THE BATTLE OF ANTIETAM.
“WE have been detained a long time,” said Somers, when they reached the
ravine through which it was necessary to pass on their return; for it
was not likely that the rebel pickets would permit even the ubiquitous
Major Riggleston to go over to the Yankees.
“Too long, too long,” replied the regular, rather nervously for him. “I
am afraid we are too late to be of much service.”
“The general grinds up his information rapidly. If we see him before be
commences the action, we shall be all right.”
Slowly and carefully they worked their way through the ravine, for they
felt that they were treasure-houses of information, which must not be
needlessly exposed to destruction; and a little hurrying not only
imperilled their own lives, but endangered the good cause to which both
of the scouts were devoted. With all the haste which the circumstances
would permit, it was broad daylight when they emerged from the ravine
within the Union lines.
They hurried to headquarters. Though no drums beat or bugles sounded,
the note of preparation had passed silently along the lines. The orders
of the general had been fully and carefully executed, and brigades and
divisions were in column, ready for the advance. “Fighting Joe” and his
staff were already in the saddle; and half a mile off, on a little
eminence, Somers discovered the general on his white steed. Alick had
groomed his horse and saddled him, though with many fears that his
master would never return to use him again.
As Somers approached, the faithful fellow saw him, and led up the horse.
He was overjoyed to see him once more, and made a beautiful exhibition
of ivory on this interesting occasion. The young staff officer, nearly
exhausted after the perils and labors of the night, filled his haversack
with “hard tack,” and leaped into the saddle. There was not a moment to
be lost, and he dashed away towards the spot where the general was
busily employed in making his preparations for the attack.
The excitement of the moment enabled him to triumph over the bodily
fatigue which had weighed him down, and he urged on the noble animal he
rode to his utmost speed. The horse seemed to participate in the
interest and excitement of the occasion, and galloped as though he was
conscious of the importance of his master’s mission. As he approached
the spot where the general and his staff stood, Somers reined in his
steed, and nearly threw him back upon his haunches, when he raised his
sword to give his commander the usual salute. It was a proud, a
triumphant moment for him; and the gallant steed behaved as though it
was his duty to make the utmost display as he introduced his rider to
the general.
“Captain Somers!” exclaimed the general. “I gave you up this morning
when I learned that you had not been heard from.”
“I have the honor to report that I have fully performed the duty
entrusted to me,” replied Somers, employing rather more formality than
usual in his address.
The scout gave his information, the most important parts of which were
the fact that Stonewall Jackson’s troops were concentrated on a
fortified line, and that General Lee had massed his entire force behind
the crests of the hill, in readiness for the great battle, which was
apparently to decide the fate of the nation.
Then commenced that greatest and most momentous battle of the series of
engagements in Maryland, which checked the invasion, and drove the
rebels from the north to the south side of the Potomac. It was a fearful
strife, a most determined battle, fought with a bravery, on both sides,
bordering upon desperation. The event was to involve a mighty issue—no
less than the fate of a great nation; for the moral effect of a victory
by the rebels on the soil of the North would be disastrous, if not
fatal, to the loyal cause, while it would open to the half starved and
impoverished Confederacy the vast storehouses of wealth of the free
North.
Those who fought on that day, from the skilful generals, who directed
the operations, to the humblest private, who cheerfully and zealously
obeyed the orders of his superiors in the midst of the terrible carnage
of the battle-field, understood and appreciated the issues of that day.
The sons of the republic will gratefully remember them all, and none
with a more lively sense of obligation than “Fighting Joe,” whose skill
and judgment, no less than his heroic bravery, brought victory out of
the stubborn fight entrusted to him, upon which, more than upon the
operations of any other portion of the line, the fate of the day rested.
He was face to face with Stonewall Jackson, the most vigorous and
determined leader of the Confederacy, the pet of the rebels, and the
hope of the commanding general of the invading hordes. He was pitted
against this man, who was the executive of Lee’s brain, without whom
Lee’s strategy lost its power.
The battle on the right was fought and won, but not till mighty
sacrifices had been made of precious life. It was one of the most
obstinate conflicts of the war; and for hours the issue swung back and
forth, and it was doubtful upon which side it would rest. The first
corps went forward and were driven back in places; divisions were
reduced to brigades, and brigades to regiments, before the terrible fire
of the rebels; and nothing but the indomitable will and the admirable
skill of the general saved the day. Every weak point in the line was
strengthened, every advantage was used, and every disadvantage
counterbalanced, till a splendid triumph was achieved.
Stonewall Jackson was ably and prudently supported by General Lee;
troops from other portions of the line were sent to this imperilled
position, in a vain attempt to save the failing fortunes of the day.
Fresh troops were from time to time hurled against the hard-pressed
brigades of the first corps, which were forced back, but only to be
again strengthened and urged on by the masterly genius of “Fighting
Joe,” until all that had been lost was retrieved. Later in the day, when
the attack was made by the left and centre, the rebel line had been
weakened by the large drafts required to meet the waste on the right,
and of course the resistance was correspondingly diminished. With less
stubborn and skilful fighting than that done on the right, the assaults
of Burnside on the left, and of French and Richardson in the centre,
could hardly have been successful.
The noble and gallant Burnside won immortal honors on that terrific day.
He fought against every disadvantage, which he bravely and skilfully
overcame. The result of the battle was less decisive than had been hoped
and expected from the splendid fighting and the brilliant partial
results achieved. The rebel army was severely handled; its resources and
its _prestige_ tremendously reduced; and the object of the campaign was
actually accomplished; but whether the results of the several successful
operations on the field were prudently agglomerated, whether the
greatest practicable use was made of the victory, we must leave the
historian to decide.
While Captain Somers was making his report, Captain Barkwood arrived,
and was congratulated upon his safety and success. As an engineer he
gave his opinion, and was able to supply information which Somers had
not the scientific skill to deduce from what he had seen. The order was
given to advance. The eye of the general was everywhere, even while his
mind was occupied with the details furnished by the scouts. He sent
members of his staff in every direction. He held the vast and
complicated mechanism of his corps at his fingers’ ends. He knew where
every brigade and every battery of his force was at that moment, and
where it was to be an hour hence. He moved them all about, as a skilful
weaver tosses the many shuttles, each with a different colored thread,
through the fabric before him. He was weaving history on a gigantic
scale.
Somers sat upon his restless horse, eating the “hard tack” he had
brought, but ready to dash away upon any mission on which he might be
sent, when an aid from the general commanding rode up and delivered an
order to the commander of the corps. Somers did not particularly notice
him at first, but as the staff officer turned, his teeth suddenly
suspended their useful and interesting occupation, leaving his mouth
half open, where it remained in the condition to express the wonder and
astonishment which the presence of the officer excited.
“Major Riggleston!” exclaimed he, almost choking himself with the
unmasticated block of “hard tack” in his mouth.
“Captain Somers, good morning,” replied the major, with a pleasant and
friendly smile.
“Is it possible?” stammered Somers.
“What possible?” demanded Riggleston.
“That you are here,” replied the bewildered Somers, gazing at the major
attentively, and surveying him from head to foot.
It was the same new and bright uniform which the major had worn when
they met on previous occasions on the road; it was not the same which he
had worn in the rebel lines, or at the Hasbrouk mansion; but the face
was the same, the whiskers and mustache were the same in cut and color;
and Somers, in spite of the doubt which at first assailed him, was even
now ready to make oath that he was the same man he had shot in the head
the preceding evening.
“Why shouldn’t I be here, my dear fellow?” laughed the major. “We are
going to have hot work about here to-day.”
“How is your head, major?” demanded Somers, who could think of nothing
at this moment but the amazing fact that he again stood in the presence
of Major Riggleston.
“Cool and clear, I hope,” replied the major.
“How is your wound?”
“What wound?”
“Didn’t you receive a wound in the head last evening?”
“Upon my word I did not, that I am aware of.”
“Will you excuse me, Major Riggleston, if I ask you to remove your hat
for a moment?” said Somers, as he moved his horse up to the side of the
major’s.
“Certainly; with pleasure,” replied the staff officer, as he took off
his hat.
There was no bandage, nor any appearance of a wound. Somers was more
bewildered than ever, and was disposed to do what heroes in the romances
do when anything looks astonishingly mysterious—ascribe the delusion to
a dream. But he was tired enough from the exertions of the night to
convince him that all which had occurred within the rebel lines was a
reality.
“Will you allow me to examine your head?” asked he, utterly unable to
see through the dark problem.
“I will do even that with pleasure, Captain Somers; though I think you
are a little beside yourself,” laughed the major.
Somers reached forward, and put his hand on the part of the major’s head
where the pistol ball had struck him; but there was not the slightest
abrasion of the skin; in a word, the head was in good order and
condition, and it was absolutely certain that no bullet had passed
through his skull.
“I am satisfied, Major Riggleston,” replied Somers, though he was still
in a bewildered state of mind. “I owe you an apology for the rude
treatment to which I subjected you on a former occasion. You are not the
man I took you to be; and I hope you will pardon my rough speech and
unfriendly manners.”
“Cheerfully, Captain Somers. Here is my hand,” replied the major,
evidently as much pleased to forgive as the scout was to be forgiven.
“I am satisfied now.”
“But I am not,” responded the major.
“Last night, about eleven o’clock, I shot you through the head,” said
Somers, facetiously.
“Me!”
“Yes, you!”
“Well, perhaps you did; but I did not feel it.”
“I was willing, a moment ago, to give my affidavit that you were the
person. I was mistaken this time, as I was yesterday when I accused you
of being a traitor. By the way, Major Riggleston,” added Somers, as he
took from his pocket the two passes he had received from the mysterious
personage in the ravine, and selecting the Union one, handed it to his
companion, “is this document yours?”
“It is,” replied the major, glancing at the pass. “Where did you get
this?”
“Is this yours?” continued Somers, handing him the other pass.
“No; this is a rebel pass,” answered the major. “I never saw it before,
and have no occasion for a paper of this description. Where did you get
the other?”
“You gave it to me last night,” laughed Somers.
“I’m sure I did not.”
“Captain Somers,” called the general; and the interview was abruptly
terminated.
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