MESSAGES OF DIRE DISASTERS
"What a pity," cried Philip, "that the boys on the next mountain should
be left in ignorance of these victories when we could so easily send
them the news without using the cipher--and this the Fourth of July,
too!"
That form of communication, however, was strictly forbidden by the
severe rules of the service, and it was the fate of Number 19 to remain
in the dark, like all the other stations on the line, except the first
and tenth and their own, which alone were in charge of commissioned
officers who held the secret of the cipher.
The news of the destruction of the "Alabama," which had been the terror
of the National merchant-vessels for two years, was of the highest
importance, and would cause great rejoicing throughout the North.
Although the battle with the "Kearsarge" had taken place on June 19, it
must be borne in mind that this period was before the permanent laying
of the Atlantic cable, and European news was seven and eight days in
crossing the ocean by the foreign steamers, and might be three days
late before it started for this side, in case of an event which had
happened three days before the sailing of the steamer. After several
unsuccessful attempts, a cable had been laid between Europe and America
in 1858, three years before the beginning of the great war, and had
broken a few weeks after some words of congratulation had passed
between Queen Victoria and President Buchanan. Some people even
believed that the messages had been invented by the cable company, and
that telegraphic communication had never been established at all along
the bed of the ocean. At all events, news came by steamer in
war-times, and so it happened that these soldiers, who had been three
days in the wilderness, heard with great joy on July 4 of the sinking
of the "Alabama," which happened on the coast of France on June 19.
The garrison flag was raised on a pole over the "A" tent, and the day
was given up to enjoyment, which ended in supping on a roast fowl, with
such garnishings as their limited larder would furnish. On this
occasion Lieutenant Coleman waived his rank so far as to preside at the
head of the table,--which was a cracker-box,--and after the feast they
walked together to the station and sat on the rocks in the moonlight to
discuss the military situation.
If General Grant had met with some rebuffs in his recent operations
against Petersburg in Virginia, he was steadily closing his iron grasp
on that city and Richmond; and not one of these intensely patriotic
young men for a moment doubted the final outcome. Philip and
Lieutenant Coleman had been much depressed by the recent disaster, and
the news of the morning greatly raised their spirits. If Bromley was
less excitable than his companions, the impressions he received were
more enduring; but, on the other hand, he would be slower to recover
from a great disappointment.
"The reins are in a firm hand at last," said Lieutenant Coleman,
referring to the control then recently assumed by General Grant, "and
now everything is bound to go forward. With Grant and Sheridan at
Richmond, Farragut thundering on the coast, the 'Alabama' at the bottom
of the sea, and Uncle Billy forcing his lines nearer and nearer to
Atlanta, we are making brave progress. I believe, boys, the end is in
sight."
"Amen!" said Corporal Bromley.
"Hurrah!" cried Philip.
"You boys," continued Lieutenant Coleman, "have enlisted for three
years, while I have been educated to the profession of arms; but if
this rebellion is not soon put down I shall be ashamed of my profession
and leave it for some more respectable calling."
So they continued to talk until late into the night, cheered by the
good news they had heard, and very hopeful of the future.
The following day was foggy, and Philip went down the ladder to bring
up the potatoes, which he had quite forgotten in the excitement of the
day before. Bromley, too, paid a visit to the tree where he had thrown
in the cartridges; but the opening where he had cast in the sack was so
far from the ground that it would be necessary to use the ax to recover
it, and as he could find no drier or safer storehouse for the extra
ammunition, he was content to leave it there for the present.
Lieutenant Coleman busied himself in writing up the station journal in
a blank-book provided for that purpose.
When Philip found his potatoes, which had been scattered on the ground
where he had been thrown down in the darkness by the mysterious little
animal, he was at first disposed to leave them, for they were so old
and shrunken and small that he began to think the troopers had been
playing a joke on him. But when he looked again, and saw the small
sprouts peeping out of the eyes, a new idea came to him, and he
gathered them carefully up in the sack. He bethought himself of the
rich earth in the warm hollow of the plateau, where the sun lay all
day, and where vegetation was only smothered by the coating of dead
leaves; and he saw the delightful possibility of having new potatoes,
of his own raising, before they were relieved from duty on the
mountain. What better amusement could they find in the long summer
days, after the morning messages were exchanged on the station, than to
cultivate a small garden? If he had had the seeds of flowers, he might
have thrown away the wilted potatoes; but next to the cultivation of
flowers came the fruits of the earth, and if his plantation never
yielded anything, it would be a pleasure to watch the vines grow.
Lieutenant Coleman readily gave his consent; and, after raking off the
carpet of leaves with a forked stick, the soft, rich soil lay exposed
to the sun, so deep and mellow that a piece of green wood, flattened at
the end like a wedge, was sufficient to stir the earth and make it
ready for planting. Philip cut the potatoes into small pieces, as he
had seen the farmers do, and with the help of the others, who became
quite interested in the work, the last piece was buried in the ground
before sundown.
On the following morning the flags announced that, in a cavalry raid
around Petersburg, General Wilson had destroyed sixty miles of
railroad, and that forty days would be required to repair the damage
done to the Danville and Richmond road. During the next three days
there was no news worth recording, and the fever of gardening having
taken possession of Philip, he planted some of the corn they had
brought up for the chickens, and a row each of the peas and beans from
their army rations.
The 10th of July was Sunday, the first since they had been left alone
on the mountain; and Lieutenant Coleman required his subordinates to
clean up about the camp, and at nine o'clock he put on his sword and
inspected quarters like any company commander. After this ceremony,
Philip read a psalm or two from his prayer-book, and Corporal Bromley
turned over the pages of the Blue Book, which was the Revised Army
Regulations of 1863. These two works constituted their limited library.
There was a dearth of news in the week that followed, and what little
came was depressing to these enthusiastic young men, to whom the
temporary inactivity of the army which they had just left was
insupportable.
On Monday morning, however, came the cheering news that General
Sherman's army was again in motion, and had completed the crossing of
the Chattahoochee River the evening before.
On the 19th they learned that General Sherman had established his lines
within five miles of Atlanta, and that the Confederate general Johnston
had been relieved by General Hood.
The messages by flag were received every day, when the weather was
favorable, between the hours of nine and ten in the morning; and now
that the campaign had reopened with such promise of continued activity,
the days, and even the nights, dragged, so feverish was the desire of
the soldiers to hear more. They wandered about the mountain-top and
discussed the military situation; but, if anything more than another
tended to soothe their nerves, it was the sight of their garden, in
which the corn and potatoes were so far advanced that each day seemed
to add visibly to their growth.
On the morning of the 21st they learned that Hood had assaulted that
flank of the intrenched line which was commanded by General Hooker, and
that in so doing the enemy had been three times gallantly repulsed.
The new Confederate general was less prudent than the old one, and they
chuckled to think of the miles of log breastworks they knew so well, at
which he was hurling his troops. General Sherman was their military
idol, and they knew how well satisfied he would be with this change in
the tactics of the enemy.
By this time it had become their habit to remain near the station while
Lieutenant Coleman figured out the messages, each of which he read
aloud as soon as he comprehended its meaning.
On Saturday morning, July 23, while Corporal Bromley leaned stolidly on
his flagstaff, and Philip walked about impatiently, Lieutenant Coleman
jumped up and read from the paper he held in his hand:
"Hood attacked again yesterday. Repulsed with a loss of seven thousand
killed and wounded."
With no thought of the horrible meaning of these formidable figures to
the widows and orphans of the men who had fallen in this gallant
charge, Philip and Bromley cheered and cheered again, while the
lieutenant sat down to decipher the next message. When he had mastered
it the paper fell from his hands. He was speechless for the moment.
"What is it?" said Philip, turning pale with the certainty of bad news.
"General McPherson is killed," said Lieutenant Coleman.
Now, so strangely are the passions of men wrought up in the time of war
that these three hot-headed young partizans were quick to shed tears
over the death of one man, though the destruction of a great host of
their enemies had filled their hearts only with a fierce delight.
During the Sunday which followed there was a feeling of gloomy
foreboding on the mountain, and under it a fierce desire to hear what
should come next.
On Monday morning, July 25, the sun rose in a cloudless sky, bathing
the trees and all the distant peaks with cheerful light, while at the
altitude of the station his almost vertical rays were comfortable to
feel in the cool breeze which blew across the plateau. Lieutenant
Coleman glanced frequently at the face of his watch, and the instant
the hands stood at nine Philip began waving the flag. There was no
response from the other mountain for so long a time that Corporal
Bromley came to his relief, and the red flag with a white center
continued to beat the air with a rushing and fluttering sound which was
painful in the silence and suspense of waiting.
When at last the little flag appeared on the object-glass of the
telescope, it spelled but seven words and then disappeared. Philip
uttered an exclamation of surprise at the brevity of the message, while
Bromley wiped the perspiration from his forehead and waited where he
stood.
In another minute Lieutenant Coleman had translated the seven words,
but even in that brief time Corporal Bromley, whose eyes were fixed on
his face, detected the deathly pallor which spread over his features.
The young officer looked with a hopeless stare at his corporal, and
without uttering a word extended his hand with the scrap of paper on
which he had written the seven words of the message.
Bromley took it, while Philip ran eagerly forward and looked
tremblingly over his comrade's shoulder.
The seven words of the message read:
"_General Sherman was killed yesterday before Atlanta._"