"Here stand, my lords; and send discoverers forth,
To know the number of our enemies."
--SHAKESPEARE.
In General Morell's tent were two officers, afterward known to me as
Generals Morell and Butterfield. It was not yet quite dark.
The officer who had conducted me, presented me to General Morell. In the
conversation which followed, General Butterfield seemed greatly
interested, but took no part at all.
General Morell spoke kindly to me. "I have sent for you," he said,
"because I am told that you are faithful, and that you are prudent as
well as accurate. We need information, and I hope you will get it
for us."
"I am willing to do my best, General," said I, "provided that my absence
is explained to General Grover's satisfaction."
"It is General Grover himself who recommends you," said he; "he is
willing to let us profit by your services while his brigade is likely to
remain inactive. I will show you his note."
Captain Auchmuty handed me an open note; I read from General Grover the
expression used by General Morell.
"This is perfectly satisfactory, General," I said; "I will do my best
for you."
"No man can do more. Now, come here. Look at this map, which you will
take with you if you wish."
The general moved his seat up to a camp-bed, on which he spread the map.
I was standing; he made me take a seat near him.
"First, I will show you generally what I want you to do; how you are to
do it, you must decide for yourself. Here," said he, putting the point
of his pencil on the map, "here is where we are now. Up here is Hanover
Junction, with Hanover Court-House several miles this side--about this
spot. You are to get to both places and find out if the enemy is at
either, or both, and in what force. If he is not at either place, you
are to move along the railroad in the direction of Richmond, until you
find the enemy."
"Are there not two railroads at Hanover Junction, General?"
"Yes, the Virginia Central and the Richmond and Fredericksburg; they
cross at the Junction."
"Which railroad shall I follow?"
"Ah, I see you are careful. It will be well for you to learn something
of the situation on both of them; but take the Central if you are
compelled to choose--the one nearest to us."
"Well, sir."
"If no enemy is found within eight or ten miles of the Junction, you
need not trouble yourself further; but if he is found in say less than
eight miles of the Junction, you are to diligently get all the knowledge
you can of his position, his force in all arms, and, if possible, his
purposes."
"I suppose that by the enemy you mean some considerable body, not a mere
scouting party."
"Yes, of course. Hunt for big game. Don't bother with raiders or
foragers."
"The Junction seems to be on the other side of the Pamunkey River," said
I.
"Yes; it is between the North Anna and the South Anna, which form the
Pamunkey a few miles below the Junction."
"Then, supposing that I find the rebels in force at Hanover Court-House,
would there be any need for me to go on to the Junction?"
"None at all," said the general; "you would only be losing time; in
case you find the enemy in force anywhere, you must return and inform us
just as soon as you can ascertain his strength. But if you find no enemy
at Hanover Court-House, or near it, or even if you find a small force,
such as a party of cavalry, you should try to get to the Junction."
"Very well, General; how long do you expect me to be gone?"
"I can give you four days at the outside."
"Counting to-night?"
"No; beginning to-morrow. I shall expect you by the morning of the 27th,
and shall hope to see you earlier."
"I shall not wish to be delayed," said I.
"You shall have horses; relays if you wish," said he.
"In returning shall I report to any officer I first chance to meet?" I
asked.
"No; not unless you know the enemy to be particularly active; in that
case, use your judgment; of course you would not let any force of ours
run the risk of being surprised, but, all things equal, better reserve
your report for me."
"And shall I find you here, sir?"
"If I am not here, you may report to General Butterfield; if this
command moves, I will leave orders for you."
"At about what point will my danger begin, General?"
"You will be in danger from scouting parties of the rebel cavalry from
the moment when you reach this point," putting his pencil on a spot
marked Old Church, "and you will be delayed in getting around them
perhaps. You have a full day to Hanover Court-House, and another day to
the Junction, if you find that you must go there; that gives you two
days more; but if you find the enemy at the Court-House, you may get
back in three days."
"Why should I go by Old Church?"
"Well, it seems longer, but it will prove shorter in the end; the
country between Old Church and Mechanicsville is neutral ground, and you
would be delayed in going through it."
[Illustration: Map]
"Am I to report the conditions between Old Church and Hanover
Court-House?"
"Take no time for that, but impress the character of the roads and the
profile of the country on your mind--I mean in regard to military
obstacles; of course if you find rebels in there, a force, I mean--look
into them."
"Well, sir, I am ready."
"You may have everything you want; as many men as you want, mounted or
afoot; can you start to-morrow morning, Berwick?"
"Yes, General; by daylight I want to be at Old Church. Please have a
good man to report to me two hours before day."
"Mounted?"
"Yes, sir; and with a led saddle horse and three days' rations and
corn--or oats would be better. Let him come armed."
"Very well, Berwick. Is that all?"
"Yes, sir; I think that will do. I suppose the man will know the road to
Old Church."
"If not, I will send a guide along. Now, Berwick, good night, and good
luck. You have my thanks, and you shall have more if your success will
justify it."
"Good night, General. I will do my best."
* * * * *
Dr. Khayme argued that I should not make this venture in disguise, and I
had great doubt what to do; however, I at last compromised matters by
deciding to take the Confederate uniform to be used in case I should
need it. A thought occurred to me: "Doctor," said I, "these palmetto
buttons might prove a bad thing. Suppose I should get into a brigade of
Georgians occupying some position where there are no other troops; what
would a Carolinian be doing amongst them?"
"I have provided for that," said the Doctor; "you see that these buttons
are fastened with rings; here are others that are smooth: all you have
to do is to change when you wish--it takes but a few moments. However,
nobody would notice your buttons unless you should be within six feet
of him and in broad daylight."
"Yet I think it would be better to change now," said I; "there are more
Confederates than Carolinians."
The Doctor assented, and we made the change. I put the palmetto buttons
into my haversack.
Before I slept everything had been prepared for the journey. I studied
the map carefully and left it with the Doctor. The gray clothing was
wrapped in a gum-blanket, to be strapped to the saddle. My escort was
expected to provide for everything else. I decided to wear a black soft
hat of the Doctor's, whose head was as big as mine, although he weighed
about half as much as I did. My own shoes were coarse enough, and of no
peculiar make. In my pockets I put nothing except a knife, some
Confederate money, some silver coin, and a ten-dollar note of the bank
of Hamburg, South Carolina--a note which Dr. Khayme possessed and which
he insisted on my taking. There would be nothing on me to show that I
was a Union soldier, except my uniform. I would go unarmed.
Before daylight I was aroused. My man was waiting for me outside the
tent. I intended to slip out without disturbing the Doctor, but he was
already awake. He pressed my hand, but said not a word.
The man and I mounted and took the road, he leading.
"Do you know the way to Old Church?" I asked.
"Yes, sir," said he.
"What is your name?"
"Jones, sir; don't you know me?"
"What? My friend of the black horse?"
"Yes, sir."
"But I believe you are in blue this time."
"Yes; I got no orders."
I was glad to have Jones; he was a self-reliant man, I had already had
occasion to know.
We marched rapidly, Jones always in the lead. The air was fine. The
morning star shone tranquil on our right. Vega glittered overhead, and
Capella in the far northeast, while at our front the handle of the
Dipper cut the horizon. The atmosphere was so pure that I looked for the
Pleiades, to count them; they had not risen.
We passed at first along a road on either side of which troops lay in
bivouac, with here and there the tent of some field officer; then parks
of artillery showed in the fields; then long lines of wagons, with
horses and mules picketed behind. Occasionally we met a horseman, but
nothing was said to him or by him.
Now the encampment was behind us, and we rode along a lane where nothing
was seen except fields and woods.
"Jones," said I; "are you furnished with credentials?"
"Yes, sir," he replied; "if our pickets or patrols stop us, I can
satisfy them."
At daylight we were halted. Jones rode forward alone, then returned and
explained that our post would admit us. We passed a mounted vedette, and
then went on for a few hundred yards until we came to a crossroad.
"We are at Old Church," said Jones.
"And we have nobody here?" I asked.
"Yes, sir; our men are over there, but I suppose we are to take the left
here; we have another picket-post half a mile up the road."
"Then we will stop with them and breakfast," said I. We took to the
left--toward the west. At the picket-post the road forked; a
blacksmith's shop was at the north of the road. The sun had
nearly risen.
The picket consisted of a squad of cavalry under Lieutenant Russell. He
gave me all the information he could. The right-hand road, by the
blacksmith's shop, went across the Totopotomoy Creek near its mouth, he
said, and then went on to the Pamunkey River, and at the place where it
crossed the Pamunkey another road came in, running down the river from
Hanover Court-House. He was sure that the road which came in was the
road from Hanover to the ferry at Hanover Old Town; he believed the
ferry had not yet been destroyed. This agreed with the map. I asked him
where the left-hand road went. He said he thought it was the main road
to Hanover Court-House; that it ran away from the river for a
considerable distance, but united higher up with the river road. This
also agreed with the map. I had scratched on the lining of my hat the
several roads given on the map as the roads from Old Church to Hanover
Court-House, so that, in case my memory should flag, I could have some
resource, but I found that I could remember without uncovering.
The lieutenant could tell me little concerning distances; what he knew
did not disaccord with my small knowledge. I asked him if he knew where
the nearest post of the enemy was now. "They are coming and going," said
he; "one day they will be moving, and then a day will pass without our
hearing of them. If they have a post anywhere, I don't know it."
"And there are none of our men beyond this point?"
"No--nobody at all," said he.
Jones had given the horses a mouthful of oats, and we had swallowed our
breakfast, the lieutenant kindly giving us coffee. For several reasons I
thought it best to take the road to the left: first, it was away from
the river, which the rebels were supposed to be watching closely;
second, the distance seemed not so great; and, third, it was said to
traverse a less populous region.
I had now to determine the order of our advance, and decided that we
should ride forward alternately, at least until we should strike the
crossing of the Totopotomoy Creek; so I halted Jones, rode forward for
fifty yards or so, then stopped and beckoned to him to come on. As he
went by me I told him to continue to advance until he should reach, a
turn in the road; then he should halt and let me pass him. At the first
stop he made I saw with pleasure that he had the good judgment to halt
on the side of the road amongst the bushes. I now rode up to him in
turn, and paused before passing.
"You have kept your eyes on the stretch, in front?" I asked.
"Yes, sir."
"And have seen nothing?"
"No, sir; not a thing."
"You understand why we advance in this manner?"
"Yes; I can watch for you, and you can watch for me, and both can watch
for both."
"Yes, and not only that. We can hardly both be caught at the same time;
one of us might be left to tell the tale."
I went on by. The road here ran through woods, but shortly a field was
seen in front, with a house at the left of the road, and I changed
tactics. When Jones had reached me, we rode together through the field,
went on quickly past the house, and on to another thicket, in the edge
of which we found a school-house; but just before reaching the thicket I
made Jones follow me at the distance of some forty yards. I had made
this change of procedure because I had been able to see that there was
nobody in the stretch of road passing the house, and I thought it better
for two at once to be exposed to possible view from the house for a
minute than one each for a minute.
We had not seen a soul.
We again proceeded according to our first programme, I riding forward
for fifty yards or so, and Jones passing me, and alternately thus until
we saw, just beyond us, a road coming into ours from the southwest. On
the north of our road, and about two hundred and fifty yards from the
spot where we had halted, was a farmhouse, which I supposed was the
Linney house marked on the map. The road at the left, I knew from the
map, went straight to Mechanicsville and thence to Richmond, and I
suspected that it was frequently patrolled by the rebel cavalry. We
remained in hiding at a short distance from the house, and consulted. I
feared to pass openly on the road--two roads, in fact--opposite the
house, for discovery and pursuit at this time would mean the abortion
of the whole enterprise. Every family in this section could reasonably
be supposed to have furnished men to the Confederate army near by and,
if we should be seen by any person whomsoever, there was great
probability that our presence would be at once divulged to the nearest
rebels. The result of our consultation was our turning back. We rode
down toward Old Church until we came to a forest stretching north of the
road, which we now left, and made through the woods a circuit of the
Linney house, and reached the Hanover road again in the low grounds of
Totopotomoy Creek. We had seen no one. The creek bottom was covered with
forest and dense undergrowth. We crossed the creek some distance below
the road, and kept in the woods for a mile without having to venture
into the open.
It was about nine o'clock; we had made something like three miles since
we had left Old Church.
In order to get beyond the next crossroad, it was evident that we must
run some risk of being seen from four directions at once, or else we
must flank the crossing.
By diverging to the right, we found woods to conceal us all the way
until we were in sight of the crossroad. I dismounted, and bidding Jones
remain, crept forward until I could see both ways, up and down, on the
road. There were houses at my left--some two hundred yards off, and but
indistinctly seen through the trees--on both sides of the road, but no
person was visible. Just at my right the road sank between two
elevations. I went to the hollow and found that from this position the
houses could not be seen. I went back to Jones, and together we led our
horses across the road through the hollow. We mounted and rode rapidly
away through the woods, and reached the Hanover road at a point two
miles or more beyond the Linney house.
We now felt that if there was any post of rebels in these parts it would
be found behind Crump's Creek, which was perhaps half a mile at our
left, running north into the Pamunkey. We turned to the left and made
for Crump's Creek. We found an easy crossing, and we soon reached the
Hanover river road, within four miles, I thought, of Hanover
Court-House.
And now our danger was really to become immediate, and our fear
oppressive. We were in sight of the main road running from Hanover
Court-House down the Pamunkey--a road that was no doubt covered by the
enemy's plans, and on which bodies of his cavalry frequently operated.
If the force at Hanover Court-House, or the Junction, were seeking to
get to the rear of McClellan's right wing, this would be the road by
which it would march; this road then, beyond all question, was
constantly watched, and there was strong probability that rebels were
kept posted in good positions upon it. But for the fact that I might
find it necessary to reach the Junction, I should now have gone
forward afoot.
I decided to use still greater circumspection in going farther forward,
and to get near the enemy's post, if there should prove to be one, at
the Court-House, only after nightfall. Thus we had from ten o'clock
until dark--nine hours or more--in which to make our gradual approach.
The country was so diversified with woods and fields that we found it
always possible to keep within shelter. When we lost sight of the road,
Jones or I would climb a tree. By making great detours we went around
every field, consuming much time, it is true, but we had plenty of time.
We avoided every habitation, and chose the thickest of the woods and the
deepest of the hollows, and so conducted our advance that, remarkable as
it may seem, from the time we left our outposts at Old Church until we
came in sight of the enemy near Hanover Court-House, we did not see a
human being, though the distance traversed must have been fully twelve
miles. Of course, I knew that it was very likely that we ourselves had
been seen by more than one frightened inhabitant, but it was my care to
keep at such a distance from every dwelling house that no one there
could tell whether we were friend or enemy.
At noon we took our ease in a hollow in the midst of a thicket. While
we were resting we heard far to our rear a distant sound that resembled
the discharge of artillery. We learned afterward that the sound came
from Mechanicsville, occupied this day by the advance of
McClellan's right.
About two o'clock we again set out. We climbed a hill from which we
could see over a considerable stretch of country. The field in front of
us was large; it would require a long detour to avoid the open space.
Still, we were not pressed for time, and I was determined to be prudent.
The only question was whether we should flank the field at the right or
at the left. From our point of observation, it seemed to me that the
field in front stretched sufficiently far in the north to reach the
Hanover road; if this were true our only course was by the left. To be
as nearly sure as possible, I sent Jones up a tree. I regretted very
much that I had not brought a good field-glass, and wondered why General
Morrell had not thought of it. Jones remained in the tree a long time; I
had forbidden him speaking, lest the sound of his voice should reach the
ear of some unseen enemy. When he came down he said that the road did go
through the field and that there were men in the road.
I now climbed the tree in my turn, and saw very distinctly, not more
than half a mile away, a small body of men in the road. They seemed to
be infantry and to be stationary; but while I was looking they began to
move in the direction of Hanover Court-House. There were bushes on the
sides of the road where they were; soon they passed beyond the bushes,
and I could see that the men were mounted. I watched them until they
were lost to sight where the road entered the woods beyond. I had
counted eleven; I supposed there were ten men under command of
an officer.
It was now clear that we must flank the big field on its left. We acted
with great caution. The fence stretched far beyond the corner of the
field; we let down the fence, led our horses in, then put up the gap,
and rode into the woods on the edge of the field. In some places the
undergrowth was low, and we feared that our heads might be seen above
our horses; in such places we dismounted. We passed at a distance one or
two small houses--not dwellings, we thought, but field barns or cribs.
At length we reached the western side of the field; we had gained
greatly in position, though we were but little nearer to Hanover.
We supposed that we were almost half a mile from the road, and that we
were in no pressing danger. When we had gone north about a quarter of a
mile we dismounted, and while Jones remained with the horses, I crept
through the woods until I could see the road. It was deserted. I crept
nearer and nearer until I was almost on its edge; sheltered by the
bushes I could see a long distance either way. At my left was a house,
some two hundred yards away and on the far side of the road. I watched
the house. The men I had seen in the road might have stopped in the
house; there might be--indeed, there ought to be--an outpost near me,
and this house would naturally be visited very often. But I saw nothing,
and at last crept back into the woods for a short distance, and advanced
again parallel with the road, until I came, as I supposed, opposite the
house; then I crept up to the road again. I could now see the yard in
front of the house, and even through the house from front to back door;
it was a small house of but two rooms. It now began to seem as though
the house was an abandoned one, in which case the rebels would likely
never stop there, unless for water. I saw no well in the yard. There was
no sign of life.
I turned again and sought the woods, and again advanced parallel with
the road, until, in about three hundred yards, I could see a field in my
front. This field ran up to the road, and beyond the road there was
another field, the road running between rail fences. I returned to
Jones, whom I found somewhat alarmed in consequence of my long absence,
and we brought the horses up to the spot to which I had advanced. It
was now about four o'clock, and we had yet three hours of daylight.
Hanover could not be much more than two miles from us.
The field in front was not wide; it sloped down to a heavily wooded
hollow, in which I judged there was a stream. As I was yet quite
unsatisfied in regard to the house almost in our rear, I asked Jones to
creep back and observe the place thoroughly.
He returned; I could see news in his face. "They are passing now," he
said.
No need to ask who "they" meant. We took our horses deeper into the
woods. There Jones told me that he had seen some thirty men, in two
squads, more than a hundred yards apart, ride fast toward Hanover.
"But why could I not see them in the road yonder, as they went through
the field?" I asked.
"Because the road there is washed too deep. Their heads would not show
above the fence," he said.
I tried to fathom the meaning of the rapid movement of these small
bodies of rebels, but could get nothing out of it, except the
supposition that our cavalry had pushed on up the road after we had
passed Old Church. There might be, and doubtless were, several attempts
made this day to ascertain the position of the rebels.
No crossing of that road now and trying the rebel left! We went to the
left of the field. It was about five o'clock. We reached the foot of a
hill and saw a small creek ahead of us. I now felt that I must go
forward alone.
To make sure that I could find Jones again, I stationed him in the creek
swamp near the corner of the field. We agreed upon a signal.
I crept forward through the swamp, converging toward the road. I crossed
the stream, and reached a point from which I could see the road; it ran
up a hill; on the hill I could see a group of men. Here, I was
convinced, was the Confederate picket-line, if there was a line.
A thick-topped tree was growing some thirty yards from the edge of the
road; from its boughs I could see mounted men facing east, nearer to me
than the group above. The sun had nearly set; it shone on sabres and
carbines. I was hoping there was no infantry picket-line. I came down
from the tree, returned rapidly to Jones, and got ready. I told him to
make himself comfortable for the night, and to wait for me no longer
than two o'clock the next day. The package containing the gray clothing
I took with me. I would not put it on until I should see that nothing
else would do.
And now, feeling that it was for the last time, I again went forward. I
had decided to try to penetrate the picket-line if I should find it to
be a very long line; if it proved to be a line that I could turn, I
would go round it, and when on its flank I would act as opportunity
should offer. If the enemy's force were small, I might see it all from
the outside; but if it consisted of brigades and divisions, I would put
on the disguise and throw away my own uniform.
Twilight had deepened; on the hills in front fires were beginning to
show. I reached the foot of the hill on which I had seen the rebel
picket-post, and moved on slowly. I was unarmed, carrying nothing but
the gray clothes wrapped in the gum-blanket.
The hill was spotted with clumps of low bushes, but there were no trees.
At every step I paused and listened. I thought I could hear voices far
away. Halfway up the hill I stopped; the voices were nearer--or
louder, possibly.
I now ceased advancing directly up the hill; instead, I moved off at a
right angle toward the left, trying to keep a line parallel with the
supposed picket-line, and listening hard. A rabbit sprang up from almost
under my feet. I was glad that it did not run up the hill. Voices
continued to come to my ears, but from far away. I supposed that the
line was more than three hundred yards from me, and that vedettes were
between us; but for the vedettes, I should have gone nearer. I knew
that I was in no great danger so long as the pickets would talk. The
voices made me sure that these pickets did not feel themselves in the
presence of an enemy. They evidently knew that they had bodies of
cavalry on all the roads leading to their front. Possibly they were
prepared for attack by any body of men, but they were not prepared
against observation by one man; they were trusting their cavalry for
that. So long, then, as I could hear the voices, I felt comparatively
safe. The pickets could not see me, for I was down the hill from
them--much below their sky line; if one of them should happen to be in
their front for any purpose, he would think of me as I should think of
him; he certainly would not suppose me an enemy; if he should be
alarmed, I could get away.
So I continued moving along in the same direction, until I struck woods,
where the hill ceased in a plateau; here I was on level ground, and I
could see in the distance the light of camp-fires, between which and me
I could not doubt were the pickets, if not indeed the main line also, of
the enemy.
I kept on. The ground changed again, so that I looked down on the fires.
I paused and reflected. This picket-line was long; it certainly covered
more than a regiment or two. Again I wished that I were on the north
side of the road.
The camp-fires now seemed more distant and a little to my right. I was
beginning to flatter myself with the belief that I had reached the point
where the picket-line bent back. I felt encouraged.
I retired some twenty yards, and then went on more boldly, still
pursuing a course parallel, as I thought, with the picket-line fronting
east. Soon I reached another road.
Should I cross this road? It ran straight, so far as I could see, into
the position of the enemy; it was a wide road, no doubt one of the main
roads leading to Hanover Court-House.