A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy,
ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.--TAMING OF THE SHREW.
[Sidenote: ON THE MARCH SOUTHWARD.]
When the army left Harper's Ferry, on a forced march, it moved, with
incredible celerity, thirty miles in nine days!
The Virginians east of the Blue Ridge were nearly all hot
Secessionists. The troops, who had behaved well among the Union people
of Maryland, saw the contrast, and spoiled the Egyptians accordingly.
I think if Pharaoh had seen his homestead passed over by a hungry,
hostile force, he would have let the people go.
In the presence of the army, many professed a sort of loyal neutrality,
or neutral loyalty; but I did not hear a single white Virginian of
either sex claim to be an unconditional Unionist.
At Woodgrove, one evening, finding that we should not go into camp
before midnight, I sought supper and lodging at a private house of the
better class. My middle-aged host and his two young, unmarried sisters,
were glad to entertain some one from the army, to protect their
dwelling against stragglers.
[Sidenote: REBEL GIRL WITH A SHARP TONGUE.]
The elder girl, of about eighteen, was almost a monomaniac upon the
war. She declared she had no aspiration for heaven, if any Yankees were
to be there. She would be proud to kiss the dirtiest, raggedest soldier
in the Rebel army. I refrained from discussing politics with her, and
we talked of other subjects.
During the evening, Generals Gorman and Burns reached the house to seek
shelter for the night. The officers, discovering the sensitiveness of
the poor girl, expressed the most ultra sentiments. Well educated, and
with a tongue like a rapier, she was at times greatly excited, and the
blood crimsoned her face; but she out-talked them all.
"By-the-way," asked Burns, mischievously, "do you ever read _The
Tribune_?"
She replied, with intense indignation:
"Read it! I would not touch it with a pair of tongs! It is the most
infamous Abolition, negro-equality sheet in the whole world!"
"So a great many people say," continued Burns. "However, here is one of
its correspondents."
"In this room?"
"Yes, madam."
"He must be even worse than you, who come down here to murder us! Where
is he?"
"Sitting in the corner there, reading letters."
"I thought you were deceiving me. That is no _Tribune_ correspondent. I
do not believe you." (To me:) "This Yankee officer says that you write
for _The New York Tribune_. You don't, do you?"
"Yes, madam."
"Why, you seem to be a gentleman. It is not true! It's a jest between
you just to make me angry."
At last convinced, she withheld altogether from me the expected
vituperation, but assailed Burns in a style which made him very glad to
abandon the unequal contest. She relentlessly persisted that he should
always wear his star, for nobody would suspect him of being a general
if he appeared without his uniform--that he was the worst type of the
most obnoxious Yankee, etc.
At Upperville, the next day, I inquired of a woman who was scrutinizing
us from her door:
"Have you seen any Rebel pickets this morning?"
She replied, indignantly:
"No! Why do you call them Rebels?"
"As you please, madam; what do you call them?"
"I call them Southern heroes, sir!"
[Sidenote: THE NEGROES "WATCHING AND WAITING."]
The negroes poured into our lines whenever permitted.
"Well, Uncle," I asked of a white-haired patriarch, who was tottering
along the road, "are you a Rebel, like everybody else?"
"No, sir! What should I be a Rebel for? I have been wanting to come to
you all a heap of times; but I just watched and waited."
Watching and waiting! Four millions of negroes were watching and
waiting from the beginning of the war until President Lincoln's
Proclamation.
On the march, Major O'Neil, of General Meagher's staff, started with a
message to Burnside, who was a few miles on our left. Unsuspectingly,
he rode right into a squad of cavalry dressed in United States uniform.
He found that they were Stuart's Rebels in disguise, and that he was
a captive. O'Neil had only just been exchanged from Libby Prison, and
his prospect was disheartening. The delighted Rebels sent him to their
head-quarters in Bloomfield, under guard of a lieutenant and two men.
But, on reaching the village, they found the head-quarters closed.
"I wonder where our forces are gone," said the Rebel officer. "Oh, here
they are! Men, guard the prisoner while I ride to them."
And he galloped down the street to a company of approaching cavalry.
Just as he reached them, they leveled their carbines, and cried:
"Surrender!"
He had made precisely the same mistake as Major O'Neil, and ridden
into our cavalry instead of his own. So, after spending three hours in
the hands of the Rebels, O'Neil found himself once more in our lines,
accompanied by three Rebel prisoners.
The slaveholders complained greatly of the depredations of our army. A
very wealthy planter, who had lost nothing of much value, drew for me a
frightful picture of impending starvation.
"I could bear it myself," exclaimed this Virginian Pecksniff, "but it
is very hard for these little negroes, who are almost as dear to me as
my own children."
He had one of the young Africans upon his knee, and it was quite as
white as "his own children," who were running about the room. The only
perceptible difference was that its hair was curly, while theirs was
straight.
[Sidenote: REMOVAL OF GENERAL MCCLELLAN.]
At Warrenton, on the 7th of November, McClellan was relieved from the
command of the Army of the Potomac. He issued the following farewell:
"An order from the President devolves upon Major-General
Burnside the command of this army. In parting from you, I
cannot express the love and gratitude I bear you. As an army,
you have grown under my care; in you I have never found doubt
or coldness. The battles you have fought under my command
will brightly live in our nation's history; the glory you
have achieved, our mutual perils and fatigues, the graves
of our comrades fallen in battle and by disease, the broken
forms of those whom wounds and sickness have disabled, make
the strongest associations which can exist among men. United
still by an indissoluble tie, we shall ever be comrades
in supporting the Constitution of our country and the
nationality of its people."
McClellan's political and personal friends were aggrieved and indignant
at his removal in the midst of a campaign. Three of his staff officers
even made a foolish attempt to assault a _Tribune_ correspondent,
on account of the supposed hostility of that journal toward their
commander. General McClellan, upon hearing of it, sent a disclaimer and
apology, and the officers were soon heartily ashamed.
The withdrawal was worked up to its utmost dramatic effect. Immediately
after reading the farewell order to all the troops, there was a final
review, in which the outgoing and incoming generals, with their long
staffs, rode along the lines. Salutes were fired and colors dipped.
At some points, the men cheered warmly, but the new regiments were
"heroically reticent." McClellan's chief strength was with the rank and
file.
[Sidenote: PICKETS TALKING ACROSS THE RIVER.]
Burnside pushed the army rapidly forward to the Rappahannock. The
Rebels held Fredericksburg, on the south bank. The men conversed freely
across the stream. One day I heard a dialogue like this:
"Halloo, butternut!"
"Halloo, bluebelly!"
"What was the matter with your battery, Tuesday night?"
"You made it too hot. Your shots drove away the cannoneers, and they
haven't stopped running yet. We infantry men had to come out and
withdraw the guns."
"You infantrymen will run, too, one of these fine mornings."
"When are you coming over?"
"When we get ready to come."
"What do you want?"
"Want Fredericksburg."
"Don't you wish you may get it?"
Here an officer came up and ordered our men away.
The army halted for some weeks in front of Fredericksburg.
[Sidenote: HOW ARMY CORRESPONDENTS LIVED.]
By this time, War Correspondence was employing hundreds of pens.
_The Tribune_ had from five to eight men in the Army of the Potomac,
and twelve west of the Alleghanies. My own local habitation was the
head-quarters of Major-General O. O. Howard, who afterward won wide
reputation in Tennessee and Georgia, and who is an officer of great
skill, bravery, and personal purity.
My dispatches were usually prepared, and those of my associates sent
to me, at night. Before dawn, a special messenger called at my tent
for them, and bore them on horseback, or by railway and steamer, to
Washington, whence they were forwarded to New York by mail or telegraph.
Correspondents usually lived at the head-quarters of some general
officer, bearing their due proportion of mess expenditures; but they
were compelled to rely upon the bounty of quartermasters for forage for
their horses, and transportation for their baggage.
Having no legal and recognized positions in the army, they were
sometimes liable to supercilious treatment from young members of staff.
They were sure of politeness and consideration from generals; yet,
particularly in the regular army, there was a certain impression that
they deserved Halleck's characterization of "unauthorized hangers-on."
To encourage the best class of journalists to accompany the army, there
should be a law distinctly authorizing representatives of the Press,
who are engaged in no other pursuit, to accompany troops in the field,
and purchase forage and provisions at the same rates as officers. They
should, of course, be held to a just responsibility not to publish
information which could benefit the enemy.
Nightly, around our great division camp-fire, negroes of all ages pored
over their spelling-books with commendable thirst for learning.
[Sidenote: I'D RATHER BE FREE.]
One boy, of fourteen, was considered peculiarly stupid, and had seen
hard work, rough living, and no pay, during his twelve months' sojourn
with the army. I asked him: "Did you work as hard for your old master
as you do here?"
"No, sir."
"Did he treat you kindly?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you as well clothed as now?"
"Better, sir."
"And had more comforts?"
"Yes, sir; always had a roof over me, and was never exposed to rain and
cold."
"Would you not have done better to stay at home?"
"If I had thought so, I should not have come away, sir."
"Would you come again, knowing what hardships were before you?"
"Yes, sir. I'd rather be free!"
He was not stupid enough to be devoid of human instinct!
[Sidenote: THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG.]
In December occurred the battle of Fredericksburg. The enemy's position
was very strong--almost impregnable. Our men were compelled to lay
their pontoons across the river in a pitiless rain of bullets from the
Rebel sharpshooters. But they did it without flinching. Our troops,
rank, file, and officers, marched into the jaws of death with stubborn
determination.
We attacked in three columns; but the original design was that the
main assault should be on our left, which was commanded by General
Franklin. A road which Franklin wished to reach would enable him to
come up in the rear of Fredericksburg, and compel the enemy to evacuate
his strong works, or be captured. Franklin was very late in starting.
He penetrated once to this road, but did not know it, and again fell
back. Thus the key to the position was lost.
In the center, our troops were flung upon very strong works, and
repulsed with terrible slaughter. It proved a massacre rather than a
battle. Our killed and wounded exceeded ten thousand.
I was not present at the battle, but returned to the army two or
three days after. Burnside deported himself with rare fitness and
magnanimity. As he spoke to me about the brave men who had fruitlessly
fallen, there were tears in his eyes, and his voice broke with emotion.
When I asked him if Franklin's slowness was responsible for the
slaughter, he replied:
"No. I understand perfectly well that when the general commanding an
army meets with disaster, he alone is responsible, and I will not
attempt to shift that responsibility upon any one else. No one will
ever know how near we came to a great victory. It almost seems to me
now that I could have led my old Ninth Corps into those works."
Indeed, Burnside had desired to do this, but was dissuaded by his
lieutenants. The Ninth Corps would have followed him anywhere; but that
would have been certain death.
Burnside was, at least, great in his earnestness, his moral courage,
and perfect integrity. The battle was better than squandering precious
lives in fevers and dysentery during months of inaction. Better a
soldier's death on the enemy's guns than a nameless grave in the swamps
of the Chickahominy or the trenches before Corinth.
Ordered to move, Burnside obeyed without quibbling or hesitating, and
flung his army upon the Rebels. The result was defeat; but that policy
proved our salvation at last; by that sign we conquered.
Every private soldier knew that the battle of Fredericksburg was a
costly and bloody mistake, and yet I think on the day or the week
following it, the soldiers would have gone into battle just as
cheerfully and sturdily as before. The more I saw of the Army of
the Potomac, the more I wondered at its invincible spirit, which no
disasters seemed able to destroy.
[Sidenote: CURIOUS BLUNDER OF THE TELEGRAPH.]
In January, among the lookers-on in Virginia, was the Hon. Henry J.
Raymond, of _The Times_. He had a brother in the service, and one day
he received this telegram:--
"Your brother's corpse is at Belle Plain."
Hastening to the army as fast as steam could carry him, to perform the
last sad offices of affection, he found his relative not only living,
but in vigorous health. Through the eccentricities of the telegraph,
the word _corps_ had been changed into _corpse_.
On the 22d of January, Burnside attempted another advance, designing
to cross the Rappahannock in three columns. The weather for a long time
had been fine, but, a few hours after the army started, the heavens
opened, and converted the Virginia roads into almost fathomless mire.
Advance seemed out of the question, and in two days the troops came
back to camp. The Rebels understood the cause, and prepared an enormous
sign, which they erected on their side of the river, in full view of
our pickets, bearing the inscription, "STUCK IN THE MUD!"
[Sidenote: THE BATTERIES AT FREDERICKSBURG.]
ARMY OF POTOMAC, NEAR FALMOUTH, VA., }
_Monday, Nov. 24_. }
Still on the north bank of the Rappahannock! Upon the high bluffs,
along a line of three miles, twenty-four of our guns point
threateningly toward the enemy. In the ravines behind them a hundred
more wait, ready to be wheeled up and placed in position.
Upon the hills south of the river, distant from them a thousand to five
thousand yards, Rebel guns confront them. Some peer blackly through
hastily-built earthworks; some are just visible over the crests of
sharp ridges; some almost hidden by great piles of brush. Already we
count eighteen; the cannonading will unmask many more.
"Ah, what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the Death-angel touches these swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal _miserere_
Will mingle with their awful symphonies!"
In front of our right batteries, but far below and hidden from them,
the antique, narrow, half-ruined village of Falmouth hugs the river. In
front of the Rebel batteries, in full view of both sides, the broad,
well-to-do town of Fredericksburg, with its great factories, tall
spires, and brick buildings, is a tempting target for our guns. The
river which flows between (though Fredericksburg is half a mile below
Falmouth), is now so narrow, that a lad can throw a stone across.
Behind our batteries and their protecting hills rests the infantry of
the Grand Division. General Couch's corps occupies a crescent-shaped
valley--a symmetric natural amphitheater. It is all aglow nightly
with a thousand camp-fires; and, from the proscenium-hill of General
Howard's head-quarters, forms a picture mocking all earthly canvas.
Behind the Rebel batteries, in the dense forest, their infantry
occupies a line five miles long. By night we just detect the glimmer of
their fires; by day we see the tall, slender columns of smoke curling
up from their camps.
[Sidenote: A DISAPPOINTED VIRGINIAN.]
All the citizens ask to have guards placed over their houses; but very
few obtain them. "I will give no man a guard," replied General Howard
to one of these applicants, "until he is willing to lose as much as I
have lost, in defending the Government." The Virginian cast one long,
lingering look at the General's loose, empty coat-sleeve (he lost his
right arm while leading his brigade at Fair Oaks), and went away, the
picture of despair.
ARMY OF POTOMAC, _Sunday, Dec. 21_.
The general tone of the army is good; far better than could be
expected. There is regret for our failure, sympathy for our wounded,
mourning for our honored dead; but I find little discouragement and no
demoralization.
This is largely owing to the splendid conduct of all our troops. The
men are hopeful because there are few of the usual jealousies and
heart-burnings. No one is able to say, "If this division had not
broken," or "if that regiment had done its duty, we might have won."
The concurrence of testimony is universal, that our men in every
division did better than they ever did before, and made good their
claim to being the best troops in the world. We have had victories
without merit, but this was a defeat without dishonor.
In many respects--in all respects but the failure of its vital
object--the battle of Fredericksburg was the finest thing of the
war. Laying the bridge, pushing the army across, after the defeat
withdrawing it successfully--all were splendidly done, and redound
alike to the skill of the general and the heroism of the troops.
[Sidenote: HONOR TO THE BRAVE AND BOLD.]
And those men and officers of the Seventh Michigan, the Nineteenth and
Twentieth Massachusetts, and the Eighty-ninth New York, who eagerly
crossed the river in open boats, in the teeth of that pitiless rain of
bullets, and dislodged the sharpshooters who were holding our whole
army at bay--what shall we say of them? Let the name of every man of
them be secured now, and preserved in a roll of honor; let Congress see
to it that, by medal or ribbon to each, the Republic gives token of
gratitude to all who do such royal deeds in its defense. To the living,
at least, we can be just. The fallen, who were left by hundreds in line
of battle, "dead on the field of honor," we cannot reward; but He who
permits no sparrow to fall to the ground unheeded, will see to it that
no drop of their precious blood has been shed in vain.