ANDY GOES TO YORKTOWN
When Andy came to his senses, he found himself lying on a cot in a
farmhouse, quarter of a mile from where he had crossed the Potomac.
The farmhouse was being used as a rebel headquarters, and half a dozen
Confederate officers were present, making out various reports and
attending to other duties of a military nature.
As soon as he felt strong enough, he told his story in detail, to which
those present listened with lively interest. An officer knew of the
advance to Ball’s Bluff of the Montgomery Grays and what the youth had
to say was readily believed.
“I suppose you would like to go home as soon as possible,” said one
of the officers. “We are going to send some army wagons southward
to-morrow, and one of them can go down by the Lee Run road and you can
ride with the teamster, if you wish.”
Andy gladly accepted the offer, and six o’clock in the morning
found him homeward bound at the rate of four miles an hour, for the
canvas-covered vehicle was loaded to the ash bows and the recent rains
had rendered the roads almost impassable. Ordinarily the time would
have dragged heavily, but the teamster was a jolly fellow, full of
jokes and war stories, and he made Andy forget his troubles in spite of
himself. They had their army rations with them and only stopped long
enough to feed the horses. The teamster intimated several times that
they might stop at a roadhouse, “to become better acquainted,” but as
neither he nor Andy had money to spend this was not done.
Andy’s heart beat quickly as they approached the familiar surroundings
of Lee Run. What a long while it seemed since he had gone away! He
wondered how his father and the rest of the family were.
“Andy, my son! God be praised!” came from the stoop of the country
store, and the next minute the young soldier was in his mother’s arms,
while Grace was bobbing around, this side and that, looking for a
chance to get at him.
“You have been shot and a prisoner!” gasped Grace. “Oh, Andy!”
“We thought you had been killed,” said the mother, with her eyes full
of tears. “Captain Montgomery sent us word of how you had gone over the
bluff while on horseback, and when Firefly came back alone--”
“Firefly!” burst out Andy, his face beaming more brightly than ever.
“Is he really back?”
“Why, yes, he came back the next day. A man caught him who knew him and
turned him over to Captain Montgomery. He is at home in the stable now.”
“I’m awfully glad, mother. I was afraid I would never see the dear old
fellow again. And how is father?”
“As well as he can be expected. The war has upset him completely, and
he cannot settle down to work as he used to do. But how pale and thin
you are!”
“He’s only a ghost of himself,” added Grace. “But never mind, Andy,”
she went on, warmly, “we’ll fatten you up again, and make you strong,
and I’m proud to know what a hero I have for a brother!” and then he
gave her such a hug and a kiss as only Andy could give--he was so
whole-souled in everything he did.
Mrs. Arlington and Grace had been down to the store to do some trading
and to hear the latest news from the seat of war. Around Washington,
as we know, all was quiet, but in the west, especially in Missouri,
matters were getting livelier every day. The news from this district
did not arrive until three or four days old, there being no telegraph
lines in use south of Cairo, but when it did come, how eagerly every
line was perused, and what a running fire of comment ensued!
Soon the three were on their way to the dairy farm. As the old horse
jogged along over the stony road, Andy related the particulars of his
experience at Ball’s Bluff.
“I don’t mind telling you that I was scared,” he said to mother and
sister, frankly, “but I wouldn’t have let the enemy know that for the
world!”
“You’re your father over again,” said Mrs. Arlington, with a smile.
“He was captured by the Mexicans at the time he was wounded, and they
took off his leg very roughly, but he never winced--so some other
soldiers told me.”
“Oh, I hope Andy never loses a leg,” cried Grace.
“If I do I’ll try to be as heroic as father was,” said the youth,
gravely.
Mr. Arlington was as well pleased as the others had been to see his son
once more. “I was afraid you had been shot and your body had drifted
down into Chesapeake Bay,” he said, as he took both of Andy’s hands.
“Tell me all about it,” and again the tale was told, the others as
eager to hear as though not a word had been said before.
Christmas came and went and by that time Andy felt as well and strong
as ever. Sometimes, when the weather was particularly raw, the place
where the bullet wound had left a scar hurt him, “itched,” he said--a
feeling plenty of veterans know only too well. But he never complained,
being fearful it might hinder him from going to the front again.
In the meantime he had written to Captain Montgomery. The Grays were
in winter quarters several miles back of the bank of the Potomac, and
an equal distance south of Alexandria. To join them at this time would
have been useless, and Andy received word that he might stay home and
“get braced up” until the army moved again in the spring.
Now that he felt able to do so, the youth worked around the dairy
as before, superintending the women and men and giving his father a
much-needed holiday. But Andy’s heart was not in the task--it was with
the Grays. He was impatient to rejoin them.
“A letter fo’ you, Massa Andrew,” said one of the slaves, one day in
the spring.
Andy took the communication quickly. It was from the army, as the stamp
in the corner of the envelope showed. He tore it open hastily, then
rushed off to find his folks.
“I’ve got an order to join our cavalry at once! The Federals are
getting ready for a move from Washington!” he cried, and then followed
two hours of hustling, as he arranged his clothing, packed his
saddlebags and had Firefly groomed his very best. The horse seemed to
understand the order, too, for his brown eyes brightened and he snorted
in approval.
“Take care of yourself, my boy,” said the fond mother. “Write as often
as you can,” added the father. “Don’t let the Yankees catch you again,”
chimed in Grace, and then all kissed him affectionately and followed
him out on the verandah. Soon he was in the saddle, and with a last
wave of the hand he galloped off and was lost to view among the trees.
The day was bright and warm. Andy was in the finest of spirits, so
was Firefly, and mile after mile was paced off in the charger’s best
style. At noon Andy stopped at a little tavern at a cross-roads for
dinner, and here two other cavalrymen joined him, neither belonging to
the Grays, but both bound southward. For the rest of the day the trio
remained together, and this made the journey even more pleasant than
before.
“The Yankees are going to give us a shake-up at Richmond, to my way
of thinking,” said one of the cavalrymen. “I received a letter from a
friend who lives down there last week, and he says the authorities are
certain that Yankee spies are around sizing up the defenses.”
“Well, I reckon we have spies in Washington, too,” said Andy, and in
this he was right. Long afterwards it was found that a spy occupying
a confidential government position had given to the Confederates the
first intimation that the Army of the Potomac was about leaving for
an attack upon Richmond by way of the peninsula. It was such spy work
which gave the Confederates time to throw up their defenses at Yorktown
and elsewhere and thus hold General McClellan’s forces in check until
further re-enforcements for the Confederate Capital could arrive.
“They won’t gain a thing by another attack out here,” put in the second
cavalryman. “Why, companies of soldiers and bands of cavalry are
springing up like mushrooms. We’re bound to wipe ’em out by mere force
of numbers.”
“That may be true--just now,” returned Andy, seriously. “But what
worries me is, sooner or later, they’ll be able to put more men in the
field than ourselves. Why, the northern States have four times as many
citizens as we have.”
“Yes, but they won’t fight like our boys will, Arlington. We are
fighting not only for State rights but for our homes. A man can stay at
home and fight for it better than he can go off and fight.”
“Another thing to remember,” added the other horseman. “They are
blockading our ports so that we can’t send our cotton to the foreign
countries that want it. It won’t be long before these foreign countries
begin to kick, and if we put up our cotton they’ll furnish us with
both money and men to show the Yankees their places. Cotton is king in
America, and don’t you forget it.”
And so the talk went on. The remark about cotton was one heard
everywhere, having even been mentioned in Congress before the Southern
representatives and senators took leave of the Capitol. Cotton and
tobacco did play a prominent part in the war, but they were not as
powerful as some of the Confederate leaders imagined.
On the third day of his journey, Andy reached Camp Lee, as the spot
where the Grays had gone into quarters was designated, out of honor to
the illustrious line of Lees that have ever been prominent in Virginia
chronicles from Revolutionary days on. The first person to rush up and
shake him by the hand was Leroy Wellington, and Captain Montgomery and
a dozen others followed.
“By jinks! but I thought you were done for when I saw you fall into the
Potomac and float down to Harrison Island!” exclaimed Leroy. “You are
a sight for sore eyes!” and he fairly hugged his friend. Andy had to
tell his story twice, once to the officers and again to the mess he had
joined.
The winter quarters of the Grays had been close to the shelter of a
belt of timber land. Here the cavalrymen had built up houses of logs
and mud, covered over in many cases with bits of canvas and whatever of
boards came handy. The floors were strewn with pine brush, some brush,
covered with rubber cloths, serving also for beds. Some of the houses
had little ovens built of sun-dried bricks, and two had sheet-iron wood
stoves. All told, the boys in gray had passed a fairly comfortable
winter.
“The worst part was when we went out with the pickets,” said Leroy.
“That week was a corker, and I was detailed up at the top of yonder
hill, to carry the news back in case there was an alarm. It rained and
snowed nearly all the time, and one night I was nearly blown away, and
an old tree came down within ten yards of me and the horse. That was a
close call, I can tell you, and I didn’t get over it for hours. You can
thank your stars and bars you were at home in a warm bed.”
The orders to move came that night, at nine o’clock. “Roll call at five
o’clock, boys; half an hour for breakfast, and the column moves at six
sharp. Heavy marching orders. We are not coming back, but the general’s
order is not to carry any more than necessary.”
“Heavy marching order, but don’t carry more than what is necessary,”
mused Andy. “That looks as if we were going to get along as fast as
possible. Where are we going, Bosdell?”
“Don’t know, but I heard something said about crossing the
Rappahannock. My opinion is the Yankees are going to leave Washington
by boat and land at Urbanna, and then try to march overland to
Richmond.”
“We can get to Urbanna in one day, if we ride hard,” said Leroy. “But
can enough of our troops get there?”
“We might stop them at the York River,” said Andy, “that is, if we
could hurry and steal a march around their right flank.”
History has shown how near Bosdell’s guess was to being right. One of
the first plans of the campaign was to land at Urbanna, situated some
fifty miles above Fortress Monroe, but delays and military operations
in the interior of Virginia made a change necessary, and the Union
forces went down to the end of the peninsula, as previously described.
By five o’clock in the morning the camp was astir. The cavalrymen
were having their horses and trappings looked after, the artillerymen
were testing wheels, carriages, and harnesses, everybody was packing
knapsacks and saddlebags and rolling up blankets. The day was foggy and
cold, more than half the soldiers were out of humor, and grumblings
were frequent. It was, “Where’s that strap?” “Who took my cake of
soap?” “Did you see anything of my gun?” “Have I got to leave this
folding chair behind, or can I tote it along?” “Have we got to move
before the mail comes in?” Then came the call to fall in for breakfast;
hot coffee, really fresh bread, and some fresh meat and beans were
served out, and everyone felt better. It was the best meal Andy saw
for many a weary day. The news had spread throughout the district that
the “sodgers” were to move, and crowds came down to see them off,
many bringing with them some dainties, in the shape of chicken, jam,
hoecakes, and the like.
Promptly at six o’clock the bugles sounded, and the head of the column
moved off. First came the advance guard, then the pioneers--men with
heavy axes to clear the way--then a detachment of cavalry, and then the
regular troops. After the troops and artillery came a small detachment
of cavalry, detailed to “whip up” the stragglers, who, if they would
not obey orders to “march on, and get where you belong,” were pitched
into one of the guard wagons which followed for such purposes. Last
of all came the wagon train, covered by another band of cavalry and
by a small battery. On each side of this long column moved a line of
skirmishers, keeping from two to five hundred feet from the road, to
prevent any possible surprise from the right or the left, although,
just then, no surprise was anticipated.
By a quarter to seven the Montgomery Grays fell into their proper
place, and then ensued a long march lasting until nightfall, with half
an hour’s rest at one o’clock for dinner. Three days’ rations had
been served out to be eaten directly from the knapsack, with possibly
a chance to kindle a brush fire and heat some coffee. The food was
hardtack, coffee, pork and beans, nothing else. Regular army fare had
again begun.
On the following day, in the middle of the afternoon, it began to
rain. At first many thought it would be but a shower, but by the time
a camp was selected, it was pouring down in torrents. The Grays found
themselves booked for an eighth section of an open field, a portion of
which had already been ploughed for spring planting.
“Here’s a picnic!” grumbled Leroy, as he dismounted, to find himself in
water several inches deep. “How under the sun are we to pitch tents out
here?”
“We are not going to do it under the sun, Leroy; we’re going to do it
under the dripping clouds. Come on, pitch in. Ask Groman for a spade
and we’ll soon have a trench dug in which the water can run off.”
Leroy went off, and Andy took charge of his horse. By the time he had
seen that animal and Firefly cared for, Leroy was back and digging a
trench about six inches deep. He cut it in the form of a square just a
trifle larger than what the tent would cover. The others of the mess
had gone foraging for tent poles. These were easily procured, and
fifteen minutes later the canvas was up. It shed the rain into the
trenches, and soon the water inside also found its way down into the
hollow, and then the ground became fairly dry. But a night there, even
with a rubber cloth and blankets, was far from home-like, and many a
poor chap caught his death of cold. Andy was glad when morning came and
the sun shone brightly through the flying clouds.
Four days later found the Montgomery Grays detached from the main
body of the troops and on their way to Yorktown. Everything was bustle
and excitement, and the youth felt that something was up. Soon the
news came that the Union troops had landed at Fortress Monroe and were
on their way up the peninsula. By the time Yorktown was reached the
Confederates there had already thrown up a long line of breastworks
which practically extended across the whole peninsula.
On the second day in camp on the outskirts of Yorktown, Captain
Montgomery came to Andy with a folded paper.
“Arlington, here is an order I wish carried to General Magruder or
his representative in the field. The orderlies are all away on other
business. You will find Magruder’s command somewhere near Lee’s Mill.
Make the most of your time,” and off Captain Montgomery dashed again.
Without losing a moment Andy placed the folded paper in his pocket and
urged Firefly down the muddy road leading along the rear line of the
Confederate forces. His progress was soon barred by a breakdown on the
highway and he was compelled to make a détour through a woods. Thinking
sooner to gain the point he was seeking, he kept on along the woods
until he reached a small clearing, not far from the Warwick River and
at a point known as Garrow’s Chimneys, because of three tall, burnt-out
chimneys standing there. Just below him were located a long line of
rifle pits belonging to the Confederate troops.
As he approached the spot, half a dozen rifle shots sounded out from
the river, and then came the sudden booming of a cannon.
“The Yankees are fording the river!” was the cry. “They are just below
Dam No. 1. They are going to break through the line if they can! We’re
going to have hot work now!”
The remainder of the talk was cut short by a volley from the Warwick.
The Union troops were coming true enough. Unable to restrain his
curiosity, Andy rode forward to where a slight hill overlooked the
stream. Hardly had he shown himself, when spat! a minie ball hit the
tree beside him and clipped off a bit of bark. The young Confederate
lost no time in returning to cover.