He spoke freely of the faults of the gunboats. They were too low in

the water and the engines of too limited capacity. They would not be

able to make much headway against the stream. He considered them an

experiment, and, like all experiments, they were of course defective.

He was a close student, devoted to his profession, and bore the marks

of severe thought in the wrinkles which were deepening on his brow.

Time had begun to silver his hair and whiskers, but he walked with a

firm step. He had rare conversational powers, and imparted information

as if it were a pleasure. He was thoroughly conscientious, and had a

deep sense of his responsibility. He was aware that his own reputation

and standing as well as the interests of the public were at stake. He

was greatly beloved by his men.

Two of the gunboats--the Essex and Louisville--were lying six or eight

miles below Cairo, guarding the river. The Essex! How often in boyhood

had I thrilled at the story of her brave fight with the Cherub and

Phebe in the harbor of Valparaiso! How often I wished that Captain

Porter could have had a fair chance in that terrible fight,--one of

the fiercest ones fought on the sea. But there was another Essex

commanded by another Captain Porter, son of him who refused to

surrender his ship till he had lost all power to defend her.

The new craft was wholly unlike the old. That was a fast sailer, trim,

and taut, and graceful as a swan upon the waters; this a black box,

once a St. Louis ferry-boat. The sailors who had breathed the salt air

of the sea, who had swung in mid-heaven upon the swaying masts, who

had rode in glee upon the storm-tost billows,

"Whose home was on the deep."

regarded the new Essex in disgust, and rechristened her the _Mud

Turtle_. But her name, and the glorious record of her deeds, will not

fade from remembrance. Coming generations shall read of her exploits

with pride and pleasure. We were courteously received by her

commander, Captain Wm. D. Porter, a solid man, but little more than

five feet high, yet broad-chested, quick and energetic in his

movements. He had a long, thick, black beard, and twinkling eyes full

of fire. He had the rolling gait of a sailor, and was constantly

pacing the deck. He was a rapid talker, and had a great store of

adventure and anecdote. We alluded to the part taken by his father in

the war of 1812, and the gallant fight against great odds in

Valparaiso harbor. The eyes of the son kindled instantly.

"Yes, sir; that was a plucky fight. The old gentleman never would have

given in if there had been the least ray of hope; but there was none.

And he was too tender-hearted to needlessly slaughter his men."

Three days previous to our visit to the Essex, two Rebel boats came up

from Columbus to see what the Yankees were doing. In five minutes

Porter had his anchor up and steam on, pushing down to meet them

half-way; but they declined the courtesy, and steamed back to

Columbus.

"I followed them as fast as I could," said he, as we paced the deck.

"I let them have my ten-inch Dahlgren and my two rifled forty-two

pounders one after another, and drove them till their batteries on the

bluff above the town opened on me. Then I wrote an invitation to

Montgomery, who commands their fleet, to meet me any day and I would

lick him like thunder. I fastened it to a cork and set it adrift, and

saw a boat go out and pick it up. Then I elevated my ten-inch and let

them have a shell right into the town. I reckon it waked them up

some."

He laughed and chuckled, rubbed his hands, took a fresh quid of

tobacco, and began to talk again of his father's exploits on the

Pacific.

The Rebels under Major-General Bishop Polk were in force at Columbus.

There was also a detachment at Mayfield, east of Columbus. A sudden

movement was made by General Grant in the direction of Mayfield, not

with any design of an attack, but to deceive the Rebels in regard to

the real intentions. The troops landed at old Fort Jefferson, six

miles below Cairo, on the Kentucky side. It was a mild day in

midwinter. The soldiers marched without baggage. Not one in ten had

gloves or mittens; and on the second night of the reconnoissance the

cold became intense, and there was great suffering.

The soldiers kindled huge fires, and by running and walking, and

constant thrashing of the hands, passed the long, weary night. There

were numerous herds of swine in the woods, and fresh pork was

abundant. There was roasting, frying, and broiling by every bivouac

fire, and a savory fragrance of sparerib and steak.

The dwellings of the farmers in this section of Kentucky are of the

Southern style of architecture,--log-houses containing two rooms, with

chimneys built against the ends. Entering one to obtain a drink of

water we found two tall, cadaverous young men, both of them shaking

with ague. There was a large old-fashioned fireplace, with a great

roaring fire, before which they were sitting with the door wide open

at their backs, and the cold air rushing upon them in torrents.

Probably it did not occur to either of them that it would be better to

shut the door.

A Connecticut wooden clock ticked on a rude shelf, a bed stood in one

corner. The walls were hung with old clothes and dried herbs,--catnip

and tansy and thoroughwort. The clay had dropped out in many places,

and we could look through the chinks and see the landscape without.

The foundations of the chimney had settled, and the structure was

leaning away from the house. There were great cracks between the

brickwork and the wood.

They claimed to be good Union men, but said that all the rest of the

people round them were disloyal.

"We are having a hard time," said one. "The Secessionists were going

to jump us,--to take our property because we were for the Union, and

now your army has come and killed nigh about seventy-five hogs for us,

I reckon. It is kinder hard, stranger, to be used so."

"But, my friend, if it had not been for the Union troops wouldn't you

have lost everything, if you are a Union man?"

"Yes,--perhaps so," was the long-drawn answer, given with hesitation.

"There is a right smart heap of Southerners at Columbus, I reckon,"

said he. "There is Sam Wickliff and Josh Turner, and almost all the

boys from this yere place, and they'll fight, I reckon, stranger."

We then learned that the officers of McClernand's division, having

been deprived of the enjoyments of home-life, and finding themselves

among the belles of Western Kentucky, had made the most of the

opportunity by dancing all night.

"The gals danced themselves clean out, that is the reason they ain't

about," said one of the young men, apologizing for the absence of his

sisters, and added, "They is rather afraid of the Lincolnites." The

utterance of the last sentence contradicted all previous assertions of

loyalty and hearty love for the Union.

The troops made sad havoc among the stock, shooting pigs and sheep for

fun. After scouring the country well towards Columbus, having

accomplished the object of the expedition,--that of deceiving the

Rebels in regard to the movement contemplated up the Tennessee,--the

force returned to Cairo.

CHAPTER V.

CENTRAL KENTUCKY.

[Sidenote: Feb., 1862.]

The tide of success during the year 1861 was almost wholly in favor of

the Rebels; but at length there came a change, in the defeat of

Zollicoffer by General Thomas at Mill Springs, on the 19th of January.

I hastened to the centre of the State to watch operations which had

suddenly become active in that quarter.

It was on the last day of January that the zealous porter of the

Spencer House, in Cincinnati, awoke me with a thundering rap at five

o'clock, shouting, "Cars for Lexington." It was still dark when the

omnibus whirled away from the house. There were six or eight

passengers, all strangers, but conversation was at once started by a

tall, stout, red-faced, broad-shouldered man, wearing a gray overcoat

and a broad brimmed, slouched hat, speaking the Kentucky vernacular.

It is very easy to become acquainted with a genuine Kentuckian. He

launches at once into conversation. He loves to talk, and takes it for

granted that you like to listen. The gentleman who now took the lead

sat in the corner of the omnibus, talking not only to his next

neighbor, but to everybody present. The words poured from his lips

like water from a wide-mouthed gutter during a June shower. In five

minutes we had his history,--born in "Old Kentuck," knew all the folks

in Old Bourbon, had been a mule-driver, supplied Old Virginia with

more mules than she could shake a stick at, had got tired of "Old

Kentuck," moved up into Indiana, was going down to see the folks,--all

of this before we had reached the ferry; and before arriving at the

Covington shore we had his opinion of the war, of political economy,

the Constitution, and the negroes.

It was remarkable that, let any subject be introduced, even though it

might be most remotely related to the war, the talkers would quickly

reach the negro question. Just as in theological discussions the

tendency is toward original sin, so upon the war,--the discussion

invariably went beyond the marshalling of armies to the negro as the

cause of the war.

The gentleman in gray had not learned the sounds of the letters as

given by the lexicographers of the English language, but adhered to

the Kentucky dialect, giving "har" for hair, "thar" for there, with

peculiar terminations.

"Yer see, I us-_ed_ to live in Old Kaintuck, down thar beyond Paris.

Wal, I mov_ed_ up beyond India_nop_olis, bought a mighty nice farm. I

know'd all the folks down round Paris. Thar's old Speers, who got shot

down to Mill Springs,--he was a game un; a white-haired old cuss who

jined the Confederates. I know'd him. I 'tended his nigger sale

sev'ral years ago, when he busted. He war a good old man, blame me if

he want. He war crazy that ar day of the sale, and war down on the

nigger-traders. He lost thousands of dollars that ar day, cause he

hated 'em and run down his niggers,--said they wan't good when they

war, just ter keep 'em out of the hands of the cussed traders.

"Wal, thar's Jim,--I remember him. He's in Confed'rate army, too. I

lost a bet of tew hundred dollars with him on Letcher's

'lection,--that old drunken cuss who's disgracing Old Virginia; blow

me if I didn't. That was hard on me, cause on 'lection day arter I'd

voted, I started with a drove of mu_els_, four hundred on 'em nigh

about, for Virginia. I felt mighty sick, I tell you, 'cause I had

employed a drunken cuss to buy 'em for me, and he paid more than they

war wuth. Wal, I know'd I would lose, and I did,--ten hundred dollars.

Cusses, yer know, allers comes in flocks. Wal, only ges think of it,

that ar drunken cuss is a kurnel in the Federal army. Blow me ef I

think it's right. Men that drink too much ar'n't fit to have control

of soldiers.

"Wal, I am a Kentuckian. I've got lots of good friends in the Southern

army, and lots in the Union army. My idee is that government ought to

confiscate the property of the Rebels, and when the war is over give

it back to their wives and children. It's mighty hard to take away

everything from 'em,--blow me if it a'n't. The Abolitionists want to

confiscate the niggers. Wal, I know all about the niggers. They are a

lazy, stealing set of cusses, the hull lot of 'em. What can we do with

'em? That's what I want to know. Now my wife, she wants niggers, but I

don't. If Kentucky wants 'em, let her have 'em. It's my opinion that

Kentucky is better off with 'em, 'cause she has got used to 'em.

"The people are talking about starving the Confederates, but I've been

through the South, and it can't be done. They can raise everything

that we can, and it's my candid opinion that government is gwine to

get licked."

The arrival of the omnibus at the depot put an end to the talk.

The Licking Valley, through which the railroad to Lexington runs, is

very beautiful. There are broad intervales fringed with hickory and

elm, wood-crowned hills, warm, sunny vales and charming landscapes.

Nature has done much to make it a paradise; art very little. The

farm-houses are in the Kentucky style,--piazzas, great chimneys

outside, negro cabins,--presenting at one view and in close contrast

the extremes of wealth and poverty, power and weakness, civilization

and barbarism, freedom and slavery.

The city of Lexington is a place of the past. Before railroads were

projected, when Henry Clay was in the prime of manhood there, it was a

place of enterprise and activity. The streets were alive with men. It

was the great political and social centre of Central Kentucky. The

city flourished in those days, but its glory has passed away. The

great commoner on whose lips thousands hung in breathless admiration,

the circumstances of his time, the men of his generation, have

departed never to return. Life has swept on to other centres. In the

suburbs were beautiful residences. Riches were displayed in lavish

expenditure, but the town itself was wearing a seedy look. There was

old rubbish everywhere about the city; there were buildings with crazy

blinds, cracked walls, and leaning earthward; while even a beautiful

church edifice had broken panes in its windows. The troubles of the

year, like care and anxiety to a strong man, ploughing deep furrows

on his face, had closed many stores, and written "To Rent" on many

dwellings. A sudden paralysis had fallen, business had drooped, and

society had lost its life.

The Phenix was the ancient aristocratic hotel of the place. It was in

appearance all of the old time,--a three-story, stone, brick, and

plaster building, with small windows, and a great bar-room or office,

which in former days was the resort of politicians, men of the turf,

and attendants at court. A crowd of unwashed men were in the hall,

spattered with mud, wearing slouched hats, unshaven and unshorn,--a

motley crew; some tilted against the walls in chairs, fast asleep,

some talking in low tones and filling the room with fumes of tobacco.

A half-dozen were greasing their boots. The proprietor apologized for

their presence, remarking that they were teamsters who had just

arrived from Somerset, and were soon to go back with supplies for

General Thomas's army. There were three hundred of them, rough,

uncouth, dirty, but well behaved. There was no loud talking, no

profanity, indecency, or rudeness, but a deportment through the day

and night worthy of all commendation.

While enjoying the fire in the reception-room two ladies entered,--one

middle-aged, medium stature, having an oval face, dark hair, dark

hazel eyes; the other a young lady of nineteen or twenty years, sharp

features, black hair, and flashing black eyes. They were boarders at

the hotel, were well dressed, though not with remarkable taste, but

evidently were accustomed to move in the best circle of Lexington

society. A regiment was passing the hotel.

"There are some more Yankees going down to Mill Springs, I reckon,"

said the elder.

"O, isn't it too bad that Zollicoffer is killed? I could have cried my

eyes out when I heard of it," said the youngest. "O he was so brave,

and noble, and chivalrous!"

"He was a noble man," the other replied.

"O, I should so like to see a battle!" said the youngest.

"It might not be a pleasant sight, although we are often willing to

forego pleasure for the sake of gratifying curiosity," we replied.

"I should want my side to whip," said the girl.

[Illustration: Hauling cotton.]

"Yes. We all expect our side to be victorious, though we are sometimes

disappointed, as was the case at Bull Run."

"Then you were at Bull Run? I take it that you belong to the army?"

"I was there and saw the fight, although I was not connected with the

army."

"I am glad you were defeated. It was a good lesson to you. The

Northerners have had some respect for the Southerners since then. The

Southerners fought against great odds."

"Indeed, I think it was the reverse."

"No indeed, sir. The Federals numbered over sixty thousand, while

Beauregard had less than thirty thousand. He did not have more than

twelve thousand in the fight."

"I can assure you it is a grave mistake. General McDowell had less

than thirty thousand men, and not more than half were engaged."

"Well, I wonder what he was thinking of when he carried out those

forty thousand handcuffs?"

"I did not suppose any one gave credence to that absurd story."

"Absurd? Indeed, sir, it is not. I have seen some of the handcuffs.

There are several pairs of them in this city. They were brought

directly from the field by some of our citizens who went on as soon as

they heard of the fight. I have several trophies of the fight which

our men picked up."

No doubt the young lady was sincere. It was universally believed

throughout the South that McDowell had thousands of pairs of handcuffs

in his train, which were to be clapped upon the wrists of the Southern

soldiers.

"We have some terrible uncompromising Union men in this State," said

the eldest, "who would rather see every negro swept into the Gulf of

Mexico, and the whole country sunk, than give up the Union. We have

more Abolitionists here in this city than they have in Boston."

It was spoken bitterly. She did not mean that the Union men of the

State were committed to immediate emancipation, but that they would

accept emancipation rather than have the Secessionists succeed.

A gentleman came in, sat down by the fire, warmed his hands, and

joined in the conversation. Said he: "I am a Southerner. I have lived

all my life among slaves. I own one slave, but I hate the system.

There are counties in this State where there are but few slaves, and

in all such counties you will find a great many Abolitionists. It is

the brutalizing influence of slavery that makes me hate

it,--brutalizing to whites and blacks alike. I hate this keeping

niggers to raise human stock,--to sell, just as you do horses and

sheep."

In all places the theme of conversation was the war and the negroes.

The ultra pro-slavery element was thoroughly secession, and the

Unionists were beginning to understand that slavery was at the bottom

of the rebellion. As in the dim light of the morning we already behold

the approach of the full day, so they saw that these which seemed the

events of an hour might broaden into that which would overthrow the

entire slave system.

Anthony Trollope, an English traveller and novelist, was stopping at

the hotel at the time,--a pleasant gentleman, thoroughly English in

his personal appearance, with a plump face, indicative of good living

and good cheer. In his work entitled "North America" he mentions the

teamsters in the hall, and draws a contrast between English and

American society. He says:--

"While I was at supper the seventy-five teamsters were summoned

into the common eating-room by a loud gong, and sat down to their

meal at the public table. They were very dirty; I doubt whether I

ever saw dirtier men; but they were orderly and well-behaved, and

but for their extreme dirt might have passed as the ordinary

occupants of a well-filled hotel in the West. Such men in the

States are less clumsy with their knives and forks, less astray

in an unused position, more intelligent in adapting themselves to

a new life, than are Englishmen of the same rank. It is always

the same story. With us there is no level of society. Men stand

on a long staircase, but the crowd congregates near the bottom,

and the lower steps are very broad. In America, men stand on a

common platform, but the platform is raised above the ground,

though it does not approach in height the top of our staircase.

If we take the average altitude in the two countries, we shall

find that the American heads are the more elevated of the two. I

conceived rather an affection for those dirty teamsters; they

answered me civilly when I spoke to them, and sat in quietness

smoking their pipes, with a dull and dirty but orderly

demeanor."[4]

[Footnote 4: "North America," by Anthony Trollope, Vol. II.

p. 86.]

If Mr. Trollope, who has a very just appreciation of the character of

those quiet and orderly teamsters, will but wait a century or two,

perhaps he will find that democracy can build a staircase as high and

complete as that reared by the aristocracy of England. We have had but

two centuries for the construction of our elevated common platform,

while England has had a thousand years. There the base of the

staircase, where the multitude stand, is either stationary or sinking;

but here the platform is always rising, and bearing the multitude to a

higher plane.

A short distance north of the city of the living is the city of the

dead. It is a pleasant suburb,--one which is adding week by week to

its population. It is laid out in beautiful avenues, grass bordered,

and shaded by grand old forest-trees. It is the resting-place of the

dust of Henry Clay. The monument to his memory is not yet finished. It

is a tall, round column upon a broad base, with a capital, such as the

Greeks never saw or dreamed of, surmounted by a figure intended to

represent the great statesman as he stood when enchaining vast

audiences by his matchless oratory. Within the chamber, exposed to

view through the iron-latticed door, star-embellished and bronzed,

lies the sarcophagus of purest marble. It is chaste in design,

ornamented with gathered rods and bonds emblematic of union, and

wreathed with cypress around its sides. The pure white marble drapery

is thrown partly back, exposing above the breast of the sleeper a

wreath, and

HENRY CLAY.

Upon the slab beneath the sarcophagus is this simple inscription:--

"I can, with unbroken confidence, appeal to the Divine Arbiter

for the truth of the declaration, that I have been influenced by

no impure purpose, no personal motive,--have sought no personal

aggrandizement, but that in all my public acts I have had a sole

and single eye, and a warm devoted heart, directed and dedicated

to what in my best judgment I believed to be the true interests

of my country."

It is not a declaration which goes home to the heart as that simple

recognition of the Christian religion which his compeer, Daniel

Webster, directed should be placed above his grave in the secluded

churchyard at Marshfield, but Mr. Clay was a remarkable man. Of all

Americans who have lived, he could hold completest sway of popular

assemblies. Hating slavery in his early life, he at last became

tolerant of its existence. He cast the whole trouble of the nation

upon the Abolitionists. In some things he was far-sighted; in others,

obtuse. In 1843 he addressed a letter to a friend who was about to

write a pamphlet against the Abolitionists, giving him an outline of

the argument to be used. Thus he wrote:--

"The great aim and object of your tract should be to arouse the

laboring classes in the Free States against abolition. Depict the

consequences to them of immediate abolition. The slaves being

free, would be dispersed throughout the Union; they would enter

into competition with the free laborer, with the American, the

Irish, the German; reduce his wages; be confounded with him, and

affect his moral and social standing. And as the ultras go for

both abolition and amalgamation, show that their object is to

unite in marriage the laboring white man and the laboring black

man, and to reduce the white laboring man to the despised and

degraded condition of the black man.

"I would show their opposition to colonization. Show its humane,

religious, and patriotic aims, that they are to separate those

whom God has separated. Why do the Abolitionists oppose

colonization? To keep and amalgamate together the two races in

violation of God's will, and to keep the blacks here, that they

may interfere with, degrade, and debase the laboring whites. Show

that the British nation is co-operating with the Abolitionists,

for the purpose of dissolving the Union."[5]

[Footnote 5: North American Review, January, 1866, p. 189.]

This was written by a reputed statesman, who was supposed to

understand the principles of political economy. The slaves being made

free would enter in competition with the _free laborer_. But has not

the free American laborer been forced to compete through all the years

of the past with unrequited slave labor? Without inquiring into the

aims and purposes of the Abolitionists,--what they intended to do,

and how they were to do it,--Mr. Clay accepted the current talk of the

day, and shaped his course accordingly. That letter will read

strangely fifty years hence. It reads strangely now, and goes far to

lower our estimate of the real greatness of one who for half a century

was the idol of a great political party,--whose words were taken as

the utterances of an oracle. But ideas and principles have advanced

since 1843. We stand upon a higher plane, and are moving on to one

still higher.

Returning to the hotel, I fell into conversation with a Presbyterian

minister, who began to deplore the war.

"We should conduct it," said he, "not as savages or barbarians, but as

Christians, as civilized beings, on human principles."

"In what way would you have our generals act to carry out what you

conceive to be such principles?"

"Well, sir, the blockade is terribly severe on our friends in the

South, who are our brothers. The innocent are suffering with the

guilty. We should let them have food, and raiment, and medicines, but

we should not let them have cannon, guns, and powder."

"When do you think the war would end if such a plan was adopted?"

He took a new tack, not replying to the question, but said,--

"The North began the trouble in an unchristian spirit."

"Was not the first gun fired by the Rebels upon Fort Sumter?"

"That was not the beginning of the war. It was the election of

Lincoln."

"Then you would not have a majority of the people elect their officers

in the constituted way?"

"Well, if Lincoln had been a wise man he would have resigned, and

saved this terrible conflict."

There is a point beyond which forbearance ceases to be a virtue, and I

expressed the hope that the war would be waged with shot and shell,

fire and sword, naval expeditions and blockades, and every possible

means, upon the men who had conspired to subvert the government. There

was no reply, and he soon left the room.

Buell's right wing under General Crittenden, was at Calhoun, on Green

River. Intelligence arrived that it was to be put in motion.

Leaving Lexington in the morning, and passing by cars through

Frankfort,--an old town, the capital of the State, like Lexington,

seedy and dilapidated,--we reached Louisville in season to take our

choice of the two steamers, Gray Eagle and Eugene, to Henderson. They

were both excellent boats, running in opposition, carrying passengers

one hundred and eighty miles, providing for them two excellent meals

and a night's lodging, all for fifty cents! People were patronizing

both boats, because it was much cheaper than staying at home.

Taking the Gray Eagle,--a large side-wheel steamer,--we swept along

with the speed of a railroad train. The water was very high and

rising. The passengers were almost all from Kentucky. Some of the

ladies thronging the saloon were accustomed to move in the "best

society," which had not literary culture and moral worth for its

standards, but broad acres, wealth in lands and distilleries. They

were "raised" in Lexington or Louisville or Frankfort. They spoke of

the "right smart" crowd on board, nearly "_tew_" hundred, according to

their _i_dea.

But there is another class of Kentuckians as distinct from these

excellent ladies as chalk from cheese. They are of that class to which

David Crocket belonged in his early years,--born in a cane-brake and

cradled in a trough. There were two in the saloon, seated upon an

ottoman,--a brother and sister. The brother was more than six feet

tall, had a sharp, thin, lank countenance, with a tuft of hair on his

chin and on his upper lip. His face was of the color of milk and

molasses. He wore a Kentucky homespun suit,--coat, vest and pants of

the same material, and colored with butternut bark. He had on,

although in the saloon, a broad-brimmed, slouched hat, with an

ornament of blotched mud. He was evidently more at home with his hat

on than to sit bareheaded,--and so consulted his own pleasure, without

mistrusting that there was such a thing as politeness in the world. He

had been plashing through the streets of Louisville. He had scraped

off the thickest of the mud. There he sat, the right foot thrown

across the left knee, with as much complacency as it is possible for a

mortal to manifest. In his own estimation he was all right, although

there was a gap between his pants and vest of about six inches,--a

yellowish tawny streak of shirt. He sat in unconcerned silence, or

stalked through the saloon with his hands in his pockets, or stretched

himself at full length upon the sofa and took a comfortable snooze.

His sister,--a girl of eighteen,--had an oval face, arched eyebrows,

and full cheeks, flowing, flaxen hair, and gray eyes. She wore a plain

dress of gray homespun without hoops, and when standing, appeared as

if she had encased herself in a meal-bag. There was no neat white

collar or bit of ribbon, or cord, or tassel,--no attempt at feminine

adornment. She was a "nut-brown maid,"--bronzed by exposure, with a

countenance as inexpressive as a piece of putty. A dozen ladies and

gentlemen who came on board at a little town twenty miles below

Louisville were enjoying themselves, in a circle of their own, with

the play of "Consequences." The cabin rang with their merry laughter,

and we who looked on enjoyed their happiness; but there was no sign of

animation in her countenance,--a block of wood could not have been

more unsympathetic.

Among the ladies on board was one a resident of Owensboro', who, upon

her marriage eight years before, had moved from the town of Auburn,

New York, the home of Mr. Seward.

"I was an Abolitionist," she said, "before I left home, but now that I

know what slavery is, I like it. The slaveholders are so independent

and live so easy! They can get rich in a few years; and there is no

class in the world who can enjoy so much of life as they."

It was evidently a sincere expression of her sentiments.

She was for the Union, but wanted slavery let alone. The strife in

Owensboro' had been exceedingly bitter. Nearly all her old friends and

neighbors were rampant Secessionists. Secession, like a sharp sword,

had cut through society and left it in two parts, as irreconcilable as

vice and virtue. There was uncompromising hostility ready to flame out

into war at any moment in all the Kentucky towns. There was also on

board a loud-talking man who walked the saloon with his hands in his

pockets, looking everybody square in the face; he was intensely loyal

to the Union.

"Why don't Buell move? Why don't Halleck move? It is my opinion that

they are both of 'em old grannies. I want to see the Rebels licked. I

have lived in Tophet for the last six months. I live in Henderson, and

it has been a perfect hell ever since the Rebels fired on Fort Sumter.

I have lost my property through the d--d scoundrels. I want a regiment

of Union troops to go down there and clean out the devils."

It was early morning when the scream of the Gray Eagle roused the

usual crowd of loafers from their sleep and inanition at Owensboro'. A

motley mob came down to the wharf eager to hear the news. I had been

informed that the place was one where whiskey distilleries abound, and

the information proved to be correct. The distillery buildings were

distinctly recognized by their smoking chimneys, creaking pumps, and

steaming vats. The crowd on the shore had whiskey in their looks and

behavior. Among them was one enthusiastic admirer of Abraham Lincoln.

He was bloated, blear-eyed, a tatterdemalion, with just enough whiskey

in him to make him thick-spoken, reckless, and irresponsible in the

eyes of his liquor-loving companions. While we were at a distance he

swung his hat and gave a cheer for Old Abe; as we came nearer he

repeated it; and as the plank was being thrown ashore he fairly danced

with ecstasy, shouting, "Hurrah for Old Abe! He'll fix 'em. Hurrah for

Old Abe! Hurrah for Old Abe!"

"Shet up, you drunken cuss. Hurrah for Jeff Davis!" was the response

of another blear-eyed, tipsy loafer.

The steamer Storm was tolling its bell as the Gray Eagle came to the

landing at Evansville, bound for Green River. Her decks were piled

with bags of corn and coffee. A barge was tethered to her side, loaded

with bundle hay and a half-dozen ambulances. We were just in time to

reach the deck before the plank was drawn in. Then with hoarse puffs

the heavily laden old craft swung into the stream and surged slowly

against the swollen tide of the Ohio. Green River joins the Ohio ten

miles above Evansville. It is a beautiful stream, with forest-bordered

banks. At that season of the year there was nothing particularly

inspiring to the muse along this stream, unless one can kindle a

poetic flame in swamps, lagoons, creeks, and log-cabins standing on

stilts, with water beneath, around, and often within them. On the spit

of land between the Ohio and Green rivers, on posts several feet under

water, was a log-cabin; a row-boat was tied to the steps, a woman and

a half-dozen children stared at us from the open door. All around was

forest. A gentleman on board said it was a fishing family. If so, the

family, little ones and all, might ply the piscatory art from doors

and windows. A more dreary, watery place cannot be imagined.

The Storm was not a floating palace with gilded saloons, velvet

tapestry carpets, French mirrors, and a grand piano, but an old wheezy

tow-boat, with great capacity below and little above. There was a room

for the gentlemen, and a little box of a place for any ladies who

might be under the necessity of patronizing the craft.

There were no soldiers on board, but thirty or forty passengers. We

were a hard-looking set. Our clothes were muddy, our beards shaggy,

our countenances far from being Caucasian in color, with sundry other

peculiarities of dress, feature, and demeanor.

There was one stout man with an enormous quantity of brown hair, and a

thick yellow beard, belonging to Hopkinsville, near the Tennessee

line, who had been compelled to flee for his life.

"We got up a cannon company, and I was captain. We had as neat a

little six-pounder as you ever saw; but I was obliged to cut and run

when the Rebels came in December; but I buried the pup and the

Secessionists don't know where she is! If I ever get back there I'll

make some of them cusses--my old neighbors--bite the dust. I have just

heard that they have tied my brother up and almost whipped him to

death. They gouged out his eyes, stamped in his face, and have taken

all his property."

Here he was obliged to stop his narrative and give vent to a long

string of oaths, consigning the Rebels to all the tortures and pains

of the bottomless pit forever. Having disgorged his wrath, he said,--

"Now, sir, there is a grave judicial question on my mind, and I would

like your opinion upon it. If you owned a darkey who should get over

into Indiana, a bright, intelligent darkey, and he should take with

him ten niggers from your secession neighbors, and you should happen

to know it, would you send them back?"

"No, sir; I should not."

"That is my mind 'zactly. I knew you was a good Union man the moment I

sot my eyes on ye." Then came an interesting explanation. He had one

slave, a devoted fellow, who had become an active conductor on the

underground railroad. The slave had been often to Evansville and knew

the country, and had enticed away ten negroes belonging to the

Secessionists in the vicinity of Hopkinsville. He had seen them all

that morning, and more, had given each of them a hearty breakfast!

"You see," said he, "if they belonged to Union men I would have sent

'em back; but they belonged to the ----Secessionists who have driven

me out, taken all my property, and do you think I'd be mean enough to

send the niggers back?"

On board the Storm were several other men who had been driven from

their homes by the Secessionists. There was one gentleman, a

slaveholder from the little town of Volney, between Hopkinsville and

the Cumberland River. All of his property had been taken, his negroes,

if they were not sold or seized, were roaming at will. He had two

brothers in the Rebel army. He was a plain, sensible, well-informed

farmer. He lived close upon the Tennessee line, and was acquainted

with the Southern country.

"Slavery is a doomed institution," said he; "from Kentucky, from

Missouri, from Maryland and Virginia the slaves have been pouring

southward. There has been a great condensation of slaves at the South

where they are not wanted, and where they cannot be supported if the

blockade continues. The South never has raised its own provisions. She

could do it if she put forth her energies; but she never has and she

will not now. The time will come, if the blockade continues, when the

master will be compelled to say to the slaves, 'Get your living where

you can,' and then the system, being rolled back upon itself, will be

broken up. As for myself, I would like to have kept my slaves, because

I am getting along in years and I wanted them to take care of me; but

as the Secessionists have taken them and driven me out, it won't make

any difference to me whether the system is continued or not."

It is utterly impossible to convey to a New-Englander who has never

crossed the Hudson a correct idea of a Kentucky country village, like

that of Calhoun, as seen from the deck of the steamer Storm, in the

light of a beautiful morning, so mild and spring-like that the robins,

bluebirds, jays, pewits, and sparrows were filling the air with their

songs, having returned from their sojourn in a Southern clime. A

sentinel was plashing through the mud along the bank, guarding the

ferry to the town of Rumsey, on the opposite side of the river. The

bank rises abruptly into the main street of the town. First we have

the McLean House, the first-class hotel of the place,--a wooden

building two stories high, containing six or eight rooms. There is

beyond it one brick building, then a number of smaller buildings

containing a couple of rooms each, and forty rods distant a church,

respectable in style and proportions. The land is undulating, and on

the hillsides there are dwellings, a half-dozen of which you might

call comfortable. The original forest oaks are still standing. A creek

or bayou runs through the town, the receptacle of all the filth

generated by ten thousand men, and thousands of mules, horses, and

hogs.

Rumsey, on the opposite side of the river, is of smaller dimensions.

Years ago it was a "right smart" town, but business has disappeared.

The people have also gone, and now one sees a row of windowless,

doorless, deserted houses, soaked in every flood of waters.

Visiting the "first class" hotel of the place, we sat down in the

parlor or reception-room, or whatever room it was, while the cook

prepared breakfast. It was also the landlord's bed-room, occupied by

himself and wife.

Calling upon the landlord for a place for toilet operations, we were

invited into the kitchen which was also the dining-room and pantry and

Jim's bed-room,--Jim being a tall negro, who just now is washing

dishes, with a tin pan of hot water, and without any soap. Dinah is

rolling biscuit, and tending the hoe-cake, which is cooking nicely on

the stove. There is the flour-barrel close at hand. There is one

dinner-pot, with two kettles, a pail of water, a lantern, the

pepper-box, a dish of fat, a plate of butter, and a great heap of tin

dishes on the table, where Dinah is moulding the biscuit, while Jim

occupies the other end. The dining-table stands in the centre of the

room. The plates are laid, and the whole is covered with a blue cloth,

which at first sight seems to be a soldier's blanket, and which upon

close inspection leaves us still in doubt whether it is a table-cloth

or a bed-coverlet. There are some chairs, and an old desk which has

lost its lid, in which are nails, a hammer, some old papers, and a

deal of dust. It evidently "came down from a former generation."

We have time to notice these things while the landlord is preparing

for our washing exploit, which is to be performed near Jim, with a

basin on a chair.

Then we have breakfast,--beefsteak and porksteak, and buckwheat cakes,

all fried in lard, sausages, potatoes, Dinah's hoe-cakes, hot flour

biscuit, and a dish of hash, which will not go down at all, and coffee

without milk, preferred to the water of Green River, which in its

natural state is somewhat the color of yellow snuff, and which is

drank by the inhabitants of Calhoun, notwithstanding thousands of

horses are stabled on its banks.

There was no movement of the troops, therefore nothing to detain us at

Calhoun, and knowing that there was something of interest up the

Cumberland and Tennessee rivers, we went on board the Mattie Cook, the

downward-bound steamer. While waiting for her departure we gazed at

the sights upon the shore. There was a great deal of life,--wagons,

soldiers, citizens floundering through the mud to the landing,

transporting goods. There were ludicrous scenes of men and teams stuck

in the mortar-bed; but in the midst of life there was death. A squad

of soldiers came down from camp to the hospital with a bier, and with

the slow funeral dirge brought two of their comrades to the boat,--two

who had just passed from the scenes of strife on earth to the eternal

peace beyond. Those who bore them were by no means unaffected by the

part they were called upon to perform. There were sad countenances,

too, on board the boat,--two ladies, both strangers to the dead, but

not indifferent to the scene. They had woman's tender sensibilities,

and could not keep back the tears from their eyes, for they thought of

their own sons whom they had just left, and who now stood upon the

bank to say perhaps a last good-by.

But how transitory are all the most solemn impressions of death! Ten

minutes later a company of soldiers appeared for a trip down the river

to Stevensport to bag, if possible, the squad of Rebels which had been

prowling about the town of Stevensport. They came on board with a

hurrah, and made the welkin ring with the "Red, White, and Blue." It

was a pleasure to them to leave the hateful place even for a night,

and be in active service.

[Illustration: Baltimore in 1861.]

CHAPTER VI.

THE OPENING OF THE CAMPAIGN IN TENNESSEE.

[Sidenote: Feb., 1862.]

At last the Rebel lines were broken. Commodore Foote had opened a

gateway to the heart of the Confederacy by the capture of Fort Henry

on the 6th of February. While up Green River I learned of the intended

movement, and hastened to be present, but was delayed between

Evansville and Paducah, and was not in season to see the engagement.

Late on the Friday evening after I saw Commodore Foote in Cairo. He

had just returned from Fort Henry.

"Can you favor me with an account of the affair?" I asked.

"It will give me great pleasure to do so after I have prepared my

despatches for Washington," he replied.

It was past midnight when he came to my room. He sat down, and leaned

back wearily in his chair. But soon recovering his usual energy, gave

the full details of the action. He had prepared his instructions to

his crews several days before the battle, and upon mature thought, saw

nothing to change.

To the commanders and crews he said, that it was very necessary to

success that they should keep cool. He desired them to fire with

deliberate aim, and not to attempt rapid firing, for four reasons,

viz. that with rapid firing there was always a waste of ammunition;

that their range would be wild; that the enemy would be encouraged

unless the fire was effectual; that it was desirable not to heat the

guns.

With these instructions he led his fleet up the narrow channel under

cover of Pine Island, thus avoiding long-range shot from the rifled

guns which it was known the enemy had in position to sweep the main

channel. He steamed slow, to allow the troops time to gain their

position.

He visited each vessel and gave personal directions. He took his own

position in the pilot-house of the Cincinnati. The St. Louis was on

his right hand and the Carondelet and Essex were on his left, with the

Tyler, Connestoga, and Lexington in rear. There is an island a mile

and a quarter below the fort. When the head of the island was reached

the boats came into line and were within easy range.

"Do just as I do," was his last order to the commanders.

The Cincinnati opened, and the other vessels were quick to follow the

Commodore's example.

"I had a definite purpose in view," said he, "to take the fort at all

hazards. It was necessary for the success of the cause. We have had

disaster upon disaster, and I intended, God helping me, to win a

victory. It made me feel bad when I saw the Essex drop out of the

line, but I knew that the fort couldn't stand it much longer. I should

have opened my broadsides in a minute or two, if Tilghman had not

surrendered, and that I knew would settle the question. We were not

more than four hundred yards distant."

He said that when the Essex dropped behind the Rebels set up a

tremendous cheer, and redoubled their fire; but being excited their

aim was bad.

"There is nothing like keeping perfectly cool in battle," said he.

"When Tilghman came into my cabin," said the Commodore, "he asked for

terms, but I informed him that his surrender must be final."

"Well, sir, if I must surrender, it gives me pleasure to surrender to

so brave an officer as you," said Tilghman.

"You do perfectly right to surrender, sir; but I should not have

surrendered on any condition."

"Why so? I do not understand you."

"Because I was fully determined to capture the fort or go to the

bottom."

The Rebel general opened his eyes at this remark, but replied, "I

thought I had you, Commodore, but you were too much for me."

"But how could you fight against the old flag?"

"Well, it did come hard at first; but if the North had only let us

alone there would have been no trouble. But they would not abide by

the Constitution."

"You are mistaken, sir. The North has maintained all of her

Constitutional obligations. You of the South have perjured yourselves.

I talked to him faithfully," said the zealous officer.

The Commodore was now nervously restless, but said: "I never slept

better in my life than I did the night before going into the battle,

and I never prayed more fervently than I did yesterday morning, that

God would bless the undertaking, and he has signally answered my

prayer. I don't deserve it, but I trust that I shall be grateful for

it. But I couldn't sleep last night for thinking of those poor fellows

on board the Essex, who were wounded and scalded. I told the surgeons

to do everything possible for them. Poor fellows! I must go and see

that they are well cared for."

It was one o'clock in the morning, yet exhausted as he was, he went to

see that the sufferers were having every possible attention.

This was on Saturday morning; the next day he went to church as usual.

The minister was not there, and after waiting awhile the audience one

by one began to drop off, whereupon Commodore Foote entered the

pulpit, and conducted the exercises, reading the fourteenth chapter of

John's Gospel, and addressed the congregation, urging sinners to

repentance, picturing the unspeakable love of Christ, and the rewards

which await the righteous, and closing the services by a fervent

prayer. It was as unostentatious as all his other acts, undertaken

with a dutiful desire to benefit those about him, and to glorify God.

That was his aim in life.

The Rebel troops which were in and around Fort Henry fled in dismay

soon after the opening of the bombardment, leaving all their camp

equipage. In the barracks the camp-fires were still blazing, and

dinners cooking, when our troops entered. Books, letters half written,

trunks, carpet-bags, knives, pistols, were left behind, and were

eagerly seized by the soldiers, who rent the air with shouts of

laughter, mingled with the cheers of victory.

Although not present, a letter fell into my hands written by a father

in Mississippi to his sons, which gives an insight into the condition

of affairs in the Confederacy at that time:--

"BEAR CREEK, Miss., Dec. 16, 1861.

"TO MY DEAR BOYS SAMMIE AND THOMAS:--

"After a long silence I will tell you some little news. I told C.

D. Moore to tell you that paper was very scarce in this wooden

world. I went to Vaidere to get this, and was glad to get it at

50 cents per quire.

"The health of our country is pretty good. Crops are very short;

corn and cotton--especially cotton--not quite half a crop, though

it doesn't matter, as we can't get any money for it. For my part

I know not what we are to do. I haven't a red cent. My intention

now is to plant only about eight acres in cotton; that will make

enough to buy or barter my groceries. I fear, my children, we

will not live to see as prosperous a time after this revolution

as there was before it. I often think of the language of our

Saviour: 'Eloi, Eloi, lama sabacthani,'--My God, my God, why hast

thou forsaken me? I verily believe all this calamity has come

upon us for our wickedness. Religion is down like cotton,--not

worth much; and by the actions of good brethren it might be

bought for a mere trifle, though if we were to judge from its

sparseness, like salt, it would be worth $40 per sack.

"O my God, what will become of us? Go, if you please, to the

churchyard, and you will hear nothing but secular affairs and

_war, war_! Dull times everywhere. Money scarce; pork high,--10

to 12-1/2 cents per pound; salt the same; coffee $1.50 per pound,

and none to be had at that; calico 30 to 50 cents per yard;

domestics 20 to 25 cents per yard; sugar 6 to 12-1/2 cents;

molasses 30 to 40 cents, and everything in the same ratio."

The capture of Fort Donelson and the troops defending it, was the

first _great_ achievement of the Union armies. The affair at Mill

Spring, and the taking of Roanoke Island by Burnside, were important,

but minor engagements when compared with the breaking in of the Rebel

line of defence on the Cumberland and Tennessee. The fighting on

Saturday, the last day of the series of battles, was desperate and

bloody. The ground on the right in the morning, when the Rebels moved

out and overwhelmed McClernand, was hotly contested. Grant's lines

were so extended and necessarily thin that the Rebels were enabled to

push McClernand back nearly two miles. This was done by Pillow and

Bushrod Johnson, who gained McClernand's flank. Buckner, however, who

was to strike McClernand's left, was slow in advancing. Had he moved

as rapidly as the other divisions, McClernand would have been utterly

routed. It was then that W. H. L. Wallace, of Illinois, showed his

great military ability. He had been in the Mexican war, was

courageous, and had that power of _presence_ which made every man feel

that he was under the eye of his commander. Then, too, General Logan

animated his men, and held them in close contact with the Rebels till

wounded.

The charge of General C. P. Smith's division on the left, in the

afternoon of Saturday, was sublime. General Smith was an old soldier,

who had served in Mexico. His hair was long and white, and as he rode

along his lines, making arrangements for the advance, he was the most

conspicuous of all men on the field. He paid no heed to the rifle and

musket balls which were singing about his ears; he sat firmly on his

horse. When his lines were ready, he led them, with his cap on the

point of his sword.

It was sunset or nearly that hour, when his division moved to the

attack of the outer works, at the southwest angle of the fort. There

was a steady advance through an open field,--a rush up the hill,--a

cheer,--the rout of Hanson's brigade of Rebels, the Second Kentucky,

Twentieth Mississippi, and Thirtieth Tennessee,--a long, loud shout of

triumph, mingled with the roar of cannon, and the rolls of musketry

from the fort, pouring upon them a concentrated fire!

The scene at Donelson on Sunday morning, the day of surrender, was

exceedingly exhilarating,--the marching in of the victorious

divisions,--the bands playing, their flags waving, the cheers of the

troops,--the gunboats firing a salute,--the immense flotilla of river

steamboats gayly decorated! The New Uncle Sam was the boat on which

General Grant had established his head-quarters. The Uncle Sam, at a

signal from Commodore Foote, ranged ahead, came alongside one of the

gunboats, and, followed by all the fleet, steamed up river past Fort

Donelson, thick with Confederate soldiers,--past the intrenched camp

of log-huts, past a school-house on a hill, above which waved the

hospital flag,--and on to Dover, the gunboats thundering a national

salute the while.

A warp was thrown ashore, the plank run out. I sprang up the bank,

and mingled among the disconsolate creatures,--a care-worn, haggard,

melancholy crowd which stood upon the heights above. They all told one

story, claiming that they had fought well; that we outnumbered them;

that there was a disagreement among their officers; that we had got

General Buckner; that Floyd and Pillow had escaped; that Floyd had

taken four regiments of his brigade; that there were four steamers;

that they went off crowded with soldiers, the guards sunk to the

water's edge.

The town of Dover is the county seat of Stewart, and a point where the

farmers ship their produce. It is a straggling village on uneven

ground, and contains perhaps five hundred inhabitants. There are a few

buildings formerly used for stores, a doctor's office, a dilapidated

church, a two-story square brick court-house, and a half-dozen decent

dwellings. But the place had suffered greatly while occupied by the

Secession forces. Nearly every building was a hospital. Trees had been

cut down, fences burned, windows broken, and old buildings demolished

for fuel.

We came upon a squad of soldiers hovering around a fire. Some were

wrapped in old patched bedquilts which had covered them at home. Some

had white blankets, made mostly of cotton. Others wore bright bocking,

which had evidently been furnished from a merchant's stock. One had a

faded piece of threadbare carpet. Their guns were stacked, their

equipments thrown aside, cartridge-boxes, belts, and ammunition

trampled in the mud. There were shot-guns, single and double-barreled,

old heavy rifles, flint-lock muskets of 1828, some of them altered

into percussion locks, with here and there an Enfield rifle.

A few steps brought me to the main landing, where the Confederate

stores were piled, and from which Floyd made his escape. The gunboats

were lying off the landing, and a portion of McClernand's division was

on the hills beyond, the stars and stripes and the regimental banners

waving, and the bands playing. Away up on the hill Taylor's battery

was firing a national salute.

There were sacks of corn, tierces of rice, sides of bacon, barrels of

flour, hogsheads of sugar, sufficient for several days' rations. Then

there was a dense crowd of Secessionists, evidently the rabble, or the

_debris_ of the army, belonging to all regiments. Some were sullen,

some indifferent, some evidently felt a sense of relief, mingled with

their apprehensions for the future. Among them were squads of our own

soldiers, with smiling faces, feeling very much at home, but

manifesting no disposition to add to the unhappiness of the captured.

General McClernand's division had marched down to the outskirts of the

village, and was keeping guard. A private ran into the court-house and

threw the flag of the Union to the breeze from the belfry. Soldiers of

our army were inspecting the shops of the place. In the basement of a

store was the Confederate arsenal. There were piles of rifles, old

shot-guns, many of them ticketed with the owner's name. There were

many hunter's rifles, which had done good service in other days among

the mountains and forests of Tennessee, but, for use in battle, of but

little account.

In another building was the Commissary department. There were

hogsheads of sugar, barrels of rice, boxes of abominable soap, and a

few barrels of flour. Later in the day we saw soldiers luxuriating

like children in the hogsheads of sugar. Many a one filled his canteen

with New Orleans molasses and his pockets with damp brown sugar.

Looking into a store we found a squad of soldiers taking things of no

earthly use. One had a looking-glass under his arm, one a paper of

files, another several brass candlesticks, one a package of bonnets.

The Mississippians and Texans were boiling over with rage against

Floyd and Pillow for having deserted them.

"Floyd always was a d--d thief and sneak," said one.

Just before sunset we took a ramble through the grounds and

encampments of the Rebels, who were falling into line preparatory to

embarking upon the steamers. Standing on a hill beyond the village, we

had at one view almost all their force. Hogarth never saw such a

sight; Shakespeare, in his conceptions of Falstaff's tatterdemalions,

could not have imagined the like,--not that they were deficient in

intellect, or wanting in courage, for among them were noble men, brave

fellows, who shed tears when they found they were prisoners of war,

and who swore with round oaths that they would shoot Floyd as they

would a dog, if they could get a chance, but that for grotesque

appearance they were never equalled, except by the London bagmen and

chiffoniers of Paris.

There were all sorts of uniforms, brown-colored predominating, as if

they were in the snuff business and had been rolled in tobacco-dust.

There was sheep gray, iron gray, blue gray, dirty gray, with bed

blankets, quilts, buffalo-robes, pieces of carpeting of all colors and

figures, for blankets. Each had his pack on his shoulder. Judging by

their garments, one would have thought that the last scrapings, the

odds and ends of humanity and of dry goods, had been brought together.

The formal surrender of the fort took place in the cabin of the New

Uncle Sam in the evening. Buckner sat on one side of the table and

General Grant on the other. Buckner was attended by two of his staff.

The Rebel commander was in the prime of life, although his hair had

turned iron gray. He was of medium stature, having a low forehead and

thin cheeks, wore a moustache and meagre whiskers. He had on a

light-blue kersey overcoat and a checked neckcloth. He was smoking a

cigar, and talking in a low, quiet tone. He evidently felt that he was

in a humiliating position, but his deportment was such as to command

respect when contrasted with the course of Floyd and Pillow. His chief

of staff sat by his side.

Buckner freely gave information relative to his positions, his forces,

their disposition, and his intentions. He expected to escape, and

claimed that the engagements on Saturday were all in favor of the

Confederates. No opprobrious words were used by any one. No

discussions entered into. He asked for subsistence for his men, and

said that he had only two days' provisions on hand. He had favors to

ask for some of his wounded officers, all of which were readily

acceded to by General Grant, who was very much at ease, smoking a

cigar, and conducting the business with dignity, yet with despatch.

The prisoners were taken on board of the transports, the men on the

lower deck, and the officers having the freedom of the boat. The

saloons and cabins, berths and state-rooms were filled with the

wounded of both armies.

"The conditions of the surrender have been most shamefully violated,"

said a tall, dark-haired, black-eyed Mississippi colonel, on board

the Belle of Memphis.

"How so?" I asked.

"It was agreed that we should be treated like gentlemen, but the

steward of the boat won't let us have seats at the table. He charges

us a half-dollar a meal, and refuses Confederate money."

"Well, sir, you fare no worse than the rest of us. I paid for a

state-room, but the surgeon turned me out and put in a wounded man,

which was all right and proper, and at which I have no complaint to

make, and I shall think myself well off if I can get hard-tack."

While conversing with him, a Mississippi captain came up,--a tall,

red-whiskered, tobacco-chewing, ungainly fellow, with a swaggering

air. "This is d--d pretty business. They talk of reconstructing the

Union, and begin by rejecting our money. I don't get anything to eat,"

he said.

I directed his attention to a barrel of bacon and several boxes of

bread which had been opened for the prisoners, and from which they

were helping themselves. He turned away in disgust, saying,--

"Officers are to be treated according to their rank,--like

gentlemen,--and I'll be d--d if I don't pitch in and give somebody a

licking!"

Some of the officers on board conducted themselves with perfect

decorum. One young physician gave his services to our wounded.

Although Commodore Foote had been wounded in the gunboat attack upon

the fort, he intended to push up the river to Nashville, and intercept

General Albert Sidney Johnston, who he knew must be falling back from

Bowling Green, but he was stopped by a despatch from General Halleck

to General Grant. "Don't let Foote go up the river."

The gunboats could have reached Nashville in eight hours. Floyd and

Pillow, who made their escape from Donelson at sunrise, reached the

city before noon, while the congregations were in the churches. Had

Commodore Foote followed he would have been in the city by three

o'clock, holding the bridges, patrolling the rivers, and cutting off

Johnston's retreat. Buell had between thirty and forty thousand men,

Johnston less than twenty. On the heel of the demoralization incident

to the rout at Mill Springs, Fort Henry, and the loss at Donelson, the

entire Rebel army in the West could have been destroyed, but for the

dictation of General Halleck, sitting in the planter's house five

hundred miles distant.

"Had I been permitted to carry out my intention we should have put an

end to the rebellion in the West," said Commodore Foote.

General Halleck had endeavored to enforce his order No. 3, excluding

negroes from his lines, but before daybreak on Sunday morning at

Donelson a negro entered the lines, having made his way out from

Dover, past the Rebel pickets. He reported that the Rebels were

fleeing. Some of the officers suggested that he was sent out to lure

Grant into a trap, and proposed to tie him up and give him a whipping.

"You may hang me, shoot me, do anything to me, if it a'n't as I tell

you," was his earnest reply.

One hour later came the Rebel flag of truce from Buckner, asking for

the appointment of Commissioners; but the information already obtained

enabled Grant to reply: "I propose to move immediately upon your

works."

The negro was a slave, who entered the Union lines in search of

freedom,--that which his soul most longed for. General Grant did not

exclude him. Like a sensible man, he took no action in the matter,

gave no directions as to what should be done with him. The slave being

at liberty to decide for himself, took passage on a transport for

Cairo. The steamer stopped at a landing for wood, when the slave was

recognized by some of the citizens, who said that he belonged to a

Union man, and demanded that he should be put off the boat. The

captain of the steamer was inclined to accede to their demands; but

the officers on board, knowing what service he had rendered, informed

the captain that he need not be under any apprehensions of arrest by

civil process, as martial law was in force. They kept the negro under

their protection, and gave him his liberty, thus setting at defiance

General Halleck and his pro-slavery order.

[Sidenote: March, 1862.]

A great many negroes came into the lines, and were welcomed by the

soldiers. Among them was a boy, black as anthracite, with large,

lustrous eyes, and teeth as white as purest ivory. He was thirteen

years old, born in Kentucky, but for several years had lived near

Dover. His master, he said, was a gentleman, owned twenty-four slaves.

He had on a greasy shirt of snuff-colored jean, the genuine negro

cloth, such as one half the Southern army was compelled to wear. His

slouched hat was tipped back upon his head, showing a countenance

indicative of intelligence.

"Well, my boy, what is your name?" I asked.

"Dick, massa."

"Where do you live?"

"About fourteen miles from Dover, massa, up near de rollin' mill."

"Is your master a Secessionist?"

"He was Secesh, massa, but he be Union now."

This was correct testimony, the master appearing with great boldness

at General Grant's head-quarters to let it be known he was for the

Union.

"Are you a slave, Dick?"

"I was a slave, but I's free now; I's 'fiscated."

"Where were you when the fight was going on at Fort Donelson?"

"At home; but when massa found de fort was took he started us all off

for de Souf, but we got away and come down to Dover, and was

'fiscated."

The master was a Secessionist till his twenty-four chattels, which he

was trying to run South, became perverse and veered to the North with

much fleetness. Not only were these twenty-four started South, but ten

times twenty-four, from the vicinity of Dover, and an hundred times

twenty-four from Clarkesville, Nashville, and all along the

Cumberland. When Donelson fell, the edifice of the Secessionists

became very shaky in one corner.

Columbus was occupied on the 5th of March, the Rebels retiring to

Island No. 10. Visiting the post-office, I secured several bushels of

Southern newspapers, which revealed a state of general gloom and

despondency throughout the Confederacy. Inspired by the events of

1861,--the battles of Bull Run, Belmont, and other engagements,--the

Southern muse had struck its lyre.

The battle of Belmont had kindled a poetic flame in the breast of Jo.

Augustine Signaigo, in the Memphis _Appeal_. The opening stanza is as

follows:--

"Now glory to our Southern cause, and praises be to God,

That He hath met the Southron's foe, and scourged him with his rod;

On the tented plains of Belmont, there in their might the Vandals came.

And gave unto Destruction all they found, with sword and flame;

But they met a stout resistance from a little band that day,

Who swore that they would conquer, or return to mother clay."

After a description of the fight, we have the following warning in the

tenth stanza:--

"Let the horrors of this day to the foe a warning be,

That the Lord is with the South, that His arm is with the free;

That her soil is pure and spotless as her clear and sunny sky,

And he who dare pollute it on her soil shall basely die;

For His fiat hath gone forth, e'en among the Hessian horde,

That the South has got His blessing, for the South is of the Lord."

The New Orleans _Picayune_ had an "Ode on the Meeting of the Southern

Congress, by Henry Timrod," which opened in the following lofty

lines:--

"Hath not the morning dawned with added light!

And will not evening call another star

Out of the infinite regions of the night

To mark this day in Heaven? At last, we are

A nation among nations; and the world

Shall soon behold, in many a distant port,

Another flag unfurled!"

This poet gave the following contrast between the North and South:--

"Look where we will, we cannot find a ground

For any mournful song!

Call up the clashing elements around,

And test the right and wrong!

On one side,--pledges broken, creeds that lie,

Religion sunk in vague philosophy;

Empty professions; Pharisaic leaven;

Souls that would sell their birth-right in the sky;

Philanthropists who pass the beggar by,

And laws which controvert the laws of Heaven!

And, on the other, first, a righteous cause!

Then, honor without flaws,

Truth, Bible reverence, charitable wealth,

And for the poor and humble, laws which give

Not the mean right to buy the right to live,

But life, home and health.

To doubt the issue were distrust in God!

If in his providence He had decreed

That, to the peace for which we pray,

Through the Red Sea of War must lie our way,

Doubt not, O-brothers, we shall find at need

A Moses with his rod!"

The Vicksburg _Citizen_ had thirty stanzas rehearsing the events of

the year 1861. Two or three selections will be sufficient to show that

the muse halted a little now and then:--

"Last year's holidays had scarcely passed,

Before momentous events came thick and fast;

Mississippi on the 9th of January went out,

Determined to stand strong, firm and stout.

* * * * *

"Major Anderson would not evacuate Sumter,

When Gen. Beauregard made him surrender,--

And sent him home to his abolition master,

Upon a trot, if not a little faster.

"Then Old Abe Lincoln got awful mad,

Because his luck had turned out so bad;

And he grasped his old-fashioned steel pen,

And ordered out seventy-five thousand men.

"May the Almighty smile on our Southern race,

May Liberty and Independence grow apace,

May our Liberties this year be achieved,

And our distress and sorrow graciously relieved."

The bombardment of Island No. 10 commenced on the 9th of March, and

continued nearly a month. General Pope moving overland, captured New

Madrid, planted his guns, and had the Rebel steamboats in a trap. The

naval action of March 17th was grand beyond description. The mortars

were in full play. The Cincinnati, Benton, and St. Louis were lashed

together, and anchored with their bows down stream. The Carondelet and

Mound City were placed in position to give a cross-fire with the other

three, while the Pittsburg was held in reserve.

It was past one o'clock in the afternoon of as beautiful a day as

ever dawned upon the earth, when a ball of bunting went up to the top

of the Benton's flagstaff, and fluttered out into the battle signal.

Then came a flash, a belching of smoke from her bows, a roar and

reverberation rolling far away,--a screaming in the air, a tossing up

of earth and an explosion in the Rebel works.

The highest artistic skill cannot portray the scene of that

afternoon,--the flashes and flames,--the great white clouds, mounting

above the boats, and floating majestically away over the dark gray

forests,--the mortars throwing up vast columns of sulphurous cloud,

which widen, expand, and roll forward in fantastic folds,--the shells

one after another in swift succession rising, rotating, rushing upward

and onward, sailing a thousand feet high, their course tracking a

light gossamer trail, which becomes a beautiful parabola, and then the

terrific explosion,--a flash, a handful of cloud, a strange whirring

of the ragged fragments of iron hurled upwards, outwards, and

downwards, crashing through the forests!

I was favored with a position on the Silver Wave steamer, lying just

above the Benton, her wheels slowly turning to keep her in position to

run down and help the gunboats if by chance they were disabled. The

Rebel batteries on the mainland and on the Island, the Rebel steamers

wandering up and down like rats in a cage, were in full view. With my

glass I could see all that took place in and around the nearest

battery. Columns of water were thrown up by the shot from the

gunboats, like the first gush from the hose of a steam fire-engine,

which falls in rainbow-colored spray. There were little splashes in

the stream when the fragments of shell dropped from the sky. Round

shot skipped along the surface of the river, tearing through the Rebel

works, filling the air with sticks, timbers, earth, and branches of

trees, as if a thunderbolt had fallen. There were explosions followed

by volumes of smoke rising from the ground like the mists of a summer

morning. There was a hissing, crackling, and thundering explosion in

front and rear and overhead. But there were plucky men in the fort,

who at intervals came out from their bomb-proof, and sent back a

defiant answer. There was a flash, a volume of smoke, a hissing as if

a flying fiery serpent were sailing through the air, growing louder,

clearer, nearer, more fearful and terrific, crashing into the Benton,

tearing up the iron plating, cutting off beams, splintering planks,

smashing the crockery in the pantry, and breaking up the Admiral's

writing-desk.

"Howling and screeching and whizzing,

The bomb-shells arched on high,

And then, like fiery meteors,

Dropped swiftly from the sky."

All through the sunny hours, till evening, the gunboats maintained

their position. While around the bright flashes, clouds of smoke, and

heavy thunderings brought to mind the gorgeous imagery of Revelation,

descriptive of the last judgment.

While the bombardment was at its height, I received a package of

letters, intrusted to my care. There was one postmarked from a town in

Maine, directed to a sailor on the St. Louis. Jumping on board a tug,

which was conveying ammunition to the gunboats, I visited the vessel

to distribute the letters. A gun had burst during the action, killing

and wounding several of the crew. It was a sad scene. There were the

dead,--two of them killed instantly, and one of them the brave fellow

from Maine. Captain Paulding opened the letter, and found it to be

from one who had confided to the noble sailor her heart's

affections,--who was looking forward to the time when the war would be

over, and they would be happy together as husband and wife.

"Poor girl! I shall have to write her sad news," said the captain.

Day after day and night after night the siege was kept up, till it

grew exceedingly monotonous. I became so accustomed to the pounding

that, though the thirteen-inch mortars were not thirty rods distant

from my quarters, I was not wakened by the tremendous explosions.

Commodore Foote found it very difficult to fight down stream, as the

water was very high, flooding all the country. Colonel Bissell, of

General Pope's army, proposed the cutting of a canal through the

woods, to enable the gunboats to reach New Madrid. It was an Herculean

undertaking. A light-draft transport was rigged for the enterprise.

Machinery was attached to the donkey-engine of the steamer by which

immense cotton-wood trees were sawed off four feet under water.

There was something very enchanting in the operation,--to steam out

from the main river, over corn-fields and pasture lands, into the dark

forests, threading a narrow and intricate channel, across the

country,--past the Rebel batteries. A transport was taken through, and

a tugboat, but the channel was not deep enough for the gunboats.

Captain Stembel, commanding the Benton,--a brave and competent

officer, Commodore Foote's right-hand man,--proposed to run the

batteries by night to New Madrid, capture the Rebel steamer which Pope

had caught in a trap, then turning head up stream take the Rebel

batteries in reverse. The Commodore hesitated. He was cautious as well

as brave. At length he accepted the plan, and sent the Pittsburg and

Carondelet past the batteries at night. It was a bold undertaking, but

accomplished without damage to the gunboats. The current was swift and

strong, and they went with the speed of a race-horse.

Their presence at New Madrid was hailed with joy by the troops. Four

steamboats had worked their way through the canal. A regiment was

taken on board each boat. The Rebels had a battery on the other side

of the river at Watson's Landing, which was speedily silenced by the

two gunboats. The troops landed, and under General Paine drove the

Rebels from their camp, who fled in confusion, throwing away their

guns, knapsacks, and clothing.

General Pope sent over the balance of his troops, and with his whole

force moved upon General Mackall, the Rebel commander, who surrendered

his entire command, consisting of nearly seven thousand prisoners, one

hundred and twenty three guns, and an immense amount of supplies.

The troops of General Paine's brigade came across a farm yard which

was well stocked with poultry, and helped themselves. The farmer's

wife visited the General's head-quarters to enter a complaint.

"They are stealing all my chickens, General! I sha'n't have one

left," she exclaimed, excitedly.

"I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am," said the General, with great

courtesy; "but we are going to put down the rebellion if it takes

every chicken in the State of Tennessee!"

The woman retired, evidently regarding the Yankees as a race of

vandals.

[Illustration: East Tennessee refugees.]

CHAPTER VII.

PITTSBURG LANDING, FORT PILLOW, AND MEMPHIS.

[Sidenote: April, 1862.]

The battle of Pittsburg Landing, or Shiloh as it is sometimes called,

was fought on the 6th and 7th of April. It was a contest which has

scarcely been surpassed for manhood, pluck, endurance, and heroism. In

proportion to the numbers engaged the loss in killed and wounded was

as great as that of any battle of the war. The disasters to the Rebel

cause in Tennessee moved Davis to hurry reinforcements to Corinth,

which was the new base of Johnston's operations. Beauregard was sent

into the department. He had the reputation of being a great commander,

because he commanded the Rebel batteries in the attack on Sumter, and

had received the glory of winning the victory at Bull Run. Time is the

test of honor. Men, like the stars, have their hours of rising and

setting. He was in the zenith of his fame.

Albert Sydney Johnston was still in command, but he was induced to

move from Corinth to Pittsburg Landing and attack Grant before Buell,

who was slowly moving across the country from Nashville, could join

him.

Buell marched with great deliberation. He even gave express orders

that there should be six miles' space between the divisions of his

army. The position at Pittsburg Landing was chosen by General Smith,

as being a convenient base for a movement upon Corinth. It had some

natural advantages for defence,--Lick Creek and a ravine above the

Landing,--but nothing was done towards erecting barricades or

breastworks. There are writers who maintain that the attack of the

Rebels was expected; but if expected, would not prudence have dictated

the slashing of trees, the erection of breastworks, and a regular

disposition of the forces? On Friday and Saturday the Rebel cavalry

appeared in our front, but were easily driven back towards Corinth.

Nothing was done towards strengthening the line; no orders were issued

in anticipation of a battle till the pickets were attacked on Sunday

morning, while the troops were cooking their coffee, and while many of

the officers were in bed.

Pittsburg is the nearest point to Corinth on the river. The road winds

up the bank, passes along the edge of a deep ravine, leading

southwest. It forks a half-mile from the Landing, the left-hand path

leading to Hamburg up the river, and the main road leading to Shiloh

Church, four miles from the Landing. The accompanying sketch of the

church was taken the week after the battle, with the head-quarter

tents of General Sherman around it. Its architecture is exceedingly

primitive. It is a fair type of the inertness of the people of that

region at the time. It is about twenty-five or thirty feet square,

built of logs, without pulpit or pews, with rude benches for seats.

Once it was chinked with clay, but the rains have washed out the

mortar, and the wind comes in through all the crevices. It is

thoroughly ventilated. It would make a good corn-crib for an Illinois

farmer.

A brook meanders through the forest, furnishing water for the

worshipping assemblies. South of the church, and across the brook, is

a clearing,--an old farm-house where Beauregard wrote his despatch to

Jeff Davis on Sunday night, announcing a great victory. There are

other little clearings, which have been long under cultivation. The

people were too indolent to make new openings in the forest, where

centuries of mould had accumulated. The country was but little further

advanced than when Daniel Boone passed through the Cumberland Gap.

Civilization came and made a beginning; but the blight of slavery was

there. How the tillage and culture of New England or Ohio would crown

those swells of land with sheaves of grain! What corn and clover

fields, pastures of honeysuckle, gardens of roses! Within four miles

of one of the most beautiful rivers in the world,--in a country

needing only industry to make it a paradise,--the mourning dove filled

the air with its plaintive notes in the depths of an almost unbroken

forest, while the few people, shiftless and destitute of the comforts

of civilization, knew no better than to fight against their own best

interests.

The majority of the poor whites of the South are very ignorant. Few of

them have ever attended school. In Tennessee, by the census of 1850,

there were more than seventy thousand native-born American adults who

could not read. Not one half of the prisoners captured at Donelson

could read or write. While the army was lying before Corinth, I

visited a Mississippi school-house,--a log building chinked with mud,

covered with long split oak shingles. It had a huge fireplace, built

of stones, and a chimney laid up with sticks and mud. There were

openings for two windows, but frames, sash, and glass all were

wanting. There was no floor but the beaten earth,--no desks. Stakes

were driven into the ground, upon which slabs of oak were laid for

seats. The teacher's desk was a large dry-goods box.

The State of North Carolina, with a white population of five hundred

and fifty-three thousand, had eighty thousand native whites, over

twenty years of age, who had never attended school. In the State of

Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Alabama, five

States having a population of two million six hundred and seventy

thousand, there were two hundred and sixty-two thousand native-born

Americans, over twenty years of age, unable to read or write!

It will be no easy matter to awaken aspirations in the minds of this

class. They have been so long inert, so long taught to believe that

labor is degrading, that rapid progress of Southern society cannot be

expected immediately, unless emigration infuses a new vitality into

the community.

Ignorance was on the increase throughout the South. Public schools

were of little value where they existed, and the county was so

sparsely settled in many places there were not scholars enough to form

one. The school fund arising from the sale of public lands was often

appropriated to other uses. In Arkansas it had been squandered by

worthless officials. The planters and wealthy farmers employed

teachers in their families. Before the war, thousands of young ladies

from the North were thus engaged. They sat at the planter's table and

associated with his daughters; but, however intelligent, refined, or

agreeable they might be, they were not admitted as their equals in

society. Such teaching as they received, although the teacher might

be faithful, was of little account. The children, proud and haughty,

daily hearing of the inferiority of the people of the North, were not

always disposed to receive instruction, much less to submit to

correction, at the hands of a "Yankee schoolma'am." To be chivalrous,

courteous, high-minded, and generous toward woman has ever been the

boast of the men of the South; but, during the months immediately

preceding the outbreak of the Rebellion, insulting and abusive

language was freely uttered in the presence of Northern ladies. There

was rudeness not only of language, but in some instances of action.

The young bloods of the aristocracy, learning to crow as they heard

the old cocks, not unfrequently rose in rebellion against the

authority of the teacher. Especially was this the case with teachers

employed in the public schools. A Yankee schoolmaster or

schoolmistress was one who could be insulted with impunity; and so

bitter was the hatred, that, weeks before the first gun was fired at

Sumter, Northern teachers were forced to leave their schools and

retire from the Confederacy.

[Illustration: A Mississippi school-house.]

To General Sherman more than to any division commander is credit due

for the victory at Pittsburg Landing. When the first volley of

musketry reverberated through the forest on Sunday morning he leaped

into his saddle. He was conspicuous everywhere, riding along the lines

regardless of the bullets which riddled his clothes. Early in the

battle he was wounded in the wrist, but wrapping a bandage round his

arm, continued in the field. Three horses were shot under him. He was

a conspicuous mark for the Rebel riflemen. His fearless example was

inspiring to the men. And so through the long hours of the day he was

able to hold his position by the church, till the giving way of

Prentiss and Hurlburt, nearer the river, made it necessary to fall

back. Here Grant first exhibited those qualities of character which

have made him the great military commander of the age. "We will beat

them yet. They can't pass this ravine," were his words of

encouragement as he selected the final line, leading to the landing.

The contest was virtually decided at five o'clock on Sunday afternoon,

when Breckenridge attempted to cross the gorge near the river and was

hurled back with great loss. Johnston and Beauregard made a great

mistake in attacking at a point within reach of the gunboats. Had they

come in on the Purdy road, between Shiloh Church and Crump's Landing,

in all human probability there would have been a far different record

for the historians of the future. Had they attacked northwest of the

church instead of south of it, they would have taken Grant in reverse,

and forced him to change the whole front of his army; they would have

had no ravine to cross, would have been beyond reach of the gunboats,

and would have stood a fair chance of cutting off Lewis Wallace, who

was at Crump's Landing, from all connection with the main army.

The defeat of the Rebels was decisive, and yet Beauregard sent the

following despatch to Richmond:--

"CORINTH, April 8th, 1862.

"TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR AT RICHMOND:--

"We have gained a great and glorious victory. Eight to ten

thousand prisoners, and thirty-six pieces of cannon. Buell

reinforced Grant, and we retired to our entrenchments at Corinth,

which we can hold. Loss heavy on both sides.

"BEAUREGARD."

On the same day he sent a flag of truce to General Grant with the

following message, also asking leave to bury the Confederate dead:--

"Sir, at the close of the conflict yesterday, my forces being

exhausted by the extraordinary length of the time during which

they were engaged with yours on that and the preceding day, and

it being apparent that you had received and were still receiving

reinforcement, I felt it my duty to withdraw my troops from the

immediate scene of the conflict."

From Shiloh to the close of the war, Beauregard's popularity was on

the wane, and the Southern people lost confidence in him. I was at

Island No. 10 when the battle was fought, but joined the army the week

after.

As the army moved towards Corinth, there was abundant evidence that

the defeat of the Rebels was most disastrous,--that their retreat was

hasty. Blankets, knapsacks, haversacks, here and there muskets,

wagons, one overturned in a slough, one with its tongue broken, tents,

harnesses, oats, corn, flour, tent-poles, were confusedly scattered

along the way. The carcasses of dead horses tainted the air. There

were piles of earth newly heaped above those who died from their

wounds. They fled in a fright on Monday night. I came unexpectedly

upon a little log-hut, on a by-path leading toward Monterey. Two of

McCook's cavalry rode up in advance of me. A widow woman, middle aged,

with a little girl and two little boys occupied it. She kindly gave me

a drink of water, and informed me that there were three Confederate

wounded in the other room. I looked in upon them for a moment.

Suffering had wasted them, and they had no disposition to talk of the

past or the future. The good woman had been kind to them, but she had

seen a great deal of sorrow. On Monday night one hundred wounded were

brought to her house. Her two horses had been seized by the Rebels,

her corn eaten, and no equivalent returned. She conversed

unreservedly; deplored the war, and wished it over. There were seven

new-made graves in her garden, and in her door-yard a heap of cinders

and ashes, and charred brands,--fragments of wagons and tent-poles. On

the upper Corinth road fifty wounded were lying, cared for by our

surgeons.

I recall some of the scenes of the movement upon Corinth. Here is an

open forest, undulating land with little or no underbrush; thousands

of wagons, all plodding on, not in slow, easy motion, but by fits and

starts, with cutting, slashing, shouting, swearing, a chorus of

profanity resounding through the forests. A mule sticks fast; he

tumbles; his mate falls upon him. The drivers become enraged; then

follows a general _melee_, a long halt, frantic attempts to start

again, an unloading and reloading. Other trains in the rear, tired of

waiting, turn to the right or left, perhaps to pass the little slough

safely, only to meet with a similar mishap ten rods farther along. A

battery struggles along, with twelve horses attached to a single piece

of artillery. The entire forest is cut up by passing teams. Mingled

with the thousands of wagons are regiments. They, too, are in

confusion. Buell's and Grant's forces have become mixed. The divisions

have been ordered to move, but evidently with no prearranged system.

As far as the eye can see it is one grand hurly-burly,--one frantic

struggle to make headway,--and this for a half-dozen miles. What a

waste of horse-flesh! Here are six mules attempting to draw six boxes

of bread,--weight perhaps six hundred pounds. The cavalry bring out

their supplies on horses, each cavalryman bringing a bag of oats.

There is cursing, swearing, pounding. The army in Flanders could not

have been more profane. The brutality of the drivers is terrible. A

miserable fellow, destitute of sense and humanity, strikes a mule over

the head, felling the animal to the ground. Noble horses are

remorselessly cut up by these fiendish beings in human form. There is

no check upon their cruelty. You see dead horses everywhere. All the

finer sensibilities become callous. One must see, but not feel. There

would be pleasure in snatching a whip from the hands of these savages

and giving them a dose of their own medicine.

General Halleck advanced with extreme caution. He built four lines of

breastworks, each line nearly ten miles long, so that if driven from

one he could fall back to another. He sunk deep wells for water, he

was preparing to be besieged instead of opening a siege.

He doubted all the reports of his scouts,--disbelieved the stories of

negroes who came to him,--issued Order No. 57, that all "unauthorized

persons" in his lines should be sent out, especially fugitive

slaves,--threw up redoubts, dragged his heavy siege-guns through the

mud from the Landing,--planted them behind sodded earthworks, erected

bomb-proof magazines,--issued his final orders to his army of an

hundred thousand men,--opened fire from his heavy guns,--threw forward

his skirmishers, and found--a deserted town!

Joining the fleet upon the Mississippi once more on the 3d of June, I

found Commodore (now Admiral) Davis in command, Admiral Foote having

been relieved at his own request. His wound was painful, and he was so

debilitated that he was unable to discharge his duties. The idea was

generally entertained that the Rebels had evacuated Fort Pillow. The

evacuation of Corinth was the basis for expectation of such an event.

Fires were seen over the point on the bluffs and beyond, toward

Randolph. Of course no one could say what was burning, but from the

past conduct of Rebels, it was reasonable to suppose that the

evacuation had taken place, inasmuch as there was an ominous silence

of Rebel batteries. But they suddenly waked up. Ascending to the

pilot-house of the steamer, I could see handfuls of white cloud above

and beyond the dense foliage of the forest. Then there came a dull,

heavy roar,--boom--boom--boom,--and the nearer explosion of the shells

which burst in the air above our gunboats. Not evacuated! They were

there lively as ever.

This sudden and unexpected demonstration aroused Captain Maynadier,

and right merrily answered the mortars till noon. Then there was a

respite, while the mortar crews sat down beneath the dark green

foliage of the forest, sheltered from the burning sun, and ate their

rations, and rested the while.

Seven or eight miles below Craighead Point is Lanier's plantation. The

proprietor being a Secessionist, burned his cotton, but for some cause

he had lost faith, or pretended to lose faith, in the Confederacy, and

desired to be permitted to return to his comfortable home, there to

remain unmolested. He sent a note to Colonel Fitch, commanding the

land forces, soliciting an interview. His request was granted, and he

so ingratiated himself into Colonel Fitch's good feeling that he

became again an occupant of his homestead.

Subsequently it was ascertained that he was supplying the Rebel fleet

with ice, spring chickens, garden vegetables, &c. It was decided to

spring a trap upon the gentlemen of the Southern navy. A small party

was sent out by Colonel Fitch, which reached the locality

undiscovered. After a few minutes' reconnoissance, eight men were

discovered helping themselves to ice in Mr. Lanier's ice-cellar. They

were surprised. One resisted, but was shot, and the rest, after a

short parleying, surrendered. They were brought to the Benton, but

were very uncommunicative and sour.

The loss of a lieutenant and seven men was not well relished at Fort

Pillow. Soon after noon the guns on the bluff commenced a vigorous but

random fire, as if ammunition cost nothing, and it were mere pastime

to burn powder and hurl shell over the point at our fleet. It was very

pleasant to see the round shot plump into the water all around our

gunboats, with an occasional shell puffing into cloud overhead, and

raining fragments of iron into the river,--for with such random

firing, there was but little danger of being hit.

The day had been hot and sultry, but just before nightfall a huge bank

of clouds rolled up in the western horizon, and burst with the fury of

a tornado upon the fleet. Some of the transports dragged their anchors

before the gale, but all kept up steam; they were not long in making

head against the breeze. There was but little rain, but a dense cloud

of dust was whirled up from the sandbars.

I was surprised to see, when the storm was at its height, two of our

rams steam rapidly down to the point and turn their prows towards the

Rebel batteries. They disappeared in the whirling dust-cloud,

vanishing from sight like ships at sea when night comes on. They

steamed swiftly down the stream and turned Craighead Point.

Their mission, at such a moment, was to take advantage of the

storm,--of the enveloping dust-cloud,--to ascertain what the Rebels

were doing. We could hear the sudden waking up of heavy guns,--those

that had spoken to us in the past,--just as, in high party times,

great orators hold forth the night before election. The rams were

discovered, and at once the batteries were in a blaze. Then they

quietly steamed across the bend, in face of the batteries, turned

their prows up stream, and appeared in sight once more. Onward rolled

the cloud, and the Rebel cannon belched and thundered, firing shot at

random into the river. Bang--bang--bang,--two or three at a

time,--roared the guns. It was amusing, laughable, to see the rams

returning, and hear the uproar below.

The dust-cloud, with its fine, misty rain, rolled away. The sun shone

once more, and bridged the Mississippi with a gorgeous rainbow. While

admiring it, a Rebel gunboat poked her nose around the point. Then,

after a little hesitancy, her entire body, to see what we were up to.

She was a black craft, bearing the flag of the Confederacy. Seeing how

far off we were, she steamed boldly past the point, up stream far

enough to get a sight of the entire Federal fleet; turned slowly,

placed her head downward, to be ready for a quick run home, if need

be; then turned her paddles against the current, and surveyed us

leisurely. The Mound City and Cairo being nearest, opened fire upon

the craft. A signal was run up from the Benton, and immediately from

the chimneys of the entire fleet rose heavy columns of blackest smoke,

which mingled with the white puffs of steam, and rolled away into the

blackness of the receding storm. The sun had gone down.

Unheeding the shot falling close at her bows, or whistling over her

decks, the steamer took her own time and slowly descended the stream

and disappeared beyond the jutting headland.

At sunset on the 4th of June, the Rebel batteries opened a fierce and

sudden fire upon the gunboats. Then there came heavy explosions,

rising columns of smoke, faint and white at first, but increasing in

volume and blackness. Another,--a third, a fourth,--expanding into one

broad column, all along the height occupied by the Rebel batteries.

Daylight was fading away, the lurid flames filled the southern sky,

and a heaving, surging bank of smoke and flame laid along the

tree-tops of the intervening forest. Occasionally there were flashes

and faint explosions, and sudden puffs of smoke, spreading out like

flakes of cotton or fleeces of whitest wool. This was all we could

see. We were ignorant of what was feeding the flames, whether steamers

or bales of cotton, or barracks or tents or houses, but were sure that

it was a burning of that which had cost a pile of Confederate notes.

After taking possession of the works in the morning, the fleet pursued

the retreating Rebels down the river.

It was dark when we came to anchor four miles above the city of

Memphis on the 5th of June.

[Illustration: Gunboats in line.]

"I think that we shall have a lively time in the morning," said the

Admiral. My own quarters were on board of the J. H. Dickey, which lay

a mile up stream. I was astir before daylight on the 6th. The air was

clear,--the sky without a cloud. The stars were fading in the west,

and the columns of light were rising in the east. The gunboats--five

of them--were in a line across the stream, with the steam escaping

from their pipes. The city was in full view. People were gathering

upon the banks gazing upon the fleet. A dark column of smoke rose

from above the green foliage of the forest opposite the city, but

whether produced by burning buildings or by the Rebel fleet, was

wholly a matter of conjecture.

The tugboat Jessie Benton, tender to the Admiral, came up to the

advance boat, which was lying by our side.

"The Admiral thinks that the Rebel fleet is below the city, and that

we are to have a fight. You can go down if you want to," said the

captain.

I was on board in an instant, leaving the other gentlemen of the press

asleep in their state-room. The soldiers were heaving the anchors as

we approached the fleet, shouting in chorus, "Yeave ho! yeave ho!" The

drummer-boys were beating to quarters, the marines were mustering,

officers and sailors all were busy.

The Admiral was standing on the upper deck with Captain Phelps,

commanding the Benton, by his side. The Admiral is a tall,

well-proportioned man, about fifty years old, with gray hair and blue

eyes. He is a perfect gentleman,--kind, courteous, and affable, not

only to his officers, but to the crews. Captain Phelps is shorter, and

smaller in stature. His features are sharply cut. He stands erect,

looks upon the preparations with keen eyes, giving orders with

precision and promptness. The Benton in a few moments is ready for

action, so quickly are his orders executed.

"Drop down toward the city, sir, and see if you can discover the Rebel

fleet," is the word of the Admiral to our captain.

We pass through the fleet, and move slowly down stream, followed by

the Benton and Carondelet, which drift with the current.

[Sidenote: June, 1862.]

The sun was beginning to gild the spires of the city, and its slant

rays came streaming over the waters into our faces. Men, women, and

children were gathering upon the levee, on foot, on horseback, and in

carriages. The crowd became more dense. Were they assembling to

welcome us? Should we steam down to them, and ask them what they

thought of the Rebellion? The Rebel flag was flying from the cupola of

the court-house, and from a tall flagstaff on the levee. I remembered

that on the 6th of May, thirteen months before, on the evening after

the secession of the State, the people had torn down the stars and

stripes, borne them out to the suburbs of the city, dug a grave, and

buried the flag, trampling it in the mire!

Suddenly a Rebel gunboat steamed out into the stream, from the shelter

of the Arkansas woods;--another,--another,--till eight had ranged

themselves in two lines of battle. "Helm aport!" shouted our captain

to the pilot, and we were rushing up stream again. The Admiral was not

quite ready for action, and the Benton and Carondelet returned to

their original position.

The appearance of the Rebel fleet,--the orderly formation of the

battle line,--looked like work. The affair of the 10th of May, when

the Rebel gunboats stole round Craighead Point above Fort Pillow, and

sunk the Cincinnati, was sufficiently spirited to warrant the

supposition that an engagement would be desperate. Several of the

Rebel boats were fitted out at Memphis, and were manned by the old

rivermen of that city, who would fight with great bravery under the

eyes of their fellow-citizens, their wives and sweethearts.

"Let the sailors have breakfast," said the Admiral, who believed in

fighting on a full stomach. I took mine on deck,--a cup of coffee,

hard-tack, and a slice of salt junk,--for the movements in front of

the city were too interesting to be lost sight of. The Little Rebel,

the flag-ship of Commodore Montgomery, was passing from boat to boat.

With my glass I could see the officers of the vessels. Montgomery was

issuing his final orders.

Suddenly the Rebel fleet began to move up stream. A flag went up to

the head of the Benton's flagstaff. It was the signal to be ready for

action. Sailors dropped their plates, knives and forks, and sprang to

their guns. The Benton was nearest the Tennessee shore, then the

Carondelet, the St. Louis, Louisville, and Cairo. Our own little tug

was close by the flag-ship, keeping its place in the stream by the

slow working of its engine.

The Rebel fleet was composed of the Van Dorn, General Price, General

Bragg, Jeff Thompson, General Lovell, General Beauregard, Sumter, and

Little Rebel,--all gunboats and all rams, built expressly with a view

of butting our fleet out of existence. The Beauregard was nearest the

shore, next the Little Rebel, then the General Price, next the General

Bragg and the General Beauregard, which composed the front line.

Immediately in rear was the General Lovell, near the Memphis shore,

her position being directly in front of the city wharf boat; next the

Van Dorn, then the Jeff Thompson, and lastly the Sumter.

How strange, peculiar, and indescribable are one's feelings when going

into battle! There is a light-heartedness,--a quickening of all the

springs of life. There is thrill in every nerve,--an exhilaration of

spirit,--a tension of every fibre. You see every movement, hear every

sound, and think not only of what is before you, but of home, of the

loved ones there,--of the possibility that you may never behold them

again. Some men review their lives, and ask themselves if they have

left anything undone which ought to have been done,--if their lives

have been complete.

The Little Rebel was opposite the Benton. There was a flash,--a puff

of smoke from her side,--a screaming of something unseen in the air

over my head,--a frightful sound. The shot fell far in our rear.

Another puff from the Beauregard, and the shot fell near the Benton. A

third came from the General Price, aimed at the Carondelet, passed

very near her larboard ports, and almost took our own boat in the bow.

My fear was all gone. I was in the fight. There was no possibility of

escaping from it. Wherever the boat went I must go. I should be just

as safe to keep cool as to be excited. Besides, it was a new

experience,--a new sight,--a grand exhibition. Interest, curiosity,

and reason mastered fear. I sat down in an arm-chair on the deck

beside the pilot-house, and made rapid notes of all that I saw. I

transcribe them:--

5.40 A. M. Cairo opens with a stern gun,--shot strikes close under

hull of Little Rebel. Our boats' bows up stream. Rebels advancing

slowly. Bang--bang--bang--bang from each of the vessels. A whole

broadside from Cairo. Another from Louisville. Air full of strange

noises. Shells burst overhead. Pieces raining all round us. Columns of

water tossed up. Both fleets enveloped in smoke. Very little wind.

Splinters thrown out from General Price. Can see a shot-hole with my

glass. Rebel fleet half-mile distant. Comes to a stand still. 6.00.

Queen of the West cutting loose from shore. Monarch also. Great black

clouds of smoke rolling up from their stacks. Steam hissing from their

pipes. Commodore Ellet on the Queen. Stands beside the pilot-house.

Sharpshooters looking from loop-holes. Queen wheels out into stream.

Passes between Benton and Carondelet. Are near enough to say good

morning to Commodore Ellet and wish him success. Monarch following

Queen, passing between Cairo and St. Louis. 6.25. Rebels moving down

stream. 6.35. Signal from Benton to round to and come to close

quarters. Queen surging ahead under full speed. Ploughs a wide furrow.

Aiming for Beauregard. Rebel fleet all opening on her. Shot crash

through her. Exciting scene. Sharpshooters at work. Beauregard puts

her helm down. Sheers off. Queen rushes by. Has missed her aim. Coming

round in a curve. Strikes the General Price. Tremendous crash. Men

jumping into water. Beauregard falling upon Queen of the West. Another

crash. Monarch close at hand. Smashes into Beauregard. Cracking of

rifles and muskets. Queen of the West sinking. Monarch throwing out a

warp. Towing her ashore. Benton close upon the General Lovell. Shot

strikes Lovell in bow. Rips from stem to stern. Water full of timber

and fragments. Lovell sinking. Man on deck. Left arm shattered, crying

help! help! help! Commotion on shore. Lovell goes down with a lurch.

River full of poor wretches struggling for life. Throwing up their

arms. Stream sweeps them away. Little Rebel fleeing to Arkansas shore.

The Jeff Thompson on fire. 7.05. Rebel fleet broken. Their guns all

silent. Beauregard sinking. We run alongside. Rebel officers lay

shattered. Sides of vessel spotted with blood. Pool of blood on deck.

Crew fled. Taken off by Little Rebel. Help lift wounded Rebel officer

on our boat. Thanked us, and said, "You are kinder than my own

comrades, for one of them was mean enough to steal my watch and pick

my pocket." Little Rebel run ashore. Crew fleeing into woods. Cairo

gives them parting broadside. Rebels crawling up the bank dripping

with water. 7.10. Boats of Benton and Carondelet picking up the

wretches. Van Dorn escaping down stream. 7.25. Fight over. Van Dorn

out of sight. Last gun fired. Jeff Thompson on fire in every part.

Grand explosion. Whole interior of boat lifted five hundred feet high.

Flames. Volumes of smoke. Bursting shells. Timbers, planks, fragments,

raining all around us.

It was a complete annihilation of the Rebel fleet. Not a man was lost

on our gunboats, and Commodore Ellet was the only one wounded.

The Rebel fleet began the action in good style, but maintained the

line of battle a few minutes only. The appearance of the rams threw

them into disorder. On the other hand, the line of battle taken by

Commodore Davis was preserved to the end. Everything was as systematic

and orderly as in a well-regulated household. The thought occurred, as

I saw the steady onward movement of the fleet, which, after once

starting to close in with the Rebels, did not for an instant slacken

speed, that he was clearing the river of all Rebel obstructions with

the same ease that a housewife sweeps dirt through a doorway. His

orders were few. The main thing was to get to close quarters.

Embracing an early opportunity to reach the shore, I mingled freely

with the crowd, to see how the thing was relished and to study the

feelings of the people. Some looked exceedingly sour; some

disconsolate; a few were defiant; many of the people were evidently

good-natured, but deeply humiliated. A gentleman, resident of the

city, informed me that he did not think the people cared anything

about the Union, or had any desire to return to it, but they had an

intense hatred of the tyranny to which they had been subjected, and

were ready to welcome anything which would relieve them.

The _Avalanche_ of that morning, hardly issued when the conflict

began, said:--

"There was not a little excitement about the levee last night,

occasioned by an officer coming down in a skiff announcing that

three of the Federal gunboats were in the 'shute' above the

Island. The signals and movements of the boats seemed to confirm

the report, but we have no idea that it was true.

"Yesterday was quite lively. All reports about Fort Pillow were

listened to with interest, and they were not a few. By noon it

was known that the fort was evacuated, and there was not a little

excitement in consequence. Nearly all the stores were closed, and

those that were open, with few exceptions, were rather indisposed

to sell. Even a spool of cotton could not be had yesterday in

stores which the day before had plenty and to spare. Besides the

soldiers from Fort Pillow a fleet made us a visit which attracted

much attention and formed the subject of general conversation.

All seemed to regret what had been done and wished it were

otherwise. So prevailing was the excitement that the common mode

of salutation on Main Street was, 'When do you think the Federals

will be here?' Each one made arrangements according to the tenor

of the reply. Many persons were packing up to leave.

"In a word, all who could began to consider anxiously the

question whether to go or stay. There was much running about on

the streets, and evidently more or less excitement on every

countenance. Some took matters coolly, and still believe that the

Federals will never go to Memphis by river. All obstructions to

their progress have not been removed and probably will not be. In

fact, the prospect is very good for a grand naval engagement,

which shall eclipse anything ever seen before. There are many who

would like the engagement to occur, who do not much relish the

prospect of its occurring very near the city. They think deeper

water and scope and verge enough for such an encounter may be

found farther up the river. All, however, are rejoiced that

Memphis will not fall till conclusions are first tried on water

and at the cannon's mouth."

The "conclusions" had been tried and the people had seen their fleet

unceremoniously knocked to pieces.

There were thousands of negroes on the levee, interested spectators of

the scene. I asked one athletic man what he thought of it? "O massa, I

tinks a good deal of it. Uncle Abe's boats mighty powerful. Dey go

through our boats jus like dey was eggshells." Another one standing by

at once became interested in the conversation. Said he, "Captain Jeff

Thompson, he cotch it dis time! He; hi! O how de balls did whiz!"

There was an unmistakable sign of pleasure on the countenances of the

colored population.

In fifteen minutes after the occupation of the city, enterprising

news-boys accompanying the fleet were crying, "Here's the New York

Herald! Times and Tribune! Chicago and St. Louis papers!"

How wonderfully had the upper Mississippi been repossessed! One by one

the Rebel obstructions had been removed. How often had we been told

that they were impregnable! How often that the gunboats would be

destroyed! How often that never would the river be opened till the

Confederacy was a recognized independent power! One short year and

their labors,--the ditch-digging, the cannon-casting, boat-building,

their braggadocio, had come to naught.

The part taken by Commodore Ellet was glorious. He was a brave,

gallant, dashing officer, the son of a noble mother, who lived in

Philadelphia. Mr. Stuart, President of the Christian Commission,

relates that later in the war he called to see her, at her request, to

receive a large donation. He found a lady eighty-four years of age. A

grandson had been killed in battle, the body had been brought home,

and was lying in the house. Said Mrs. Ellet: "I have given my two

sons, Commodore Ellet and General Ellet, and four grandchildren to my

country. I don't regret this gift. If I had twenty sons I would give

them all, for the country must be preserved. And if I was twenty years

younger, I would go and fight myself to the last!"

[Illustration: With dispatch.]

CHAPTER VIII.

INVASION OF MARYLAND.

[Sidenote: August, 1862.]

Great events were transpiring in Virginia. The magnificent army which

passed down the Potomac in March, which had thrown up the tremendous

fortifications at Yorktown, which had fought at Williamsburg, Fair

Oaks, Gaines's Mills, Savage Station, Glendale, and Malvern, was once

more at Washington. Manassas was a bloody plain. Pope had been

defeated, sacrificed by Fitz John Porter. Day after day the booming of

cannon had been heard in Washington, borne by the breezes along the

wooded valley of the Potomac; far away at first, then nearer at

Chantilly and Fairfax Court-House. Then came the stream of fugitives,

and broken, disheartened ranks back to Arlington. The streets of

Washington were thick with hungry, war-worn men. Long lines of

ambulances wended into the city, with wounded for the hospitals,

already overcrowded. The soldiers had pitiful tales to tell of the

scenes of the Peninsula, and of the gory field of Manassas,--how near

they came to victory,--how Hooker and Heintzelman rolled back the

lines of Stonewall Jackson,--how Fitz John Porter lingered within an

hour's march of the conflict, tardily coming into line, and moving

away when lightly pressed by the enemy. There were curses loud and

deep breathed against Porter, Pope, and McClellan. The partisans of

Porter and McClellan called Pope a braggadocio, while the soldiers who

had fought with obstinacy, who had doubled up Jackson in the first

day's battle, retorted that McClellan was a coward, who, through all

the engagements on the Peninsula took good care to be out of the reach

of hostile bullets or cannon shot. The cause of the Union was gloomy.

Burnside had been hurried up from North Carolina to aid in repelling

the invader. The sun shone peacefully through the August days,--summer

passed into autumn,

"And calm and patient Nature kept

Her ancient promise well,

Though o'er her bloom and greenness swept

The battle's breath of hell."

[Illustration: General McClellan at Williamsburg.]

Adversity is a test of faith. In those darkest hours there was no

faltering of hope. The heart of the nation was serene. The people

believed that God would give them the victory. The soldiers believed

it. Those who were passing away from earth, who with quickened sight

beheld the events of the hour in the light of eternity, trusted that

Providence would give the victory to their companions in arms.

Colonel Broadhead, of Michigan, lying upon the battle-field of

Manassas, with the shadow of death stealing over him, wrote a most

touching farewell letter to his wife, in which he expressed his

convictions as to who was responsible for the defeat.

"MY DEAR WIFE:--

"I write to you mortally wounded, from the battle-field. We have

again been defeated, and ere this reaches you your children will

be fatherless. Before I die let me implore that in some way it

may be stated that General ---- has been outwitted, and that ----

is a traitor. Had they done their duty as I did mine, and had led

as I did, the dear old flag had waved in triumph. I wrote to you

yesterday morning. To-day is Sunday, and to-day I sink to the

green couch of our final rest. I have fought well, my darling;

and I was shot in the endeavor to rally our broken battalions. I

could have escaped, but would not until all our hope was gone,

and was shot,--about the only one of our forces left on the

field. Our cause is just, and our generals,--not the

enemy's,--have defeated us. In God's good time he will give us

the victory.

"And now, good by, wife and children. Bring them up--I know you

will--in the fear of God and love for the Saviour. But for you

and the dear ones dependent, I should die happy. I know the blow

will fall with crushing weight on you. Trust in Him who gave

manna in the wilderness.

"Dr. North is with me. It is now after midnight, and I have spent

most of the night in sending messages to you. Two bullets have

gone through my chest, and directly through my lungs. I suffer

little now, but at first the pain was acute. I have won the

soldier's name, and am ready to meet now, as I must, the

soldier's fate. I hope that from heaven I may see the glorious

old flag wave again over the undivided country I have loved so

well.

"Farewell, wife and friends, we shall meet again."

The military authorities were often indebted to newspaper

correspondents for intelligence concerning the movements of the

Rebels. One of the most indefatigable of the corps was Mr. U. H.

Painter, of the Philadelphia _Inquirer_. He was at Bristow Station

when Stuart made his first appearance in Pope's rear, capturing the

baggage of that officer. Mr. Painter was taken prisoner, but, true to

his profession, kept his eyes and ears open, listening to all that was

said by Stuart and his subordinate officers. Being in citizen's dress,

he managed to slip through the guard, but not till after he had

obtained important information relative to the movements of the enemy.

Reaching Washington, he at once sent an attache of the paper up the

Potomac to Point of Rocks, also informed the government that the

Rebels were intending to invade Maryland. No credence was given to his

assertion; the government believed that Washington was the point aimed

at. The Rebels made their appearance at Point of Rocks, the messenger

on watch gave Mr. Painter information by telegraph that Stuart was

crossing. That gentleman informed the government of the fact, and

forwarded a despatch to his paper. The Washington papers in the

afternoon contained semi-official denials of the despatch to the

_Inquirer_. But information from the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad

Company that the Rebels had possession of the road at Point of Rocks

could not be disputed. Even then the government was slow to believe

that the Rebels seriously intended a movement upon Maryland.

General Lee was flushed with success. He had reason to think well of

himself and of his troops. He had raised the siege of Richmond,

transferred the war to the vicinity of Washington, had defeated Pope

on the old battle-ground of Manassas, and driven the Union forces into

the defences of the capital. The troops believed that they could

accomplish anything,--overcome all obstacles,--sweep away the Union

army, and march to Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York; and yet Lee

had made a miscalculation of the power of endurance on the part of his

troops, and the first invasion of the North failed, not only because

of the courage and tenacity of the Union soldiers at Antietam, but

also because the Rebel army had lost much of its aggressive power

through hard marching, constant fighting, and want of food. Jackson

had so worn down his troops that in the first day's fight at Manassas

he was defeated by Hooker and Heintzelman, and had it not been for the

timely arrival of Longstreet, would have been driven from the field.

In the second day's fight he could only hold his own, while

Longstreet, meeting with little opposition, was able to turn Pope's

left flank, and win the victory.

Lee entered Maryland as a liberator, believing that the people would

rise _en masse_ to welcome him; but he was greatly mistaken.

Taking the train from Philadelphia, I went to Harrisburg, Lancaster,

and York in Pennsylvania, and thence into western Maryland. Everywhere

the people were arming. All the able-bodied men were drilling. All

labor was at a stand-still. The fires of the founderies went out; the

farmers left their uncut grain in the field. Men worth millions of

dollars were in the ranks as privates. Members of Congress, professors

of colleges with their classes, iron-masters with their workmen,

ministers and the able-bodied men of their congregations, were

hastening to the rendezvous. The State Capitol grounds were swarming

with men, receiving arms and ammunition. It was a glorious exhibition

of patriotism; yet I could but think that they would offer a feeble

resistance in the open field to well-drilled troops. At Bunker Hill

raw militia stood the fire of British veterans; but such instances of

pluck are rare in history.

Going up the Cumberland Valley I reached Greencastle on the 14th of

September, ten miles from Hagerstown. I could hear a dull and heavy

booming of cannon to the south, in the direction of South Mountain;

but the Rebels were at Hagerstown, and had made a dash almost up to

Greencastle. The only troops in the place were a few companies

watching the border, and momentarily expecting the Rebels to appear.

Citizens of Maryland, some from Virginia, Union men, were there, ready

to run farther North on the slightest alarm.

[Sidenote: Sept., 1862.]