the glory you have achieved, our mutual perils and fatigues, the graves of our comrades fallen in battle and by disease, the broken forms of those whom wounds and sickness have disabled, make the strongest associations which can exist among men. United still by an indissoluble tie, we shall ever be comrades in supporting the Constitution of our country and the nationality of its people."
"An order from the President devolves upon Major-General Burnside the command of this army. In parting from you, I cannot express the love and gratitude I bear you. As an army, you have grown under my care; in you I have never found doubt or coldness. The battles you have fought under my command will brightly live in our nation's history; the glory you have achieved, our mutual perils and fatigues, the graves of our comrades fallen in battle and by disease, the broken forms of those whom wounds and sickness have disabled, make the strongest associations which can exist among men. United still by an indissoluble tie, we shall ever be comrades in supporting the Constitution of our country and the nationality of its people."
McClellan's political and personal friends were aggrieved and indignant at his removal in the midst of a campaign. Three of his staff officers even made a foolish attempt to assault aTribunecorrespondent, on account of the supposed hostility of that journal toward their commander. General McClellan, upon hearing of it, sent a disclaimer and apology, and the officers were soon heartily ashamed.
The withdrawal was worked up to its utmost dramatic effect. Immediately after reading the farewell order to all the troops, there was a final review, in which the outgoing and incoming generals, with their long staffs, rode along the lines. Salutes were fired and colors dipped. At some points, the men cheered warmly, but the new regiments were "heroically reticent." McClellan's chief strength was with the rank and file.
Pickets Talking Across the River.
Burnside pushed the army rapidly forward to the Rappahannock. The Rebels held Fredericksburg, on the south bank. The men conversed freely across the stream. One day I heard a dialogue like this:
"Halloo, butternut!"
"Halloo, bluebelly!"
"What was the matter with your battery, Tuesday night?"
"You made it too hot. Your shots drove away the cannoneers, and they haven't stopped running yet. We infantry men had to come out and withdraw the guns."
"You infantrymen will run, too, one of these fine mornings."
"When are you coming over?"
"When we get ready to come."
"What do you want?"
"Want Fredericksburg."
"Don't you wish you may get it?"
Here an officer came up and ordered our men away.
The army halted for some weeks in front of Fredericksburg.
How Army Correspondents Lived.
By this time, War Correspondence was employing hundreds of pens.The Tribunehad from five to eight men in the Army of the Potomac, and twelve west of the Alleghanies. My own local habitation was the head-quarters of Major-General O. O. Howard, who afterward won wide reputation in Tennessee and Georgia, and who is an officer of great skill, bravery, and personal purity.
My dispatches were usually prepared, and those of my associates sent to me, at night. Before dawn, a special messenger called at my tent for them, and bore them on horseback, or by railway and steamer, to Washington, whence they were forwarded to New York by mail or telegraph.
Correspondents usually lived at the head-quarters of some general officer, bearing their due proportion of mess expenditures; but they were compelled to rely upon the bounty of quartermasters for forage for their horses, and transportation for their baggage.
Having no legal and recognized positions in the army, they were sometimes liable to supercilious treatment from young members of staff. They were sure of politeness and consideration from generals; yet, particularly in the regular army, there was a certain impression that they deserved Halleck's characterization of "unauthorized hangers-on." To encourage the best class of journalists to accompany the army, there should be a law distinctly authorizing representatives of the Press, who are engaged in no other pursuit, to accompany troops in the field, and purchase forage and provisions at the same rates as officers. They should, of course, be held to a just responsibilitynot to publish information which could benefit the enemy.
Nightly, around our great division camp-fire, negroes of all ages pored over their spelling-books with commendable thirst for learning.
I'd rather be Free.
One boy, of fourteen, was considered peculiarly stupid, and had seen hard work, rough living, and no pay, during his twelve months' sojourn with the army. I asked him: "Did you work as hard for your old master as you do here?"
"No, sir."
"Did he treat you kindly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you as well clothed as now?"
"Better, sir."
"And had more comforts?"
"Yes, sir; always had a roof over me, and was never exposed to rain and cold."
"Would you not have done better to stay at home?"
"If I had thought so, I should not have come away, sir."
"Would you come again, knowing what hardships were before you?"
"Yes, sir. I'd rather be free!"
He was not stupid enough to be devoid of human instinct!
The Battle of Fredericksburg.
In December occurred the battle of Fredericksburg. The enemy's position was very strong—almost impregnable. Our men were compelled to lay their pontoons across the river in a pitiless rain of bullets from the Rebel sharpshooters. But they did it without flinching. Our troops, rank, file, and officers, marched into the jaws of death with stubborn determination.
We attacked in three columns; but the original designwas that the main assault should be on our left, which was commanded by General Franklin. A road which Franklin wished to reach would enable him to come up in the rear of Fredericksburg, and compel the enemy to evacuate his strong works, or be captured. Franklin was very late in starting. He penetrated once to this road, but did not know it, and again fell back. Thus the key to the position was lost.
In the center, our troops were flung upon very strong works, and repulsed with terrible slaughter. It proved a massacre rather than a battle. Our killed and wounded exceeded ten thousand.
I was not present at the battle, but returned to the army two or three days after. Burnside deported himself with rare fitness and magnanimity. As he spoke to me about the brave men who had fruitlessly fallen, there were tears in his eyes, and his voice broke with emotion. When I asked him if Franklin's slowness was responsible for the slaughter, he replied:
"No. I understand perfectly well that when the general commanding an army meets with disaster, he alone is responsible, and I will not attempt to shift that responsibility upon any one else. No one will ever know how near we came to a great victory. It almost seems to me now that I could have led my old Ninth Corps into those works."
Indeed, Burnside had desired to do this, but was dissuaded by his lieutenants. The Ninth Corps would have followed him anywhere; but that would have been certain death.
Burnside was, at least, great in his earnestness, his moral courage, and perfect integrity. The battle was better than squandering precious lives in fevers and dysentery during months of inaction. Better a soldier's death onthe enemy's guns than a nameless grave in the swamps of the Chickahominy or the trenches before Corinth.
Ordered to move, Burnside obeyed without quibbling or hesitating, and flung his army upon the Rebels. The result was defeat; but that policy proved our salvation at last; by that sign we conquered.
Every private soldier knew that the battle of Fredericksburg was a costly and bloody mistake, and yet I think on the day or the week following it, the soldiers would have gone into battle just as cheerfully and sturdily as before. The more I saw of the Army of the Potomac, the more I wondered at its invincible spirit, which no disasters seemed able to destroy.
Curious Blunder of the Telegraph.
In January, among the lookers-on in Virginia, was the Hon. Henry J. Raymond, ofThe Times. He had a brother in the service, and one day he received this telegram:—
"Your brother's corpse is at Belle Plain."
"Your brother's corpse is at Belle Plain."
Hastening to the army as fast as steam could carry him, to perform the last sad offices of affection, he found his relative not only living, but in vigorous health. Through the eccentricities of the telegraph, the wordcorpshad been changed intocorpse.
On the 22d of January, Burnside attempted another advance, designing to cross the Rappahannock in three columns. The weather for a long time had been fine, but, a few hours after the army started, the heavens opened, and converted the Virginia roads into almost fathomless mire. Advance seemed out of the question, and in two days the troops came back to camp. The Rebels understood the cause, and prepared an enormous sign, which they erected on their side of the river, in fullview of our pickets, bearing the inscription, "Stuck in the mud!"
The Batteries at Fredericksburg.
Army of Potomac, near Falmouth, Va.,Monday, Nov. 24.
Still on the north bank of the Rappahannock! Upon the high bluffs, along a line of three miles, twenty-four of our guns point threateningly toward the enemy. In the ravines behind them a hundred more wait, ready to be wheeled up and placed in position.
Upon the hills south of the river, distant from them a thousand to five thousand yards, Rebel guns confront them. Some peer blackly through hastily-built earthworks; some are just visible over the crests of sharp ridges; some almost hidden by great piles of brush. Already we count eighteen; the cannonading will unmask many more.
"Ah, what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,When the Death-angel touches these swift keys!What loud lament and dismalmiserereWill mingle with their awful symphonies!"
"Ah, what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,When the Death-angel touches these swift keys!What loud lament and dismalmiserereWill mingle with their awful symphonies!"
In front of our right batteries, but far below and hidden from them, the antique, narrow, half-ruined village of Falmouth hugs the river. In front of the Rebel batteries, in full view of both sides, the broad, well-to-do town of Fredericksburg, with its great factories, tall spires, and brick buildings, is a tempting target for our guns. The river which flows between (though Fredericksburg is half a mile below Falmouth), is now so narrow, that a lad can throw a stone across.
Behind our batteries and their protecting hills rests the infantry of the Grand Division. General Couch's corps occupies a crescent-shaped valley—a symmetric natural amphitheater. It is all aglow nightly with athousand camp-fires; and, from the proscenium-hill of General Howard's head-quarters, forms a picture mocking all earthly canvas. Behind the Rebel batteries, in the dense forest, their infantry occupies a line five miles long. By night we just detect the glimmer of their fires; by day we see the tall, slender columns of smoke curling up from their camps.
A Disappointed Virginian.
All the citizens ask to have guards placed over their houses; but very few obtain them. "I will give no man a guard," replied General Howard to one of these applicants, "until he is willing to lose as much as I have lost, in defending the Government." The Virginian cast one long, lingering look at the General's loose, empty coat-sleeve (he lost his right arm while leading his brigade at Fair Oaks), and went away, the picture of despair.
Army of Potomac,Sunday, Dec. 21.
The general tone of the army is good; far better than could be expected. There is regret for our failure, sympathy for our wounded, mourning for our honored dead; but I find little discouragement and no demoralization.
This is largely owing to the splendid conduct of all our troops. The men are hopeful because there are few of the usual jealousies and heart-burnings. No one is able to say, "If this division had not broken," or "if that regiment had done its duty, we might have won." The concurrence of testimony is universal, that our men in every division did better than they ever did before, and made good their claim to being the best troops in the world. We have had victories without merit, but this was a defeat without dishonor.
In many respects—in all respects but the failure ofits vital object—the battle of Fredericksburg was the finest thing of the war. Laying the bridge, pushing the army across, after the defeat withdrawing it successfully—all were splendidly done, and redound alike to the skill of the general and the heroism of the troops.
Honor to the Brave and Bold.
And those men and officers of the Seventh Michigan, the Nineteenth and Twentieth Massachusetts, and the Eighty-ninth New York, who eagerly crossed the river in open boats, in the teeth of that pitiless rain of bullets, and dislodged the sharpshooters who were holding our whole army at bay—what shall we say of them? Let the name of every man of them be secured now, and preserved in a roll of honor; let Congress see to it that, by medal or ribbon to each, the Republic gives token of gratitude to all who do such royal deeds in its defense. To the living, at least, we can be just. The fallen, who were left by hundreds in line of battle, "dead on the field of honor," we cannot reward; but He who permits no sparrow to fall to the ground unheeded, will see to it that no drop of their precious blood has been shed in vain.
He hath borne his faculties so meek, hath beenSo clear in his great office, that his virtuesWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, againstThe deep damnation of his taking off.Macbeth.
He hath borne his faculties so meek, hath beenSo clear in his great office, that his virtuesWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, againstThe deep damnation of his taking off.Macbeth.
He hath borne his faculties so meek, hath beenSo clear in his great office, that his virtuesWill plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, againstThe deep damnation of his taking off.
Macbeth.
Reminiscences of Abraham Lincoln.
The assassination of President Lincoln, while these chapters are in press, attaches a sad interest to everything connected with his memory.
During the great canvass for the United States Senate, between Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Douglass, the right of Congress to exclude Slavery from the Territories was the chief point in dispute. Kansas was the only region to which it had any practical application; and we, who were residing there, read the debates with peculiar interest.
No such war of intellects, on the rostrum, was ever witnessed in America. Entirely without general culture, more ignorant of books than any other public man of his day, Douglasswas christened "the Little Giant" by the unerring popular instinct. He who, without the learning of the schools, and without preparation, could cope with Webster, Seward, and Sumner, surely deserved that appellation. He despised study. Rising after one of Mr. Sumner's most scholarly and elaborate speeches, he said: "Mr. President, this is very elegant and able, but we all know perfectly well that the Massachusetts Senator has been rehearsing it every night for a month, before a looking-glass, with a negro holding a candle!"
His Great Canvass with Douglass.
Douglasswas, beyond all cotemporaries, a man of thepeople. Lincoln, too, was distinctively of the masses; but he represented their sober, second thought, their higher aspirations, their better possibilities. Douglassembodied their average impulses, both good and bad. Upon the stump, his fluency, his hard common sense, and his wonderful voice, which could thunder like the cataract, or whisper with the breeze, enabled him to sway them at his will.
Hitherto invincible at home, he now found a foeman worthy of his steel. All over the country people began to ask about this "Honest Abe Lincoln," whose inexhaustible anecdotes were so droll, yet so exactly to the point; whose logic was so irresistible; whose modesty, fairness, and personal integrity, won golden opinions from his political enemies; who, without "trimming," enjoyed the support of the many-headed Opposition in Illinois, from the Abolition Owen Lovejoys of the northern counties, down to the "conservative" old Whigs of the Egyptian districts, who still believed in the divinity of Slavery.
Those who did not witness it will never comprehend the universal and intense horror at every thing looking toward "negro equality" which then prevailed in southern Illinois. Republican politicians succumbed to it. In their journals and platforms they sometimes said distinctly: "We care nothing for the negro. We advocate his exclusion from our State. We oppose Slavery in the Territories only because it is a curse to the white man." Mr. Lincoln never descended to this level. In his plain, moderate, conciliatory way, he would urge upon his simple auditors that this matter had a Right and a Wrong—that the great Declaration of their fathers meant something. And—always his strong point—he would put this so clearly to the commonapprehension, and so touch the people's moral sense, that his opponents found their old cries of "Abolitionist" and "Negro-worshiper" hollow and powerless.
His defeat, by a very slight majority, proved victory in disguise. The debates gave him a National reputation. Republican executive committees in other States issued verbatim reports of the speeches of both Douglassand Lincoln, bound up together in the order of their delivery. They printed them just as they stood, without one word of comment, as the most convincing plea for their cause. Rarely, if ever, has any man received so high a compliment as was thus paid to Mr. Lincoln.
His Visit to Kansas.
In Kansas his stories began to stick like chestnut-burrs in the popular ear—to pass from mouth to mouth, and from cabin to cabin. The young lawyers, physicians, and other politicians who swarm in the new country, began to quote from his arguments in their public speeches, and to regard him as the special champion of their political faith.
Late in the Autumn of 1859 he visited the Territory for the first and last time. With Marcus J. Parrott, Delegate in Congress, A. Carter Wilder, afterward Representative, and Henry Villard, a Journalist, I went to Troy, in Doniphan County, to hear him. In the imaginative language of the frontier, Troy was a "town"—possibly a city. But, save a shabby frame court-house, a tavern, and a few shanties, its urban glories were visible only to the eye of faith. It was intensely cold. The sweeping prairie wind rocked the crazy buildings, and cut the faces of travelers like a knife. Mr. Wilder froze his hand during our ride, and Mr. Lincoln's party arrived wrapped in buffalo-robes.
His Manner of Public Speaking.
Not more than forty people assembled in that little, bare-walled court-house. There was none of the magnetismof a multitude to inspire the long, angular, ungainly orator, who rose up behind a rough table. With little gesticulation, and that little ungraceful, he began, not to declaim, but to talk. In a conversational tone, he argued the question of Slavery in the Territories, in the language of an average Ohio or New York farmer. I thought, "If the Illinoisans consider this a great man, their ideas must be very peculiar."
But in ten or fifteen minutes I was unconsciously and irresistibly drawn by the clearness and closeness of his argument. Link after link it was forged and welded like a blacksmith's chain. He made few assertions, but merely asked questions: "Is not this true? If you admit that fact, is not this induction correct?" Give him his premises, and his conclusions were inevitable as death.
His fairness and candor were very noticeable. He ridiculed nothing, burlesqued nothing, misrepresented nothing. So far from distorting the views held by Mr. Douglassand his adherents, he stated them with more strength probably than any one of their advocates could have done. Then, very modestly and courteously, he inquired into their soundness. He was too kind for bitterness, and too great for vituperation.
His anecdotes, of course, were felicitous and illustrative. He delineated the tortuous windings of the Democracy upon the Slavery question, from Thomas Jefferson down to Franklin Pierce. Whenever he heard a man avow his determination to adhere unswervingly to the principles of the Democratic party, it reminded him, he said, of a "little incident" in Illinois. A lad, plowing upon the prairie, asked his father in what direction he should strike a new furrow. The parent replied, "Steer for that yoke of oxen standing at the further endof the field." The father went away, and the lad obeyed. But just as he started, the oxen started also. He kept steering for them; and they continued to walk. He followed them entirely around the field, and came back to the starting-point, having furrowed a circle instead of a line!