left some flour and corn meal but did not have time to cook anything
for him. This was good news to the exhausted spy, and she soon kindled
a fire and in less than fifteen minutes a large hoe cake was in the
process of baking. She found some tea packed away in a small basket and
the cake being cooked and the tea made she fed the poor famished man
as tenderly as if he had been her brother, and after that she tended
to the cravings of her own appetite. But it was quite evident that the
man could not recover. He was dying. She did everything in her power
to make him comfortable, but it was quite plain that he only had a few
hours to live. While she stood by his side he said:
“I have a last request to make. If you ever pass through the
Confederate camp between this and Richmond inquire for Major McKee of
General Ewell’s staff and give him a gold watch which you will find in
my pocket. He will know what to do with it, and tell him I died happy
and peaceful.”
His name was Allen Hall. Taking a ring from his finger he tried to put
it on hers, but his strength failed and after a pause he said:
“Keep that ring in memory of one whose sufferings you have alleviated
and whose soul has been refreshed by your presence in the hour of
dissolution.”
He folded his hands together as a little child would do at its mother’s
knee. She gave him some water, raised the window and used her hat for a
fan and then sat down, as she put it, “And watched the last glimmering
spark of life go out from those beautiful windows of the soul.”
He died at twelve o’clock that night and after the involuntary nurse
had wrapped the form of her late patient in his winding sheet she laid
down in a corner of the room and slept soundly until six o’clock in the
morning. It was a curious situation, but it did not seem to affect the
nerve of this remarkable woman. She cut a lock of hair from the head of
the dead man, took the watch and a small package of letters from his
pocket and left the house.
On examining the basket in which she had found the tea she discovered
a number of articles which assisted her in assuming a more perfect
disguise. There was mustard, pepper, an old pair of green spectacles
and a bottle of red ink. Of the mustard she made a strong plaster about
the size of a silver dollar and tied it on one side of her face until
it blistered thoroughly.
She then removed the blister and put on a large patch of black court
plaster. After giving her pale complexion a deep tinge with some ochre
which she found in a closet, she put on her green glasses and Irish
hat. She had previously made a tour of the house to find the fixings
which an Irish woman would be supposed to carry with her in such
an emergency, for she fully expected to be searched before she was
admitted through the lines.
She followed the Richmond road about five miles before meeting any one.
At length she saw a sentinel in the distance, but before he observed
her she sat down to rest and prepare her mind for the coming interview.
While thus waiting to have her courage reënforced, she took from her
basket the black pepper and sprinkled a little of it on her pocket
handkerchief, and then applied the moisture to her eyes. The effect of
it was all that could be desired, for taking a view of her face in a
small mirror which she always carried, she perceived that her eyes had
a fine tender expression which added very much to their beauty. She now
resumed her journey and displayed a flag of truce, a window curtain
which she had brought from the house where she had stopped over night.
As she came nearer, the sentinel signaled for her to advance, which she
did as fast as she could under the circumstances. He cross questioned
her at some length and then permitted her to pass along the road,
saying that she might go wherever she pleased.
After thanking the man for his kindness, she went her way toward the
Confederate camp. She had not gone far when he called her back and
advised her not to stay in the camp over night, adding:
“One of our spies has just come in and reported that the Yankees have
finished the bridges across the Chickahominy and intend to attack us
either to-day or to-night, but Jackson and Lee are ready for them. We
have masked batteries in all parts of the road. There is one over there
that’ll give them fits, if they come this way.”
This was important information, and Miss Edmonds made up her mind at
once that she must get all the news that was possible before night
and then make her way back to the Union camp before the battle began.
At five o’clock that afternoon she met Major McKee, and, carrying out
the promise she made to the dying Confederate, she delivered to him
the watch and package. She did not require any black pepper to assist
the tears in performing their duty, for the sad mementoes which she
had just delivered were a forcible reminder of the scenes of the past
night, and she could not refrain from weeping. The major, grave and
stem as he was, sat there with his face between his hands and sobbed
like a child. Soon he rose to his feet, surveyed her from head to foot
and said:
“You are a faithful woman and you shall be rewarded.”
At his request she consented to show a detachment of the guards the
house where Allen’s body lay. They made their way there cautiously,
lest they should be surprised by the Federals. Miss Edmonds rode at the
head of the little band of Confederates as a guide, not knowing but
that she was leading them into the jaws of death. They traveled thus
for five miles, silently, thoughtfully and stealthily. The sun had gone
down when they came in sight of the little white cottage in the forest
where she had so recently spent such a strange night. As they drew near
and saw no sign of approaching Federals, they regretted that they had
not brought an ambulance, but Miss Edmonds did not regret it for the
arrangement suited her admirably. They were soon at the gate of the
house. The sergeant ordered the corporal to proceed inside with a squad
of men and bring out the corpse while he stationed the remaining men
to guard all the approaches to the house. He then asked Miss Edmonds
to ride down the road a little way to watch out for the Yankees with
instructions to ride back as fast as possible if she detected any of
the hated tribe.
She assented joyfully. It was the very thing for which she had been
watching and waiting. She turned and rode slowly down the road, but
not seeing or hearing anything of the Yankees whimsically thought it
best to keep on in that direction until she did. She says that she was
like the Zouave after the battle of Bull Run who said he was ordered to
retreat but not being ordered to halt in any particular place preferred
to keep on until he reached New York. So Miss Edmonds preferred to
keep on until she reached the Chickahominy where she reported all the
information she had gathered to the Federal general who was in charge.
The news that she brought was of the highest importance and proved to
be of great assistance to the officers in arranging their final plans
for the forth-coming battle. This was the last feat undertaken by Miss
Edmonds, and by a curious chain of circumstances it enabled her to take
part in one of the most thrilling battles of the war.
The battle of Hanover Court House is counted among the heroic
engagements of that year, and was a very important victory for the army
of the Potomac.
Three days after this battle while the army was divided by the
Chickahominy River, a portion of the troops having crossed over the day
before, a most fearful storm swept over the peninsula accompanied by
terrible exhibitions of lightning and explosions of thunder. The water
came down in torrents and there were great floods, completely engulfing
the valley through which the Chickahominy flows and turning the narrow
stream into a broad river as well as converting the swamps into lakes.
On the 30th of May, the enemy, taking advantage of this terrible state
of affairs, came rushing down upon the Union troops in immense force.
A battle opened at about one o’clock in the afternoon and after three
hours of desperate fighting General Casey’s division, occupying the
first line, was compelled to fall back in considerable disorder upon
the second line, causing temporary confusion; but the rapid advance
of General Heinselman and General Kearney with their divisions soon
checked the Confederates.
The enemy, led by Hill and Longstreet, advanced in great columns with
three full lines, and came boldly on like an overwhelming wave, as if
determined to crush all opposition by the suddenness and fierceness
of the attack. It looked as if the Union troops would be annihilated;
indeed, it seemed as if the fragments of the army would be driven into
the Chickahominy before it would be possible for reënforcements to
arrive. It was at this most dramatic stage of the battle that Miss
Edmonds became a voluntary orderly to one of the generals. She has told
the story in her own words, which cannot be improved upon. It furnishes
a fine climax to her sensational career in the army.
“At this time,” she says, “I was in military uniform mounted
on my horse and acting as orderly for General Kearney. Several
times orderlies had been sent with messages and dispatches but no
reënforcements had yet arrived, and taking a Federal view of the
picture it presented a gloomy appearance. The General reined in his
horse abruptly and taking from his pocket an envelope he hastily wrote
on the back of it with pencil, ‘In the name of God, bring your command
to our relief if you have to swim in order to get here—or we are lost.’
Handing it to me he said:
“‘Go just as fast as that horse can carry you to General G, present
this with my compliments and return and report to me.’
“I put poor little ‘Reb’ over the road at the very top of his speed
until he was nearly white with foam, then plunged him into the
Chickahominy and swam across the river. I met one general about one
hundred rods from the river, making the best of his way towards the
bridge. Engineers were at once set to work strengthening the crazy
structure, which was swaying to and fro with the rush of the tide. The
eager, excited troops dashed into the water waist deep, and getting
upon the floating planks went pouring over in massive columns. I
preferred to swim my horse back again rather than risk myself upon
such a bridge, for I looked every moment to see it give way and engulf
the whole division in the turbid waters of the swollen creek. However,
all reached the other side in safety and started along the flooded
road on the double quick. This was cheering news to carry back to the
General, so I started again through the field in order to claim the
reward of ‘Him who bringeth good tidings.’
“I found the General in the thickest of the fight, encouraging his men
and shouting his orders distinctly above the roar and din of battle.
Riding up to him and touching my hat I reported:
“‘Just returned, sir. General G with his command will be here
immediately.’
“It was too good to keep to himself, so he turned to his men and
shouted at the top of his voice:
“‘Reënforcements! Reënforcements!’
“Then, swinging his hat in the air, he perfectly electrified the
whole line as far as his voice could reach and the glorious word
‘Reënforcements,’ was passed along until that almost exhausted line
was re-animated and inspired with new hopes, which led it to ultimate
victory.”
XVI
THE AMAZING ADVENTURE OF BRIGADIER-GENERAL LAFAYETTE C. BAKER
In the early part of April, 1861, a tall, well-built man, with the love
of adventure in his heart, called upon the General commanding the Union
forces and offered to penetrate the Confederate lines for the purpose
of discovering the military secrets of the Southern army.
The volunteer was Lafayette C. Baker, who was to play a most
conspicuous part in the Civil War, and the soldier to whom he made his
proposal was General Winfield Scott, one of the most distinguished
military men in the United States. The interview was epoch-making in
its character, and out of it came one of the most amazing adventures in
the history of the war.
[Illustration: BRIGADIER-GENERAL LAFAYETTE C. BAKER]
Washington was filled with all sorts of men on all sorts of missions
at that time, and Scott was not disposed to see the young man from the
West. The General, with others in power, had his fill of theorists who
offered endless suggestions for the conduct of the war, most of which,
when tried, proved to be impracticable. But Baker was the sort of an
enthusiast who was not to be daunted. He had journeyed to the National
Capital for the purpose of seeing the General and he did not propose
to quit until he had accomplished his object. It happened that he was
acquainted with Congressman William D. Kelley, a notable member of the
House from Philadelphia, and Mr. Kelley, in the kindness of his heart,
managed to arrange an interview with General Scott.
The enthusiasm of the man who was willing to risk his life in the
cause attracted the attention of the veteran of the Army. Scott had
the enviable distinction of having participated in three wars. He
rendered distinguished service in the war of 1812, and he was one of
the heroes of the Mexican War. Now, as the ranking head of the Army,
he was charged with the direction of the Federal forces in the Civil
War, although age and increasing infirmities eventually caused him
to be shelved in favor of younger men. But in the meantime he was
deeply interested in knowing the plans of the Confederates, and he was
impressed with the earnestness of Baker.
“You look as if you had the grit and the intelligence for the job,”
he said, “and I’m going to give you a chance to see what you can do.
If you succeed you will be recognized by the Government in a suitable
manner.”
Baker drew himself up to his full height and there was a flash of fire
in his gray eyes as he exclaimed:
“All I ask is this chance—I’ll guarantee to make good!”
The General smiled and placed his hand upon the shoulder of the
volunteer.
“That’s the sort of spirit that wins. Good-by and good luck to you!”
But before Baker left, Scott had pressed ten twenty-dollar gold pieces
into his hands.
“You may need it for expenses,” he said with a humorous twinkle in his
eyes.
Lafayette Baker now possessed the status of an “unofficial spy.” He
was not commissioned and he was unarmed, but he was satisfied that if
he were able to carry out his promise he would not fail to receive
governmental recognition. His first move was to contrive some plan that
would make his appearance in the camp seem reasonable. He discarded the
notion of a disguise as unnecessary and dangerous. He finally hit upon
the expedient of pretending to be an itinerant photographer. At that
stage of the Civil War picture taking was all the rage and the officers
delighted in having themselves photographed in front of their tents,
surrounded by their aides.
Baker went to one of the second hand shops in Washington and succeeded
in purchasing a camera and a tripod. The fact that the camera was
worn out and unworkable did not disturb him in the least. The dealer
chuckled at the thought of finding a customer who was willing to pay
real money for such junk, little thinking that the paraphernalia was
precisely suited to the needs of the purchaser.
All of his preparations were completed on the 11th of July, 1861, and
on the morning of that day he began his journey, exclaiming as he did
so,
“On to Richmond!”
Baker had been given detailed instructions by General Scott and was
told to keep his eyes and ears open during the progress of his trip
to the Confederate capital. He had been told to learn the locality,
strength and character of the Southern troops and to let no opportunity
pass for gaining information of the enemy’s fortifications. General
Scott was especially anxious to get some definite news concerning the
famous Black Horse Cavalry, which had become the bane of the Union
Commanders.
Baker began his journey in high spirits. The nature of his services, of
course, was not known to the Federal troops and as a consequence he was
regarded by them with quite as much interest and curiosity as if he had
been within the lines of the enemy.
The Federal Army lay before Washington, guarding the frontier, which
stretched from a point three miles below Alexandria toward the Potomac.
General Heintzelman was the Provost Marshal and was stationed at this
point. Passes were not recognized either by the Union or Confederate
armies, and Baker knew that he ran the risk of being arrested as a
spy either by the Federal or the Confederate sentinels. However, he
knew the attempt to get through both these lines was a part of his
self-imposed task. When he was four miles out of the city he reached
the headquarters of the Second Maine Regiment. His photographic outfit
was slung across his back and the Colonel of the regiment invited him
to take a view of the camp, including his own tent with the principal
officers standing in the foreground. As Baker’s apparatus was next to
worthless, he knew that it would be folly for him to pretend to take
the picture, but he was equal to the occasion. After dining with the
Colonel, he suggested that he would like to go to a neighboring hill
and take views of the encampment and then return to photograph the
headquarters. He was soon in the woods, and eluding the guards pushed
forward through the tangled undergrowth in the direction of Richmond.
After a while he felt that he had crossed the Federal lines, but at
that critical moment he was startled by a loud command:
“Who goes there!”
Baker looked up and saw a sentinel standing with lifted gun upon
a knoll just beyond the roadside. There was no opportunity for
explanation. The guard marched the volunteer in the direction of the
Colonel’s headquarters. That officer was sure he had caught a spy and
escorted by ten men, Baker was sent back along the railroad, the very
way he had started, to General Heintzelman’s headquarters. He was
presented to the General in language that was more expressive than
flattering:
“Here’s a dirty spy, General—we found him lurking about our camp and
trying to get through the lines.”
“You contemptible villain!” exclaimed Heintzelman with an oath, “I’ve
got a notion to stand you against the wall and shoot you through the
heart.”
Baker, with all his courage, quailed before this fiery denunciation. He
was in a predicament. His employment by General Scott was confidential
and it might spoil his plan of campaign if he should disclose his
identity, but while he was wondering what he should do under the
circumstances, General Heintzelman burst forth with another tirade:
“I’ll fix you, you rascal!” he exclaimed. “I’ll send you to General
Scott and I’ll wager that he’ll teach you a lesson that will last you
for the balance of your life.”
The captive smiled at this announcement. It fitted in with his own
desires so well that he could scarcely conceal his own satisfaction. A
guard was placed around him and he was hurried to Washington and into
the presence of General Scott. The veteran lifted his eyebrows with
surprise and amusement and dismissed the escort.
“Leave this man with me,” he said, trying to conceal his smile; “I’ll
know how to deal with him.”
When they were alone the General patted his messenger on the shoulder
and said cheerfully:
“This is a complication that I had not anticipated. What are you going
to do about it?”
“I’m going to try again,” was the prompt reply of Baker, and ten
minutes later he was started on his mission for the second time.
Soldiers were arriving in Washington at all hours of the day and night
and in an almost unbroken line were marching over a long bridge into
Virginia. That night Baker took his position at the end of the bridge
and when a regiment came down in considerable disorder he quietly
slipped into the ranks, hoping to be borne along with the troops.
Unfortunately a lieutenant saw the movement and taking the interloper
by the collar put him under guard and sent him back to the rear. He was
released with a warning not to repeat the trick.
Another night was spent in Washington, but it was not wholly devoted
to sleep. The active mind of the volunteer was busy with new plans and
when daylight came he said to himself with the air of a child who is
reciting a lesson:
“On to Richmond!”
Before breakfast that morning he had renewed his journey on foot,
going through the lower counties of Maryland, toward Fort Tobacco.
He traveled thirty-five miles that day and when night came he was so
exhausted that he slept like a log. In the morning he gave a negro one
of his precious twenty-dollar gold pieces to row him across the river
and before noon that day he found himself well within the Confederate
lines. The country was wooded and an unfrequented road, whose general
direction was toward Richmond, suggested his line of advance into the
old dominion. It was a hot day and he was forced to pause frequently to
slake his thirst at brooks by the roadside. He had no settled plan of
future movements, but trusted to circumstances to steer his course. He
was about four miles from the banks of the Potomac when two Confederate
soldiers made their appearance and demanded him to give an account of
himself. He did so, but his story was evidently discounted, for the
soldiers promptly placed him under arrest as a spy. They were friendly
guards, however, and accepted an invitation from their prisoner to
indulge in a glass of ale at a beer shop in one of the townships
through which they passed. One glass, as frequently happens, led to
another, until finally the two soldiers fell asleep on the step of the
beer house and their prisoner went on his way unmolested.
He proceeded along the road toward Manassas Junction, congratulating
himself on his easy escape when four cavalrymen suddenly came out of
the brush and ordered him to halt. They drew their sabers and commanded
him to surrender. He pretended surprise.
“I’m a law abiding citizen,” he exclaimed, “unarmed and on my way to
Richmond, where I have business.”
One of the men dismounted and proceeded to search him and succeeded in
finding a number of letters. It was just the thing that Baker wanted,
for two of these missives were notes of introduction to prominent men
in Richmond. In spite of this, the four soldiers directed Baker to
proceed to Brentsville, about ten miles distant. They rode all the
way and kept him on foot between them. Brentsville was reached about
ten o’clock that night and the prisoner was immediately taken to the
headquarters of General Bonham of South Carolina, who was in command at
that vicinity. The General, who was in full dress uniform, took a seat
opposite Baker and began to question him.
“Where do you come from and where are you going?” he asked.
“I come from Washington and I am on my way to Richmond.”
“What do you mean by coming inside of my lines!” he exclaimed.
Baker’s face in the language of the movies “registered” intense
surprise.
“I’m a loyal and peaceful citizen of the United States, engaged in
an honorable and legitimate pursuit. I have business in Richmond and
desire to get there at the earliest possible moment.”
The Confederate General laughed mirthlessly.
“Well, I’ll see that you get there and in quick order. I believe you’re
a Union spy and I’m going to send you to General Beauregard.”
General Bonham handed a sealed letter to a lieutenant who was standing
near by and said:
“Put this man in irons and take him to General Beauregard’s
headquarters.”
So at midnight, expostulating all the way, he was compelled to go on
foot in the direction of Manassas Junction. When he protested against
being compelled to walk such a distance he was told that he had chosen
that mode of conveyance and ought not to find fault with it. The party
arrived at Manassas Junction at daylight and went at once to General
Beauregard’s headquarters, which were located at the Wiere House.
The prisoner was completely exhausted from his walk and he lay down
in front of the house and went to sleep. He awoke at nine o’clock
and found himself in charge of a guard, who told him that General
Beauregard had expressed a desire to see him.
General Beauregard sat in front of a desk, surrounded by members of his
staff. An open letter lay before him. He pointed to it, frowningly,
and said:
“I see that you have been taken inside of our lines. What explanation
have you to make?”