FIELD SERVICE IN VIRGINIA
It was toward the last of February, 1863, that the first order to move
came. I had been down to the city and, returning about ten o'clock in
the evening, not dreaming of any change from the usual order of things,
was surprised to find all bustle and confusion, where a few hours before
it had been quiet and serene. The regiment was to march at two o'clock
in the morning, and preparations for departure were well under way.
Three days' cooked rations and forty rounds of ammunition to the man
were to be taken, the sick men and unserviceable horses to remain in
camp, and the tents to remain standing as they were until our return. By
this it appeared that it was to be a raid or reconnoissance, not a
permanent change of station. Everyone was busy getting ready for the
march. Rations were issued, cooked and put in the haversacks; ammunition
was distributed and placed in the cartridge boxes; a small bag of oats
was strapped to each saddle; horses were fed and the men took a midnight
lunch. As for myself, I had the foresight to have a tin cup tied to the
cantle of my saddle and, in addition to the cooked meat and hard bread,
put into the saddle-bags some sugar, and a sack of coffee that my good
mother had sent from home and which was received only a few days before.
It was about as large as a medium-sized shot bag, and the coffee was
browned and ground ready for use. I also took a supply of matches. These
things were of inestimable value during the next few days.
Promptly at the appointed hour, two o'clock a.m., "boots and saddles"
and "to horse" were sounded; twelve troops led their horses into line;
twelve first sergeants called the roll, to which every man not excused
from duty responded; and twelve troop commanders gave the order to
mount; when the regiment, responsive to the bugle call, "forward," broke
into column of fours, moved out into Fourteenth street and headed for
Long Bridge. The night was dark and dismal. The rain began to fall. It
was cold and raw, the air surcharged with moisture, chilling one to the
marrow. But as the troopers wore gum coats or "poncho" blankets and top
boots, they were measurably sheltered from the storm at the same time
that they were exposed to it.
Down through the silent, slumbering city the multitudinous tread of the
iron-shod horses awoke strange echoes, while the splashing rain-drops
and lowering clouds did not serve to raise the spirits. It was an
inauspicious beginning of active service, and typical of the many long
and weary weeks of wet discomfort that the Sixth of Michigan was
destined to experience before the summer solstice had fairly passed. The
points of interest,--the public buildings, the white house, the massive
Greek architecture of the Treasury building, the monument, all these as
they glided like phantoms, through the mist, attracted scarcely a casual
glance. Indeed, it is probable that few in that long column took note
that these had passed at all, so deeply were they absorbed in the
reflections that the time and circumstances produced.
Thus on to the Long Bridge that spans the great water highway between
the Nation's Capital and the "Old Dominion." The tread of a thousand
cavalry horses did not serve to shake its mile of solid superstructure.
It seemed a long journey from one end to the other. Above, the scurrying
clouds, below, the angry river, all around, the drizzling storm, it was
a sorry scene; and a sullen welcome to the soil of Virginia, that was
then as often before and afterwards, a slippery, sticky mud.
Halting at daylight, the column was reinforced a few miles out, by the
Fifth Michigan cavalry. Resuming the march, the two regiments passed
through Alexandria, looking with interest, of course, at the spot where
the chivalric Ellsworth was shot the year before. What a dilapidated
town, its whole face marred and scarred by the ravages of war!
It took till dusk to reach Centerville, and the rain never stopped long
enough to catch its breath, but kept at it, all day long. Such a first
night out as that was! The men slept, or rather stood in the rain all
night for sleep was out of the question. No wood could be procured, so
no fires were built and there was no hot coffee. It was a unique
experience for cavalrymen and they had not yet learned how to forage. I
wandered around in the rain and finally stumbled upon the quarters of
some infantry officers who were stationed near and had a tent and a
fire. They kindly permitted me to stay with them till morning. But for
this, it seemed to me that I should have perished, though the sequel
proved that it was possible to get through a worse night without food or
shelter.
In the morning at six o'clock, three more regiments, the Fifth New York,
the First Virginia, and the Eighteenth Pennsylvania, joined, and the
force, thus augmented to about two thousand men, pushed on towards
Warrenton, Sir Percy Wyndham in command. This officer was an Englishman,
an alleged lord. But lord or son of a lord, his capacity as a cavalry
officer was not great. He had been entrusted with one or two independent
commands and was regarded as a dashing officer. He had no sooner assumed
command of our force than he started off at a rapid pace through that
part of Virginia that was between Washington and Falmouth--that is, in
rear of Hooker's army, and where there was no enemy, unless it might
have been small bands of guerrillas. During the day he charged through
the town of Warrenton and a few confederate scouts coolly watched the
column from the neighboring hills. They were well mounted and evidently
did not fear capture. Indeed, no attempt was made to capture them, but
away rode Wyndham, as if riding for a wager, or to beat the record of
John Gilpin. He seemed bent on killing as many horses as possible, not
to mention the men. The fact was the newspapers were in the habit of
reporting that Colonel or General so-and-so had made a forced march of
so many miles in so many hours, and it is probable that "Sir Percy" was
in search of some more of that kind of cheap renown. It was a safe
pastime, harmless to the enemy and not dangerous to himself, though
hurtful to horse-flesh.
That night we camped beyond Warrenton and had the first taste of picket
duty. My troop was sent out about a mile beyond the camp and kept on
picket until morning. A line of videttes was posted along the front, and
so keenly did the officers feel the responsibility, that they made no
attempt to sleep but were in the saddle constantly. It would have been a
smart confederate who could have surprised the Michiganders that night.
Every faculty was on the alert. Often we fancied that an enemy was
approaching the line; a foe lurked behind every tree and bush; each
sound had an ominous meaning and the videttes were visited at frequent
intervals to see if they had discovered anything. In that way the night
passed. In the morning everybody was exhausted and, to make matters
worse, many of the men ran short of provisions. Some of them had
neglected to bring the amount ordered; others had been improvident and
wasted their rations. So to the discomforts of cold and wet, were added
the pangs of hunger. The little bag of coffee had proven a precious
boon. Whenever the column would halt for a few minutes, and it was
possible to find anything that would burn, a handful of the coffee was
put into a tin cup of water and boiled. It was surprising how quickly
this could be done, and the beverage thus brewed was "nectar fit for the
gods." When the flavor of that coffee, as it tasted on that trip more
than forty years ago, is recalled, it is with a smack of the lips. The
bare remembrance is more grateful to the palate than is the actual
enjoyment of the most delicate product of the culinary art today.
There were times early in the war when spirits were issued to the
soldiers as an army ration. Though personally I never took a drop of
liquor when on duty during the entire of my army service, yet I am
confident that there were times when a reasonable amount of stimulant
was a good thing. Indeed, there were times when a man was a fool if he
did not take it, assuming that he could get it. Coffee was, however, a
very good substitute, and to the credit of the government be it said the
coffee issued to the Union troops was almost invariably of excellent
quality. They always had it and plenty of it. Such a solace as it was!
There was nothing like it. On the march, when there was a temporary
halt, a thousand fires would quickly blaze alongside the weary column,
and a thousand tin cups would soon be steaming with the fragrant and
delicious beverage. Veterans could build a fire and make a cup of
coffee almost as quickly, and under as discouraging environments, as the
traditional Irishman can light his pipe. It seemed to be done by magic,
and there was no time and no place where the cup of coffee was not
welcome and appreciated.
There is a song, much affected by members of the Grand Army of the
Republic. It is styled "The Army Bean." I could never quite make out
whether it was not intended as a burlesque. There may be enough of
sentiment attached to the army bean to entitle it to the honor of being
immortalized in song, but to me it was an abomination, less poetic in
name and association than the proverbial "sow-belly" bacon, so dear to
the heart of the soldier.
Why does not some poet, filled with the divine afflatus, sing the praise
of the army tin cup and its precious contents--the fragrant coffee of
the camp, and march, and bivouac? Ambrosial nectar fit for the gods. The
everyday and grateful beverage of heroes. Here is a theme for some
modern Horace, as inspiring as the fruity and fragrant wine of which his
ancient namesake so eloquently sang. I doubt if the red wine of the
Horatian odes was more exhilarating to the Roman legionary than the
aroma from his tin cup to the soldier of the Union.
Oh, brimming, steaming, fragrant cup! Never-failing friend of the
volunteer! His solace in fatigue, and his strength in battle. To thee, I
sing.
To resume the story at the point at which this digression left it: On
the day following the night tour of picket duty, after having ridden
from one o'clock in the morning till after eight o'clock in the evening,
and the march not yet ended, I became so famished that a piece of raw
fat pork was devoured with more relish than ever before I had eaten an
orange. Our valiant commander, finding that morning that rations and
forage were both exhausted, started for Falmouth, the nearest point at
which supplies could be obtained. Late that Saturday night we bivouaced
with the camp fires of Hooker's army all around. But no forethought had
been taken; no rations were drawn or issued; no wood was supplied; and
after three days' ride through the rain, many not having had a morsel of
food for twenty-four hours, the entire command was forced to lie on the
ground, in pools of water, in the midst of a drenching rain without
food, or fire, or shelter of any kind whatever. It was dreadful, and the
experiences of that night are recalled even now with a shudder. It was
like lying down in the middle of a river. There was no place big enough
to spread a blanket, where there was not a puddle of water, and, all the
time, the rain fell pitilessly, in torrents. The solace of hot coffee
was denied, for there was no fuel. Food was gone. The minutes were
hours. While hunger gnawed at the vitals, a clammy chilliness seized
upon one, making him feel as if every vital organ was in a state of
congestion. How daylight was longed for, and soon after the first
streaks of dawn began to appear, I deserted my watery couch and made
straight across the country toward some infantry camps, and actually
hugged every fragment of an ember that could be found. After a while I
found some soldiers cooking coffee. One of them was taking a cup off the
fire for his breakfast. I asked him for a drink which he surlily
refused.
"How much will you take for all there is in the cup?" said I.
He did not want to sell it, but when I took out a half dollar and
offered it to him, he took it and gave up the coffee, looking on with
astonishment, while I swallowed it almost boiling hot and without taking
breath. This revived me, and soon after, I found a place where a meal
consisting of ham, eggs, bread and coffee, was served for a big price
and took about a dollar's worth for breakfast.
By eight o'clock, rations and forage were drawn and issued and men and
horses were supplied with the much needed food. All of Sunday was spent
in Falmouth and the "fresh" cavalrymen took a good many observations as
to how real soldiers conducted and took care of themselves.
Monday morning Sir Percy started by the nearest route, via Acquia Creek,
Stafford Court House and Fairfax, for Washington, arriving there at
eight o'clock Tuesday evening, having been absent just six days,
accomplishing nothing. It was a big raid on government horses, ruining
a large number. Beside that, it made many men ill. It was a good thing
though, after all. The men had learned what campaigning meant and,
thereafter, knew how to provide themselves for a march, and how
important to husband their rations so as to prevent waste at first and
make them last as long as possible.
Some idea of the damage done to horses by such raids as that of Sir
Percy Wyndham, may be gained from the morning reports of officers on the
day after the return to camp in Washington. I find that out of eighty
horses in my troop only twenty were fit for duty, part of which had been
left in camp and did not accompany the expedition. However, they quickly
recuperated, and on the eleventh of March following, we were off into
Virginia once more, this time bringing up at Fairfax Court House, where
we remained a week, encamping by the side of the First Michigan, Fifth
New York, and several other veteran regiments, from whom by observation
and personal contact, much information was gained that proved of great
value during the following months.
In the meantime, the camps in Washington were broken up and all the
regiments were sent across the Potomac. A division of cavalry was
organized, consisting of two brigades. Wyndham was sent to Hooker and
Julius Stahel, a brigadier general who had been serving in Blenker's
division, of Sigel's corps, in the army of the Potomac, was assigned to
command of all the cavalry in the Department of Washington, with
headquarters at Fairfax Court House.
Stahel was a Hungarian, and it was said had been on the staff of Kossuth
in the Hungarian army. He was a "dapper little Dutchman," as everybody
called him. His appearance was that of a natty staff officer, and did
not fill one's ideal of a major general, or even a brigadier general by
brevet. He affected the foreign style of seat on horseback, and it was
"as good as a show" to see him dash along the flank of the column at a
rattling pace, rising in his stirrups as he rode. I have always believed
that had he remained with the Third Cavalry division long enough to get
into a real charge, like the one at Gettysburg, he would have been glad
enough to put aside all those "frills" and use his thighs to retain his
seat in the saddle while he handled his arms. He took great pride in his
messing arrangements and gave elegant "spreads" to invited guests at his
headquarters. I was privileged to be present at one of these dinners and
must say that he entertained in princely style. His staff were all
foreigners, and would have been "dudes," only there were no "dudes" in
those days. Dudes were types of the genus homo evolved at a later
period. They were dandies and no mistake, but in that respect had no
advantage over him, for he could vie in style with the best of them. One
member of his staff was a Hungarian who answered to the name of
Figglemezzy, and only the other day I read a notice of his death
recently in New York. Stahel is still living--one of the very few
surviving major generals of the civil war.[7]
It is a pity we did not have a chance to see Stahel in a fight, for I
have an idea he was brave, and it takes away in an instant any feeling
of prejudice you may have against a man on account of his being fussy in
dress, when you see him face death or danger without flinching. Fine
clothes seem to fit such a man, but upon one who cannot stand fire they
become a proper subject for ridicule. Custer with flashing eye and
flowing hair, charging at the head of his men, was a grand and
picturesque figure, the more so by reason of his fantastic uniform,
which made him a conspicuous mark for the enemy's bullets, but a coward
in Custer's uniform would have become the laughing stock of the army. So
Stahel might, perhaps, have won his way to confidence, had he remained
with the cavalry division which afterwards achieved fame under
Kilpatrick and Custer but, at the first moment when there was serious
work ahead for his command, he was relieved, and another wore the spurs
and received the laurels that might have been his.
Leaving Washington at daylight, we went into camp about five miles out,
expecting to remain there for a time, but had just time to prepare
breakfast when an order came to report to Lieutenant Colonel Alger who,
with the four largest troops in the regiment, was going off on an
independent expedition. That evening we reached Vienna, a little town on
the Loudoun railroad, where we found a small force, including two troops
of the First Vermont cavalry, already on duty. This was our first
acquaintance with the Green Mountain boys, and the friendship thus begun
was destined to last as long as there was an enemy in arms against the
Union. The First Vermont was sometimes referred to as the "Eighth
Michigan," so close were the ties which bound it to the Michigan
brigade. And they always seemed to be rather proud of the designation.
Assuming command of all the forces there, Colonel Alger informed us that
General Stahel had information that the place was to be attacked that
night and that we were there to defend it. Selecting a strong position
on a hill, a camp was started, but no fires were allowed after dark.
Vigilance was not relaxed, but no enemy appeared, and on the following
day we went on a scout through all the region roundabout without
encountering a single armed confederate. The air was full of rumors.
Nobody could tell their origin. Fitzhugh Lee was a few miles away,
coming with a big force. "Stonewall" Jackson had started on another
raid, and any moment might see his gray "foot-cavalry" swarming into the
vicinity. Such stories were poured into our ears at Vienna, but a couple
of days' duty there demonstrated their falsity and we were hurried back
to Fairfax Court House and sent off on a day and night march through the
Loudoun Valley to Aldie, Middleburg and Ashby's Gap in the Blue Ridge
mountains. Two entire regiments, the Fifth Michigan under Colonel Alger
and the Sixth under Colonel Gray, went on this expedition, reaching
Aldie at midnight, in a blinding snow-storm. Remaining out in it all
night without shelter or fire, the next day we made a gallant "charge"
through Middleburg, finding no enemy there but a few of Mosby's men who
fled at our approach. During the day some of them were captured and one
man of troop "C," Sixth was killed. It was evident that Lee's army, no
portion of it, had begun a movement northward, and the two regiments
returned to Fairfax, making a night march while the snow continued to
fall and mud and slush made the going as bad as it could be. At two
o'clock in the morning the column halted and an attempt was made to
build camp-fires, but the logs and rails were so wet that they would not
burn, and all hands stood around in the snow, stamping their feet and
swinging their arms, in a futile effort to keep warm. The march was
resumed at daylight. We were more comfortable when in the saddle, on the
march, than during that early morning bivouac. It was possible to sleep,
when snugly settled in the capacious McClellan saddles, but when
dismounted, sleep was out of the question. There was no place to lie
down and to stand in the snow only aggravated the discomfort. But when
mounted, the men would pull the capes of their overcoats over their
heads, drop their chins upon their breasts and sleep. The horses
plodded along and doubtless were asleep too, doing their work as a
somnambulist might, walking while they slept.
Soon thereafter, Colonel Alger with five troops (troop "B," commanded by
Captain Peter A. Weber, having been added to the four that were with him
at Vienna) was sent to a place called "Camp Meeting Hill," where a camp
was established that proved to be a permanent one. At least, we remained
there until Hooker's army moved northward. This was a delightful place.
The tents were pitched in a grove of large timber on a piece of ground
that was high and dry, sloping off in every direction. It was by the
side of the pike running south from Vienna, two miles from that place,
close to the Leesburg pike and the Loudoun railroad. A semi-circular
line of pickets was established in front of Washington, the right and
left resting on the Potomac, above and below the city respectively. Our
detachment guarded the extreme right of the line. Colonel Gray was five
miles to the left, with the remainder of the Sixth, and the Fifth still
farther away in that direction. About two miles in front of our camp ran
the "Difficult" Creek, a small, deep stream with difficult banks, that
rises somewhere in the Bull Run country, and empties into the Potomac
near the Great Falls above Washington. A line of videttes was posted
along this creek. An enemy could not easily surprise them, as the stream
was in their front. Well out toward this line from the main camp, two
reserves were established, commanded by captains, and still farther out
smaller reserves, under charge of the lieutenants and sergeants. Each
troop had a tour of this duty, twenty-four hours on and forty-eight off.
The "off" days were given to reading, writing and exploring the country
on horseback.
It was a charming region, not much desolated by the war, being rather
out of the beaten track of the armies. Parties of officers often used to
take a run across country to Gray's camp, clearing fences and ditches as
they went. In these expeditions, Colonel Alger was always the leader
with Captain Weber a close second. On one of these gallopades, he and
Weber, who were riding in advance, cleared a stream full of water and
about eight or nine feet wide, but when I tried to follow, my horse
jumped into instead of across the ditch, the water coming up to the
saddle-girths. The two lucky horsemen on the other side halted and had a
good laugh at my expense while steed and I were scrambling out the best
way we could. My horse was a noble fellow and jumped with all his might
when called upon, but lacked judgment, and would leap twice as high as
was necessary, while falling short of making his distance. He rarely
failed at a fence, but ditches were a source of dread to horse and man.
The Difficult Creek duty was a sort of romantic episode in our military
experience--a delightful green oasis in the dry desert of hard work,
exposure, danger and privation. Many pleasant acquaintances were made
and time passed merrily. Just across the pike was a spacious farm
house, occupied by a family who were staunch unionists, and who had been
made to pay well for their loyalty when the confederates were in the
neighborhood. It was said that Lord Fairfax, the friend of Washington,
had at one time lived there. The place had about it an air of generous
hospitality that would have become Colonial days. The officers were
always welcomed, and it was a favorite resort for them when off duty,
partly because the people were unionists, and partly for the reason that
there were several very agreeable young ladies there. One of these, who
lived in Connecticut, was the fiancee of a captain in the First Vermont
cavalry, whose command was stationed there. Another was at home and it
may be surmised that these ladies received the assiduous attentions of
half a score, more or less, of the young fellows, who proved themselves
thorough cavaliers in gallantry as well as in arms. There was no day
when the two ladies might not be seen under the escort of half a dozen
cavalrymen, exploring the country on horseback. On all these excursions
Weber, handsome as he was brave, was a leading spirit, and succeeded in
captivating the ladies with the charm of his manners, his good looks,
his splendid horsemanship and his pleasing address. It was enough to
make one forget the mission that brought him into the South to see him
with two or more ladies by his side galloping gaily over the magnificent
roads for which that part of Virginia was remarkable. Then there were
picnics, lunches, dancing parties and other diversions to fill in the
time. Once one of these parties ventured across the Difficult Creek and
rode "between the lines," going as far as Drainesville--eight miles
distant--in Mosby's own territory. When the lieutenant colonel
commanding learned of this, he reprimanded the officers concerned for
what he was pleased to term an act of "foolhardiness."
While stationed at this place one of the young officers was taken ill
with fever, and our friends across the way had him brought to the house,
where everything that good nursing and kind attention could suggest was
done for him. He was reported very ill and the surgeon said that he was
threatened with typhoid fever. A day or two after his removal to the
house, I called upon him expecting to find him very low. What was my
surprise, on being ushered into a spacious, well-furnished apartment, to
find him propped up on a bed, with a wealth of snowy pillows and an
unmistakable look of convalescence, while two good-looking ladies sat,
one on either side of his couch, each holding one of his hands in hers,
while he was submitting to the "treatment" with an air of undisguised
resignation. It may be noted that this was before the days of "Christian
Science." I felt no anxiety about him after that, and returning
immediately to camp, wrote to his father stating that if he should hear
any rumors that his son was not doing well, to place no reliance upon
them, for he was doing very well indeed. This young officer had the good
fortune to survive the war, and is still living.
During the sojourn at Difficult Creek Governor Blair visited the camp.
He rode over in the morning on horseback and made an odd-looking
appearance in his citizen's suit and well-worn silk hat. He remained all
day, made a speech to the soldiers and after supper took an ambulance
and was escorted by Colonel Alger and myself back to Washington,
fourteen miles away. It was a very enjoyable and memorable ride. The war
governor was full of anecdote and a good talker and his companions
listened with the liveliest interest to what he had to say about
Michigan, her people and her soldiers. He was very solicitous about the
welfare of the troops, and impressed one as an able, patriotic man, who
was doing all he possibly could to hold up the hands of the government
and to provide for the Michigan men in the field. We left him at the
National hotel and early the next morning returned to our posts of duty.
About this time, rumors were rife of a projected movement of Lee's army
northward. Washington and Alexandria alternated in spasms of fear.
Twice, what seemed like well-authenticated reports came from the former
place that Stuart had passed through our lines. Chain Bridge was torn up
and all the negroes in Alexandria were out digging rifle-pits. Our force
was captured repeatedly (without our knowledge) and awful dangers
threatened us, according to Washington authority. These, and many other
equally false reports filled the air. They were probably the result of
logical inferences from the actual situation. The time had arrived when
active hostilities must soon begin, and what more natural than to
suppose that Lee would inaugurate the fray by another invasion of the
North? Among the letters that I wrote to my parents about that time one
or two were preserved, and under date of June 1, 1863, I wrote to my
mother a note, the following extract from which will serve to show that
there was in our minds a sort of prophetic intuition of what was going
to happen. Referring to the false rumors that were not only coming to
our ears from these various sources, but even appearing in the Northern
papers, I said:
"That Lee will attempt to raid into the North, after the manner of
'Stonewall' Jackson, is possible, perhaps probable, but when he comes
we shall hear of it before he wakes up President Lincoln to demand
that the keys to the White House be turned over to 'Jeff' Davis.
Besides having an efficient and perfect line of pickets, scouts are
out daily in our front, so that the idea of the rebel army reaching
Washington without our knowledge is preposterous. Lee may make a
rapid march through the Shenandoah Valley, and thence into
Pennsylvania and Maryland, but nothing would please the Union army
more than to have him make the attempt."
Three weeks after the date of that letter, Hooker's army was in motion
to head off Lee, who had started to do the very thing thus hinted at,
and there was not a soldier in the federal army of Virginia who did not
feel, if he gave the matter any thought, that the confederate chief had
made a fatal mistake, and rejoice at the opportunity to meet him, since
meet him we must, outside his intrenchments and the jungles of
Virginia. That Stahel's men were willing to do their part was proven by
their conduct in the campaign that followed.
Early in June a thing happened that brought a feeling of gloom into the
little camp. Colonel Norvell of the Fifth having resigned, the officers
of that regiment united in a petition to the governor to appoint an
outsider to the vacancy. Governor Blair selected Lieutenant Colonel
Alger. Indeed, that was probably part of his business on the occasion of
his recent visit. Colonel Alger was ordered to report immediately for
duty with his new command, and left, taking with him the hearty
congratulations and good wishes of all his comrades of the Sixth. But
their regret at losing him was profound. They did not know how to spare
him. It gave him more rank and a larger field of usefulness. Major
Thaddeus Foote assumed command of the detachment.
This reference to the Fifth reminds me of Noah H. Ferry and a night ride
in his company, about the time of Colonel Alger's promotion. I had been
over to Colonel Gray's camp with some message to him from Colonel Alger,
and meeting Major Ferry, who was field officer of the day, he said he
was to start that night and inspect the entire picket line of the
brigade, about fourteen or fifteen miles long and invited me to
accompany him. He would reach the Difficult outpost in the morning,
making an all night ride. I gladly accepted the invitation, both for the
ride and to see the country. Major Ferry then in his prime, was a
strong, vigorous, wholesome-looking man, with a ruddy complexion and
bright eye, a man of excellent habits and correct principles. He told me
that night what sacrifices he had made to go into the army. His business
had cleared that year, $70,000, and with the right sort of management
ought to go on prosperously. His leaving it had thrown the entire
burden, his work as well as their own, upon the shoulders of his
brothers. He had everything to make life desirable,--wealth, social
position, youth, health,--there was nothing to be desired, yet he felt
it to be his duty to give it all up to enter the service of his country.
He talked very freely of his affairs, and seemed to be weighing in the
balances his duty to himself and family. His patriotic feelings gained
the mastery, however, every time, and he talked earnestly of the
matter,--protesting that our duty to the government in its sore strait
ought to outweigh all other considerations. It was clear that a struggle
had been going on in his mind, and that he had resolutely determined to
go on and meet his fate, whatever it might be, and when he was killed a
few weeks afterwards at Gettysburg, I recalled the conversation of that
night and wondered if he had not a presentiment of his coming fate, for
he seemed so grave and preoccupied, and profoundly impressed with a
sense of the great sacrifice he was making. A soldier neither by
profession nor from choice, he wore the uniform of the Union because he
could not conscientiously shirk the duty he felt that he owed the
government, and relinquished fortune, home, ambition, life itself, for
the cause of the Union.
Some time about the middle of June, the picket line was taken up. Major
Foote's detachment was ordered to report to Colonel Gray, and Stahel's
division was concentrated at Fairfax Court House. The rumors of the
movements of armies had become realities. Lee was in motion. The army of
Northern Virginia was trying to steal a march on its great adversary.
Long columns of gray were stealthily passing through the Shenandoah
Valley to invade the North, and to be on hand to help the farmers of
Pennsylvania and Maryland reap their golden harvests.
But the alert federal commander, gallant "Fighting 'Joe' Hooker," was
not caught napping. Lee did not escape from Fredericksburg unobserved.
The army of the Potomac cavalry was sent to guard the passes in the
mountains and see to it that Jackson's and Longstreet's maneuvers of the
previous summer were not repeated, while six corps of infantry marched
leisurely toward the fords of the Potomac, ready to cross into Maryland
as soon as it should appear that Lee was actually bent on invasion of
Northern soil. Hooker's opportunity had come and he saw it. For Lee to
venture into Pennsylvania, was to court destruction. All felt that, and
it was with elastic step and buoyant spirits, that the veterans of
Williamsburg and Fair Oaks, of Antietam and Chancellorsville, kept step
to the music of the Union, as they moved toward the land where the flag
was still honored, and where they would be among friends. All the troops
in the Department of Washington were set in motion by Hooker as soon as
he arrived where they were. His plan was to concentrate everything in
front of Lee, believing that the best way to protect Washington was to
destroy the confederate army. Stahel was ordered to report to General
Reynolds, who commanded the left grand division of Hooker's army, and
who was to have the post of honor, the advance, and to lose his life
while leading the vanguard of the federal army in the very beginning of
the battle of Gettysburg. Thus it happened that we were at last, part
and parcel of that historic army whose fame will last as long as the
history of heroic deeds and patriotic endeavor.
Hooker's policy did not coincide with the views of the slow and cautious
Halleck, and so the former resigned, thus cutting short a career of
extraordinary brilliancy just on the eve of his greatest success. It was
a fatal mistake for Hooker. I have always believed that, had he remained
in command, the battle of Gettysburg would have been the Appomattox of
the Civil War. Such an opportunity as was there presented, he had never
had before. Even in the wilderness around Chancellorsville, where his
well laid plans miscarried through no fault of his own, he was stopped
only by a series of accidents from crushing his formidable adversary.
The dense woods prevented the cooperation of the various corps; the
audacity of Jackson turned defeat for Lee into temporary victory; and to
crown this chapter of accidents, Hooker himself was injured so as to be
incapacitated for command, at the very moment when quick action was
indispensable.
Now the conditions were changed. Jackson, the ablest of all the
confederate generals, was dead, and the army of the Potomac, greatly
reinforced, was to meet the army of Northern Virginia, materially
weakened, where they could have an open field and a fair fight. Every
step that Hooker had taken, from the time when he broke camp in Falmouth
until he, in a fit of disgust at Halleck's obstinacy, tendered his
resignation at Frederick, Maryland, had shown a comprehensive grasp of
the situation that inspired the whole army with confidence. The moment
that Lee decided to fight the army of the Potomac on grounds of its own
choosing, and to fight an offensive battle, he was foredoomed to defeat,
no matter who commanded the federal army. Hooker possessed the very
qualifications that Meade lacked--the same fierce energy that
characterized Sheridan--the ability to follow up and take advantage of a
beaten enemy. With Hooker in command, Gettysburg would have been Lee's
Waterloo.
Sunday, June 21, heavy cannonading in the direction of the passes in the
Blue Ridge mountains, proclaimed that the battle was raging.
Pleasanton's cavalry had encountered Stuart and Fitzhugh Lee at
Middleburg and a fierce engagement resulted. Our division left Fairfax
at an early hour, and all supposed that it would go towards the sound of
battle. Not so, however. Stahel, with as fine a body of horse as was
ever brought together, marched to Warrenton, thence to Fredericksburg,
scouting over the entire intermediate country, encountering no enemy,
and all the time the boom of cannon was heard, showing plainly where the
enemy was. We were out three days on this scout, going to Kelly's Ford,
Gainesville, Bealton Station, and traversing the ground where Pope's
battle of the Second Bull Run was fought, returning by the most direct
route to the right of Warrenton. The march was so rapid that the trains
were left behind and a good portion of the time we were without forage
or food. The horses were fed but once on the trip. Rains had fallen,
laying the dust, the weather was charming and it was very enjoyable. One
road over which we passed was lined with old cherry trees of the "Black
Tartarian" and "Morello" varieties, and they were bowing beneath their
loads of ripe and luscious fruit with which the men supplied themselves
by breaking off the limbs. We passed over much historic ground and were
greatly interested in the points where the armies had contended at
different times.
[Illustration: ROUTE OF THE MICHIGAN CAVALRY BRIGADE IN THE GETTYSBURG
CAMPAIGN]