IN WHICH THE THREE SOLDIERS MAKE
A REMARKABLE RESOLUTION
Lieutenant Coleman, although stunned by the news conveyed by the seven
words of the message, as soon as he could reopen communication with the
other mountain, telegraphed back to Lieutenant Swann, in command of the
tenth station:
"Is there no mistake in flagging General Sherman's death?"
It was late in the afternoon when the return message came, which read
as follows:
"None. I have taken the same precaution to telegraph back to the
station at Chattanooga.
"LIEUTENANT JAMES SWANN, U.S.A."
After this, and the terrible strain of waiting, Lieutenant Coleman and
Corporal Bromley walked away in different directions on the
mountain-top; and poor Philip, left alone, sat down on the ground and
burst into tears over the death of his favorite general. He saw
nothing but gloom and disaster in the future. What would the old army
do without its brilliant leader?
[Illustration: "POOR PHILIP, LEFT ALONE, BURST INTO TEARS."]
And, sure enough, on the following morning came the news that the
heretofore victorious army was falling back across the Chattahoochee;
and another despatch confirmed the death of General Sherman, who had
been riding along his lines with a single orderly when he was shot
through the heart by a sharp-shooter of the enemy.
Every morning after that the three soldiers went up to the station at
the appointed hour, expecting only bad news, and, without fail, only
bad news came. They learned that the baffled army in and about
Marietta was being reorganized by General Thomas; but the ray of hope
was quenched in their hearts a few days later, when the news came that
General Grant had met with overwhelming disaster before Richmond, and,
like McClellan before him, was fighting his way back to his base of
supplies at City Point.
One day--it was August 6--there came a message from the chief
signal-office at Chattanooga directing them to remain at their posts,
at all hazards, until further orders; and, close upon this, a report
that General Grant's army was rapidly concentrating on Washington by
way of the Potomac River.
They had no doubt that the swift columns of Lee were already in motion
overland toward the National capital, and they were not likely to be
many days behind the Federal army in concentrating at that point.
Rumors of foreign intervention followed quick on the heels of this
disheartening news, and on August 10 came a despatch which, being
interpreted, read: "Yesterday, after a forced march of incredible
rapidity, Longstreet's corps crossed the Upper Potomac near the Chain
Bridge, and captured two forts to the north of Rock Creek Church. At
daylight on August 9, after tearing up a section of the Baltimore and
Ohio's tracks, a column of cavalry under Fitzhugh Lee captured a
train-load of the government archives, bound for Philadelphia."
Thus on the very day when General Sherman was bombarding the city of
Atlanta, and when everything was going well with the National cause
elsewhere, these misguided young men were brought to the verge of
despair by some mysterious agency which was cunningly falsifying the
daily despatches. Nothing more melancholy can be conceived than the
entries made at this time by Lieutenant Coleman in the station diary.
Returning to the entry of July 26, which was the day following that on
which they had received information of the death of General Sherman,
the unhappy officer writes:
"My men are intensely patriotic, and the despatch came to each of us
like a personal blow. Its effect on my two men was an interesting
study of character. Corporal Bromley is a Harvard man, having
executive ability as well as education far above his humble rank, who
entered the service of his country at the first call to arms without a
thought for his personal advantage. He is a man of high courage, and
if he has a fault, it is a too outspoken intolerance of the failures of
his superiors. Private Welton is of a naturally refined and sensitive
nature, and at first he seemed wholly cowed and broken in spirit.
Bromley, on the other hand, as he strode away from the station, showed
a countenance livid with rage.
"After supper, for we take our meals apart, I invited the men to my
tent, and we sat out in the moonlight to discuss the probable
situation. We talked of the overwhelming news until late in the
evening, and then sat for a time in silence in the shadow of the
chestnut-trees, looking out at the dazzling whiteness of the
mountain-top before retiring, each to his individual sorrow."
In the entry for August 6, after commenting somewhat bitterly on the
report of the defeat of the Army of the Potomac, Lieutenant Coleman
says, with reference to the despatch from the chief signal-officer of
the same date:
"The situation at this station is such, owing to our ignorance of the
sentiment of the mountaineers and the hazard of visiting them in
uniform, that I find a grave difficulty confronting me, which must be
provided for at once. Our guide to this point has returned to
Tennessee with the cavalry escort, and I have now reason deeply to
regret that he was not required to put us in communication with some
trustworthy Union men. The issue of commissary stores is reduced from
this date to half-rations, and we shall begin at once to eke out our
daily portion by such edibles as we can find on the mountain.
Huckleberries are abundant in the field above the bridge, and the men
are already counting on the wild mandrakes.
"August 8. Nothing cheering to brighten the gloom of continued defeat
and disaster. The necessity of procuring everything edible within our
reach keeps my men busy and affords them something to think of besides
the disasters to the National armies. Welton discovered to-day four
fresh-laid eggs, snugly hidden in a nest of leaves, under a clump of
chestnut sprouts, interwoven with dry grasses, three of which he
brought in."
These entries referring to trivial things are interesting as showing
the temper of the men, and how they employed their time at this
critical period.
On August 18 came a despatch that the Army of Northern Virginia was
entering Washington without material opposition. Lieutenant Coleman,
in a portion of his diary for this date, says:
"After a prolonged state of anger, during which he has commented
bitterly on the conduct of affairs at Washington, Corporal Bromley has
settled into a morose and irritable mood, in which no additional
disaster disturbs him in the slightest degree. With his fine
perceptions and well-trained mind, the natural result of a liberal
education, I have found him heretofore a most interesting companion in
hours off duty. My situation is made doubly intolerable by his present
condition."
At 9:30 A.M. of August 20, 1864, came the last despatches that were
received by the three soldiers on Whiteside Mountain.
"Hold on for immediate relief. Peace declared. Confederate States are
to retain Washington."
The effect of this last message upon the young men who received it is
fully set forth in the diary of the following day, and no later account
could afford so vivid a picture of the remarkable events recorded by
Lieutenant Coleman:
"August 21, 1864. The messages of yesterday were flagged with the
usual precision, and we have no reason to doubt their accuracy.
Indeed, what has happened was expected by us so confidently that the
despatches as translated by me were received in silence by my men and
without any evidence of excitement or surprise. I myself felt a sense
of relief that the inevitable and disgraceful end had come.
* * * * *
"Last evening was a memorable occasion to the three men on this
mountain. We are no longer separated by any difference in rank, having
mutually agreed to waive all such conditions. In presence of such
agreement, I, Frederick Henry Coleman, Second Lieutenant in the 12th
Regiment of Cavalry of the military forces of the United States
(formerly so called), have this day, August 21, 1864, written my
resignation and sealed and addressed it to the Adjutant-General,
wherever he may be. I am fully aware that, until the document is
forwarded to its destination, only some power outside myself can
terminate my official connection with the army, and that my personal
act operates only to divest me of rank in the estimation of my
companions in exile.
"After our supper last night we walked across the field in front of our
quarters and around to the point where the northern end of the plateau
joins the rocky face of the mountain. The sun had already set behind
the opposite ridge, and the gathering shadows among the rocks and under
the trees added a further color of melancholy to our gloomy and
foreboding thoughts.
"I am forced to admit that I have not been the dominant spirit in the
resolution at which we have arrived. George Bromley had several times
asserted that he would never return to a disgraced and divided country.
At the time I had regarded his words as only the irresponsible
expression of excitement and passion.
"As we stood together on the hill last night, Bromley reverted to this
subject, speaking with unusual calmness and deliberation. 'For my
part,' said he, pausing to give force to his decision, 'I never desire
to set foot in the United States again. I suppose I am as well
equipped for the life of a hermit as any other man; and I am sure that
my temper is not favorable to meeting my countrymen, who are my
countrymen no longer, and facing the humiliation and disgrace of this
defeat. I have no near relatives and no personal attachments to
compensate for what I regard as the sacrifice of a return and a tacit
acceptance of the new order of things. I came into the army fresh from
a college course which marked the close of my youth; and shall I return
in disgrace, without a profession or ambition, to begin a new career in
the shadow of this overwhelming disaster? I bind no one to my
resolution,' he continued in clear, cold tones; 'all I ask is that you
leave me the old flag, and I will set up a country of my own on this
mountain-top, whose natural defenses will enable me to keep away all
disturbers of my isolation.'
"I was deeply impressed with his words, and the more so because of the
absence of all passion in his manner. I had respected him for his
attainments; I now felt that I loved the man for his unselfish,
consuming love of country. Strange to say, I, too, was without ties of
kindred. My best friends in the old army had fallen in battle for the
cause that was lost. On the night when we sat together exulting over
the double victory of the capture of Kenesaw Mountain and the sinking
of the 'Alabama,' I had expressed a determination to renounce my chosen
profession in a certain event. That event had taken place. Under the
magnetic influence of Bromley, what had only been a threat before
became a bitter impulse and then a fierce resolve.
"Taking his hand and looking steadily into his calm eyes, I said: 'I am
an officer of the United States army, but I will promise you this:
until I am ordered to do so, I will never leave this place.'
"Philip Welton had been a silent listener to this strange conversation.
His more sentimental nature was melted to tears, and in a few words he
signified his resolution to join his fate with ours.
"We walked back across the mountain-top in the white light of the full
moon, silently as we had come. After the resolve we had made, I began
already to experience a sense of relief from the shame I felt at the
failure of our numerous armies. The old government had fallen from its
proud position among the nations of the earth. The flag we loved had
been trampled under foot and despoiled of its stars--of how many we
knew not. Our path lay through the plantation of young corn, whose
broad, glistening leaves brushed our faces and filled the air with the
sweet fragrance of the juicy stalks. The planting seemed to have been
an inspiration which alone would make it possible for us to survive the
first winter."