ANDY ON THE BREASTWORKS
At home Andy had never experienced any difficulty with his father’s
slaves, for the colored people were well cared for and were too happy
to create any disturbances. To be sure, minor difficulties arose from
time to time, but these had been readily adjusted, and there was not
a man or woman on the Arlington plantation who would not have been
willing to lay down his or her life for any member of the family.
These slaves were true to the Arlingtons all through the war, and when
liberated by President Lincoln’s proclamation, made no effort to take
advantage of their liberty. As attachés of that plantation and dairy,
they felt they were being better taken care of than they would be if
they tried to do for themselves.
To come in contact, then, with such rascals as Pomp and Cuffy was to
the youth much of a surprise, and having seen the slaves dash away, he
stood still, not knowing what to do, until Mr. Rockleigh caught him by
the arm.
“Come, we must stop them. They have my gold and they will try to reach
the North if they can,” burst from the plantation owner.
Out he sped, and Andy came upon his heels. The report of the pistol and
the smashing of the glass had aroused a number of inhabitants living
on the other side of the main road upon which the house stood, and now
windows were thrown up and anxious faces appeared, and voices demanded
to know what was the trouble. Matters were quickly explained, and soon
a dozen men were in the saddle and on foot in pursuit of the runaway
thieves.
One man living a distance up the road had seen Pomp and Cuffy taking
a side path leading due northward, and it was in this direction the
pursuing party headed, spreading out over several open fields, that the
negroes might not double on their trail and escape in that manner. Mr.
Rockleigh wanted to follow them with bloodhounds, but not a dog of that
breed was handy.
“Just let me catch them,” he cried, in a fearful rage. “I’ll skin
them both alive. I’ll cut out their black hearts with my whip.” He was
naturally a passionate man, and this was one reason why his slaves had
revolted.
The pursuit was kept up until six o’clock in the morning. It was then
discovered that the two runaways had separated. One party, including
Andy, continued after Pomp, while the second followed up the trail of
Cuffy. By ten o’clock Andy dropped out of the search to ride post-haste
back to his command. Sometime later he learned that Pomp had not been
captured.
Cuffy was taken while in hiding in a brook in a patch of woods. He was
dragged out of the water by his heels and at once searched. A hundred
dollars in gold was found in his shirt bosom. The remainder of the
money he insisted was in Pomp’s possession. He was marched back to the
Rockleigh plantation, where he was chained up in one of the barns and
flogged until he dropped like one dead, from exhaustion and loss of
blood.
This was the only incident of note which occurred on the trip from Lee
Run to Manassas Junction. Arriving at the Junction the Montgomery Grays
selected a camping spot in the vicinity of a number of other Virginia
troops, and immediately went into quarters in true military style.
Their camp was in an orchard of trees which had borne their best
fruit years before, and which were consequently good for little else
than firewood. The Montgomery Grays occupied one “street” about a
hundred and fifty feet long. At the upper end of the “street” were the
officers’ tents, at the center the horses’ quarters, and at the lower
end the cook’s quarters. The cook was a fat darky known as Mungo, a
jolly fellow who sang from morning to night, and who could play a
banjo to perfection. Mungo had brought his banjo with him, a home-made
instrument, the head of which was almost as black as his own, and this
banjo he declared must go along whenever they moved, no matter what
else had to be left behind.
“I would jess mope away an’ die ef I didn’t hab dat dere instrument,
cap’n,” he explained to Captain Montgomery. “It’s been my pet fo’ ten
yahs an’ mo’. Ef I’se killed in dis yere wah, bury de banjo wid me.”
“All right, Mungo, I’ll remember that,” answered the captain. “But
don’t forget, if you get the chance, to smash that banjo over some
Yankee’s head. Do that, and I’ll buy you the best instrument to be
found in Richmond.”
“De Yankee ain’t born whose head am good enuf to hab dis yere banjo
smashed ober it,” murmured Mungo; and there the subject was dropped.
The main body of the Confederate army was stationed in and about
Manassas Junction and along a little stream known as Bull Run; but
there were also bodies of troops at Centerville and Fairfax Court
House, situated between Manassas and Washington, and also detachments
at Alexandria on the Potomac and at Arlington Heights, just across the
river from the Capitol.
Andy had been in camp less than a week when he received his first
real taste of war life, if not of war itself. In order to strengthen
the position of the army at Bull Run, it was decided to throw up
breastworks, and this was done under the orders of General Beauregard,
who now had under him a force of nearly twenty thousand men.
Bull Run is a sluggish stream of water, flowing between steep banks
and through a well-timbered country. Its winding course contained many
fords and several bridges. The Confederate army occupied about eight
miles of the southern bank of this stream, and at once began the work
of defending seven of the fords and one of the bridges by throwing up
breastworks of dirt and brushwood.
With the others in his company, Andy was given first a pick and then
a shovel and set to work like any common day laborer. The youth was
not used to this, and when night came his back ached as it never had
before. The work took the best part of a week, and then Andy found his
hands blistered.
“Call this fighting?” he grumbled. “It wouldn’t be so bad if a fellow
was out in California digging gold, but to work like a nigger on the
streets of a town--” He did not finish but heaved a big sigh. That
night it rained “pitchforks;” the tent Andy occupied with Leroy was
blown down, and he felt utterly discouraged.
“Never mind, Andy,” said Leroy, trying to cheer him. “We’ll be
fighting before long, and then you can show your mettle to better
advantage. I heard some of the officers saying that the soldiers over
in Washington would be out this way before the month was up. If they
come we ought to give it to ’em red hot.”
“They can’t come any too quick for me,” growled Andy.
Even with the work on the defenses the drilling went on daily without
interruption. First they would drill in company, then with other
detached cavalry troops, and finally would come the grand drill of the
division. The drilling was not always done in an open field, but among
the trees and on rough ground, and often fences had to be jumped and
streams forded. It was not play but hard work; yet Andy liked it a good
deal better than handling a pick and a shovel, something he thought
altogether beneath him.
“It’s life to be on horseback, dashing here and there,” he observed
to Leroy Wellington. “If only the Yankees would appear and give us a
little more of this sort to do. I wonder if they are going to wait for
us to attack them?”
The breastworks along Bull Run completed, advance guards were sent out
along the Potomac just above Washington. Then the Confederates sent
their engineers along Arlington Heights to survey the territory and
report on the advisability of planting a battery there. Some of the
Southern leaders were certain that such a battery could successfully
shell Washington and compel President Lincoln and the members of
Congress to flee for their lives. The only trouble was, could they hold
such a position? Might not the Union forces come down upon them from
the upper Potomac and cut them off from their base of supplies and from
Richmond?
The question was answered before the Southern generals had time to
act upon their idea. One day a Union officer, while in a boat near the
foot of Arlington Heights, discovered a number of men walking about
among the rocks and brush. The officer happened to have a powerful
spy-glass with him, and using this, discovered that one of the men was
Robert E. Lee, who was then the military adviser of President Davis of
the Confederacy, and who afterwards became the general-in-chief of the
Southern army. Lee was laying out fortifications, and the Union officer
lost no time in reporting to General Scott to that effect.
General Scott saw at once that this work must be stopped instantly, or
Washington would be at the enemy’s mercy. Orders were accordingly given
for certain detachments of the Union troops to cross the river without
delay, and take possession of the opposite shore.
The advance from Washington was made at two o’clock at night. Two
bridges crossed the Potomac at this point, and a column of the army
passed over by each, while a third division embarked on vessels for
Alexandria, a short distance below Arlington Heights. As soon as the
Confederates heard of the approach of the Union men they retreated, and
the shore of the Potomac opposite Washington was occupied without great
difficulty.
Louis was just about to retire for the night when the sudden roll of
the drum made him leap to his feet. In a few seconds Harry Bingham came
rushing into the tent.
“We are off, Louis!” he ejaculated. “The war has begun.”
“Off! Where to?” burst from Louis’s lips.
“I don’t know. Across the river to somewhere I believe. Come on!” and
off Harry ran, with Louis at his heels. The parade ground was filled
with men, on foot and on horseback, scurrying in all directions.
From their captain the youths soon learned that the Union army, or
a portion of it, was to take possession of the other shore of the
river. The various commands had been divided into three parts and the
Goreville Volunteers were to be attached to the Ellsworth Zouaves and
some other companies, bound by boat for Alexandria. In less than two
hours all was ready for embarkation.
The trip down the stream to one of the main docks in Alexandria did
not take long. Company after company came ashore unmolested, although
mutterings could be heard on every side. Having landed all of his
troops, Colonel Ellsworth marched up the main street, called upon
the city authorities to surrender the town, and then started for the
telegraph office, with the intention of cutting off all communications
with the South--certainly a very clever movement.
The Goreville Volunteers soon found themselves not far from the
telegraph office for which Colonel Ellsworth was bound. They had become
detached from the main body of the soldiers and now, without warning,
were surrounded by a mob of two hundred people, armed with pistols,
clubs, and stones.
“Down with the Yankees! Down with the Northern mud-sills!” was the cry,
and in a moment the air became thick with flying stones and lumps of
dirt. Captain Paulding at once halted his men in two lines, and gave
the rear line the order to “about face.” Next came the order to take
aim, but by this time the mob saw that the soldiers “meant business,”
and it melted away as quickly as it had gathered.
“A bloodless victory,” said Harry, who stood next to Louis.
Louis smiled and then he nodded his head in the direction where Jerry
Rowe stood. Poor Jerry was shaking so that he could scarcely hold his
gun.
“He’ll collapse when he gets into a regular battle,” said Harry, and
then the command came for silence in the ranks and nothing further was
said.
A little later the command marched past the Marshall House, one of the
leading hotels of Alexandria. From the top waved a Confederate flag--a
flag which President Lincoln and others had often seen from a window in
the White House.
“That flag ought to come down,” whispered Louis. He had scarcely spoken
when down the street came Colonel Ellsworth, accompanied by only two or
three of his command. Ellsworth had noted the flag and now he ran into
the hotel to tear it down with his own hands.
“Whose flag is that?” he demanded of the first man he met.
“I don’t know,” was the surly reply.
“I want it lowered at once.”
“Do you? All right, go take it down yourself.”
“I will,” answered the Union officer, and ran up one pair of stairs
after another to the roof of the hotel. Here the halliards of the
flag-staff were cut and the flag brought down on a run. With the colors
wound over his arm, Ellsworth began to descend to the street. He had
just reached the second floor of the building when the proprietor of
the hotel, a man named Jackson, appeared in the hallway armed with a
double-barrel shotgun.
“Will haul it down, will you?” he muttered and pointing his weapon at
Ellsworth’s breast, fired. The gallant leader of the Ellsworth Zouaves
was killed instantly, and sank down without a moan.
“Ellsworth is shot! Help!” came the cry from the Union officer’s
companions, and then one fired at Jackson with fatal effect. As the
hotel man went down in a pool of blood the others leaped upon his body
and thrust it through with their sabers.
“Spare him!” came in a woman’s voice, and the secessionist’s wife came
rushing forth from a bedroom. Thinking her husband might still breathe,
she threw herself on his corpse, while the Union men, knowing he was
dead, picked up their lifeless leader and carried him away.