three States. His house was in Alabama, his post-office in Tennessee,
and he was engaged in coal-mining enterprises in the mountains of
Georgia, the locality being where these three States meet in a point. No
sooner was the coming conflict in the air than the stalwart mountaineers
of the mining district became wild with eagerness to fight for the
Confederacy, and Gordon, in whom the war spirit burned as hotly as in
any of them, needed but a word to gather about him a company of
volunteers. They unanimously elected him their captain, and organized
themselves at once into a cavalry company, most of them, like so many of
the sons of the South, much preferring to travel on horseback than on
foot.
As yet the war was only a probability, and no volunteers had been called
for. But with the ardor that had brought them together, Gordon's company
hastened to offer their services, only to be met with the laconic and
disappointing reply, "No cavalry now needed."
What was to be done? They did not relish the idea of giving up their
horses, yet they wanted to fight still more than to ride, and the fear
came upon them that if they waited till cavalry was needed they might be
quite lost sight of in that mountain corner and the war end before they
could take a hand in it. This notion of a quick end to the war was
common enough at that early day, very few foreseeing the vastness of the
coming conflict; and, dreading that they might be left out in the cold,
the ardent mountaineers took a vote on the question, "Shall we dismount
and go as infantry?" This motion was carried with a shout of approval,
and away went the stalwart recruits without arms, without uniform,
without military training, with little beyond the thirst to fight, the
captain knowing hardly more of military tactics than his men. They had
courage and enthusiasm, and felt that all things besides would come to
them.
As for arms suitable for modern warfare, the South at that time was
sadly lacking in them. Men looked up their old double-barrelled
shot-guns and squirrel rifles, and Governor Brown, of Georgia, set men
at work making what were called "Joe Brown's pikes," being a sort of
steel-pointed lances or bayonets on poles, like those used by pikemen in
mediaeval warfare. In modern war they were about as useful as
knitting-needles would have been. Governor Brown knew this well enough,
but the volunteers were coming in such numbers and were so eager to
fight that the pikes were made more to satisfy them than with hope of
their being of any service in actual war.
Gordon's company was among the earliest of these volunteers. Reluctantly
leaving their horses, and not waiting for orders, they bade a quick
adieu to all they had held dear and set off cheerily for Milledgeville,
then the capital of Georgia. They were destined to a sad disappointment.
On reaching Atlanta they were met by a telegram from the governor, who
had been advised of their coming, telling them to go back home and wait
until advised that they were wanted.
This was like a shower of cold water poured on the ardor of the
volunteers. Go home? After they had cut loose from their homes and
started for the war? They would do nothing of the kind; they were on
foot to fight and would not consent to be turned back by Governor Brown
or any one else. The captain felt very much like his men. He too was an
eager Confederate patriot, but his position was one demanding obedience
to the constituted authorities, and by dint of much persuasion and a
cautious exercise of his new authority he induced his men to board the
train heading back for their homes.
But the repressed anger of the rebellious mountaineers broke forth again
when the engine-bell rang and the whistle gave its shrill starting
signal. Some of the men rushed forward and tore out the coupling of the
foremost car, and the engine was left in condition to make its journey
alone. While the trainmen looked on in astonishment the mountaineers
sprang from the train, gathered round their captain, and told him that
they had made up their minds on the matter and were not going back. They
had enlisted for the war and intended to go to it; if Governor Brown
would not take them, some other governor would.
There was nothing left for the young captain but to lead his
undisciplined and rebellious company through Atlanta in search of a
suitable camping-place. Their disregard of discipline did not trouble
him greatly, for in his heart he sympathized with them, and he knew well
that in their rude earnestness was the stuff of which good soldiers are
made.
Gordon gives an interesting and amusing description of the appearance
his men made and the interest they excited in Atlanta's streets. These
were filled with citizens, who looked upon the motley crew with a
feeling in which approval was tempered by mirth. The spectacle of the
march--or rather the straggle--of the mountaineers was one not soon to
be forgotten. Utterly untrained in marching, they walked at will, no two
keeping step, while no two were dressed alike. There were almost as many
different hues and cuts in their raiment as there were men in their
ranks. The nearest approach to a uniform was in their rough fur caps
made of raccoon skins, and with the streaked and bushy tail of the
raccoon hanging down behind.
The amusement of the people was mingled with curiosity. "Are you the
captain of this company?" some of them asked Gordon, who was rather
proud of his men and saw nothing of the grotesque in their appearance.
"I am, sir," he replied, in a satisfied tone.
"What company is it, captain?"
As yet the company had no name other than one which he had chosen as
fine sounding and suitable, but had not yet mentioned to the men.
"This company is the Mountain Rifles," said the captain, proudly.
His pride was destined to a fall. From a tall mountaineer in the ranks
came, in words not intended for his ears, but plainly audible, the
disconcerting words,--
"Mountain hell! We are no Mountain Rifles. We are the Raccoon Roughs."
And Raccoon Roughs they continued through all the war, Gordon's
fine-spun name being never heard of again. The feeble remnant of the
war-scarred company which was mustered out at Appomattox was still
known as Raccoon Roughs.
Who would have them, since Governor Brown would not, was now the
question. Telegrams sped out right and left to governors of other
States, begging a chance for the upland patriots. An answer came at
length from Governor Moore, of Alabama, who consented to incorporate the
Raccoon Roughs and their captain in one of the new regiments he was
organizing. Gordon gladly read the telegram to his eager company, and
from their hundred throats came the first example of the "rebel yell" he
had ever heard,--a wild and thrilling roar that was to form the
inspiration to many a mad charge in later years.
No time was lost by the gallant fellows in setting out on their journey
to Montgomery. As they went on they found the whole country in a blaze
of enthusiasm. No one who saw the scene would have doubted for a moment
that the South was an ardent unit in support of its cause. By day the
troop trains were wildly cheered as they passed; at night bonfires
blazed on the hills and torchlight processions paraded the streets of
the towns. As no cannon were at hand to salute the incoming volunteers,
blacksmith anvils took their place, ringing with the blows of hammers
swung by muscular arms. Every station was a throng of welcoming people,
filling the air with shouts and the lively sound of fife and drum, and
bearing banners of all sizes and shapes, on which Southern independence
was proclaimed and the last dollar and man pledged to the cause. The
women were out as enthusiastically as the men; staid matrons and ardent
maids springing upon the cars, pinning blue cockades on the lapels of
the new soldiers' coats, and singing the war-songs already in vogue, the
favorite "Dixie" and the "Bonnie Blue Flag," in whose chorus the harsh
voices of the Raccoon Boughs mingled with the musical tones of their
fair admirers.
Montgomery was at length reached to find it thronged with shouting
volunteers, every man of them burning with enthusiasm. Mingled with them
were visiting statesmen and patriotic citizens, for that city was the
cradle of the new-born Confederacy and the centre of Southern
enthusiasm. Every heart was full of hope, every face marked with energy,
a prayer for the success of the cause on every lip. Never had more
fervent and universal enthusiasm been seen. On the hills and around the
capital cannon boomed welcome to the inflowing volunteers, wagons
rumbled by carrying arms and ammunition to the camps, on every street
marched untrained but courageous recruits. As for the Raccoon Roughs,
Governor Moore kept his word, assigning them to a place in the Sixth
Alabama Regiment, of which Captain Gordon, unexpectedly and against his
wishes, was unanimously elected major.
Such were the scenes which the coming war excited in the far South, such
the fervid enthusiasm with which the coming conflict for Southern
independence was hailed. So vast was the number of volunteers, in
companies and in regiments, each eager to be accepted, that the Hon.
Leroy P. Walker, the first Secretary of War of the Confederacy, was
fairly overwhelmed by the flood of applicants that poured in on him day
and night. Their captains and colonels waylaid him on the streets to
urge the immediate acceptance of their services, and he was obliged to
seek his office by roundabout ways to avoid the flood of importunities.
It is said that before the Confederate government left Montgomery for
Richmond, about three hundred and sixty thousand volunteers, very many
of them from the best element of the Southern population, had offered to
devote their lives and fortunes to their country's cause.
Many striking examples of this outburst of enthusiasm and patriotic
devotion might be adduced, but we must content ourselves with one, cited
as an instance in point by General Gordon. This was the case of Mr. W.
C. Heyward, of South Carolina, a West Point graduate and a man of
fortune and position. The Confederate government was no sooner organized
than Mr. Heyward sought Montgomery, tendering his services and those of
a full regiment enlisted by him for the war. Such was the pressure upon
the authorities, and so far beyond the power of absorption at that time
the offers of volunteers, that Mr. Heyward sought long in vain for an
interview with the Secretary of War. When this was at last obtained he
found the ranks so filled that it was impossible to accept his
regiment. Returning home in deep disappointment, but with his patriotism
unquenched, this wealthy and trained soldier joined the Home Guards and
died in the war as a private in the ranks.
Such was the unanimity with which the sons of the South, hosts of them
armed with no better weapons than old-fashioned flint and steel muskets,
double-barrelled shot-guns, and long-barrelled squirrel rifles, rushed
to the defence of their States, with a spontaneous and burning
enthusiasm that has never been surpassed. The impulse of self-defence
was uppermost in their hearts. It was not the question of the
preservation of slavery that sustained them in the terrible conflict for
four years of desolating war. It was far more that of the sovereignty of
the States. The South maintained that the Union formed under the
Constitution was one of consent and not of force; that each State
retained the right to resume its independence on sufficient cause, and
that the Constitution gave no warrant for the attempt to invade and
coerce a sovereign State. It was for this, not to preserve slavery, that
the people sprang as one man to arms and fought as men had rarely fought
before.
_STUART'S FAMOUS CHAMBERSBURG RAID._
Of all the minor operations of the Civil War, the one most marked at
once by daring and success was the pioneer invasion of the Northern
States, the notable Chambersburg raid of the most famous cavalry leader
of the Confederacy, General J. E. B. Stuart. This story of bold venture
and phenomenal good fortune, though often told, is worth giving again in
its interesting details.
The interim after the battle of Sharpsburg or Antietam was one of rest
and recuperation in both the armies engaged. During this period the
cavalry of Lee's army was encamped in the vicinity of Charlestown, some
ten miles to the southward of Harper's Ferry. Stuart's head-quarters
were located under the splendid oaks which graced the lawn of "The
Bower," whose proprietor, Mr. A. S. Dandridge, entertained the officers
with an open-hearted and genial hospitality which made their stay one of
great pleasure and enjoyment.
There were warriors in plenty who would not have been hasty to break up
that agreeable period of rest and social intercourse, but Stuart was not
of that class. He felt that he must be up and doing, demonstrating that
the Army of Northern Virginia had not gone to sleep; and the early days
of October, 1862, saw a stir about head-quarters which indicated that
something out of the ordinary was afoot. During the evening of the 8th
the officers were engaged in a lively social intercourse with the ladies
of "The Bower," the entertainment ending in a serenade in which the
banjo and fiddle took chief part. Warlike affairs seemed absent from the
thoughts of all, with the exception that the general devoted more time
than usual to his papers.
[Illustration: COLONIAL MANSION.]
With the morning of the 9th a new state of affairs came on. The roads
suddenly appeared full of well-mounted and well-appointed troopers,
riding northward with jingling reins and genial calls, while the cheery
sound of the bugle rang through the fresh morning air. There were
eighteen hundred of these horsemen, selected from the best mounted and
most trustworthy men in the corps, for they were chosen for an
expedition that would need all their resources of alertness, activity,
and self-control, no less a one than an invasion of Pennsylvania, a
perilous enterprise in which the least error might expose them all to
capture or death.
On reaching the appointed place of rendezvous, at Darksville, Stuart
issued an address in which he advised his followers that the enterprise
in which they were to engage demanded the greatest coolness, decision,
and courage, implicit obedience to orders, and the strictest order and
sobriety. While the full purpose of the expedition must still be kept
secret, he said, it was one in which success would reflect the highest
credit on their arms. The seizure of private property in the State of
Maryland was strictly prohibited, and it was to be done in Pennsylvania
only under orders from the brigade commanders, individual plundering
being strongly forbidden.
These preliminaries adjusted, the march northward began, the command
being divided into three detachments of six hundred men each, under the
direction of General Wade Hampton, Colonel W. H. F. Lee, and Colonel W.
E. Jones. A battery of four guns accompanied the expedition. It was with
high expectations that the men rode forward, the secrecy of the
enterprise giving it an added zest. Most of them had followed Stuart in
daring rides in the earlier months of that year, and all were ready to
follow wherever he chose to lead.
Darkness had fallen when they reached Hedgesville, the point on the
Potomac where it was designed to cross. Here they bivouacked for the
night, a select party of some thirty men being sent across the river,
their purpose being to capture the Federal picket on the Maryland side.
In this they failed, but the picket was cut off from its reserve, so
that the fugitives were not able to report the attack. Day had not
dawned when all the men were in their saddles, and as soon as word of
the result of the night's enterprise was received, the foremost troops
plunged into the river and the crossing began. It was completed without
difficulty, and Colonel Butler, leading the advance, rode briskly
forward to the National turnpike which joins Hancock and Hagerstown.
Along this road, a few hours before, General Cox's division of Federal
infantry had passed, Butler coming so close to his rear that the
stragglers were captured. But a heavy fog covered the valley and hid all
things from sight, so that Cox continued his march in ignorance that a
strong body of Confederate cavalry was so close upon his track. On
Fairview Heights, near the road, was a Federal signal-station, which a
squad was sent to capture. The two officers in charge of it escaped, but
two privates and all its equipments were taken.
Yet, despite all efforts at secrecy, the march had not gone on unseen. A
citizen had observed the crossing and reported it to Captain Logan of
the Twelfth Illinois Cavalry, and the news spread with much rapidity.
But there was no strong force of cavalry available to check the
movement, and Stuart's braves passed steadily forward unopposed. Their
line of march was remote from telegraph or railroad, and the
Pennsylvania farmers, who did not dream of the war invading their
fields, were stricken with consternation when Stuart's bold riders
crossed Mason and Dixon's line and appeared on their soil.
It was hard for them to believe it. One old gentleman, whose sorrel mare
was taken from his cart, protested bitterly, saying that orders from
Washington had forbidden the impressment of horses, and threatening the
vengeance of the government on the supposed Federal raiders. A shoe
merchant at Mercersburg completely equipped Butler's advance guard with
foot-wear, and was sadly surprised when paid with a receipt calling on
the Federal government to pay for damages. While nothing was disturbed
in Maryland, horses were diligently seized in Pennsylvania, the country
on both sides of the line of march being swept clean of its farm
animals. Ladies on the road, however, were not molested, and the men
were strictly prohibited from seizing private property--even from taking
provisions for themselves.
Chambersburg, the goal of the expedition, was reached on the evening of
the 10th, after a day's hard ride. So rapid and well conducted had been
the journey that as yet scarce one enemy had been seen; and when the
town was called on to surrender within thirty minutes, under penalty of
a bombardment, resistance was out of the question; there was no one
capable of resisting, and the troops were immediately marched into the
town, where they were drawn up in the public square.
The bank was the first place visited. Colonel Butler, under orders from
his chief, entered the building and demanded its funds. But the cashier
assured him that it was empty of money, all its cash having been sent
away that morning, and convinced him of this by opening the safe and
drawers for his inspection. Telegraphic warning had evidently reached
the town. Butler had acted with such courtesy that the cashier now
called the ladies of his family, and bade them to prepare food for the
men who had made the search. That the captors of the town behaved with
like courtesy throughout we have the evidence of Colonel A. K. McClure,
subsequently editor of the Philadelphia _Times_, who then dwelt in the
near vicinity of Chambersburg. Though a United States officer and
subject to arrest or parole, and though he had good opportunity to
escape, he resolved to stay and share the fate of his fellow-townsmen.
We quote from his description of the incidents of that night. After
speaking of an interview he had--as one of the committee of three
citizens to surrender the town--with General Hampton, and the courteous
manner of the latter, he proceeds:
"With sixty acres of corn in shock, and three barns full of grain,
excellent farm and saddle horses, and a number of best blooded cattle,
the question of property was worthy of a thought. I resolved to stay, as
I felt so bound by the terms of surrender, and take my chances of
discovery and parole....
"I started in advance of them for my house, but not in time to save the
horses. I confidently expected to be overrun by them, and to find the
place one scene of desolation in the morning. I resolved, however, that
things should be done soberly, if possible, and I had just time to
destroy all the liquors about the house. As their pickets were all
around me I could not get it off. I finished just in time, for they were
soon upon me in force, and every horse in the barn, ten in all, was
promptly equipped and mounted by a rebel cavalryman. They passed on
towards Shippensburg, leaving a picket force on the road.
"In an hour they returned with all the horses they could find, and
dismounted to spend the night on the turnpike in front of my door. It
was now midnight, and I sat on the porch observing their movements. They
had my best corn-field beside them and their horses fared well. In a
little while one entered the yard, came up to me, and after a profound
bow, politely asked for a few coals to start a fire. I supplied him, and
informed him as blandly as possible where he would find wood
conveniently, as I had dim visions of camp-fires made of my palings. I
was thanked in return, and the mild-mannered villain proceeded at once
to strip the fence and kindle fires. Soon after a squad came and asked
permission to get some water. I piloted them to the pump, and again
received a profusion of thanks....
"About one o'clock, half a dozen officers came to the door and asked to
have some coffee made for them, offering to pay liberally for it in
Confederate scrip. After concluding a treaty with them on behalf of the
colored servants, coffee was promised them, and they then asked for a
little bread with it. They were wet and shivering, and, seeing a bright,
open wood-fire in the library, they asked permission to enter and warm
themselves until their coffee should be ready, assuring me that under
no circumstances should anything in the house be disturbed by their men.
I had no alternative but to accept them as my guests until it might
please them to depart, and I did so with as good grace as possible.
"Once seated round the fire all reserve seemed to be forgotten on their
part, and they opened a general conversation on politics, the war, the
different battles, the merits of generals of both armies. They spoke
with entire freedom upon every subject but their movement into
Chambersburg. Most of them were men of more than ordinary intelligence
and culture, and their demeanor was in all respects eminently courteous.
I took a cup of coffee with them, and have never seen anything more
keenly relished. They said that they had not tasted coffee for weeks
before, and that then they had paid from six to ten dollars per pound
for it. When they were through they asked whether there was any coffee
left, and finding that there was some, they proposed to bring some more
officers and a few privates, who were prostrated by exposure, to get
what was left. They were, of course, as welcome as those present, and on
they came in squads of five or more until every grain of brown coffee
was exhausted. Then they asked for tea, and that was served to some
twenty more.
"In the mean time a subordinate officer had begged of me a little bread
for himself and a few men, and he was supplied in the kitchen. He was
followed by others in turn, until nearly a hundred had been supplied
with something to eat or drink. All, however, politely asked permission
to enter the house, and behaved with entire propriety. They did not make
a single rude or profane remark, even to the servants. In the mean time
the officers who had first entered the house had filled their pipes from
the box of Killikinick on the mantel--after being assured that smoking
was not offensive--and we had another hour of free talk on matters
generally....
"At four o'clock in the morning the welcome blast of the bugle was
heard, and they rose hurriedly to depart. Thanking me for the
hospitality they had received, we parted, mutually expressing the hope
that should we ever meet again, it would be under more pleasant
circumstances. In a few minutes they were mounted and moved into
Chambersburg. About seven o'clock I went into town....