It was the night of the 20th of June, 1863. Stuart’s head-quarters had
been established in a house on the roadside above Middleburg.
We had been fighting all day; had returned only at nightfall: and I was
exchanging a few words with Stuart, before following the staff to rest,
when all at once a third personage, who seemed to have arisen from the
floor, stood before us.
His presence was so sudden and unexpected that I started. Then I looked
at him, curiously.
He was a man of about forty, thin, wiry, and with a nose resembling
the beak of a bird of prey. His eyes, half buried under bushy eyebrows,
twinkled like two stars. His mouth was large and smiling; his expression
exceedingly benignant. From the face I passed to the costume. The worthy
was clad in severe black, with a clerical white cravat: wore a black
beaver hat of the “stove-pipe” order; and presented the appearance of
a pious and peaceable civilian--almost that of a clergyman, smiling
benignantly upon all around him.
Stuart uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
“Ah! Nighthawk, here you are!” he said.
And turning to me he introduced the new comer as “Mr. Nighthawk, one of
my ‘private friends,’ and true as steel.”
Mr. Nighthawk bowed with an air of smiling respect--of benignant
sweetness.
“I am glad to know you, colonel, and hope I may have an opportunity of
being of service to you some day,” he said.
The voice was low, soft, and accorded with the mild expression of the
countenance.
“Well, what news, Nighthawk?” asked Stuart; “experience tells me that
you have something of importance to communicate?”
“Ah, general!”
“Yes. You pass in the cavalry by the name of the ‘man before the
battle,’ for you always turn up then.”
Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
“I try to give you information, general; and perhaps I have some
news. But first of my visits to Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and
Washington, where I saw many of our friends.”
And in his low, quiet voice Mr. Nighthawk, who had taken a seat and
smoothed down his white cravat, proceeded to speak of his travels and
what he had seen.
The narrative astounded me. He spoke without reserve, for General Stuart
had informed him that he might do so before me; and I was startled
to find the number of private friends the South had in the North.
Mr. Nighthawk was evidently _au fait_ at his trade. He had a perfect
understanding plainly with persons of the highest political position;
and Stuart listened with the greatest interest to the speaker, whose low
voice never rose above the half-whisper by which I had been impressed on
his first opening his lips.
“So the summing up of all this,” said Stuart, “that our friends are not
too hopeful?”
“They are not, general.”
“They say Lee must win a great victory on the soil of Pennsylvania?”
“Yes, general. Without it there is no hope of peace, they declare.”
“Well, I think they are right; and that we shall gain the victory.”
Mr. Nighthawk made no reply; and Stuart reflected for some moments
without speaking. Then rousing himself:--
“I forgot,” he said. “You have not given me your special information,
Nighthawk.”
The worthy smiled.
“You know I am the ‘man before the battle,’ general?”
“Yes, go on, Nighthawk.”
“I have just left General Hooker’s head-quarters.”
“Where are they?”
“Beyond Centreville.”
“You saw him?”
“I conversed with him.”
“Ah!”
“An hour, general, as the Rev. Mr. Ward, from Massachusett, of the
‘Grand Union Sanitary Commission’.”
And Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
“Of course I urged active movements, and General Hooker became quite
animated.”
“He agreed with your views then?” said Stuart, laughing.
“Perfectly, general.”
“And he intends--”
“There is the important thing. While we were conversing, General Hooker
was called for a moment out of his tent, and by accident, my eyes fell
upon an order which lay upon his desk.”
“An order?”
“For two divisions of cavalry, one of infantry, and a full complement of
artillery, to advance and drive you back to the mountain.”
“Ah! you saw that order?”
“I did, general; it was just ready to be sent.”
“What day did it fix?”
“To-morrow, general.”
“Ah, indeed! Two divisions of infantry and one of cavalry?”
Mr. Nighthawk inclined in assent.
“When did you leave Hooker’s head-quarters?”
“This afternoon.”
“And you came through the lines to-night?”
“Yes, general, in the usual way, by passing through the pickets. I was
on foot and nothing was easier.”
Stuart knit his brows and reflected. Then he called to the orderly.
“Wake the adjutant-general, and have three couriers ready at once!”
Mr. Nighthawk arose.
“By-the-by, general,” he said, “I saw Swartz, whom I have mentioned to
you.”
“Yes; the best spy, you say, in the Federal army.”
“I think he is, general. He is a wonderful man. He recently played a
trick upon you.”
“Upon _me_?”
“At least he bore off a prisoner from you. It was a lady, captured by
Colonel Mohun, one night on the Rappahannock.”
“Ah! Is it possible! So Swartz was the old countryman, driving the wagon
that morning.”
“So he informed me, general.”
“You are friends, then?”
“Close friends.”
And Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
“We have an agreement--but that would not interest you, general. That
was really Swartz, and the old woman was the prisoner.”
“Well,” said Stuart, “that was a bold stroke, but the lady was handsome
enough to make friends. There is something between herself and Colonel
Mohun, is there not?”
Mr. Nighthawk glanced quickly at the face of the general. His eyes
resembled steel points, but the piercing glance at once sank.
“Something between them, general? What could have made you think that?
But here is Major McClellan. I will not detain you, general; I will come
back at daylight to receive your orders.”
With these words, Mr. Nighthawk distributed a benignant smile, bowed in
a friendly manner, and disappeared, it was difficult to say how, from
the apartment. I had turned my eyes from him but an instant; when I
again looked he was gone.
“And now to work!” exclaimed Stuart. “We are going to fight tomorrow,
Surry, since the ‘man before the battle’ has made his appearance!”
XII.
HOW STUART FELL BACK.
At daybreak, Stuart was going at full gallop to the front.
A rapid fire of skirmishers, mingled with the dull roar of cannon,
indicated that Nighthawk had not been deceived.
All at once the sharp-shooters were seen falling back from the woods.
“Bring me a piece of artillery!” exclaimed Stuart, darting to the front.
But the attack of the enemy swept all before it. Stuart was driven back,
and was returning doggedly, when the gun for which he had sent, galloped
up, and unlimbered in the road.
It was too late. Suddenly a solid shot screamed above us; the gun was
hurled from its carriage, and rolled shattered and useless in the wood;
the horses were seen rearing wild with terror, and trying to kick out of
the harness.
Suddenly one of them leaped into the air and fell, torn in two by a
second round shot.
“Quick work!” said Stuart, grimly.
And turning round to me, he said, pointing to a hill in rear--
“Post three pieces on that hill to rake all the roads.”
The order, like the former, came too late, however. The enemy advanced
in overpowering force--drove Stuart back beyond his head-quarters, where
they captured the military satchel of the present writer--and still
rushing forward, like a hurricane, compelled the Confederate cavalry to
retire behind Goose Creek. On the high ground there, Stuart posted
his artillery; opened a rapid fire; and before this storm of shell the
Federal forces paused.
The spectacle at that moment was picturesque and imposing. The enemy’s
force was evidently large. Long columns of cavalry, heavy masses of
infantry and artillery at every opening, right, left, and centre, showed
that the task of driving back Stuart was not regarded as very easy.
The sunshine darted from bayonet and sabre all along the great line of
battle--and from the heavy smoke, tinged with flame, came the Federal
shell. With their infantry, cavalry, and artillery, they seemed
determined to put an end to us. Stuart galloped to his guns, pouring a
steady fire from the lofty hill. Captain Davenant directed it in
person, and he was evidently in his right element. All his sadness had
disappeared. A cool and resolute smile lit up his features.
“All right, Davenant! Hold your ground!” exclaimed Stuart.
“I will do so, general.”
“Can you keep them from crossing?”
“I can try, general.”
A whirlwind of shell screamed around the two speakers. For the hundredth
time I witnessed that entire indifference to danger which was a trait of
Stuart. The fire at this moment was so terrible that I heard an officer
say:--
“General Stuart seems trying to get himself and everybody killed.”
Nothing more inspiring, however, can be imagined than his appearance at
that moment. His horse, wild with terror, reared, darted, and attempted
to unseat his rider. Stuart paid no attention to him. He had no eyes or
thought for any thing but the enemy. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes
flamed--he resembled a veritable king of battle.
From Stuart my glances passed to Davenant. His coolness impressed
me deeply. While giving an order, a shell burst right in his face,
enveloping horse and rider in a cloud of smoke--but when the smoke
drifted away, he was sitting his horse unmoved, and giving the order as
quietly as before.
I have not invented this picture, reader, or fancied this character. I
had the honor to enjoy the friendship of the brave boy I describe. He
was remarkable, in an epoch crowded with remarkable characters.
Stuart held his ground for an hour on the high hills of Goose Creek, but
it then became plain that he was going to be driven back. The enemy had
felt him, and discovered that the game was in their own hands. Now
they rushed on his right, left and centre, at the same moment--cavalry,
infantry, and artillery rolling on like a torrent--crossed the stream,
charged the hill--in a moment a bitter and savage combat commenced for
the possession of the crest.
Stuart rushed toward the guns. As he reached them a cannon ball carried
off the head of a cannoneer, and his horse reared with fright, nearly
trampling on the headless trunk which spouted blood. Davenant had coolly
drawn his sabre, but had given no order to retire.
“Move back the guns!” exclaimed Stuart.
“Is it necessary, general?” asked Davenant.
“Yes, they will be captured in five minutes!”
“It is a pity we can not remain, general. This is an excellent
position.”
And he gave the order to limber up. The operation was performed amid a
hurricane of bullets, striking down the cannoneers.
Suddenly a column of Federal cavalry charged straight at the guns.
Davenant met them with his mounted men, armed with sabres, and a
stubborn combat followed. It was a hilt to hilt affair, and Davenant was
in the midst of it shouting:--
“You are fighting for your guns, boys! You promised to die by your
guns!”
The men answered with fierce shouts, and met the enemy with savage
resolution. Meanwhile, the guns had rushed at a gallop down the
western slope; a regiment came to Davenant’s assistance; the fight grew
desperate, but was of no avail.
In fifteen minutes we were driven.
Driven! Do you know what that means, reader? Ask old soldiers if it is
pleasant. They will growl in reply!
We were forced back, step by step, with the enemy at our very heels. At
our backs came on the huge column, yelling and firing, mad with triumph.
Stuart the valiant, the obstinate, the unshrinking was driven!
We were forced back to Upperville, and there things looked stormy. On
the other roads, Stuart’s right and left were rapidly retiring. His
centre at Upperville seemed devoted to destruction.
The enemy came on like a whirlwind, with a roaring shout. As far as
the eye could see, the great fields were dark with them. Their horse
artillery advanced at a gallop, unlimbered, and tore the retreating
columns with shot and shell.
I was ten yards from Stuart, just at the edge of the town, when a picked
body of Federal horsemen darted straight upon him.
They had evidently recognized him by his major-general’s uniform and
splendid feather. Bullets hissed around him; blows were struck at him;
and for an instant I saw him in the midst of a wild huddle of enemies,
defending himself with his revolver only.
In an instant he would have been killed or captured, with his staff and
body-guard, when a resounding shout was heard.
I glanced over my shoulder, and saw the cavaliers of Hampton coming on
with drawn sabre.
Then a splendid spectacle was presented--that of Wade Hampton in one of
his great moments. This stalwart cavalier was leading his men, and in an
instant they had struck the enemy with a noise like thunder.
Suddenly a cavalier on a black horse rushed by like the wild huntsman,
and I recognized Mohun; who, spurring his animal to headlong speed,
drove straight at the leader of the Federal cavalry, almost in contact
with us.
Through a rift in the smoke I caught a glimpse of Mohun’s opponent. He
was a man of low stature, but broad, heavy, and powerful. He came to
meet his adversary with the bridle of his horse resting on the animal’s
neck, while both hands clutched a heavy broad-sword, raised over his
right shoulder.
I could only see that the two opponents hurled together like knights
tilting; their swords gleamed; they closed in, body to body; then the
smoke wrapped them. It was impossible to see more.
XIV.
MOSBY COMES TO STUART’S ASSISTANCE.
Sore and restive at the reverse which had come to balance his victory
of Fleetwood, Stuart bivouacked near Paris, that night, and made every
preparation to attack at dawn.
At daylight he was in the saddle, and spurred to the high ground
commanding Upperville.
All at once he checked his horse. The enemy had disappeared.
Stuart’s blue eye flashed, and half an hour afterward he was advancing
at the head of his cavalry. Not a foe was visible. Pressing on through
Upperville, and over the trampled fields beyond, he continued to advance
upon Middleburg, and near that place came up with the rear of the enemy.
They showed little fight, however, and were driven beyond the place.
The gray troopers pursued them with shouts and cheers--with which were
mingled cries of rejoicing from the people of Middleburg.
An hour afterward the lines were re-established in triumph.
Stuart returned to his former head-quarters amid a drenching rain; and
this recalls an incident very honorable to the brave soldier. As night
descended, dark and stormy, Stuart gazed gloomily at the torrents of
rain falling.
“My poor fellows!” he said, with a sigh, “they will have a hard time
to-night.”
Then suddenly turning to his servant, he added:--
“Spread my oil-cloth and blankets under that apple tree yonder. I will
keep them dry enough when I once get into them.”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
“You are not going to sleep out on such a night, general!” exclaimed a
staff officer.
“Certainly I am,” was his reply, “I don’t intend to fare better than my
men!”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
And an hour afterward Stuart was asleep under the apple tree, with a
torrent pouring on him.
That was the act of a good officer and soldier, was it not, reader?
Before sunrise Stuart was up, and walking uneasily to and fro. As the
day wore on, he exhibited more and more impatience. All at once, at the
appearance of an officer, approaching rapidly from the front, he uttered
an exclamation of pleasure.
“Here is Mosby at last!” he said.
And he went to meet the new-comer. It was the famous chief of partisans
whose name by this time had become a terror to the enemy. He wore a
plain gray uniform, a brace of revolvers in a swaying belt, rode a
spirited gray mare, and I recognized at once the roving glance, and
satirical smile which had struck me on that night when he rescued Farley
and myself in Fauquier.
Stuart rapidly drew him into a private apartment; remained in
consultation with him for half an hour; and then came forth, with a
smile of evident satisfaction.
Mosby’s intelligence must have pleased him. It at least dispelled his
gloom.
An hour afterward his head-quarters had disappeared--every thing was
sent toward the mountains. Stuart set out apparently to follow them--but
that was only a ruse to blind busybodies.
A quarter of a mile from head-quarters he leaped a fence, and doubled
back, going in the direction now of Manassas.
At daylight on the next morning he had forced his way through the Bull
Run mountain.
Two hours afterward he had made a sudden attack on the enemy’s infantry.
It was the rear of Hancock’s corps, which was the rear of Hooker’s army,
then retiring toward the Potomac.
XV.
THE SUPPER NEAR BUCKLANDS.
Stuart’s fight near Haymarket, here alluded to, was a gay affair; but I
pass over it, to a scene still gayer and decidedly more pleasant.
The fighting continued throughout the day, and at dusk a heavy rain
came on. We were all tired and hungry--the general no less so than
his staff--and when an invitation was sent to us by a gentleman near
Bucklands, to come and sup with him, we accepted it with fervor, and
hastened toward the friendly mansion.
A delightful reception awaited us. The house was full of young ladies,
passionately devoted to “rebels,” and we were greeted with an enthusiasm
which passed all bounds. Delicate hands pressed our own; bright eyes
beamed upon us; rosy lips smiled; musical voices said “welcome!”--and
soon a savory odor, pervading the mansion, indicated that the wants of
the inner man were not forgotten.
An excellent supper was plainly in preparation for the bold Stuart and
his military family; and that gay and gallant cavalier, General Fitz
Lee having also been invited, the joy of the occasion was complete! The
house rang with clashing heels, rattling sabres, and clanking spurs. A
more charming sound still, however, was that made by jingling keys and
rattling china, and knives and forks. All was joy and uproar: jests,
compliments and laughter. Young ladies went and came; the odors grew
more inviting. In ten minutes the door of a large apartment opposite
the drawing-room was thrown open, and a magnificent, an enthralling
spectacle was revealed to every eye. Not to be carried away, however,
by enthusiasm, I will simply say that we saw before us a long mahogany
table covered with the most appetizing viands--broils, roasts, stews,
bread of every variety, and real coffee and tea in real silver! That
magical spectacle still dwells in my memory, reader, though the fact may
lower me in your good opinion. But alas! we are all “weak creatures.”
The most poetical grow hungry. We remember our heroic performances in
the great civil war--but ask old soldiers if these recollections are not
the most vivid!
An incident connected with the repast made it especially memorable.
The servants of the house had deserted to their friends in blue; and as
there was thus a deficiency of attendants, the young ladies took their
places. Behind every chair stood a maiden--their faces wreathed with
smiles. We were shown to our seats, amid joyous laughter. The comedy
evidently afforded all engaged in it immense enjoyment--and the
cavaliers humoring the angelic maid-servants, gravely advanced toward
the table.
Stuart threw his plumed hat upon a chair, and drew near the foot of
the table. The light fell full on the ruddy face, the heavy beard and
mustache, and brilliant fighting jacket. He looked round with a gay
smile. “Was any one absent,” asked the kind lady of the house, as she
saw the glance. Stuart made a low bow, and said:--
“All are here, madam!”
All at once, however, a voice at the door responded:--
“I think you are mistaken, general!”
And he who had uttered these words advanced into the apartment.
He was a young man, about twenty-three, of medium height, graceful, and
with a smile of charming good humor upon the lips. His hair was light
and curling; his eyes blue; his lips shaded by a slender mustache. His
uniform was brand new, and decorated with the braid of a lieutenant.
Yellow gauntlets reached his elbow, he wore a shiny new satchel, and in
his hand carried a brown felt hat, caught up with a golden star.
Stuart grasped his hand warmly.
“Here you are, old fellow!” he exclaimed.
And turning to the company, he added:--
“My new aid-de-camp, Lieutenant Herbert, ladies. A fop--but an old
soldier. Take that seat by Colonel Surry, Tom.”
And every one sat down, and attacked the supper.
I had shaken hands with Tom Herbert, who was far from being a stranger
to me, as I had met him frequently in the drawing-rooms of Richmond
before the war. He was a fop, but the most charming of fops, when I
first knew him. He wore brilliant waistcoats, variegated scarfs, diamond
studs, and straw-colored kid gloves. In his hand he used to flourish an
ivory-headed whalebone cane, and his boots were of feminine delicacy
and dimensions. Such was Tom at that time, but the war had “brought
him out.” He had rushed into the ranks, shouldered a musket, and fought
bravely. So much I knew--and I was soon to hear how he had come to be
Stuart’s aid.
The supper was charming. The young girls waited on us with mock
submission and delighted smiles. Tom and I had fallen to the lot of a
little princess with golden ringlets; and Miss Katy Dare--that was her
name--acquitted herself marvellously. We supped as though we expected
to eat nothing for the next week--and then having finished, we rose, and
waited in turn on the fair waiters.
Behind every chair now stood an officer in uniform.
Bright eyes, rosy cheeks, jewelled hands, glossy curls--there was the
picture, my dear reader, which we beheld as we “waited” at that magical
supper near Buckland. When we wrapped our capes around us, and fell
asleep on the floor, the little maidens still laughed in our dreams![1]
[Footnote 1: A real incident.]
XVI.
AN HONEST FOP.
Stuart moved again at dawn. The scene of the preceding evening had
passed away like a dream. We were in the saddle, and advancing.
Riding beside Lieutenant Tom Herbert, I conversed with that worthy, and
found the tedious march beguiled by his gay and insouciant talk.
His “record” was simple. He had volunteered in the infantry, and at the
battle of Cold Harbor received a wound in the leg which disqualified him
for a foot-soldier thenceforward. His friends succeeded in procuring
for him the commission of lieutenant, and he was assigned to duty as
drill-master at a camp of instruction near Richmond.
“Here I was really in clover, old fellow,” said Tom, laughingly “no more
toils, no more hardships, no bullets, or hard tack, or want of soap.
A snowy shirt every day--kid gloves if I wanted them--and the sound of
cannon at a very remote distance to lull me to repose, my boy. Things
had changed, they had indeed! I looked back with scorn on the heavy
musket and cartridge-box. I rode a splendidly groomed horse, wore a new
uniform shining with gold braid, a new cap covered with ditto, boots
which you could see your face in, a magnificent sash, and spurs so
long and martial that they made the pavement resound, and announced my
approach at the distance of a quarter of a mile! I say the pavement; I
was a good deal on the pavement--that of the fashionable Franklin street
being my favorite haunt. And as the Scripture says, it is not good for
man to be alone, I had young ladies for companions. My life was grand,
superb--none of your low military exposure, like that borne by the
miserable privates and officers in the field! I slept in town, lived
at a hotel, mounted my horse after breakfast, at the Government stables
near my lodgings and went gallantly at a gallop, to drill infantry
for an hour or two at the camp of instruction. This was a bore,
I acknowledge, but life can not be all flowers. It was soon over,
however--I galloped gallantly back--dined with all the courses at my
hotel, and then lit my cigar and strolled up Franklin. I wore my uniform
and spurs on these promenades--wild horses tearing me would not have
induced me to doff the spurs! They were so martial! They jingled so!
They gave a military and ferocious set-off to my whole appearance, and
were immensely admired by the fair sex! Regularly on coming back from
my arduous and dangerous duties at camp, I brushed my uniform, put on my
red sash, and with one hand resting with dignity on my new sword belt,
advanced to engage the enemy--on Franklin street.”
Tom Herbert’s laugh was contagious; his whole bearing so sunny and
_riante_ that he was charming.
“Well, how did you awake from your _dolce far niente?_” I said.
“By an effort of the will, old fellow--for I really could not stand
that. It was glorious, delightful--that war-making in town; but there
was a thorn in it. I was ashamed of myself. ‘Tom Herbert you are not a
soldier, you are an impostor,’ I said; ‘you are young, healthy, as good
food for powder as anybody else, and yet here you are, safely laid away
in a bomb-proof, while your friends are fighting. Wake, rouse yourself,
my friend! The only way to regain the path of rectitude is to go back to
the army!”
“I said that, Surry,” Tom continued, “and as I could not go back into
the infantry on account of my leg, I applied for an assignment to duty
in the cavalry. Then the war office had a time of it. I besieged the
nabobs of the red tape day and night, and they got so tired of me at
last that they told me to find a general who wanted an aid and they
would assign me.”
“Well, as I was coming out of the den I met General Jeb Stuart going in.
I knew him well, and he was tenth cousin to my grandmother, which you
know counts for a great deal in Virginia.”
“What’s the matter, Tom?” he said.
“I want a place in the cavalry, general.”
“What claim have you?”
“Shot in the leg--can’t walk--am tired of drilling men in bomb-proof.”
“Good!” he said. “That’s the way to talk. Come in here.”
“And he dragged me along. I found that one of his aids had just been
captured--he wanted another, and he applied for me. A month afterward
his application was approved--short for the war office. That was
five days ago. I got into the saddle,--pushed for the Rapidan--got to
Middleburg--and arrived in time for supper.”
“That’s my history, old fellow, except that I have just fallen in
love--with the young angel who waited on me at supper, Miss Katy Dare.
I opened the campaign in a corner last night--and I intend to win her,
Surry, or perish in the attempt!”
XVII.
STUART GRAZES CAPTURE.
As Tom Herbert uttered these words, a loud shout in front startled us.
Stuart had ridden on ahead of his column, through the immense deserted
camps around Wolf Run Shoals, attended only by two or three staff
officers.
As I now raised my head quickly, I saw him coming back at headlong
speed, directing his horse by means of the halter only, and hotly
pursued by a detachment of Federal cavalry, firing on him as they
pressed, with loud shouts, upon his very heels.
“Halt!” shouted the enemy. And this order was followed by “bang! bang!
bang!”
Stuart did not obey the order.
“Halt! halt!”
And a storm of bullets whistled around our heads. I had drawn my sword,
but before I could go to Stuart’s assistance, Tom shot ahead of me.
He came just in time. Two of the enemy had caught up with Stuart, and
were making furious cuts at him. He parried the blow of one of the
Federal cavalry-men--and the other fell from the saddle, throwing up his
hands as he did so. Tom Herbert had placed his pistol on his breast, and
shot him through the heart.
But by this time the rest had reached us. A sabre flashed above Tom’s
head; fell, cutting him out of the saddle nearly; and he would have
dropped from it, had I not passed my arm around him.
In another instant, all three would have been killed or captured. But
the firing had given the alarm. A thunder of hoofs was heard: a squadron
of our cavalry dashed over the hill: in three minutes the enemy were
flying, to escape the edge of the sabre.
Stuart led the charge, and seemed to enjoy it with the zest of a
fox-hunter. He had indeed escaped from a critical danger. He had pushed
on with a few of his staff, as I have said, to Fairfax Station, had then
stopped and slipped his bridle to allow his horse to eat some “Yankee
oats,” and while standing beside the animal, had been suddenly charged
by the party of Federal cavalry, coming down on a reconnaissance from
the direction of the Court-House. So sudden was their appearance that
he was nearly “gobbled up.” He had leaped on the unbridled horse; seized
the halter, and fled at full speed. The enemy had pursued him; he had
declined halting--and the reader has seen the sequel.[1]
[Footnote 1: Real.]
Stuart pressed the party hotly toward Sanxter’s, but they
escaped--nearly capturing on the way, however, a party of officers at a
blacksmith’s shop. The general came back in high good humor. The chase
seemed to have delighted him.
“Bully for old Tom Herbert!” he exclaimed. “You ought to have seen him
when they were cutting at him, and spoiling his fine new satchel!”
Tom Herbert did not seem to participate in the general’s mirth. He was
examining the satchel which a sabre stroke had nearly cut in two.
“What are you looking at?” asked Stuart.
“This hole, general,” replied Tom, uttering a piteous sigh.
“Well, it is a trifle.”
“It is a serious matter, general.”
“You have lost something?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A joint of my new flute.”
And Tom Herbert’s expression was so melancholy that Stuart burst into
laughter.
“You may have lost your flute, Tom,” he said, leaning on his shoulder,
“but you have won your spurs at least, in the cavalry!”
XVIII.
DROWSYLAND.
At daylight, on the next morning, Stuart had crossed the Potomac into
Maryland.
He had advanced from Wolf Run Shoals to Fairfax Court House, where the
men rifled the sutlers’ shops of tobacco, figs, white gloves, straw
hats, and every edible and wearable:--then the column pushed on toward
Seneca Falls, where the long wavering line of horsemen might have been
seen hour after hour crossing the moonlit river, each man, to prevent
wetting, holding above his head a shot or shell taken from the caissons.
Then the artillery was dragged through: the panting horses trotted
on, and the first beams of day saw the long column of Stuart ready to
advance on its perilous pathway to the Susquehanna, by the route between
the Federal army and Washington.
The word was given, and with the red flags fluttering, Stuart moved
toward Rockville, unopposed, save by a picket, which was driven off
by the advance guard. Without further incident, he then pushed on, and
entered the town in triumph.
A charming reception awaited him. The place was thoroughly Southern; and
the passage of the cavalry was greeted with loud cheers. Unbounded was
the delight, above all, of a seminary of young girls. Doors and windows
were crowded: bright eyes shone; red lips laughed; waving handkerchiefs
were seen everywhere; and when Stuart appeared in person, he was
received with wild rejoicing.
He bowed low, removing his plumed hat, but suddenly intelligence came
which forced him to push on. A long train of “government” wagons had
come up from Washington, and on discovering our presence, returned
toward the city at a gallop. But the ferocious rebels were after
them. Stuart led the charging column--the warlike teamsters were soon
halted--the trains became our spoil--and with countless kicking mules
driven onward in droves before them, the cavalry, escorting the captured
wagons, continued their way toward Pennsylvania.
Moving all that night, Stuart came to Westminster, where Fitz Lee, the
gallant, drove the enemy’s cavalry from their camp, and the town fell
into the hands of Stuart.
Here scowls instead of smiles greeted us. Every face was glum and
forbidding, with a few exceptions. So we hastened to depart from that
“loyal” town, and were soon on the soil of Pennsylvania.
Approaching Hanover we suddenly waked up the hornets. Chambliss, leading
Stuart’s advance, pushed ahead and drove in a picket. Then that brave
soldier rushed on, and seemed intent on taking the place, when I was
sent by Stuart to order him “not to go too far.”
I came up with Chambliss as he was charging, but had scarcely given him
the order, when he was charged in turn by a heavy force and driven back.
The enemy rushed on, firing volleys, and the road was full of tramping
horsemen. To avoid being carried away with them, I diverged into a
field, when all at once Stuart appeared, retreating at full gallop
before a party who were chasing him.
It was a serious matter then, but I laugh now, remembering that “good
run.”
Stuart and myself retreated at a gallop, boot to boot; leaped ditches
and fences; and got off in safety.
A few moments afterward his artillery opened its thunders. From the
lofty hill, that hardy captain of the horse artillery, Breathed, roared
obstinately, driving them back. Hampton’s guns on the right had opened
too--and until night, we held the heights, repulsing every advance of
the enemy.
It was truly a fine spectacle, that handsome town of Hanover as I looked
at it, on the afternoon of the fair June day. In front extended green
fields; then the church spires rose above the roofs of the town; behind,
a range of mountains formed a picturesque background. It is true, the
adjuncts of the scene were far from peaceful. The green fields were full
of blue sharp-shooters; in the suburbs were posted batteries; down the
mountain road behind, wound a long compact column of cavalry.
Breathed fought hard that day. From the waving field of rye on the
upland his guns thundered on--in the face of that fire, the enemy could
not, or would not, advance.
So the night came on, and Stuart’s great train moved.
Those wagons were a terrible encumbrance to us on the march. But
Stuart determined not to abandon them, and they were dragged on--a line
stretched to infinity!
Thenceforth, dear reader, the march was a sort of dream to me. How can I
relate my adventures--the numerous spectacles and events of the time? I
know not even now if they were events or mere dreams, seeing that,
all the long way, I was half asleep in the saddle! It was a veritable
Drowsyland that we moved through on horseback! The Dutchmen, the
“fraus,” the “spreading,” the sauer-kraut--the conestogas, the red
barns, the guttural voices, the strange faces--were these actual things,
or the mere fancies of a somnambulist? Was I an officer of real cavalry
making a real march; or a fanciful being, one of a long column of
phantoms?
I seem dimly to remember a pretty face, whose owner smiled on me--and a
faint memory remains of a supper which she gave me. If I am not mistaken
I was left alone in the town of Salem--hostile faces were around me--and
I was falling asleep when Hampton’s cavalry came up.
I think, then, I rode on with him--having been left to direct him. That
we talked about horses, and the superiority of “blood” in animals; that
at dawn, Hampton said, “I am perishing for sleep!” and that we lay down,
side by side, near a haystack.
All that is a sort of phantasmagoria, and others were no better than
myself. Whole columns went to sleep, in the saddle, as they rode along;
and General Stuart told me afterward, that he saw a man attempt to climb
over a fence, half succeed only, and go to sleep on the top rail!
Some day I promise myself the pleasure of travelling in Pennsylvania. It
possesses all the attractions to me of a world seen in a dream!
But after that good sleep, side by side with the great Carolinian,
things looked far more real, and pushing on I again caught up with
Stuart.
He advanced steadily on Carlisle, and in the afternoon we heard
artillery from the south.
I looked at my military map, and calculated the distance. The result was
that I said:--
“General, those guns are at a place called Gettysburg on this map.”
“Impossible!” was his reply. “They can not be fighting there. You are
certainly wrong.”
But I was right.
Those guns were the signal of the “First day’s fight at Gettysburg.”
XIX
CARLISLE BY FIRELIGHT.
It can not be said that we accomplished very enormous results at
Carlisle. The enemy defended it bravely.
Stuart sent in a flag, demanding a surrender: this proposition was
politely declined; and for fear that there might possibly remain some
doubts on the subject, the Federal commander of the post, opened with
artillery upon the gray cavalry.
That was the signal for a brisk fight, and a magnificent spectacle also.
As soon as the enemy’s response to the flag of truce had been received,
Stuart advanced his sharp-shooters, replied with his artillery to their
own, and dispatched a party to destroy the extensive United States
barracks, formerly used as cantonments for recruits to the army.
In ten minutes the buildings were wrapped in flames; and the city
of Carlisle was illumined magnificently. The crimson light of the
conflagration revealed every house, the long lines of trees, and made
the delicate church spires, rising calmly aloft, resemble shafts of
rose-tinted marble.
I recall but one scene which was equally picturesque--the “doomed city”
of Fredericksburg, on the night of December 11, 1862, when the church
spires were illumined by the burning houses, as those of Carlisle were
in June, 1863.
So much for this new “Siege of Carlisle.” Here my description ends. It
was nothing--a mere picture. An hour afterward Stuart ceased firing, the
conflagration died down; back into the black night sank the fair town of
Carlisle, seen then for the first and the last time by this historian.
The guns were silent, the cavalry retired; and Stuart, accompanied by
his staff, galloped back to a great deserted house where he established
his temporary head-quarters.
On the bold face there was an expression of decided ill-humor. He had
just received a dispatch, by courier, from General Lee.
That dispatch said, “Come, I need you urgently here,” and the “here”
in question, was Gettysburg, at least twenty miles distant. Now, with
worn-out men and horses, twenty miles was a serious matter. Stuart’s
brows were knit, and he mused gloomily.
Suddenly he turned and addressed me.
“You were right, Surry,” he said, “those guns were at Gettysburg. This
dispatch, sent this morning, reports the enemy near there.”
I bowed; Stuart reflected for some moments without speaking. Then he
suddenly said:--
“I wish you would go to General Lee, and say I am coming, Surry. How is
your horse?”
“Worn-out, general, but I can get another.”
“Good; tell General Lee that I will move at once to Gettysburg, with all
my force, and as rapidly as possible!”
“I will lose no time, general.”
And saluting, I went out.
From the captured horses I selected the best one I could find, and
burying the spurs in his sides, set out through the black night.
XX.
THE HOUSE BETWEEN CARLISLE AND GETTYSBURG.
You know when you set out, the proverb says, but you know not when you
will arrive.
I left Carlisle, breasting the night, on the road to Gettysburg, little
thinking that a curious incident was to occur to me upon the way--an
incident closely connected with the destinies of some personages who
play prominent parts in this history.
I had ridden on for more than an hour, through the darkness, keeping
a good look-out for the enemy, whose scouting parties of cavalry were
known to be prowling around, when all at once, my horse, who was going
at full speed, struck his foot against a sharp point of rock, cropping
out from the surface.
The animal stumbled, recovered himself, and went on as rapidly as
before. A hundred yards further his speed relaxed; then he began to limp
painfully; then in spite of every application of the spur I could not
force him out of a slow limping trot.
It was truly unfortunate. I was the bearer of an important message, and
was surrounded by enemies. The only chance was to pass through them,
under shadow of the darkness; with light they would perceive me, and my
capture be certain.
A hundred yards further, and I found I must decide at once upon the
course to pursue. My horse seemed about to fall. At every stroke of the
spur he groaned piteously, and his limp had become a stagger.
I looked around through the trees, and at the distance of a quarter of
a mile I saw the glimmer of a light. To obtain another horse was
indispensable under the circumstances; and looking to see that my
revolver was loaded and capped, I forced my tottering animal toward the
mansion in which the light glimmered.
My design was simply to proceed thither, “impress” a fresh horse at
the pistol’s muzzle; throw my saddle upon him; leave my own animal, and
proceed on my way.
Pushing across the fields, and dismounting to let down the fences which
my limping animal could not leap, I soon approached the light. It shone
through the window of a house of some size, with ornamental grounds
around it, and apparently the abode of a man of means.
At fifty paces from it I dismounted and tethered my horse in the shadow
of some trees. A brief reconnaissance under the circumstances was
advisable; and approaching the mansion silently, without allowing my
sabre to make any clatter, I gained the long portico in front, and went
to a window reaching down to the flooring of the verandah.
Through the half-closed venetians I could see into a large apartment,
half library, half sitting-room, as the easy chairs, mantel ornaments,
desks, and book-cases showed. On the centre-table burned a brilliant
lamp--and by its light I witnessed a spectacle which made me draw back
in the shadow of the shutter, and rivet my eyes on the interior.
Before me, in the illuminated apartment, I saw the woman whom Mohun had
captured on the Rappahannock; and beside her the personage with whom she
had escaped that morning in the wagon from Culpeper Court-House. I could
not mistake him. The large, prominent nose, the cunning eyes, the double
chin, the fat person, and the chubby hands covered with pinchbeck rings,
were still fresh in my memory.
The name of this personage had been revealed by Nighthawk. Swartz, the
secret agent, blockade-runner, and “best spy in the Federal army” was
before me.
A glance at the woman revealed no change in her appearance. Before me
was the same lithe and graceful figure, clad as before in a gray dress.
I saw the same snow-white cheeks, red lips, and large eyes burning with
a latent fire.
The two were busily engaged, and it was not difficult to understand
their occupation. The desks, drawers and chests of the apartment were
all open; and the female with rapid hands was transferring papers from
them to Swartz, who methodically packed them in a leathern valise. These
papers were no doubt important, and the aim to remove them to some place
of safety beyond the reach of the Confederates.
I gazed for some moments, without moving, upon the spectacle of these
two night-birds at their work. The countenance of the lady was animated;
her motions rapid; and from time to time she stopped to listen. Swartz,
on the contrary, was the incarnation of phlegmatic coolness. His face
wore an expression of entire equanimity; and he seemed to indulge no
fears whatever of intruders.
All at once, however, I saw his eyes glitter as they fell upon a paper
which she handed him to pack away with the rest. It was carefully
folded, but one of the folds flew open as he received it, and his eyes
were suddenly fixed intently upon the sheet.
Then his head turned quickly, and he looked at his companion. She was
bending over a drawer, and did not observe that glance. Thereupon Swartz
folded up the paper, quietly put it in his pocket, and went on packing
the valise with his former coolness; only a slight color in his face
seemed to indicate concealed emotion.
As he pocketed the paper, his companion turned round. It was plain that
she had not perceived the manoeuvre.
At the same moment I heard the sound of hoofs in rear of the house, and
the clatter of a sabre as a cavalier dismounted. A few indistinct words,
apparently addressed to a servant or orderly, followed. Then the door
of the apartment opposite the front window was thrown open, and a man
entered.
In the new-comer I recognized Mohun’s adversary at Upperville--Colonel
Darke, of the United States Cavalry.
XXI.
FALLEN.
Darke entered the apartment abruptly, but his appearance seemed to
occasion no surprise. The spy retained his coolness. The lady went on
with her work. You would have said that they had expected the officer,
and recognized his step.
Their greeting was brief. Darke nodded in apparent approbation of the
task in which the man and woman were engaged, and folding his arms in
front of the marble mantel, looked on in silence.
I gazed at him with interest, and more carefully than I had been able
to do during the fight at Upperville, when the smoke soon concealed him.
Let me draw his outline. Of all the human beings whom I encountered
in the war, this one’s character and career were perhaps the most
remarkable. Were I writing a romance, I should be tempted to call him
the real hero of this volume.
He was a man approaching middle age; low in stature, but broad,
muscular, and powerful. He was clad in the full-dress uniform of a
colonel of the United States Cavalry, wore boots reaching to the knee
and decorated with large spurs; and his arms were an immense sabre and
a brace of revolvers in black leather holsters attached to his belt.
His face was swarthy, swollen by excess in drink apparently, and half
covered by a shaggy beard and mustache as black as night. The eyes were
deep-set, and wary: the poise of the head upon the shoulders, haughty;
the expression of the entire countenance cold, phlegmatic, grim.
Such was this man, upon the surface. But there was something more about
him which irresistibly attracted attention, and aroused speculation. At
the first glance, you set him down as a common-place ruffian, the
prey of every brutal passion. At the second glance, you began to doubt
whether he was a mere vulgar adventurer--you could see, at least, that
this man was not of low birth. There was in his bearing an indefinable
something which indicated that he had “seen better days.” The surface of
the fabric was foul and defiled, but the texture beneath was of velvet,
not “hodden gray.”
“That brute,” I thought, “was once a gentleman, and crime or drink has
destroyed him!”
Darke continued to gaze at Swartz and the gray woman as they plied their
busy work; and once or twice be pointed to drawers which they had failed
to open. These directions were promptly obeyed, and the work went on.
The few words which the parties uttered came in an indistinct murmur
only through the window at which I was stationed.
Such was the scene within the mansion, upon which I gazed with strong
curiosity: suddenly the neigh of a horse was heard in a clump of woods
beyond the front gate; and Darke quickly raised his head, and then came
out to the portico.
He passed within three feet of me, but did not perceive me, as I was
concealed by one of the open venetians. Then he paused and listened. The
wind sighed in the foliage, and a distant watch-dog was barking--that
was all. No other noise disturbed the silence of the July night.
Darke remained upon the portico for some moments, listening attentively.
Then turned and re-entered the house. Through the window, I could see
him make his appearance again in the illuminated apartment. In response
to the glances of inquiry from his companions he made a gesture only,
but that said plainly:--
“Nothing is stirring. You can go on with your work.”
In this, however, he was mistaken. Darke had scarcely re-entered the
apartment, when I discerned the hoof-strokes of horses beyond the
front gate--then the animals were heard leaping the low fence--a moment
afterward two figures came on at full gallop, threw themselves from the
saddle, and rapidly approached the house.
The rattle of a sabre which one of them wore attracted Darke’s
attention. He reached the door of the room at a single bound--but at the
same instant the new comers rushed by me, and burst in.
As they passed I recognized them. One was Mohun, the other Nighthawk.
XXII.
DARKE AND MOHUN.
What followed was instantaneous.
The adversaries were face to face, and each drew his pistol and fired at
the same moment.
Neither was struck: they drew their swords; and, through the cloud of
smoke filling the apartment, I could see Darke and Mohun close in, in a
hand to hand encounter.
They were both excellent swordsmen, and the struggle was passionate and
terrible. Mohun’s movements were those of the tiger springing upon
his prey; but Darke met the attack with a coolness and phlegm which
indicated unshrinking nerve; his expression seemed, even, to indicate
that crossing swords with his adversary gave the swarthy giant extreme
pleasure. His face glowed, and a flash darted from beneath the shaggy
eyebrows. I could see him smile; but the smile was strange.
From the adversaries my glance passed quickly to the gray woman. She
was leaning against the wall, and exhibited no emotion whatever; but
the lurid blaze in the great dark eyes, as she looked at Mohun, clearly
indicated that a storm was raging in her bosom. Opposite the woman stood
Nighthawk--motionless, but grasping a pistol. As to Swartz, that worthy
had profited by an open window near, and had glided through it and
disappeared.
To return to the combatants. The passionate encounter absorbed all my
attention. Mohun and Darke were cutting at each other furiously. They
seemed equally matched, and the result was doubtful. One thing only
seemed certain--that in a few minutes one of the adversaries would be
dead.
Such was the situation of affairs when shots were heard without, the
clash of sabres followed, and the door behind Darke was burst open
violently by his orderly, who rushed in, exclaiming:--
“Look out, colonel! The enemy are on you!”
As he uttered these words, the man drew a revolver and aimed at Mohun’s
breast.
Before he could fire, however, an explosion was heard, and I saw the
man suddenly drop his weapon, which went off as it escaped from his
nerveless grasp. Then he threw up his hands, reeled, took two uncertain
steps backward, and fell at full length on the floor. Nighthawk had shot
him through the heart.
All this had taken place in far less time than it has taken to write it.
I had made violent efforts to break through the window; and finding this
impossible, now ran to the door and burst into the apartment.
The singular scene was to have as singular a denouement.
Darke evidently realized the great danger which he ran, for the house
was now surrounded, nearly, and his capture was imminent.
From the black eyes shot a glare of defiance, and advancing upon Mohun,
he delivered a blow at him which nearly shattered his opponent’s sword.
Mohun struck in turn, aiming a furious cut at Darke; but as he did so,
he stumbled over the dead orderly, and nearly fell. For the moment he
was at Darke’s mercy.
I rushed forward, sword in hand, to ward off the mortal stroke which
I was certain his adversary would deliver, but my intervention was
useless.
Darke recoiled from his stumbling adversary, instead of striking at him.
I could scarcely believe my own eyes, but the fact was unmistakable.
Then the Federal colonel looked around, and his eye fell upon the woman.
“Kill him!” she said, coldly. “Do not mind me!--only kill him!”
“No!” growled Darke. And seizing the woman in his arms:--
“They shall not take you prisoner!” he said.
And the swarthy Hercules passed through the door in rear at a single
bound, bearing off the woman like a feather.
A moment afterward the hoof-strokes of a horse were heard.
Darke had disappeared with the gray woman.
I turned to look at Mohun. He was standing perfectly motionless, and
looking after Darke with a strange expression of gloom and astonishment.
“You are unhurt!” I said.
He turned quickly, and held out his hand.
“Slightly wounded--but I am not thinking of that.”
“Of what, then?”
“I remember only one thing--that this man might have buried his sword in
my heart, and did not.”
An hour afterward the skirmish was over; I had explained my presence at
the house to Mohun, parted with him, promising to see him soon again;
and, mounted upon a fresh animal which Mohun presented to me from among
those captured, was once more on my way to Gettysburg.
It was hard to realize that the scenes of the night were actual
occurrences. They were more like dreams than realities.
XXIII.
GETTYSBURG.
I came in sight of Gettysburg at sunrise.
Gettysburg!--name instinct with so many tears, with so much mourning,
with those sobs which tear their way from the human heart as the lava
makes its way from the womb of the volcano!
There are words in the world’s history whose very sound is like a sigh
or a groan; places which are branded “accursed” by the moaning lips
of mothers, wives, sisters, and orphans. Shadowy figures, gigantic and
draped in mourning, seem to hover above these spots: skeleton arms with
bony fingers point to the soil beneath, crowded with graves: from the
eyes, dim and hollow, glare unutterable things: and the grin of the
fleshless lips is the gibbering mirth of the corpse torn from its
cerements, and erect, as though the last trump had sounded, and the dead
had arisen. No fresh flowers bloom in these dreary spots; no merry birds
twitter there; no streamlets lapse sweetly with musical murmurs beneath
the waterflags or the drooping boughs of trees. See! the blighted and
withered plants are like the deadly nightshade--true flowers of war,
blooming, or trying to bloom, on graves! Hear the voices of the few
birds--they are sad and discordant! See the trees--they are gnarled,
spectral, and torn by cannon-balls. Listen! The stream yonder is not
limpid and mirthful like other streams. You would say that it is sighing
as it steals away, soiled and ashamed. The images it has mirrored arouse
its horror and make it sad. The serene surface has not given back the
bright forms of children, laughing and gathering the summer flowers on
its banks. As it sneaks like a culprit through the scarred fields
of battle, it washes bare the bones of the dead in crumbling
uniforms--bringing, stark and staring, to the upper air once more, the
blanched skeleton and the grinning skull.
Names of woe, at whose utterance the heart shudders, the blood curdles!
Accursed localities where the traveller draws back, turning away in
horror! All the world is dotted with them; everywhere they make the
sunlight black. Among them, none is gloomier, or instinct with a more
nameless horror, than the once insignificant village of Gettysburg.
I reached it on the morning of July 2, 1863.
The immense drama was in full progress. The adversaries had clashed
together. Riding across the extensive fields north of the town, I saw
the traces of the combat of the preceding day--and among the dying I
remember still a poor Federal soldier, who looked at me with his stony
and half-glazed eye as I passed; he was an enemy, but he was dying and I
pitied him.
A few words will describe the situation of affairs at that moment.
Lee had pressed on northward through the valley of the Cumberland, when
news came that General Meade, who had succeeded Hooker, was advancing to
deliver battle to the invaders.
At that intelligence Lee arrested his march. Meade menaced his
communications, and it was necessary to check him. Hill’s corps was,
therefore, sent across the South Mountain, toward Gettysburg; Ewell,
who had reached York, was ordered back; and Lee made his preparations to
fight his adversary as soon as he appeared.
The columns encountered each other in the neighborhood of Gettysburg--a
great centre toward which a number of roads converge, like the spokes of
a wheel toward the hub.
The head of Hill’s column struck the head of Reynolds’s--then the
thunder began.
The day and scene were lovely. On the waving wheat-fields and the
forests in full foliage, the light of a summer sun fell in flashing
splendor. A slight rain had fallen; the wind was gently blowing; and
the leaves and golden grain were covered with drops which the sunshine
changed to diamonds. Over the exquisite landscape drooped a beautiful
rainbow.
Soon blood had replaced the raindrops, and the bright bow spanning the
sky was hidden by lurid smoke, streaming aloft from burning buildings,
set on fire by shell.
I give but a few words to this first struggle, which I did not witness.
The Federal forces rushed forward, exclaiming:---
“We have come to stay!”
“And a very large portion of them,” said one of their officers, General
Doubleday, “never left that ground!”
Alas! many thousands in gray, too, “came to stay.”
Hill was hard pressed and sent for assistance. Suddenly it appeared from
the woods on his left, where Ewell’s bayonets were seen, coming back
from the Susquehanna.
Rodes, the head of Ewell’s corps, formed line and threw himself into the
action.
Early came up on the left; Rodes charged and broke through the Federal
centre. Gordon, commanding a brigade then, closed in on their right
flank, and the battle was decided.
The great blue crescent was shattered, and gave way. The Confederates
pressed on, and the Federal army became a rabble. They retreated
pellmell through Gettysburg, toward Cemetery Hill, leaving their
battle-flags and five thousand prisoners in our hands.
Such was the first day’s fight at Gettysburg. Lee’s head of column had
struck Meade’s; each had rapidly been reinforced; the affair became a
battle, and the Federal forces were completely defeated.
That was the turning point of the campaign. If this success had only
been followed up--if we could only have seized upon and occupied
Cemetery Hill!
Then General Meade would have been compelled to retire upon Westminster
and Washington. He would doubtless have fought somewhere, but it is a
terrible thing to have an army flushed with victory “after” you!
Cemetery Range was not seized that night. When the sun rose the next
morning, the golden moment had passed. General Meade was ready.
From right to left, as far as the eye could reach, the heights bristled
with blue infantry and artillery. From every point on the ridge waved
the enemy’s battle flags. From the muzzles of his bronze war-dogs, Meade
sent his defiant challenge to his adversary to attack him.
“Come on!” the Federal artillery seemed to mutter fiercely.
And Lee’s guns from the ridge opposite thundered grimly in reply,
“We are coming!”
XXIV.
THE ARMY.
Alas!--
That is the word which rises to the lips of every Southerner, above all
to every Virginian, who attempts to describe this terrible battle of
Gettysburg.
The cheeks flush, the voice falters, and something like a fiery mist
blinds the eyes. What comes back to the memory of the old soldiers
who saw that fight is a great picture of heroic assaults, ending in
frightful carnage only,--of charges such as the world has rarely seen,
made in vain,--of furious onslaughts, the only result of which was
to strew those fatal fields with the dead bodies of the flower of the
Southern race.
And we were so near succeeding! Twice the enemy staggered; and one more
blow--only one more! promised the South a complete victory!
When Longstreet attacked Round Top Hill, driving the enemy back to
their inner line, victory seemed within our very grasp--but we could not
snatch it. The enemy acknowledge that, and it is one of their own poets
who declares that
“The century reeled When Longstreet paused on the slope of the hill.”
Pickett stormed Cemetery Heights, and wanted only support. Five thousand
men at his back would have given him victory.
There is a name for the battle of Gettysburg which exactly suits
it--“The Great Graze!”
You must go to the histories, reader, for a detailed account of this
battle. I have not the heart to write it, and aim to give you a few
scenes only. In my hasty memoirs I can touch only upon the salient
points, and make the general picture.
The ground on which the battle was fought, is familiar to many
thousands. A few words will describe it. Cemetery Ridge, where General
Meade had taken up his position, is a range of hills running northward
toward Gettysburg, within a mile of which place it bends off to the
right, terminating in a lofty and rock-bound crest.
This crest was Meade’s right. His line stretched away southward then,
and ended at Round Top Hill, the southern extremity of the range, about
four miles distant. From one end to the other of the extensive range,
bayonets glistened, and the muzzles of cannon grinned defiance.
Opposite the Cemetery Range was a lower line of hills, called Seminary
Range. Upon this Lee was posted, Ewell holding his left, A. P. Hill his
centre, and Longstreet his right.
Between the two armies stretched a valley, waving with grain and dotted
with fruit-trees, through which ran the Emmettsburg road, on the western
side of a small stream. The golden grain waved gently; the limpid water
lapsed away beneath grass and flowers; the birds were singing; the sun
was shining--it was the strangest of all scenes for a bloody conflict.
I rode along the line of battle, and curiously scanned the features of
the landscape. There is a frightful interest connected with ground which
is soon going to become the arena of a great combat. A glance told me
that the enemy’s position was much the stronger of the two. Would Lee
attack it?
From the landscape I turned to look at the army. Never had I seen them
so joyous. It would be impossible to convey any idea of the afflatus
which buoyed them up. Every man’s veins seemed to run with quicksilver,
instead of blood. Every cheek was glowing. Every eye flashed with superb
joy and defiance. You would have supposed, indeed, that the troops were
under the effect of champagne or laughing gas. “I never even imagined
such courage,” said a Federal officer afterward; “your men seemed to be
drunk with victory when they charged us!”
That was scarce an exaggeration. Already on the morning of battle they
presented this appearance. Lying down in line of battle, they laughed,
jested, sang, and resembled children enjoying a holiday. On the faces
of bearded veterans and boy-soldiers alike was a splendid pride. The
victories of Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville had electrified the
troops. They thought little of a foe who could be so easily driven; they
looked forward to victory as a foregone conclusion--alas! they did not
remember that they held the heights at Fredericksburg; and that Meade
on Cemetery Hill was an adversary very different from Hooker in the
Spottsylvania Wilderness!
Such was the spectacle which I witnessed, when after delivering my
message to General Lee, I rode along the Southern line. I think the
great commander shared in some measure the sentiment of his troops. His
bearing was collected; in his eye you could read no trace of excitement;
the lips covered by the gray mustache were firm and composed; and he
greeted me with quiet courtesy:--but in the cheeks of the great soldier
a ruddy glow seemed to betray anticipated victory.
I confess I shared the general sentiment. That strange intoxication was
contagious, and I was drunk like the rest with the thought of triumph.
That triumph would open to us the gates of Washington and bring peace.
The North scarcely denied that then--though they may deny it to-day.
The whole country was completely weary of the war. There seemed to be
no hope of compelling the South to return to the Union. A victory over
Meade, opening the whole North to Lee, promised a treaty of peace. The
day had arrived, apparently when the army of Northern Virginia, musket
in hand, was about to dictate the terms of that document.
“Lee has only to slip the leash,” I thought, as I gazed at the army,
“and these war-dogs will tear down their prey!”
Alas! they tore it, but were torn too! they did all at Gettysburg that
any troops could do.
What was impossible, was beyond even their strength.