"If ever I were traitor,
My name be blotted from the book of life,
And I from heaven banished!"--SHAKESPEARE.
The night of my return was the 29th of May, 1862. I was very tired,
although I had had a good rest the night before, and alternations of
walking and riding in the day. Our supper was soon despatched, and the
Doctor got his pipe.
"Now, Jones, pull off that distinguished disguise and put on your own
dress; there it is in the corner, just as your namesake brought it."
"No, Doctor," said I; "let's save labour by not doing it; I can content
myself till bedtime as I am."
"How long have you had it on?"
"Almost two days."
"Don't you begin to feel like a Confederate?"
"Not just at this moment, Doctor."
"So you have been with North Carolinians and with Georgians again?"
"Yes, and very nearly with South Carolinians."
"You mean the regiment with the blue flag?"
"Yes; I wish I could have learned its number."
"It was the First, very likely," said he.
This seemed a most astonishing statement, although I had many times
before had evidences of peculiar knowledge possessed by Dr. Khayme. I
thought it was the time to ask him, directly, how it was that he
obtained information unobtainable by ordinary mortals.
"Why should you think so, Doctor?"
"Because of more than one circumstance. Before communications with our
Southern friends became so infrequent I kept up with Charleston. I know
that the First South Carolina regiment was on Sullivan's Island early in
1861, some months before the bombardment of Fort Sumter, and I remember
reading in the _Mercury_ that the ladies of Charleston had presented the
First with a very heavy blue silk banner--a State flag with the silver
palmetto and crescent."
"Then it may be the First regiment, Doctor; I saw the palmetto and the
crescent."
"More than that," he continued; "the First South Carolina is one of the
regiments which were lately under Anderson near Fredericksburg, and we
know that Anderson's force has fallen back on Richmond. It must have
passed through Ashland very recently."
"I wonder if there are any men in that regiment whom we used to know,"
said I, musingly.
"Very likely; there are companies in it from Charleston."
"Wouldn't it have been strange if I had gone with them, and somebody had
recognized me?"
"Stranger things than that might happen to you; somebody might have
recognized you--some old schoolmate, for example--and yet might have
sworn that you are a Carolinian. Was it known to everybody at school
that you were from the North?"
"I think it was, at first; but not in my last years there; of course,
some of the boys knew it."
"Besides," said the Doctor, "there is more than one Northern man in the
Confederate army--men who moved South before the war."
"Yes, I suppose so; but I cannot understand them."
"They have acquired homes, and think they must defend their homes; that
is all, at least so far as concerns those of them who reason, and the
others don't count."
"They might at least be neutral," I said.
"How could they think that being neutral would defend their homes?"
"And you think that the Southern people really believe their homes in
danger?"
"No doubt of it--and they are right. Have you not already seen more than
one Southern home destroyed?"
"Yes, here where the war is; but the average home in the South, far away
from the armies."
"There will have been very few homes in the South far away from armies;
to conquer the South you must overrun her territory."
"Doctor, you are gloomy to-night, and I confess that I am also. I wonder
what's the matter with us."
"I don't admit being unusually gloomy," said the Doctor; "true, I have
been seeing pain and wretchedness recently, and so have you. Our trades,
however, ought to have accustomed us to such by this time, if ever."
"I don't think I should ever become accustomed to blood; I don't wish
to," said I.
"You need never fight another battle," said he.
"How can I avoid battle?" I asked.
"Your services as a scout are worth more than forty cents a day; you
ought not to fight at all."
"You think fighting more dangerous than scouting?"
"Fighting and scouting are more dangerous than scouting."
"But what can I do? If I am recalled by General Grover, I shall likely
be required to do both."
"I think not. They want you to remain alive. Unless you join the
Confederates again, as you did in the battle the other day, it is not
very likely that you will serve any more in the ranks; of course, you
can do so if you insist upon it."
"Insist on what? Joining the Confederates?"
"No; insist on fighting in the ranks."
"I should feel it my duty to go into battle with the Eleventh unless I
had other work at the time."
"Do you think it your duty to give your best powers to your cause, or
your poorest?"
"Can I not do both?"
"No--not at all; you should study your important calling, and make an
art of it."
"I dread it; to believe that I must become a regular spy is a terrible
thought to me."
"Why so?"
"Well, Doctor, you know that I am peculiar."
"You allude to your memory?"
"Yes."
"What effect does spying have upon you?"
"It seems to weaken me, body and mind. I was never so exhausted in my
life as when I came back on the 24th."
"You had had a hard time, no doubt."
"But it was not merely a hard time; it was a peculiar time. I believe
that for a short while I lost sight of the fact that I was a
Union soldier."
"That only shows that you acted your part."
"The sudden changes are what I find so hard. To imagine myself a
Confederate, and then in a moment to become a Federal, and in the next
moment by effort become a rebel again, is revolutionary."
"Very likely."
"I'd prefer being in the ranks."
"Do you believe that your peculiar condition is what makes your
sufferings?"
"I know it. The vivid result of my imagination is suddenly contrasted
with as vivid a memory; before I quit being one man I become another,
and I can see two of me at once."
"And that proves painful?"
"It is torture. If I am to imagine myself a Confederate in order to
succeed, why, I prefer the ranks."
"You have struck upon a truth not generally appreciated, Jones; the
relation of the imagination and the memory is almost unity. But for your
recollecting your life in the South, and your consequent real and
practical sympathy with the people of the South, you could not become,
in imagination, a Confederate. Imagination depends largely on memory.
The extraordinary vividness of your memory produces a corresponding
vividness in imagining. You see how valuable are your peculiar powers. I
have no doubt that with a little data concerning some narrow section of
the South, such as knowledge of family names and family history, you
could join the Confederate army and play a most important role, giving
to your generals information of contemplated movements as well as of
movements, in actual progress."
"Doctor Khayme," said I, "never could I consent to such a life."
"I do not advise it," said he, without appearing to regard my emotion;
"I doubt if it would be best for you. It would be more likely to confirm
your intermittent states. What you need is to get rid entirely of any
necessity for the exercise of either memory or imagination for a time.
To cherish either is to cherish both. On the contrary, any great and
long-continued interest, which would dissociate you from your past,
would, in my judgment, prove the end of your peculiar states."
I did not reply. The Doctor remained silent for a long time. When he
spoke again, he rose to retire. "Goodnight, my boy; and hope for the
best. Whatever comes is right, as it fits into the total. Keep up your
spirits. War has many startling opportunities as well as disasters."
* * * * *
In the afternoon of the 31st, sounds of a heavy battle were heard miles
away to the southeast, and soon the rumour ran that the whole of
McClellan's left wing was engaged. Fearing that my company was actually
in battle, I begged Dr. Khayme to send a man to report for me to our
adjutant; General Morell kindly added, at the Doctor's solicitation, a
few words to General Grover.
This battle of Fair Oaks, or Seven Pines as the rebels call it, raged
during all the afternoon of the 31st of May and part of June 1st, and
did at one time threaten to call for the whole strength of McClellan's
left; Grover's brigade, however, was still held in reserve, and did not
become engaged. While the battle was in progress, intense but subdued
excitement was shown by the men in General Morell's command, and by the
other troops on the right. On the part of all, there was constant
expectation of orders to march to the help of the Union forces on the
further side of the Chickahominy, and when news of the final struggle
came, in which our men had more than held their own, disappointment at
not being chosen was as great, perhaps, as joy over success. All seemed
to feel that they had been robbed of an opportunity.
* * * * *
On the evening of June 2d, the Doctor and I were sitting in his tent, he
busily engaged in writing I know not what, when an order came from
General Morell for me to report to him at once.
Being ushered into the general's tent, I found there two officers
unknown to me. The one who most attracted my attention--though I was
careful not to show any curiosity--was a man of nearly forty years, of
medium height and muscular frame. His hair was dark; his mustache very
slightly tinged with gray. His manner indicated an extremely nervous
sense of responsibility, and the attitude of deference, which the others
observed in his regard, was very noticeable. His face reminded me
vaguely of some portrait--I knew not whose.
The other officer was a larger man, of about the same age, and of a more
cheerful temper, if one could judge in a single opportunity. He seemed
to be on a very familiar footing with the officer whom I have first
mentioned.
General Morell did not present me to either of the two officers. In the
middle of the tent was a camp-table, upon which a map was spread, and
around which the three officers were sitting. General Morell allowed me
to stand, cap in hand, while I listened to some words of a conversation
which I supposed had been practically finished before I entered.
"I believe that you clearly understand what is needed," said the smaller
officer.
"Perfectly," said General Morell.
The larger man contented himself with merely nodding.
"Then," said the first speaker, "it only remains to know certainly
whether we have the means in hand."
The larger man now spoke: "The work can be done; if not in one way, then
in another. A reconnaissance would effect with certainty our present
purpose. Why risk possible failure with a single man?"
"We cannot be too prudent," replied the other; "we must not divulge our
intentions. Lee would know at once the meaning of a reconnaissance."
"We might make more than one, and let him guess which is serious."
"No; the way to go about it is not by force. If General Morell has
confidence in his means, let General Morell proceed in his own way."
"I have confidence," said General Morell; "but, of course, any plan
might fail. The only thing in life that is certain is death. I should
say that we have nine chances out of ten."
"Then do it your own way," said the small officer, rising; the others
rose also. "I must tell you good night, gentlemen."
The three now left the tent, while I remained.
I had not been unobservant. No names had been spoken, nor any title
given to the officers, and I suspected that very high titles had been
suppressed. Exactly who these officers were, I could not know, but that
they were in great authority was not to be doubted; I made a wild guess
that one was General Porter and the smaller man some trusted
staff-officer from army headquarters[4].
[4] Doubtless this officer was General McClellan himself. Mr. Berwick
describes very well McClellan's person, which--from the poor cuts in the
newspapers--had made an impression, yet a vague impression. It is not a
matter for wonder that Mr. Berwick had never before been in the presence
of the great general. [ED.]
General Morell returned alone. He motioned me to a seat at the table,
then sat opposite me. For a time he seemed preoccupied. At length he
looked me full in the face, and said gravely, "Berwick, it is absolutely
necessary for us here on this flank to get accurate information of the
enemy's strength, and as soon as possible."
"The whole line of the enemy?" I asked.
"No; the strength of his left--the position and forces of his left
wing."
"A difficult undertaking, General," said I.
"Yes, but not too difficult, I think; and whether difficult or not, it
must be done. Here is our map. It shows us nothing but the country, with
the positions of a few batteries and pickets that can be plainly seen
from our lines. We do not know how well fortified, or how many, are the
troops opposed to us. We have information, but we fear that it is not
reliable; in fact, it is contradictory in some of the most essential
points. We do not know the length of the enemy's line; we suppose it
rests on the James River above Richmond as well as below Richmond. That
makes too long a line to be very strong in all its parts. Their left may
be a mere skirmish-line; their extreme right may be only cavalry. Some
parts of their line must be very thin, and it is suspected that their
left is the thinnest part."
To this I said nothing, and the general continued: "The force under
Anderson from Fredericksburg has reënforced the army now under Lee, and
we are not sure what position it holds. The force under Jackson causes
great apprehension. From several quarters we get rumours of an intention
or supposed intention of Lee to march Jackson against our right. If
there is such a purpose, we ought, by all means, to anticipate the
movement. If we are ever to attack, it ought not to be after Jackson
reënforces Lee."
While the general had been speaking, my mind was more fixed upon myself
than upon what he was saying. The ideas he expressed were readily
understood: their implications in regard to myself were equally clear;
he wanted me to serve again as a getter of information. My stomach rose
against my trade; I had become nauseated--I don't know a better word
--with this spying business. The strain upon me had been too great; the
23d and 24th of May had brought to my mental nature transitions too
sudden and entire to be wholesome; I felt that only a positive command
to enter the rebel lines would justify me in doing myself such violence
again; I had begun to fear for myself; I certainly should not volunteer.
"Now, Berwick," said the general; "I believe that you are the man for
our business. Do you feel free to undertake it for us?"
"Please tell me what you have in mind, General," I said, more with the
view of softening a predetermined refusal than with any intention of
heeding his wishes.
"We want accurate information of the enemy's strength on his left," said
he; "look at this map--here is our position, nearly on our extreme
right; we want you to find out what is opposite our right and what force
extends beyond our front. The enemy's line curves or else has a salient
somewhere beyond this point; his line turns somewhere and extends in
some form to the James River. Find that salient or curve; ascertain its
strength and the strength of their left, or western face."
"And I need not go into their lines to do that?" I asked, somewhat
hopefully, but only a moment hopefully, for I saw how impossible would
be my suggestion.
"I am afraid you will find it necessary to go into the enemy's lines,"
said the general.
It was now on my lips to ask General Morell whether I had choice in the
matter, that is, whether I might decline the honour offered me; but I
was checked by the thought that it would be impossible to explain my
reluctance; and without an explanation of my peculiarity I should suffer
the loss of his respect--something I did not wish to forfeit.
"No," he repeated, "you must get within their lines at night; remain a
day with them, two if necessary, and come out at night. The distance is
not great. A few miles to go and come, and a few miles within
their lines."
Oh, yes! to him it was easy for me to do this. And I have no doubt that
he honestly believed the reputed charm of such adventures fascinated me
as well as others. But if that man on that accursed night of June had
seen what was going on in me, he would have been far from choosing Jones
Berwick as the man to send upon an enterprise that demanded a fixed
purpose and an undisturbed mind; rather would he have ordered Dr. Khayme
to see to it that I had perfect repose and gentle care lest worst should
follow worse.
But how could I tell him? If I should desire to tell him, how could I
presume upon his good-nature?--the good-nature of a general of a
division, whose office was high and whose time was invaluable, and who,
as I knew well, tolerated my presence for a few moments only, in order
that he might accomplish a purpose.