Mohun: we could talk without the presence of a corporal; and we soon
arranged the plan for his escape.
“I had determined to procure a Federal uniform, to be smuggled in to
him, and an hour afterward, I left him, promising to see him again as
soon as I could visit Wilmington, and return with the intended disguise.
“A strange piece of good fortune aided me, or rather accomplished my
purpose at once. I had scarcely returned to the sutler’s shop, and
spread some blankets to sleep upon, when the officer of the day came in,
and I saw at a glance that he was half intoxicated, in consequence of
the large amount of brandy which he had swallowed. In a thick and husky
voice he cursed the ‘stuff’ vended at the post, extolled ‘the article’
I carried, and demanded another pull at the flask. I looked at him--saw
that a little more would make him dead-drunk--and all at once resolved
on my plan.
“This was,” continued Mr. Nighthawk, with modest simplicity, and smiling
as he spoke, “to make my friend, the officer of the day, dead-drunk,
and then borrow his uniform; and I succeeded. In half an hour he was
maudlin. In three-quarters of an hour, drunk. Five minutes afterward he
fell out of his chair, and began to snore, where he lay.
“I secured the door tightly, stripped off his uniform, then my own
clothing; put on his, and then replaced my own citizen’s dress over all,
concealed his cap and boots beneath my overcoat, wrapped the prostrate
lieutenant in my blankets for fear he would take cold, and going out,
locked the door and proceeded to the quarters of the prisoners. Again
the sentinel took no notice of me. I found Colonel Mohun in his ‘bunk.’
Ten minutes afterward he had replaced his gray uniform with that of
the Federal lieutenant, and, watching the moment when the back of the
sentinel was turned, we walked together toward the gate of the pen.
“That was the moment of real danger. Outside the narrow gate another
sentinel was posted, and the man might be personally acquainted with the
officer of the day, or have noticed his appearance. Luckily, the guard
had been relieved about an hour before--the new sentinel had not seen
the officer of the day--and when Colonel Mohun put his head through the
little window beside the gate, ordering ‘Open!’ the gate flew open, the
sentinel presented arms as he passed, and I followed modestly--the door
banging-to behind us.”[1]
[Footnote 1: Fact.]
XIX.
THE NOTE.
“Thus the colonel was out of the pen,” continued Nighthawk, smiling.
“The rest was not very dangerous, unless the alarm were given. They
might miss the locked-up officer--he might have been seen to go into the
sutler’s shop--and I admonished Colonel Mohun, in a low tone, to proceed
as rapidly as possible in a direction which I pointed out.
“The path indicated led to a spot on the island where I had concealed a
small boat among some willows--and, once across on the mainland, I hoped
that the danger would be over.
“In spite of my admonitions, Colonel Mohun took his time. He is a cool
one! He even turned and walked toward the fort, which he carefully
examined--counting the guns, observing the ditches, and the ground
around it.
“‘That place could be taken, Nighthawk!’ he said, with a laugh. And
he continued to stroll around the place, receiving at every moment
respectful salutes from passing soldiers, which he returned with
the utmost coolness, and an air of authority which I never have seen
surpassed. I declare to you, general, that it made the sweat burst out
on my forehead, and it was fully an hour before we reached the boat. I
sprung in and seized the oars, for I saw a dozen soldiers approaching us
from the direction of the fort.
“‘For heaven’s sake, sit down, colonel,’ I exclaimed; ‘in five minutes
we will be lost!’
“He did not reply. He was feeling in the pockets of the lieutenant’s
coat; and drew out a note-book with a pencil attached. Then, as the men
came toward us, he began to write. I looked over his shoulder--a bad
habit I acknowledge, general--and I read these words:---
“‘Colonel Mohun, C.S.A., presents his compliments to the commanding
officer of Fort Delaware, and recommends the 10-inch Columbiad in place
of the 30-lb. Parrotts on the bastion near the southern angle of the
work.
“‘As Colonel M. is _en route_ for Richmond _via_ Wilmington, and the
train will soon pass, he is compelled to refrain from other suggestions
which occur to him.
“‘The commandant of the post will pardon the want of ceremony of his
departure. This distressing separation is dictated by necessity.’”
Nighthawk smiled as he repeated the words of _Mohun’s note_.
“Did you ever hear of a cooler hand, general? But I must end my long
story. The colonel wrote this note while the soldiers were coming toward
us. When they had come within ten steps, he beckoned to one of them--the
man came up, saluting--and the colonel said, ‘Take this note to the
commandant--go at once.’
“My heart had jumped to my throat, general! The next moment I drew a
good long breath of real relief. The Federal soldier touched his cap,
took the note, and went back toward the fort. Without further delay, I
pushed out and rowed across to the mainland, where we soon arrived.
“Then we left the boat, struck into the fields, and pushed for the
nearest station on the railroad. On the way, I could not refrain from
upbraiding the colonel with his imprudence. He only laughed, however,
and we went on without stopping. An hour afterward we reached the
station, and the northern train soon came. We got in, the cars started,
and we were _en route_ for Baltimore. Suddenly the dull sound of a
cannon-shot came from the direction of Fort Delaware. A moment afterward
came another, and then a third.
“‘A prisoner has escaped from Fort Delaware,’ said one of the passengers
near us, raising his eyes from a newspaper. Colonel Mohun laughed, and
said carelessly, without sinking his voice in the least, ‘Ten to one
they have found your friend, the lieutenant, Nighthawk!’ Such a man,
general! It was enough to make your blood run cold! I thought _I_ was
cool, but I assure you, I never imagined a man could equal _that_.
“We reached Baltimore, made the connection with the train going west to
Wheeling, and disembarked at Martinsburg. There the colonel procured a
horse--rode to a friend’s on the Opequon--changed his blue dress for
a citizen’s suit, and proceeded to Staunton, thence to Richmond, and
yesterday rejoined his regiment, near Chancellorsville.”
XX.
GENERAL GRANT’S PRIVATE ORDER.
Stuart kicked a log, which had fallen on the hearth, back into the fire,
and said:--
“Well, Nighthawk, your narrative only proves one thing.”
“What, general?”
“That the writer who hereafter relates the true stories of this war,
will be set down as a Baron Munchausen.”
“No doubt of that, general.”
“This escape of Colonel Mohun, for instance, will be discredited.”
“No matter, it took place; but I have not told you what brought me over,
general.”
“Over?”
“Yes, across the Rapidan. I did not go from Martinsburg to Richmond with
Colonel Mohun. I thought I would come down and see what was going on in
Culpeper. Accordingly I crossed the Blue Ridge at Ashby’s Gap, reached
Culpeper--and last night crossed the Rapidan opposite Chancellorsville,
where I saw Colonel Mohun, before whom I was carried as a spy.”
“You bring news, then?” said Stuart, with sudden earnestness and
attention.
“Important news, general. The Federal army is about to move.”
“To cross?”
“Yes.”
“Where--when!--what force!”
“One hundred and forty thousand of all arms. I answer the last question
first.”
“And--”
“The army will advance in two columns. The right--of Sedgwick’s and
Warren’s corps--will cross at Germanna Ford. The left, consisting of
Hancock’s corps, at Ely’s ford below. They have pontoon and bridge
trains--and the movement will commence at midnight on the third--two
days from now.”
Stuart knit his brows, and buried his hand in his beard. Suddenly he
called out to the orderly:--
“Have two horses saddled in five minutes!” And seizing his hat, he
said:--
“Get ready to ride to General Lee’s head-quarters with me, Nighthawk!”
The clerical looking emissary put on his respectable black hat.
“You are certain of this intelligence?” Stuart said, turning with a
piercing glance to him.
“Quite certain, general,” said Mr. Nighthawk, serenely.
“You were in the camps?”
“In all, I believe, and at army head-quarters.”
“You overheard your intelligence?”
“No, I captured it, general.”
“How?”
“A courier was sent in haste--I saw the commander-in-chief speaking
to him. I followed--came up with him in a hollow of the woods--and was
compelled to blow his brains out, as he would not surrender. I then
searched his body, and found what I wanted. There it is general.”
And Nighthawk drew forth a paper.
“What is it?” exclaimed Stuart.
“Grant’s confidential order to his corps commanders, general, directing
the movements of his army.”
Stuart seized it, read it hastily, and uttered an exclamation of
satisfaction. Ten minutes afterward he was going at full speed,
accompanied by Nighthawk, toward General Lee’s head-quarters.
XXI.
“VIRGINIA EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS DUTY!”
Soon after daylight, on the next morning, Stuart was up, and writing
busily at his desk.
He was perfectly cool, as always, and his manner when I went in
exhibited no sort of flurry. But the couriers going and coming with
dispatches indicated clearly that “something was in the wind.”
I was seated by the fireplace when Stuart finished a dispatch and came
toward me. The next moment he threw himself upon a chair, leaned his
head upon my shoulder, and began to caress one of his dogs, who leaped
into his lap.
“Well, Surry, old fellow, we are going to get into the saddle. Look out
for your head!”
“Excellent advice,” I replied. “I recommend you to follow it.”
“You think I expose myself, do you?”
“In the most reckless manner.”
“For instance--come, an instance!” he laughed.
I saw Stuart was talking to rest himself.
“Well, at Mine Run, when you rode up to that fence lined with
sharpshooters--and they fired on us at ten paces, nearly.”
“In fact, you might have shot a marble at them--but I am not afraid of
any ball _aimed_ at me.”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
“Then you believe in _chance_, general?”
“There is no chance, Surry,” he said, gravely. “God rules over all
things, and not a sparrow, we are told, can fall without his permission.
How can I, or you, then?”
“You are right, general, and I have always been convinced of your
religious faith.”
“I believe in God and our Saviour, with all my heart,” said Stuart,
solemnly. “I may not show it, but I feel deeply.”
“On the contrary, you show it--to me at least--even in trifles,” I
said, moved by his earnestness. “Do you remember the other day, when an
officer uttered a sneer at the expense of a friend of his who had turned
_preacher_? You replied that the calling of a minister was the noblest
in which any human being could engage[1]--and I regretted at that
moment, that the people who laugh at you, and charge you with vicious
things, could not hear you.”
[Footnote 1: His words.]
Stuart shook his head, smiling with a sadness on his lips which I had
never seen before.
“They would not believe me, my dear Surry; not one would give me credit
for a good sentiment or a pure principle! Am I not a drunkard, because
my face is burned red by the sun and the wind? And yet I never touched
spirit in all my life! I do not know the taste of it![1] Am I not given
to women? And yet, God knows I am innocent,--that I recoil in disgust
from the very thought! Am I not frivolous, trifling,--laughing at all
things, reverencing nothing? And yet my laughter is only from high
health and animal spirits. I am young and robust; it is natural to me to
laugh, as it is to be pleased with bright faces and happy voices, with
colors, and music, and approbation. I am not as religious as I ought to
be, and wish, with all my heart, I had the deep and devout piety of that
good man and great military genius,[2] Stonewall Jackson. I can lay no
claim to it, you see, Surry; I am only a rough soldier, at my hard work.
I am terribly busy, and my command takes every energy I possess; but
I find time to read my Bible and to pray. I pray for pardon and
forgiveness, and try to do my duty, and leave the rest to God. If God
calls me--and He may call me very soon--I hope I will be ready, and
be able to say, ‘Thy will be done.’ I expect to be killed in this
war;[3]--Heaven knows, I would have my right hand chopped off at the
wrist to stop it![4]--but I do not shrink from the ordeal before me, and
I am ready to lay down my life for my country.”[5]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
[Footnote 2: His words.]
[Footnote 3: His words.]
[Footnote 4: His words.]
[Footnote 5: His words.]
Stuart paused, and leaned his arm upon the rude shelf above the
fireplace, passing his hand over his forehead, as was habitual with him.
“A hard campaign is coming, Surry,” he said, at length, more cheerfully;
“I intend to do my duty in it, and deserve the good opinion of the
world, if I do not secure it. I have perilled my life many times, and
shall not shrink from it in future. I am a Virginian, and I intend to
live or die for Old Virginia! The tug is coming; the enemy are about to
come over and ‘try again!’ But we will meet them, and fight them like
men, Surry! Our army is small, but with strong hands and brave hearts
much can be done. We must be up and doing, and do our duty to the
handle.[1] For myself, I am going to fight whatever is before me,--to
win victory, with God’s blessing, or die trying! Once more, Surry,
remember that we are fighting for our old mother, and that Virginia
expects every man to do his duty!”
[Footnote 1: His words.]
His face glowed as he spoke; in his dazzling blue eyes burned the fire
of an unconquerable resolution, a courage that nothing seemed able to
crush.
Years have passed since then, a thousand scenes have swept before me;
but still I see the stalwart cavalier, with his proud forehead raised,
and hear his sonorous voice exclaim:--
“Virginia expects every man to do his duty!”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
XXII.
WHAT OCCURRED AT WARRENTON.
This conversation took place at an early hour of the morning. Two hours
afterward, I was in the saddle and riding toward Chancellorsville,
with the double object of inspecting the pickets and taking Mohun his
commission.
I have described in my former _Memoirs_ that melancholy country of the
Wilderness; its unending thickets; its roads, narrow and deserted, which
seem to wind on forever; the desolate fields, here and there covered
with stunted bushes; the owls flapping their dusky wings; the
whip-poor-will, crying in the jungle; and the moccasin gliding
stealthily amid the ooze, covered with its green scum.
Strange and sombre country! lugubrious shades where death lurked!
Already two great armies had clutched there in May, 1863. Now, in May,
‘64, the tangled thicket was again to thunder; men were going to grapple
here in a mad wrestle even more desperate than the former!
Two roads stretch from Orange Court-House to Chancellorsville--the old
turnpike, and the plank road--running through Verdiersville.
I took the latter, followed the interminable wooden pathway through the
thicket, and toward evening came to the point where the Ely’s Ford road
comes in near Chancellorsville. Here, surrounded by the rotting weapons,
bones and skulls of the great battle already fought, I found Mohun ready
for the battle that was coming.
He commanded the regiment on picket opposite Ely’s Ford; and was pointed
out to me at three hundred yards from an old torn down house which still
remains there, I fancy.
Mohun had dismounted, and, leaning against the trunk of a tree, was
smoking a cigar. He was much thinner and paler than when I had last
seen him; but his eye was brilliant and piercing, his carriage erect and
proud. In his fine new uniform, replacing that left at Fort Delaware,
and his brown hat, decorated with a black feather, he was the model of a
cavalier, ready at a moment’s warning to meet the enemy.
We exchanged a close grasp of the hand. Something in this man had
attracted me, and from acquaintances we had become friends, though Mohun
had never given me his confidence.
I informed him of Nighthawk’s visit and narrative, congratulated him on
his escape, and then presented him with his appointment to the grade of
brigadier-general.
“Hurrah for Stuart! He is a man to count on!” exclaimed Mohun, “and here
inclosed is the order for me to take command of four regiments!”
“I congratulate you, Mohun.”
“I hope to do good work with them, my dear Surry--and I think they are
just in time.”
With which words Mohun put the paper in his pocket.
“You know the latest intelligence?” he said.
“Yes; but do not let us talk of it. Tell me something about
yourself--but first listen to a little narrative from me.”
And I described the visit which I had made with Tom Herbert to the house
near Buckland; the scene between Darke and his companion; and, to keep
back nothing, repeated the substance of their conversation.
Mohun knit his brows; then burst into a laugh.
“Well!” he said, “so those two amiable characters are still bent on
making mince-meat of me, are they? Did you ever hear any thing like it?
They are perfect tigers, thirsting for blood!”
“Nothing more nor less,” I said; “the whole thing is like a romance.”
“Is it not?”
“A perfect labyrinth.”
“The very word!”
“And I have not a trace of a key.”
Mohun looked at me for some moments in silence. He was evidently
hesitating; and letting his eyes fall, played with the hilt of his
sword.
Then he suddenly looked up.
“I have a confidence to make you, Surry,” he said, “and would like to
make it this very day. But I cannot. You have no doubt divined that
Colonel Darke is my bitter enemy--that his companion is no less, even
more, bitter--and some day I will tell you what all that means. My
life has been a strange one. As was said of Randolph of Roanoke’s, ‘the
fictions of romance cannot surpass it.’ These two persons alluded to
it--I understand more than you possibly can--but I do _not_ understand
the allusions made to General Davenant. I am _not_ the suitor of his
daughter--or of any one. I am not in love--I do not intend to be--to be
frank with you, friend, I have little confidence in women--and you no
doubt comprehend that this strange one whom you have thrice met, on the
Rappahannock, in Pennsylvania, and near Buckland, is the cause.”
“She seems to be a perfect viper.”
“Is she not? You would say so, more than ever, if I told you what took
place at Warrenton.”
And again Mohun’s brows were knit together. Then his bitter expression
changed to laughter.
“What took place at Warrenton!” I said, looking at him intently.
“Exactly, my dear friend--it was a real comedy. Only a poignard played a
prominent part in the affair, and you know poignards belong exclusively
to tragedy.”
Mohun uttered these words with his old reckless satire. A sort of grim
and biting humor was plain in his accents.
“A poniard--a tragedy--tell me about it, Mohun,” I said.
He hesitated a moment. “Well, I will do so,” he said, at length. “It
will amuse you, my guest, while dinner is getting ready.”
“I am listening.”
“Well, to go back. You remember my fight with Colonel Darke near
Buckland?”
“Certainly; and I was sure that you had killed each other.”
“You were mistaken. He is not dead, and you see I am not. He was wounded
in the throat, but my sabre missed the artery, and he was taken to a
house near at hand, and thence to hospital, where he recovered. My own
wound was a bullet through the chest; and this gave me so much agony
that I could not be carried in my ambulance farther than Warrenton,
where I was left with some friends who took good care of me. Meanwhile,
General Meade had again advanced and occupied the place--I was
discovered, and removed as soon as possible to the Federal hospital,
where they could have me under guard. Faith! they are smart people--our
friends the Yankees! They are convinced that ‘every little helps,’ and
they had no idea of allowing that tremendous Southern paladin, Colonel
Mohun, to escape! So I was sent to hospital. The removal caused a return
of fever--I was within an inch of the grave--and this brings me to the
circumstance that I wish to relate for your amusement.
“For some days after my removal to the Federal hospital, I was
delirious, but am now convinced that much which I then took for the
wanderings of a fevered brain, was real.
“I used to lie awake a great deal, and one gloomy night I saw, or
dreamed I saw, as I then supposed, _that woman_ enter my ward, in
company with the surgeon. She bent over me, glared upon me with those
dark eyes, which you no doubt remember, and then drawing back said to
the surgeon:--
“‘Will he live?’
“‘Impossible to say, madam,’ was the reply. ‘The ball passed through his
breast, and although these wounds are almost always mortal, men do now
and then recover from them.’
“‘Will this one?’
“‘I cannot tell you, madam, his constitution seems powerful.’
“I saw her turn as he spoke, and fix those glaring eyes on me again.
They were enough to burn a hole in you, Surry, and made me feel for some
weapon. But there was none--and the scene here terminated--both retired.
The next night, however, it was renewed. This time the surgeon felt my
pulse, touched my forehead, placed his ear to my breast to listen to
the action of the heart, and rising up said, in reply to madam’s earnest
glance of inquiry:--
“‘Yes, I am sure he will live. You can give yourself no further anxiety
about your cousin, madam.’
“_Her cousin_! That was not bad, you see. She had gained access, as
I ascertained from some words of their conversation, by representing
herself as my cousin. I was a member of her family who had ‘gone astray’
and embraced the cause of the rebellion, but was still dear to her!
Womanly heart! clinging affection! not even the sin of the prodigal
cousin could sever the tender chord of her love! I had wandered from
the right path--fed on husks with the Confederate swine; but I was
wounded--had come back; should the fatted calf remain unbutchered, and
the loving welcome be withheld?
“‘_You can give yourself no further uneasiness about your cousin,
madam_!’
“Such was the assurance of the surgeon, and he turned away to other
patients, of whom there were, however, very few in the hospital, and
none near me. As he turned his back, madam looked at me. Her face
was really diabolical, and I thought at the moment that she was a
nightmare--that I _dreamed her_! Closing my eyes to shut out the vision,
I kept them thus shut for some moments. When I reopened them she was
gone.
“Well, the surgeon’s predictions did not seem likely to be verified. My
fever returned. Throughout the succeeding day I turned and tossed on
my couch; as night came, I had some hideous dreams. A storm was raging
without, and the rain falling in torrents. The building trembled, the
windows rattled--it was a night of nights for some devil’s work; and
I remember laughing in my fever, and muttering, ‘Now is the time for
delirium, bad dreams, and ugly shapes, to flock around me!’
“I fell into a doze at last, and had, as I thought, a decidedly bad
dream--for I felt certain that I was dreaming, and that what I witnessed
was the sport of my fancy. What I saw, or seemed to see, was this: the
door opened slowly--a head was thrust in, and remained motionless for
an instant; then the head moved, a body followed; madam, the lady of the
dark eyes, glided stealthily toward my cot. It was enough to make one
shudder, Surry, to have seen the stealthy movement of that phantom.
I gazed at it through my half-closed eyelids--saw the midnight eyes
burning in the white face half covered by a shawl thrown over the
head--and, under that covering, the right hand of the phantom grasped
something which I could not make out.
“In three quick steps _it_ was beside me. I say _it_, for the figure
resembled that of a ghost, or some horrible _thing_. From the eyes two
flames seemed to dart, the lips opened, and I heard, in a low mutter:--
“‘Ah! he is going to recover, then!’
“As the words left the phantom’s lips, it reached my cot at a bound;
something gleamed aloft, and I started back only in time to avoid the
sharp point of a poniard, which grazed my head and nearly buried itself
in the pillow on which I lay.
“Well, I started up and endeavored to seize my assailant; but she
suddenly broke away from me, still clutching her weapon. Her clothing
was torn from her person--she recoiled toward the door--and I leaped
from my couch to rush after and arrest her. I had not the strength to do
so, however. I had scarcely taken three steps when I began to stagger.
“‘Murderess!’ I exclaimed, extending my arms to arrest her flight.
“It was useless. A few feet further I reeled--my head seemed turning
round--and again shouting ‘Murderess!’ I fell at full length on the
floor, at the moment when the woman disappeared.
“That was curious, was it not? It would have been a tragical dream--it
was more tragical in being no dream at all, but a reality. What had
taken place was simple, and easy to understand. That woman had come
thither, on this stormy night, to murder me; and she had very nearly
succeeded. Had she found me asleep, I should never have waked.
Fortunately, I was awake. Some noise frightened her, and she
disappeared. A moment afterward one of the nurses came, and finally the
surgeon.
“When I told him what had taken place, he laughed.
“‘Well, colonel, go back to bed,’ he said, ‘such dreams retard your
recovery more than every thing else.’
“I obeyed, without taking the trouble to contradict him. My breast was
bleeding again, and I did not get over the excitement for some days. The
phantom did not return. I slowly recovered, and was taken in due time to
Fort Delaware--the rest you know.
“I forgot to tell you one thing. The surgeon almost persuaded me that I
had been the victim of nightmare. Unfortunately, however, for the theory
of the worthy, I found a deep hole in my pillow, where the poniard had
entered.
“So you see it was madam, and not her ghost, who had done me the honor
of a visit, Surry.”
XXIII.
THE GRAVE OF ACHMED.
An hour afterward I had dined with Mohun at his head-quarters, in the
woods; mounted our horses; and were making our way toward the Rapidan to
inspect the pickets.
This consumed two hours. We found nothing stirring. As sunset
approached, we retraced our steps toward Chancellorsville. I had
accepted Mohun’s invitation to spend the night with him.
As I rode on, the country seemed strangely familiar. All at once I
recognized here a tree, there a stump--we were passing over the road
which I had followed first in April, 1861, and again in August, 1862,
when I came so unexpectedly upon Fenwick, and heard his singular
revelation.
We had been speaking of Mordaunt, to whose brigade Mohun’s regiment
belonged, and the young officer had grown enthusiastic, extolling
Mordaunt as ‘one of the greatest soldiers of the army, under whom it was
an honor to serve.’
“Well,” I said, “there is a spot near here which he knows well, and
where a strange scene passed on a night of May, 1863.”
“Ah! you know the country, then?” said Mohun.
“Perfectly well.”
“What are you looking at?”
“That hill yonder, shut in by a thicket. There is a house there.”
And I spurred on, followed by Mohun. In five minutes we reached the
brush-fence; our horses easily cleared it, and we rode up the hill
toward the desolate-looking mansion.
I surveyed it intently. It was unchanged, save that the porch seemed
rotting away, and the window-shutters about to fall--that on the window
to the right hung by a single hinge. It was the one through which I
had looked in August, 1862. There was the same door through which I had
burst in upon Fenwick and his companion.
I dismounted, threw my bridle over a stunted shrub, and approached the
house. Suddenly I stopped.
At ten paces from me, in a little group of cedars, a man was kneeling on
a grave, covered with tangled grass. At the rattle of my sabre he rose,
turned round--it was Mordaunt.
In a moment we had exchanged a pressure of the hand; and then turning to
the grave:--
“That is the last resting-place of poor Achmed,” he said; adding, in his
deep, grave voice:--
“You know how he loved me, Surry.”
“And how you loved _him_, Mordaunt. I can understand your presence at
his grave, my dear friend.”
Mordaunt sighed, then saluted Mohun, who approached.
“This spot,” he said, “is well known to Colonel Surry and myself,
Mohun.”
Then turning to me, he added:--
“I found a melancholy spectacle awaiting me here.”
“Other than Achmed’s grave?”
“Yes; come, and I will show you.”
And he led the way into the house. As I entered the squalid and
miserable mansion, the sight which greeted me made me recoil.
On a wretched bed lay the corpse of a woman; and at a glance, I
recognized the woman Parkins, who had played so tragic a part in the
history of Mordaunt. The face was hideously attenuated; the eyes were
open and staring; the lower jaw had fallen. In the rigid and bony hand
was a dry and musty crust of bread.
“She must have starved to death here,” said Mordaunt, gazing at the
corpse. And, approaching it, he took the crust from the fingers. As he
did so, the teeth seemed grinning at him.
“Poor creature!” he said; “this crust was probably all that remained
to her of the price of her many crimes! I pardon her, and will have her
buried!”
As Mordaunt turned away, I saw him look at the floor.
“There is Achmed’s blood,” he said, pointing to a stain on the plank;
“and the other is the blood of Fenwick, who was buried near his victim.”
“I remember,” I murmured. And letting my chin fall upon my breast, I
returned in thought to the strange scene which the spot recalled so
vividly.
“There is but one other actor in that drama of whom I know nothing,
Mordaunt!”
“You mean--”
“Violet Grafton.”
Mordaunt raised his head quickly. His eyes glowed with a serene
sweetness.
“She is my wife,” he said; “the joy and sunlight of my life! I no longer
read _Les Misérables_, and sneer at my species--I no longer scowl,
Surry, and try to rush against the bullet that is to end me. God has
rescued a lost life in sending me one of his angels; and it was she
who made me promise to come hither and pray on the grave of our dear
Achmed!”
Mordaunt turned toward the door as he spoke, and inviting me to ride
with him, left the mansion. As I had agreed to stay with Mohun, I was
obliged to decline.
Five minutes afterward he had mounted, and with a salute, the tall form
disappeared in the forest.
We set out in turn, and were soon at Mohun’s bivouac.
XXIV.
A NIGHT BIRD.
I shared Mohun’s blankets, and was waked by the sun shining in my face.
My companion had disappeared, but I had scarcely risen when he was seen
approaching at full gallop.
Throwing himself from his horse, he grasped my hand, his face beaming.
“All right, Surry!” he exclaimed; “I have seen Mordaunt; my command is
all arranged; I have four superb regiments; and they are already in the
saddle.”
“I congratulate you, my dear general! Make good use of them--and I think
you are going to have the opportunity at once.”
“You are right--the enemy’s cavalry are drawn up on the north bank of
the river.”
“Any firing in front?”
“They are feeling at all the fords.”
“Are you going there?”
“At once.”
“I will go with you.”
And I mounted my horse which stood saddled near by.
Swallowing some mouthfuls of bread and beef as we rode on, we soon
reached Mohun’s command. It consisted of four regiments, drawn up in
column, ready to move--and at sight of the young _sabreur_, the men
raised a shout.
Mohun saluted with drawn sabre, and galloped to the front.
A moment afterward the bugle sounded, and the column advanced toward
the Rapidan, within a mile of which it halted--Mohun and myself riding
forward to reconnoitre at Germanna Ford, directly in our front.
The pickets were engaged, firing at each other across the river. On the
northern bank were seen long columns of Federal cavalry, drawn up as
though about to cross.
I rode with Mohun to the summit of the lofty hill near the ford, and
here, seated on his horse beneath a tree, we found Mordaunt. It was
hard to realize that, on the evening before, I had seen this stern and
martial figure, kneeling in prayer upon a grave--had heard the brief
deep voice grow musical when he spoke of his wife. But habit is every
thing. On the field, Mordaunt was the soldier, and nothing but the
soldier.
“You see,” he said, “the game is about to open,” pointing to the Federal
cavalry. “You remember this spot, and that hill yonder, I think.”
“Yes,” I replied, “and your charge there when we captured their
artillery in August, ‘62.”
As he spoke, a dull firing, which we had heard for some moments from
the direction of Ely’s Ford, grew more rapid. Five minutes afterward, an
officer was seen approaching from the side of the firing, at full speed.
When he was within a hundred yards, I recognized Harry Mordaunt. He was
unchanged; his eyes still sparkled, his plume floated, his lips were
smiling.
He greeted me warmly, and then turned to General Mordaunt, and reported
the enemy attempting to cross at Ely’s.
“I will go, then; will you ride with me, Surry? Keep a good look out
here, Mohun.”
I accepted Mordaunt’s invitation, and in a moment we were galloping,
accompanied by Harry, toward Ely’s.
“Glad to see you again, colonel!” exclaimed the young man, in his gay
voice, “you remind me of old times, and a young lady was speaking of you
lately.”
“A certain Miss Fitzhugh, I will wager!”
“There’s no such person, colonel.”
“Ah! you are married!”
“Last spring; but I might as well be single! That’s the worst of this
foolishness,--I wish they would stop it! I don’t mind hard tack, or
fighting, or sleeping in the rain; what I do mind is never being able to
go home! I wish old Grant would go home and see _his_ wife, and let me
go and see _mine_! We could then come back, and blaze away at each other
with some satisfaction!”
Harry was chattering all the way, and I encouraged him to talk; his
gay voice was delightful. We talked of a thousand things, but they
interested me more than they would interest the reader, and I pass on to
matters more important.
Pushing rapidly toward Ely’s, we soon arrived, and found the enemy
making a heavy demonstration there. It lasted throughout the day, and I
remained to witness the result. At sunset, however, the firing stopped,
and, declining Mordaunt’s invitation to share the blankets of his
bivouac, I set out on my way back to Orange.
Night came almost before I was aware of it, and found me following the
Brock road to get on the Orange plank road.
Do you know the Brock road, reader? and have you ever ridden over it on
a lowering night? If so, you have experienced a peculiar sensation. It
is impossible to imagine any thing more lugubrious than these strange
thickets. In their depths the owl hoots, and the whippoorwill cries; the
stunted trees, with their gnarled branches, are like fiends reaching
out spectral arms to seize the wayfarer by the hair. Desolation reigns
there, and you unconsciously place your hand on your pistol as you ride
along, to be ready for some mysterious and unseen enemy.
At least, I did so on that night. I had now penetrated some distance,
and had come near the lonely house where so many singular events had
occurred.
I turned my head and glanced over my shoulder, when, to my surprise,
I saw a light glimmering through the window. What was its origin? The
house was certainly uninhabited, even by the dead--for Mordaunt had
informed me that a detail had, that morning, buried the corpse.
There was but one means of solving the mystery, and I leaped the fence,
riding straight toward the house; soon reaching it, I dismounted and
threw open the door.
What should greet my eyes, but the respectable figure of Mr. Nighthawk,
seated before a cheerful blaze, and calmly smoking his pipe!
XXV.
THE APPOINTMENT.
As I entered, Mr. Nighthawk rose politely, without exhibiting the least
mark of astonishment.
“Good evening, colonel,” he said, smiling, “I am glad to see you.”
“And I, never more surprised to see any one than you, here, Nighthawk!”
“Why so, colonel?”
I could not help laughing at his air of mild inquiry.
“Did I not leave you at our head-quarters?”
“That was two days ago, colonel.”
“And this is your residence, perhaps?”
“I have no residence, colonel; but am here, temporarily, on a little
matter of business.”
“Ah! a matter of business!”
“I think it might be called so, colonel.”
“Which it would be indiscreet to reveal to me, however. That is a pity,
for I am terribly curious, my dear Nighthawk!”
Nighthawk looked at me benignly, with a philanthropic smile.
“I have not the least objection to informing you, colonel. You are a
gentleman of discretion, and have another claim on my respect.”
“What is that?”
“You are a friend of Colonel Mohun’s.”
“A very warm one.”
“Then you can command me; and I will tell you at once that I am awaiting
the advance of General Grant.”
“Ah! Now I begin to understand.”
“I was sure you would at the first word I uttered, colonel. General
Grant will cross the Rapidan to-night--by to-morrow evening his whole
force will probably be over--and I expect to procure some important
information before I return to General Stuart. To you I am Mr.
Nighthawk, an humble friend of the cause, employed in secret
business,--to General Grant I shall be an honest farmer, of Union
opinions, who has suffered from the depredations of his troops, and goes
to head-quarters for redress. You see they have already stripped me of
every thing,” continued Mr. Nighthawk, waving his arm and smiling; “not
a cow, a hog, a mule, or a mouthful of food has been left me. They have
destroyed the very furniture of my modest dwelling, and I am cast, a
mere pauper, on the cold charities of the world!”
Mr. Nighthawk had ceased smiling, and looked grave; while it was I
who burst into laughter. His eyes were raised toward heaven, with
an expression of meek resignation; he spread out both hands with the
eloquence of Mr. Pecksniff; and presented the appearance of a virtuous
citizen accepting meekly the most trying misfortunes.
When I had ceased laughing, I said:--
“I congratulate you on your histrionic abilities, Nighthawk. They
deserve to be crowned with success. But how did you discover this
house?”
“I was acquainted with its former owner, Mrs. Parkins. She was a sister
of a friend of mine, whom I think you have seen, colonel.”
“What friend?”
“His name is Swartz, colonel.”
“Not the Federal spy?”
“The same, colonel.”
“Whom we saw last in the house between Carlisle and Gettysburg?”
“I saw him the other day,” returned Mr. Nighthawk, smiling sweetly.
“Is it possible!”
“Near Culpeper Court-House, colonel. And, to let you into a little
secret, I expect to see him to-night.”
I looked at the speaker with bewilderment.
“That man will be here!”
“If he keeps his appointment, colonel.”
“You have an appointment?”
“Yes, colonel.”
“In this house?”
“To-night.”
“With what object, in heaven’s name!”
Nighthawk hesitated for some moments before replying.
“The fact is, colonel,” he said, “that I inadvertently mentioned my
appointment with Swartz without reflecting how singular it must appear
to you, unless I gave you some explanation. But I am quite at my ease
with you--you are a friend of Colonel Mohun’s--and I will explain, as
much of my business as propriety will permit. To be brief, I am anxious
to procure a certain document in Swartz’s possession.”
“A certain document?” I said, looking intently at the speaker.
“Exactly, colonel.”
“Which Swartz has?”
“Precisely, colonel.”
“And which he stole from the papers of Colonel Darke on the night of
Mohun’s combat with Darke, in the house near Carlisle?”
Mr. Nighthawk looked keenly at me, in turn.
“Ah! you know that!” he said, quickly.
“I saw him steal it, through the window, while the woman’s back was
turned.”
“I am deeply indebted to you, colonel,” said Mr. Nighthawk, gravely,
“for informing me of this fact, which, I assure you, is important.
Swartz swore to me that he had the paper, and had procured it in that
manner, but I doubted seriously whether he was not deceiving me. He is
a _very_ consummate rascal, knows the value of that document, and my
appointment with him to-night is with an eye to its purchase from him.”
“Do you think he will come?”
“I think so. He would sell his soul for gold.”
“And that woman? he seems to be her friend.”
“He would sell _her_ for _silver_!”
After uttering which _bon mot_, Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
This man puzzled me beyond expression. His stealthy movements were
strange enough--it was singular to meet him in this lonely house--but
more singular still was the business which had brought him. What was
that paper? Why did Nighthawk wish to secure it? I gave up the inquiry
in despair.
“Well,” I said, “I will not remain longer; I might scare off your
friend, and to eaves-drop is out of the question, even if you were
willing that I should be present.”
“In fact, colonel, I shall probably discuss some very private matters
with my friend Swartz, so that--”
“You prefer I should go.”
Mr. Nighthawk smiled; he was too polite to say “yes.”
“You are not afraid to meet your friend in this lonely place?” I said,
rising.
“Not at all, colonel.”
“You are armed?”
Mr. Nighthawk opened his coat, and showed me a brace of revolvers.
“I have these; but they are unnecessary, colonel.”
“Unnecessary?”
“I have an understanding with Swartz, and he with me.”
“What is that?”
“That we shall not employ the carnal weapon; only destroy each other by
superior generalship.”
“You speak in enigmas, Nighthawk!”
“And yet, my meaning is very simple. If I can have Swartz arrested and
hung, or he me, it is all fair. But we have agreed not to fight.”
“So, if you caught him to-night, you could have him hung as a spy?”
“Yes, colonel; but nothing would induce me to betray him.”
“Ah!”
“I have given him my parol, that he shall have safe conduct!”
I laughed, bade Nighthawk good-bye, and left him smiling as I had found
him. In ten minutes I was again on the Brock road, riding on through the
darkness, between the impenetrable thickets.
XXVI.
STUART SINGS.
My reflections were by no means gay. The scenes at the lonely house had
not been cheerful and mirth-inspiring.
That grinning corpse, with the crust of bread in the bony fingers;
that stain of blood on the floor; the grave of Achmed; lastly, the
appointment of the mysterious Nighthawk with the Federal spy; all were
fantastic and lugubrious.
Who was Nighthawk, and what was his connection with Mohun? Who was
Mohun, and what had been his previous history? Who was this youth of
unbounded wealth, as Nighthawk had intimated, in whose life personages
supposed to be dead, but still alive, had figured?
“Decidedly, Mohun and Nighthawk are two enigmas!” I muttered, “and I
give the affair up.”
With which words I spurred on, and soon debouched on the Orange plank
road, leading toward Mine Run.
As I entered it, I heard hoof-strokes on the resounding boards, and a
company of horsemen cantered toward me through the darkness. As they
came, I heard a gay voice singing the lines:--
“I wake up in the morning,
I wake up in the morning,
I wake up in the morning,
Before the break o’ day!”
There was no mistaking that gay sound. It was Stuart, riding at the head
of his staff and couriers.
In a moment he had come up, and promptly halted me.
“Ah! that’s you, Surry!” he exclaimed with a laugh, “wandering about
here in the Wilderness! What news?”
I reported the state of things in front, and Stuart exclaimed:--
“All right; we are ready for them! Coon Hollow is
evacuated--head-quarters are in the saddle! Hear that whippoorwill! It
is a good omen. Whip ‘em well! Whip ‘em well!--and we’ll do it too!”[1]
Stuart laughed, and began to sing--
“Never mind the weather
But get over double trouble!
We are bound for the Happy land of Lincoln!”
[Footnote 1: His words.]
As the martial voice rang through the shadowy thickets, I thought,
“How fortunate it is that the grave people are not here to witness this
singular ‘want of dignity’ in the great commander of Lee’s cavalry!”
Those “grave people” would certainly have rolled their eyes, and
groaned, “Oh! how undignified!” Was not the occasion solemn? Was it not
sinful to laugh and sing? No, messieurs! It was right; and much better
than rolling the eyes, and staying at home and groaning! Stuart was
going to fight hard--meanwhile he sang gayly. Heaven had given him
animal spirits, and he laughed in the face of danger. He laughed and
sang on this night when he was going to clash against Grant, as he had
laughed and sung when he had clashed against Hooker--when his proud
plume floated in front of Jackson’s veterans, and he led them over the
breastworks at Chancellorsville, singing, “Old Joe Hooker, will you come
out of the Wilderness!”
Stuart cantered on: we turned into the Brock road, and I found myself
retracing my steps toward the Rapidan.
As I passed near the lonely house, I cast a glance toward the glimmering
light. Had Nighthawk’s friend arrived?
We soon reached Ely’s Ford, and I conducted Stuart to Mordaunt’s
bivouac, which I had left at dusk. He had just wrapped his cloak around
him, and laid down under a tree, ready to mount at a moment’s warning.
“What news, Mordaunt?” said Stuart, grasping his hand.
“Some fighting this evening, but it ceased about nightfall, general.”
Stuart looked toward the river, and listened attentively.
“I hear nothing stirring.”
And passing his hand through his beard he muttered half to himself:--
“I wonder if Grant can have made any change in his programme?”
“The order at least was explicit--that brought by Nighthawk,” I said.
Stuart turned toward me suddenly.
“I wonder where he could be found? If I knew, I would send him over the
river to-night, to bring me a reliable report of every thing.”
I drew the general aside.
“I can tell you where to find Nighthawk.”
“Where.”
“Shall I bring him?”
“Like lightning, Surry! I wish to dispatch him at once!”
Without reply I wheeled my horse, and went back rapidly toward the house
in the Wilderness. I soon reached the spot, rode to the window, and
called to Nighthawk, who came out promptly at my call.
“Your friend has not arrived?” I said.
“He will not come till midnight, colonel.”
“When, I am afraid, he will not see you, Nighthawk--you are wanted.”
And I explained my errand. Nighthawk sighed--it was easy to see that he
was much disappointed.
“Well, colonel,” he said, in a resigned tone, “I must give up my private
business--duty calls. I will be ready in a moment.”
And disappearing, he put out the light--issued forth in rear of the
house--mounted a horse concealed in the bushes--and rejoined me in
front.
“Swartz will not know what to think,” he said, as we rode rapidly toward
the river; “he knows I am the soul of punctuality, and this failure to
keep my appointment will much distress him.”
“Distress him, Nighthawk?”
“He will think some harm has happened to me.”
And Mr. Nighthawk smiled so sadly, that I could not refrain from
laughter.
We soon reached the spot where Stuart awaited us. At sight of Nighthawk
he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction, and explained in brief words
his wishes.
“That will be easy, general,” said Nighthawk.
“Can you procure a Federal uniform?”
“I always travel with one, general.”
And Mr. Nighthawk unstrapped the bundle behind his saddle, drawing forth
a blue coat and trousers, which in five minutes had replaced his black
clothes. Before us stood one of the “blue birds.” Nighthawk was an
unmistakable “Yankee.”
Stuart gave him a few additional instructions, and having listened with
the air of a man who is engraving the words he hears upon his memory,
Nighthawk disappeared in the darkness, toward the private crossing,
where he intended to pass the river.
Half an hour afterward, Stuart was riding toward Germanna Ford. As we
approached, Mohun met us, and reported all quiet.
Stuart then turned back in the direction of Chancellorsville, where
Nighthawk was to report to him, before daylight, if possible.
XXVII.
MOHUN RIDES.
I lingered behind a moment to exchange a few words with Mohun. Something
told me that he was intimately connected with the business which had
occasioned the appointment between Nighthawk and Swartz--and at the
first words which I uttered, I saw that I was not mistaken.
Mohun raised his head quickly, listened with the closest attention, and
when I had informed him of every thing, said abruptly:--
“Well, I’ll keep Nighthawk’s appointment for him!”
“You!” I said.
“Yes, my dear Surry--this is a matter of more importance than you think.
The business will not take long--the enemy will not be moving before
daylight--and you said, I think, that the appointment was for midnight?”
“Yes.”
Mohun drew out his watch; scratched a match which he drew from a small
metal case.
“Just eleven,” he said; “there is time to arrive before midnight, if we
ride well--will you show me the way?”
I saw that he was bent on his scheme, and said no more. In a few moments
we were in the saddle, and riding at full speed toward the house where
the meeting was to take place.
Mohun rode like the wild huntsman, and mile after mile disappeared
behind us--flitting away beneath the rapid hoofs of our horses. During
the whole ride he scarcely opened his lips. He seemed to be reflecting
deeply, and to scarcely realize my presence.
At last we turned into the Brock road, and were soon near the lonely
house.
“We have arrived,” I said, leaping the brushwood fence. And we galloped
up the knoll toward the house, which was as dark and silent as the
grave.
Dismounting and concealing our horses in the bushes, we opened the door.
Mohun again had recourse to his match-case, and lit the candle left by
Nighthawk on an old pine table, and glanced at his watch.
“Midnight exactly!” he said; “we have made a good ride of it, Surry.”
“Yes; and now that I have piloted you safely, Mohun, I will discreetly
retire.”
“Why not remain, if you think it will amuse you, my dear friend?”
“But you are going to discuss your private affairs, are you not?”
“They are not private from you, since I have promised to relate my whole
life to you.”
“Then I remain; but do you think our friend will keep his appointment?”
“There he is,” said Mohun, as hoof-strokes were heard without. “He is
punctual.”
XXVIII.
THE SPY.
A moment afterward we heard the new-comer dismount. Then his steps
were heard on the small porch. All at once his figure appeared in the
doorway.
It was Swartz. The fat person, the small eyes, the immense double chin,
and the chubby fingers covered with pinchbeck rings, were unmistakable.
He was clad in citizens’ clothes, and covered with dust as from a long
ride.
Mohun rose.
“Come in, my dear Mr. Swartz,” he said coolly; “you see we await you.”
The spy recoiled. It was plain that he was astonished beyond measure at
seeing us. He threw a glance behind him in the direction of his horse,
and seemed about to fly.
Mohun quietly drew his revolver, and cocked it.
“Fear nothing, my dear sir,” he said, “and, above all, do not attempt to
escape.”
Swartz hesitated, and cast an uneasy glance upon the weapon.
“Does the sight of this little instrument annoy you?” said Mohun,
laughing. “It shall not be guilty of that impoliteness, Mr. Swartz.”
And he uncocked the weapon, and replaced it in its holster.
“Now,” he continued, “sit down, and let us talk.”
Swartz obeyed. Before Mohun’s penetrating glance, his own sank. He
took his seat in a broken-backed chair; drew forth a huge red bandanna
handkerchief; wiped his forehead; and said quietly:--
“I expected to meet a friend here to-night, gentlemen, instead of--”
“Enemies?” interrupted Mohun. “We are such, it is true, my dear sir,
but you are quite safe. Your friend Nighthawk is called away; he is even
ignorant of our presence here.”
“But meeting him would have been different, gentlemen. I had his safe
conduct!”
“You shall have it from me.”
“May I ask from whom?” said Swartz.
“From General Mohun, of the Confederate army.”
Swartz smiled this time; then making a grotesque bow, he replied:--
“I knew you very well, general--that is why I am so much at my ease. I
am pleased to hear that you are promoted. When I last saw you, you were
only a colonel, but I was certain that you would soon be promoted or
killed.”
There was a queer accent of politeness in the voice of the speaker.
He did not seem to have uttered these words in order to flatter
his listener, but to express his real sentiment. He was evidently a
character.
“Good!” said Mohun, with his habitual accent of satire. “These little
compliments are charming. But I am in haste to-night--let us come to
business, my dear sir. I came hither to ask you some questions, and to
these I expect plain replies.”
Swartz looked at the speaker intently, but without suspicion. His
glance, on the contrary, had in it something strangely open and
unreserved.
“I will reply to all your questions, general,” he said, “and reply
truthfully. I have long expected this interview, and will even say that
I wished it. You look on me as a Yankee spy, and will have but little
confidence in what I say. Nevertheless, I am going to tell you the whole
truth about every thing. Ask your questions, general, I will answer
them.”
Mohun was leaning one elbow on the broken table. His glance, calm and
yet fiery, seemed bent on penetrating to the most secret recess of the
spy’s heart.
“Well,” he said, “now that we begin to understand each other, let
us come to the point at once. Where were you on the morning of the
thirteenth of December, 1856?”
Swartz replied without hesitation:--
“On the bank of Nottoway River, in Dinwiddie, Virginia, and bound for
Petersburg.”
“The object of your journey?”
“To sell dried fruits and winter vegetables.”
“Then you travelled in a cart, or a wagon?”
“In a cart, general.”
“You reached Petersburg without meeting with any incident on the way?”
“I met with two very curious ones, general. I see you know something
about the affair, and are anxious to know every thing. I will tell you
the whole truth; but it will be best to let me do it in my own way.”
“Do so, then,” said Mohun, fixing his eyes more intently upon the spy.
Swartz was silent again for more than a minute, gazing on the floor.
Then he raised his head, passed his red handkerchief over his brow, and
said:--
“To begin at the beginning, general. At the time you speak of, December,
1856, I was a small landholder in Dinwiddie, and made my living by
carting vegetables and garden-truck to Petersburg. Well, one morning
in winter--you remind me that it was the thirteenth of December,--I
set out, as usual, in my cart drawn by an old mule, with a good load on
board, to go by way of Monk’s Neck. I had not gone two miles, however,
when passing through a lonely piece of woods on the bank of the river,
I heard a strange cry in the brush. It was the most startling you can
think of, and made my heart stop beating. I jumped down from my cart,
left it standing in the narrow road, and went to the spot. It was a
strange sight I saw. On the bank of the river, I saw a woman lying
drenched with water, and half-dead. She was richly dressed, and of very
great beauty--but I never saw any human face so pale, or clothes more
torn and draggled.”
The spy paused. Mohun shaded his eyes from the light, with his hands,
and said coolly:--
“Go on.”
“Well, general--that was enough to astonish anybody--and what is more
astonishing still, I have never to this day discovered the meaning of
the woman’s being there--for it was plain that she was a lady. She was
half-dead with cold, and had cried out in what seemed to be a sort of
delirium. When I raised her up, and wrung the wet out of her clothes,
she looked at me so strangely that I was frightened. I asked her how she
had come there, but she made no reply. Where should I take her? She made
no reply to that either. She seemed dumb--out of her wits--and, to make
a long story short, I half led and half carried her to the cart in which
I put her, making a sort of bed for her of some old bags.
“I set out on my way again, without having the least notion what I
should do with her--for she seemed a lady--and only with a sort of idea
that her friends might probably pay me for my trouble, some day.
“Well, I went on for a mile or two farther, when a new adventure
happened to me. That was stranger still--it was like a story-book; and
you will hardly believe me--but as I was going through a piece of woods,
following a by-road by which I cut off a mile or more, I heard groans
near the road, and once more stopped my cart. Then I listened. I was
scared, and began to believe in witchcraft. The groans came from the
woods on my left, and there was no doubt about the sound--so, having
listened for some time, I mustered courage to go in the direction of the
sound. Can you think what I found, general?”
“What?” said Mohun, in the same cool voice; “tell me.”
“A man lying in a grave;--a real grave, general--broad and deep--a man
with a hole through his breast, and streaming with blood.”
“Is it possible?”
And Mohun uttered a laugh.
“Just as I tell you, general--it is the simple, naked truth. When I got
to the place, he was struggling to get out of the grave, and his breast
was bleeding terribly. I never saw a human being look paler. ‘Help!’ he
cried out, in a suffocated voice like, when he saw me--and as he spoke,
he made such a strong effort to rise, that his wound gushed with blood,
and he fainted.”
“He fainted, did he? And what did you do?” said Mohun.
“I took him up in my arms, general, as I had taken the woman, carried
him to my cart, when I bound up his breast in the best way I could, and
laid him by the side of the half-drowned lady.”
“To get a reward from _his_ friends, too, no doubt?”
“Well, general, we must live, you know. And did I not deserve something
for being so scared--and for the use of my mule?”
“Certainly you did. Is not the laborer worthy of his hire? But go on,
sir--your tale is interesting.”
“Tale, general? It is the truth--on the word of Swartz!”
“I no longer doubt now, if I did before,” said Mohun; “but tell me the
end of your adventure.”
“I can do that in a few words, general. I whipped up my old mule, and
went on through the woods, thinking what I had best do with the man
and the woman I had saved, I could take them to Petersburg, and tell my
story to the mayor or some good citizen, who would see that they were
taken care of. But as soon as I said ‘mayor’ to myself, I thought ‘he is
the chief of police.’ _Police_!--that is one of the ugliest words in the
language, general! Some people shiver, and their flesh crawls, when you
cut a cork, or scratch on a window pane--well, it is strange, but I have
always felt in that way when I heard, or thought of, the word, _police_!
And here I was going to have dealings with the said _police_! I was
going to say ‘I found these people on the Nottoway--one half-drowned,
and the other in a newly dug grave!’ No, I thank you! We never know what
our characters will stand, and I was by no means certain that mine would
stand that! Then the reward--I wished to have my lady and gentleman
under my eye. So, after thinking over the matter for some miles, I
determined to leave them with a crony of mine near Monk’s Neck, named
Alibi, who would take care of them and say nothing. Well, I did so, and
went on to Petersburg, where I sold my truck. When I got back they were
in bed, and on my next visit they were at the point of death. About that
time I was taken sick, and was laid up for more than three months. When
I went to see my birds at Monk’s Neck, they had flown!”
“Without leaving you their adieux?”
“No, they were at least polite. They left me a roll of bank notes--more
than I thought they had about them.”
“You had searched them, of course, when they were lying in your cart,”
said Mohun.
Swartz smiled.
“I acknowledge it, general--I forgot to mention the fact. I had found
only a small amount in the gentleman’s pocket-book--nothing on the
lady--and I never could understand where he or she had concealed about
their persons such a considerable amount of money--though I suppose, in
a secret pocket.”
Mohun nodded.
“That is often done--well, that was the last of them?”
Swartz smiled, and glanced at Mohun.
“What is the use of any concealment, my dear Mr. Swartz?” said the
latter. “You may as well tell the whole story, as you have gone this
far.”
“You are right, general, and I will finish. The war broke out, and I
sold my truck patch, and invested in a better business--that is, running
the blockade across the Potomac, and smuggling in goods for the
Richmond market. On one of these trips, I met, plump, in the streets of
Washington, no less a person than the lady whom I had rescued. She was
richly dressed, and far more beautiful, but there was no mistaking her.
I spoke to her; she recognized me, took me to her house, and here I
found _the gentleman_, dressed in a fine new uniform. He was changed
too--his wound had long healed, he was stout and strong, but I knew him,
too, at a glance. Well, I spent the evening, and when I left the house
had accepted an offer made me to combine a new business with that of
blockade runner.”
“That of spy, you mean?” said Mohun.
Swartz smiled.
“You speak plainly, general. We call ourselves ‘secret agents’--but
either word expresses the idea!”
XXIX.
THE PAPER.
Mohun raised his head, and looked Swartz full in the face. His glance
had grown, if possible, more penetrating than before, and a grim smile
responded to the unctuous expression of the spy.
“Well, my dear Mr. Swartz,” he said coolly, “that is a curious history.
Others might doubt its accuracy, but I give you my word that I do not!
I did well to let you proceed in your own way, instead of questioning
you--but I have not yet done; and this time shall return to the method
of interrogation.”
“At your orders, general,” said Swartz, whose quick glance showed that
he was on his guard, and foresaw what was coming.
Mohun leaned toward the spy.
“Let us proceed to ‘call names,’” he said. “The man you rescued from the
grave was Colonel Darke?”
“Exactly, general.”
“Is that his real name, or a false one?”
Swartz hesitated; then replied:--
“A false one.”
“His real name?”
“Mortimer.”
“And the lady is--?”
“His wife, general.”
“Good,” said Mohun, “you are well informed, I see, my dear Mr. Swartz;
and it is a pleasure to converse with a gentleman who knows so much, and
knows it so accurately.”
“You flatter my pride, general!”
“I do you justice--but to the point. Your story was cut off in the
middle. After the interview in Washington, you continued to see Colonel
Darke and his wife?”
“I saw them frequently, general.”
“In the army--and at their home, both?”
“Yes, general.”
“Where did they live?”
“Near Carlisle, Pennsylvania.”
“Where you were on a visit, just before the battle of Gettysburg?”
“Yes, general.”
“Very good!”
And rising quickly, Mohun confronted the spy, who drew back
unconsciously.
“Where is the paper that you stole from the woman that night?” he said.
Swartz was unable to sustain the fiery glance directed toward him by
Mohun.
“Then Nighthawk has told you all!” he exclaimed.
“Colonel Surry saw you hide the paper.”
Swartz looked suddenly toward me--his smiles had all vanished.
“The paper! give me the paper!” exclaimed Mohun; “you shall have gold
for it!”
“I have left it in Culpeper, general.”
“Liar!--give me the paper!”
Swartz started to his feet.
Mohun caught at his throat--the spy recoiled--when suddenly a quick
firing was heard coming rapidly from the direction of Germanna Ford.
“The enemy have crossed, Mohun!” I cried.
Mohun started, and turned his head in the direction of the sound.
“They are advancing!” I said, “but look out!--the spy!--”
Mohun wheeled, drawing his pistol.
Swartz had profited by the moment, when our attention was attracted by
the firing, to pass through the door, gain his horse at a bound, and
throw himself into the saddle, with an agility that was incredible in
one so fat.
At the same moment Mohun’s pistol-shot responded, but the bullet
whistled harmlessly over the spy’s head. In an instant he had
disappeared in the woods.
Mohun rushed to his horse, I followed, and we were soon riding at full
speed in the direction of the firing.
As we advanced, however, it receded. We pushed on, and reached the bank
of the Rapidan just as Mohun’s men had driven a party of the enemy over.
It was only a small body, who, crossing at a private ford and surprising
the sleepy picket, had raided into the thicket, to retire promptly when
they were assailed.
The affair was nothing. Unfortunately, however, it had enabled the
Federal spy to elude us.
Swartz had disappeared like a bird of the night; and all pursuit of him
in such a wilderness was impossible.
An hour afterward, I had rejoined Stuart.
XXX.
GRANT STRIKES HIS FIRST BLOW.
Such were the singular scenes which I witnessed, amid the shadows of the
Spottsylvania Wilderness, in the first days of May, 1864.
The narrative has brought the reader now to an hour past midnight on the
third of May.
An hour before--that is to say, at midnight precisely--the Federal
forces began to move: at six in the morning, they had massed on the
north bank of the Rapidan; and as the sun rose above the Wilderness, the
blue columns began to cross the river.
General Grant, at the head of his army of 140,000 men, had set forth on
his great advance toward Richmond--that advance so often tried, so often
defeated, but which now seemed, from the very nature of things, to be
destined to succeed.
Any other hypothesis seemed absurd. What could 50,000 do against nearly
thrice their number? What could arrest the immense machine rolling
forward to crush the Confederacy? A glance at Grant’s splendid array was
enough to make the stoutest heart sink. On this 4th day of May, 1864,
he was crossing the Rapidan with what resembled a countless host. Heavy
masses of blue infantry, with glittering bayonets--huge parks of rifled
artillery, with their swarming cannoneers--long columns of horsemen,
armed with sabre and repeating carbines, made the earth shake, and the
woods echo with their heavy and continuous tramp, mingled with the roll
of wheels.
In front of them, a little army of gaunt and ragged men, looked on and
waited, without resisting their advance. What did that waiting mean? Did
they intend to dispute the passage of that multitude toward Richmond? It
seemed incredible, but that was exactly the intention of Lee.
It is now known that General Grant and his officers felicitated
themselves greatly on the safe passage of the Rapidan, and were
convinced that Lee would hasten to retreat toward the South Anna.
Instead of retreating, Lee advanced and delivered battle.
The first collision took place on the 5th of May, when the Federal army
was rapidly massing in the Wilderness.
Ewell had promptly advanced, and about noon was forming line of battle
across the old turnpike, when he was vigorously attacked by Warren, and
his advance driven back. But the real obstacle was behind. Ewell’s rear
closed up--he advanced in his turn; assailed Warren with fury; swept him
back into the thicket; seized two pieces of his artillery, with about
1,000 prisoners; and for the time completely paralyzed the Federal force
in his front.
Such was the first blow struck. It had failed, and General Grant turned
his attention to A.P. Hill, who had hastened up, and formed line of
battle across the Orange plank road, on Ewell’s right.
Hancock directed the assault here, and we have General Lee’s testimony
to the fact, that the Federal attempts to drive back Hill were “repeated
and desperate.” All failed. Hill stubbornly held his ground. At night
the enemy retired, and gave up all further attempts on that day to make
any headway.
Grant had expected to find a mere rear-guard, while Lee’s main body was
retreating upon Richmond.
He found two full corps in his front; and there was no doubt that a
third--that of Longstreet--was approaching.
Lee was evidently going to fight--his aim was, plainly, to shut up Grant
in the Wilderness, and drive him back beyond the Rapidan, or destroy
him.
XXXI.
THE REPORT.
It was twilight and the fighting was over.
The two tigers had drawn back, and, crouching down, panted
heavily,--resting and gathering new strength for the fiercer conflict of
the next day.
From the thickets rose the stifled hum of the two hosts. Only a
few shots were heard, now and then, from the skirmishers, and these
resembled the last drops of a storm which had spent its fury.
I had been sent by General Stuart with an order to General Hampton, who
commanded the cavalry on Hill’s right.
Hampton was sitting his horse in a field extending, at this point,
between us and the enemy; and, if it were necessary, I would draw his
outline. It is not necessary, however; every one is familiar with the
figure of this great and faithful soldier, in his old gray coat, plain
arms and equipments, on his large and powerful war-horse,--man and horse
ready for battle. In the war I saw many great figures,--Hampton’s was
one of the noblest.
Having delivered my message to General Hampton, who received it with his
air of grave, yet cordial courtesy, I turned to shake hands with Captain
Church--a thorough-bred young officer, as brave as steel, and one of my
best friends--when an exclamation from the staff attracted my attention,
and looking round, I saw the cause.
At the opposite extremity of the extensive field, a solitary horseman
was seen darting out of the woods occupied by the Federal infantry, and
this man was obviously a deserter, making his way into our lines.
At a sign from General Hampton, Captain Church went to meet him, and as
my horse was fresh, I accompanied my friend in his ride.
The deserter came on at full speed to meet us, and for a moment, his
horse skimmed the dusky expanse like a black-winged bird.[1] Then, all
at once, his speed moderated; he approached at a jog-trot, and through
the gathering gloom I recognised, above the blue uniform, the sweetly
smiling countenance of Nighthawk!
[Footnote 1: This scene is real.]
“Good evening, colonel,” said Nighthawk; “I am glad to see you again,
and hope you are well.”
“So you have turned deserter, Nighthawk?” I said, laughing heartily.
“Precisely, colonel. I could not get off before. Will you inform me
where I can find General Stuart?”
“I will take you to him.”
And riding back with Captain Church and Nighthawk, I soon found myself
again in presence of General Hampton.
A word from me explained the real character of the pseudo-deserter.
General Hampton asked a number of questions, Nighthawk replied to them,
and then the latter begged me to conduct him to General Stuart. I did
so without delay, and we soon reached Stuart’s bivouac, where he was
talking with his staff by a camp-fire.
At sight of the blue figure he scarcely turned; then suddenly he
recognized Nighthawk, and burst into laughter.
“Well, my blue night-bird!” he exclaimed, “here you are at last! What
news? Is Grant going to cross the river?”
Nighthawk hung his head, and sighed audibly.
“I could not help it, general.”
“Why didn’t you come before?”
“It was impossible, general.”
Stuart shook his head.
“Strike that word out of your dictionary, my friend.”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
“That is good advice, general; but this time they nonplussed me. They
blocked every road, and I had to join their army.”
“Well, I hope you got the $600 bounty,” said Stuart, laughing.
“That was another impossibility, general; but I enjoyed the very best
society yonder.”
“What society, Nighthawk?”
“That of Grant, Meade, and Sedgwick.”
“Ah! my old friend, General Sedgwick! But where are Grant’s
headquarters, Nighthawk? Tell me every thing!”
“At Old Wilderness Tavern, general.”
“And you saw him there?”
“In the midst of his generals,--I was temporarily one of his couriers.”
“I understand. Well, their intended movements?”
Nighthawk shook his head.
“I could have foretold you those of to-day, general.”
“How?”
“I heard General Meade dictating his order, through the window of his
head-quarters, and can repeat it _verbatim_, if you desire.”
“By all means, Nighthawk,--it will reveal his programme. But is it
possible that you can do so?”
“I can, general; I engraved every word on my memory.”
And, fixing his eyes intently upon vacancy, Nighthawk commenced in a
low, monotonous voice:--
“The following movements are ordered for the 5th May, 1864. General
Sheridan, commanding cavalry corps, will move with Gregg’s and Torbert’s
divisions against the enemy’s cavalry, in the direction of Hamilton’s
Crossing. General Wilson, with the Third cavalry division, will move at
5 A.M., to Craig’s meeting-house, on the Catharpin road. He will
keep out parties on the Orange Court-House pike, and plank road, the
Catharpin road, Pamunkey road, and in the direction of Troyman’s store
and Andrew’s store, or Good Hope church. 2. Major-General Hancock,
commanding Second Corps, will move at 5 A.M., to Shady Grove church,
and extend his right toward the Fifth Corps at Parker’s store. 3.
Major-General Warren, commanding Fifth Corps, will move at 5 A.M., to
Parker’s store, on the Orange Court-House plank road, and extend his
right toward the Sixth Corps at Old Wilderness Tavern. 4. Major-General
Sedgwick, commanding Sixth Corps, will move to the Old Wilderness
Tavern, on the Orange Court-House pike, as soon as the road is clear.”
The monotonous voice stopped. I had listened with astonishment, and
found it difficult to credit this remarkable feat of memory, though it
took place before my eyes, or rather, in my ears.
“It is really wonderful,” said Stuart, gravely.
“You see,” said Nighthawk, returning to his original voice, so to speak,
“you see, general, this would have been of some importance yesterday.”
“It is very important now,” said Stuart; “it indicates Grant’s
programme--his wish to get out of the Wilderness. He is at Old
Wilderness Tavern?”
“He was this morning, general, with Meade and Sedgwick.”
“You were there?”
“I was, general.”
“What did you gather, Nighthawk?”
“Little or nothing, general. True, I heard one or two amusing things as
I loitered among the couriers near.”
“What?”
“General Grant came out talking with Meade, Sedgwick, and Warren.
General Meade said, ‘_They have left a division to fool us here, while
they concentrate, and prepare a position toward the North Anna,--and
what I want is to prevent these fellows from getting back to Mine
Run._’”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
Stuart laughed.
“Well, ‘these fellows’ don’t appear to be going back. What did Grant
say?”
“He smoked, general.”
“And did not open his lips?”
“Only once, when General Meade said something about ‘manoeuvring.’”
“What did he say?”
“I can give you his words. He took his cigar from his lips--puffed out
the smoke--and replied, ‘_Oh! I never manoeuvre_!’”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
“So much the better,” said Stuart: “the general that does not manoeuvre
sacrifices his men: and I predict that General Grant will soon alter his
programme.”
Stuart had ordered his horse to be saddled, and now mounted to go to
General Lee’s head-quarters.
“By the bye,” he said, “did you hear Warren or Sedgwick say any thing,
Nighthawk?”
Nighthawk smiled.
“I heard Sedgwick utter a few words, general.”
“What?”
“He said to Warren, ‘_I hear Hood is to take Stuart’s place. I am glad
of it, for Stuart is the best cavalry officer ever foaled in North
America_!’”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
XXXII.
THE UNSEEN DEATH.
The morning of the 6th of May was ushered in with thunder.
The battle of the preceding day had been a sort of “feeler”--now the
real struggle came.
By a curious coincidence, Grant and Lee both began the attack and at the
same hour. At five o’clock in the morning the blue and gray ranks rushed
together, and opened fire on each other. Or rather, they fired when they
heard each others’ steps and shouts. You saw little in that jungle.
I have already spoken more than once of this sombre country--a land of
undergrowth, thicket, ooze; where sight failed, and attacks had to be
made by the needle, the officers advancing in front of the line with
drawn--compasses!
The assaults here were worse than night fighting; the combats strange
beyond example. Regiments, brigades, and divisions stumbled on each
other before they knew it; and each opened fire, guided alone by
the crackling of steps in the bushes. There was something weird and
lugubrious in such a struggle. It was not a conflict of men, matched
against each other in civilized warfare. Two wild animals were prowling,
and hunting each other in the jungle. When they heard each others’
steps, they sprang and grappled. One fell, the other fell upon him. Then
the conqueror rose up and went in pursuit of other game--the dead was
lost from all eyes.
In this mournful and desolate country of the Spottsylvania Wilderness,
did the bloody campaign of 1864 begin. Here, where the very landscape
seemed dolorous; here, in blind wrestle, as at midnight, did 200,000
men, in blue and gray, clutch each other--bloodiest and weirdest of
encounters.
War had had nothing like it. Destruction of life had become a science,
and was done by the compass.
The Genius of Blood, apparently tired of the old common-place mode of
killing, had invented the “Unseen Death,” in the depths of the jungle.
On the morning of May 6th, Lee and Grant had grappled, and the battle
became general along the entire line of the two armies. In these rapid
memoirs I need only outline this bitter struggle--the histories will
describe it.
Lee was aiming to get around the enemy’s left, and huddle him up in the
thicket--but in this he failed.
Just as Longstreet, who had arrived and taken part in the action, was
advancing to turn the Federal flank on the Brock road, he was wounded by
one of his own men; and the movement was arrested in mid career.
But Lee adhered to his plan. He determined to lead his column in person,
and would have done so, but for the remonstrances of his men.
“To the rear!” shouted the troops, as he rode in front of them; “to the
rear!”
And he was obliged to obey.
He was not needed.
The gray lines surged forward: the thicket was full of smoke and quick
flashes of flame: then the woods took fire, and the scene of carnage
had a new and ghastly feature added to it. Dense clouds of smoke rose,
blinding and choking the combatants: the flames crackled, soared aloft,
and were blown in the men’s faces; and still, in the midst of this
frightful array of horrors, the carnival of destruction went on without
ceasing.
At nightfall, General Lee had driven the enemy from their front line of
works--but nothing was gained.
What _could_ be gained in that wretched country, where there was nothing
but thicket, thicket!
General Grant saw his danger, and, no doubt, divined the object of his
adversary,--to arrest and cripple him in this tangle-wood, where numbers
did not count, and artillery could not be used.
There was but one thing to do--to get out of the jungle.
So, on the day after this weird encounter, in which he had lost nearly
20,000 men, and Lee about 8,000, Grant moved toward Spottsylvania.
The thickets of the Wilderness were again silent, and the blue and gray
objects in the undergrowth did not move.
The war-dogs had gone to tear each other elsewhere.
XXXIII.
BREATHED AND HIS GUN.
In the din and smoke of that desperate grapple of the infantry, I have
lost sight of the incessant cavalry combats which marked each day with
blood.
And now there is no time to return to them. A great and sombre event
drags the pen. With one scene I shall dismiss those heroic fights--but
that scene will be superb.
Does the reader remember the brave Breathed, commanding a battalion of
the Stuart horse artillery? I first spoke of him on the night preceding
Chancellorsville, when he came to see Stuart, at that time he was
already famous for his “do-or die” fighting. A Marylander by birth, he
had “come over to help us:” had been the right-hand man of Pelham; the
favorite of Stuart; the admiration of the whole army for a courage which
the word “reckless” best describes;--and now, in this May, 1864, his
familiar name of “Old Jim Breathed,” bestowed by Stuart, who held him
in high favor, had become the synonym of stubborn nerve and _élan_,
unsurpassed by that of Murat. To fight his guns to the muzzles, or go in
with the sabre, best suited Breathed. A veritable bull-dog in combat, he
shrank at nothing, and led everywhere. I saw brave men in the war--none
braver than Breathed. When he failed in any thing, it was because
reckless courage could not accomplish it.
He was young, of vigorous frame, with dark hair and eyes, and tanned
by sun and wind. His voice was low, and deep; his manners simple and
unassuming; his ready laugh and off-hand bearing indicated the born
soldier; eyes mild, friendly, and full of honesty. It was only when
Breathed was fighting his guns, or leading a charge, that they resembled
red-hot coals, and seemed to flame.
To come to my incident. I wish, reader, to show you Breathed; to let
you see the whole individual in a single exploit. It is good to record
things not recorded in “history.” They are, after all, the real glory
of the South of which nothing can deprive her. I please myself, too, for
Breathed was my friend. I loved and admired him--and only a month or two
before, he had made the whole army admire--and laugh with--him too.
See how memory leads me off! I am going to give ten words, first, to
that incident which made us laugh.
In the last days of winter, a force of Federal cavalry came to make
an attack on Charlottesville--crossing the Rapidan high up toward the
mountains, and aiming to surprise the place. Unfortunately for him,
General Custer, who commanded the expedition, was to find the Stuart
horse artillery in winter quarters near. So sudden and unexpected was
Custer’s advance, that the artillery camps were entirely surprised. At
one moment, the men were lying down in their tents, dozing, smoking,
laughing--the horses turned out to graze, the guns covered, a profound
peace reigning--at the next, they were running to arms, shouting, and in
confusion, with the blue cavalry charging straight on their tents, sabre
in hand.
Breathed had been lounging like the rest, laughing and talking with the
men. Peril made him suddenly king, and, sabre in hand, he rushed to the
guns, calling to his men to follow.
With his own hands he wheeled a gun round, drove home a charge, and
trained the piece to bear upon the Federal cavalry, trampling in among
the tents within fifty yards of him.
“Man the guns!” he shouted, in his voice of thunder. “Stand to your
guns, boys! You promised me you would never let these guns be taken!”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
A roar of voices answered him. The bull-dogs thrilled at the voice of
the master. Suddenly the pieces spouted flame; shell and canister tore
through the Federal ranks. Breathed was everywhere, cheering on the
cannoneers. Discharge succeeded discharge; the ground shook: then the
enemy gave back, wavering and losing heart.
Breathed seized the moment. Many of the horses had been caught and
hastily saddled. Breathed leaped upon one of them, and shouted:--
“Mount!”
The men threw themselves into the saddle--some armed with sabres, others
with clubs, others with pieces of fence-rail, caught up from the fires.
“Charge!” thundered Breathed.
At the head of his men, he lead a headlong charge upon the Federal
cavalry, which broke and fled in the wildest disorder, pursued by the
ragged cannoneers, Breathed in front, with yells, cheers, and cries of
defiance.
They were pursued past Barboursville to the Rapidan, without pause. That
night Stuart went after them: their officers held a council of war, it
is said, to decide whether they should not bury their artillery near
Stannardsville, to prevent is capture. On the day after this, they had
escaped.
In passing Barboursville, on their return from Charlottesville, one of
the Federal troopers stopped to get a drink of water at the house of a
citizen.
“What’s the matter?” asked the citizen.
“Well, we are retreating.”
“Who is after you?”
“Nobody but old Jim Breathed and his men, armed with fence-rails.”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
Such was one of a dozen incidents in Breathed’s life. Let me come to
that which took place near Spottsylvania Court-House.
Grant had moved, as we have seen, by his left flank toward that place.
General Fitzhugh Lee opposed him on the way, and at every step harassed
the head of the Federal column with his dismounted sharp-shooters and
horse artillery. Near Spottsylvania Court-House, it was the stand made
by Fitz Lee’s cavalry that saved the position, changing the aspect of
the whole campaign.
Sent by Stuart with a message to the brave “General Fitz,” I reached him
near Spottsylvania Court-House, at the moment when he had just ordered
his cavalry to fall back slowly before the advancing enemy, and take a
new position in rear.
Two guns which had been firing on the enemy were still in battery on a
hill; upon these a heavy Federal skirmish line was steadily moving: and
beside the guns, Breathed and Fitzhugh Lee sat their horses, looking
coolly at the advancing line.
“Give them a round of canister, Breathed!” exclaimed General Fitz Lee.
Breathed obeyed, but the skirmish line continued bravely to advance.
All at once, there appeared in the woods behind them, a regular line of
battle advancing, with flags fluttering.
To remain longer on the hill was to lose the guns. The bullets were
whizzing around us, and there was but one course left--to fall back.
“Take the guns off, Breathed!” exclaimed the general; “there is no time
to lose! Join the command in the new position, farther down the road!”
Breathed looked decidedly unwilling.
“A few more rounds, general!”
And turning to the men, he shouted:--
“Give them canister!”
At the word, the guns spouted flame, and the canister tore through the
line of skirmishers, and the Federal line of battle behind; but it
did not check them. They came on more rapidly, and the air was full of
balls.
“Look out for the guns, Breathed! Take them off!” exclaimed the general.
Breathed turned toward one of the pieces, and ordered:--
“Limber to the rear!”
The order was quickly obeyed.
“Forward!”
The piece went off at a thundering gallop, pursued by bullets.
“Only a few more rounds, general!” pleaded Breathed; “I won’t lose the
guns!”
“All right!”
As he spoke, the enemy rushed upon the single gun.
Breathed replied by hurling canister in their faces. He sat his horse,
unflinching. Never had I seen a more superb soldier.
The enemy were nearly at the muzzle of the piece.
“Surrender!” they were heard shouting; “surrender the gun!” Breathed’s
response was a roar, which hurled back the front rank.
Then, his form towering amid the smoke, his eyes flashing, his drawn
sabre whirled above his head, Breathed shouted,--
“Limber up!”
The cannoneers seized the trail; the horses wheeled at a gallop; the
piece was limbered up; and the men rushed down the hill to mount their
horses, left there.
Then around the gun seemed to open a volcano of flame. The Federal
infantry were right on it. A storm of bullets cut the air. The
drivers leaped from the horses drawing the piece, thinking its capture
inevitable, and ran down the hill.
In an instant they had disappeared. The piece seemed in the hands of the
enemy--indeed, they were almost touching it--a gun of the Stuart horse
artillery for the first time was to be captured!
That thought seemed to turn Breathed into a giant. As the drivers
disappeared, his own horse was shot under him, staggered, sunk, and
rolled upon his rider. Breathed dragged himself from beneath the
bleeding animal, rose to his feet, and rushing to the lead horses of the
gun, leaped upon one of them, and struck them violently with his sabre
to force them on.
As he did so, the horse upon which he was mounted fell, pierced by a
bullet through the body.
Breathed fell upon his feet, and, with the edge of his sabre, cut the
two leaders out of the traces. He then leaped upon one of the middle
horses--the gun being drawn by six--and started off.
He had not gone three paces, when the animal which he now rode fell
dead in turn. Breathed rolled upon the ground, but rising to his feet,
severed the dead animal and his companion from the piece, as he had done
the leaders.
He then leaped upon one of the wheel-horses--these alone being now
left--struck them furiously with his sabre--started at a thundering
gallop down the hill--and pursued by a hail-storm of bullets, from
which, as General Lee says in his report, “he miraculously escaped
unharmed,” carried off the gun in safety, and rejoined the cavalry,
greeted by a rolling thunder of cheers.
Such was the manner in which Breathed fought his artillery, and the
narrative is the barest and most simple statement of fact.
Breathed came out of the war a lieutenant-colonel only. Napoleon would
have made him a marshal.
XXXIV.
MY LAST RIDE WITH STUART.
More than one stirring incident marked those days of desperate fighting,
when, barricading all the roads, and charging recklessly, Stuart
opposed, at every step, Grant’s advance toward the Po.
But I can not describe those incidents. They must be left to others. The
pen which has paused to record that exploit of Breathed, is drawn onward
as by the hand of Fate toward one of those scenes which stand out,
lugubrious and bloody, from the pages of history.
From the moment when Grant crossed the Rapidan, Stuart had met the
horsemen of Sheridan everywhere in bitter conflict; and the days and
nights had been strewed all over with battles.
Now, on the ninth of May, when the two great adversaries faced each
other on the Po, a more arduous service still was demanded of the
great sabreur. Sheridan had been dispatched to sever General Lee’s
communications, and, if possible, capture Richmond. The city was known
to be well nigh stripped of troops, and a determined assault might
result in its fall. Sheridan accordingly cut loose a heavy column, took
command of it in person, and descended like a thunderbolt toward the
devoted city.
No sooner, however, had he begun to move, than Stuart followed on his
track. He had no difficulty in doing so. A great dust-cloud told
the story. That cloud hung above the long column of Federal cavalry,
accompanied it wherever it moved, and indicated clearly to Stuart the
course which his adversary was pursuing.
If he could only interpose, with however small a force, between Sheridan
and Richmond, time would be given for preparation to resist the attack,
and the capital might be saved. If he failed to interpose, Sheridan
would accomplish his object--Richmond would fall.
It was a forlorn hope, after all, that he could arrest the Federal
commander. General Sheridan took with him a force estimated at 9,000.
Stuart’s was, in all, about 3,000; Gordon, who was not in the battle at
Yellow Tavern, included. That action was fought by Fitz Lee’s division
of 2,400 men all told. But the men and officers were brave beyond words;
the incentive to daring resistance was enormous; they would do all that
could be done.
Such was the situation of affairs on the 9th of May, 1864.
Stuart set out at full gallop on his iron gray, from Spottsylvania
Court-House, about three o’clock in the day, and reached Chilesburg,
toward Hanover Junction, just as night fell.
Here we found General Fitz Lee engaged in a hot skirmish with the
enemy’s rear-guard; and that night Stuart planned an attack upon their
camp, but abandoned the idea.
His spirits at this time were excellent, but it was easy to see that he
realized the immense importance of checking the enemy.
An officer said in his presence:--
“We won’t be able to stop Sheridan.”
Stuart turned at those words; his cheeks flushed; his eyes flamed, and
he said:--
“No, sir! I’d rather die than let him go on!”[1]
[Footnote 1: His words]
On the next morning, he moved in the direction of Hanover Junction;
riding boot to boot with his friend General Fitz Lee. I had never seen
him more joyous. Some events engrave themselves forever on the memory.
That ride of May 10th, 1864, was one of them.
Have human beings a presentiment, ever, at the near approach of death?
Does the shadow of the unseen hand ever reveal itself to the eye? I know
not, but I know that no such presentiment came to Stuart; no shadow
of the coming event darkened the path of the great cavalier. On the
contrary, his spirits were buoyant beyond example, almost; and, riding
on with General Fitz Lee, he sang in his gallant voice his favorite
ditties “Come out of the Wilderness!” and “Jine the Cavalry!”
As he rode on thus, he was the beau ideal of a cavalier. His seat in the
saddle was firm; his blue eyes dazzling; his heavy mustache curled
with laughter at the least provocation. Something in this man seemed
to spring forward to meet danger. Peril aroused and strung him. All his
energies were stimulated by it. In that ride through the May forest, to
attack Sheridan, and arrest him or die, Stuart’s bearing and expression
were superbly joyous and inspiring. His black plume floated in the
spring breeze, like some knight-errant’s; and he went to battle humming
a song, resolved to conquer or fall.
Riding beside him, I found my eyes incessantly attracted to his proud
face; and now I see the great cavalier as then, clearly with the eyes of
memory. What a career had been his! what a life of battles!
As we went on through the spring woods, amid the joyous songs of birds,
all the long, hard combats of this man passed before me like an immense
panorama. The ceaseless scouting and fighting in the Shenandoah Valley;
the charge and route of the red-legged “Zouaves” at Manassas; the
falling back to the Peninsula, and the fighting all through Charles
City; the famous ride around McClellan; the advance and combats on the
Rapidan and Rappahannock, after Cedar Mountain; the night attack
on Catlett’s, when he captured Pope’s coat and papers; the march on
Jackson’s flank, and the capture of Manassas; the advance into Maryland;
the fights at Frederick, Crampton’s, and Boonsboro’, with the hard
rear-guard work, as Lee retired to Sharpsburg; his splendid handling of
artillery on the left wing of the army there; the retreat, covered by
his cavalry; the second ride around McClellan, and safe escape from his
clutches; the bitter conflicts at Upperville and Barbee’s, as Lee fell
back; the hard fighting thereafter, on the banks of the Rappahannock;
the “crowding ‘em with artillery,” on the night of Fredericksburg; the
winter march to Dumfries; the desperate battle at Kelly’s Ford; the
falling back before Hooker; the battle of Chancellorsville, when he
succeeded Jackson; the stubborn wrestle of Fleetwood; the war of giants
below Upperville; the advance across Maryland into Pennsylvania, when
the long march was strewed all over with battles, at Westminister,
Hanover, Carlisle, Gettysburg, where he met and repulsed the best
cavalry of the Federal army; the retreat from Gettysburg, with the
tough affair near Boonsboro’; guarding the rear of the army as it
again crossed the Potomac; then the campaign of October, ending with
Kilpatrick’s route at Buckland; the assault on Meade’s head of column,
when he came over to Mine Run; the bold attack on his rear there;
and the hard, incessant fighting since Grant had come over to the
Wilderness;--I remembered all these splendid scenes and illustrious
services as I rode on beside Stuart, through the fields and forests of
Hanover, and thought, “This is one of those great figures which live
forever in history, and men’s memories!”
To-day, I know that I was not mistaken, or laboring under the influence
of undue affection and admiration. That figure has passed from earth,
but still lives!
Stuart is long dead, and the grass covers him; but there is scarce a
foot of the soil of Virginia that does not speak of him. He is gone, but
his old mother is proud of him--is she not?
Answer, mountains where he fought--lowlands, where he fell--river,
murmuring a dirge, as you foam through the rocks yonder, past his grave!
XXXV.
“SOON WITH ANGELS I’LL BE MARCHING.”
Let me rapidly pass over the events of the tenth of May.
Gordon’s little brigade had been ordered to follow on the rear of the
enemy, while Fitz Lee moved round by Taylorsville to get in front of
them.
Stuart rode and met Gordon, gave the brave North Carolinian, so soon
to fall, his last orders; and then hastened back to Fitz Lee, who had
continued to press the enemy.
They had struck the Central railroad, but the gray cavaliers were close
on them. Colonel Robert Randolph, that brave soul, doomed like Gordon,
charged them furiously here, took nearly a hundred prisoners, and drove
them across the road.
At this moment Stuart returned, and pushed forward toward Taylorsville,
from which point he intended to hasten on and get in their front.
About four in the afternoon we reached Fork church, and the command
halted to rest.
Stuart stretched himself at full length, surrounded by his staff, in a
field of clover; and placing his hat over his face to protect his eyes
from the light, snatched a short sleep, of which he was very greatly in
need.
The column again moved, and that night camped near Taylorsville,
awaiting the work of the morrow.
At daylight on the 11th, Stuart moved toward Ashland. Here he came up
with the enemy; attacked them furiously, and drove them before him,
and out of the village, killing, wounding, and capturing a considerable
number.
Then he put his column again in motion, advanced rapidly by the
Telegraph road toward Yellow Tavern, a point near Richmond, where he
intended to intercept the enemy--the moment of decisive struggle, to
which all the fighting along the roads of Hanover had only been the
prelude, was at hand.
Stuart was riding at the head of his column, looking straight forward,
and with no thought, apparently, save that of arriving in time.
He was no longer gay. Was it the coming event; was it the loss of sleep;
the great interest at stake; the terrible struggle before him? I know
not; but he looked anxious, feverish, almost melancholy.
“My men and horses are tired, jaded, and hungry, but all right,” he had
written to General Bragg, from Ashland.
And these words will serve in large measure to describe the condition of
the great commander himself.
I was riding beside him, when he turned to me and said, in a low tone:--
“Do you remember a conversation which we had at Orange, Surry, that
night in my tent?”
“Yes, general.”
“And what I said?”
“Every word is engraved, I think, upon my memory.”
“Good. Do not let one thing ever escape you. Remember, that I said what
I say again to-day, that ‘Virginia expects every man to do his duty!’”
“I will never forget that, general.”
He smiled, and rode on. For half a mile he was silent. Then I heard
escape from his lips, in a low, musing voice, a refrain which I had
never heard him sing before--
“Soon with angels I’ll be marching!”[1]
[Footnote 1: Real]
I know not why, but that low sound made me shiver.
XXXVI.
YELLOW TAVERN, MAY 11, 1864.