REPORTING TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR, AT WASHINGTON--ORDERED ON ANOTHER
SCOUT TO VIRGINIA--IN PATTERSON'S ARMY, IN VIRGINIA, BEFORE THE BATTLE
OF BULL RUN.
I was having such a pleasant time at my home and among my young friends,
that I took no thought of reporting to the officials of the War
Department, at Washington. One day we were advised by the papers that
Senator Andy Johnson, the famous Unionist of Tennessee, would pass
through our town on his way to the Capital. This was about the time of
the outbreak of the reign of terror in East Tennessee, and the sturdy
Senator, with many others of the same fearless build, had been forced to
flee for his life. But while he was a hunted fugitive when south of the
Ohio River, his progress through the loyal States to Washington was a
right royal one.
As will be recalled, Mr. Johnson had been my first friend in Washington,
and it was through my association with himself and Mr. Covode that I had
entered the service.
When the train rolled up to the station, I was the first to board the
car, and, in my rather boyish way, pushed unceremoniously through the
crowd to where the Senator was holding an impromptu reception. He
greeted me very kindly by a hearty shake, as he bade me sit down by him,
and as soon as he found an opportunity, in his half-laughing, fatherly
way, began to catechize the boy.
As I have previously said, up to the meeting with the Senator, I had
been entirely neglectful of my proper duty of reporting to the War
Department a formal account of my movements since leaving Washington. I
assumed that, in a general way, the newspaper comments, which were quite
flattering in the North, would be sufficient.
This fact, with the frank confession that I really felt myself under
greater obligations to a little girl, and was more willing to do her
bidding than that of the Secretary of War, explains another of my many
mistakes during the war.
When I told Senator Johnson that I had not heard from the War Department
since leaving Washington in March--it was early in June now--he said at
once:
"Why, you had better come right along with me to Washington. You ought
to be there now."
Just then the train began to move off; a friend standing near me who had
heard the Senator's suggestion, emphatically seconded it, by saying:
"Go on; now is your chance; you might be too late if you wait here
longer."
I had no opportunity to say good-by to my folks, my friends, or my
sweetheart; but went off as impulsively as before on a scouting campaign
that, in effect, lasted until the close of the war.
During that night's railroad ride over the Alleghany Mountains, as I sat
alongside Mr. Johnson, as we sped along the Juniata, I told him my
story. The Senator was an attentive listener, and, before going to
sleep, directed that I should at once put myself in communication with
the War Department, and refer the secretary to himself and Mr. Covode.
In those days I did not consider a berth in a sleeping-car a necessary
condition for a night's ride, but found an empty seat, curled my five
feet six and-a-half inches of body into three and-a-half feet of space,
and slept the sound sleep of youth, while the train rapidly rolled
through the darkness toward the sunrise and daylight.
On my arrival in Washington, I went directly to the Seventh Avenue
Hotel, located at the northeast corner of Seventh and Pennsylvania
avenues and Market space. This was Mr. Covode's quarters when in the
city.
The clerk directed me to the parlor, where Mr. Covode was at that moment
receiving a delegation.
Recognizing me at once, he collared me as a school-master would a truant
boy whom he had caught unexpectedly. I was pleasantly hauled across the
room and introduced to Mr. John W. Forney, as a "young man from our own
State who had been down amongst the Rebels, and they couldn't catch him;
and if they had, he wouldn't be here now.--Ha! ha!"
I found myself quite well known in Washington wherever introduced by Mr.
Covode and his friends. It will be remembered that Mr. Forney was then
a prominent newspaper man, and no doubt he found in the boy, who had
just returned from a trip through Rebel armies, quite an interesting
news source for his papers.
I had been compelled to go over my story so much that I really became
quite surfeited with the whole business, and was glad enough when
evening came, that I could go off alone and have a nice little time
around the corner at the "Canterberry." Every old soldier who spent a
day or night in Washington will laugh when he reads anything about the
"Canterberry." I confess that for a time I became so greatly interested
in the famous bouffe singer, Julia Mortimer, that I had nearly forgotten
No. 1, and was becoming quite indifferent in regard to my appointment or
business with the War Department.
I found that it was about as difficult as before I left the city for
Montgomery to obtain a private hearing with the Secretary.
Upon the suggestion of these friends, who had interested themselves in
me, I was advised to make my application personally to the Secretary of
War for a commission in the regular army; all agreed that this would be
about the proper thing to do, it being understood that, in case I should
secure this, which would be a permanency, that I could, of course, be
detailed in the customary way, on special staff duty, in the field,
where there would be opportunity for me to make some use of the
information I had obtained of the Southern country and their armies.
With this object in view, I called at the War Department one day in
company with Mr. Covode.
Mr. Cameron was, as usual, very busy. There were a great many persons
waiting their turn for an audience. Mr. Covode was admitted out of the
regular order, because he, being a Congressman, had stated to the
attendants, in his positive way, that his business was most urgent, and
that he _must_ see the Secretary. Mr. Cameron received us at first
rather gruffly, when he learned that the object of this visit was to
secure an office; but, upon being reminded of a former appeal and
promise, and my recent services being brought to his attention in Mr.
Covode's glowing style, the Secretary turned to me laughing, in his
quiet way, and said:
"Well, there's no doubt but that you have the pluck necessary for the
army."
Then turning to Mr. Covode, abruptly interrupting him, as if to ask a
question:
"We would like to find out just now what the Rebel Johnston is doing
down in front of Pennsylvania."
Covode was ready to change the subject, and follow the Secretary's lead,
and at once spoke for me:
"Well, here's the boy to find out all about it."
He didn't seem to think it necessary to consult me about the matter at
all. Mr. Cameron, looking at me quizzically, said:
"I will have you in mind, and get you _something_ as soon as I can find
a suitable place."
Then turning about, as the attendant brought in a message from another
urgent Congressman, he said, in an authoritative manner:
"Covode, you go to Army Headquarters and tell them I sent you there with
this young man. They can use him to advantage, perhaps. I will see you
again."
I wasn't exactly satisfied with this outlook. I had thought that I was
through with the spy business, and had no desire to undertake any more
lonely and isolated trips through the enemy's country.
Since my return I had found that nearly all the young fellows of my
acquaintance were either in the army, or about to enter it, and I had
naturally imbibed the military fever which prevailed at this time. I
reckon every one of us expected, as a matter of course, to become
colonels or generals in short order, for gallant service in front of the
enemy, so it was not at all to my liking that I was being steered in the
direction of the rear of the Rebel lines again.
In my case, it was a doubly-dangerous undertaking, as I had so recently
been well advertised all over the South in their papers, and was, of
course, liable to be recognized and hung as a spy if I should be
captured any place in their lines. As I walked with Mr. Covode from the
old War Department Building I said something to him about my misgivings,
but in his hearty way he assured me by saying: "Oh, this isn't going to
last long." And then in a confidential manner he said: "Old Simon wants
to find out something; you just go ahead and do as he wants you to, and
it will be all right."
When we reached Army Headquarters we encountered a sentry on duty at
the door--a soldier of the regular army, who did not show Mr. Covode any
particular attention, not recognizing a Congressman in his rough
exterior. After some dilly-dallying we were admitted to the presence of
a military-looking fellow whose name I can not recall. Mr. Covode
introduced himself, and presented me as being sent by the Secretary of
War. This announcement at once seemed to put the officer in a better
humor with himself and his callers. Mr. Covode brusquely stated his
business; the officer attentively listened and sharply eyed me while Mr.
Covode went through with his story about my services at Pensacola.
"Does the Secretary want to procure any information as to General
Patterson's movements?"
(It will be remembered that at this time General Patterson was being
urged by the War Department to make a demonstration on Johnston, to
prevent him reinforcing Beauregard at Manassas.)
Mr. Covode answered: "We want all the information we can get from all
quarters, and he can get it too."
The officer said, smilingly: "Oh yes, of course; the young man is in the
secret service of the War Department."
Returning to the Secretary's office for some written authority to
present to General Patterson, we were directed by Mr. Cameron to one of
the clerks, who, after a short private conversation between Mr. Covode
and Mr. Cameron, was authorized to prepare a note of introduction. As he
handed the official envelope to me, he took occasion to observe, in a
very pleasant way:
"I would suggest that this young man should not permit any persons to
become acquainted with his business; the department prefers to hear from
their special agents in confidence, and _not through the newspapers_."
This hint given in this pleasant manner, I did not forget in following
months or years.
To my friend and tutelar saint, Mr. Covode, I again expressed my doubts
about any secret service, after returning from our brief interview with
Mr. Secretary-of-War Cameron and the official at Army Headquarters. Mr.
Covode apparently agreed with my conclusions, saying, as he reached for
the official-looking letter which the War Department clerk had given me,
and that I hesitatingly held in my hand: "Lets see that letter."
Putting on his old-fashioned round-eyed spectacles, he read half aloud,
in his deliberate way, as if studying out some hidden meaning:
"This will introduce to you Mr. O. K., a young man who has
gained some personal knowledge of the plans of the Rebels, and
who, I hope, may be of service to you in the same direction,
etc.
(Signed), "SIMON CAMERON, _Secretary of War_."
He read it over a second time, and then looking at me, as if he had
suddenly solved a problem said: "Didn't he tell you to report _direct_
to the War Department?"
"Yes," I remembered that I was advised to report to the War Department
first and not to the newspapers.
"Well," says Mr. Covode, "that's all right; you go up there and find
Patterson and present that letter, and he will give you authority to go
wherever you please, and you let us know here what's going on."
When I left the old man, I ventured a word as to my prospects for a
commission in the regular army, to which he gave the usual answer: "Oh,
that's all right," and added--
"Come and see me to-morrow and I'll give you some more letters to some
friends in Patterson's army."
After a restless night, I was early at Mr. Covode's room receiving a
pleasant good-morning. He said in a confidential whisper, but which was
loud enough for any person to have heard had we not been alone in the
room:
"I saw some of those people last night, and it is all right." That
wasn't very great encouragement to be sure, but, he added with a
significant wink, "You go up there at once and find out all you can, and
report _to me_ what's going on, particularly if there are any Rebels
going to attack Patterson's army," and he added, again with emphasis,
"Report to me here, quick as you can."
"Yes, but this letter is to report to General Patterson."
"That's all right; you are to report direct to the War Department, too."
I began to feel considerably mixed up by these contradictory
instructions, but all the satisfaction I could get from Mr. C.
was--"That's all right," to which he added, as I was leaving, "You tell
me all you can find out, and I'll make it all right at the War
Department."
As this letter had been prepared and signed by a clerk in the War
Department, the penmanship was, of course, in the regulation
copper-plate style, wholly unlike the former endorsement that I had
received in Mr. Cameron's own handwriting.
Though Patterson's army was in the neighborhood of Harper's Ferry and
Williamsport, Maryland, about fifty miles distant in a direct route from
Washington, I concluded that, with such a recommendation in my
possession, the furthest way round might be the nearest way home; I
would not risk the capture of that note by taking a short cut, so I made
a safe detour, going due north to Baltimore and Harrisburg, Pa., distant
over a hundred miles; thence I came back southwest through the
beautiful Cumberland Valley to Chambersburg and Hagerstown, about
seventy-five or eighty miles more ground.
Here I was almost literally dumped from the car into the midst of
General Patterson's army--a lively host of the gallant and patriotic
boys who had rushed to arms at the first call of President Lincoln for
the three-months men.
There have been books upon books published giving the history of this
campaign, any one of which probably contains a more satisfactory
description of the camp-life of those days than I would be able to give
here. This effort is necessarily a personal, and, to some extent a
private history only, of the campaigns of an individual scout, but I may
be indulged in the hope that some of the old boys, who will take the
trouble to follow me in these wanderings, may have been among those who
were in camp near Hagerstown along in June and July, 1861. With what
tenacity the mind clings to the remembrance of those early days of the
great war.
I recall, as if it were but yesterday, this first hunt through the
different camps for "Headquarters."
Jolly soldiers were to be found everywhere, either walking about the
roads in hilarious squads, or assembled in groups under the shade of
trees by the roadside, or perhaps crowding the porches and occupying all
the chairs in the neighboring houses. In after years, when
provost-marshals and camp-guards were established, the sky-larking was
not so common, and the crowds, then, were usually to be seen only around
some spring or well of water.
I recall now with amusement how ignorant some of the three-month boys of
'61 were about their own army-headquarters. Many to whom I applied for
information about the location of headquarters, referred me severally,
to their own colonels, while one young officer, I remember, pointed to a
mounted officer just riding past as the "General's Assistant."
I tramped through miles of dust that hot afternoon before I could get
onto General Patterson's track, and, when I finally discovered
headquarters, I learned that the General with some of his aides were
attending a dinner-party in the town and could not be seen before the
next day.
I did not deliver my letter of introduction to the officer, who I
thought at the time rather impudently demanded to know my business with
the General, but merely told him that I should call again to see the
General.
Having tried to perform a duty, and attended to business first, I set
about enjoying the holiday which it seemed to me the boys were having
all around. How like a circus it all seemed; some of the scenes then
enacted might be compared to that of a country fair, at which there was
being held, as an additional attraction to the country people, a militia
muster or a prize drill, such as we see now when the State troops
assemble one week in summer for their annual camp and drill. There was
so much free and easy mixture of civilians and ladies with the
soldiers--especially the officers--all were being constantly stirred up
by the bands, that seemed to break forth in melody from every grove.
There was, of course, the dust on the roads; the processions of thirsty
crowds to and from the springs or wells; it all seems now like an
immense picnic. Dear me, what bass drums there were in General
Patterson's army; wasn't there one to each company? The old-fashioned
bass drum, too, as big as a barn door, and noisy in proportion, and to
which was usually assigned the biggest fellow in the company the duty of
beating on both sides.
A Rebel officer once told me that they were able to estimate the
strength of McDowell's army before Manassas by the beating of bass drums
at parades each evening.
Along about sundown the usual preparations were made in all the camps
for the dress parade--the great feature of the day--which was being
witnessed by hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of ladies, old men, and
children, who would drive out from the town and surrounding country for
miles to witness it, to the delight of the soldiers. What a beautiful
sight, in June, 1861, was a full regiment of 1,000 freshly-uniformed,
healthy, fresh men in line on dress parade, with their gayly-attired
officers (staff and line), going through the "retreat" with fine musical
accompaniment. How smart the adjutant was, and what a tremendous fellow
the drum-major! On Sunday evenings, at this parade, the chaplain took a
hand in the drill, making a prayer, while the long line of the full
regiment stood at "parade rest," uncovered, with heads bowed, their
little fatigue caps being placed on the muzzle of the gun; the band
played "Old Hundred," and perhaps a chorus of a thousand male voices
sung the soul-thrilling melody of the grand old tune, which is sung in
Heaven. So it was in front of Hagerstown in June or July, 1861.
It was the fortune of war for me to be with the Army of the Potomac
again before Hagerstown in July, 1863--a week after the battle of
Gettysburg. But--ah, yes--the conditions were sadly changed; scarcely a
brigade of that army could muster then as many men as were in each
regiment in 1861. There were no visitors in camp; not a lady was to be
seen, except, perhaps, the hospital attendants, and the music was
confined to the tiresome routine of the "Reveille," "Tattoo" and "Taps."
My first day in General Patterson's army was so full of new and
soul-stirring sensations, as compared with the same experiences in the
rebel lines, that I was all in a ferment, and forgot about being tired,
hungry and worn out, until the evening parades were all over, and the
soldiers began to prepare their camp suppers.
While trudging wearily back to the town, some miles distant, to find
some supper and a bed, I had the opportunity to reflect seriously in my
own mind over the work that I had undertaken.
I wondered to myself if there were not Rebel spies in our army there. It
occurred to me at once that there were no obstacles for them to
overcome--the entire camp was free; everybody was welcomed
indiscriminately to the camp by the good-hearted soldiers; and officers
were only too eager to talk with every caller about all they knew of the
plans and strength of their own army. This, notwithstanding we were then
encamped in Maryland, among a people who, if not openly hostile to our
cause, were generally in sympathy with the secessionists, whose army was
within fighting distance and communication with their headquarters was
only a question of an hour or so.
Our officers and soldiers had certainly taken Hagerstown, Md., as I
found to my disgust when I reached the hotel after dark, finding every
bed and every corner of the old tavern was literally in possessions of
our forces, though, through the kindly interest of a citizen, I was
luckily provided with half a bed in a private house. Of course I slept
well, except that I was disturbed by a horrid nightmare. I had somehow
been transformed into a big brass drum, which a brawny fellow insisted
upon pounding upon my stomach, which probably hadn't succeeded in
digesting the cold supper.
The first thing next morning was to try and find General Patterson. My
experience of the previous day enabled me to steer in a straight course
this time, so I was not long in getting to headquarters; but seeing
General Patterson was not such an easy matter. His staff officers
volunteered to attend to business for their General, but I wouldn't, of
course, allow _any_ person to learn the character of my business. It was
only after I had written a note, stating that I had a letter from the
Secretary of War which I desired to present personally, that I was
permitted to approach the Commander.
I need not describe the old Philadelphia militia General. He had, as is
well-known, achieved some distinction during the Mexican War, and since
that had enjoyed a life of leisure in his native city, where he had, by
means of his wealth and accomplishments, become connected with the
aristocratic families of the Quaker City. He was, besides, a patron of
the military and the clubs; and being so favorably endorsed by prominent
people of the state, he was selected to command the troops of
Pennsylvania, then operating against General Joe Johnston of the rebel
army.
After some further delay, I was admitted to the presence of the old
general, who, I imagined, was surprised at my youthful appearance and
wondered that I had the temerity to beard such a grim old soldier as
himself in his den.
There were several other officers present, and also two gentlemen in
civilian's dress, one of whom was quite an elderly-looking gentleman
while his companion was a young fellow, whose appearance struck me at
once as being that of a Southerner. While General Patterson read my note
of introduction from the Secretary of War, I embraced the opportunity to
more closely observe the visitors, who were being entertained so
pleasantly by the officers.
I quickly gathered from the conversation that the elderly gentleman was
applying to our officers for some protection from our own soldiers, for
his property. He probably owned some cherry trees in the neighborhood of
the camp, or, perhaps, it may have been that the soldiers insisted on
using some of the water from an overflowing spring somewhere on his
ground. Whatever it was, he was receiving from the staff officers quite
emphatic assurances that he should receive all the protection he wanted,
and, moreover, the men guilty of trespassing on his ground should be
severely punished. The young fellow whom I assumed to be the son had
nothing to say.
After General Patterson had finished reading the note, he turned, and,
after looking me all over, through his glasses, as if I was some kind of
a curiosity who stood meekly and innocently before him, said: "Why, take
a seat." Then, turning to one of his aides, he said something in an
undertone as he handed him the letter. The aide, after reading it
carefully, stepped up to me and pleasantly but coolly invited me
outside, when he said: "The General requests that you will come to his
quarters this evening."
This wasn't exactly satisfactory to me, but I was glad enough to get
from the presence of the General's visitors, because I was apprehensive
that something might be said in their hearing that would identify me as
a scout.
My visit to General Patterson occurred about the time that General Joe
Johnston was manoeuvering in his front, with the object of getting away
from him to reinforce Beauregard at Manassas, in anticipation of the
impending battle there. Our Washington officials were uneasy as to the
outcome of this movement, and had been almost daily urging General
Patterson to make some demonstration in front of Johnston that would
prevent his leaving for Manassas.
Though I did not know it at the time, I have since learned that the War
Department, at Washington, while they would not employ scouts themselves
over the head of the Commander of the department, yet were willing
enough to avail themselves of the information of the scout who could
make his reports in an unofficial manner, through Mr. Covode, without
compromising the courtesy or etiquette of the War Office.
The whole country seemed to be alive with soldiers, all in a jolly good
humor, nicely dressed, well fed. Their camps were models of tent life.
There did not seem to me to be any preparation whatever for marching to
meet the enemy.
There was an immense amount of talk about what they intended to do.
General Patterson's army did move, of course; but--Well, to go on with
my story: I was most anxious to do something great myself, being so
filled with military ardor by the bass drums; perhaps the probability of
the war being closed before I should have the pleasure of participating
in a real fight with guns, was more constantly before my mind than any
other danger.
It seemed a long wait until evening, when I could again see General
Patterson, and unfold to him a plan I had formulated, to go inside the
Rebel lines that very night, and before morning find out, from a visit
to General Johnston's army, what he was likely to do. In my youthful
ardor I hoped I could return to General Patterson before breakfast time,
that he might have the fight that same day before dinner.
These were the wild feelings that were swelling in my breast when I
approached headquarters to meet General Patterson's appointment. I
walked boldly up to a group of officers who were loafing around
headquarters; a sentry challenged me; nothing daunted, I pointed to one
of the group--the same officer who had directed me to call--and asked to
see him.
My running into the sentry had made some little commotion, which served
to call the attention of the officer, who recognized me and ordered the
guard to allow me to pass. Meeting me half way, we walked to one side. I
believe this officer was Fitz-John Porter, who was then
chief-of-staff--I am not positive; anyway, I was courteously received,
and, after being seated, was put through a course of cross-examination
as to my recent experience in the south, pretty much--as I now recall
it--after the manner of a witness in his own defense.
Being satisfied that General Patterson had referred the whole subject to
this officer for his action, I told him briefly and pointedly that I was
willing and ready to undertake the service I proposed, and believed that
it was possible to ascertain the movements, and perhaps the plans of
General Johnston; that I could at least gather from their telegraph
communications to Richmond and Manassas the purport of any instructions
which were, of course, being sent to Johnston in that way over the
wires. I was perfectly willing, for the good of the cause, to undertake
the dangerous service of getting back through the lines with the
information.
Whatever may have been thought of the feasibility or propriety of this
project, Mr. Porter could scarcely have doubted my motive, but he
apparently looked upon me as a youthful enthusiast, or, as we term it
nowadays, a crank. He said:
"The General is not disposed to make much use of the service of scouts;
he thinks it altogether unnecessary in this instance."
If Fitz-John Porter had dashed a bucket of cold water in my face, it
would not at the time have had a more chilling effect than his few hard
words he uttered in this contemptible manner.
My proposition was not visionary, but entirely practical, and I venture
now the opinion that had the service been accepted in the proper spirit
it is possible that the despised spy might have brought to his shiftless
headquarters some reliable information of Johnston's proposed movement
to Manassas, which might have prevented his escape, and thus have turned
the tide of battle at Bull Run, which followed soon after the interview.
It is likely that the headquarters of the army were a little
over-sensitive on account of the well-known or the imagined interference
or meddling of the Washington authorities with their military
prerogatives. It has been fully explained in the "Century" history,
(since this story was first told) that General Scott, through the proper
channels, had been for days urging General Patterson to look carefully
after Johnston, and to prevent at all hazards his junction with
Beauregard.
The urgency of the Washington officials, taken in connection with the
letter I brought from the Secretary and Mr. Covode, may perhaps have
caused them to infer that they were considered neglectful and needed
some prompting and investigation; perhaps it may have been thought that
I had been sent out as a spy in their own camps. Any way, I was not a
willing party to any such schemes; my only object and desire was to
accomplish something for the benefit of the cause, and in this I had not
a thought of myself.
Returning sorrowfully and with my heart laden with disappointment to my
bed, I pondered long before sleeping as to my proper course. The longer
I considered all the circumstances connected with my being sent up
there, I realized more clearly the real meaning of Covode's words:
"Old Simon wants to find out something; you go ahead," and the repeated
hints to report "direct," came back to me with a greater significance
than when uttered by Mr. Covode in Washington.
My humiliating reception at headquarters had deeply affected my rather
sensitive feelings on the spy question. I had decided in my own mind to
return to Washington at once; but after reflection, while on my bed,
there was a revulsion of feeling from humiliation to anger; and, after
taking all things into consideration, I decided for myself, without
consulting any one, that I should, on my own responsibility and without
aid from our own officers, pass through our lines, enter the rebel
lines, ascertain their plans, and go direct via Manassas to Washington,
and report _personally_ to the Secretary of War.