90. XC.
HAMPTON CHARGES, AND I “GO UNDER.”
I DID not witness the greater portion of the events just narrated
in brief outline, and for a reason which I will now proceed to give.
At the moment when Jackson's column approached Williamsport,
on his march to Harper's Ferry, I was sent back to General
Lee, then beyond the South Mountain, with a message.
I found the army in motion by way of Boonsboro', in the direction
of Hagerstown, and was informed that General Lee was
with the cavalry rear-guard, then retiring from Frederick City,
before the advance of General McClellan.
A ride through the Boonsboro' Gap and Catoctin Mountain
brought me to the cavalry, and I delivered my message to General
Lee, which fortunately required no reply.
Fortunately, I say, for I now found that my horse was completely
broken down, and wholly unfit to take me back at once
over the difficult mountain road.
I accordingly looked about for an inviting farm-house, the
abode of some good Marylander with Southern proclivities, where
I could procure a feed, and soon discovered a promising-looking
mansion. It was a fine old house, embowered in trees, on the
eastern slope of the Catoctin Mountain; and the ample barns
seemed to say, “Come, there is plenty here, and to spare.”
Without further hesitation I rode up to the wide gate, entered
a broad avenue, and soon found myself in front of a large portico,
upon which a hale old gentleman was standing.
My wants were made known, and I met with the most friendly
reception.
“Your horse shall be attended to immediately, sir,” was the
smiling and hospitable reply. “Come in—come in. These are
terrible times, sir—and you must be hungry, too.”
My host then called lustily for a servant, who speedily appeared,
gave him directions in reference to my horse, and then led
the way into the house, where an inviting meal was soon spread
by the hands of an old housekeeper. This elderly lady and my
host seemed the only inmates of the mansion.
“Terrible times, terrible times,” repeated my host. “The
enemy seem to be coming right on. General Lee is falling back,
is he not?”
I never liked to answer questions propounded by strangers—
that should be one of the first principles of a soldier, and much
more of a staff officer.
“The army is not far from this spot,” I replied.
The old gentleman smiled.
“I see you are prudent,” he said; “but your caution is quite
unnecessary. I am a Southerner, heart and soul, and have a son
in your army.”
“I may know him, and be able to give you some news of him,
sir.”
“It would greatly delight me. I fear something has happened to
him, as he has not been here with the army. My name is Saltoun!”
“Indeed! And is your son's name Harry, Mr. Saltoun?”
“Yes, sir—where is he?” asked the old gentleman, with acute
anxiety. “You have no bad news to give me?”—
“No, no. He is wounded, but it is a trifle. He is in the
hands of friends.”
And, giving my name and position in the army, I informed Mr.
Saltoun of the young man's wound and present whereabouts. He
listened with anxious interest, and, when I had finished, exclaimed:
“Thank God that he is safe.”
“He is perfectly so.”
“These are awful times, Major,” added my good host. “Awful
times! We never know whether our sons are alive or dead.
Harry is the light of my eyes—all I have left in my old age—and
it would break me down if he was killed. So you know him
well, and say he is brave—but I knew that. He was always
fearless from his childhood; and when the war broke out I could
not keep him at home. Do you expect to see him soon?”
I replied that I doubtless should meet him again in a few weeks,
on his return to his command—whereupon the old gentleman asked
if I could carry him his watch, which he had left behind him.
“He values it greatly,” added Mr. Saltoun; “and, if you will
take charge of it, he will be greatly obliged to you.”
“I will do so with great pleasure, and tell him that you are
well”—
“And wish to see him soon,” added the old gentleman, heartily.
“This is a terrible war—a very terrible war, indeed, sir!”
And the speaker shook his head in a most expressive manner,
and, rising, unlocked a mahogany secretary, from which he took
a handsome gold watch, set with jewels.
This he intrusted to me, with many cautions against losing it.
“Harry would not mind the mere value of the watch, sir,”
he said, “nor would I. But he has had this since his boyhood,
and attaches a peculiar value to it.”
I had just assured my kind host that I would take especial
care of the watch, when firing was heard in front, and I rose.
My horse was soon brought, and I had scarcely bidden my host
good-by, and mounted, when a long column of cavalry was seen
to defile by the outer gate, in the direction of Frederick City,
and at their head I recognized General Wade Hampton.
I rode out and joined him. For this brave cavalier of South
Carolina I had always experienced a very great respect and regard,
since the noble stand which he made at the first battle of
Manassas; and I had enjoyed the satisfaction of receiving from
him evidences of friendship in return. He had changed little.
Before me was the same erect and courteous cavalier, with his
flowing black mustache, and mild yet brilliant eyes. In his
simple bearing, full of suavity and repose, you read no indications
of the hard and stubborn spirit of “fight” which, in every
encounter, took him to the front, and made him charge, like a
private soldier, and “come to the sabre.”
I was soon informed of the state of affairs. General Lee was
retiring, and General McClellan pressing on. The enemy were
already in Frederick City, and their artillery had opened upon
the cavalry toward the Catoctin Mountain.
“I am going to charge and capture it, Major,” said General
Hampton. “Will you see the charge?”
“I would not miss it, General.”
And we continued to advance, the enemy's artillery roaring
sullenly in front.
All at once, as the head of the column reached the summit of a
hill, Frederick City appeared in front, the fields around swarming
with the dark figures of the Federal soldiers.
Above the mass rose the white smoke of the artillery, which
was pouring a heavy fire upon the Southern rear-guard, falling
back before the furious attacks of the Federal cavalry.
Hampton turned and said a few words to the officer commanding
his column. He was a young man of twenty-three or four,
with sparkling black eyes, raven hair and mustache, and a bearing
which showed him every inch the soldier. “Do or die” spoke
in the flashing eye, the laughing lip, and the firm clutch of the
sabre. Such was the gay and gallant Georgian, P. M. B. Young,
whose charge at Fleetwood afterward saved the fortunes of that
desperate day, and covered the young cavalier all over with glory.
“Colonel Young,” said Hampton, “I am going to charge
those guns at once.”
“Ready, sir!” was the answer; and, turning to his men,
Young ordered:
“Form fours! draw sabre!”
The column was ready—and, sword in hand, General Hampton
placed himself at its head.
The admirable serenity of his countenance had not altered in
the least degree. Under that courteous and tranquil glance was
the stubborn will which would not bend.
A moment's pause; a few rapid orders; a quick clash of steel,
as hundreds of sabres flashed from their scabbards, and then, at
a steady trot, which, in a few minutes, became a headlong gallop,
the column rushed to the charge.
The weight of the column, with Hampton leading, swept away
the Federal cavalry in front, as leaves are swept by the wind;
and then, amid loud shouts and the incessant crack of carbines,
the Southern horsemen closed in upon the very muzzles of the
artillery.
The sudden and desperate charge carried all before it. The
men received without faltering the storm of canister hurled in
their faces, rushed upon the guns, and in an instant they had
cut down or dispersed the cannoneers serving them.
[1]
The artillery was captured, but in the charge all the horses
had been killed, and it could not be brought off. Nor could the
Confederate column hold its ground. The Federal infantry was
seen double-quicking across the fields, and Hampton was compelled
to relinquish his prize and fall slowly back.
As he did so, a hot fire was opened upon him by the Federal infantry,
and then came the close and menacing roar of their artillery,
and the crash of bursting shell in the midst of the column.
Nothing is more disagreeable than to “fall back under fire.”
The hurry, uproar, and shouts of the pursuers are thoroughly
disgusting. The enemy now pressed on, and the air was full of
balls and bursting shell. Suddenly I was deafened by a crash
like a falling mountain, within a few feet of me, and my horse,
with one agonized leap into the air, fell writhing in the death
agony. A shell had burst almost on him—a huge fragment torn
through his body, just behind the saddle—the animal lay upon
the road, a mangled and bleeding mass, struggling in death.
All this I saw only some moments afterward. I was thrown,
violently stunned for the time, and, when I rose, found myself in
the hands of the Federal soldiers, who greeted my unlucky
plight, as they still pressed on, with jests and laughter.
A guard conducted me back to Frederick City, where I was
taken before the provost-marshal, and my name and rank recorded.
I was then locked up in a filthy den, with many other
Confederates, and, weary with my long ride, lay down on the
bare floor and fell asleep.
A hand on my shoulder waked me. I looked up—the light
of sunset shone on the wall.
“Are you Major Surry?”
“Yes.”
“You are wanted.”
And my guard opened the door, and led the way out of the prison.
Five minutes walk brought us to a handsome house, which I
knew, from the horses before the door and the number of persons
who came and went, was the head-quarters of some general. A
moment afterward I was in the presence of General McClellan.
