"What seest thou elseIn the dark backward and abysm of time?If thou remember'st ought, ere thou cam'st here,How thou cam'st here, thou may'st."--SHAKESPEARE.
"What seest thou elseIn the dark backward and abysm of time?If thou remember'st ought, ere thou cam'st here,How thou cam'st here, thou may'st."--SHAKESPEARE.
When the train of wounded arrived in Richmond, it was early morning. Many men and women had forsaken their beds to minister unto the needs of the suffering; delicacies were served bountifully, and hearts as well as stomachs were cheered; there were evidences of sympathy and honour on every hand.
Late in the forenoon I was taken to Byrd Island Hospital--an old tobacco factory now turned into something far different. My clothing was cut from me and taken away. Then my wound--full of dirt and even worms--was carefully dressed. The next morning the nurse brought me the contents of my pockets. She gave me, among the rest, a marble and a flattened musket-ball, which, she had found in the watch-pocket of my trousers. Now I recalled that I had put my "taw" in that pocket; the bullet had struck the marble, which had saved me from a serious if not fatal wound.
The ward in which I found myself contained perhaps a hundred wounded men, not one of whom I knew, though there were a few belonging to my regiment--other companies than mine. Acquaintance was quickly made, however, by men on adjoining cots; but no man, I think, was ever called by his name. He was Georgia, or Alabama,--his State, whatever that was. My neighbours called me, of course, South Carolina.
Many had fatal wounds; almost every morning showed a vacant cot. I remember that the man on the next cot at my left, whose name in ward vernacular was Alabama, had a story to tell. One morning I noticed that he was wearing a clean white homespun shirt on which were amazingly big blue buttons. I allowed myself to ask him why such buttons had been used. He replied that, a month before he had been on furlough at his home in Alabama, and that his mother had made him two new shirts, and had made use of the extraordinary objects which I now saw because they were all she had. He had told her jestingly that she was putting that big blue button on the middle of his breast to be a target for some Yankee; and, sure enough, the wound which had sent him to the hospital was a rifle shot that struck the middle button. I laughed, and Alabama laughed, too, but not long. He died.
For nearly two months I remained in this woful hospital. Life there was totally void of incident. After the first week, in which we learned of the further successes of the Confederate arms and of our final check at Malvern Hill, anxiety was no longer felt concerning Lee's army, now doing nothing more than watching McClellan, who had intrenched on the river below Richmond, under the protection of the Federal fleet. We learned with some degree of interest that another Federal army was organizing under General Pope somewhere near Warrenton; but Southern hopes were so high in consequence of the ruin of McClellan's campaign, and the manifest safety of Richmond, that the new army gave us no concern; of course I am speaking of the common soldiers amongst whom I found myself.
At the end of a fortnight my wound was beginning to heal a little, and in ten days more I began to hobble about the room on crutches. On the first day of August I was surprised to see Joe Bellot enter the ward. The brigade had marched into Richmond, and was about to take the cars for Gordonsville in order to join Jackson, who was making head against Pope. It was only a few minutes that Bellot could stay with me; he had to hurry back to the command.
Then I became restless. The surgeons told me that I could get a furlough; but what did I want with a furlough? To go home? My home was Company H.
I was limping about without crutches, and getting strong rapidly, when the papers told us of Jackson's encounter with Banks at Cedar Run. Then my feverish anxiety to see the one or two persons in the world whom I loved became intense. I walked into the surgeon's office, keeping myself straight, and asked an order remanding me to my company. He flatly refused to give it. Said he, "You would never reach your company; where is it, by the way?"
"Near Gordonsville, somewhere," said I.
"I will find out to-day; come to me to-morrow morning."
On the next day he said, "Your regiment is on the Rapidan. You would have to walk at least twenty miles from Gordonsville; it would be insane."
"Doctor," said I, "I am confident that I can march."
"Yes," said he; "so am I; you can march just about a mile and a half by getting somebody to tote your gun and knapsack. Come to me again in about a week."
I came to him four days afterward, and worried him into giving me my papers, by means of which I got transportation to Gordonsville, where I arrived, in company with many soldiers returning to their commands, on August 22d. From Gordonsville I took the road north afoot. There was no difficulty in knowing the way, for there was no lack of men and wagons going and returning. I had filled a haversack with food before I left Richmond--enough for two days. My haversack, canteen, and a blanket were all my possessions.
At about two o'clock the next day, as I was plodding over a hot dusty road somewhere in Culpeper County, I met a wagon, which stopped as I approached. The teamster beckoned to me to come to him. He said: "Don't go up that hill yonder. There is a crazy man in the road and he's a-tryin' to shoot everybody he sees. Better go round him." I thanked the teamster, who drove on. At the foot of the ascending hill I looked ahead to see whether there was a way to get round it, but the road seemed better than any other way. Heavy clouds were rolling up from the south, with wind and thunder. A farmhouse was on the hill at the left of the road; I wanted to get there if possible before the rain. In the road I saw nobody. I walked up the hill, thinking that, after all, my friend the wagoner was playing a practical joke upon me. All at once, from the side of the road, a Confederate soldier showed himself. He sprang into the middle of the road some six paces in front of me, presented his gun at me with deliberate aim, and pulled the trigger without saying a word. Altogether it was a very odd performance on his part and an unpleasant experience for me. When his gun failed to fire, he changed his attitude at once, and began the second part of his programme. He dropped his piece to the position of ordered arms, kept himself erect as on dress-parade, raised his right hand high, and shouted, "The cannons! the cannons!"
I stood and looked at him ten seconds; then I tried to slip round him, keeping my eyes on him, however, for fear that his gun might, after all, be loaded; he faced me again, and repeated his cry, "The cannons! the cannons!"
The rain was beginning to fall in big drops. I rushed past him, and seeing--nearer to me than the house--some immense haystacks with overhanging projections resulting from continued invasion by cattle, I was soon under their sheltering eaves. As I ran, I could hear behind me the warning voice of the soldier, who evidently had lost his reason in battle.
As night fell on the 24th I was standing behind a tree, waiting to surprise Company H. I had reached the lines while they were moving; Hill's Light Division was passing me. Soon came General Gregg, riding at the head of his brigade; then one regiment after another till the last--the First--appeared in sight, with Company C leading. I remained behind the tree; at last I could see Captain Haskell marching by the side of Orderly-sergeant Mackay; then I stepped out and marched by the side of the Captain. At first, in the twilight, he did not know me; then, with a touch of gladness in his voice, he said: "I did not expect you back so soon. Are you fully recovered?"
"I report for duty, Captain," I replied.
He made me keep by his side until we halted for the night, and had me tell him my experiences in the hospital and on the road. He informed me briefly of the movements which had taken place recently. The regiment had been under fire in the battle with Banks, but had not suffered any loss. On this day--the 24th--the regiment had been under fire of the Federal artillery on the Rappahannock. We were now near the river at a place called Jeffersonton, and were apparently entering upon the first movements of an active campaign.
The company was much smaller than I had known it. We had lost in the battles of the Chickahominy many men and officers. Disease and hardship had further decreased our ranks. Captain Haskell was almost the only officer in the company. My mess had broken up. There were but four remaining of the original nine, and these four had found it more convenient for two men, or even one, to form a mess. I found a companion in Joe Bellot, whose brother had been wounded severely at Gaines's Mill. Bellot had a big quart cup in which we boiled soup, and coffee when we had any, or burnt-bread for coffee when the real stuff was lacking. Flour and bacon were issued to the men. We kneaded dough on an oilcloth, or gum-blanket as the Yankee prisoners called it, and baked the dough by spreading it on barrel-heads and propping them before the fire. When these boards were not to be had, we made the dough into long slender rolls, which, we twined about an iron ramrod and put before the fire on wooden forks stuck in the ground. My haversack of food brought from Richmond was exhausted; this night but one day's ration was issued.
On the next morning Jackson began his movement around Pope's right. I had no rifle, or cartridge-box, or knapsack, and managed so as to keep up. Being unarmed, I was allowed to march at will--in the ranks or not, as I chose. The company numbered thirty-one men. The day's march was something terrible. We went west, and northwest, and north, fording streams, taking short cuts across fields, hurrying on and on. No train of wagons delayed our march; our next rations must be won from the enemy. Jackson's rule in marching was two miles in fifty minutes, then ten minutes rest,--but this day there was no rule; we simply marched, and rested only when obstacles compelled a halt,--which loss must at once be made up by extra exertion. At night we went into bivouac near a village called Salem. We were now some ten or fifteen miles to the west of Pope's right flank.
There were no rations, and the men were broken and hungry. A detail from each company was ordered to gather the green ears from some fields of corn purchased for the use of the government. That night I committed the crime of eating eighteen of the ears half roasted.
At daylight on the 26th we again took up the march. I soon straggled. I was deathly sick. Captain Haskell tried to find a place for me in some ambulance, but failed. I went aside into thick woods and lay down; I slept, and when I awoke the sun was in mid-heaven, and Jackson's corps was ten miles ahead, but I was no longer ill. The troops had all passed me; there were no men on the road except a few stragglers like myself. I hurried forward through White Plains--then along a railroad through a gap in some mountains--then through Gainesville at dark--and at last, about ten o'clock at night, after questioning until I was almost in despair, I found Company H asleep in a clover field. Still no rations.
Before dawn of the 27th we were waked by the sound of musketry toward the east--seemingly more than two miles away. We moved at sunrise, and soon reached Manassas Junction, already held by our troops. Up to this time I had been unarmed, and all the men destitute of food; here now was an embarrassment of riches. I got a short Enfield rifle, marked for eleven hundred yards. Everything was in abundance except good water. The troops of Jackson and Ewell and Hill crammed their haversacks, and loaded themselves with whatever their fancies chose--ludicrous fancies in too many cases. Hams could be seen on bayonets. Comstock got a lot of smoking tobacco and held to it tenaciously, refusing to divide. Cans of vegetables, and sardines, and preserved fruits; coffee, sugar, tea, medicines--everything, even to women's wearing apparel, was taken or burnt. Our regiment lay by a muddy pool whose water we were forced to drink, though filth--even horses' bones--lay on its margin, and I know not what horrors beneath its green, slimy surface. Before daylight of the 28th we marched northward in the glare of the burning cars and camps. We crossed Bull Run on a bridge, some of the men fording; here we got better water, but not good water.
In the forenoon we readied Centreville and halted. Nobody seemed to know the purpose of this movement toward the north. Were we making for Washington? I had the chance of speaking to the Captain. He told me that he thought Jackson's corps was in a close place, but that he had no doubt we should be able to hold our own until Longstreet could force his way to our help. We were between Pope's army and Washington, and it was certain that Pope would make every effort to crush Jackson.
About two o'clock the troops were put in motion, heading west, down the Warrenton pike. It now appeared that only A. P. Hill's division had marched to Centreville; the other divisions of Jackson's corps were at the west, and beyond Bull Run. After matching a mile or two we could see to the eastward and south, great clouds of dust rolling up above the woods, evidently made by a column in march upon the road by which, we had that morning advanced from Manassas to Centreville. We knew that Pope's army--or a great part of it--was making that dust, and that Pope was hot after Jackson. We crossed Bull Run on the stone bridge and halted in the road. It was about five o'clock; the men were weary--most of us had loaded ourselves too heavily with the spoils of Manassas and were repenting, but few had as yet begun to throw away their booty. My increased burden bore upon me, but I had as yet held out; in fact, the greater part of my load--beyond weapon, and accoutrements--consisted in food which diminished at short intervals. We could not yet expect rations.
We had rested perhaps half an hour. Again we were ordered to march, and moved to the right through woods and fields, and formed line facing south. How long our line was I did not know; I supposed the whole of Hill's division was there, though I could see only our regiment. Soon firing began at our right and right front; it increased in volume, and artillery and musketry roared and subsided until dark and after. At dark, the brigade again moved to the right, seemingly to support the troops that had been engaged, and which we found to be Ewell's division.
We lay on our arms in columns of regiments. We were ordered to preserve the strictest silence. We were told that a heavy column of the enemy was passing just beyond the hills in front of us. Suddenly the sound of many voices broke out beyond the hills. The Federal column was cheering. Near and far the cry rose and fell as one command after another took it from the next. What the noise was made for I never knew; probably Pope's sanguine order, in which he expressed the certainty of having "the whole crowd bagged," had been made known to his troops for the purpose of encouraging them. Our men were silent, even gloomy, not knowing what good fortune had made our enemies sound such high, triumphant notes; yet I believe that every man, as he lay in his unknown position that night, had confidence that in the battle of the morrow, now looked for as a certainty, the genius of Lee and of Jackson would guide us to one more victory.
Early on the morning of Friday, the 29th, we moved, but where I do not know--only that we moved in a circuitous way, and not very far, and that when we again formed line, we seemed to be facing northeast. Already the sound of musketry and cannon had been heard close in our front. Our regiment, left in front, was in the woods. We brought our right in front, and then the brigade moved forward down a slope to an unfinished railroad.
Comstock had given away all of his smoking tobacco, saying that he would not need it.
Company H had been thrown out to left and front as skirmishers. The regiment moved across the railroad and through the woods into the fields beyond, far to the right of the position held by Company H. The regiment met the enemy in heavy force; additional regiments from the brigade were hurried to the support of the First, which, by this time, was falling back before a full division of the enemy. The brigade retired in good order to the railroad, and Company H was ordered back into the battle line on the left of the First.
Map entitled "SECOND MANASSAS, Aug. 29, 1882"
It was almost ten o'clock. Four companies of the First regiment, under Captain Shooter, were now ordered forward through the woods as skirmishers; on the left of this force was Haskell's company. We came up with the enemy's skirmishers posted behind trees, and began firing. We advanced, driving the Yankee skirmish-line slowly through the woods. After some fluctuations in the fight, seeing that our small force was much too far from support, order was given to the skirmishers to retire; a heavy line of the enemy had been developed. This order did not reach my ears. I suppose that I was in the very act of firing when the order was given. While reloading, I became aware that the company had retired, as I could see no man to my right or left. Looking round, I saw the line some thirty yards in my rear, moving back toward the brigade. Now I feared that in retreating, my body would be a target for many rifles. The Yankees were not advancing. I sprang back quickly from my tree to another. Rifles cracked. Again I made a similar movement--and again--at each tree, as I got behind it, pausing and considering in front. At last I was out of sight of the enemy, and also out of sight of Company H.
The toils of the last week had been hard upon me. My wounded leg had not regained its full strength. I was hot and thirsty as well as weak. I crossed a wet place in the low woods and looked for water. Still no enemy was pursuing. I searched for a spring or pool, following the wet place down a gentle slope, which inclined to my right oblique as I retreated. Soon I found a branch and drank my fill; then I filled my canteen and rose to my feet refreshed.
Just below me, uprooted by some storm, lay a giant poplar spanning the little brook. I stepped upon the log and stood there for a second. Here was a natural retreat. If I had wanted to hide, this spot was what I should have chosen. The boughs of the fallen tree, mingling with the copse, made a complete hiding-place.
The more I looked, the more the spot seemed to bind me. I began to wonder. Surely this was not my first sight of this spot. Had I crossed here in the morning? No; we had moved forward much to the right. What was the secret of the influence which the spot held over me? I had seen it before or I had dreamed of it. I was greatly puzzled.
On the ground lay the broken parts of a rust-eaten musket. I picked up the barrel; it was bent; I threw it down and picked up the stock. Why should I be interested in this broken gun? I knew not, but I knew that I was drawn in some way by it. On the stock were carved the letters J. B. Who had owned this gun? John Brown? James Butler? Then the thought came suddenly--why not Jones Berwick? No! That was absurd! But why absurd? Did I know who I was, or where I had been, or where I had not been?
A shot and then another rang out in the woods at my left; I dropped the gun and ran.
I soon overtook Company H retiring slowly through the woods. And now we made a stand, as the brigade was in supporting distance. Our position was perhaps three hundred yards in front of the brigade, which was posted behind the old railroad. Thick woods were all around us. Soon the blue skirmishers came in sight, and we began firing. The Federals sprang at once to trees and began popping away at us. The range was close. Grant was mortally hit. My group of four on that day was reduced to one man. Goettee fell, and Godley. We kept up the fight. But now a blue line of battle could be seen advancing behind the skirmishers. They kept coming, reserving their fire until they should pass beyond their skirmish-line. We should have withdrawn at once, but waited until the line of battle had reached the skirmishers before we were ordered to fall back. When we began to retire, the line of battle opened upon us, and we lost some men.
Company H formed in its place on the left of the First, which was now the left regiment of the brigade, of the division, and of the corps. Company H was in the air at the left of Jackson's line.
General Lee had planned to place Jackson's corps in rear of Pope's army, without severing communication with Longstreet; but the developments of the campaign had thrown Jackson between Pope and Washington while yet the corps of Longstreet was two days' march behind, and beyond the Bull Run mountains. Pope had made dispositions to crush Jackson; to delay Longstreet he occupied with a division Thoroughfare Gap,--through which Jackson had marched and I had straggled on the 26th,--and with his other divisions had marched on Manassas. Jackson had thus been forced to retreat toward the north in order to gain time. When Hill's division reached Centreville, it turned west, as already related, and while Pope was marching on Centreville Jackson was marching to get nearer Longstreet. This placed Ricketts's division of Pope's army, which had occupied Thoroughfare Gap for the purpose of preventing the passage of Longstreet, between Longstreet and Jackson. Ricketts was thus forced to yield the gap after having delayed Longstreet during the night of the 28th. Pope could now have retired to Washington without a battle, but he decided to overwhelm Jackson before Longstreet could reach the field, and attacked hotly on the Confederate left.
The battle of Friday, the 29th of August, was fought then in consequence of the double motive already hinted at, namely, that of Pope to overwhelm Jackson, and of Jackson to resist and hold Pope until Longstreet came. Jackson's manoeuvres had brought him within six hours' march of Longstreet, and while Jackson's men were dying in the woods, Longstreet's iron men, covered with dust and sweat, were marching with rapid and long strides to the sound of battle in their front, where, upon their comrades at bay, Pope was throwing division after division into the fight.
Upon the left of Company H was a small open field, enclosed by a rail fence; the part of the field nearest us was unplanted; the far side of the field--that nearest the enemy--was in corn. The left of our line did not extend quite to the fence, but at some times in the battle we were forced to gather at the fence and fire upon the Federals advancing through the field to turn our left.
Company H had hardly formed in its position upon the extreme left before the shouts of the Federal line of battle told of their coming straight through the woods upon us. They reached the undergrowth which bordered the farther side of the railroad way. The orders of their officers could be heard. We lay in the open woods, each man behind a tree as far as was possible; but the trees were too few. The dense bushes, which had grown up in the edge of the railroad way, effectually concealed the enemy. We were hoping for them to come on and get into view, but they remained in the bushes and poured volley after volley into our ranks. We returned their fire as well as we could, but knew that many of our shots would be wasted, as we could rarely have definite aim, except at the line of smoke in the thick bushes.
Now the firing ceased, and we thought that the enemy had retired; but if they had done so, it was only to give place to a fresh body of troops, which opened upon us a new and terrific fire. We had nothing to do but to endure and fire into the bushes. If our line had attempted to cross the railroad, not one of us would have reached it; the Federals also were afraid to advance.
Again there came a lull in the fight, but, as before, it was only premonitory of another tempest of balls. How many attacks we stood that day nobody on our side clearly knew. Again the Federal lines gave way, or were relieved. Our line still held. The woods were thick with dead. Comstock was dead. Bail was dead. Bee and Box were dead. Joe Bellot was fearfully wounded. Many had been carried to the rear, and many yet lay bleeding in our ranks, waiting to be taken out when the fight ceased. Each man lay behind the best tree he could get; the trees had become more plentiful. We fired lying, kneeling, standing, sometimes running; but the line held. If we had had but the smallest breastwork!--but we had none.
In the afternoon the Federals tried more than once to throw a force around our left--through the open field; but each time they were driven back by our oblique fire, helped by a battery which we could not see, somewhere in our rear. I now suppose that before this time Longstreet had formed on Jackson's right; the sounds of great fighting came from the east and southeast.
We had resisted long enough. Our cartridges were gone, although our boxes had more than once been replenished, and we had used up the cartridges of our wounded and dead.
Just before the sun went down, the woods suddenly became alive with Yankees. A deafening volley was poured upon our weakened ranks,--no longer ranks, but mere clusters of men,--but the shots went high; before the smoke lifted, the blue men were upon us; they had not waited to reload.
Many of our men had not a cartridge, but the enemy were so near that every shot told.
Their line is thinned; they come still, but in disconnected groups; they are almost in our midst; straight toward me comes a towering man--his sleeves show the stripes of a sergeant. His great form and his long red hair are not more conspicuous than the vigour of his bearing. He makes no pause. He strikes right and left. Men fall away from him. Our group is scattering, some to gain time to load, others in flight. The great sergeant rushes toward me; his gun rises again in his mighty hands, and the blow descends. I slip aside; the force of the blow almost carries him to the ground, but he recovers; he comes again; again he swings his gun back over his shoulder, his eyes fixed upon my head where he will strike. I raise my gun above my head--at the parry. Suddenly his expression yields--a look as if of astonishment succeeds to fixed determination--and at the same instant his countenance passes through an indescribable change as the blood spouts from his forehead and he falls lifeless at my feet, slain by a shot from my rear[7].
[7]The attack at sunset described by Mr. Berwick was made by Grover's brigade, of Hooker's division, and succeeded in driving back Gregg's worn-out men, who were at once relieved by Early's brigade of Ewell's division. [ED.]
Confusion is everywhere. Ones, twos, groups, are beginning to flee from either side. Here and there a small body of men yet hold fast and fight. The shouting is more than the firing. At my right I see our flag, and near it a flag of the Federals.
In a moment comes a new line of the enemy; our ranks--what is left of them--must yield. We begin to run. I hear Dominic Spellman--colour-bearer of the First--cry out, "Jones, for God's sake, stop!" I turn. A few have rallied and are bringing out the flag. Our line is gone--broken--and Jackson's left is crumbling away. Defeat is here--in a handbreadth of us--and Pope's star will shine the brightest over America; but now from our rear a Confederate yell rises high and shrill through the bullet-scarred forest, and a fresh brigade advances at the charge, relieves the vanquished troops of Gregg, and rolls far back the Federal tide of war. It was none too soon.
On the morning of the 29th of August thirty-one men had answered roll-call in Company H. On the morning of the 30th but thirteen responded; we had lost none as prisoners.
The 30th was Saturday. The division was to have remained in reserve. We were yet lying in the woods, some hundreds of yards in the rear of our position of the 29th, and details were burying our dead, when we were ordered to form. We marched some distance to the left. A low grass-covered meadow was in our front, with a rail fence at the woods about three hundred yards from us. Bullets came amongst us from the fence at the woods, toward which we were marching in column of fours, right in front. I heard the order from Major McCrady--"Battalion--by companies!" and Haskell repeated--"Company H!"--then McCrady--"On the right--by file--into line--MARCH!" This manoeuvre brought the regiment into column of companies still marching in its former direction, Company H being the rear of all.
Again I heard McCrady--"Battalion--by companies!" and Haskell again--"Company H!"--then McCrady--"Left--half wheel!" and Haskell--"Left wheel!"--then McCrady--"Forward into line," and both voices--"Double-quick--MARCH!"
It was a beautiful manoeuvre, performed as it was under a close fire and by men battle-sick and void of vanity. The respective companies executed simultaneously their work, and as their graduated distances demanded, rushed forward, with a speed constantly increasing toward the left company, Company H, which wheeled and ran to place, forming at the fence from which the enemy fled. We lost Major McCrady, who fell severely wounded.
For the remainder of that bloody day the First was not engaged. We heard the great battle between Lee and Pope, but took no further part.
On the first of September, as night was falling, we were lying under fire, in a storm of rain, in the battle of Ox Hill, or Chantilly as the Yankees call it. The regiment did not become engaged.
The campaign of eight days was over.
"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.The soul that rises with us, our life's Star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar;Not in entire forgetfulness,And not in utter nakedness,But trailing clouds of glory do we comeFrom God who is our home."--WORDSWORTH.
"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.The soul that rises with us, our life's Star,Hath had elsewhere its setting,And cometh from afar;Not in entire forgetfulness,And not in utter nakedness,But trailing clouds of glory do we comeFrom God who is our home."--WORDSWORTH.
I believe I have already said that in the battle of Manassas Joe Bellot was severely wounded. My companion gone, I messed and slept alone.
For a day or two we rested, or moved but short distances. On one of these days, the company being on picket, the Captain ordered me to accompany him in a round of the vedettes. While this duty was being done, he spoke not a word except to the sentinels whom he ordered in clear-cut speech to maintain strict vigilance. When the duty had ended, he turned to me and said, "Let us go to that tree yonder."
The point he thus designated was just in rear of our left--- that is, the left of Company H's vedettes--and overlooked both vedettes and pickets, so far as they could be seen for the irregularities of ground. Arriving at the tree, the Captain threw off all official reserve.
"Friday was hard on Company H," he said; "and the whole company did its full duty, if I may say so without immodesty."
"Captain," I replied, "I thought it was all over with us when the Yankees made that last charge."
"As you rightly suggest, sir, we should have been relieved earlier," said he; "I am informed that in the railroad cut, a little to the right of our position, the men fought the enemy with stones for lack of cartridges."
"Yes, sir; I have heard that. Can you predict our next movement?"
"I know too little of strategy to do that," he said; "but I am convinced that we cannot remain where we are."
"Why?" I asked.
"I venture the opinion that we are too far from our supplies. I am told that we cannot maintain the railroad back to Gordonsville. The bridges are burnt; I doubt that any steps will be taken to rebuild them, as they would be constantly in danger from the enemy's cavalry. I am informed that McClellan's whole army, as well as Burnside's corps from North Carolina, has joined Pope; General McClellan is said to be in command. If Pope's army, which we have just fought, was larger than ours, then McClellan's combined forces must be more than twice as great as General Lee's."
"Yet some of the men think we shall advance on Washington," said I.
"The men discuss everything, naturally," he replied; "I speculate also. It seems to me that every mile of a further advance would but take from our strength and add to that of our enemy's. If we could seize Washington by a sudden advance--but we cannot do that, I think, and as for a siege, I suppose nobody thinks of it. Even to sit down here could do us no good, I imagine; our communications would be always interrupted."
"Then we shall retreat after having gained a great victory?" I asked.
"It would give me great pleasure to be able to tell you. I am puzzled," he replied. "The victory may be regarded as an opportunity to gain time for the South to recuperate, if we make prudent demonstrations; but an actual advance does not appear possible. General Lee may make a show of advancing; I dare say we could gain time by a pretence of strength. Does not such manoeuvre meet your view? But we are fearfully weak, and our enemies know it or should know it."
I understood well enough that the Captain's question was but an instance of his unfailing habit of courtesy.
"Then what is there for us to do? If we ought not to stay here, and ought not to advance on Washington, and ought not to retreat, what other course is possible?"
"There seems but one, sir. I hear that the best opinion leans to the belief that General Lee will cross the Potomac in order to take Harper's Ferry and to test the sentiment of the Maryland people."
"What is at Harper's Ferry, Captain?"
"I am informed that there is a great quantity of supplies and a considerable garrison."
"But could such an effort succeed in the face of an army like McClellan's?"
"If the Federals abandon the place, as they ought to do at once, I should think that there would then be no good reason for this army's crossing the river. But military success is said to be obtained, in the majority of cases, from the mistakes of the losers. It might be that we could take Harper's Ferry at very little cost; and even if we should fail, we should be prolonging the campaign upon ground that we cannot hope to occupy permanently, and living, in a sense, upon the enemy. What I fear, however, is that the movement would bring on another general engagement; and I think you will agree with me in believing that we are not prepared for that."
"Harper's Ferry is the place John Brown took," said I.
"You are right, sir; do you remember that?"
"That is the last thing that I remember reading about--the last experience I can remember at all; but in the light last Friday there happened something which gives me a turn whenever I think of it."
"May I ask what it was?"
"I saw a spot which I am sure--almost sure--I had seen before."
"Some resemblance, I dare say. I often pass scenes that are typical. Near my father's home I know one spot which I have seen in twenty other places."
"Yes, sir; I know," said I. "But it was not merely the physical features of the place that awoke recognition."
"Oblige me by telling me all about it," he said kindly.
"You remember the position to which the four companies advanced as skirmishers?"
"Distinctly. We did very well to get away from it," said the Captain.
"And you remember the order to fall back?"
"Certainly, since I took the initiative."
"Well, I did not hear the order. I suppose that I fired at the very moment, and that the noise of my gun prevented my hearing it. At any rate, a few moments afterward I saw that I was alone, and retreated as skilfully as I knew how. The company was out of sight. I saw some signs of water, and soon found a branch, at a place which impressed me so strongly that for a moment I forgot even that the battle was going on. I am almost certain that I had quenched my thirst at that spot once before. Besides, there was an extraordinary--"
"Jones," interrupted the Captain, "you may have been in the first battle of Manassas. Why not? But if you saw the place in last year's battle, you came upon it from the east or the south. The positions of the armies the other day were almost opposite their positions last year. In sixty-one the Federals had almost our position of last Friday. It will be well to find out what South Carolina troops were in the first battle. By the way, General Bee, who was killed there, was from South Carolina; I will ask Aleck to tell us what regiments were in Bee's brigade."
"Captain," said I, "when I saw that spot I felt as though I had been there in some former life."
"Yes? I have had such feelings. More than once I have had a thought or have seen a face or a landscape that impressed me with such an idea."
"Do you believe in a succession of lives?"
"I cannot say that I do," he replied; "but your question surprises me, sir. May I ask if you remember reading of such subjects?"
"No, I do not, Captain; but I know that the thought must have once been familiar to me."
"I dare say you have read some romance," said he "or, there is no telling, you may have known some one who believed, the doctrine; you may have believed it yourself. And I doubt that mere reading would have influenced your mind to attach itself so strongly to thoughtful subjects. I find you greatly interested philosophy. I think it quite probable, sir, without flattery, that at college your professor had an apt student."
"But you do not believe the doctrine?"
"I believe in Christ and His holy apostles, sir; I believe that we live after death."
"And that I shall be I again and again?"
"Pardon me for not following you entirely. I believe that you will be you again; but my opinion is not fixed as to more than one death."
"Do you believe that when you live again you will remember your former experiences?"
"I lean to that belief, sir, yet I consider it unimportant; I might go so far as to say that it makes no difference."
"But how can I be I if I do not remember? What will connect the past me with the present me? I have a strange, elusive thought there, Captain. It sometimes seems to me that I am two,--one before, and another now,--and that really I have lived this present time, or these present times, in two bodies and with two minds."
"Allow me to ask if it is not possible that your strange thought as to your imagined doubleness is caused by your believing that memory is necessary to identity?"
"And that is error?" I asked.
"You say truly, sir; it is error. Your own experience disproves it. If memory is necessary, you have lost your personality; but you have a personality,--permit me to say a strong one,--and whose have you taken?"
"I do remember some things," said I.
"Then do you not agree with me that your very memory is proof that you are not double? But, if you please, take the case of any one. Every one has been an infant, yet he cannot remember what happened when he was in swaddling clothes, though he is the same person now that he was then, which proves that although a person loses his memory, he does not on that account, sir, lose his identity."
"Then what is the test of identity, Captain?"
"It needs none, sir; consciousness of self is involuntary."
"I have consciousness of self; yet I do not know who I am, except that I am I."
"Every man might say the same words, sir," said he, smiling.
"And I am distinct? independent?"
"Jones, my dear fellow, there are many intelligent people in the world who, I dare say, would think us demented if they should know that we are seriously considering such a question."
This did not seem very much of an answer to my mind, which in some inscrutable way seemed to be at this moment groping among fragments of thoughts that had come unbidden from the forgotten past. I felt helpless in the presence of the Captain; I could not presume to press his good-nature. Perhaps he saw my thought, for he added: "A man is distinct from other men, but not from himself. He constantly changes, and constantly remains the same."
"That is hard to understand, Captain."
"Everything, sir, is hard to understand, because everything means every other thing. If we could fully comprehend one thing, even the least,--if there be a least,--we should necessarily comprehend all things," said the Captain.
Then he talked at large of the relations that bind everything--and of matter, force, spirit, which he called a trinity.
"Then matter is of the same nature with God?" I asked; "and God has the properties of matter?"
"By no means, sir. God has none of the properties of matter. Even our minds, sir, which are more nearly like unto God than is anything else we conceive, have no properties like matter. Yet are we bound to matter, and our thoughts are limited."
"How can the mind contemplate God at all?"
"By pure reason only, sir. The imagination betrays. We try to image force, because we think that we succeed in imaging matter. We try to image spirit. I suppose that most people have a notion as to how God looks. Anything that has not extension is as nothing to our imagination. Yet we know that our minds are real, though we cannot attribute extension to mind. Divisibility is of matter; if the infinite mind has parts, then infinity is divisible--which is a contradiction."
"Then God has no properties?"
"Not in the sense that matter has, sir. If God has one of them, He has all of them. If we attribute extension to Him, we must attribute elasticity also, and all of them. But try to think of an elastic universal."
"Captain, you said a while ago that everything is matter, force, and spirit. Do you place force as something intermediate between God and matter?"
"Certainly, sir; force is above matter, and mind is above force."
"I have heard that force is similar to matter in that nothing of it can be lost," said I.
"When and where did you hear that?" asked the Captain, looking at me fixedly, almost sternly.
The question almost brought me to my feet. When and wherehadI heard it? My attention had been so fastened on the Captain's philosophy that it now seemed to me that I had become unguarded, and that from outside of me a thought had been sent into my mind by some unknown power; I could not know whence the thought had come. I had suddenly felt that I had heard the theory in question. I knew that, the moment before, I could not have said what I did. But I had spoken naturally, and without feeling that I was undergoing an experience. I stared back at Captain Haskell. Then I became aware of the fact that at the moment when I had spoken I had known consciously when it was and where it was that I had heard the theory, and I felt almost sure that if I had spoken differently, if I had only said, "From Mr. Such-a-one, or at such a place or time, I had heard the theory," I should now have a clew to something. But the flash had vanished.
"It is lost," I said.
"I am sorry," said he.
"It is like the J.B. on the broken gun," said I.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I did not finish, telling you of my experience at that spot where I got water last Friday. Right in that spot was a broken gun with J.B. on the stock."
"Are you sure, Jones?"
"I picked up both pieces of the gun and looked at them closely."
"Perhaps your seeing J.B. on the gun gave rise to your other reflections."
"Not at all; the gun came last, not first."
"What you are telling me is very remarkable," said the Captain; "you almost make me believe that you are right in saying that your name is Jones Berwick. However, J.B. is no uncommon combination of initials. Suppose Lieutenant Barnwell had found the gun."
"If he had found J.G.B. on it, he would have wondered," said I.
"True; but do you know that J.G.B. is many times more difficult than J.B.?"
"No, Captain; I hardly think so; these are the days of three initials."
"Yes, you are right in that," he said.
"And I know I am right about my name." said I.
"Still, the whole affair may be a compound of coincidences. We have three--or did have three--other men in the company whose initials are J.B.,--Bail, Box, and Butler. Of course you could not recognize your own work in the lettering?"
"No, sir; anybody might have cut those letters; just as anybody might imitate print. And I think, Captain, that there is not another J.B. in Lee's army who would have supposed for an instant that he had any connection with that gun."
"Suppose, then, that I call you Berwick hereafter?"
"No, I thank you, Captain. I'd rather be to you Jones than Berwick. Beside, if you should change now, it would cause remark."
"I think I shall ask my brother Aleck to find out what South Carolina regiments were in the first battle of Manassas," said he. "You may go with me to see him to-night if you will."
That night Captain A.C. Haskell, the assistant adjutant-general, was able to inform me that Bee's brigade had not been composed of troops from South Carolina, although General Bee himself was from that state. After hearing my description of the place which I thought I had revisited, he expressed the opinion that no Confederate troops at all had reached the spot in the battle of sixty-one. The place, he said, was more than a mile from the position of the Confederate army in the battle; still, he admitted, many scattered Federals retreated over the ground which interested me so greatly, and it was possible that some Confederates had been over it to seek plunder or for other purposes; but as for pursuit, there had been none. I asked if it could have been possible for me to be a prisoner on that day and to be led away to the rear of the Federals. "If so," he replied, "you would not have been allowed to keep or to break your gun. Moreover, the whole army lost in missing too few men to base such a theory on; the loss was just a baker's dozen in both Beauregard's and Johnston's forces. For my part, I think it more likely that, if you were there at all, you were there as a scout, or as a vedette. General Evans--Old Shanks, the boys call him--began the battle with the Fourth South Carolina. He was at Stone Bridge, and found out before nine o'clock that McDowell had turned our left and was marching down from Sudley. You might have been sent out to watch the enemy; yet I am confident that Evans would have used his cavalry for that purpose, for he had a company of cavalry in his command. A more plausible guess might be that you were out foraging that morning and got cut off. I will look up the Fourth South Carolina for you, and try to learn something. Yet the whole thing is very vague, and I should not advise you to hope for anything from it. I am now convinced that you did not originally belong to this brigade. You would have been recognized long ago. By the way, I have had a thought in connection with your case. You ought to write to the hotel in Aiken and find out who you are."
"I wonder why I never thought of that!" I exclaimed. "I suppose that a letter addressed to the manager would answer."
"Certainly."
"But--" I began.
"But what?"
"If I write, what can I say? Can I sign a letter asking an unknown man to tell me who I am?"
"Write it and sign it Berwick Jones," said Captain Haskell, who by this speech seemed to give full belief that my name was reversed on the roll of his company.
As we walked back to our bivouac that night I asked the Captain whether, in the improbable event of our finding that I had belonged to the Fourth, I could not still serve with Company H. He was pleased, evidently, by this question, and said that he should certainly try to hold me if I wished to remain with him, and should hope to be able to do so, as transfers were frequently granted, and as an application from me would come with peculiar force when the circumstances should be made known at headquarters. Of course, there would be no difficulty unless the application should be disapproved by my company commander, that is, the commander of my original company.
I wrote a letter, addressed "Manager of Hotel, Aiken, S.C." inquiring if a man named Jones Berwick had been a guest at his house about October 17, 1859, and if so, whether it was possible to learn from the hotel register, or from any other known source, the home of said Berwick.
To anticipate; it may be said here that no answer ever came.