"It is, sir," I replied; "but I should not have ventured it, had it

not been asked; and since you seem to differ from the opinion I hold,

may I ask you what your opinion is?"

At once his manner changed, and, leaning forward, he said, blandly: "I

entirely agree with you, general."

"Does President Davis and the Congress know these facts? Have you

expressed an opinion as to the propriety of making terms, to President

Davis or the Congress?"

General Lee replied to this question: "General Gordon, I am a soldier.

It is my duty to obey orders."

"Yes," I replied; "but if you read the papers, General Lee, you can't

shut your eyes to the fact that the hopes of the Southern people are

centred in and on your army, and if we wait until we are beaten and

scattered {487} into the mountains before we make an effort at terms,

the people will not be satisfied. Besides, we will simply invite the

enemy to hunt us down all over the country, devastating it wherever

they go."

[Illustration: LIEUTENANT-GENERAL JOHN B. GORDON, C. S. A.]

[Illustration: GENERAL ROBERT E. LEE, C. S. A.]

General Lee said nothing to this for some time, but paced the floor in

silence, while I sat gloomily enough, as you may know, at the fearful

prospect. He had, doubtless, thought of all I said long before he sent

for me. I don't wish you to understand that I am vain enough to

believe for a moment that anything I said induced him to go to

Richmond the next day. As I said before, he had probably decided on

his course before he sent for me, and only feigned a difference of

opinion or hesitation in order to see with what pertinacity I held my

own. He did go to Richmond, and on his return sent for me again, and

in reply to my question as to what had occurred, he said:

"Sir, it is enough to turn a man's hair gray to spend one day in that

Congress. The members are patriotic and earnest, but they will neither

take the responsibility of acting nor will they clothe me with

authority to act. As for Mr. Davis, he is unwilling to do anything

short of independence, and feels that it is useless to try to treat on

that basis. Indeed, he says that, having failed in one overture of

peace at Hampton Roads, he is not disposed to try another."

"Then," said I, "there is nothing left for us but to fight, and the

sooner we fight the better, for every day weakens us and strengthens

our opponents."

It was these two conferences that led to the desperate and almost

hopeless attack I made upon the 25th of March on Grant's lines at Fort

Steadman and Hare's Hill, in front of Petersburg. My corps was, as I

tell you, at that time on the extreme right of General Lee's army,

stretching from Hatcher's Run, southward along the Boydton plank road.

He proposed to transfer my corps to lines in and around Petersburg,

and have me familiarize myself with the strong and weak points, if

there were any _weak_ ones, on Grant's line near the bank of the

Appomattox River. He ordered my command into Petersburg to replace the

troops which were there. I spent a week examining Grant's lines,

learning from deserters and men captured the names of the Federal

officers and their commands in the front. At last I selected a point

which I was sure I could carry by a night assault. I so reported to

General Lee. It was in the last degree a desperate undertaking,

as you will presently see; but it was the best that could be

suggested--better than to stand still. Almost hopeless as it was, it

was less so than the certain and rapid disintegration, through

starvation and disease and desertion, of the last army we could ever

organize. The point on my line from which I decided to make the

assault was Colquitt's salient, which had been built by Governor

Colquitt and his men and held by them, when, to protect themselves,

they had to move under covered ways and sleep burrowed in the ground

like Georgia gophers. I selected this point because the main lines

here were closest together, being not more than two hundred yards

apart, I should say, while the picket lines were so close that the

Confederate, and the Federals could easily converse. By a sort of

general consent the firing between the pickets nearly ceased during

the day, so that I could stand upon my breastworks and examine General

Grant's. It is necessary that you should know precisely the situation

of the lines and forts, as I can illustrate by a rough diagram:

[Illustration: _A_, Colquitt's salient. _B_, the main line of Federal

intrenchment, with Fort Steadman in the centre and two other forts

flanking it. _C_, line of Federal reserves to support Fort Steadman

and the troops in the main trenches. _D_, second line of Federal

forts, so arranged as to command Fort Steadman and the main line of

intrenchments, should these be broken.]

{488} A STRONG POSITION.

You can see at a glance how desperately strong was even this, the

weakest point on Grant's line. It was close to Colquitt's salient

where the fearful mine was sprung called the Crater. The whole

intervening ground between Fort Steadman and Colquitt's salient, over

which I had to make the assault, was raked not only by a front fire,

but by flank fires from both directions from the forts and trenches of

the main line, _B_. An attack, therefore, by daylight would have been

simply to have the men butchered, without any possibility of success,

so that nothing but a night attack was to be thought of. Between the

main line of trenches and forts and the rear line of forts, _D_, was a

heavy line of Federal reserves, _C_, and the rear forts were placed

with such consummate engineering skill as to command any point on that

portion of Grant's line which might be captured. It was, therefore,

necessary to capture or break through the reserves and take the rear

line of forts as well as the front. This rear line of forts was so

protected by abatis in front that the whole of General Lee's army

could not have stormed them by a front attack, and the only

possibility of securing them was to capture them from the rear, where

there was an opening. This could only be done by stratagem, if it

could be done at all.

I finally submitted a plan of battle to General Lee, which he approved

and ordered executed. It was briefly this: To take Fort Steadman by

direct assault at night, then send a separate body of men to each of

the rear forts, who, claiming to be Federals, might pass through the

Federal reserves and take possession of the rear line of forts as if

ordered to do so by the Federal commander; next, then to press with my

whole force to the rear of Grant's main line and force him out of the

trenches, destroy his pontoons, cut his telegraph wires, and press

down his flank. Of course, it was a most desperate and almost hopeless

undertaking, and could be justified only by our desperate and hopeless

condition if we remained idle. We both recognized it as the forlornest

of forlorn hopes. Let me particularize a little more. The obstructions

in front of my own lines had to be removed, and removed silently, so

as not to attract the attention of the Federal pickets. Grant's

obstructions had to be removed from the front of Fort Steadman. These

obstructions were of sharpened rails, elevated to about breast high,

the other end buried deeply in the ground, the rails resting on a

horizontal pole and wrapped with telegraph wire. They could not be

mounted or pushed aside, but had to be cut away with axes. This had to

be done immediately in front of the guns of Fort Steadman. These guns

were at night doubly charged with canister, as I learned from Federal

prisoners. The rush across the intervening space between the lines had

to be made so silently and swiftly as to take the fort before the

gunners could fire. The reserves had to be beaten or passed and the

rear line of forts taken before daylight. All this had to be

accomplished before my main forces could be moved across and placed in

position to move on Grant's flank, or rather left wing.

THE PLAN OF ATTACK.

My preparations were these: I called on my division commanders for a

detail of the bravest men in their commands. To rush over the Federal

pickets and into the fort and seize the Federal guns, I selected a

body of only one hundred men, with empty rifles and fixed bayonets. To

precede these, to clear an opening to the fort, I selected fifty of

the most stalwart and brave men I could find, and armed them with axes

to cut clown the obstructions in front of the fort. They were ordered

to remove my own abatis, rush upon the Federal obstructions, and cut

away a brigade front. The one hundred with empty rifles and fixed

bayonets were to follow immediately, and this one hundred and fifty

men were not to falter or fire, but to go into Fort Steadman, if they

had to do it in the face of the fire from all the forts. Immediately

after these axemen and the one hundred had cleared the way and gained

the fort, three other squads of one hundred each were to rush across,

pass through Fort Steadman, and go pell-mell to the rear, and right

through the Federal reserves, crying as they went: "The rebels have

carried our lines in front, captured Fort Steadman, and we are ordered

by General McLaughlin, Federal commander of Fort Steadman, to go back

to the rear forts and hold them against the rebels." I instructed each

commander of these last squads as to what particular fort he was to

enter; and a guide, who had been raised on the ground, was placed with

each of these three squads, or companies, who was to conduct them

through the reserves and to the rear of the forts. If they were halted

by the Federal reserves, each commander was instructed to pass himself

off as one of the Federal officers whose names I had learned. I

remember that I named one commander of one of the companies

Lieutenant-Colonel Pendergrast, of a Pennsylvania regiment--I think

that was the name and regiment of one of the Federal officers in my

front. As soon as Fort Steadman should be taken, and these three

bodies of one hundred men each had succeeded in entering the rear

forts, the main force of infantry and cavalry were to cross over. The

cavalry was to gallop to the rear, capture the fugitives, destroy the

pontoons, cut down the telegraph wires, and give me constant

information, while the infantry was to move rapidly down Grant's

lines, attacking and breaking his division in detail, as they moved

out of his trenches. Such, I say, was the plan of this most desperate

and last aggressive assault ever made by the Confederate army.

General Lee had sent me, in addition to my own corps, a portion of

Longstreet's corps (Pickett's division) and a portion of A. P. Hill's

and a body of cavalry. During the whole night of the 24th of March I

was on horseback, making preparations and disposing of troops. About

four o'clock in the morning I called close around me the fifty axemen

and four companies, one hundred each, of the brave men who were

selected to do this hazardous work. I spoke to them of the character

of the undertaking, and of the last hope of the cause, which was about

to be confided to them. Around the shoulders of each man was bound a

white strip of muslin, which Mrs. Gordon, who sat in a room not far

distant listening for the signal gun, had prepared, as a means of

recognition of each other. The hour had come, and when everything was

ready I stood on the breastworks of Colquitt's salient and ordered two

men to my side, with rifles, who were to fire the signal for attack.

The noise of moving our own obstructions was going on and attracted

the notice of a Federal picket. In the black darkness his voice rang

out:

"Hullo there, Johnny Reb! what are you making all that fuss about over

there?"

The men were just leaning forward for the start. This sudden call

disconcerted me somewhat; but the rifleman on my right came to my

assistance by calling out in a cheerful voice:

"Oh! never mind us, Yank; lie down and go to sleep. We are just

gathering a little corn; you know rations are mighty short over here."

There was a patch of corn between our lines, some of it still {489}

hanging on the stalks. After a few moments there came back the kindly

reply of the Yankee picket, which quite reassured me. He said:

"All right, Johnny; go ahead and get your corn. I won't shoot at you."

As I gave the command to forward, the man on my right seemed to have

some compunctions of conscience for having stilled the suspicions of

the Yankee picket who had answered him so kindly, and who the next

moment might be surprised and killed. So he called out to him:

"Look out for yourself now, Yank; we're going to shell the woods."

This exhibition of chivalry and of kindly feelings on both sides, and

at such a moment, touched me almost as deeply as any minor incident of

the war. I quickly ordered the two men to "Fire."

Bang! Bang! The two shots broke the stillness, and "Forward!" I

commanded. The chosen hundred sprang forward, eagerly following the

axemen, and for the last time the stars and bars were carried to

aggressive assault.

FORT STEADMAN TAKEN.

In a moment the axemen were upon the abatis of the enemy and hewing it

down. I shall never know how they whisked this line of wire-fastened

obstructions out of the way. The one hundred overpowered the pickets,

sent them to the rear, rushed through the gap made by the axemen up

the slope of Fort Steadman, and it was ours without the firing of a

single gun, and with the loss of but one man. He was killed with a

bayonet. The three companies who were to attempt to pass the reserves

and go into the rear forts followed and passed on through Fort

Steadman. Then came the other troops pouring into the fort. We

captured, I think, nine pieces of artillery, eleven mortars, and about

six hundred or seven hundred prisoners, among whom was General

McLaughlin, who was commanding on that portion of the Federal line.

Many were taken in their beds. The prisoners were all sent across to

our lines, and other troops of my command were brought to the fort. I

now anxiously awaited to learn the fate of the three hundred who had

been sent in companies of one hundred each to attempt the capture of

the three rear forts. Soon a messenger reached me from two officers

commanding two of these chosen bodies, who informed me that they had

succeeded in passing right through the line of Federal reserves by

representing themselves as Federals, and had certainly gone far enough

to the rear for the forts, but that their guides had abandoned them or

been lost, and that they did not know in what direction to move. It

was afterward discovered, when daylight came, that these men had gone

further out than the forts, and could have easily entered and captured

them if the guides had not been lost, or had done their duty. Of

course, after dawn they were nearly all captured, being entirely

behind the Federal reserves.

[Illustration: CITY POINT, VIRGINIA. (From a war-time photograph.)]

{490} [Illustration: GENERAL ULYSSES S. GRANT.]

{491} [Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL MATTHEW W. RANSOM, C. S. A.]

[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL THOS. L. ROSSER, C. S. A.]

FAILURE OF THE ATTACK.

In the mean time, the few Federal soldiers who had escaped from the

fort and intrenchments we had captured had spread the alarm and

aroused the Federal army. The hills in the rear of Grant's lines were

soon black with troops. By the time it was fairly daybreak the two

forts on the main line flanking Fort Steadman, the three forts in the

rear, and the reserves, all opened fire upon my forces. We held Fort

Steadman, and the Federal intrenchments to the river, or nearly so.

But the guides had been lost, and as a consequence the rear forts had

not been captured. Failing to secure these forts, the cavalry could

not pass, the pontoons could not be destroyed, and the telegraph wires

were not cut. In addition to these mishaps, the trains had been

delayed, and Pickett's division and other troops sent me by General

Lee had not arrived. The success had been brilliant so far as it had

gone, and had been achieved without loss of any consequence to our

army; but it had failed in the essentials to a complete success or to

a great victory. Every hour was bringing heavy reinforcements to the

Federals and rendering my position less and less tenable. After a

brief correspondence with General Lee, it was decided to withdraw. My

loss, whatever it was, occurred in withdrawing under concentrated fire

from forts and infantry. The fighting over the picket lines and main

lines from this time to the surrender was too incessant to give me an

opportunity to ascertain my loss. It was considerable; and although I

had inflicted a heavy loss upon the enemy, I felt, as my troops

reëntered Colquitt's salient, that the last hazard had been thrown,

and that we had lost.

I will give you here the last note I ever received from General Lee,

and one of the last he ever wrote in his official capacity. It is as

follows:

4.30 P.M., HEADQUARTERS, _March_ 24, 1865.

GENERAL: I have received yours of 2.30 P.M., and telegraphed for

Pickett's division, but I do not think it will reach here in time;

still we will try. If you need more troops, one or both of Heth's

brigades can be called to Colquitt's salient, and Wilcox's to the

Baxter road. Dispose of the troops as needed. I pray that a merciful

God may grant us success, and deliver us from our enemies.

Very truly,

R. E. LEE, _General_.

GEN. J. B. GORDON.

P. S.--The cavalry is ordered to report to you at Halifax Road and

Norfolk Railroad (iron bridge) at three A.M. to-morrow. W. F. Lee to

be in vicinity of Monk's Corner at six A.M.

R. E. L.

THE DEATH STRUGGLE.

I had very little talk with General Lee after our withdrawal. I

recognized that the end was approaching, and of course he did. It will

be seen from his semi-official note, quoted above, that he became very

much interested in the success of our movement. While he had known as

well as I that it was a desperate and forlorn hope, still we had hoped

that we might cut through and make a glorious dash down the right and

seek Johnston in North Carolina. The result of the audacious attempt

that had been made upon his line, and its complete success up to the

time that it was ruined by a mischance, was to awaken General Grant's

forces into more aggressive measures. A sort of respite was had, for a

day, after the night attack on Fort Steadman, and then the

death-struggle began. Grant hurried his masses upon our starved and

broken-down veterans. His main attack was made upon our left, A. P.

Hill's corps. Grant's object was to turn our flanks, and get between

us and North Carolina. The fighting was fearful and continuous. It was

a miracle that we held our lines for a single day. With barely six

thousand men I was holding six miles of line. I had just one thousand

men to the mile, or about one to every two yards. Hill and Longstreet

were in not much better trim, and some part of this thin line was

being forced continually. The main fight was on my line and Hill's, as

General Longstreet was nearer Richmond. Heavy masses of troops were

hurled upon our line, and we would have to rally our forces at a

certain point to meet the attack. By the time we would repel it, we

would find another point attacked, and would hurry to defend that. Of

course, withdrawing men from one part of the line would leave it

exposed, and the enemy would rush in. Then we would have to drive them

out and reëstablish our line. Thus the battle raged day after day. Our

line would bend and twist, and swell and break, and close again, only

to be battered against once more. Our people performed prodigies of

valor. How they endured through those terrible, hopeless, bloody days,

I do not know. They fought desperately and heroically, although they

were so weakened through hunger and work that they could scarcely

stand upon their feet and totter from one point of assault to another.

But they never complained. They fought sternly, grimly, as men who had

made up their minds to die. And we held our lines. Somehow or

other--God only knows how--we managed day by day to wrest from the

Federals the most of our lines. Then the men, dropping in the

trenches, would eat their scanty rations, try to forget their hunger,

and snatch an hour or two of sleep.

THE EVACUATION OF PETERSBURG.

Our picket lines were attacked somewhere every night. This thing went

on till the morning of the 2d of April. Early that day it became

evident that the supreme moment had come. The enemy attacked in

unusually heavy force, and along the line of mine and Hill's corps. It

became absolutely necessary to {492} concentrate a few men at points

along my line, in order to make a determined resistance. This left

great gaps in my line of breastworks, unprotected by anything save a

vidette or two. Of course, the Federals broke through these undefended

passes, and established themselves in my breastworks. At length,

having repulsed the forces attacking the points I defended, I began

reëstablishing my line. My men fought with a valor and a desperate

courage that has been rarely equalled, in my opinion, in military

annals. We recaptured position after position, and by four o'clock in

the afternoon I had reëstablished my whole line except at one point.

This was very strongly defended, but I prepared to assault it. I

notified General Lee of my purpose and of the situation, when he sent

me a message, telling me that Hill's lines had been broken, and that

General Hill himself had been killed. He ordered, therefore, that I

should make no further fight, but prepare for the evacuation which he

had determined to make that night. That night we left Petersburg.

Hill's corps, terribly shattered and without its commander, crossed

the river first, and I followed, having orders from General Lee to

cover the retreat. We spent the night in marching, and early the next

morning the enemy rushed upon us. We had to turn and beat them back.

Then began the most heroic and desperate struggle ever sustained by

troops--a worn and exhausted force of hardly four thousand men, with a

vast and victorious army, fresh and strong, pressing upon our heels!

We turned upon every hilltop to meet them, and give our wagon-trains

and artillery time to get ahead. Instantly they would strike us, we

invariably repulsed them. They never broke through my dauntless

heroes; but after we had fought for an hour or two, we would find huge

masses of men pressing down our flanks, and to keep from being

surrounded I would have to withdraw my men. We always retreated in

good order, though always under fire. As we retreated we would wheel

and fire, or repel a rush, and then stagger on to the next hill-top,

or vantage ground, where a new fight would be made. And so on through

the entire day. At night my men had no rest. We marched through the

night in order to get a little respite from fighting. All night long I

would see my poor fellows hobbling along, prying wagons or artillery

out of the mud, and supplementing the work of our broken-down horses.

At dawn, though, they would be in line ready for battle, and they

would fight with the steadiness and valor of the Old Guard.

[Illustration: APPOMATTOX COURT-HOUSE. (From a War Department

photograph.)]

THE LAST COUNCIL OF WAR.

This lasted until the night of the 7th of April. The retreat of Lee's

army was lit up with the fire and flash of battle, in which my brave

men moved about like demigods for five days {493} and nights. Then we

were sent to the front for a rest, and Longstreet was ordered to cover

the retreating army. On the evening of the 8th, when I had reached the

front, my scout George brought me two men in Confederate uniform, who,

he said, he believed to be the enemy, as he had seen them counting our

men as they filed past. I had the men brought to my campfire, and

examined them. They made a most plausible defence, but George was

positive they were spies, and I ordered them searched. He failed to

find anything, when I ordered him to examine their boots. In the

bottom of one of the boots I found an order from General Grant to

General Ord, telling him to move by forced marches toward Lynchburg

and cut off General Lee's retreat. The men then confessed that they

were spies, and belonged to General Sheridan. They stated that they

knew that the penalty of their course was death, but asked that I

should not kill them, as the war could only last a few days longer,

anyhow. I kept them prisoners, and turned them over to General

Sheridan after the surrender. I at once sent the information to

General Lee, and a short time afterward received orders to go to his

headquarters. That night was held Lee's last council of war. There

were present General Lee, General Fitzhugh Lee, as head of the

cavalry, and Pendleton, as chief of artillery, and myself. General

Longstreet was, I think, too busily engaged to attend. General Lee

then exhibited to us the correspondence he had had with General Grant

that day, and asked our opinion of the situation. It seemed that

surrender was inevitable. The only chance of escape was that I could

cut a way for the army through the lines in front of me. General Lee

asked me if I could do this. I replied that I did not know what forces

were in front of me; that if General Ord had not arrived--as we

thought then he had not--with his heavy masses of infantry, I could

cut through. I guaranteed that my men would cut a way through all the

cavalry that could be massed in front of them. The council finally

dissolved with the understanding that the army should be surrendered

if I discovered the next morning, after feeling the enemy's line, that

the infantry had arrived in such force that I could not cut my way

through.

NEARING THE END.

My men were drawn up in the little town of Appomattox that night. I

still had about four thousand men under me, as the army had been

divided into two commands and given to General Longstreet and myself.

Early on the morning of the 9th I prepared for the assault upon the

enemy's line, and began the last fighting done in Virginia. My men

rushed forward gamely and broke the line of the enemy and captured two

pieces of artillery. I was still unable to tell what I was fighting; I

did not know whether I was striking infantry or dismounted cavalry. I

only knew that my men were driving them back, and were getting further

and further through. Just then I had a message from General Lee,

telling me a flag of truce was in existence, leaving it to my

discretion as to what course to pursue. My men were still pushing

their way on. I sent at once to hear from General Longstreet, feeling

that, if he was marching toward me, we might still cut through and

carry the army forward. I learned that he was about two miles off,

with his face just opposite from mine, fighting for his life. I thus

saw that the case was hopeless. The further each of us drove the enemy

the further we drifted apart, and the more exposed we left our wagon

trains and artillery, which were parked between us. Every line either

of us broke only opened the gap the wider. I saw plainly that the

Federals would soon rush in between us, and then there would have been

no army. I, therefore, determined to send a flag of truce. I called

Colonel Peyton of my staff to me, and told him that I wanted him to

carry a flag of truce forward. He replied:

"General, I have no flag of truce."

I told him to get one. He replied:

"General, we have no flag of truce in our command."

Then said I, "Get your handkerchief, put it on a stick, and go

forward."

"I have no handkerchief, General."

"Then borrow one and go forward with it."

He tried, and reported to me that there was no handkerchief in my

staff.

"Then, Colonel, use your shirt!"

"You see, General, that we all have on flannel shirts."

At last, I believe, we found a man who had a white shirt. He gave it

to us, and I tore off the back and tail, and, tying this to a stick,

Colonel Peyton went out toward the enemy's lines. I instructed him to

simply say to General Sheridan that General Lee had written me that a

flag of truce had been sent from his and Grant's headquarters, and

that he could act as he thought best on this information. In a few

moments he came back with some one representing General Sheridan. This

officer said:

"General Sheridan requested me to present his compliments to you, and

to demand the unconditional surrender of your army."

"Major, you will please return my compliments to General Sheridan, and

say that I will not surrender."

"But, General, he will annihilate you."

"I am perfectly well aware of my situation. I simply gave General

Sheridan some information on which he may or may not desire to act."

THE FLAG OF TRUCE.

He went back to his lines, and in a short time General Sheridan came

forward on an immense horse, and attended by a very large staff. Just

here an incident occurred that came near having a serious ending. As

General Sheridan was approaching I noticed one of my sharp-shooters

drawing his rifle down upon him. I at once called to him: "Put down

your gun, sir; this is a flag of truce." But he simply settled it to

his shoulder and was drawing a bead on Sheridan, when I leaned forward

and jerked his gun. He struggled with me, but I finally raised it. I

then loosed it, and he started to aim again. I caught it again, when

he turned his stern white face, all broken with grief and streaming

with tears, up to me, and said: "Well, General, then let him keep on

his own side." The fighting had continued up to this point. Indeed,

after the flag of truce, a regiment of my men, who had been fighting

their way through toward where we were, and who did not know of a flag

of truce, fired into some of Sheridan's cavalry. This was speedily

stopped, however. I showed General Sheridan General Lee's note, and he

determined to await events. He dismounted, and I did the same. Then,

for the first time, the men seemed to understand what it all meant,

and then the poor fellows broke down. The men cried like children.

Worn, starved, and bleeding as they were, they had rather have died

than have surrendered. At one word from me they would have hurled

themselves on the enemy, and have {494} cut their way through or have

fallen to a man with their guns in their hands. But I could not permit

it. The great drama had been played to its end. But men are seldom

permitted to look upon such a scene as the one presented here. That

these men should have wept at surrendering so unequal a fight, at

being taken out of this constant carnage and storm, at being sent back

to their families; that they should have wept at having their starved

and wasted forms lifted out of the jaws of death and placed once more

before their hearthstones, was an exhibition of fortitude and

patriotism that might set an example for all time.

THE END.

Ah, sir, every ragged soldier that surrendered that day, from the

highest to the lowest, from the old veteran to the beardless boy,

every one of them, sir, carried a heart of gold in his breast! It made

my heart bleed for them, and sent the tears streaming down my face, as

I saw them surrender the poor, riddled, battle-stained flags that they

had followed so often, and that had been made sacred with the blood of

their comrades. The poor fellows would step forward, give up the

scanty rag that they had held so precious through so many long and

weary years, and then turn and wring their empty hands together and

bend their heads in an agony of grief. Their sobs and the sobs of

their comrades could be heard for yards around. Others would tear the

flags from the staff and hide the precious rag in their bosoms and

hold it there. As General Lee rode down the lines with me, and saw the

men crying, and heard them cheering "Uncle Robert" with their simple

but pathetic remarks, he turned to me and said, in a broken voice:

"Oh, General, if it had only been my lot to have fallen in one of our

battles, to have given my life to this cause that we could not save!"

I told him that he should not feel that way, that he had done all that

mortal man could do, and that every man and woman in the South would

feel this and would make him feel it. "No, no!" he said, "there will

be many who will blame me. But, General, I have the consolation of

knowing that my conscience approves what I have done, and that the

army sustains me."

In a few hours the army was scattered, and the men went back to their

ruined and dismantled homes, many of them walking all the way to

Georgia and Alabama, all of them penniless, worn out, and well-nigh

heartbroken. Thus passed away Lee's army; thus were its last battles

fought, thus was it surrendered, and thus was the great American

tragedy closed, let us all hope, forever.

[Illustration: GENERAL LEE LEAVING THE McLEAN HOUSE AFTER THE

SURRENDER.]

[Illustration: A SOUTHERN PLANTER'S RESIDENCE IN RUINS.]

{495}

CAMP LIFE.

BY GENERAL SELDEN CONNOR.

A MAJORITY OF SOLDIERS IN THE UNION ARMY WERE YOUNG MEN--THE WAR A

COLOSSAL PICNIC--THE ATTRACTIONS OF CAMP LIFE FOR YOUNG MEN--DRILLING

AND GUARD DUTY--STYLES OF TENTS USED IN THE ARMY--LOG HUTS FOR WINTER

QUARTERS--A NEW USE FOR WELL-SEASONED FENCE RAILS--RISE AND FALL OF A

LIGHT "TOWN OF CANVAS"--GENUINE LOVE FOR HARD-TACK--THE TRIALS AND

DANGERS OF AN ARMY SUTLER--DRAMATIC AND MINSTREL ENTERTAINMENTS IN

CAMP--HORSE-RACING AND THE "DERBY" OF THE ARMY OF THE

POTOMAC--CARD-PLAYING AND OTHER GAMES--CAMPS OF NORTHERN SOLDIERS KEPT

IN BETTER CONDITION THAN THOSE OF SOUTHERN SOLDIERS--FENCING, BOXING,

AND DRILLING--STUDYING GEOLOGY.

From one point of view the war for the Union was a colossal picnic.

Not that it was in the spirit of a summer holiday, with pure gayety of

heart, that a million of the bravest and best of the country took to

the tented field to interpose their lives between their country and

all that would do her harm. No soldiers were ever more impressed with

the serious nature of the contest for which they had enlisted than

were those of '61. But the "men" who composed the Union armies were by

far and away a majority very young men; they were then really "the

boys" in the sight of all the world, as they are now to each other

when veteran comrades meet and "Bill" greets "Joe," and the wrongs of

time are forgotten in the vividness of their memories of the time when

they wore the blue livery and ate the very hard bread of Uncle Sam.

They were real human boys, like those of to-day, and as the boys of

'76 very likely were; and so, mingled with the glow of patriotic ardor

in their breasts, and the determination to do their duty whatever

might betide, there was a keen sense of the novelty of the soldier's

life. They had read of wars and soldiers from Cæsar to Zack Taylor,

and were filled with the traditional pride of American citizens in the

heroism and exploits of the men who achieved independence. The greater

number of them had recollections, more or less clear, of cheering for

Buena Vista and Resaca de la Palma. But wars were "old, unhappy,

far-off things," entirely out of date, inconsistent alike with "the

spirit of the times" and "the principles of free popular government."

"The American boys of this peaceful age would never be called

upon"-- But, hark! the drum! Partings were sad, with home, kindred,

friends. The old life-plans with all their courses, ambitions, hopes,

and dreams, were temporarily turned to the wall. There was no room for

regrets or forebodings. Duty called, and their country's flag waved

its summons to them. War's dangers were before them; but there were in

prospect also the experience of a soldier's life, the zest of the

sharp change from the dull monotony of peaceful pursuits to the stir

and novelty of the camp. They took up the new life with a kind of

"fearful joy." It had its drawbacks, but on the whole it had many and

strong attractions to lusty and imaginative youth. "It amuses me,"

said a veteran of the Mexican war to a company just enlisted in a

three-months regiment under the President's first call for troops, "to

hear you boys talk about coming home when your term of service is out.

When you once follow the drum you are bound to keep on just as long as

the music lasts." The boys found that the veteran was right. At the

conclusion of their three months' service they reënlisted almost, if

not quite, to a man, and most of them became officers.

[Illustration: PUNISHMENT INFLICTED FOR MINOR OFFENCES.]

It did not quite suit the dignity of the young soldiers, as free and

independent American citizens, to yield implicit obedience to any man,

and especially to be "bossed" by officers who, as their neighbors, had

no claim to superiority, and to have all their incomings and outgoings

regulated by the tap of the drum. When they realized, as they were not

long in doing, that officers as well as men had to obey at their

peril, and that good discipline was essential to their well-being and

efficiency as soldiers, they accepted the situation, and rendered a

ready and dutiful obedience.

The secret of the charm of the soldier's life is not far to seek. The

soldier is care-free, absolved from that "pernicious liberty of

choice" which makes ordinary life weary and anxious, and his

responsibility is limited to his well-defined line of duty. Above all,

the bond of sympathy is closer than in any other form of association.

To pursue the same routine, to go to bed and rise up at a common call,

to be served with the same food, drink, and clothes by a common

master, to share the same hardships and perils, to own one leadership,

and to be engaged in a common purpose with hundreds of thousands of

others, constitutes in the {496} highest degree that unity which

Cicero found to be the essence of friendship, the bond of nearness and

dearness known to the soldier as "comradeship." Allied to this

feeling, and aiding to exalt the soldier's profession, is that "esprit

de corps" which fills his heart with pride in his company, his

regiment, corps, and army. As a rider feels that he shares the sinewy

strength of the steed under him, so the soldier, though a unit among

thousands, exults in the dread power and beauty of the bounding column

or long line of which he forms a part; in the order and precision

which transform a multitude of individuals into one terrible engine.

The Roman citizen was not more proud of his country than the Union

soldier was of his army. A soldier of the Army of the Potomac writes

in a home letter dated April, 1863: "I have just taken a ride of about

fifteen miles through the army. It is really a sight worth while to go

through this vast army and see how admirably everything is conducted.

The discipline is fine, the men look healthy and are in the best

possible spirits, and the cleanliness of the camps and grounds is a

model for housewives." The delights of the gypsy-like way of living of

the soldier had a large part in forming the bright side of the new

vocation. It seemed good to turn from the comforts and luxuries of

easeful homes, and go back to the simple and nomadic habits of the

hardy primitive man; to live more closely with Nature, and be subject

to her varying moods; to have the sod for a couch, and the winds for a

lullaby, and to be constantly familiar with the changing skies from

early morning through the day and the watches of the night. The pork

and beef boiled in the kettles hung over the campfire, the beans

cooked in Dutch ovens buried in the embers, owed their sweet savor to

the picturesque manner of the cooking as well as to uncritical

appetites sharpened by living in the open air, and by plenty of

exercise, drilling, guard duty, and "fatigue." And what feast could

compare with the unpurchased chicken broiled on the coals, sweet

potatoes roasted in the ashes--trophies of his "bow and spear" in

foraging--and his tin cup of ration coffee; the product of the

marauder's own culinary skill, over his private fire, served "à la

fourchette" and smoking hot; with perhaps the luxury of a soft

hoe-cake, acquired by barter of some "auntie," in lieu of the daily

hard bread!

Not least among the fascinations of the soldier's life is the

uncertain tenure he has of his camp. He has no local habitation. He

may flatter himself that the army is going to remain long enough to

make it worth his while to provide the comforts and conveniences

within the compass of his resources and ingenuity, and when he has

fairly established himself and contemplates his work with complacency,

the ruthless order comes to "break camp," and down goes his beautiful

home as if it were but a child's house of blocks. He grumbles a little

at the sacrifice, but the prospect of fresh scenes and adventures is

sufficient solace of his disappointment, and he cheerfully makes

himself at home again at the next halt of his regiment.

In the matter of habitation the soldier did not pursue the order of

the pioneer who begins with a brush lean-to, then builds a log house,

and continues building nobler mansions as his labors prosper and

fortune smiles, until, maybe, a brownstone front shelters him. The

home of the soldier of the War for the Union was, like the bumble-bee,

"the biggest when it was born." In 1861 the volunteer regiments were

generally fitted out, before leaving their respective States, with

tents, wagons, mess furniture, and all other "impedimenta," according

to the requirements of army regulations. The tents commonly furnished

for the use of the rank and file were the "A" and the "Sibley"

patterns. The "A" was wedge-shaped, as its name indicates, and was

supposed to quarter five or six men. The "Sibley" was a simple cone,

suggested by the Indian "tepee," with an opening at the apex for

ventilation and the exit of the smoke of the fire, for which provision

was made in the centre of the tent by the use of a tall iron tripod as

a foundation for the pole. It comfortably accommodated fifteen or

sixteen men, lying feet to the pole, and radiating thence like the

spokes of a wheel. This tent, improved by the addition of a curtain,

or wall, is now in use by the regular army, and it is known as the

"conical wall tent." Officers were provided with wall tents, canvas

houses, two to each field or staff officer above the rank of captain,

one to each captain, and one to every two subaltern officers. Each

company had a "cook tent," and the cooking was done over a fire in the

open. The fires of the cooks of companies from the northern lumbering

regions could always be distinguished by the "bean holes," in which

the covered iron pot containing the frequent "pork and beans," the

favorite and distinctive article of Yankee diet, was buried in hot

embers and, barring removal by unauthorized hands, allowed to remain

all night. The lumberman and the soldier declare that he who has not

eaten them cooked in this manner does not really "know beans." The

regimental camp of infantry was arranged according to regulations,

with such modifications as the nature of the ground might make

desirable. The company "streets" were at right angles with the "color

line" or "front" on which the regiment was formed, and began ten paces

in rear of it. The tents of the "rank and file" of each company were

pitched on both sides of its street. In rear of them, with an interval

of twenty paces between the lines, and in successive order, was the

line of "kitchens," the line of non-commissioned staff, sutler and

police guard, the line of company officers, and the line of field and

staff officers. In the rear of the camp were the baggage train and

officers' horses.

The first winter of the Army of the Potomac was to a large part of the

army one of much suffering from cold. The hills of Virginia, along the

Potomac, are anything but tropical in the winter. The frequent light

snows and rains, followed by thawy, sunny days, produced a moisture in

the air which, combined with winds from the mountains, struck a chill

to the very marrow of the bones of even the men from the far North

accustomed to a much lower temperature but in a dry atmosphere. The

commander of the army gave no encouragement to the building of winter

quarters, and the prevailing impression was that the army must remain

on the _qui vive_, ready to move on slight notice whenever the

commander (or the enemy) might give the word. There was plenty of fine

timber in the section of country occupied by the army, and it would

have been an easy matter to the skilled axemen and mechanics in which

most regiments abounded, and entailing comparatively slight expense,

to build log huts that would have housed them in comfort and saved

many a stout soldier for the impending days of battle. Some commands,

either by special permission or taking the responsibility upon

themselves, did build huts, and were snugly and warmly housed for

months, while their less fortunate or unenterprising neighbors were

shivering under their canvas. The rude fireplaces made of stones, with

the tenacious Virginia mud for mortar, having chimneys of sticks and

clay, or barrels, served fairly well to heat a well-chinked hut; but

their small, sputtering fires could make but little impression on the

temperature of a space which had only a thin cotton barrier as a

defence against the keen wintry blasts. The unnecessary hardships of

such exposure inflicted {497} severe loss on the army, especially in

those regiments which had been visited in the autumn by that scourge

common to new levies, the measles. That disease, though not dangerous

in itself, leaves its subjects in an enfeebled condition for a long

time after apparent recovery, and incapable of withstanding exposures

and ailments ordinarily regarded as slight. In the camps of regiments

which had been afflicted with it, the burial party marching with slow

and solemn step to the wail of the dirge was an all too frequent

ceremony through the long winter, and far from inspiriting to young

soldiers, while the number of the dead was as great as that of the

slain in a hard-fought battle. Perhaps the relentless necessities

attending the hasty gathering and organization of a great army made it

difficult or impossible to bestow upon convalescents the care

necessary to preserve their lives; but, leaving aside the question of

humanity, an intelligent self-interest should have induced the

responsible head of the army to make every effort to guard against

such deplorable impairment of the strength of his command as arose

from causes which seem to have been preventable. If the men who

perished miserably on the bleak hillsides of Virginia, and who never

had a chance to strike a blow for the cause that was so dear to them,

had been sent where they could have received proper care and

treatment, the number of these restored to health and strength would

have constituted a powerful reinforcement in the following campaign

where the cry for help was raised so lustily.

[Illustration: HOSPITAL CORPS--AMBULANCE DRILL.]

The mistake of the first winter was not repeated. The fact was

recognized that the army must go into winter quarters, and timely and

adequate preparations to encounter the rigors of the season were made

by the whole army. An officer writing from "Camp near White Oak

Church, Virginia," in the winter of 1862-63, says: "We have fixed up

our camp so that it is quite comfortable. Each squad of four men has

its hut, made by digging into the ground a foot or two and then

placing on the ground at the sides several logs, and roofing with

their shelter tents. At the side they dig a fireplace, and build a

chimney outside with sticks and mud. It is Paddy-like, but much more

comfortable than no house at all. My 'house' is very nice; it is built

up with split hardwood logs about four feet above the ground, and on

this foundation my wall tent is pitched, making {498} a room nine by

nine, with walls six feet high. At one end there is a fine fireplace,

which does not smoke at all. I told Captain C., who was just in, that

if I had a cat on the hearth it would be quite domestic." The general

style of architecture throughout the army was the same; but there were

wide differences in the manner of construction and the details of the

work. The huts of some commands were rudely built and without

uniformity, giving to the camp a mean and squalid appearance, while

other camps were very attractive with their rows of solid and

trim-looking structures, as like each other as the houses of a builder

in a city addition.

The real soldiering and camping began when, after a period of

stripping for the campaign by sending the sick to hospitals and all

unnecessary baggage to the rear for storage, of outfitting with all

the required clothing, arms, equipments, and ammunition, and of

repeated inspections and reviews to make sure that everybody and

everything was in readiness, the troops were drawn out of winter

quarters and put on the march toward the enemy. Every man had to be

his own pack animal and carry upon his shoulders and hips his

food--rations for one day or a week, according to the nature of the

enterprise in hand and the prospect of making a connection with the

wagon trains; drink in his canteen; cartridges--a cartridge box full

and oftentimes as many more as could be crowded into knapsacks and

pockets; and, lastly, his lodging, a woollen blanket and one of

rubber, and the oblong piece of cotton cloth which was his part of the

"shelter tent." This tent was invented by the French and had long been

in use by them. It is one of the most useful articles of the soldier's

equipment. It is but a slight addition to his burden, and a very great

one to his comfort. Two or more comrades, by buttoning their several

sections together, and the use of a few slight sticks, or sticks and

cord, can speedily prepare a very effective protection against the

dew, the wind, and "the heaviest of the rain." Generally three

comrades joined their sections to form a tent; two sections made the

sides and one an end, the other end either remaining open to admit the

heat of a fire or being closed by a rubber blanket. When four men

tented together, which they could do by "packing close," the extra

section was used instead of the rubber blanket, and then the squad was

very thoroughly housed.

Schiller's word-picture of a military camp vividly recalls to the

soldier one of the most characteristic and impressive pictures of his

army life:

"Lo there! the soldier, rapid architect!

Builds his light town of canvas, and at once

The whole scene moves and bustles momently.

With arms and neighing steeds, and mirth and quarrel,

The motley market fills: the roads, the streams,

Are crowded with new freights; trade stirs and hurries.

But on some morrow morn, all suddenly,

The tents drop down, the horde renews its march.

Dreary and solitary as a churchyard

The meadows and down-trodden seed-plot lie,

And the year's harvest is gone utterly."

[Illustration: A NEW RECRUIT BEING INITIATED.]

The rise and fall of "the light towns of canvas," movable cities that

attended the progress of the army, seemed wonderful and magical.

Imagine a broad plantation stretching its sunny acres from river to

forest, a vast and lonely area with no signs of human occupancy

anywhere, except, perhaps, the toil-bent figures of a few bondservants

of the soil at their tasks in the fields, under the eye of the

overseer, lending by the unjoyous monotony of their labor an air of

gloom and melancholy to the oppressive loneliness of the scene.

Suddenly and quietly from the road at the edge of the forest a few

horsemen ride into the open, a banneret bearing some cabalistic device

fluttering over them, closely followed by a rapidly moving column of

men whose gleaming muskets indicate afar off their trade; and

presently, when the centre of the regiment breaks into view and Old

Glory appears in all its beauty against the background of dark forest,

it announces to all who may behold that one of the grand armies of the

Republic is on the march. As the regiment emerges in the easy marching

disorder of "route step" and "arms at will," it seems to be a confused

tide of men flowing steadily along and filling the whole roadway. A

few sharp orders ring out, and the throng is transformed almost

instantly to a solid military machine; officers take their posts,

"files cover," arms are carried uniformly, the cadence step is

taken--"short on the right" that the men may "close up" to the proper

distance--and, under the guidance of a staff officer, the regiment

marches to its assigned camping-ground, where it is brought to a

front, arms are stacked, and ranks broken. With whoops and cries

expressing their gratification that the day's march is over and a rest

is in prospect, the released soldiers scatter, unstrapping their

irksome knapsacks and throwing them off with sighs of relief, and

betake themselves to the preparation of their temporary home. If there

be any prize which these old campaigners have discovered as with wise

prevision and hawk-like ken they surveyed their environment in

marching to the camping-ground--a comely fence of well-seasoned rails,

for instance--they "make a break" for it on the instant of their

deliverance from the restraint of discipline, and with a unanimity and

alacrity that give little hope of a share to the slow-footed, and fill

the hearts of the incoming regiment, not yet released, with envy and

unavailing longing. When the scramble is over, and the foragers have

swarmed in like ants, laden with their plunder, each squad with

practised skill proceeds to its domestic duties. One man pitches the

"dog tent," and utilizes any {499} material that may be at hand for

making the couch dry and soft. Another, laden with the canteens,

explores the hollows and copses for the cool spring of which he has

had tantalizing visions on the dusty march. The rest build the fire,

if one is needed for warmth, or for cooking in case the wagons

containing the company mess kettles and rations are not with the

command or have not come up, and therefore every man is left to boil

his coffee and fry his pork to his own taste, and lend a hand whenever

needed. Every man is expected to contribute of the best that the

country affords, and not to be nice as to the method of acquisition,

to eke out the plain fare of the marching ration. Foraging in

Virginia, except to the cavalry, was not a very prosperous pursuit

after the country had been occupied a few months by the army. There

was, however, game almost anywhere for those emancipated from vulgar

prejudices in the matter of diet, as De Trobriand's Zouaves appear to

have been, for he says of them that they "discovered the nutritive

qualities of the black snake." The _menu_ including a black snake hash

suggests a wide range of possibilities. By the time the first arrivals

have leisure to look about them, the plain far and near is covered

with tents: the "rapid architect" has done his work, and the "light

town" is established.

Perhaps before the next morning's sun was high in the heavens the town

had disappeared like a scene conjured up by a magician, leaving the

plain to resume its wonted loneliness so strangely interrupted.

The routine of camp-life so absorbed the time of the soldier that

there was little left to hang heavy on his hands. The odd minutes

between drills, roll-calls, police and fatigue duty, could be well

utilized in cleaning his musket and equipments, washing and mending

his clothes, darning his stockings, procuring fuel, improving his

quarters, writing home, and re-reading old letters. After a hard

night's duty on camp guard or picket, with sleep on the instalment

plan, it was luxury to lie warm and make up the arrears undisturbed by

fear of the dread summons, "Fall in, second relief." Very restful it

was, too, to stretch out at full length on the spring bunk, made of

barrel staves across poles, with a knapsack for a pillow, and indulge

in the fragrant briarwood, conversing with comrades of home and

friends, or discussing the gossip of the camp. In spring and summer

camps each tent commonly had an arbor of foliage for a porch, and when

there swung in its shelter a shapely hammock ingeniously woven of

withes and grapevines, attached to spring poles driven into the earth,

and filled with the balmy tips of cedar boughs, the extreme of

sybaritish appointments was attained. It was always in order to hunt

for "something to eat," not perhaps so much to appease absolute hunger

as to vary the tiresome monotony of the regulation diet. Desirable

articles of food were acquired in all ways recognized by civilized

peoples as legitimate: by purchase, by barter, and by--right of

discovery. In camp and all accessible places on the march the sutler

tempted appetites weary of hard-tack and pork, with dry ginger cakes,

cheese, dried fruits, and apples in their season. Sardines, condensed

milk, and other tinned food preparations were so expensive that they

could not be indulged in to a great extent. The canning industry was

then in its infancy. If it had then attained its present development,

and all kinds of fruits, vegetables, and meats had been accessible to

the soldier, he would have been in full sympathy with the Arizona

miner who said to his "pard," as they were consuming the customary

flapjacks and bacon, "Tom, I hope I shall strike it rich; I should

just like to strike it rich."--"Well, Bill, s'pose you should strike

it rich, what then?"--"If I should strike it rich, Tom, I'd live on

canned goods _one_ six months."

[Illustration: THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC--FIRST YEAR IN WINTER QUARTERS.

(From a War Department photograph.)]

Although the old soldier would growl about his hard-tack and feign to

have slight regard for it, the sincerity of his attachment was

attested by an incident occurring in a command which halted for a few

days, after the battle of Gettysburg, at a rural town in Pennsylvania.

It was far from the base of supplies, and the commissary's supplies

had become exhausted, and he was obliged to purchase flour and issue

it to the companies. Having no facilities for baking, they had their

flour made into bread at the farmhouses in their vicinity. The bread

was fairly good and there was plenty of it; nevertheless, when the

wagons appeared laden with the familiar boxes of veteran "squares,"

cheers went up all along the line as if for a victory or the return of

missing comrades.

{500} [Illustration: LANDING REINFORCEMENTS FOR FORT PICKENS, FLORIDA,

JUNE, 1861.]

{501} The sutler was an institution of the camp not to be overlooked.

When transportation was safe and not expensive, he kept a general

store of everything that officers and men required or could be tempted

to buy, save such articles as were prohibited by the Council of

Administration which had the general oversight of his business. Where

carriage was difficult and dangerous, a choice of articles had to be

made in order to supply those most needed. Tobacco and matches were

easily first in order of selection. Soldiers of the Army of the

Potomac will remember the blue-ended matches that left such a track

behind when struck; they touched nothing they did not adorn.

The sutlers of German-American regiments were expected to accomplish

the impossible in order to supply lager, Rhine wine, and bolognas.

Whenever a fresh stock of such goods had been received, the crowd

around the sutler's tent mustered in far greater numbers than appeared

at the parade of the regiment. It was popularly considered very

desirable to have a German regiment in a brigade. In one respect the

sutler's business was a safe one: he could collect at the paymaster's

table the sums due him, if he took care not to give men credit in

excess of the proportion of their pay permitted by regulations. On the

other hand, his profits were in danger of diminution from many

quarters. In camp the sutler and his clerks could not always

distinguish, among a crowd of customers coming and going, who paid and

who did not; storehouses were slight and penetrable, and marauders

were watchful and cunning. Those commands were very exceptional that

were in Falstaff's condition, "heinously unprovided with a thief." On

the march, dangers to the sutler's stock multiplied. To say nothing of

ordinary risks attending carriage over bad roads, and of the watchful

guerilla, there was always an uneasy feeling in the breast of the

purveyor when most surrounded by men in friendly uniform, that there

might be "unguarded moments" when the cry, "Rally on the sutler,"

would be followed by a speedy division of his goods, leaving him

lamenting. Personally the sutler was generally a prudent and tactful

man, and gained the goodwill of his customers by an obliging

disposition and a readiness to take a joke even if it was a little

rough and at his expense. When the command was in the field he made

himself especially serviceable as a medium of communication with the

"base," and many and various were the commissions he was called upon

to execute.

[Illustration: SOLDIERS' WINTER HUTS--TWO VIEWS.]

Camp life had its diversions in addition to the many interesting and

enjoyable features of the daily round of duties. Military life in

itself is necessarily spectacular, abounding in scenes of animation

and display. He must be of an unsusceptible nature and void of

enthusiasm who is indifferent to the splendid pageantry which attends

the business of war; whose senses are not pleased and imagination

excited by charging squadrons, batteries dashing across the field with

a rumble and clang suggestive of the thunderbolts they bear, and by

"heavy and solemn" battalions moving with perfect order and precision

to the stormy music of martial airs, with banners flying, rows of

bright arms reflecting the rays of the sun in streams of silver light,

and horses proudly caracoling in excited enjoyment of the music, the

glitter, and the movement.

Such spectacles thrill the breast of the soldier with pride in his

profession, and cause him to feel that

"All else to noble hearts is dross,

All else on earth is mean."

The daily ceremonies of "guard mounting" and "dress parade," and the

frequent reviews and brigade and division drills, afforded splendid

entertainments, entirely gratuitous except the contribution of

personal services. Candor compels the admission that the soldier

sometimes considered the show dear at the price. When weather and

ground were favorable, the men played the game that then passed for

"ball"--not so {502} warlike an affair as the present contest by that

name--and pitched quoits, using horse-shoes, when attainable, for that

purpose. The Virginia winter often afforded material for snowballing,

and there were occasions when whole regiments in order of battle were

pitted against each other in mimic warfare, filling the air with snowy

pellets, and Homeric deeds were done. Theatrical and minstrel

entertainments were given by "native talent," and were liberally

patronized. The first warm days of spring opened the season of

horse-racing. The "Derby" of the Army of the Potomac was St. Patrick's

Day. Running and hurdle races were held on a grand scale. The fine

horses and their dashing riders, the grand stand filled with generals

and staff officers, visiting dignitaries and ladies, the band composed

of many regimental bands consolidated for the occasion and pouring

forth a perfect Niagara of sound, mounted officers and soldiers in

thousands occupying the central space of the track, and General

Meagher, in the costume of "a fine old Irish gentleman," presiding as

grand patron of the races--all combined, with the military accessories

of glittering uniforms and comparisons, to make a scene of unusual

animation and brilliancy. For "fireside games" the various inventions

played with the well-thumbed pack of cards were greatly in favor.

Sometimes it was a simple, innocent game "just to pass away the time."

At other times it was a serious contest resulting to the unfortunate

in "passing away" all that was left him of his last pay and perhaps an

interest in his next stipend. The colored retainers and camp followers

were generally votaries of the goddess of chance and were skilled in

getting on her blind side. One day Major Blank, a gallant officer of

the staff, was showing a friend some tricks with cards. Bob, his

colored boy, was apparently very busy brushing up the quarters and

setting things to rights, paying no attention to the exhibition. The

next day the major saw his retainer counting over a whole fistful of

greenbacks. "Why, Bob," said he, "where did you get all that money?"

Bob, looking up with a grin and a chuckle: "I'se down ter de cavalry

last night, major, and dem fellers down dar didn't know nuffin 'bout

dat little trick wid de jacks what you's showin' to de cunnel." Bob

had tasted the sweets of philosophy, and proved that "knowledge is

power." The colored "boys" who came into camp when the army was in the

enemy's country, for the purpose of gazing at the "Linkum" soldiers,

or marching along with them in any capacity that would give them

rations, gave much entertainment to their hosts by their simplicity,

their stolidness, or their accomplishments as whistling, singing, or

dancing darkies. The morning after "Williamsburg," half a dozen boys

from some plantation in the vicinity came near several officers

grouped about a fire. "Good morning, boys," said Captain C., "where

did you all come from?"--"We come from Marsa Jones's place, right over

yer," said the spokesman. "We h'ar de fightin' goin' on yes'erday, an'

we jes come over dis mornin' to see about it and see you all."--"Do

you think, boys," resumed the captain, "that it is quite the polite

thing to wear such clothes as you have on when you come to visit

gentlemen of President Lincoln's army?"--"Dese yer's de bes' close we

got," was the earnestly uttered reply. "You must certainly have better

hats than those?"--"No! no! no!" came in chorus, "we has only one hat

to w'ar."--"It is a shame," said the captain, drawing a memorandum

book from his pocket with a business-like air and poising his pencil,

"that such good-looking boys as you are should only have one hat, and

such bad ones at that; I must send back to Fortress Monroe and have

some hats sent up for you. What kind of a hat do you want?" addressing

himself to the spokesman. "I wants a low-crowned hat, massa," was the

quick and earnest response; and then each boy in turn eagerly

expressed his personal preference, "I wants a wide-rimmed hat," "I

wants a hat ter fit me," etc., until the order was completed and

apparently taken down by the guileful scribe. Their confidence made

the deceit so easy as to greatly dull the point of the practical joke.

Maybe they never questioned the good faith of their generous friend,

and ascribed the non-delivery of the hats to other causes than his

neglect.

It was not often that a camp had such a sensational and pleasurable

incident as that which occurred to the First Vermont volunteer

infantry, a three months' regiment, at Newport News, in the summer of

1861. The Woodstock company formed a part of the detachment of that

regiment, which participated in the unfortunate expedition to Big

Bethel; and on the return of the company, private Reuben Parker was

missing. The company had been somewhat broken up in making an attack

in the woods. Several men remembered seeing Parker, who was a brave

fellow and a skilled rifleman, somewhat in advance of the rest of the

company, busily loading and firing. Some were even quite sure they had

seen him fall. Days and weeks having passed without his appearance or

any further news of him, there seemed no doubt about his fate, and he

was reported "killed in action." Funeral services were held at his

home in Vermont, and his wife and children put on mourning for the

lost husband and father. One day the surprising and joyful report

spread swiftly through the camp, that Parker was alive and had

returned. He came from Richmond under the escort of two Louisiana

"tigers," sent in for exchange. He had been taken prisoner uninjured

and carried to Richmond, where he enjoyed the distinction of being the

first Yankee captive exhibited in that city, and the first occupant of

"the Libby." Parker was the lion of the day for many days after his

return to the company, and his accounts of the colloquies he held with

curious rebels, and of the insults and revilings he was subjected to

in prison, made him in great request among his comrades. His case was

the first of the instances occurring in the war when Southern prisons

"yawned" and yielded "their dead unto life again."

Mr. H. V. Redfield, whose home in Lower East Tennessee was visited

several times by both the Union and the Confederate armies, observed

and noted some of the differing characteristics of the two sides. It

was the opinion of his neighbors that they would see none of the

soldiers throughout the war, because they "could not get their cannon

over the mountains." But it was not long before they learned to their

cost that mountains offered no insurmountable obstacles to modern

armies, or to their artillery either.

The first time that it dawned upon the inhabitants of this section

that there was a possible fighting chance for the North, and that one

Southern soldier was not necessarily equal to five from the North, was

after the Confederate defeat at Mill Spring, Ky., where Zollicoffer

was killed. The Confederate panic was so complete and so lasting, that

some of the refugees ran fully one hundred and fifty miles from the

scene of battle before they dared stop to take their breath and rest.

They arrived wild-eyed and in confusion, and not only to the men

themselves, but to all the neighborhood, it was an "eye-opener" as to

the fact that there was a war on hand that was likely to last until

there had been some hard fighting on both sides.

It was not long after this that General Floyd, the disloyal Secretary

of War, who had done so much before his resignation {503} to prepare

the South for the conflict, came to Lower Tennessee in his flight from

Fort Donelson. He sent for the Northern men in the town, and told

them, in explanation of his flight from Donelson, that he would "never

be captured in this war. I have a long account to settle with the

Yankees, and they can settle it in hell!"

The Southern soldiers were always prone to talk back at their

officers, lacking the discipline which was quickly established in the

Union army; and when they suffered defeat they took it as a personal

disappointment, for which they meant to get even with the Yanks after

the war; and they also had a bad habit of laying the responsibility

for every reverse on the shoulders of their superiors. When General

Bragg retreated through Tennessee, his men were greatly cast down,

though they insisted that their retreat did not mean that they were

whipped, which they insisted they were not. "It is bad enough," said

one of the soldiers, "to run when we are whipped; but d--n this way of

beating the Yankees and then running away from them!" One of them was

asked where they were retreating to. "To Cuba," he said angrily, "if

old Bragg can get a bridge built across from Florida." A horse trade

was proposed on this retreat, between two soldiers whose horses were

pretty well spent, and a farmer who was willing to exchange fresher

ones for these and a bonus. One of the soldiers objected to the horse

that was offered to him, because it had a white face that the enemy

could see for a mile. "Oh, that's no objection," said his companion;

"it's the other end of Bragg's cavalry that is always toward the

Yankees."

At the beginning of the war the Confederate cavalry was rather the

better mounted, because so many of the men owned their own horses; but

as the original supply gave out, and the renewing of the mounts became

a question of the respective ability of the governments to furnish the

best animals, this difference changed in favor of the Northern

cavalry. Also, at the beginning the Confederates were by far the best

riders, as might be expected of a race of men who spent much time in

the saddle before the war. But it was not long before the Union

cavalryman learned to ride, too, and then, with better horses, better

equipments, and better fodder, the efficiency of the cavalry of the

North was superior.

Before the war had gotten very far along, the greater facility of the

Union Government for equipping, subsisting, and generally preparing

its army, brought about a contrast between the two hostile armies

distinctly favorable to that of the North. The Union men were better

fed. To be sure, the Confederates had plenty of tobacco, while often

the Union troops were rather short of that luxury, and were ready to

make trades with the pickets of the enemy in order to secure it. But

the Unionists had plenty of coffee, and that good, while coffee was an

item that quickly disappeared from the Southern bill of fare. Meat and

flour also became scarce, and through a good many campaigns corn-meal

was the staple of the Confederate diet. The advantage of having coffee

appeared in some cases to be a distinct military advantage. The story

is told of a man who had volunteered in the Confederate army, and had

been captured, paroled, and sent home. The Union army presently

encamped near his home, and his two boys went down to camp to take a

look around; and when some friends whom they met there regaled them

with all the crackers and coffee they wanted, they made up their minds

to enlist under Uncle Sam just to get an amount and quality of "grub"

to which they had long been strangers. The old man was much disturbed,

and went down to see what he could do to get the boys out of the

scrape. But he found that he himself was like the man who said he

could "resist anything except temptation," for his first taste of the

Yankee coffee seduced him from his allegiance to the Stars and Bars,

and he, too, enlisted for the war. This story is vouched for as a

fact, illustrating the seductive power of a good commissariat for the

enticement of recruits.

[Illustration: PRESIDENT LINCOLN VISITING CAMP.]

The Northern soldier was the best clothed, and the clothing was

uniform, which could not be said of that of the Southern soldier, who,

although he was supposed to be dressed in gray or butternut, was

really dressed in whatever he could pick up, which often did not

include overcoats or oil-blankets. Supplied with good materials, and

plenty of them, the Northern soldier was expected to take care of

them, and he did so. But the Confederate soldier seldom took care to

keep his weapons bright and free from dirt and rust. The Confederate

lacked thoroughness in his camp housekeeping; he almost never fixed up

the little comfortable arrangements that characterized a Union camp,

if occupied for any length of time, nor did he "police" his camp

carefully, to keep it neat or even clean, the lack of ordinary

cleanliness being so marked as really to contribute materially to

losses through {504} disease. The way in which the Union soldier made

even a temporary camp homelike was well described by an army

correspondent, Benjamin F. Taylor:

"No matter where or when you halt them, they are at once at home. They

know precisely what to do first, and they do it. I have seen them

march into a strange region at dark, and almost as soon as the fires

would show well they were twinkling all over the field, the Sibley

cones rising like the work of enchantment everywhere, and the little

dog-tents lying snug to the ground, as if, like the mushrooms, they

had grown there, and the aroma of coffee and tortured bacon suggesting

creature comforts, and the whole economy of life in canvas cities

moving as steadily on as if it had never been intermitted. The

movements of regiments are as blind as fate. Nobody can tell to-night

where he will be to-morrow, and yet with the first glimmer of morning

the camp is astir, and the preparations begin for staying there

forever. An axe, a knife, and a will are tools enough for a soldier

house-builder. He will make the mansion and all its belongings of red

cedar, from the ridge-pole to the forestick, though a couple of

dog-tents stretched from wall to wall will make a roof worth thanking

the Lord for. Having been mason and joiner, he turns cabinetmaker;

there are his table, his chairs, his sideboard; he glides into

upholstery, and there is his bed of bamboo, as full of springs and

comfort as a patent mattress. He whips out a needle and turns tailor;

he is not above the mysteries of the saucepan and camp-kettle; he can

cook, if not quite like a Soyer, yet exactly like a soldier, and you

may believe that he can eat you hungry when he is in trim for it.

Cosey little cabins, neatly fitted, are going up; here is a boy making

a fireplace, and quite artistically plastering it with the inevitable

red earth; he has found a crane somewhere, and swung up thereon a

two-legged dinner-pot; there a fellow is finishing out a chimney with

brick from an old kiln of secession proclivities; yonder a

bower-house, closely interwoven with evergreen, is almost ready for

the occupants; the avenues between the lines of tents are cleared and

smoothed--'policed,' in camp phrase; little seats with cedar awnings

in front of the tents give a cottage-look, while the interior, in a

rude way, has a genuine homelike air. The bit of looking-glass hangs

against the cotton wall; a handkerchief of a carpet just before the

bunk marks the stepping-off place to the land of dreams; a violin case

is strung to a convenient hook, flanked by a gorgeous picture of some

hero of somewhere, mounted upon a horse rampant and saltant, 'and what

a length of tail behind!'

"The business of living has fairly begun again. There is hardly an

idle moment; and save here and there a man brushing up his musket,

getting that 'damned spot' off his bayonet, burnishing his revolver,

you would not suspect that these men had but one terrible errand. They

are tailors, they are tinkers, they are writers; fencing, boxing,

cooking, eating, drilling--those who say that camp life is a lazy life

know little about it. And then the reconnoissances 'on private

account;' every wood, ravine, hill, field, is explored; the

productions, animal and vegetable, are inventoried, and one day

renders them as thoroughly conversant with the region round about as

if they had been dwelling there a lifetime. Soldiers have

interrogation points in both eyes. They have tasted water from every

spring and well, estimated the corn to the acre, tried the

watermelons, bagged the peaches, knocked down the persimmons, milked

the cows, roasted the pigs, picked the chickens; they know who lives

here and there and yonder, the whereabouts of the native boys, the

names of the native girls. If there is a curious cave, a queer tree, a

strange rock anywhere about, they know it. You can see them with

chisel, hammer, and haversack, tugging up the mountain, or scrambling

down the ravine, in a geological passion that would have won the right

hand of fellowship from Hugh Miller, and home they come with specimens

that would enrich a cabinet. The most exquisite fossil buds just ready

to open, beautiful shells, rare minerals, are collected by these rough

and dashing naturalists."

[Illustration: AN OLD-FASHIONED TRAINING DAY.]

In the larger equipments of the army there was again a superiority in

those of the North. Their wagon trains were better, the wagons of a

uniform style, and they were marked with the name of regiment and

brigade, so that there never was any doubt as to where a stray wagon

belonged. The Confederate wagons were of all sorts and shapes and

sizes, a job lot, ill-matched, ill-kept, and ill-arranged, and the

harnesses were patchwork of inferior strength.

Residents of the South observed with pain one distinction between the

armies, which reminds one of Henry W. Grady's remark about General

Sherman, that he was a smart man, "but mighty careless about fire."

Encamped in a Southern community, a Southern army was careful not to

forage promiscuously, or appropriate to its own uses the various

provisions and live-stock of the non-combatant people who lived near.

But the Northern troops had a feeling that they were in the enemy's

{505} country and that they were entitled to live on it. There were

orders against unauthorized foraging; but the temptation to bring into

camp an occasional chicken, sundry pigs, cows, vegetables, and in some

cases even money and jewelry, is said by Southern residents to have

sometimes overcome a soldier here and there; so that the visit of a

Northern army was the signal for the good people of the neighborhood

to get as much of their belongings out of sight as possible. What was

taken in this way was taken without the formality of a request, of

payment, or of a receipt given, except when the victim claimed to be a

loyal Unionist. The Southern soldiers usually paid for what they took,

even if it was in Confederate script; but the Northern pillagers did

not do even that. Those who recall and chronicle this habit, admit

that it was due in great measure to the foreign element in the

Northern army, and to the recruits from the large cities, elements

which in the Confederate army were comparatively scarce.

The practical jokes that were played on some of the Southern farmers

illustrate the tendency on the part of the Northern soldier to "do" a

rebel. One farmer drove into a Union camp with a forty-gallon barrel

of cider, which he sold by the quart to the men, over the side of his

wagon. He was astonished to find that his barrel was empty after he

had sold only about twenty quarts, and on investigating the cause, he

discovered that while he was engaged in peddling the cider over the

side board, some soldiers had put an auger through the bottom of his

wagon and into the barrel, and had drawn the rest off into their

canteens. Another trader lost the contents of a barrel of brandy which

he had stored in a shanty overnight, in a similar manner; while

several farmers concluded that it was in vain to go to the Yankee camp

with wagon loads of apples or other fruit, unless they had a

detachment to guard every side of the wagon, for while they dealt fair

over one side, their stock would disappear over the other. One who had

suffered in this way came to the conclusion that "the Yankees could

take the shortening out of a gingercake without breaking the crust."

SOUTHERN SPIES AND SCOUTS IN THE WAR.

BY F. G. DE FONTAINE.

THE INGENIOUS DEVICE OF A WOMAN--DESPATCHES CONCEALED UNDER THE HIDE

OF A DOG--"DEAF BURKE," THE MAN OF MANY DISGUISES--FREQUENT

COMMUNICATIONS BETWEEN THE LINES--BISCUIT A MEDIUM OF

CORRESPONDENCE--DEATH OF COON HARRIS AT SHILOH--A BOLD UNION SPY--AN

EXECUTION AT FRANKLIN, TENN.

The secret service or "spy" system of the South did not differ greatly

from that of the North. There may have been in that section a lack of

available gold with which to pay expenses when desirable information

was required, but there was certainly no absence of courage or

patriotism on the part of those who were willing to risk their lives

or imprisonment in the event of capture. This was especially true of

Southern women; and those who are familiar with their achievements in

this field of war will bear witness to the shrewdness, persistence,

and fidelity with which they often pursued their dangerous

investigations.

One or two incidents will illustrate. It was of the utmost importance

to General Beauregard, in 1862, to learn the strength of McClellan's

army and whatever facts might relate to his suspected designs on

Centreville, Va. For this mission a woman was chosen. She was a young

widow whose husband had been killed at the second battle of Manassas;

a Virginian of gentle birth; prior to the war a resident of

Washington, and a frequent visitor in the society circles of

Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York. Making her way across the

lines, she promptly entered upon her task, and through trusty agents

was soon enabled to obtain a complete roster of the Federal army,

together with much valuable information concerning its probable

movements. She was absent two months.

Returning at the end of this time, she crossed the Potomac opposite

Dumfries, Va., an outpost then under the command of Col. (afterward

Gen.) Wade Hampton, and the fair spy was promptly forwarded to the

Confederate headquarters at Centreville. Her baggage consisted of a

small grip-sack and a tiny Scotch terrier. Warmly welcomed by

Beauregard, she proceeded with true womanly volubility to entertain

him with a description of her adventures and their result. The general

patiently permitted the lingual freshet to flow on without

interruption, supposing that when she got tired she would produce the

expected despatches from other secret agents in the North. But the

little woman's tongue seemed to be hung in the middle and to wag at

both ends; moreover, she was too pretty to be abruptly silenced by the

polite creole commander.

Finally, unable to restrain his anxiety any longer, he said, "Well,

Mrs. M., I shall be glad to see your papers."--"I didn't dare to bring

them on my person," was the reply; "it was unsafe. In fact, I have

been suspected and searched already, and so I familiarized myself with

their contents. You see it is fortunate that I have a good memory." At

this remark, Beauregard showed his chagrin, and frankly told the lady

he could place but little reliance on her memory of so many figures

and details, and therefore that her mission had proved of little use.

Listening to his scolding with a demure air, and looking at him with a

mischievous twinkle in her eye, she called her dog: "Here, Floy!" The

Skye terrier jumped in her lap. "General, have you a knife about you?"

The knife was produced. Then she turned the animal over on its back,

and, to the amazement of Beauregard, deliberately proceeded to rip him

open. In less time than it takes to tell the story, she held in one

hand the precious papers and in the other the skin of the Skye

terrier, while prancing about the floor was a diminutive black-and-tan

pup overjoyed at his relief from an extra cuticle.

The shrewd woman had sewed the despatches between the two skins in a

manner that defied detection, and under the very noses of the Federal

outposts had brought through the lines some of the most important

information transmitted during the war. It is needless to say that

Beauregard was delighted, and it was but a little while after this

incident that McClellan advanced on Centreville only to find deserted

camps, batteries of "Quaker guns," and the Confederate army falling

back toward Richmond and Yorktown.

* * * * *

Combining in his person the qualities of scout, sharp-shooter,

dare-devil, and spy, a Texan known as "Deaf Burke" made himself famous

among the higher officers of Longstreet's corps during the early part

of the war. Like Terry of Texas, afterward notorious in California,

Adams of Mississippi, Mason of Virginia (brother of the United States

senator who with Slidell of {506} Louisiana, became the subject of

international complications with England), and many other daring

spirits, he was at first merely a volunteer or independent fighter

subject to no orders; but his temerity in passing the lines, mingling

in disguise with Union officers and soldiers, and his adroitness in

securing valuable information quickly brought him to the notice of Lee

and Longstreet. He was about forty-five years of age, a natural mimic

and dialectician--could talk to you like a simpleton from the

backwoods, or a thoroughbred gentleman--and he never lost his nerve.

Not far from the Potomac, the writer met him in the garb of a Quaker,

but only recognized him at night when incidentally he became a tent

mate. Then it was learned that he had just returned from Washington,

where during the preceding three weeks he had mingled among Southern

sympathizers and secured the information for which he had been sent.

Prior to this, disguised as an old farmer living in Fairfax County,

Va., he had driven a load of wood across the Federal lines. In one of

the logs were concealed the despatches intended for headquarters.

Later in the war, when transferred to the West, he distinguished

himself as one of twelve sharp-shooters chosen to handle as many

Whitworth rifles that had been imported; and still later was killed in

battle among the Texans, of whom it was his pride to be considered

one.

The comparative ease with which communications were established

between the lines is further illustrated by an incident. General

Rosecrans and a portion of his staff, when in Tennessee, occupied a

mansion not far from the outposts of the two armies. The hostess, Mrs.

Thomas, was the wife of a Confederate colonel whose regiment was but a

few miles distant. Her negro cook made excellent biscuit, which had

become the subject of frequent comment at the table, the general being

especially pleased. Mrs. Thomas taking advantage of this circumstance,

and her acquaintance with him, suggested the propriety of sending some

of the warm breakfast to their mutual friend--her husband. Rosecrans

readily agreed, and under his own flag of truce, and through one of

his own orderlies, a package of biscuit was duly forwarded to Colonel

Thomas with an open letter from his wife. Two hours later, the

Confederate officer was in possession of all the available secrets at

Federal headquarters, and for weeks afterward the bake oven was the

mute agent of communications, some of which proved important to the

Southern commanders. The housewife had enclosed her tissue-written

missives in the pastry, and the ruse was not discovered until after

the war, when the story was told to mutual friends.

In the category of Southern women who in one way or another made their

way through the lines, might be included many who carried to the

Confederacy supplies of quinine and other articles that could be

easily concealed on the person. It is safe to say that hundreds passed

backward and forward across the borders of Virginia and Maryland, and

with but rare exception their native shrewdness enabled them to escape

the vigilance of the pickets on guard.

The bravery of Northern spies in the South is a theme not to be

forgotten in this connection. Before General Sherman in his "March to

the Sea" reached the several cities through which he was to pass, one

or more of his secret agents was sure to be found mingling sociably

among the residents. In Savannah, a gentleman appeared as a purchaser

of the old wines for which that city was once famous, and remained

undiscovered until the end came. In Charleston, news was communicated

to the Union officers through the medium of two or three whites and of

negroes who made their way to the islands on the coast, and there met

and delivered to waiting boats' crews the papers consigned to their

care. In Columbia, S. C., an officer wearing the uniform of the

Confederate navy visited the best families for more than a month;

escorted young ladies to fairs held for the benefit of army hospitals

and other entertainments, and made himself generally popular. One of

these newly made acquaintances was the daughter of the mayor. After

Sherman entered, and the conflagration that destroyed the city was in

progress, he repaired to her house and tendered his services. Then for

the first time she learned the truth of the saying that she had

"entertained an angel unawares." He aided materially in saving the

property of the family and affording desired protection.

[Illustration: PAULINE CUSHMAN. (A Federal Spy.)]

[Illustration: BELL BOYD. (A Confederate Spy.)]

The task of a spy in the army was not so easy. It was full of personal

danger. Success meant the praise of his superiors and possible

promotion. Failure might mean an ignominious death. After the battle

of Shiloh, or Pittsburg Landing as it is sometimes known, one Coon

Harris, a Tennesseean, went through the Confederate army without

detection, but in a skirmish a few days afterward he was captured

while acting as guide to a column moving to attack a weak point in the

Confederate lines. Bragg was in command, and the poor fellow had but a

short shrift. Tried by a drum-head court martial, he was sentenced to

be shot at daylight.

In his calm demeanor he illustrated how a brave man animated by a high

principle can die. There was no pageantry, no clergyman with his last

rites, no nothing, save a handful of curious spectators following a

rude army wagon wherein, on a rough box called by courtesy a coffin,

sat unbound a middle-aged farmer in his butternut suit, riding to his

death. Not the closest observer could have discovered any difference

in coolness between him and a bystander. Arriving at the place of

execution he jumped lightly from the wagon, lingered a moment to see

his coffin removed, and then sauntered carelessly down the little

valley to the tree beneath which he was to meet his fate.

{507} The ceremony was brief. The officer in charge of the shooting

squad asked him if he had any final message to leave. "Yes," was the

reply; "tell my family that my last thoughts were of them, and that I

died doing my duty to my State and country!" Then his arms were

pinioned, the faded brown coat was buttoned across his breast, and he

sat down upon his coffin. A handkerchief was tied over his eyes, and

voluntarily he laid his head back against the tree. Even now,

preserving his remarkable self-possession, he called for a piece of

tobacco, and, chewing upon it vigorously, occupied several seconds in

adjusting his head to the bark of the tree, as one would fit himself

to a pillow before going to sleep. Then he quietly said, "Boys,

ready!"

A file of eight men stepped forward until within ten paces of the

doomed man; the order was given to "Fire!" and with a splash of

brains, and a trickling rivulet of blood down his hairy breast, the

soul of the brave man passed into the keeping of the Creator.

During the first march of the Confederate army into Maryland, a

handsome young fellow, one Charles Mason, who gave his home as

Perrysville, Penn., boldly intercepted a courier who was carrying an

order. "What division do you belong to?" he inquired. "Longstreet's,"

was the reply; "what's yours?" asked the courier. "Jackson's." The

presence of a gray uniform favored this statement, and the two rode

together. The courier, however, observed a disposition on the part of

his companion to drop behind, and suddenly was confronted by a pistol

and a demand for the delivery of his despatches. Not being promptly

forthcoming, the spy fired, secured the papers, and galloped away. The

Confederate lived long enough to describe his assailant and make his

identification certain.

A few hours afterward the man became a victim to his own daring.

Riding up to the head of a column, he said to the general in command:

"I am from General Jackson; he desires me to request you to halt and

await further orders."--"I am not in the habit of receiving my orders

from General Jackson," answered the officer; "what command do you

belong to?" Hesitating an instant, the spy said: "To the Hampton

Legion." "In whose brigade and division is that?" continued the

general. The pretended courier confessed that he had forgotten. Taken

into custody, a search revealed his true character. On his person were

found shorthand and other notes, a pair of lieutenant's shoulder

straps, and other evidences of his calling. A drum-head court martial

was promptly convened, and he was sentenced to be hanged then and

there. He met his fate stoically, and without other expressed regret

save that, since his mission had been a failure, he could not die the

death of a soldier.

"On June 9, 1863," wrote a correspondent of the Nashville _Press_,

"two strangers rode into the Union camp, at Franklin, Tenn., and

boldly presented themselves at Colonel Baird's headquarters. They wore

Federal regulation trousers and caps, the latter covered with white

flannel havelocks, and carried side arms. Both showed high

intelligence. One claimed to be a colonel in the United States army,

the other a major, and they represented that they were inspecting the

outposts and defences. Official papers purporting to be signed by

General Rosecrans, and also from the War Department at Washington,

seemed to confirm this statement. So impressive was their manner, in

fact, that Colonel Baird, at the request of the elder officer, loaned

him fifty dollars, the plea being that they had been overhauled by the

enemy and had lost their wardrobe and purses.

"Just before dark they left camp, saying they were going to Nashville,

and started in that direction. Suddenly, said Colonel Baird, in

describing the occurrence, the thought flashed upon him that they

might be spies; and turning to Colonel Watkins, of the Sixth Kentucky

cavalry, who was standing near by, he ordered him to go in pursuit.

Being overtaken, they were placed under arrest, and General Rosecrans

was informed by telegraph. He quickly answered that he knew nothing of

the men, and had given no passes of the kind described.

"With this evidence in hand their persons were searched, and various

papers still further showing their guilt were found. On the major's

sword was found etched the name, 'Lieutenant W. G. Peter, Lieutenant

Confederate Army.' They then confessed.

"Colonel Baird at once telegraphed the facts to General Rosecrans, and

asked what should be done. The reply was: 'Try them by a drum-head

court martial, and if found guilty, hang them immediately.' The court

was convened, and before daylight the prisoners knew they must die. A

little after nine o'clock that morning the whole garrison was

marshalled around the place of execution, the guards, in tribute to

their gallantry, being ordered to march with arms reversed. The

unfortunate men made no complaint of the severity of their punishment,

but regretted, as brave men might do, the ignominy of being hung, and

a few hours afterward both were buried in the same grave."

The history of the war on both sides is full of similar instances of

daring, and since the curtain has fallen upon the bloody drama, and

the voices of passion are hushed amid the anthems of peace, it is no

longer in the hearts of true Americans to withhold the honor that

belongs to all our heroes, whether they wore the blue or the gray.

{508} [Illustration: A GROUP OF CONFEDERATE OFFICERS.

BRIGADIER-GENERAL RANDALL LEE GIBSON. MAJOR-GENERAL ARNOLD ELZEY.

BRIGADIER-GENERAL ROGER A. PRYOR. BRIGADIER-GENERAL THOMAS L.

CLINGMAN. BRIGADIER-GENERAL EPPA HUNTON. BRIGADIER-GENERAL A. R.

LAWTON. BRIGADIER-GENERAL M. W. GARY. LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIMON B.

BUCKNER. MAJOR-GENERAL M. B. YOUNG. MAJOR-GENERAL HENRY W. ALLEN.

MAJOR-GENERAL WILLIAM SMITH.]

NORTHERN SPIES AND SCOUTS IN THE WAR.

BY HENRY W. B. HOWARD.

IS THE RÔLE OF A SPY DISHONORABLE?--THE SPY A NECESSARY ELEMENT IN A

CAMPAIGN--REMARKABLE HEROISM--ONE OF GENERAL GRANT'S SPIES--HOW HE

ESCAPED BEING BURIED ALIVE--THE FIGHT OF A SPY WITH A BLOODHOUND--THE

PERILOUS ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN LEIGHTON, OF MICHIGAN--THE VARIED AND

THRILLING ADVENTURES OF COL. L. C. BAKER--HIS EXPERIENCES AS A YANKEE

SPY IN RICHMOND--MISS EMMA EDMONDS, A NOTED NORTHERN SPY--PASSING

THROUGH THE CONFEDERATE LINES DISGUISED AS A NEGRO BOY--A FEMALE UNION

SPY IN THE CONFEDERATE CAVALRY.

Military writers have not been entirely agreed as to whether the rôle

of spy is an honorable part to play in warfare. Much stress has been

laid on the necessarily disgraceful nature of a calling that can

justly subject one to the hangman. The ignominy of this punishment is

held to relieve all soldiers from the _duty_ of service as spies, even

under orders, and in consequence all spies are necessarily volunteers.

But it is agreed, on the other hand, that the death penalty which is

inevitable for the detected spy is intended, not as a punishment for

the individual, but as a measure of preventing the spy from carrying

on his work, so full of danger to his enemy. This lack of personal

responsibility is so well understood, that a spy successful in his

expedition is not liable to death after its completion, and {509} if

subsequently captured in battle may not be executed for having

previously been a spy.

But however at variance they may be as to the nature of his calling,

all critics are of one mind in regarding the work of the spy an

absolutely necessary element in the conduct of a campaign by the

commander. Without it, he would be at a loss as to the most essential

facts that must govern his movements. The strength of the enemy, the

nature and advantages of his position, the best approaches to it, the

ground commanded by his batteries, as well as his intentions--all

these and many other details must be in some degree known to a

commander who would direct his troops with safety or success. Some of

this information he can pick up from resident non-combatants; some he

can wrest from his unwilling prisoners; some he can purchase from

treacherous members of the force opposing him. But for most of it he

is absolutely dependent on the brave men in his own command who are

willing, for the sake of their cause, to risk the death that awaits

the spy caught in the enemy's country.

These men certainly cannot be regarded with the contempt which a

commander feels for the mere tools of whose treachery, cupidity, or

indifference he avails himself while scorning the instrument. And, if

not that, then they must be regarded as heroic even beyond those of

their fellows who are as brave as lions on the field of battle. For

their mission is a solitary one, and they have none of the cheering

companionship and stimulating emulation that bring courage for the

charge. Instead of being under fire for a few brief moments or hours,

their nerves are on the rack for days and weeks. With no commanding

officer to obey as he orders them here or there, they are thrown on

their own resources in the most perilous and trying situations. They

must avoid dangerous meetings, disarm suspicions, turn aside

questions, invent lies by the hundred without having one contradict

another. A constant play of quick wits, steady nerves, and, at the

right moment, prompt and courageous physical force, elevates the work

of a spy to a fine art, in comparison with which the mere enthusiastic

bravery of the battlefield is child's play. Darkly threatening

throughout all this perilous work is the imminent and ever-present

risk of detection, with its certainty of a death, not glorious like

that of those who fall in the hand-to-hand conflict, not the ordinary

fortune of war like that of the sharp-shooter's victim brought down at

long range, not even invested with the pathos of a death, however

sudden, among sympathizing comrades--but the death of a dog, promptly

dealt out, without a friendly face among the spectators.

A good illustration of the consummate skill, coolness of head, and

strength of will and nerve required in this duty was given by a scout

named Hancock, attached to General Grant's army in Virginia. He had

failed to escape detection, and was sent under guard to Castle

Thunder, in Richmond. His situation was most perilous; but this did

not prevent his utilizing his innate joviality to lighten the life of

his fellow-prisoners, and bringing his wonderful power of facial

expression to bear on the great object of his own escape. In the midst

of one of his songs in the prison he suddenly threw up his hands with

a cry, fell to the ground in a heap, and lay there so obviously dead

that the post surgeon--not over-solicitous to keep a Yankee above

ground--pronounced him a case for the grave-digger, and he was bundled

into a pine coffin and started on his last journey. But when the

driver reached the burying-place, the coffin was empty. Hancock had

dexterously slid from the wagon, and, it being night, had joined the

followers on foot without detection. When the driver reported back to

the prison, the trick was suspected, and a sharp lookout was ordered,

which he evaded in the most unexpected way. He went direct to the best

hotel in Richmond and registered from Georgia, had a good night's

rest, and spent the following day, in the character of a government

contractor, in learning what he wanted to know about the city. He was

twice arrested by the guards, and escaped the first time through the

intervention and identification of the hotel clerk. The second time he

was returned to the prison, where for seven days he concealed his

identity by assuming a squint and a distortion of feature, which he

abandoned when he learned that imprisonment was all he had to fear, as

by that time the war was virtually over. Ten days later he was set at

liberty with his fellow-prisoners.

The peril of a spy's career is not intermittent, like that of active

fighting; it is continuous. A moment may give him his liberty or may

bring him face to face with death. An unnamed scout of the Army of the

Potomac--so many of these heroic men are even to this day unnamed--had

collected his intelligence in the enemy's country, and had arrived

close to the stream beyond which were the Union lines. In the darkness

of the night, with the sense of danger keen within him, he groped his

way along the shore, seeking the skiff he had concealed there for his

return. To his horror it dawned on him that he had missed his landmark

and could not find the boat. There he stood, the evidences of his

calling unmistakably on him, knowing that he had been suspected and

followed, and realizing that only a few minutes were his in which to

complete his escape. Nothing could exceed the mental agony of the next

quarter hour. Under stress of danger he had just let himself into the

water, determined to attempt to swim the wide stream as a forlorn

hope, when suddenly the baying of a bloodhound dashed even this faint

hope from him, and presently the crackling of twigs announced the near

approach of the savage pursuer. But there were evidences that for the

moment the dog was at fault, and in mere desperation the hunted man

waded beneath the overhanging banks where he might sell his life as

dearly as possible. Something struck against his breast. He could not

restrain a cry as he seized what proved to be his missing boat. In an

instant he had clambered in and cast off the line, when a sudden gleam

of moonlight breaking through the clouds revealed at the other end of

the log to which the boat had been moored the crouching figure of the

bloodhound, poising for a spring. Simultaneously with the leap of the

dog, the skiff darted out into the stream. A blow with the oar aimed

at the head of the animal nearly upset the fragile craft and was

easily eluded by the dog, which, swimming forward, laid its forepaws

on the gunwale and attempted to seize the edge of the boat with his

teeth. The situation was desperate. Laying aside his revolver, a shot

from which would have drawn a volley from the shore, the brave scout

seized his bowie-knife, and with one frenzied stroke cut the throat of

the bloodhound, severing its neck clean to the back. The dog sank from

sight, and the man was free! A few minutes' quiet pulling landed him

on the further shore, whence a brief walk brought him to camp, to tell

his adventures and turn in his stock of information.

Perhaps as thrilling an experience as ever was reported was that which

fell to the lot of Captain Leighton, formerly of a Michigan battery,

but led by the fascination of adventure into scout and spy duty. It

was brief, but so charged with peril and nerve-tension that in a few

short hours he seemed to have lived days, and needed a long sleep

after it, as though he had been awake for a week. In a single

afternoon he left his own camp and rode into the enemy's country,

passing two pickets, killed a {510} guard, listened to the council of

war in the tent of the rebel general, fought his way back through the

pickets, who now knew his mission, set off the signal agreed on, and

rode to safety on his unusually fleet horse. The first picket he met

on his way out was misled by supposing him to be a spy of their own

returning with information, and from them he got what sounded like the

countersign, but was not, as he discovered when, riding on, he

attempted with it to pass the sentry near the rebel general's tent.

The sentry pulled trigger on him, but the cap snapped on the musket,

there was a hand-to-hand scuffle not a hundred yards from the camp,

and the sentry was stabbed to the heart. Clad in the sentry's uniform,

under cover of the night, he heard from the very lips of the general

and his council the secret he was in search of--that the enemy would

mass on the left wing to meet the attack of the morrow--sauntered

carelessly about as the council dispersed, and then mounted his superb

gray and was off. It was a perilous ride, for every picket he had

passed in the afternoon fired on him as he rode through, and it was

indeed a charmed life that escaped their bullets. The last picket he

had to pass--the same that had mistaken him for a rebel scout--was

numerous, and met him with a volley, followed up by a sharp attack

with sabres and revolvers. Shooting, stabbing, slashing, and swearing

like a fiend, wounded and wounding, he fought his way through them,

and then fled onward, reeling in his saddle with excitement and loss

of blood, until, arrived at the hollow stump where his rockets were

concealed, he set them both off (thus giving the desired information

to his own commander). Then, emptying his revolver at his nearest

pursuer, he again rode away, unharmed further by the shots that

followed him like hail. What added to the bravery of this deed was the

fact that he knowingly went out to replace a scout who had been killed

the night before on the very same mission.

[Illustration: JOHN WILKES BOOTH.]

[Illustration: REDUCED FACSIMILE OF POSTER ISSUED BY THE WAR

DEPARTMENT.]

All spies were not so fortunate as to complete their expeditions in

one day. Sometimes, although in comparative safety, they were unable

to get out of the enemy's territory for many days. An Illinois

private, named Newcomer, who had just missed some important battles,

was accustomed to vary the monotony of his camp life in Alabama by

making secret trips after information overnight. This work suited him

so well that he determined on a more extensive expedition among the

guerilla cavalry that he learned from a negro lay some miles below the

Union camp. His first bold act was to crawl into a corn-crib where a

number of these men lay sleeping, their horses picketed outside, and,

feeling around, he calmly drew a good revolver from the belt of one of

the unconscious sleepers, having the good luck to wake none of them

up. He had provided himself with a forged certificate of discharge

from the rebel army, by means of which he was by some unsuspecting

Southern sympathizers put in communication with a Southern agent for

the purchase of stores, named Radcliffe, who was known to everybody in

and about Franklin, Tenn., and who vouched for him throughout his stay

among the Confederates. He took on the character of one seeking office

in the rebel army, and as a seller of contraband articles obtained

from the North. In this guise, turning up at Radcliffe's house as

occasion required, he explored the situation and reported back to his

superiors at Nashville. Before he got back he had serious trouble in

getting away from Shelbyville, for lack of a pass. A good-natured

crowd, to whom he had dispensed the contents of his whiskey flask,

were willing to help him away, but stuck at telling the provost

marshal that they knew him; but it was finally managed by writing his

name on the collective pass on which they travelled. Lagging behind

them on the road, he turned off in the direction he wanted to go, only

to fall into the hands of one of Morgan's bands of scouts, who swore

he was a Yankee, and actually had the halter around his neck to hang

him on the spot, when he succeeded in persuading them to take him back

to Radcliffe for identification, where he was released, and {511} then

was furnished by Radcliffe with a written voucher on which he

succeeded in making his way, after many exciting and perilous

adventures, to his commander. He brought him the important news,

confided to him by a rebel who took him for a fellow spy, of a

projected attack on the Union fleet on the river, and steps were taken

that saved the ships.

Perhaps the most varied experience was that of Col. L. C. Baker, who

organized the secret service, and performed himself every duty, from

that of actual spy to that of chief of the national police, beginning

with a personal expedition to Richmond and ending with the capture of

Wilkes Booth, the assassin of President Lincoln. His first Richmond

trip was made in July, 1861, under cover of a general movement of

Southern sympathizers away from the North. General Scott himself sent

him to obtain information concerning the strength and disposition of

troops in the Confederate capital. His greatest difficulty at the

outset was to get through the Northern lines without betraying his

errand, and three times he was sent back to General Scott as a

Southern spy. Finally he got through, and, armed with letters to

prominent residents of Richmond, he was promptly forwarded on his way,

but was carefully turned over to Jefferson Davis himself, who kept him

under guard while he made up his mind whether the stranger was a spy

or the "Mr. Munson" he pretended to be with business in Richmond.

Succeeding in getting satisfactorily identified through a sort of

"bunco" self-introduction to a man from Knoxville, where he claimed to

have lived, he was paroled and turned loose in Richmond. When he had

picked up the information he desired, he began his efforts to get back

to Washington with his precious news. A pass to visit Fredericksburg

enabled him to leave Richmond, but an attempt to go further on the

same pass only got him into the hands of a patrol. But he soon not

only eluded his sleepy guard, but rode off on the sentry's horse as

well. Followed and surrounded in a negro cabin where he had stopped to

rest, he managed to hide under a haystack, where he narrowly escaped

the searching sabre-thrust of his pursuers, and then made again for

the Potomac. Hunger induced him to risk introducing himself to two

German pickets guarding the bank on the Confederate side of that

river, and they hospitably kept him in their tent overnight, though

they watched him closely and made him a semi-prisoner. The watches of

the night he consumed in vain endeavors to crawl out of the tent while

his captors slept; but they slept "with one eye open," as it were, and

it was not until dawn that he managed unobserved to get down to the

river-bank, secure the pickets' boat with its single broken oar, and

push for liberty out into the stream. The men were quickly after him,

however, and he had to shoot one of them to save himself, while the

other ran for assistance. The detachment that quickly reached the

shore made the water about his craft uncomfortably lively with their

bullets; but he fortunately managed to paddle out of range without

being hit, and after a row of four miles, which was the width of the

river at that point, he reached the Maryland shore and made his way to

Washington.

The papers with which Baker had been intrusted at Richmond gave him

much information involving Northern traitors who were aiding the

Southern cause, and for some time he was engaged in the work of

bringing them to justice. But he occasionally returned to special

duty, as he did in the autumn of 1863, when, after Pope's defeat by

Lee, great solicitude was felt for the safety of Banks's army, the

whereabouts of which even was unknown, and in ignorance of Lee's

success Banks was supposed to be seeking a junction with Pope. Baker

undertook to carry informing despatches to Banks, and to bring that

officer's report back to Washington. Mounted on the famous race-horse

"Patchen," he succeeded in reaching Banks near Manassas without

adventure, but his return trip was full of peril. Conscious of the

great importance of haste, he started straight for the rebel lines

between himself and Washington, and after riding two miles to the

eastward he caught sight of the hostile army near the old Bull Run

battlefield. To save time, instead of making a detour to avoid them,

he halted and awaited an opportunity of slipping through, availing

himself of the detached order of march in which the enemy was

proceeding. A break in the column soon gave him this chance, and

although he knew that he would become a target for every marksman that

saw him, the intrepid Baker nerved himself for a quick and desperate

dash and gave spurs to his splendid steed. Lying close to Patchen's

neck, he flew like an arrow within thirty feet of a squad of infantry,

but had the good luck to bring both himself and his horse through

without harm from the bullets that whistled thick about them. A squad

of cavalry quickly took up the pursuit; but, tired as he was, Patchen

soon distanced all but a few who were particularly well mounted. For

nine miles the chase continued, the pursuers dropping off until only

three remained, when fatigue began to tell on both horse and rider.

Then, turning a low hill, Baker wheeled sharply about and concealed

himself in a clump of pines, while his pursuers rode past unconscious

of his presence. But they soon discovered that there was no longer any

one in front of them. Returning, one of them was apprised of Baker's

whereabouts by a slight movement of the latter's horse, and the crisis

of the adventure was at hand. Baker shot down one Confederate

cavalryman, and then turned sharply off the path to avoid the other

two, who were now on their way back. But, although he passed them, it

was not without their seeing him, and, firing their carbines, they

renewed the pursuit. Spurring Patchen to a final burst of speed, Baker

plunged into the swollen waters of Bull Run, hoping to get across

before his pursuers could reach the bank and fire at him in

mid-stream. This he accomplished, and had even clambered up the almost

perpendicular bank beyond by the time the rebels had plunged in to

follow him over. Before Baker could fire on them the Union pickets,

attracted by the shots, came running to the edge of the bluff. Baker

shouted out his errand, and the pickets with a volley emptied one of

the Confederate saddles, while the remaining pursuer escaped to tell

the tale. This was a pretty close call for Baker, but it was typical

of the scout's experience, and illustrated well the many serious

chances taken by every successful seeker after information in the

enemy's territory.

The spies of the war were not all men. Many women on both sides did

effective secret work for the cause they espoused. Perhaps this agency

was more common among the Southern than the Northern sympathizers.

Residence in the North was free from the necessity of accounting for

one's presence and business as rigidly as in the South; and not only

in Washington and the border towns, but in all the cities of the

North, the rebels had fair emissaries who kept them pretty well

informed of passing events. Among the Northern women who did good

service during the war, both as spy and nurse, was Miss Emma Edmonds.

After spending several months in the hospitals of the Army of the

Potomac, she volunteered to take the place of a spy who had been

executed at Richmond. Disguised as a colored boy, she soon found

herself within the rebel lines, where she joined a gang of negroes who

were carrying provisions to {512} the pickets, and afterward working

on the fortifications at Yorktown. After doing a man's day's work, she

used her evening liberty in making a careful inspection of the

defences, counting the guns, etc., and picked up much other

information through the free discussion of what was going on, common

in the rebel army among both officers and men. Her opportunity to get

back to the Union lines came when, on visiting the pickets with their

evening meal, she was for a time stationed on the post of a picket who

had just been shot; for while the adjacent pickets had their backs

turned, she slipped away into the darkness, carrying her valuable

information with her. Later on she made another secret expedition,

this time in the guise of an Irish female peddler. Her first

experience on this trip was the discovery of a wounded and dying

Confederate officer in a deserted house, and the mementos and messages

for home which he confided to her proved to be her passport to the

rebel headquarters. She had already gained from the pickets and the

men about the camp the information she was seeking, and was quite

ready to return, when she was sent, mounted, to guide a detachment to

bring back the dead officer's body from the house near her own lines,

and thus was fairly started on her way. The expedition of the

detachment was a somewhat perilous one for them, and they sent her

farther down the road to watch for Yankees and give them timely

warning of the approach of any from the Union side. Not seeing any

Yankees in that vicinity, she kept on until she did--and then she was

safe back in her own quarters, and the Union troops were soon able to

cross the Chickahominy with a pretty fair knowledge of the enemy's

dispositions and purposes.

Miss Edmonds had a strange career for a woman. She kept with the Union

advance, varying her womanly ministrations in camp and field hospital

with occasional duty as an orderly and on secret service. She entered

the Confederate lines, now as a contraband, now as a rebel soldier. In

the latter character she was impressed into the Confederate cavalry

and went into action, where she managed to change sides during the

fight and to wound the rebel officer who had conscripted her. After

this adventure her secret service had perforce to be confined to the

Union lines, for she had become pretty well known in all the disguises

she could assume.

The experiences of all scouts and spies can be well understood from

the instances that have now been given. Their work was most important,

and their days were filled with thrilling adventure, most fascinating

to adventurous spirits. Many of them never lived to tell their story,

but received the prompt justice of a drum-head court martial and a

short shrift. Their performances rose often to the height of heroism,

and their prowess, when they found themselves in close quarters,

equalled anything ever done on the battlefield.

[Illustration: CONFEDERATE MONUMENT AND CEMETARY, RICHMOND, VA.]

{513}

IMPORTANT HISTORY SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE GROUP OF SHERMAN AND HIS

GENERALS. (See page 30.)

This picture was to consist of General Sherman, his two

army-commanders, and the four corps-commanders in charge at the close

of the war.

[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL OLIVER O. HOWARD.]

It does not, however, contain the portrait of General Blair, who was

absent on a short leave. At the time the photograph was taken, I

[General Howard] was no longer connected with General Sherman's army.

My picture was included for the following reason:

After the army's arrival near Washington, I was assigned to other

duty, and General Logan took my place in command of the Army of the

Tennessee. When the group was made up, as I had been so long

identified with that army, General Sherman desired me to be included.

General Logan was seated for the picture where I would have sat, had

there been no late change of commanders. In all the field operations

from Atlanta to the sea, and from Savannah through the Carolinas to

Raleigh, and on to Washington, I was denominated "the right wing

commander," and General Slocum "the left wing commander." The division

of cavalry under Kilpatrick was sometimes independent of either wing,

but usually reported for orders to one wing or the other, as Sherman

directed.

The right wing was the "Army of the Tennessee;" the left wing, the

"Army of Georgia." In the field service, from Atlanta on, each wing

had two army corps, as follows: the right wing, the Fifteenth and

Seventeenth; the left wing, the Fourteenth and Twentieth Corps. When

General Logan passed to the charge of the Army of the Tennessee,

General Hazen was assigned to command the Fifteenth Corps. Though

absent, General Blair retained the Seventeenth Corps. After our march,

for some reason--I think for Mower's promotion--Gen. A. S. Williams

had been relieved from the Twentieth Corps, and General Mower assigned

to his place. The Fourteenth Corps, which Gen. George H. Thomas had so

long and so ably commanded, was during all that march under the

direction of Gen. Jefferson C. Davis.

* * * * *

It may be of interest, while inspecting this noted picture, to recall

something characteristic of the men who compose it. Let us begin with

the junior officer of the group.

MAJOR-GENERAL JEFFERSON C. DAVIS.

General Davis, promoted to a volunteer appointment from the regular

army, became early conspicuous as a successful commander in Missouri

and other Western fields. For example, he captured one thousand

prisoners at Milford, repelled Confederate attack upon Sigel's centre

at Pea Ridge, commanded a division at Stone River, and took as

prisoners one hundred and fourteen of Wheeler's raiders.

[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL JEFFERSON C. DAVIS.]

In August, 1862, ill-health constrained him to leave the front for a

short time, when he visited his home in Clarke County, Ind. The

northward movement of the Confederates against Louisville subsequently

caused him to hasten to that city and volunteer his services to

General Nelson.

This general, William Nelson, a native of Kentucky, was a middle-aged

naval officer at the breaking out of the war. His experience in

Mexico, his strong character as a loyal Kentuckian, had caused his

transfer to the army. Among undisciplined masses of volunteers he had

already done wonders. He attained special distinction as a division

commander under Buell at the fiercely contested battle of Shiloh; but

with all his patriotism, energy, and capability, he was a martinet in

discipline, very often giving great offence by his rough language and

impatient ways.

Gen. Jefferson C. Davis had hardly come in contact with Nelson when he

was subjected to treatment that offended him greatly.

Davis was of slender build, while Nelson was a large and powerful man.

Davis endeavored, without success, to get an apology from Nelson for

hard words and mistreatment. Abbott, in his History of the Civil War,

shows how he was met:

"Here he (Davis) was outrageously insulted by General Nelson, and

after demanding an apology and receiving only reiterated abuse, he

(Davis) shot him on the stairs of the Galt House. General Nelson died

in a few hours. General Davis was arrested, but was soon released,

sustained by the almost universal sympathy of the public and of the

army."

In subsequent years it was my lot to be on duty with General Davis. He

reported to me and was under my command while pursuing the

Confederates under Bragg, just after the battle of Missionary Ridge,

November 25, 1863. His method of covering his front and flanks with

skirmishers, and holding his troops well in hand for the prompt

deployment, greatly pleased me. He was one of those officers

constantly on the _qui vive_, impossible {514} to surprise, difficult

to defeat, and ever ready, at command, effectively to take the

offensive. He succeeded to the Fourteenth Corps because Gen. John M.

Palmer, offended at a decision of General Sherman, resigned the

position. While Davis was a just man, he was strongly prejudiced

against negroes, often, in his conversations, declaiming against them.

But subsequent to the war, when commanding the State of Kentucky,

acting as Assistant Commissioner for Freedmen, he took strong grounds

against all lawless white men who sought to do them injury. In 1874,

when a confusion of counsels had caused endless complications during

the Modoc War in Southern Oregon, General Davis was, as a final

resort, selected and despatched to the scene of operations. His

unfailing courage and steady action soon ended the war. The Modocs

were conquered, taken prisoners, and their savage and treacherous

leaders punished.

I had many a conversation with General Davis. He would lead me when we

were alone, in a few minutes, according to the bias of his heart, to

the subject of his difficulty with Nelson. Though others exculpated

him, his own heart never seemed to be at rest. It was more to himself

than to others the one cloud in his otherwise unblemished, patriotic

career.

MAJOR-GENERAL WILLIAM B. HAZEN

entered the military academy one year after me (1851), so that I was

associated with him there for three years. As a young man, he was very

thin of flesh, so much so as to cause remark. The first time I saw him

after graduation, he was on a visit to West Point, in 1860. He had

been in many Indian engagements in Texas and New Mexico, and had been

brevetted for gallant conduct in battle; his arm at that time was in a

sling, he having been wounded with an arrow.

[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL WILLIAM B. HAZEN.]

A most wonderful change had taken place in his personal appearance.

Instead of a young man of cadaverous build, he was large, fleshy,

handsome. As a cadet he had been very retiring; now quite the

opposite--in fact, he soon became remarkable among us for his bold

frontier stories and an increased self-esteem.

Such was Hazen at the breaking out of the war. He went to the front in

Kentucky, commanding the Forty-first Ohio Volunteers. During the

series of operations and battles in which he was engaged, he

maintained in his commands unusual neatness of attire and excellent

discipline, and received for himself four brevets for gallant and

meritorious service; the last being that of major-general in the

regular army. Probably his most distinguished effort, one which called

the especial attention of General Sherman to his merit, was the

taking, under my orders, of Fort McAllister, December 13, 1864. He at

that time had charge of a division, assisted in building a long bridge

over the Ogeechee, crossed with his men, and, pushing on rapidly

southward, completely environed Fort McAllister from sea-shore to

sea-shore. General Sherman, with myself, more inland, were watching

his operations in plain view from a rice-mill on the other side of the

Ogeechee. The sudden and persistent attack, the exploding of numerous

torpedoes, the tremendous vigor of the defence, afforded us an

exciting scene, which ended in a much-needed victory; for this fort at

the mouth of the river was the last obstruction between our army and

the supplies which were coming from the sea. This success of Hazen

caused me to recommend him for further promotion to the command of the

Fifteenth Army Corps; and this was his crowning honor in the great

war.

MAJOR-GENERAL JOSEPH A. MOWER.

I found General Mower in command of the First Division Sixteenth Army

Corps (a little later, of a division in the Seventeenth Army Corps,

under General Blair); that was when I came to the Army of the

Tennessee at Atlanta. He was already well known in that army. In

conversation around campfires staff-officers spoke of him in this way:

"Mower is a rough diamond;" "He is rather a hard case in peace;" "He

cannot be beaten on the march;" "You ought to see him in battle."

[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL J. A. MOWER.]

These expressions indicate somewhat the character of the man. About

six feet in height, well proportioned and of great muscular strength,

probably there was no officer in our picture group who was better

fitted in every way for hard campaigning. On one occasion during the

march through the Carolinas, as we approached the westernmost branch

of the Edisto, all the country had apparently been swept by the

inhabitants clean of supplies. The cattle and horses had been driven

eastward beyond the river, and all food carried off or hidden. As I

approached a house near the river crossing, I saw General Mower and

his staff apparently in conversation with the owner, who had, for some

purpose, remained behind his fleeing people in his almost empty

tenement. Mower was asking him questions: these the man at first

evaded, or answered derisively. Then, becoming angry at Mower's

persistence, he refused to tell anything. The general, just as I was

passing through the gate, said to an orderly, in his deep, strong,

decisive voice: "Orderly, fetch a rope!" He did not intimate what he

proposed to do with the rope, but one {515} glance at Mower's face was

sufficient for the stranger. He immediately became courteous, and gave

Mower all the information he desired as to the roads, bridges, and

neighboring country. A few days later I was with Mower's division when

he fought his way across the main stream near Orangeburgh. His energy

in leading his men through swamps, directing them while they were

cutting the cypresses, making temporary bridges, wading streams,

constructing and carrying the canvas boats, ferrying the river, and

appearing with marvellous rapidity upon the enemy's right or left

flank on the open fortified bluff of the eastern shore, drew my

attention more than ever to Mower's capabilities. I remember when we

stood together inside the first captured work, while our men were

rushing for the railroad above and below the city, Mower dismounted,

and looking at me with his face full of glad triumph, said: "_Fait

accompli!_ General, _fait accompli!_"

At Bentonville, the 20th and 21st of March, 1865, I saw Mower ride

into battle. As he approached the firing, the very sound of it gave

him a new inspiration; his muscular limbs gripped his horse, and he

leaned forward apparently carrying the animal with him into the

conflict. He was the only officer I ever saw who manifested such

intense joy for battle. At last, having brought his division through

the woods and a little beyond the left flank of the Confederate

commander (General Johnston), Mower and one or two of his staff

dismounted, so as to work himself with his men through a dense thicket

where he could not ride. The point sought in Johnston's left rear was

just gained by the indomitable Mower, when General Sherman called us

off, saying "that there had been fighting enough." Concerning this

event, General Sherman, in his "Memoirs," makes a significant remark:

"The next day (21st) it began to rain again, and we remained quiet

till about noon, when General Mower, ever rash, broke through the

rebel line, on his extreme left flank, and was pushing straight for

Bentonville and the bridge across Mill Creek. I ordered him back, to

connect with his own corps; and lest the enemy should concentrate on

him, ordered the whole rebel line to be engaged with a strong skirmish

fire."

MAJOR-GENERAL FRANCIS PRESTON BLAIR, JR.,

whose biography is in every public library, is too well known to

require a detail of introduction.

[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL FRANCIS P. BLAIR, JR.]

As early as 1843 he formed a law partnership with his brother

Montgomery, in the city of St. Louis, Mo.; here he worked till his

health gave way. Requiring a change of climate, he went to New Mexico.

While he was there General Kearney, as soon as the Mexican war came

on, began operations which ended in his grand march to the Pacific

coast. Young Blair was a volunteer aid, and by his intelligence and

energy gave that general the effective help which he needed. This

short service in the Mexican war was enough to beget in Blair a taste

for military reading and study; so that, being in St. Louis at the

fever period of the outbreak of the great rebellion in 1861, he was

not unprepared for the double part he was soon called upon to play.

Having been elected and sent to Congress in 1858, previously having

had a term in the Missouri Legislature, in both as a "Freesoiler," he

threw all his political ability and knowledge upon the side of the

Union. As a military man, he promptly acted and greatly helped in

organizing and raising troops. Probably it is due to his energy more

than to anything else that St. Louis and Missouri were kept to the

Union. Mr. Lincoln, who had the greatest confidence in Blair,

commissioned him a brigadier-general in August, 1862. He performed

thereafter no obscure part in all those battles along the Mississippi,

which ended in the capture of Vicksburg. He was rapidly advanced from

command of a brigade to that of a division and corps in Grant's Army

of the Tennessee. His name and able work are identified with both the

Fifteenth and Seventeenth Corps.

The first time I saw General Blair was on November 25, 1863; it was in

the evening after Sherman's first hot charge up the rough steeps on

the north end of Missionary Ridge. Part of my command had participated

in the bloody work of the day, and General Grant had detached the

remainder of my corps from General Thomas on the straight front, and

sent us around to strengthen Sherman. It was an informal council of

war in the woods, by a small campfire, where I met for the first time

Generals Tom Ewing, Jefferson C. Davis, and Blair. The latter, who was

obliged at times to go to civil duties in Congress, had then, as I was

told, just returned from Washington. He brought to us the latest

messages from Mr. Lincoln. He had on a light blue soldier's overcoat;

it was distinguished by a broad, elegant fur collar. In repose and in

photograph, Blair's countenance might pass one as ordinary; but as

soon as he spoke it was suffused with light and animation. He was five

feet ten, and not fleshy. He walked about the fire, and with his ready

talk, never too serious, kept Sherman and all the party, for such a

sad night, in fair humor; for our best men had been stopped short of

the coveted tunnel, and many of them were driven with heavy losses

down the rugged slopes. The whole man so impressed me that night, that

I never forgot him. During the march to the sea, in skirmish,

campaign, and battle, Blair was often with me; many a day's journey we

rode side by side.

{516} [Illustration: THE BATTLE OF ATLANTA, JULY 22, 1864--FULLER'S

DIVISION RALLYING AFTER BEING FORCED BACK BY THE CONFEDERATES.]

His mind was replete with knowledge. As we, talking together, recalled

the battles of the Revolution in the Carolinas, and often differed in

discussing them, Blair would say: "Well, general, let us go to

Sherman; he never forgets anything!" I may add that the reference was

always the settlement of the question, for Sherman's historic

knowledge was unfailing. Blair's forte was the law. I knew fairly well

the army regulations; but Blair always went back of the regulations to

the statute law and {517} the Constitution. His mind was a

compendium--one always at hand for me; and it was pleasant to consult

him, for he never took advantage in an ungenerous manner of the

superiority of his knowledge, but ever, without abating his most loyal

service, gave me the information I desired.

During the great march through Georgia and the Carolinas the necessity

of "foraging liberally on the country," of destroying property, as

cotton in bales, factories of all kinds, store-houses, and other

buildings of a public and private nature, troubled General Blair very

much. The conduct of bummers, camp-followers, and of many robbers, who

preceded or followed in the wake of the armies in their destruction

and depredation of private dwellings, vexed him still more. One day in

May, 1865, as we were nearing North Carolina, Blair was riding with me

for the day. After a period of silence, he said: "General, I am

getting weary of all this business. Can't we do something to bring it

to a close? All this terrible waste and destruction and bloodshed

appear to me now to be useless." I do not remember my reply, but I do

recall a visit I made to General Sherman about that time, when I urged

him not to destroy the works at Fayetteville Arsenal, N. C. I said:

"General, the war will soon be over; this property is ours [that is,

the Government's]. Why should we destroy our own property?" The

general replied with some little asperity to the effect: "They

[meaning the Confederates] haven't given up yet. They shall not have

an arsenal here!" In this matter General Blair's sentiment and mine

had agreed.

At another time, noticing that Wheeler's (or Hampton's) cavalry were

burning the cotton to prevent its falling into our hands, and that we

were burning cotton to cripple the Confederate revenue, General Blair

remarked: "Both sides are burning cotton; somebody must be making a

mistake!"

These growing sentiments in genuine sympathy with the suffering people

of the Carolinas, were Blair's thus early, and account, in a measure,

for his subsequent political course; for, as Hammersley says:

"Brave and gallant soldier as he was, and uncompromisingly hostile as

he was to the enemies of his country, when the war was over, and the

Southern army had laid down their arms, he at once arrayed himself

against those who were in favor of continuing to treat Southern people

as enemies, and with voice and pen constantly urged the adoption of a

liberal and humane policy. From this time he united with the

Democratic party."

Blair died in July, 1875. He was of a jovial turn and convivial, but I

think he enjoyed the relief of fun and frolic more than the pleasures

which attend high living. Like his father and his brother, he was a

man of marked ability; he had great acquirements; he was a determined

enemy, but an unswerving and generous friend. In political life his

course seemed to lack consistency; but when judged from an unpartisan

bias, his was, we may be sure, the outward manifestation of a

persistent, patriotic spirit.

MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN A. LOGAN.

A young man received a musket-shot wound through both thighs; he

repaired to the doctor to have his wound dressed, and asked if he

could have it dressed at once, so that he might return to the fight.

The surgeon told him he was in no condition to admit of his return,

but should go to the hospital. The youth remarked that he had fired

twenty-two rounds after he was wounded, and thought he could fire as

many more if his wound were dressed. Finding it impossible to detain

him, the doctor dressed the wound, and the young man returned to his

comrades in the struggle, dealing out his ammunition to good account

until the day was over, as if nothing had happened to him.

[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN A. LOGAN.]

This brave young man afterwards became Gen. John A. Logan. He had such

a striking face that, once seen, it was never forgotten. There was the

straight and raven hair, that, thrown back from his forehead, was long

enough to cover his ears, and make vertical lines just behind his

eyes. There were the broad brow, the firm round chin, and strong neck.

There was the broad, well-cut mouth, always crowned by a dark, heavy

mustache. But the features first seen, and never forgotten, were those

black eyes with brows and lashes to match. At times those eyes were

gentle, pleasant, winning; at times they were cold and indifferent;

but at the least excitement they would quicken, and under provocation

flash fire. Logan's whole figure, not above five feet nine, was

closely knit. His true portrait is everywhere caught by the

photographer, the caricaturist, the painter; but we seldom meet with a

portraiture of the man that animated that splendid tenement. Abbott

compares him with McPherson and contrasts him with Hood. He says:

"When Logan was McPherson's successor on the field of Atlanta,

rivalling his predecessor in bravery, patriotism, and military

ability." ... When speaking of him and Hood, he says: "General Logan

was by no means his inferior in impetuous daring, and far his superior

in all those intellectual qualities of circumspection, coolness, and

judgment requisite to constitute a general."

I hardly think that one who knew both would speak just that way of

Hood and Logan. The fact is, the two men were very much alike. Both

were impetuous, both brave, and both able generals. Hood was put into

the place of General Johnston by Davis with orders to fight

desperately; had Logan been sent to Nashville to relieve General

Thomas when it was contemplated, he would have done precisely as did

Hood--he would have fought, and at once. He might have been

defeated--as Thomas was not. Before Sherman threw his forces upon

Hood's communications, Logan was greatly depressed concerning the

proposed plan. "How can it succeed?" he asked. But when the first

battle came on, all his pluck, forethought, energy, Samson-like, came

to him. Permit me to repeat my words at the time concerning him, just

after that action:

"I wish to express my high gratification with the conduct of the

troops engaged. I never saw better conduct in battle. {518} General

Logan, though ill and much worn out, was indefatigable, and the

success of the day is as much attributable to him as to any one

man...."

As I now estimate General Logan, I think him like Napoleon's Marshal

Murat. He was made for battle; the fiercer, the better it seemed to

suit his temper; but the study of campaigns and military strategy was

not his forte. His personal presence was not only striking, but almost

resistless. The power of love and hate belonged to his nature. If a

friend, like Andrew Jackson, he was a friend indeed; but if an enemy,

it was not comfortable to withstand him. Logan had a good loyal heart;

he sincerely loved his country and her institutions. He is justly

enrolled as a hero and patriot.

MAJOR-GENERAL HENRY WARNER SLOCUM.

In the very beginning of Slocum's career, one characteristic becomes

noticeable from his earliest childhood--he always had a wholesome

object in view; so that, when he attained one elevation, he fixed his

eye steadily upon another still higher, and bent his energies to

attain it.

[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL HENRY WARNER SLOCUM.]

Early in life he cherished a desire for a cadetship at West Point;

this desire was gratified in 1848. Sheridan speaks in his "Memoirs" of

his (Slocum's) studious habits and willingness to aid others. I was

myself at the academy and remember his strong character when the

pro-slavery sentiment at West Point was so great as to lessen the

popularity of any one even suspected of entertaining abolition views.

He fearlessly and openly expressed himself as an opponent to human

slavery.

General Slocum graduated high in his class; saw service in the

Seminole wars in Florida, and remained stationed in the South until

1857, when, having studied law, he resigned to practise his profession

in Syracuse, N. Y., being a representative at Albany in 1859, and

instructor of militia from 1859 to 1861. When Fort Sumter fell he

tendered his services, and was given the command of the Twenty-seventh

New York Volunteers, which he led in a charge at Bull Run, where he

was severely wounded. In August, 1861, he was made brigadier-general

of volunteers, and took a brigade in General Franklin's division. When

Franklin passed to the command of a corps, Slocum took the division.

His work was noticeable on the Peninsula, at Yorktown, West Point,

Gaines's Mill, Glendale, and Malvern Hill, and on each occasion he

received the praise of his commanders. At South Mountain his division

drove the enemy from its position with such a rush as to prevent any

chance of rallying, which act brought him still more commendation. It

was Slocum who led the advance of Franklin's corps to the field of

Antietam, and enabled us to recover and hold much ground that had been

taken from us in the first struggle.

By October of 1862 Slocum's manifest ability had given him the Twelfth

Corps, with which his name is so closely identified. In the

Chancellorsville campaign it was Slocum who made the march around

Lee's left, and showed himself the "cool, self-poised, and prompt

commander that he had always been, and which made him distinguished

even in the brilliant group of generals of which he was a member." It

would require the whole history of Gettysburg to fairly portray

Slocum's part there. The most impressive incident of that battle to me

was Slocum's own battle on the 3d day of July, 1863. For five anxious

hours Slocum commanded the field to our right; that dreadful struggle

went on until Ewell with Early's and Edward Johnson's large divisions

was forced to give up and abandon his prize of the night before.

Slocum's resolute insistence, on the 2d, upon leaving Greene and his

brigade as a precaution when General Meade ordered the Twelfth Corps

to be sent to his (Meade's) left, with Greene's marvellous night

battle, and more still, Slocum's organized work and engagement of the

following morning, in my judgment prevented Meade losing the battle of

Gettysburg.

The disaster at Chickamauga took Slocum's corps from the Rappahannock

to Tennessee. Soon after his arrival he was sent to command the

district of Vicksburg, where his work consisted of expeditions to

break up bridges and railroads and to repel rebel raids. When the

death of General McPherson, Slocum's department commander, at Atlanta,

caused so many changes, Slocum was brought to that city to command the

Twelfth Corps. When, a little later, we swung off on Hood's

communications, Slocum being located south of the Atlanta crossing of

the Chattahoochee River, it was his quick perception that recognized

the significance of the final explosions, and it was he who pushed

forward over the intervening six miles and took possession of that

citadel of Georgia; and it was his despatch to his watchful commander,

thirty miles away, that inspired that brief proclamation, "Atlanta is

ours, and fairly won!"

In the march to the sea and through the Carolinas, General Sherman had

given to Slocum the left wing, the Army of Georgia. He crossed the

Savannah River when the high waters made it most difficult, pushing

and fighting through the swamps of the Carolinas. He fought the battle

of Averysboro, and later took a leading part at Bentonville, where

Johnston, the toughest Confederate of them all, surrendered, and we

turned our faces homeward.

At the close of the war General Slocum resigned from the army and

engaged in civil pursuits, adding to his magnificent military

reputation a civil repute for ability, honesty, and probity in

business as well as in political affairs.

GENERAL WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN.

With regard to the central figure of this group, General Sherman

himself, libraries are so full of his characteristic work and worth

that I will simply add to the above sketches a few items. Those have

been chosen which are the more personal. It is said that when his

father gave him the name of the great Indian chief, Tecumseh, he

remarked: "Who knows but this child may be a fighter?" It is indeed

remarkable how often {519} names are prophetic. A fighter he was, but

one thoroughly equipped with that most valuable weapon to a general,

namely, such knowledge of history as to make him an authority to all

of us. Any disputed point we carried to him; we relied upon his being

able to set us right. Indeed, one of his most marked characteristics

was his quick perception and exceedingly retentive memory. This he

evidenced in many ways; years after he ascended the Indian River in

Florida he remembered with minute distinctness what he saw, from the

shape of the inlet to the roosting pelicans along the mangrove

islands. Talking with him before the battle of Kenesaw Mountain, I

found him so conversant with the Chattahoochee Valley and the roads to

and from Marietta, and all the features of that region, that I was

astonished, and asked him where he had gotten such valuable

information. He said he had gained it twenty years before, when

travelling through the country as a member of a board of officers

detailed to appraise horses lost in the Florida war. During his

service in the South before the war he travelled much, and appears to

have remembered ever after, with wonderful distinctness, the features

of the country.

[Illustration: (hand written) W. T. Sherman.]

Sherman was, above all, pure in his patriotism and free from thought

of self. When, from his position at the Military Seminary in

Louisiana, he saw the conflict coming, he wrote: "I accepted this

position when the motto of the seminary, inserted in marble over the

main door, was, 'By the liberality of the General Government of the

United States.'--'The Union'--'Este perpetua.' ... If Louisiana

withdraws from the Federal Union, I prefer to maintain my allegiance

to the old Constitution as long as a fragment of it survives;" adding,

"for on no account will I do any act or think any thought hostile to

or in defiance of the old government of the United States." When his

clear perception of the magnitude of the struggle before us made him

declare to Secretary Cameron that it "was nonsense to carry on a

picayune war; that sixty thousand men were needed for immediate work

to clear Kentucky and Tennessee; and two hundred thousand men to

finish the war in that quarter;" and when the supposed extravagance of

his demands led to the suspicion that his mind was unbalanced, thus

placing him under a cloud, no selfish thought seems to have occurred

to him. Instead of dwelling upon the injustice done him, he devoted

all his knowledge, his wonderful energy and skill, to aiding General

Grant; and, further, while under this cloud he gathered and sent

forward to Grant much-needed supplies and men. He put order among

quartermasters and commissaries anew, equipped new commands, and

pushed them, never thinking of himself, to the front. This energy and

generosity General Grant promptly acknowledged; and it was here, after

the battle of Fort Donelson, that the celebrated Army of the Tennessee

was born.

General Sherman's organizing powers have been tested by results.

Doubtless his brilliant genius gave more or less inspiration to his

subordinates, and his magnetic influence lifted up to prominence some

very common men; yet, no proof-sustaining bridge can be condemned! He

generously gave both confidence and scope to his officers, just as

Grant had given confidence and scope to him; and such sunshine

develops men and makes them strong. His memory was phenomenal; he had

acquired knowledge with intense rapidity, from observation and from

books, from childhood to age; and by a thousand tests he showed that

he had forgotten nothing that he had once learned. Who could estimate

the number of officers and men he knew at the close of the war? And at

the time of his death thousands claimed his personal recognition.

He led his quartermasters in their plans and estimates for his army;

he was quicker than his chief commissary in figuring the rations for a

month's supply; he was equal to the great engineering general in

everything that pertains to the construction of railroads and the

running of trains; he was more than a match for his Confederate

adversaries in field correspondence with them at Atlanta--a

correspondence rapid and pungent, which involved laws of war and of

nations.

When the Hon. Thomas Ewing, in kindness to General Sherman's family,

offered to adopt a child, his choice fell upon Tecumseh. Mr. Ewing's

testimony, after a little experience with him as a member of his

family, is, "That he was a lad remarkable for accuracy of memory and

straightforwardness."

When truthfulness is the corner-stone of a character--all things being

equal--we have reason to anticipate a strong superstructure. How this

was realized in Sherman, the world knows.

Loyalty to family, loyalty to friends, loyalty to society about him,

loyalty to duty and country, he quickly observed in another. And this

loyalty was a marked characteristic of his own great soul.

OLIVER OTIS HOWARD,

_Major-General U. S. Army_.

GOVERNOR'S ISLAND, N. Y., _July_ 6, 1894.

{520}

PRISONS AND ESCAPES.

BY GEORGE L. KILMER.

ESCAPE OF THREE WAR CORRESPONDENTS FROM SALISBURY PRISON--SEVENTY

PRISONERS ESCAPED, BUT ONLY FIVE REACHED THE NORTH--LONG AND PERILOUS

JOURNEY THROUGH THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY--"OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH, OUT OF

THE MOUTH OF HELL"--A LEAP FOR LIBERTY--FOUR UNION PRISONERS ESCAPED

NEAR CHARLESTON, S. C.--JOURNEY THROUGH SWAMPS AND OVER MOUNTAINS TO

TENNESSEE--ESCAPES FROM ANDERSONVILLE--TUNNELLING UNDER THE

STOCKADE--REMARKABLE ESCAPE OF THE CONFEDERATE GENERAL MORGAN--COLONEL

ROSE'S TUNNEL AT LIBBY PRISON.

Albert D. Richardson and Junius Henri Browne, war correspondents of

the _New York Tribune_, were taken prisoners from a Union vessel that

attempted to pass the Confederate batteries at Grand Gulf, Miss. After

passing some time in Castle Thunder and Libby Prison, Richmond, they

were sent to Salisbury, N. C., as a punishment for endeavoring to

escape, and while there, W. T. Davies of the _Cincinnati Gazette_

united his fortunes with the _Tribune_ men.

[Illustration: LIBBY PRISON, RICHMOND, VA. (From a war-time

photograph.)]

Again and again plans to obtain their freedom were frustrated by some

trifle, until desperation spurred them to the most daring attempts,

but these also ended in failure. One day a body of prisoners, led by

Robert E. Boulger of the Twenty-fourth Michigan, rushed upon a guard

relief, seized their muskets, and attacked the sentinels on their

posts. In their haste, all rushed to one point and attempted to pass

the fence; but a couple of field-pieces and the muskets of the reserve

guard turned upon that one point, quelled the insurrection in three

minutes, killing and wounding one hundred men. A scheme of tunnelling

was then proposed and pushed far toward success, but the prison

commandant took alarm and posted a second line of guards, one hundred

feet outside the stockade, and that rendered egress by tunnels out of

the question. After spending ten months in the Salisbury prison,

Richardson and his two companions determined to take heavy risks in

order to get out and make their way to the mountains of East

Tennessee. The outlook, according to the statistics of escapes during

their experiences in that prison, was not at all promising, for out of

seventy prisoners that had passed the guard, but five had reached the

North. The others had been retaken or had been shot in the mountains.

By extraordinary good luck the trio passed the guards on the night of

December 17, 1864. All three were on duty at the time in the hospital,

and Davies and Browne held passes permitting them to go outside the

first line of sentinels to a Confederate dispensary for supplies. This

privilege had been enjoyed so long that they were allowed to go on

sight. The night of the escape, Browne loaned his pass to Richardson,

and with Davies walked coolly out to the dispensary. Richardson

describes his exit as follows:

"A few minutes later, taking a box filled with the bottles in which

the medicines were usually brought, and giving it to a {521} lad who

assisted me in my hospital duties, I started to follow them. As if in

great haste, we walked rapidly toward the fence. When we reached the

gate, I took the box from the boy and said to him, for the benefit of

the sentinel, of course: 'I am going outside to get these bottles

filled. I shall be back in fifteen minutes, and want you to remain

right here to take and distribute them among the hospitals. Do not go

away.' The lad, understanding me perfectly, replied, 'Yes, sir,' and I

attempted to pass the sentinel by mere assurance. He stopped me with

his musket, demanding:

"'Have you a pass, sir?'

"'Certainly I have a pass,' I replied with all the indignation I could

assume. 'Have you not seen it often enough to know it by this time?'

"Apparently a little dumbfounded, he modestly replied: 'Perhaps I

have; but they are strict with us, and I am not quite sure.'"

The sentinel examined the document which was all right in Browne's

hands, but all wrong in Richardson's. But he did not know the

difference, and told Richardson to pass on. Once outside he met

several Confederate officials who knew him, and knew too that he was

out of his place, but the "peculiarly honest and business-like look of

that medicine box" threw them off their guard. Instead of entering the

dispensary, Richardson hid his box and slipped under a convenient

shelter. At dark his friends joined him, and the three passed the

outer guard without difficulty. For the _Tribune_ men this was the end

of twenty months of captivity. The first night and day were passed in

the barn of a friendly citizen within one mile of the prison. The

second night, a Confederate lieutenant belonging to the Sons of

America, an order of Southerners who secretly aided the Union, met

them and gave them full directions how and where to reach friends on

their journey. Then they set out on their long winter tramp, poorly

clad, and weak from long confinement.

The main guide of the refugees was a railroad running west, but they

were often obliged to leave the line to avoid crowded settlements, and

were frequently lost in making those detours. In such emergencies they

relied upon chance friends among the slaves to direct them aright.

On the morning of the seventh day of their escape, they found that

they had made fifty miles of their direct journey. December 30th they

crossed the Yadkin River, now getting into a region where Union homes

were plenty. Communications had to be opened with women, as the men

were "lying out" in order to avoid impressment by the hated

Confederacy; and, after allaying all suspicion, our refugees found

these people of great service.

"The men of the community were walking arsenals. Each had a trusty

rifle, one or two navy revolvers, a great bowie-knife, a haversack,

and a canteen."

Guided and fed by the friends they found here, the three reached

Tennessee early in January; but their perils were not yet over, for

the mountains were constantly patrolled by Confederate guerillas. Once

they had to pass within a quarter of a mile of a notorious rendezvous,

called Little Richmond. An invalid arose from his bed and guided them

past the danger at the risk of his life. On another occasion their

guide, the celebrated Dan Ellis, aroused the party from sleep with the

startling announcement: "We have walked right into a nest of rebels.

Several hundred are within a few miles, and eighty in this immediate

vicinity!"

They scattered in various directions, Richardson and his party--for

others had joined them--being led by a young woman who often performed

this service, though her name, Melvina Stephens, was never revealed

until the war had closed.

On the 14th of January, 1865, the _Tribune_ printed this despatch from

its long-lost correspondent:

"KNOXVILLE, TENN., _January_ 13, 1865.

"Out of the jaws of death; out of the mouth of hell.

"ALBERT D. RICHARDSON."

He had travelled three hundred and forty miles since leaving the

prison, twenty-seven days before.

{522} [Illustration: GUARDING CONFEDERATE PRISONERS. (From a War

Department photograph.)]