Lying beneath the ever-moaning pines, with the star-lit heavens for a

tent, I listened to the sounds of the battle,--steady, monotonous,

like the surf on the beach. An hour's sleep, and still it was rolling

in. But all things must have an end. Near midnight it died away, and

there was only the chirping of the cricket, the unvarying note of the

whip-poor-will, and the wind swaying the stately trees around me.

Peaceful all around; but ah! beyond those forest belts were the

suffering heroes, parched with thirst, fevered with the fight,

bleeding for their country. How shall we thank them? How shall we

reward them? What estimate shall we place upon their work? O friends,

as you recall this sacrifice, let your hearts warm with devotion to

your country. Do honor to the noble dead, and forget not the

living,--the widow and the fatherless.

The battle of the 3d of June was obstinate and bloody, and resulted

in great loss to Grant. The artillery firing was constant through the

forenoon, but Lee was too strongly entrenched to be driven.

As soon as there was a lull in the roar of battle, I improved the

opportunity to visit the hospitals. There were long lines of

ambulances bringing in the wounded, who were laid beneath the trees.

Unconscious men were upon the tables, helpless in the hands of the

surgeons,--to wake from a dreamless sleep with a limb gone, a bleeding

stump of a leg or arm. Horrid the gashes where jagged iron had cut

through the flesh, severing arteries and tendons in an instant. Heads,

hands, legs, and arms mangled and dripping with blood,--human blood!

There were moans, low murmurings, wrenched from the men against their

wills. Men were babbling, in their delirium, of other scenes,--dim

recollections, which were momentary realities. To be with them and not

do for them,--to see suffering without power to alleviate,--gives

painful tension to nerves, even though one may be familiar with scenes

of carnage.

I turned from the scene all but ready to say, "Anything to stay this

terrible destruction of human life." But there were other

thoughts,--of retributive justice,--of sighs and groans, scourged

backs, broken hearts, partings of mothers from their children,--the

coffle train, and the various horrors of the accursed system of

slavery, the cause of all this "wounding and hurt." I remembered that

it was a contest between eternal right and infernal wrong; that He who

is of infinite love and tenderness in His war against rebellion,

spared not his only begotten Son;--and thus consoled and strengthened,

I could wish the contest to go on till victory should crown our

efforts, and a permanent peace be the inheritance of our children.

At Cold Harbor the abilities of Lee, McClellan, and Grant as

commanders have been exhibited. Lee's head-quarters during the battle

of Gaines's Mills were at New Cold Harbor, but during the afternoon he

rode over to the old tavern and had a talk with Jackson. That battle

was won by Lee after a hard struggle, not through any lack of courage

on the part of the Union troops, but through McClellan's want of

generalship. McClellan was ever taking counsel of his fears. He

uniformly overestimated the numbers of the enemy. When Lee advanced to

Munson's Hill, near Alexandria, in October, 1861, his army did not

exceed sixty thousand, but McClellan estimated it at "one hundred and

fifty thousand, well drilled, equipped, ably commanded, and strongly

entrenched."[58] In March, 1862, when Lee evacuated Manassas, his

estimate of the Rebel army was one hundred and fifteen thousand, while

the actual strength was less than fifty thousand. "It seems clear that

I shall have the whole force of the enemy on my hands, probably not

less than one hundred thousand, and probably more," wrote McClellan to

the Secretary of War upon his arrival at Yorktown.

[Footnote 58: McClellan's Report, p. 46.]

Magruder commanded the Rebels at Yorktown. "My whole force," says he,

"was less than eleven thousand."[59]

[Footnote 59: Magruder's Report.]

The day before the battle of Cold Harbor, McClellan's estimate of

Lee's army was two hundred thousand.[60] His own force, sick and well,

on the 20th, was one hundred and seventeen thousand. He had present

and fit for duty on the day of battle from one hundred to one hundred

and five thousand. Lee's force was two or three thousand less.

[Footnote 60: McClellan's Report, p. 238.]

McClellan knew very little of Lee's army. He intrusted the management

of the secret service to two French princes, who, however estimable

they might be as individuals, had a superficial acquaintance with the

English language, who knew but little of America or Americans,--whose

geographical knowledge of the country in which the war was being

carried on was less than that of the scholars of a New England grammar

school,--who were wanting in the lawyer-like qualifications necessary

to separating the true from the false in the stories of deserters,

scouts, and spies. So inefficient was the secret service that

McClellan had no information of Lee's movements or intentions till

Jackson was at Ashland, within a few hours' march of Cold Harbor. When

he saw that he was to be attacked, he moved his own head-quarters to

the south side, making no effort to win the battle, thinking only of a

retreat to the James.

A general who wins a battle through the blundering of an inefficient

opponent cannot be called, on that account alone, a great commander.

There must be genius in movements, in making use of positions and

forces, so that victory is wrenched from a skilful foe, to entitle a

commander to wear the bay leaves upon his brow.

McClellan's army was divided by the Chickahominy. He had about thirty

thousand men on the north bank and seventy-five thousand on the south

side. Lee submitted a plan to Jeff Davis, which was accepted, by which

he hoped to destroy that portion of McClellan's force on the north

bank. Whiting's and Ewell's divisions were put on board the cars and

sent up the Virginia Central Railroad to Gordonsville, as if to join

Jackson in the Shenandoah, or for a march on Washington, but Jackson

was on his way towards Richmond. He commanded the united force,

amounting to thirty thousand. He moved down to Ashland. A deserter

informed McClellan at Cold Harbor that Jackson would attack him on the

28th.[61] Negroes came in on the next day who said that Jackson was at

Hanover Court-House. McClellan's line was twenty miles long. His

extreme right was north of Richmond, at Mechanicsville; his left was

southeast of the city, resting on White Oak Swamp. McClellan could

have reinforced Porter, and defeated Lee, or he could have withdrawn

him to the south bank, and pushed into Richmond, but he left Porter to

contend with Lee's entire army, except Magruder's command of about

twenty thousand men,[62] while he burned his supplies, destroyed the

railroad, and made ready to march to the James. Porter held his ground

till nearly night, calling for reinforcements. Had a division been

sent him at the right time, Lee would have suffered a terrible defeat.

Slocum, of Franklin's corps, was sent over when too late to be of

essential service. Jackson extended his left south from the old

tavern, and fell upon Porter's right flank, and drove the Union

troops, but everywhere else Lee was repulsed with great loss. His

entire loss in that battle was about nine thousand and five hundred,

McClellan's about four thousand.

[Footnote 61: McClellan's Report.]

[Footnote 62: Pollard, First Year, p. 329.]

Lee moved out from Richmond when Jackson was at Hanover Court-House.

Branch's division marched up the Brooke turnpike, A. P. Hill moved

over the Mechanicsville turnpike, Longstreet and D. H. Hill by the New

Bridge road. McClellan was informed of the movement. Here was his

golden opportunity. By throwing nearly his entire army north of the

Chickahominy, he could have met Lee outside of his entrenchments, or

he could have withdrawn Porter and made a rush upon the city. Lee

expected to meet the whole Union army at Cold Harbor, and in the

battle supposed he was fighting McClellan's main force.

"The principal part of the enemy was on the north side," says Lee in

his report. It is evident that in his plan he calculated that

McClellan would not risk a battle with a divided army, and he

therefore left but a small force to hold Richmond. Magruder on the

other hand, saw the danger to the city. Says Magruder:--

"From the time at which the enemy withdrew his forces to this

side of the Chickahominy, and destroyed the bridges, to the

moment of his evacuation,--that is, from Friday night until

Sunday morning,--I considered the situation of our army extremely

critical and perilous. The larger portion of it was on either

side of the Chickahominy, the bridges had all been destroyed, and

but one was rebuilt, the New Bridge, which was fully commanded by

the enemy's guns at Golding's; and there were but twenty-five

thousand men between his army and Richmond. I received repeated

instructions during Saturday night from General Lee's

head-quarters, enjoining upon my command the utmost vigilance,

directing the men to sleep on their arms, to be prepared for

whatever might occur. I passed the night without sleep, and in

the superintendence of their execution. Had McClellan massed his

whole force in column, and advanced it against any point of our

line of battle, as was done at Austerlitz by the greatest captain

of any age, though the head of his column would have suffered

greatly, its momentum would have insured him success, and the

occupation of our works about Richmond, and consequently the city

might have been his reward. Our relief was therefore great when

information reached us that the enemy had evacuated his works and

was retreating."[63]

[Footnote 63: Magruder's Report, p. 191.]

Magruder, in the above statement, unintentionally exposes the

faultiness of Lee's plan, which, had McClellan improved his

opportunity, would have been the loss of the Rebel capital, the rout

and disorganization of Lee's army, and a historic page wholly

different from that now on record.

In contrast is Grant's plan of operations. His secret-service

department was managed with rare ability, by men acquainted with the

English language, who were adepts in the art of sifting truth from

falsehood. Grant was well informed as to Lee's numbers, the

reinforcements at his disposal, and his movements. He took counsel of

his courage, never of his fear. In his plan of the Wilderness

campaigns, the series of movements from the Rapidan to the James, were

duly considered before the orders for the advance were given. When he

saw that he could not reach Richmond from the north, he decided to

sweep round to the James, but not till he had made it impossible for

Lee to move upon Washington, by breaking up the Virginia Central and

Fredericksburg Railroad. McClellan complained that he was deprived of

the control of McDowell's force at Fredericksburg, which was retained

by the President to cover Washington; but the railroad from Richmond

to Manassas was then in running order, with the exception of the

bridge across the Rappahannock. Grant's prudence in securing

Washington was as marked as his tenacity of purpose to push on towards

Richmond.

The transfer of the Eighteenth Corps from Bermuda Hundred to seize

Cold Harbor,--the order for which was given before the army crossed

the Pamunkey,--was a conception as brilliant as that of Lee's in the

transfer of Jackson from the Shenandoah in '62. The march of the army

to the south side of the James, which will be narrated in another

chapter, was the most striking movement of the campaign, exhibiting

the same quality of genius which had been exhibited at Vicksburg, and

which has no parallel in the movements of any of the Rebel commanders

during the war.

There was a season of rest while Grant was preparing for the march to

the James. The army needed it. A month had passed, the most terrible

of all the months of the war. There had been scarcely an hour of quiet

from the moment when the army broke camp at Culpepper till it reached

Cold Harbor. It never can be known how many were killed and wounded

in that month of battle. The hospitals of Washington were crowded.

Thousands of slightly wounded were granted leave of absence.

Reinforcements were hurried on to fill up the wasted ranks. Lee's loss

was nearly as heavy as Grant's. Richmond was overflowing with wounded;

all central Virginia was a hospital. Both armies were becoming

exhausted.

Lee was the attacking party at the Wilderness, but it was his last

offensive movement, except as the gauge of battle was given by Grant.

The march from Spottsylvania to Cold Harbor was through a section

never before visited by Union troops. At the crossing of the Ny I

found quarters at a farm-house owned by a feeble, forceless,

gray-bearded, black-eyed man. There was constitutionally a want of

starch in his physical organization. He was free and frank, but

shiftless. He owned eighty acres of land, two negroes, an old horse,

and a rickety cart. His house was mean, but it was charmingly located,

overlooking the broad valley of the Mattapony, and surrounded by

locusts and magnolias. Nature had done a great deal towards making it

a paradise, but the owner had been an indifferent steward. Lying upon

the grass beneath the trees, I fell into conversation with the

proprietor.

"This is Caroline County, I believe."

"Yes, sir, this is old Caroline,--a county which has sold more negroes

down south than any other in Virginia."

"I was not aware of that; but I remember now a negro song which I used

to hear. The burden of it was,

'I wish I was back in old Caroline.'"

"Quite likely, for the great business of the county has been

nigger-raising, and it has been our curse. I never owned only old

Peter and his wife. I wish I didn't own them, for they are old and I

have got to support them; but how in the world I am to do it I don't

know, for the soldiers have stripped me of everything."

"Do you mean the Union soldiers?"

"Yes, and ours (Rebels) also. First, my boys were conscripted. I kept

them out as long as I could, but they were obliged to go. Then they

took my horses. Then your cavalry came and took all my corn and stole

my meat, ransacked the house, seized my flour, killed my pigs and

chickens, and here I am, stripped of everything."

"It is pretty hard, but your leaders would have it so."

"I know it, sir, and we are getting our pay for it."

It was frankly spoken, and was the first admission I had heard from

Southern lips that the South was suffering retribution for the crime

of Secession. It probably did not enter his head that the selling of

slaves, the breaking up of families, the sundering of heart-strings,

the cries and tears and prayers of fathers and mothers, the outrages,

the whippings, scourgings, branding with hot irons, were also crimes

in the sight of Heaven. Broken hearts were nothing to him,--not that

he was naturally worse than other men, but because slavery had blunted

sensibility.

During the march the next day towards the North Anna, I halted at a

farm-house. The owner had fled to Richmond in advance of the army,

leaving his overseer, a stout, burly, red-faced, tobacco-chewing man.

There were a score of old buildings on the premises. It had been a

notable plantation, yielding luxuriant harvests of wheat, but the

proprietor had turned his attention to the culture of tobacco and the

breeding of negroes. He sold annually a crop of human beings for the

southern market. The day before our arrival, hearing that the Yankees

were coming, he hurried forty or fifty souls to Richmond. He intended

to take all,--forty or fifty more,--but the negroes fled to the woods.

The overseer did his best to collect them, but in vain. The proprietor

raved, and stormed, and became violent in his language and behavior,

threatening terrible punishment on all the runaways, but the

appearance of a body of Union cavalry put an end to maledictions. He

had a gang of men and women chained together, and hurried them toward

Richmond.

The runaways came out from their hiding-places when they saw the

Yankees, and advanced fearlessly with open countenances. The first

pleasure of the negroes was to smile from ear to ear, the second to

give everybody a drink of water or a piece of hoe-cake, the third to

pack up their bundles and be in readiness to join the army.

"Are you not afraid of us?"

"Afraid! Why, boss, I's been praying for yer to come; and now yer is

here, thank de Lord."

"Are you not afraid that we shall sell you?"

"No, boss, I isn't. The overseer said you would sell us off to Cuba,

to work in the sugar-mill, but we didn't believe him."

Among the servants was a bright mulatto girl, who was dancing,

singing, and manifesting her joy in violent demonstration.

"What makes you so happy?" I asked.

"Because you Yankees have come. I can go home now."

"Is not this your home?"

"No. I come from Williamsport in Maryland."

"When did you come from there?"

"Last year. Master sold me. I spect my brother is 'long with the army.

He ran away last year. Master was afraid that I should run away, and

he sold me."

The negroes came from all the surrounding plantations. Old men with

venerable beards, horny hands, crippled with hard work and harder

usage; aged women, toothless, almost blind, steadying their steps with

sticks; little negro boys, driving a team of skeleton steers,--mere

bones and tendons covered with hide,--or wall-eyed horses, spavined,

foundered, and lame, attached to rickety carts and wagons, piled with

beds, tables, chairs, pots and kettles, hens, turkeys, ducks, women

with infants in their arms, and a sable cloud of children trotting by

their side.

"Where are you going?" I said to a short, thick-set, gray-bearded old

man, shuffling along the road; his toes bulging from his old boots,

and a tattered straw hat on his head,--his gray wool protruding from

the crown.

"I do'no, boss, where I's going, but I reckon I'll go where the army

goes."

"And leave your old home, your old master, and the place where you

have lived all your days?"

"Yes, boss; master, he's gone. He went to Richmond. Reckon he went

mighty sudden, boss, when he heard you was coming. Thought I'd like to

go along with you."

[Illustration: Negroes coming into the lines.]

His face streamed with perspiration. He had been sorely afflicted with

the rheumatism, and it was with difficulty that he kept up with the

column; but it was not a hard matter to read the emotions of his

heart. He was marching towards freedom. Suddenly a light had shined

upon him. Hope had quickened in his soul. He had a vague idea of what

was before him. He had broken loose from all which he had been

accustomed to call his own,--his cabin, a mud-chinked structure, with

the ground for a floor, his garden patch,--to go out, in his old age,

wholly unprovided for, yet trusting in God that there would be food

and raiment on the other side of Jordan.

It was a Jordan to them. It was the Sabbath-day,--bright, clear, calm,

and delightful. There was a crowd of several hundred colored people at

a deserted farm-house.

"Will it disturb you if we have a little singing? You see we feel so

happy to-day that we would like to praise the Lord."

It was the request of a middle-aged woman.

"Not in the least. I should like to hear you."

In a few moments a crowd had assembled in one of the rooms. A stout

young man, black, bright-eyed, thick-wooled, took the centre of the

room. The women and girls, dressed in their best clothes, which they

had put on to make their exodus from bondage in the best possible

manner, stood in circles round him. The young man began to dance. He

jumped up, clapped his hands, slapped his thighs, whirled round,

stamped upon the floor.

"Sisters, let us bless the Lord. Sisters, join in the chorus," he

said, and led off with a kind of recitative, improvised as the

excitement gave him utterance. From my note-book I select a few

lines:--

RECITATIVE.

"We are going to the other side of Jordan."

CHORUS.

"So glad! so glad!

Bless the Lord for freedom,

So glad! so glad!

We are going on our way,

So glad! so glad!

To the other side of Jordan,

So glad! so glad!

Sisters, won't you follow?

So glad! so glad!

Brothers, won't you follow?"

And so it went on for a half-hour, without cessation, all dancing,

clapping their hands, tossing their heads. It was the ecstasy of

action. It was a joy not to be uttered, but demonstrated. The old

house partook of their rejoicing. It rang with their jubilant shouts,

and shook in all its joints.

I stood an interested spectator. One woman, well dressed, intelligent,

refined in her deportment, modest in her manner, said, "It is one way

in which we worship, sir. It is our first day of freedom."

The first day of freedom! Behind her were years of suffering,

hardship, unrequited toil, heartaches, darkness, no hope of recompense

or of light in this life, but a changeless future. Death, aforetime,

was their only deliverer. For them there was hope only in the grave.

But suddenly Hope had advanced from eternity into time. They need not

wait for death; in life they could be free. Is it a wonder that they

exhibited extravagant joy?

Apart from the dancers was a woman with light hair, hazel eyes, and

fair complexion. She sat upon the broad steps of the piazza, and

looked out upon the fields, or rather into the air, unmindful of the

crowd, the dance, or the shouting. Her features were so nearly of the

Anglo-Saxon type that it required a second look to assure one that

there was African blood in her veins. She alone of all the crowd was

sad in spirit. She evidently had no heart to join in the general

jubilee.

"Where did you come from?" I asked.

"From Caroline County."

Almost every one else would have said, "From old Caroline." There was

no trace of the negro dialect, more than you hear from all classes in

the South, for slavery has left its taint upon the language; it spares

nothing, but is remorseless in its corrupting influences.

"You do not join in the song and dance," I said.

"No, sir."

Most of them would have said "master" or "boss."

"I should think you would want to dance on your first night of

freedom, if ever."

"I don't dance, sir, in that way."

"Was your master kind to you?"

"Yes, sir; but he sold my husband and children down South."

The secret of her sadness was out.

"Where are you going? or where do you expect to go?"

"I don't know, sir, and I don't care where I go."

The conversation ran on for some minutes. She manifested no animation,

and did not once raise her eyes, but kept them fixed on vacancy.

Husband and children sold, gone forever,--there was nothing in life to

charm her. Even the prospect of freedom, with its undefined joys and

pleasures, its soul-stirring expectations, raising the hopes of those

around her, moved her not.

Life was a blank. She had lived in her master's family, and was

intelligent. She was the daughter of her master. She was high-toned in

her feelings. The dancing and shouting of those around her were

distasteful. It was to her more barbaric than Christian. She was alone

among them. She felt her degradation. Freedom could not give her a

birthright among the free. The daughter of her master! It was gall and

wormwood; and he, her father, had sold her husband and his

grandchildren!

I had read of such things. But one needs to come in contact with

slavery, to feel how utterly loathsome and hateful it is. There was

the broken-hearted victim, so bruised that not freedom itself, neither

the ecstasy of those around her, could awaken an emotion of joy. Hour

after hour the festivities went on, but there she sat upon the step,

looking down the desolate years gone by, or into a dreamless, hopeless

future.

It was late at night before the dancers ceased, and then they stopped,

not because of a surfeit of joy, but because the time had come for

silence in the camp. It was their first Sabbath of freedom, and like

the great king of Israel, upon the recovery of the ark of God, they

danced before the Lord with all their might.

We had a hard, dusty ride from the encampment at Mongohick to the

Pamunkey. It was glorious, however, in the early morning to sweep

along the winding forest-road, with the head-quarters' flag in

advance. Wherever its silken folds were unfurled, there the two

commanders might be found,--General Meade, commanding the Army of the

Potomac, and General Grant, the commander of all the forces of the

Union in the field. We passed the long line of troops, crossed the

Pamunkey upon a pontoon bridge, rode a mile or two across the verdant

intervale, and halted beneath the oaks, magnolias, and buttonwoods of

an old Virginia mansion. The edifice was reared a century ago. It was

of wood, stately and substantial. How luxurious the surrounding shade;

the smooth lawn, the rolled pathways bordered by box, with moss-roses,

honeysuckle, and jessamines scenting the air, and the daisies dotting

the greensward! The sweep of open land,--viewing it from the wide

portico; the long reach of cultivated grounds; acres of wheat rolling

in the breeze, like waves of the ocean; meadow-lands, smooth and fair;

distant groves and woodlands,--how magnificent! It was an old estate,

inherited by successive generations,--by those whose pride it had been

to keep the paternal acres in the family name. But the sons had all

gone. A daughter was the last heir. She gave her hand, and heart, and

the old homestead,--sheep, horses, a great stock of bovines, and a

hundred negroes or more,--to her husband. The family name became

extinct, and the homestead of seven or eight generations passed into

the hands of one bearing another name.

When McClellan was on the Peninsula, the shadow of the war-cloud swept

past the place. One or two negroes ran away, but at that time they

were not tolerated in camp. The campaign of 1862 left the estate

unharmed. But Sheridan's cavalry, followed by the Sixth Corps, in its

magnificent march from the North Anna, had suddenly and unexpectedly

disturbed the security of the old plantation. There was a rattling

fire from carbines, a fierce fight, men wounded and dead, broken

fences, trodden fields of wheat and clover; ransacked stables,

corn-bins, meat-houses, and a swift disappearing of live stock of

every description.

[Illustration: Foraging.]

But to go back a little. The proprietor of this estate ardently

espoused Secession. His wife was as earnest as he. They hated the

North. They loved the institutions and principles of the South. They

sold their surplus negroes in the Richmond market. They parted

husbands and wives, tore children from the arms of their mothers,

and separated them forever. They lived on unrequited labor, and grew

rich through the breeding of human flesh for the market.

When the war commenced, the owner of this magnificent estate enlisted

in the army and was made a Colonel of cavalry. He furnished supplies

and kept open house for his comrades in arms; but he fell in a cavalry

engagement on the Rappahannock, in October, 1863, leaving a wife and

three young children. The advance of the army, its sudden appearance

on the Pamunkey, left Mrs. ---- no time to remove her personal estate,

or to send her negroes to Richmond for safe keeping. Fitz-Hugh Lee

disputed Sheridan's advance. The fighting began on this estate.

Charges by squadrons and regiments were made through the corn-fields.

Horses, cattle, hogs, sheep, were seized by the cavalrymen. The

garden, filled with young vegetables, was spoiled. In an hour there

was complete desolation. The hundred negroes--cook, steward,

chambermaid, house and field hands, old and young--all left their work

and followed the army. Mrs. ---- was left to do her own work. The

parlors of the stately mansion were taken by the surgeons for a

hospital. The change which Mrs. ---- experienced was from affluence to

abject poverty, from power to sudden helplessness.

Passing by one of the negro cabins on the estate, I saw a middle-aged

colored woman packing a bundle.

"Are you going to move?" I asked.

"Yes, sir; I am going to follow the army."

"What for? Where will you go?"

"I want to go to Washington, to find my husband. He ran away awhile

ago, and is at work in Washington."

"Do you think it right, auntie, to leave your mistress, who has taken

care of you so long?"

She had been busy with her bundle, but stopped now and stood erect

before me, her hands on her hips. Her black eyes flashed.

"Taken care of me! What did she ever do for me? Haven't I been her

cook for more than thirty years? Haven't I cooked every meal she ever

ate in that house? What has she done for me in return? She has sold my

children down South, one after another. She has whipped me when I

cried for them. She has treated me like a hog, sir! Yes, sir, like a

hog!"

She resumed her work of preparation for leaving. That night she and

her remaining children joined the thousands of colored people who had

already taken sudden leave of their masters.

Returning to the mansion to see the wounded, I met Mrs. ---- in the

hall. She was tall, robust, dignified. She evidently did not fully

realize the great change which had taken place in her affairs. The

change was not complete at that moment. The colored steward was there,

hat in hand; obsequious, bowing politely, and obeying all commands. A

half-hour before I had seen him in the cook's cabin, making

arrangements for leaving the premises, and a half-hour later he was on

his way toward freedom.

"I wish I had gone to Richmond," said the lady. "This is terrible,

terrible! They have taken all my provisions, all my horses and cattle.

My servants are going. What shall I do?" She sank upon the sofa, and

for a moment gave way to her feelings.

"You are better off here than you would be there, with the city full

of wounded, and scant supplies in the market," I remarked.

"You are right, sir. What could I do with my three little children

there? Yet how I am to live here I don't know. When will this terrible

war come to an end?"

But enough of this scene. I have introduced it because it is real, and

because it is but one of many. There are hundreds of Southern homes

where the change has been equally great. Secession is not what they

who started it thought it would be. The penalties for crime always

come, sooner or later. God's scales are correctly balanced. He makes

all things even. For every tear wrung from the slave by injustice, for

every broken heart, for the weeping and wailing of mothers for their

babes sold to the far-off South, for every wrong there is retribution

"Though the mills of God grind slowly,

Yet they grind exceeding small;

Though with patience he stands waiting,

With exactness grinds he all."

CHAPTER XX.

TO PETERSBURG.

[Sidenote: June, 1864.]

General Grant had tried to break Lee's lines at Cold Harbor, and had

been repulsed with great loss. The Richmond newspapers were jubilant.

"He is floundering in the swamps of Chickahominy. He has reached the

graveyard of Yankee armies," said they.

The newspapers opposed to the war and in sympathy with the Rebellion,

in the North, made Cold Harbor an occasion for glorifying General

McClellan, their candidate for the Presidency.

"Grant is a butcher. He has sacrificed a hundred thousand lives. He

acts under Lincoln's orders. Elect McClellan, and we shall have

peace."

The army was dejected, but did not lose heart. It had been repulsed,

had lost many brave men, but it had pushed Lee from the Wilderness to

Richmond.

I conversed freely with the soldiers, and rarely found one who had not

full confidence in the ability of General Grant. Round their bivouac

fires the history of the Army of the Potomac was freely discussed. The

old soldiers, who had fought in the first Cold Harbor battle,

remembered how twenty-seven thousand men held Lee at bay on that

ground through the long hours of the first of the seven days' fight in

front of Richmond; how McClellan kept sixty thousand men on the south

bank of the Chickahominy, inactive,--sending a brigade to their aid

when too late to be of use. They recalled the scenes of those terrible

demoralizing days,--how McClellan kept out of harm's way. When the

battle was raging on the north bank of the Chickahominy he was south

of it; when Sumner was holding Savage Station, McClellan was across

White Oak Swamp; when Glendale was fought, and the Rebels under Hill

routed, McClellan was at Malvern, and while Magruder was madly pushing

his troops on to be slaughtered at Malvern, McClellan was on board a

gunboat; how in the night the whole army was ordered away from a

victorious field, from an impregnable position, while Lee was fleeing

towards Richmond! Soldiers who had come later into the service

remembered the failure at Fredericksburg and the retreat from

Chancellorsville, and in contrast saw that Grant had pluck. It is a

quality of character which soldiers admire. They could also see that

there was system in his movements. They sometimes spoke of him as the

Grand Flanker. "He'll flank Lee out of Richmond yet; see if he don't,"

said a soldier.

If Grant had failed to move Lee from his position in a direct attack,

Lee also had failed to drive Grant from the junction of the roads at

old Cold Harbor,--an important point, as, by opening the railroad from

White House, he could easily bring up his supplies. His army was

intact,--not divided, as McClellan's had been by the dark and sluggish

Chickahominy.

"What will Grant do?" was a question often discussed around the

mess-tables of brigadiers, colonels, and captains,--by men who were

bound to obey all orders, but who nevertheless had their own ideas as

to the best method of conducting the campaign. The Lieutenant-General

had the whole plan of operations settled for him many times. It was

amusing to see the strategic points indicated on the maps.

"He can swing in north of the city upon the high lands. The

Chickahominy swamps don't extend above Mechanicsville," said one.

"But how will he get his supplies?"

"Open the Fredericksburg road. It is open now from Aquia Creek to the

Rappahannock."

But Grant, instead of opening the road, determined to break it up

completely, also the Virginia Central, which runs to Gordonsville, to

prevent Lee from moving upon Washington. Up to this time all of his

movements, while they were upon Lee's flank, had not uncovered that

city; but now Washington would take care of itself.

The plan of the campaign had been well matured by General Grant

before he started from Culpepper. He says:--

"My idea from the start had been to beat the enemy north of

Richmond if possible. Then after destroying his lines of

communication north of the James River, to transfer the army to

the south side, and besiege Lee in Richmond, or follow him south

if he should retreat."[64]

[Footnote 64: Grant's Official Report.]

Grant was not willing to sacrifice his men. He resolved to transfer

his army south of the James, and cut Lee's communications. Gregg was

sent in advance, with the cavalry belonging to the Army of the

Potomac, crossing the Chickahominy, and making a rapid movement by the

left flank.

Lee evidently did not mistrust Grant's intention,--judging from the

disposition he made of his troops, and the tardiness with which he

marched to counteract the movement. The transfer of the Eighteenth

Corps from Bermuda Hundred to Cold Harbor undoubtedly had its effect

upon Lee's calculations. It was an indication that Grant intended to

keep Washington covered.

Hunter at this time was advancing from the West. Sheridan, who had

been guarding the road to White House, was withdrawn, and sent with

two divisions of his cavalry up the Virginia Central road to

Gordonsville, hoping to meet Hunter at Charlottesville; but Hunter had

moved on Lynchburg, and the union of the forces was not effected.

Sheridan's movement, however, threw dust in the eyes of Lee.

Grant knew that Petersburg was held by a handful of Rebel

troops,--Wise's Legion. The citizens had been organized into a

battalion, but the place could be taken by surprise. Strong earthworks

had been thrown up around the city early in the war, but the troops in

the city were not sufficient to man them. Grant believed that the

place could be seized without difficulty; and taking a steamer at

White House went to Bermuda Hundred, held a conference with Butler,

who sent Gillmore with thirty-five hundred men across the Appomattox,

near the Point of Rocks, to attack the city from the east. At the same

time, Kautz's division of cavalry was sent, by a long detour, across

the Norfolk Railroad, to enter the town from the south. Having made

these arrangements, Grant returned to his army, which had been lying

behind its intrenchments at Cold Harbor.

Preparations had been quietly making for a rapid march. The Second

Corps had been moved down towards the Chickahominy. The Fifth was sent

to Despatch Station. Gregg and Torbett, with their divisions of

cavalry, were placed at Bottom's Bridge. The Rebel pickets were there

on watch. Meanwhile workmen were busily engaged in opening the

railroad. Lee must have known that Grant had a new movement under way,

the precise nature of which it was difficult to understand.

The movement of Gillmore was a disgraceful failure. He crossed the

Appomattox on the evening of the 10th of June, without molestation,

marched up within sight of the city spires, discovered a formidable

line of breastworks, and without making an attack, turned about and

retired to Bermuda Hundred. Kautz, on the contrary, after a rapid

movement, entered the city from the south, but Gillmore having

retreated, could not hold it, and was obliged to retire.

Grant was justly indignant when he heard of the failure. It was a

golden opportunity lost. Gillmore and Kautz could have taken and held

the place till the arrival of reinforcements. Gillmore was wholly

responsible for the failure. Grant once more hurried to Bermuda

Hundred, to superintend in a second movement, leaving Meade to conduct

the army from Cold Harbor to the James.

The grand movement from the north of Richmond, by which the whole army

was placed south of that city, was begun on the 12th, in the evening.

Wilson's division of cavalry was thrown across the Chickahominy, and

sent to seize Long Bridge in White Oak Swamp. The Fifth Corps

followed. The Rebels struck the Fifth Corps in flank, but Crawford

repulsed them. The Second Corps followed the Fifth. The Sixth and

Ninth crossed at Jones's Bridge, while the fifty miles of wagon trains

swung far to the east and crossed the swamp fifteen miles below. Gregg

covered the flank of the army with his cavalry, concealing the

movement. The men had a hard time, being attacked constantly by the

Rebel cavalry and infantry. It was of the utmost importance to Lee to

know where Grant intended to strike, whether north of the James, by

the Charles City and New Market roads, or across the James at Dutch

Gap, joining his forces with Butler's, or whether his movement was

directly upon Petersburg.

Lee moved on the inner circle with great caution.

The Eighteenth Corps took water transportation from White House, and

arrived at Bermuda Hundred at midnight on the 14th. Grant was there.

He ordered General Smith to proceed at once against Petersburg. If

successful in the seizure of that place, Lee would be compelled to

leave Richmond. It was in the line of his direct communication with

the South. Losing that place, he would have only the Danville road,

and Grant would soon deprive him of that. The Appomattox would be

Grant's line of defence. Seizing it Grant could bide his time. He

could become a patient watcher, and Lee would be a victim to

circumstances.

Grant was quick to see the advantages to be gained. Lee was slower in

arriving at a perception of the fatal consequences to himself which

would result from the loss of the place; but when awakened to a sense

of his danger, acted with great energy. On the other hand, Smith, who

was intrusted with the execution of the enterprise, was dilatory in

the execution. Birney in part is to be held responsible for the delay

in the execution of the order.

"Push on and capture the place at all hazards! You shall have the

whole army to reinforce you," said Grant to Smith. Grant was in such

haste to have Smith move, that he did not stop to write the order. He

believed that Smith could reach Petersburg before Lee could make his

detour through Richmond.

A. P. Hill had already been thrown south of Richmond, and was in front

of Butler. The scouts up the Appomattox reported the rumbling of heavy

trains along the Richmond and Petersburg railroad. Lee was putting his

troops into the cars. The dash of Kautz, and the movement of Gillmore

up to the entrenchments, and his retirement without an attack, had

resulted in the manning of the Petersburg batteries. A brigade had

been thrown down towards City Point, five miles from Petersburg. Soon

after daylight the cavalry came upon the Rebel pickets, by the City

Point railroad, beyond which they found the Rebels with two cannon

behind rifle-pits, in the centre of an open field on Bailey's farm.

Hinks's division of the Eighteenth Corps was composed of colored

troops, who had never been under fire. Would they fight? That was the

important question. After a reconnoissance of the position by General

Hinks, the troops were formed for an assault. The Rebel cannon opened.

The sons of Africa did not flinch, but took their positions with

deliberation. They had been slaves; they stood face to face with their

former masters, or with their representatives. The flag in front of

them waving in the morning breeze was the emblem of oppression; the

banner above them was the flag of the free. Would an abject, servile

race, kept in chains four thousand years, assert their manhood?

Interesting the problem. Their brothers had given the lie to the

assertion of the white man, that negroes wouldn't fight, at Wagner and

Port Hudson. Would they falter?

The Rebels were on a knoll in the field, and had a clear sweep of all

the approaches. The advancing troops must come out from the woods,

rush up the slope, and carry it at the point of the bayonet, receiving

the tempest of musketry and canister.

Hinks deployed his line. At the word of command the colored men

stepped out from the woods, and stood before the enemy. They gave a

volley, and received one in return. Shells crashed through them, but,

unheeding the storm, with a yell they started up the slope upon the

run. They received one charge of canister, one scathing volley of

musketry. Seventy of their number went down, but the living hundreds

rushed on. The Rebels did not wait their coming, but fled towards

Petersburg, leaving one of the pieces of artillery in the hands of

their assailants, who leaped over the works, turned it in a twinkling,

but were not able to fire upon the retreating foe, fleeing in

consternation towards the main line of entrenchments two miles east of

the city.

The colored troops were wild with joy. They embraced the captured

cannon with affectionate enthusiasm, patting it as if it were animate,

and could appreciate the endearment.

"Every soldier of the colored division was two inches taller for that

achievement," said an officer describing it. These regiments were the

Fifth and Twenty-Second United States colored troops, who deserve

honorable mention in history.

Brooks's division now moved up. Martindale was approaching Petersburg

by the river road. By noon the whole corps was in front of the main

line of works. Martindale was on the right, by the river, Brooks in

the centre, Hinks on the left, with Kautz's division of cavalry

sweeping down to the Jerusalem road, which enters Petersburg from the

southeast.

Smith delayed unaccountably to make the attack. It was a priceless

moment. A reconnoissance showed a line of strong works, in which were

eighteen pieces of field artillery. The forts were well built, and

connected with breastworks, but the Rebels had not soldiers enough to

man them. The citizens of Petersburg had been called out to hold the

town. It is evident that Smith might just as well have accomplished at

one o'clock what was achieved at sunset. He was a brave officer,

fearless in battle, an engineer of ability, reckless of danger, but

failed to see the necessity of impetuous action. The value of time was

left out of his calculations.

General Grant thus speaks of Smith's operations:--

"General Smith got off as directed, and confronted the enemy's

pickets near Petersburg before daylight next morning, but for

some reason that I have never been able to satisfactorily

understand, did not get ready to assault his main lines until

near sundown. Then, with a part of his command only, he made the

assault, and carried the lines northeast of Petersburg from the

Appomattox River, for a distance of over two and a half miles,

capturing fifteen pieces of artillery and three hundred

prisoners. This was about seven P. M."[65]

[Footnote 65: Grant's Report.]

The main road leading east from Petersburg ascends a hill two miles

out, upon the top of which stands the house of Mr. Dunn. The house is

a few rods south of the road. In front of it is a fort; another south;

a third north, and other works, with heavy embankments and deep

ditches. The woods in front of the house of Mr. Dunn were cut down in

1862, when McClellan was on the Peninsula, and the trunks of the

trees, blackened by fire, are lying there still, forming an abatis.

The ground is nearly level, and the Rebel riflemen have a fair view of

the entire field. It is three hundred and sixty paces from the forts

to the woods, in the edge of which Hinks's division of colored troops

are lying. The guns in the forts by the house of Mr. Dunn give a

direct front fire, while those by the house of Mr. Osborn on the north

enfilade the line. Brooks is in position to move upon the batteries by

Osborn's house, while Martindale is to advance up the railroad.

The troops were placed in line for the attack not far from one

o'clock. They were exposed to the fire of the artillery. Hinks

impatiently waited for orders. Two o'clock passed. The shells from the

Rebel batteries were doing damage.

"Lie down!" said he to his men. They obeyed, and were somewhat

sheltered.

Three o'clock! four o'clock,--five,--still no orders. Duncan's brigade

was lying on both sides of the road, a short distance north of

Buffum's house.

At length the word was given. Duncan threw forward a cloud of

skirmishers. The Rebels opened with renewed vigor from the batteries;

and the infantry, resting their muskets over the breastworks, fired at

will and with great accuracy of aim. Men dropped from the advancing

ranks. It was of little use to fire in return. "On! push on!" was the

order. Hinks and Duncan both entered heartily into the movement. They

had chafed all the afternoon at the delay; but had been admiring

observers of the conduct of the troops under the fire of shells.

The skirmishers advanced quickly within close range, followed by the

main line, moving more slowly over the fallen timber. The skirmishers

gave a yell and pushed on, without waiting for the main body. They

leaped into the ditches in front of the breastworks, and climbed on

their hands and knees up the steep embankments. The Rebels above fired

into their faces, and many a brave fellow rolled back dead to the

bottom.

The column, perceiving the advance of their comrades, and catching the

enthusiasm, broke into a run, rushing upon the forts, sweeping round

the curtains, scaling the breastworks, and dashing madly at the

Rebels, who fled towards Petersburg. Brooks's men at the same moment

swarmed over the embankments by Osborn's, while Martindale advanced

along the railroad. Fifteen pieces and three hundred men were

captured, of which two thirds of the prisoners and nine cannon were

taken by the colored troops, who wheeled the guns instantly upon the

enemy, and then, seizing the spades and shovels which the Rebels had

left behind, reversed the fortifications and made them a stronghold.

Through the months which followed the colored troops looked back to

this exploit with pride. They never were weary of talking about

it,--how they advanced, how they leaped over the intrenchments, how

the Rebels went down the hill upon the run.

Smith had possession of the fortifications at 7 P. M. He ought to have

moved on. There were no other works between him and Petersburg. Not a

brigade from Lee had reached the city, and the disaster was calculated

to demoralize the Rebel soldiers. The Second Corps had arrived.

Birney, who had the advance of that corps, ought to have been on the

ground by mid-afternoon, and Smith had delayed the assault on his

account. He expected Birney to appear on his left, and attack by the

Jerusalem plank-road; but that officer, by taking the wrong road, went

several miles out of his way. Had he been in position at the time

Smith expected him, the attack would have been made at 3 o'clock

instead of at 7.

Smith's delay to follow up the advantage gained was an error. General

Grant says:--

"Between the line thus captured and Petersburg there were no

other works, and there was no evidence that the enemy had

reinforced Petersburg with a single brigade from any source. The

night was clear,--the moon shining brightly,--and favorable to

further operations. General Hancock, with two divisions of the

Second Corps, had reached General Smith just after dark, and

offered the service of these troops as he (Smith) might wish,

waiving rank to the named commander, who, he naturally supposed,

knew best the position of affairs. But instead of taking these

troops and pushing on at once into Petersburg, he requested

General Hancock to relieve a part of his line in the captured

works, which was done before midnight."[66]

[Footnote 66: Grant's Report.]

Not till the Rebel outpost on Bailey's farm fell into the hands of the

colored troops did Lee fully comprehend Grant's movement. Then there

were lively movements in the Rebel ranks. All of the railroad cars in

Richmond were put upon the road. Brigades were hurried through the

streets, piled into the cars, and sent whirling towards Petersburg.

While Lee was watching the Charles City and Newmarket roads, north of

the James, expecting Grant in that direction, Butler sent General

Terry, with a portion of the Tenth Corps, on a reconnoissance in front

of Bermuda Hundred. Terry encountered the Rebel pickets, drove them

in, reached the main line, attacked vigorously, broke through,

carrying all before him, and pushed on to the railroad at Port

Walthall Junction, cut down the telegraph, and tore up the track.

This was an advantage not expected by Grant, who at once ordered two

divisions of the Sixth Corps, under Wright, to report to Butler at

Bermuda Hundred; but that officer, instead of moving rapidly, advanced

leisurely, and even halted awhile.

Terry was attacked by A. P. Hill and obliged to fall back. Grant had

the mortification of learning in the evening that, through the

dilatory movements of the troops under Smith and Wright, his plans had

failed.

In the counsels of the Almighty the time for final victory had not

come. God reigns, but men act freely nevertheless. There have been

numerous instances during the war where great events hung on little

things. An interesting chapter might be written of the occasions where

the scales were seemingly evenly balanced, and where, to the eye of

faith, the breath of the Almighty turned them for the time.

At Bull Run the victory was lost to the Union arms through the mistake

of Captain Barry.[67] At Pittsburg Landing, if Johnston had attacked

from the northwest instead of the southwest,--if he had deflected his

army a mile,--far different, in all human probability, would have been

the result of that battle.

[Footnote 67: See "My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field";

also testimony of Captain Ricketts and Captain Griffin, in

Report of Committee on Conduct of the War.]

Was the arrival of the Monitor in Hampton Roads on that morning, after

the havoc made by the Merrimac, accidental? How providential rather!

How singular, if not a providence, that the wind should blow so wildly

from the southwest on that night of the withdrawal of the army from

Fredericksburg, wafting the rumbling of Burnside's artillery and the

tramp of a hundred thousand men away from the listening ears of the

enemy within close musket-shot! Events which turn the scales according

to our desires we are inclined to count as special providences: but

the disaster at Bull Run, the sitting down of McClellan in the mud at

Yorktown; the lost opportunities for moving upon Richmond after

Williamsburg and Fair Oaks; also, while the battle was raging at

Gaines's Mills and at Glendale; the pusillanimous retreat from

Malvern; the inaction at Antietam; Hooker's retreat from

Chancellorsville,--from Lee, who also was in retreat,--are

inexplicable events. Meade's waiting at Boonsboro, Lee's escape,

Gillmore's unexplained turning back from Petersburg, Wright's halting

when everything depended on haste, Smith's delay,--all of these are

mysterious providences to us, though to the Rebels they were at the

time plain interpositions of God. God's system is reciprocal;

everything has its use, everything is for a purpose. We read blindly,

but to reason and faith there can be but one result,--the

establishment of justice and righteousness between man and man and his

Maker. There must be a righting of every wrong, an atonement for every

crime.

"The laws of changeless justice bind

Oppressor with oppressed;

And, close as sin and suffering joined,

We march to fate abreast."

It must have been evident to most observers, that as the war

progressed men were brought to a recognition of God, as an overruling

power in the mighty conflict. In the first uprising of the people

there was pure, intense patriotism. The battle of Bull Run stung the

loyal masses of the North, and filled them with a determination to

redeem their tarnished honor. The failure of the Peninsular campaigns,

the terrible disasters in 1862, crushed and bruised men's spirits.

They began to talk of giving freedom to the slave as well as of the

restoration of the Union.

"My paramount object is to save the Union, and not either to save or

destroy slavery," wrote President Lincoln to Horace Greeley, August

22d, 1862, reflecting doubtless the feelings of nearly a majority of

the people. Whittier had already expressed, in the lines quoted on

pages 41, 42, the feelings of those who saw that slavery or the

nation must die.

Two years passed, and Abraham Lincoln gave utterance to other

sentiments in his second inaugural address to the people. Disaster,

suffering, a view of Gettysburg battle-field, the consecration of that

cemetery as the hallowed resting-place of the patriotic dead, had

given him a clear insight of God's truth. Thus spoke he from the steps

of the Capitol:--

"The Almighty has his own purposes. Woe unto the world because of

offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to

that man by whom the offence cometh! If we shall suppose that

American slavery is one of these offences, which in the

providence of God must needs come, but which, having continued

through his appointed time, he now wills to remove, and that he

gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe due to

those by whom the offence came, shall we discern therein any

departure from those Divine attributes which the believers in a

living God always ascribe to him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do

we pray, that the mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away.

Yet if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by

the bondman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil

shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash

shall be paid by another drawn by the sword, as was said three

thousand years ago, so still must it be said, the judgments of

the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

It was the recognition of these principles that made the people

patient under the severe afflictions, the disasters, the failures.

Fathers and mothers, weeping for their sons slain in battle, said to

their hearts, "Be still!" for they saw that God was leading the

people, through suffering, to recognize justice and righteousness as

the Republic,--that thus he was saving the nation from perdition.

The heroism of the colored soldiers, and their splendid achievements,

won the respect of the army. Their patriotism was as sublime, their

courage as noble, as that of their whiter-hued comrades boasting

Anglo-Saxon blood, nurtured and refined by centuries of civilization.

On the morning after the battle, an officer, passing through the

hospital, came upon a colored soldier who had lost his left leg.

"Well, my boy, I see that you have lost a leg for glory," said the

officer.

[Illustration: One day's labor, one day's income.]

"_No, sir; I have not lost it for glory, but for the elevation of my

race!_"

It was a reply worthy of historic record, to be read, through the

coming centuries, by every sable son of Africa, and by every man, of

whatever lineage or clime, struggling to better his condition.

The negroes manifested their humanity as well as their patriotism.

"While the battle was raging," said General Hinks, "I saw two wounded

negroes helping a Rebel prisoner, who was more severely wounded, to

the rear."

"Give the water to my suffering soldiers," said the wounded Philip

Sidney. The incident stands upon the historic page, and has been

rehearsed in story and song, as worthy of admiration. Shall not this

act of two unknown colored soldiers also have a place in history?

The time, we trust, will come when men will be rated for what they are

worth,--when superiority will consist, not in brute force, but in

moral qualities. The slaveholders of the South, at the beginning of

the war, esteemed themselves superior to the men of the North, and

immeasurably above their slaves; but in contrast,--to the shame of the

slaveholders,--stands the massacre at Fort Pillow and the humanity of

the colored soldiers in front of Petersburg.

On the night of the 16th, Burnside arrived with the Ninth Corps.

Neill's division of the Sixth also arrived. Burnside attacked the

Rebels, but was repulsed. The lines were reconnoitred, and it was

determined to make a second assault.

About half a mile south of the house of Mr. Dunn was the residence of

Mr. Shand, held by the Rebels. During the cannonade which preceded the

assault, a Rebel officer entered the house and sat down to play a

piano. Suddenly he found himself sitting on the floor, the stool

having been knocked away by a solid shot, without injury to himself.

The house was a large two-story structure, fronting east, painted

white, with great chimneys at either end, shaded by buttonwoods and

gum-trees, with a peach-orchard in rear. Fifty paces from the

front-door was a narrow ravine, fifteen or twenty feet deep, with a

brook, fed by springs, trickling northward. West of the house, about

the same distance, was another brook, the two joining about twenty

rods north of the house. A Rebel brigade held this tongue of land,

with four guns beneath the peach-trees. Their main line of breastworks

was along the edge of the ravine east of the house. South, and on

higher ground, was a redan,--a strong work with two guns, which

enfiladed the ravine. Yet General Burnside thought that if he could

get his troops into position, unperceived, he could take the tongue of

land, which would break the Rebel line and compel them to evacuate the

redan. Several attempts had been made by the Second Corps to break the

line farther north, but without avail. This movement, if not

successful, would be attended with great loss; nevertheless, it was

determined to make the assault.

It was past midnight when General Potter led his division of the Ninth

down into the ravine. The soldiers threw aside their knapsacks,

haversacks, tin plates and cups, and moved stealthily. Not a word was

spoken. The watches of the officers in command had been set to a

second. They reached the ravine where the pickets were stationed, and

moved south, keeping close under the bank. Above them, not fifteen

paces distant, were the Rebel pickets, lying behind a bank of sand.

If their listening ears caught the sound of a movement in the ravine,

they gave no alarm, and the troops took their positions undisturbed.

The moon was full. Light clouds floated in the sky. Not a sound, save

the distant rumble of wagons, or an occasional shot from the pickets,

broke the silence of the night. The attacking column was composed of

Griffin's and Curtin's brigades,--Griffin on the right. He had the

Seventeenth Vermont and Eleventh New Hampshire in his front line, and

the Ninth New Hampshire and Thirty-Second Maine in the second. Curtin

had six regiments,--the Thirty-Sixth Massachusetts, and the

Forty-Fifth and Forty-Eighth Pennsylvania, in his front line; the

Seventh Rhode Island, Twelfth New York, and Fifty-Eighth Massachusetts

in his second line.

[Illustration: Petersburg July 17th 1864.]

The soldiers were worn with hard marching and constant fighting, and

had but just arrived from City Point, yet they took their positions

without flinching. The officers gazed at the hands of their watches in

the moonlight, and saw them move on to the appointed time,--fifteen

minutes past three. Twenty paces,--a spring up the steep bank would

carry the men to the Rebel pickets; fifty paces to the muzzles of the

enemy's guns.

"All ready!" was whispered from man to man. They rose from the ground

erect. Not a gun-lock clicked. The bayonet was to do the work.

"_Hurrah!_" The lines rise like waves of the sea. There are straggling

shots from the Rebel pickets, four flashes of light from the Rebel

cannon by the house, two more from the redan, one volley from the

infantry, wildly aimed, doing little damage. On,--up to the

breastworks! Over them, seizing the guns! A minute has passed. Four

guns, six hundred and fifty prisoners, fifteen hundred muskets, and

four stands of colors are the trophies. The Rebel line is broken. The

great point is gained, compelling Lee to abandon the ground which he

has held so tenaciously.

In the Fifty-Seventh Massachusetts was a soldier named Edward M.

Schneider. When the regiment was formed he was a student in Phillips

Academy, Andover. From motives of patriotism, against the wishes of

friends, he left the literature of the ancients and the history of the

past, to become an actor in the present and to do what he could for

future good. His father is the well-known missionary of the American

Board at Aintab, Turkey.

On the march from Annapolis, though but seventeen years old, and

unaccustomed to hardship, he kept his place in the ranks, from the

encampment by the waters of the Chesapeake to the North Anna, where he

was slightly wounded. The surgeons sent him to Port Royal for

transportation to Washington, but of his own accord he returned to

his regiment, joining it at Cold Harbor. While preparing for the

charge upon the enemy's works, on the 17th instant, he said to the

chaplain,--

"I intend to be the first one to enter their breastworks."

The brave young soldier tried to make good his words, leading the

charge.

He was almost there,--not quite: almost near enough to feel the hot

flash of the Rebel musketry in his face; near enough to be covered

with sulphurous clouds from the cannon, when he fell, shot through the

body.

He was carried to the hospital, with six hundred and fifty of his

division comrades; but lay all night with his wound undressed, waiting

his turn without a murmur. The chaplain looked at his wound.

"What do you think of it?"

Seeing that it was mortal, the chaplain was overcome with emotion. He

remembered the last injunction of the young soldier's sister: "I

commit him to your care."

The young hero interpreted the meaning of the tears,--that there was

no hope.

"Do not weep," said he; "it is God's will. I wish you to write to my

father, and tell him that I have tried to do my duty to my country and

to God."

He disposed of his few effects, giving ten dollars to the Christian

Commission, twenty dollars to the American Board, and trifles to his

friends. Then, in the simplicity of his heart, said,--

"I have a good many friends, schoolmates, and companions. They will

want to know where I am,--how I am getting on. You can let them know

that I am gone, and that I die content. And, chaplain, the boys in the

regiment,--I want you to tell them to stand by the dear old flag! And

there is my brother in the navy,--write to him and tell him to stand

by the flag and cling to the cross of Christ!"

The surgeon examined the wound.

"It is my duty to tell you that you will soon go home," said he.

"Yes, doctor, I am going home. I am not afraid to die. I don't know

how the valley will be when I get to it, but it is all bright now."

Then, gathering up his waning strength, he repeated the verse often

sung by the soldiers, who, amid all the whirl and excitement of the

camp and battle-field, never forget those whom they have left behind

them,--mother, sister, father, brother. Calmly, clearly, distinctly he

repeated the lines,--the chorus of the song:

"Soon with angels I'll be marching,

With bright laurels on my brow;

I have for my country fallen,--

Who will care for sister now?"

The night wore away. Death stole on. He suffered intense pain, but not

a murmur escaped his lips. Sabbath morning dawned, and with the coming

of the light he passed away.

"I die content," said Wolfe, at Quebec, when told that the French were

fleeing.

"Stand up for Jesus," said Dudley Tyng, in his last hours: words which

have warmed and moved thousands of Christian hearts.

"Let me die with my face to the enemy," was the last request of

General Rice, Christian, soldier, and patriot, at Spottsylvania; but

equally worthy of remembrance are the words of Edward M.

Schneider,--boy, student, youthful leader of the desperate charge at

Petersburg. They are the essence of all that Wolfe and Tyng and Rice

uttered in their last moments. His grave is near the roadside, marked

by a rude paling. The summer breeze sweeps through the sighing pines

above the heaved-up mound. Mournful, yet sweet, the music of the

wind-harp;--mournful, in that one so young, so full of life and hope

and promise, should go so soon; sweet, in that he did his work so

nobly. Had he lived a century he could not have completed it more

thoroughly or faithfully. His was a short soldier's life, extending

only from the peaceful shades of Andover to the intrenchments of

Petersburg; but O, how full!

Will the tree of Liberty prematurely decay, if nourished by such

life-giving blood? It is costly, but the fruit is precious. For pain

and anguish, waste and desolation, we have such rich recompense as

this,--such examples of patriotic ardor, heroic daring, and Christian

fortitude, that make men nobler, nations greater, and the world better

by their contemplation.

I have stood by the honored dust of those whose names are great in

history, whose deeds and virtues are commemorated in brass and marble,

who were venerated while living and mourned when dead; but never have

I felt a profounder reverence for departed worth than for this young

Christian soldier, uncoffined, unshrouded, wrapped only in his

blanket, and sleeping serenely beneath the evergreen pines.

His last words--the messages to his comrades, to his father, and his

brother--are worthy to live so long as the flag of our country shall

wave or the cross of Christ endure.

"Stand up for the dear old flag and cling to the cross of Christ!"

They are the emblems of all our hopes for time and eternity. Short,

full, rounded, complete his life. Triumphant, glorious his death!

* * * * *

[Illustration: Petersburg July 30th 1864.]

Grant determined to assault all along the line on the morning of the

18th, as nearly the entire army had arrived. Lee, however, fell back

during the night to a new position nearer the city.

But the attack was made. The Eighteenth, Second, and Sixth Corps

gained no advantage; but the Ninth and Fifth drove the Rebels across

the Norfolk Railroad, and reached the Jerusalem plank-road. The

position of the besieging army is shown by the accompanying diagram.

On the 21st of June Grant attempted to take the Weldon Railroad with

the Second and Sixth Corps, but was opposed by the Rebels on Davis's

farm, beyond the Jerusalem road, and a battle ensued.

[Illustration: Army corps chapel near Petersburg.]

The engagement was renewed the next day. There was a gap in the

lines, of which A. P. Hill took advantage, and attacked Barlow's

division in flank. A severe struggle followed, in which Gibbon's

division lost four guns. The battle was continued on the 23d, but no

farther progress was made. The troops had been fighting, marching,

or building breastworks for forty-seven days, without interruption.

Daily and nightly, from the Rapidan to the Weldon road, they had

been in constant action. The troops were exhausted. Grant had lost

seventy thousand. The reinforcements which had reached him were

inexperienced. Men when physically prostrated are indifferent to

commands. Discipline becomes lax. Hundreds of efficient officers had

fallen during the campaign. Brigades were commanded by majors,

regiments by captains, companies by corporals. The army needed

thorough reorganization. The right of the line was sufficiently near

to Petersburg to commence siege operations. Intrenchments were

accordingly thrown up and guns mounted, and the army enjoyed

comparative rest. But it was a rest under fire, day and night, the

Ninth and Eighteenth Corps especially being constantly harassed by

the enemy, who were bitterly opposed to the employment of colored

troops. It was systematic hostility,--ingrained, revengeful,

relentless. They would not recognize or treat them as prisoners of

war. Slavery long before had proclaimed that black men had no rights

which white men were bound to respect. For them was no mercy; only

the fate of their compatriots at Fort Pillow awaited them, if taken

in arms against their former masters, though wearing the uniform of

the republic which had given them freedom and sent them to battle.

There was a tacit understanding between the soldiers of the Fifth and

the enemy in front of them that there should be no picket-firing. They

filled their canteens at the same spring and had friendly

conversations. But not so in front of the Ninth, in which thirty were

wounded or killed every twenty-four hours. Such was the unnecessary

sacrifice of life to this Moloch of our generation! There were those

in the army, as well as out of it, who were not willing that the

colored soldier should be recognized as a man.

"The negroes ought not to be allowed to fight," said a Massachusetts

captain to me.

"Why not, sir?"

"Because the Rebels hate us for making them soldiers," was the reply;

and adding, dubiously, "I don't know but that the negroes have souls;

but I look upon them as a lower order of beings than ourselves."

The old prejudice remained. We were not willing to deal fairly. We

asked the negro to help fight our battles, but we were willing to pay

him only half a soldier's wages, as if we feared this simple act of

justice might be construed as an acknowledgment of his social as well

as civil equality.

Through all the weary months of fighting and exposure the wants of the

soldiers were greatly relieved by the Sanitary and Christian

Commissions. The warm-hearted people in the North never ceased their

contributions. The machinery of both those excellent organizations was

so perfect that the soldiers had quick relief.

The power of any force--moral and religious as well as mechanical--is

in proportion to the directness of its application. I recall, in this

connection, a hot, dry, sultry day. The sun shone from a brazen sky.

The grass and shrubs were scorched, withered, and powdered with dust,

which rose in clouds behind every passing wagon. Even the aspens were

motionless, and there was not air enough to stir the long, lithe

needles of the pines. The birds of the forest sought the deepest

shade, and hushed even their twitter. It was difficult for men in

robust health to breathe, and they picked out the coolest places and

gave themselves up to the languor of the hour. It required an earnest

effort to do anything. Yet through this blazing day men crouched in

the trenches from morning till night, or lay in their shallow

rifle-pits, watching the enemy,--parched, broiled, burned, not daring

to raise their heads or lift their hands. To do so was to suffer death

or wounds.

The hospital tents, though pitched in the woods, were like ovens,

absorbing and holding the heat of the sun, whose rays the branches of

the trees but partially excluded. Upon the ground lay the sick and

wounded, fevered and sore, with energies exhausted, perspiration

oozing from their faces, nerves quivering and trembling, pulses faint

and feeble, and life ebbing away. Their beds were pine boughs. They

lay as they came from the battle-field, wearing their soiled, torn,

and bloody garments, and tantalized by myriads of flies.

The surgeons in charge were kind-hearted and attentive. They used all

means in their power to make their patients comfortable. Was this the

place where the sick were to regain their health, far from home and

friends! With nothing to cheer them, hope was dying out, and

despondency setting in; and memory, ever busy, was picturing the dear

old home scenes, so painfully in contrast with their dismal present.

It was the Sabbath, and there were many among the suffering thousands

who had been accustomed to observe the day as one of worship and rest

from toil and care. In imagination they heard the pealing of

church-bells, the grand and solemn music of the organ, or the hum of

children's voices in the Sabbath school.

There were no clouds to shut out the sun, but the brazen dome of the

sky glowed with steady heat. The Christian Commission tent had been

besieged all day by soldiers, who wanted onions, pickles, lemons,

oranges,--anything sour, anything to tempt the taste. A box of oranges

had been brought from City Point the night before. It was suggested

that they be distributed at once to the sick and wounded. "Certainly,

by all means," was the unanimous voice of the Commission. I

volunteered to be the distributor.

Go with me through the tents of the sufferers. Some are lying down,

with eyes closed, faces pale, and cheeks sunken. The paleness

underlies the bronze which the sun has burned upon them. Some are half

reclining on their elbows, bolstered by knapsacks, and looking into

vacancy,--thinking, perhaps, of home and kin, and wondering if they

will ever see them again. Others are reading papers which delegates of

the Commission have distributed. Some of the poor fellows have but one

leg; others but the stump of a thigh or an arm, with the lightest

possible dressing to keep down the fever. Yesterday those men, in the

full tide of life, stood in the trenches confronting the enemy. Now

they are shattered wrecks, having, perhaps, wife and children or

parents dependent upon them; with no certainty of support for

themselves even but the small bounty of government, which they have

earned at such fearful sacrifice. But their future will be brightened

with the proud consciousness of duty done and country saved,--the

surviving soldier's chief recompense for all the toil and suffering

and privation of the camp and field.

As we enter the tent they catch a sight of the golden fruit. There is

a commotion. Those half asleep rub their eyes, those partially

reclining sit up, those lying with their backs toward us turn over to

see what is going on, those so feeble that they cannot move ask what

is the matter. They gaze wistfully at our luscious burden. Their eyes

gleam, but not one of them asks for an orange. They wait. Through the

stern discipline of war they have learned to be patient, to endure, to

remain in suspense, to stand still and be torn to pieces. They are

true heroes!

"Would you like an orange, sir?"

"Thank you."

It is all he can say. He is lying upon his back. A minnie bullet has

passed through his body, and he cannot be moved. He has a noble brow,

a manly countenance. Tears moisten his eyes and roll down his sunken

cheeks as he takes it from my hand.

"It is a gift of the Christian Commission, and I accept your thanks

for those who made the contribution."

"Bully for the Christian Commission," shouts a wide-awake, jolly

soldier, near by, with an ugly wound in his left arm.

"Thank you," "God bless the Commission," "I say, Bill, aren't they

bully?" are the expressions I hear behind me.

In one of the wards I came upon a soldier who had lost his leg the day

before. He was lying upon his side; he was robust, healthy, strong,

and brave. The hours dragged heavily. I stood before him, and yet he

did not see me. He was stabbing his knife into a chip, with nervous

energy, trying to forget the pain, to bridge over the lonely hours,

and shut the gloom out of the future. I touched his elbow; he looked

up.

"Would you like an orange?"

"By jingo! that is worth a hundred dollars!"

He grasped it as a drowning man clutches a chip.

"Where did this come from?"

"The Christian Commission had a box arrive last night."

"The Christian Commission? My wife belongs to that. She wrote to me

about it last week,--that they met to make shirts for the Commission."

"Then you have a wife?"

"Yes, sir, and three children."

His voice faltered. Ah! the soldier never forgets home. He dashed away

a tear, took in a long breath, and was strong again.

"Where do you hail from, soldier?"

"From old Massachusetts. I had a snug little home upon the banks of

the Connecticut; but I told my wife that I didn't feel just right to

stay there, when I was needed out here, and so I came, and here I am.

I shall write home, and tell Mary about the Christian Commission. I

have been wishing all day that I had an orange; I knew it was no use

to wish. I didn't suppose there was one in camp; besides, here I am,

not able to move a peg. I thank you, sir, for bringing it. I shall

tell my wife all about it."

These expressions of gratitude were not indifferent utterances of

courtesy, but came from full hearts. Those sun-burned sufferers

recognized the religion of Jesus in the gift. The Christian religion,

thus exemplified, was not a cold abstraction, but a reality, providing

for the health of the body as well as the soul. It was easy to

converse with those men concerning their eternal well-being. They

could not oppose a Christianity that manifested such regard for their

bodily comfort. Such a religion commended itself to their hearts and

understandings. Thus the Commission became a great missionary

enterprise. Farina, oranges, lemons, onions, pickles, comfort-bags,

shirts, towels, given and distributed in the name of Jesus, though

designed for the body, gave strength to the soul. To the quickened

senses of a wounded soldier parched with fever, far from home and

friends, an onion was a stronger argument for the religion which

bestowed it than the subtle reasoning of Renan, and a pickle sharper

than the keenest logic of Colenso!

Visiting Washington one day, I passed through several of the

hospitals, and was present when the delegates came to the

head-quarters of the Commission and narrated their experiences of the

day. About fifty were present. Their work was washing and dressing

wounds, aiding the sick and wounded in every way possible,

distributing reading matter, writing letters for those unable to

write, with religious exercises and conversation. No delegate was

allowed to give jellies or wines as food, or to hold meetings in any

ward, without permission of the surgeon in charge, which usually was

granted. It was a rule of the Commission, and not of the Medical

Department. The design was to do everything possible for the good of

the men, and nothing for their hurt. One delegate said that he found

fully one third of the men in his wards professing Christians. They

were glad to see him, and rejoiced to obtain religious reading. A few

days before he had given an old man a book entitled the "Blood of

Jesus."

"I have found Jesus, and O, he is so precious!" said the old soldier.

Another delegate said: "I found among the patients a minister who

enlisted as a private. He has been in the hospital sixteen months, and

has maintained his Christian character through all the trials of camp

and hospital life. I found some convalescents playing cards.

"'My boys, you don't play cards on Sunday, do you?'

"'It isn't Sunday, is it? Why, hang it all, chaplain, we can't keep

track of the days in the army.'

"I talked to them of home and of their mothers. The tears rolled down

their cheeks. They put up their cards, and read the papers I gave

them."

"I never saw men so ready to receive religious instruction," said

another delegate, "or who were so easily impressed with its truths. I

am satisfied that this is a golden opportunity to the Christian

Church. I found a young man to-day who said, 'I want you, chaplain, to

tell me just what I have to do to be a Christian. I will do just what

you say. I want to be a Christian.' It was a sincere desire. I find

that the Catholics are just as eager to have religious instruction as

others."

"I found a sergeant from Massachusetts, very low, but he met me with a

smile. 'It is all right, I am happy, and I die content. Tell my

friends so,'" reported another.

"I have been over the river to see some detached regiments," said a

chaplain. "I asked one noble-looking soldier if he loved Jesus?

"'No, I don't.'

"'Are you married?'

"'No; but I have a sister. She isn't a Christian, but she wrote to me

that she wanted me to become one, and I wrote to her that I wanted her

to be one; and I guess, chaplain, that everybody who believes the

Bible feels just so. If they ain't good themselves, they want their

friends to be.'

"I found another soldier writing a letter on a little bit of paper. I

gave him a full sheet and an envelope.

"'Are you a Christian Commission man?'

"'Yes.'

"'You are a d---- good set of fellows.'

"'Hold on, soldier, not quite so hard.'

"'I beg your pardon, chaplain, I didn't mean to swear, but, darn it

all, I have got into the habit out here in the army, and it comes

right out before I think.'

"'Won't you try to leave it off?'

"'Yes, chaplain, I will.'"

Said another delegate: "I went among the men, and they all gathered

round me with great eagerness. They were a little disappointed,

however, when they saw that I was a delegate of the Commission. They

took me to be the paymaster.

"But I have something that is better than gold."

"'Give me some of it,' said one, who was the son of a Baptist

minister, a tender-hearted Christian."

One, just returned from the army at Petersburg, said: "I came across a

drummer-boy of one of the Massachusetts regiments, a member of the

Sabbath school at home, who lost his Bible during the campaign, but he

has written the heads of his drum all over with texts of Scripture

from memory. He beats a Gospel drum."

An hour was passed with such narration interspersed with devotional

exercises. Glorious their work! Sweet the music of their parting

hymn:--

"Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee;

E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee."

CHAPTER XXI.

SIEGE OPERATIONS.

[Sidenote: June, 1864.]

The Norfolk Railroad enters Petersburg through a ravine. In the attack

upon the enemy's lines, on the 18th of June, the hollow was gained and

held by Burnside's troops, their most advanced position being about

four hundred feet from the Rebel line.

Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Pleasants, commanding the Forty-Eighth

Pennsylvania Regiment, a practical miner, conceived the idea of

excavating a tunnel under the Rebel works and exploding a mine. He

submitted the plan to Burnside, who approved it. General Meade said it

could not be done. Major Duane, of the Engineers, laughed at the idea.

Other officers, of high rank, scouted the project. Colonel Pleasants

was fully convinced of its practicability, and set his men to work.

He made application at head-quarters for a theodolite to make a

triangulation of the distance, but was refused its use. He was obliged

to send to Washington to obtain one. No facilities were granted him.

He could neither obtain boards, lumber, or mining-picks. But his

regiment, numbering four hundred men, were mostly miners, and he was

confident of success. Work was accordingly commenced on the 25th of

June, at noon. No wheelbarrows being provided, the men were obliged to

make hand-barrows of cracker-boxes. But they were at home in the

earth, and not easily discouraged by difficulties or want of proper

tools to work with, and pushed forward the gallery, which was about

four and a half feet high and the same in width, with great zeal. The

earth brought out was covered with bushes, to conceal it from the

Rebels, who by its fresh appearance might suspect where the mine was

being sunk, as it was known throughout the army that mining operations

had been commenced, and the Rebels had heard of it. The Richmond

papers published the news, and it was heralded through the North.

At every discharge of the Rebel artillery there was danger of the

caving in of the earth; but Pleasants' daring burrowers crept steadily

forward, till the noise overhead, as well as previous measurements,

convinced them that they were immediately under the Rebel works. The

main gallery was five hundred and ten feet in length, beside which

were two lateral galleries, one thirty-seven and the other

thirty-eight feet in length.

A short distance from the entrance, inside of the Union

fortifications, a vertical shaft was sunk, in which a fire was kept

constantly burning, to produce ventilation. Eight magazines were

placed in the lateral galleries, charged with four tons of powder,

strongly tamped, and connected by fuses. The mine was completed on the

23d of July.

Grant planned an assault upon the Rebel line, independently of the

explosion of the mine. He sent two divisions of the Second Corps, with

two divisions of Sheridan's cavalry, to the Army of the James, at Deep

Bottom, where an attack was made, four guns captured, and the line

extended from Deep Bottom to the New Market road. Lee attempted to

recover his lost ground, but failed. Grant, in this expedition,

employed an immense train of empty baggage-wagons, which, passing in

sight of the Rebel pickets, made the movement an enigma to Lee. The

Rebels in the fortifications had commenced a counter-mine, but

suspended labor.

General Burnside wished that the colored troops of his division, under

General Ferrero, should lead in the assault after the mine was

exploded; and the troops were drilled with that special object in

view. He believed that they would make a successful charge. They were

fresh, had taken but little part in the campaign, and were desirous of

emulating the example of their comrades of the Eighteenth Corps. The

white troops were worn with hard marching, fighting, and exposure in

the trenches in front of Petersburg, where they had been on the watch

day and night. The lines were so near to the Rebels that a man could

not show his head above the parapet without being shot. They had

acquired the habit of taking their positions by covered approaches,

and had lost the resolute confidence and fearlessness manifested at

the beginning of the campaigns.

General Meade objected to Burnside's plan.

"I objected," says Meade, "not that I had any reason to believe that

the colored troops would not do their duty as well as the white

troops, but that they were a new division, and had never been under

fire, had never been tried, and, as this was an operation which I knew

beforehand was one requiring the very best troops, I thought it

impolitic to trust to a division of whose reliability we had no

evidence."[68]

[Footnote 68: Attack on Petersburg, Report of Committee on

Conduct of the War, p. 4.]

The matter was referred to General Grant, who says:--

"General Burnside wanted to put his colored division in front,

and I believe if he had done so it would have been a success.

Still I agreed with General Meade in his objections to the plan.

General Meade said that if we put the colored troops in front (we

had only one division), and it should prove a failure, it would

then be said, probably, that we were shoving those people ahead

to get killed, because we did not care anything about them. But

that could not be said if we put white troops in front."[69]

[Footnote 69: Ibid., p. 5.]

General Burnside had three divisions of white troops; as there were

reasons for assigning either of the divisions to lead the assault,

lots were cast, and the duty fell upon General Ledlie.

Burnside was directed by Meade to form his troops during the night,

and be ready to assault at daylight on the 30th. His pioneers were to

be equipped to destroy the enemy's abatis. Intrenching tools were

provided, so that if successful in breaking the Rebel lines, the

position might be quickly secured.

Portions of the Fifth and Eighteenth Corps were brought up to support

the Ninth.

The field artillery was to be harnessed for immediate use. The siege

artillery was to open a heavy fire. The Second Corps, at Deep Bottom,

was to move to the rear of the Eighteenth, and be ready for any

emergency. Sheridan, with the cavalry, was ordered to attack south and

east of Petersburg. The Engineers were to have sand-bags, gabions,

and fascines in readiness. The mine was to be fired at half past

three, and simultaneously with the explosion the assaulting column was

to rush into the gap.

"Promptitude, rapidity of execution, and cordial co-operation are

essential to success," wrote General Meade, in his concluding orders.

The movements and preparations were completed before three o'clock.

The moon was shining brightly, but the Rebels made no discovery of the

change of position and massing of troops in rear of the Ninth Corps.

The heights near the hospitals were covered by teamsters, ambulance

drivers, surgeons, and civilians, waiting with intense interest for

the expected upheaval.

Half past three came, and the fuse was lighted. A stream of fire ran

quickly along the gallery, but no explosion followed. Had the fuse

failed? Lieutenant Douty and Sergeant Reese went boldly in to

ascertain, and found the fire had gone out one hundred feet from the

entrance. The fuse was relighted, but it was almost five o'clock, and

the anxious spectators began to speculate as to the cause of the

delay.

Grant and Meade were at the front. The troops thought the whole thing

a failure, and began to ridicule the Pennsylvania miners.

Fleming's Rebel brigade, composed of the Seventeenth, Eighteenth, and

Twenty-Second North Carolinians, was asleep over the mine. The pickets

only were awake. Pegram's battery was also in the redoubt.

Finally there came a trembling of the earth, then a bursting forth of

volcanic flames and rolling up of dense clouds of smoke. A mountain of

rubbish rose in the air. Earth, men, planks, timbers, cannon, shot and

shell, were hurled upward and outward! The sight was terribly grand.

To add to the frightfulness of the eruption and the grandeur of the

spectacle, one hundred guns instantly belched forth their thunders.

The Rebels were surprised and panic-stricken for the moment, and ran

to escape the falling earth and timbers, leaving their artillery

silent. A huge gap had been made in the Rebel works, four or five

hundred feet in length and twenty feet in depth.

Success depended upon the immediate occupation of the breach. Ten

minutes passed before Ledlie moved, and then he only advanced to the

crater. The Rebels offered no opposition. The important point to be

gained and held was a ridge four hundred yards beyond. Ledlie still

halted in the excavation. Wilcox and Potter soon followed him, and the

three divisions became intermixed, and general confusion prevailed. An

hour of precious time was lost. Ledlie made no attempt to move in or

out, and Potter and Wilcox could not go forward while he blocked the

way.

The enemy gradually recovered from their stupor, and began to fire

from the hills, and batteries of artillery were brought up on the

right and left to enfilade the crater: but not a cannon-shot was fired

by the Rebels till after seven o'clock. The supporting brigades

meanwhile were crowding upon those in front. The colored troops were

ordered forward. They also entered the crater, which only added to the

confusion. Potter succeeded in freeing his troops from Ledlie's, and

pushed on toward the crest, but being unsupported, he was obliged to

retire, driven back by the canister which the enemy poured into his

ranks from the new position they had taken on Cemetery Hill. The Rebel

fire increased. Eight, nine, ten o'clock passed; their batteries were

throwing a concentrated fire of shells and solid shot into the mingled

human mass. Mahone's and Ransom's divisions of infantry were hurried

to the top of the ridge, and mortars were brought into play, and the

crater became a terrible scene of slaughter. Meade, seeing that

further attempt to take the ridge would be not only useless, but a

waste of life, permitted Burnside to withdraw his troops at

discretion. Yet to retire was to run the gauntlet of almost certain

death. The space between the abyss and Burnside's breastworks was

swept by a cross-fire from the enemy's artillery and infantry. To

remain in the crater was sure destruction; to advance was impossible;

to retreat the only alternative. Permission was given the troops to

retire. By degrees they fled to the rear; but it was two o'clock in

the afternoon before the place was wholly evacuated.

Forty-seven officers and three hundred and seventy-two soldiers were

killed, one hundred and twenty-four officers and fifteen hundred and

fifty-five soldiers wounded, and nineteen hundred missing; a total

loss of over four thousand men, and no substantial advantage gained.

The loss of the Rebels by the explosion was very great, as also by the

heavy artillery fire.

The causes of the failure, as decided by the Committee on the Conduct

of the War, were: the injudicious formation of the troops assaulting;

the halting of Ledlie; lack of proper engineers; and the want of a

competent head at the scene of assault.

The reasons why the attack ought to have been successful are thus

stated:--

"1. The evident surprise of the enemy at the time of the

explosion of the mine, and for some time after.

"2. The comparatively small force in the enemy's works.

"3. The ineffective fire of the enemy's artillery and musketry,

there being scarcely any for about thirty minutes after the

explosion, and our artillery being just the reverse as to time

and power.

"4. The fact that our troops were able to get two hundred yards

beyond the crater, towards the west, but could not remain there

or proceed farther for want of supports."[70]

[Footnote 70: Report of Committee.]

It was a humiliating, disgraceful failure, which filled the North with

mourning. The Rebels manifested their hatred of the colored troops by

shooting some of them even after they had surrendered. The Richmond

_Enquirer_ said that the assaulting column was led by colored troops,

who rushed on with the cry of "No quarter," but the assertion is not

true. The colored troops were not ordered forward till late in the

morning, and then advanced but a few steps beyond the crater. The

_Enquirer_ of August 1st doubtless gave expression to the sentiments

of the Southern people respecting the treatment to be accorded to

colored soldiers. Said that paper:--

"Grant's war cry of "No quarter," shouted by his negro soldiers,

was returned with interest, we regret to hear not so heavily as

it ought to have been, since some negroes were captured instead

of being shot.... Let every salient we are called upon to defend

be a Fort Pillow, and butcher every negro that Grant hurls

against our brave troops, and permit them not to soil their hands

with the capture of one negro."

It was the opinion of many officers who saw the advance of the

colored division, that, had they been permitted to lead the assault,

the crest would have been seized and held. Such is the opinion of the

Lieutenant-General already given.

The onset promised to be successful, but ended in one of the severest

disasters of the war, without any compensation worthy of mention.

Sad the scene on that afternoon. The ground was thickly strewn with

dying and dead. The sun blazed from a cloudless sky, and the heat was

intense. The cries of the wounded were heart-rending. Officers and men

on both sides stopped their ears, and turned away heart-sick at the

sight. It was an exhibition of the horrible features of war which,

once seen, is forever remembered.

The operation of Grant upon the enemy's lines of communication was

beginning to be felt in Richmond. Wilson and Kautz on the Danville and

Weldon roads, Sheridan on the Virginia Central, and Hunter in the

vicinity of Lynchburg, altogether had caused an interruption of

communication which advanced the prices of produce in the markets of

that city.

It is amusing to read the papers published during the summer of 1864.

All of Grant's movements from the Rapidan to Petersburg were retreats.

Lee, in his despatches to Jeff Davis from the Wilderness, said that

Grant was retreating towards Fredericksburg. It happened, however,

that Lee found Grant attacking his lines at Spottsylvania on the

following morning. "The enemy is falling back from Spottsylvania,"

said the _Examiner_, when Grant moved to the North Anna.

"Grant is floundering in the swamp of the Chickahominy; he has reached

McClellan's graveyard," said the Rebel press, when he was at Cold

Harbor.

"Grant's attitude before Petersburg is that of a baffled, if not a

ruined man," said the Richmond _Enquirer_.

"We can stand such a siege as Grant thinks he has established for

twenty years to come," was the language of the Petersburg _Express_.

Another number of the _Enquirer_, commenting upon the Richmond

markets, revealed more clearly the truth.

"The extortion _now_ practised upon the people," said the _Enquirer_

of June 30th, "in every department of necessary supply, is frightful.

It is a pitiable sight to see the families of this city swarming in

the markets for food, and subjected to the merciless exactions of this

unrestrained avarice."

The fortunes of the Confederacy were becoming desperate. Sherman had

advanced from Chattanooga, driving Johnston to Atlanta. The removal of

Johnston, and the appointment of an officer in his stead who would

fight the Yankees, was demanded. Jeff Davis heeded the cry, removed

Johnston, and appointed Hood to succeed him. The _Enquirer_ was

jubilant. Said that sheet:--

'There must be an end of retreating, and the risk of defeat must

be encountered, or victory can never be won. The rule of

Cunctator must have an end, for the rashness of Scipio can only

end this war. If General Johnston has been relieved, the country

will accept this action of the President as a determination

henceforth to accept the risk of battle, as involving the fate

and fixing the destiny of the Confederacy. To go forward and to

fight is now the motto of our armies, and since Johnston would

not advance, Hood has no other alternative, for his appointment

has but one meaning, and that is to give battle to the foe....

Grant is hopelessly crippled at Petersburg, and Lee has but a few

days ago thundered his artillery in the corporate limits of

Washington City. Grant, while apparently advancing, has been

really retreating, and this day is in a position from which he

can advance no farther, and from which his retreat is only a

question of time. Grant is exhausting the malice of

disappointment and the chagrin of defeat in bombarding

Petersburg; but Sherman, unless defeated by Hood, must march into

Atlanta. The movements of General Lee have so weakened the army

of Grant, that it is more an object of pity than of fear."[71]

[Footnote 71: Richmond _Enquirer_, July 19, 1864.]

Early in the campaign Grant, seeing the necessity of keeping the ranks

of the Army of the Potomac full, had ordered the Nineteenth Corps,

then on the Mississippi, to take transports for the James. His policy

was concentration combined with activity. His foresight and prudence

in this matter were of inestimable value, as will be seen in the

ensuing chapter.

CHAPTER XXII.

THIRD INVASION OF MARYLAND.

[Sidenote: July, 1864.]

The armies of the Union in Virginia, in the West, beyond the

Mississippi, and along the Gulf were controlled by General Grant. The

chess-board was continental in its dimensions, but everything upon it

seemed within reach of his hand. He had two armies under his immediate

direction,--the Army of the Potomac and the Army of the James. He was

in constant communication with Sherman at Atlanta, and his orders

reached the forces a thousand miles distant on the Mississippi! The

details were left to the commanders of the various armies, but all

important schemes were submitted to him for approval. But his best

plans sometimes miscarried, from the neglect or inability of his

subordinates to carry them into execution. Before starting from the

Rapidan, General Grant ordered Hunter, who had succeeded to the

command of Sigel in the Shenandoah, to proceed up the valley to

Staunton and Gordonsville. When Grant was on the North Anna, he

advised that officer to move on Charlottesville and Lynchburg, live on

the country as he marched, and destroy the railroads, and, if

possible, the James River Canal. Accomplishing that, he was to return

to Gordonsville, and there join Grant. Hunter advanced. Sheridan was

sent with the cavalry, while Grant was at Cold Harbor, to aid him.

Sheridan broke up the Virginia Central Railroad, moved to

Gordonsville, but hearing nothing of Hunter returned to the White

House, and rejoined Grant at Petersburg.

Hunter moved up the valley. At the same time Generals Crook and

Averill, leaving Western Virginia, met Hunter near Staunton, where

they had a battle with the Rebels under General Jones, who was killed,

and his force routed, with a loss of three guns and fifteen hundred

prisoners.

Hunter, instead of approaching Lynchburg by Gordonsville and

Charlottesville, took the road leading through Lexington and thus

missed Sheridan.

He reached Lynchburg on the 16th of June, at the same time that Grant

was moving from Cold Harbor to the James. Lee, seeing the danger which

threatened him at the backdoor of the Rebel capital, threw

reinforcements into Lynchburg, and Hunter was obliged to retreat,

being far from his base, and having but a limited supply of

ammunition. Having advanced upon Lynchburg from the west, instead of

from the north, he was obliged to retreat in the same direction

through Western Virginia, a country wellnigh barren of supplies. This

left the Shenandoah open. There was no force to oppose the Rebels who

were at Lynchburg. The decision of Hunter to go forward by Lexington

instead of by Gordonsville disarranged Grant's plans, who did not

direct him to move by Charlottesville. His letter to Halleck of the

25th of May reads: "If Hunter can possibly get to Charlottesville and

Lynchburg, he should do so, living on the country. The railroads and

canals should be destroyed beyond the possibility of repair for weeks.

Completing this, he could find his way back to his original base, or

from Gordonsville join this army." No mention was made of his

advancing by Lexington; but taking that route, and being compelled to

retreat by the Great Kanawha, gave Lee an opportunity to strike a blow

at Washington. He was active to improve it, but Grant was quick to

discover his intentions.

Ewell was sick, and Early was appointed to command the Rebel troops in

the Valley. Breckenridge was sent up from Richmond. The troops took

cars and moved up the Lynchburg road to Gordonsville. Early found

himself at the head of twenty-five or thirty thousand men. Mosby, with

his band of guerillas, was scouring the Valley and Western Virginia.

He reported a clear coast towards Washington, but that Sigel was at

Martinsburg.

Early passed rapidly down the Valley, drove Sigel across the Potomac,

and followed him to Hagerstown. The people of Western Maryland and

Southern Pennsylvania, who had already received two unpleasant visits

from the Rebels, fled in haste towards Baltimore and Harrisburg. The

panic was widespread. Extravagant stories were told of the force of

the enemy: Lee's whole army was advancing; he had outgeneralled Grant;

he had sixty thousand men across the Potomac; Washington and Baltimore

were to be captured. All of which was received with exceeding coolness

by the Lieutenant-General in command at City Point, who detached the

Sixth Corps, ordering Ricketts's division to Baltimore and the other

two divisions to Washington. The Nineteenth Corps, which had arrived

at Fortress Monroe, was despatched to Washington.

The news was startling. Leaving the army at Petersburg, I hastened to

City Point, to proceed to Washington. There was no commotion at

General Grant's head-quarters. The chief quartermaster was looking

over his reports. The clerks were at their regular work. There were

numerous transports in the stream, but no indications of the

embarkation of troops. General Grant was out, walking leisurely about,

with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest, smoking his cigar so

quietly and apparently unconcerned, that, had it not been for the

three stars on his shoulders, a stranger would have passed him without

a thought of his being the man who was playing the deepest game of war

in modern times. The members of his military family were not in the

least excited. Calling on Colonel Bowers, Grant's adjutant-general, I

found him attending to the daily routine.

"They are having a little scare at Washington and in the North. It

will do them good," said he.

"How large a force is it supposed the Rebels have in Maryland?"

"Somewhere about twenty-five thousand,--possibly thirty. Breckenridge

has gone, with his command. And Early has raked and scraped all the

troops possible which were outside of Richmond. Mosby is with him, and

the irregular bands of the upper Potomac, and the troops which met

Hunter at Lynchburg. It will not affect operations here. Lee

undoubtedly expected to send Grant post-haste to Washington; but the

siege will go on."

On the wall of his room was a map of the Southern States, showing by

colored lines the various gauges of all the railroads. Grant came in,

looked at it, said "Good morning," and went out for another stroll

about the grounds, thinking all the while.

On board our boat was a lively company, principally composed of the

soldiers of the Massachusetts Sixteenth, who had served three years,

and were on their way home. They were in the Peninsular campaigns.

Their commander, Colonel Wyman, was killed at Glendale, where they

held the ground when McCall's line was swept away. His fugitives ran

through Hooker's and Sumner's lines, but the men of the Sixteenth

stood firm in their places, till the drift had passed by, and moved

forward to meet the exultant enemy, pouring in such a fire that the

Rebel column became a mob, and fled in haste towards Richmond. They

were in Grover's brigade at the second battle of Manassas. There have

been few bayonet-charges pushed with such power as theirs in that

battle. The Rebels were on Milroy's left flank, which was bending like

a bruised reed before their advance, when Grover moved to the attack.

"We stood in these lines," said a wounded officer of the Second

Louisiana, a prisoner at Warrenton, two months after that battle.

"They fell upon us like a thunderbolt. They paid no attention to our

volleys. We mowed them down, but they went right through our first

line, then through our second, and advanced to the railroad

embankment, and there we stopped them. They did it so splendidly that

we couldn't help cheering them. It made me feel bad to fire on such

brave fellows."

They were reduced to a squad. Their comrades were lying on nearly all

the battle-fields of Virginia.

"We have had a pretty rough time of it, and I am glad we are through;

but I wouldn't mind having another crack at the Johnnie's round

Washington," said a soldier, lying on the deck with his knapsack for a

pillow.

The whole regiment was ready to volunteer for the defence of

Washington.

The cannoneers of the Twelfth New York battery were of the company.

They were in Wilson's raid, had lost their guns, and felt sore. Even

when their loss is owing to no fault on the part of the artillerists,

they usually feel that it is humiliating. They give pet names to the

dogs of war; and when a good shot has been made, affectionately pat

their brazen lips.

There were members of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions, taking

care of the sick and wounded; also a family of refugees from Prince

George County, on the way to Maryland, to find a new home till the war

was over.

Early was making the most of his opportunity. His cavalry moved at

will, with no force to oppose them.

They divided into small bodies and overran the country from Frederick

to Williamsport, destroying the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, burning

canal-boats, seizing horses, cattle, and supplies, from the farmers,

ransacking houses as thoroughly as the soldiers of the Union had done

in Virginia.

The first invasion of Maryland, in 1862, was a political as well as a

military movement. It was supposed by the Rebel leaders that the State

was ready to join the Confederacy, that the people were held in

subjection by a military despotism. "My Maryland" was then the popular

song of the South, sung in camp, on the march, and in parlors and

concert-halls.

"The despot's heel is on thy shore,

Maryland!

His torch is at thy temple-door,

Maryland!

Avenge the patriotic gore

That wept o'er gallant Baltimore,

And be the battle-queen of yore,

Maryland! My Maryland!"

When Jackson's corps crossed the Potomac, his troops sang it with

enthusiastic demonstrations, tossing up their caps. They came as

liberators. Jackson's orders were strict against pillage. All property

taken was to be paid for in Confederate notes,--at that time esteemed

by the Rebels to be as good as greenbacks, though not very acceptable

to the Marylanders. It was an invasion for conciliation. The troops

respected the orders, and, aside from the loss of a few horses, the

people of Maryland were well treated in that campaign. But in the

second invasion, when Lee passed into Pennsylvania, no favor was shown

to Maryland. Houses, stores, public and private buildings alike were

sacked and burned. The soldiers foraged at will, and the one who could

secure the most clothing or food was the best fellow. In this third

and last invasion, officers and soldiers pillaged indiscriminately.

[Illustration: Ruins of Chambersburg.]

"Pay me twenty thousand dollars or I will burn your town," said Early

to the citizens of Hagerstown, who advanced the money or its

equivalent.

General Lew Wallace was in command at Baltimore. He sent what troops

he could collect to the Monocacy, where he was joined by Ricketts's

division of the Sixth Corps. Wallace formed his line across the

railroad and awaited Early's advance. With the exception of Ricketts's

division, Wallace's troops were men enlisted for one hundred days,

also heavy artillerests taken from the Baltimore fortifications,

invalids from the hospitals, and volunteers, numbering about nine

thousand. The Rebels forded the stream and began the attack. They were

held in check several hours. Wallace, after losing about twelve

hundred men, was obliged to retreat.

His defeat, and the stories of the magnitude of the Rebel force, put

Baltimore and Washington in great excitement. The battle at Monocacy

was fought on Saturday. On Sunday morning the church-bells in

Baltimore were rung, and the citizens, instead of attending worship,

made haste to prepare for the enemy. Alarming reports reached that

city from Westminster, Reisterstown, and Cockeysville, that the Rebels

were in possession of those places. Couriers dashed into Washington

from Rockville, only twelve miles distant, crying that the Rebels were

advancing upon the capital. On Monday morning they were near

Havre-de-Grace, at Gunpowder River, where they burned the bridge, cut

the telegraph, captured trains, and robbed passengers, entirely

severing Baltimore and Washington from the loyal North. Only five

miles from Washington, they burned the house of Governor Bradford, and

pillaged Montgomery Blair's. Government employees were under arms, and

troops were hastening out on the roads leading north and west, when I

arrived in Washington. Loud cheers greeted Wright's two divisions of

the Sixth Corps, and still louder shouts the veterans of the

Nineteenth Corps, from the Mississippi, as they marched through the

city. It was amusing and instructive to watch the rapid change in

men's countenances. When disaster threatens, men are silent; the

danger past, the tongue is loosened.

On Tuesday the Rebel sharpshooters were in front of Fort Stevens;

they picked off some of the gunners, but a charge by a brigade

dislodged them. They fled, leaving about one hundred dead and wounded.

Forces were gathering around Early, and on Wednesday morning he

hastily retreated. He recrossed the Potomac at Edwards's Ferry, and

made his way, through Snicker's Gap, into the Shenandoah Valley, with

an immense train of plunder, consisting of forage, grain, horses,

cattle, hogs, sheep, groceries, clothing, and a forced contribution of

two hundred thousand dollars from the people of Frederick, levied

under threat of burning the town.

Early had no serious intention of attacking Washington, but the

invasion was designed primarily to raise the siege of Petersburg, and

secondarily to replenish the commissariat of the Rebel army.

Grant comprehended the movement, and instead of abandoning Petersburg,

made preparations to seize the Weldon road, which, after a severe

struggle, was accomplished. A few weeks later Sheridan defeated Early

in the Valley, which ended the campaign of 1864 in Virginia.

[Illustration: A lay delegate in the hospital.]

[Illustration: A charge.]

CHAPTER XXIII.

SHERMAN'S ARMY.

[Sidenote: Dec., 1864.]

The army under General Sherman fought its way from Chattanooga to

Atlanta, and then marched to the sea, capturing Fort McAllister, and

opening communication with the fleet under Dupont on the 13th of

December, and a few days later made its grand _entree_ into Savannah.

A brief review of Sherman's campaign is necessary to a clear

understanding of what afterward transpired in his department.

While the Army of the Potomac was pushing through to the south side of

the James, the Army of the West was moving upon Atlanta, having driven

the Rebels under Johnston from Tunnel Hill, Buzzards' Roost, Resaca,

Kingston, Allatoona, and Kenesaw. Johnston fought only on the

defensive, and was constantly beaten, abandoning stronghold after

stronghold that the Rebels had declared impregnable, and whose

surrender they felt was humiliating and disgraceful.