University of Virginia Library

3. PART III
IN AND OUT OF THE ARMY

29. Our Country's Call
By WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT (1861)

30. Camp Life
By JAMES KENDALL HOSMER (1862)

NOV. 23, 1862. I propose to keep a diary of my soldiering, and am now making my first entry. Brother Ed and I are going to the war together. He is nineteen, and leaves a clerk's desk in an insurance-office. I am older, and leave a minister's study. It is the Fifty-second Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers. I am in our little tent at Camp N. P. Banks, not far from Jamaica, in Long Island. The tent is perhaps eight feet square, and meant for seven soldiers. A leg of ham partly devoured, with gnawed loaves of bread and some tin cups, lie just at my right foot. Corporal Buffum, six feet and two or three inches tall, is writing borne, just at the other foot. Joseph McGill is sleeping, wrapped up in his rubber blanket. The floor of the tent, at the sides, is covered with knapsacks, blankets, and soldiers' furniture. Silloway, a black-whiskered, fine-looking soldier, put his head in, but, to my relief, does not enter; for where could I put him while I write?

We left Camp Miller, where the Fifty-second organized, two or three days ago. For the first time, the knapsacks, full-loaded, were packed on, the canteens were filled, the haversacks were crammed with two days' rations. It was a heavy load as we set off in

a cold November rain, nearly a thousand of us. It rained harder and harder : but Greenfield streets were filled with people; and the nearer we came to the depot, the thicker the crowd. Then came the last parting and hand-shaking: eyes were full, and lips on a tremble.

At midnight we reached New Haven. Ed had been on guard at the car-door in the drizzle, and now came off duty. We trundled on to the steamboat-wharf, climbed out, and formed in two lines; many of the boys turned round for their first sight and sniff at salt-water. The Traveller was at hand, aboard which, rank after rank, we marched,— on top, between decks, into cabin below, and saloon above.

The morning was gray and wet. It poured as we stood on the forward deck; but my rubber blanket shed the rain, and my havelock, of the same material, kept it off head and neck. On upper deck and lower deck, and through every window, one could see the crowding hundreds,— curious faces, bearded and smooth; dripping blankets and caps; the white string of the canteen crossing the band of the haversack upon the breast. Stout fellows they were, almost all; the pick, for spirit and strength, of two counties.

Past great ships, past iron-clads fitting out at the Novelty Works, past the Navy Yard, now down between the two great cities and around the Battery, and stop at a North-river pier,— haversack on one shoulder, canteen on the other we go. "Now, Silas Dibble, hook on my knapsack, and I will hook on yours; "a rubber blanket is over all; then comes a helmet, with the long flap down on the shoulders. The march begins. Dirty and hungry we go through the muddy streets.

We tramp in over the old Union race-track at length, upon the enclosed grassy space, and are at our camp-ground. It is dreary, dismal, miserable. There are no overcoats; we are all perspiration with our march under the burden and there's no chance for tea or coffee, or any thing warm: it is a sorry prospect, boys, for comfort to-night. But never mind. Behold how the Yankee will vindicate himself in the face of the worst fortune ! Fences are stripped of rails; and we have blazing fires in no time, which make the inhospitable, leaden sky speedily blush for itself. Rubber blankets are tacked together, and tents extemporized. Corporal Buffum, Ed, and 1, strike a solemn league. We find two sticks and, a long rail. We drive the sticks into the ground for uprights, then lay the rail on top. Buff um and I tack our blankets together with strings through the eyelet-holes. We place the joining along the cross-timber, letting the blankets slope away, roof-fashion, on each side toward the ground, fastening them at the edges with pegs, and strings straining them tight. Then we spread Ed's rubber on the ground underneath, put our luggage at one end, and crowd in to try the effect. We have to pack in tight, big Buffum and Ed not leaving much room for me; but the closer the better. The north-wind blows, and the air threatens snow. We survey our wigwam with great admiration. I lie down for the night with revolver and dirk strapped one on each side, unwashed, bedraggled, and armed like Jack Sheppard himself. We freeze along through the hours. We get into one another's arms to keep warm as we can, and shiver through till daylight.

When morning comes, all is confusion. The regiment looks as if it had rained down. It is clear, but

raw. There is no chance to wash now, nor all day long. Our tents come. We pitch them in long rows, well ordered; floor them from fences near by; and carpet them with straw—and marsh hay. Six or seven of us pack in here like sardines in a box, lying on our sides, " spoon-fashion."

Our guns were issued to us the other day; and are beautiful pieces, of the most improved pattern,—the

Springfield rifled musket of 1862. Mine is behind me now, dark black-walnut stock, well oiled, so that the beauty of the wood is brought out, hollowed at the base, and smoothly fitted with steel, to correspond exactly to the curve of the shoulder, against which I shall have to press it many and many a time. The spring of the lock is just stiff and just limber enough; the eagle and stamp of the Government are pressed into the steel plate; the barrel is long and glistening, and so bright, that when I present arms, and bring it before my face, I can see nose and spectacles and the heavy beard on lip and chin, which already the camp is beginning to develop. Then there is the bayonet, straight and tapering, smooth to the finger as a surface of glass, and coming to a point sharp as a needle.

We have dress-parades now; and, the other afternoon, I was a spectator instead of taking part. The Fifty-second is formed 'four deep. I have often seen them in line at Camp Miller; but now we have our arms, and look more like soldiers. They are still as men can be at the parade rest. Now, from the right flank, come marching the drums down the line; slow time; every eye to the front; the colonel, hand upon sword-hilt, facing them all,—tall, straight, soldierly, his silver eagles on each shoulder. The drums have reached the end of the line, and turn. First comes a long, brisk roll, thrice repeated; then back along the line with quicker time and step, round the right flank again, past the adjutant; the thrice-repeated roll again sounding muffled, as it comes to me through the now intervening line of men,—a peculiar throb, as if it were inside of the head. It is the adjutant's turn. He is at his place in front of the line. "First sergeants to the front and centre! "Ten soldiers, straight, sash at waist, march forward, and, one by one, report. It is Ed's turn now, tall, fine, bright-eyed soldier that he is. His gloved hand gives the salute; and I hear him, through the music of other regiments, "Fourth company all present or accounted for."Buttoned up to the chin he is, in his dress-coat; his sash, with bright revolver belt, outside; his gun at his shoulder with true martial poise. "First sergeants to your

posts! "It is the turn of the commissioned officers. They step out to the front, in full-dress uniform, a fine-looking row of men; then march forward, with brave, unanimous step, in a brilliant, glittering line. It is over, and visitors near step up to me to inquire about the regiment. I feel proud of the men, proud of the colonel, proud of the brilliant officers who have marched forward to salute in concert,— the white-gloved hands simultaneously at the visor. Back go the companies into the streets of the camp, under the first sergeants. I am proud to see how Ed gets his company by the flank, and promptly manœuvres them.

We have had a flag presented to us; but it is too splendid and heavy for actual service. Our real flag, for service, is more modest, and yet handsome; of silk, floating from a staff of ash with the name of the regiment printed in gold upon one of the crimson stripes. As the wind comes off the bay to us at battalion-drill, the heavy silk brushes my cheek. We shall know each other well during these coming months. I take off my bayonet, and invert it, that it may not wound the flag it is to defend. We have also the white flag of Massachusetts, the Indian and uplifted sword upon a snowy field; plain enough, whenthe breeze smooths it out, for the senior captain to see from his post on the right flank, and Sergeant Jones, right general guide, whose post is still farther off. When drill is over, we must guard our charge to the colonel's tent, roll the crimson and azure folds carefully about the staff, and put them under shelter; then our day's work is done.

31. On the Way to War
By JAMES KENDALL HOSMER (1832)

CAMP down, soldiers, where you can! This cabin is stripped of furniture and carpet: a mirror and the white paint are the only things to remind one of the old elegance of the packet. I glance at the glass as we crowd in. Which am I among the bearded, blue-coated, hustling men ? I hardly know myself, sunburnt and muddied; the "52,"on the cap top, shows out in the lantern light. Sergeant Warriner, of Company A, a gentlemanly fellow, left guide, whose elbow rubs mine at battalion-drill, offers me a place in a bunk he has found empty in one of the staterooms. Bias Dickinson, my wise and jovial file-leader, bunks over me. There is room for another: so I go out to where McGill is wedged into the crowing mass, and extract him as I would a tooth. Gradually the hubbub is quelled. The mass of men, like a river seeking its level, flows into bunk and stateroom, cabin and galley. Then 'the floors are covered, and a few miserable ones hold on to banisters and table-legs, and at last the regiment drops into an uncomfortable sleep.

We woke up the morning after we came aboard,

Warriner, Bias, and I. Company D woke up generally on the cabin-floor. Poor Companies H and F woke up down in the hold. What were we to do for breakfast ? Through the hatchway opposite our stateroom-door, we could see the waiters in the lower cabin setting tables for the commissioned officers. Presently there was a steam of coffee and steaks ; then a long row of shoulder-straps, and a clatter of knives and

forks; we, meanwhile, breakfastless, were undergoing the torments of Tantalus.

But we cannot make out a very strong case of hardship. Beef, hard-bread, and coffee were soon ready. Bill Hilson, in a marvellous cap of pink and blue, cut up the big joints on a gun-box. The non-coms, whose chevrons take them past the guard amidships, went out loaded with the tin cups of the men to Henry Hilson,-out through cabin-door, through greasy, crowded passage-way, behind the wheel, to the galley, where, over a mammoth, steaming caldron, Henry, through the vapor, pours out coffee by the pailful. He looks like a beneficent genius.

I have been down the brass-plated staircase, into the splendors of the commissioned-officers' cabin,—really nothing great at all, but luxurious as compared with our quarters, already greasy from rations, and stained with tobacco-juice, and sumptuous beyond words, as compared with the unplaned boards and tarry odors of the quarters of the privates. Have I mentioned that now our places are assigned? The non-coms— that is non-commissioned, have assigned to them an upper cabin, with staterooms, over the quarters of the officers, in the after-part of the ship. The privates are in front, on the lower decks, and in the hold. Now I speak of the cabin of the officers. The hatches are open above and below, to the upper deck and into the hold. Down the hatch goes a dirty stream of commissary-stores, gun-carriages, rifled-cannon, and pressed hay, within an inch or two of cut-glass, gilt-mouldings, and mahogany. The third mate, with voice coarse and deep as the grating of heavy packages along the skids, orders this and that, or bays inarticulately in a growl at a shirking sailor.

Five sergeants of our company, and two corporals of us, have a stateroom together,— perhaps six feet by eight. Besides us, two officers' servants consider that they have a right here.

Each man now has his place for the voyage assigned him: so, if you can climb well, let us go down, and see the men below. It is right through the damp, crowded passage at the side of the paddle-wheel first. Here is a fence and a gate, impervious to the private; but in his badge the corporal possesses the potent golden bough which gains him ingress through here into Hades. just amidships, we go in through a door from the upper deck. This first large space is the hospital ; already with thirty or forty in its rough, unplaned bunks. From this, what is half-stairway and half-ladder leads down the hatch. A lantern is burning here; and we see that the whole space between decks, not very great, is filled with bunks,—three rows of them between floor and ceiling,—stretching away into darkness on every hand, with two-feet passages winding among them.

I hear the salutes of men, but cannot see their f aces for it is beyond the utmost efforts of the little lantern to show them up. Presently I go on through the narrow passage, with populous bunks, humming with men, on each side,—three layers between deck and deck. I can only hear them, and once in a while dimly see a face. At length we come to a railing, over which we climb, and descend another ladder, into regions still darker,— submarine, I believe, or, at any rate, on a level with the sea. Here swings another lantern. Up overhead, through deck after deck, is a skylight, which admits light, and wet too, from above. It is like looking from the bottom of a well.

As above, so here again, there are three tiers of bunks, with the narrow passages among them. The men lie side by side, with but two feet or so of space; but are in good spirits, though sepulchred after this fashion. The air seems not bad. It is dark in the day-time, except right under the skylight. A fortnight or so from now, a poor, emaciated crowd, I fear, it will be proceeding from these lower deeps of the Illinois. I go back with an uneasy conscience to our six feet by eight up above, so infinitely preferable to these quarters of the privates, though five big sergeants with their luggage share it with me, and two waiters have no other home; so that we overflow through door and window, on to the deck and floor outside.

Ed and I turn in at half-past eight, lying on our sides, and interrupting one another's sleep with, "Look out for your elbow !""I am going over the edge!

"You will press me through into the Company C bunks!"This morning I took breakfast in the berth,

dining-room, study, and parlor, as well. There is room enough, sitting Turk-fashion, and bending over.

"Sail to-day! "That has been the morning song aboard the Illinois ever since the Fifty-second piled itself into its darknesses. It was so Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. We came to believe it did not mean any thing: so, Tuesday morning being fair, Buffum and I got permission to go ashore, smiling at the superb joke of the officer when he warned us to be back in a couple of hours, for we surely sail to-day. But when we come aboard again, the anchor was really up; and the Illinois, no longer twirled by the tide about its thumbs, began to show a will of its own, and was soon moving seaward with its deeply burdened bosom

and swarming decks. Our orders were sealed, and the colonel could not open them until twenty-four hours after sailing. We could not know, then, until the morrow, whither the wheels, the tide, and the strong stern-wind, were bearing us; but the prow was southward, and the Fifty-second was content. Distance washes the spire of Trinity out of the northern sky; the Narrows, grim with forts and prisons, now grow narrower; and soon Sandy Hook, the beckoning finger which the old Navesink hills fling out for ever to invite inbound ships, lets us slide past its curving knuckle fairly out to sea. All goes well, with no motion but the throb of the engine. They light the lanterns on the wheel-house and in the fore-top ; they light them between-decks, swinging gently while a soldier reads his Testament, or a party play cards.

I resolve I will try a night with the men in the hold. Elnathan Gunn, the old soldier, invites me to share his bed and board. Life on a transport becomes so simplified, that bed and board become one; the soldier softening his plank with his haversack of beef and biscuit for a mattress and pillow.

'Tis half-past eight at night as I climb down in night rig,—blouse and knit cap, with round button at the top, like Charles Lamb's great Panjandrum himself. It is comfortable ; but Ed's fraternal partiality turns to disgust whenever I put it on. I stoop low,— it is the lowest tier of bunks,— climb over two prostrate men, then lie down sandwiched helplessly between two slices of timber above and below, where I go to sleep among the raw-head and bloody-bone stories of Elnathan Gunn. I wake up at midnight hot and stifled, as if I were in a mine caved in. "Gunn, give me my boots! "Gunn fishes them out of some hole in the

dark. I tug at the straps, half stifled, bump my head as I rise, grovel on my stomach out over two or three snorers, and hurry through the dark for the upper deck, thankful that, being corporal, I can have quarters where I can see and breathe; through the cabin, over slumbering drums and drummers,— for the music, too, is privileged to remain above,— then in by the side of Ed. We heard, at noon, we were bound for Ship Island; and, while I am hoping for plenty of air and good weather the rest of the voyage, down shut the eyelids, and consciousness is guillotined for the night.

32. Song of the Soldiers
By PRIVATE MILES O'REILLY (1862)

33. A Guerilla Chief
By Y B. ESTVAN (1862)

NASHVILLE was as good as lost; on the day following the arrival of General Albert and Sidney Johnston he was obliged to fall back on Murfreesborough. A scandalous scene now took place at Nashville, not easily paralleled in modern history. General Johnston, with the object of getting away with his troops unperceived, had quietly marched out in the night from that town. This sudden and unexpected departure created great consternation and confusion amongst the inhabitants; the tumult reached its climax when Governor Harris galloped through the streets announcing that the enemy was at band, and that every man who was capable of doing so should save himself by flight. All the offices, courts of justice, house of legislature, where the members were holding a session, broke up ; the whole population, in fact, was in a state of the most feverish excitement, and every one prepared to leave the town. The members of the State Government, and others high in office, were the first to take to flight. The hasty

departure of the members of the Government to Memphis, and the retreat of General Johnston to Murfreesborough, added to the fear that the enemy would make reprisals, caused almost as great a panic as if an earthquake had taken place. Women and children ran wailing through the streets. Trunks, boxes, and furniture were thrown out of the windows, and lay scattered about the pavement. It was as if the whole population had gone stark mad. Every one was shouting and running about not knowing wherefore. In the midst of this scramble and hubbub a shout suddenly arose. "The enemy; the enemy is coming!

On the heights above the town a body of troops was really in sight. They advanced slowly and cautiously, and entered the town. But these were no hostile troops; the newcomers proved to be Floyd with the remnants of his brigade. As cautious as an old fox who feared his snare, he made his approach. The noise and confusion, and the number of persons taking to flight had arrested his attention, and dictated prudence. As soon as it was known in the town that the troops which had entered were not those of the enemy, but Confederates, with the brave General Floyd at their head, the despair of the population was turned into the most ridiculous rejoicing. The Confederates were welcomed as victors-; provisions and wine were brought out for their use; children danced in the streets, and many of the inhabitants, who had returned to the town, gathered round them to implore their protection.

When the soldiers, after having refreshed themselves with the good things laid before them, began to saddle their horses to proceed farther on their

march, the astounded population discovered that these were not troops sent to protect the town, but that they were men who, themselves, were escaping from the enemy. Fort Donelson had fallen, and the enemy was advancing in great force on Nashville. Deep curses were uttered against Floyd and his men, and the population sought to make up for the time they had lost. The rabble of the town, who only awaited an opportune moment, now began the work of plunder and robbery. All the shops that contained food or drink were broken into ; a regular scene of looting ensued. Women and children, laden with stolen goods, were running about in all directions, and gangs of drunken scoundrels rolled about the deserted streets. The black population streamed into the town to have their share in the general pillage, and, though more than one had his brains knocked out for his pains, many had the opportunity of making a large booty. Several adherents of the Union, who resided at Nashville, were in imminent danger of their lives, as they dreaded an attack from the mob. Millions of dollars worth of goods were destroyed or carried off during the night; and the stock of provisions which the Confederates had for months stored up here was sacrificed. In fact the total destruction of Nashville was imminent, if the Federal troops did not soon make their appearance to save it from so deplorable a fate.

In the night the news spread that the enemy's troops had arrived outside Nashville. All the peaceful citizens who had remained in the town looked anxiously forward for their entrance. Pistol shots were heard, and a detachment of United States dragoons galloped into the town, sabring right and left

all whom they met in the streets. The rioters and pillagers fled in every direction, leaving the town in the possession of the troops and of the honest citizens who had not fled. A few hours afterward, large bodies of troops under General Grant entered Nashville, and soon restored order and tranquillity. With astonishment the Federal troops must have looked at the closed country houses and villas, which seemed quite deserted, and betrayed no sign of life within their walls: the owners had fled with the retiring troops of Floyd. While the Federal troops took quiet possession of Nashville, the partisans of the Confederates on the other bank were preparing for resistance, under the leadership of John Morgan, a man who had rendered himself famous by his extraordinary feats of daring.

Of vulgar extraction and of no education, but gifted with extraordinary courage and self-possession, John Morgan had formed a body of men of his own stamp, who preferred fighting, and the hardships of a roving life, to any peaceful occupation. His band roamed about the country with such audacity as to become a perfect dread to the enemy. Scarcely a day passed without some daring act being recorded of John Morgan and his horsemen. Although he and his band belonged, properly speaking, to General Hardee's division, and his duty was to watch the enemy's movements, he much preferred doing a little business on his own account.

One day he proposed to his men to make a raid upon the little town of Gallatin, twenty miles north of Nashville, then occupied by the enemy. The very idea of such an expedition created a joyful excitement amongst his desperate followers, and like lightning

they fell upon the town and took possession of it. Whilst his men were robbing and plundering to their heart's content, Captain Morgan proceeded to the office of the telegraph in the expectation of finding important despatches there. The official on duty had not the slightest idea of what was going on in the town, and when Captain Morgan asked him with great politeness what news he had received, the agent took him for an officer of the United States army, and replied, "Nothing particular; but inquiries are being made continually respecting that rebel bandit, Morgan. But if he should. ever come across my path I have pills enough to satisfy him!" pulling out his revolver as he said this, and flourishing it in the air before he thrust it back into his belt. As soon as he had finished, the strange officer thundered forth, "You are speaking to Captain Morgan; I am Morgan you miserable wretch."The poor official sank on his knees, and with the fear of death full upon him, sued for mercy. "I will not hurt you,"retorted Morgan, "but send off this despatch at once to Prentice, the editor of the Louisville Journal.

After sending off this friendly invitation, Morgan hastened to the railway station to see the train come in. In a few minutes it came up, upon which Captain Morgan ordered one of his men, with pistol in hand, to take charge of the engine driver, whilst he examined the carriages, and proceeded to take five

officers prisoners. He then had all the cars set on fire, and filling the engine with turpentine, tow, and other inflammable matter, stopped up the vents, and sent it back on fire at full. speed toward Nashville. The engine, however, exploded, after going a few hundred yards. After this exploit, Morgan and his men, with their prisoners, remounted their horses and gained the camp in safety, where they were enthusiastically welcomed by their comrades.

On another' occasion he surprised a picket of six Federal soldiers, and made them prisoners. He was quite alone. On coming across them he went straight up to the corporal in command, and, passing himself off as a Federal officer, expressed his indignation at their slovenly appearance, and ordered them to lay down their muskets, and regard themselves as under arrest. The order was obeyed; but when the men saw that he was taking them in a contrary direction, they observed that they were going the wrong road. "Not so,"he retorted; "I am Captain Morgan, and know best what road you have to take."These little adventures, amongst many of a similar nature, made his name well known, and acquired for him a widespread popularity.

34. Off for the Front
By GEORGE F. NOYES (1862)

M'DOWELL is marshalling his cohorts at Fredericksburg, being ordered to aid the peninsula approaches of M'Clellan by moving upon Richmond; and to-day, May 22nd, 1862, our brigade is detached from the army defending Washington, and is off to join him.

Never was summons more welcome. Tired of serving the country under the shadow of the Capitol, with all the glow of untried enthusiasm and all the ignorance of novices of war, our staff had really begun to fear lest the fighting would all be over before we could draw our maiden swords. Hope paints few brighter visions than those which on this day of embarkation made us happy; and now, as we gallop down to the wharf, every check burns with pleasant anticipations.

As I gaze through the vista of our actual experiences, at that hour of hope and anticipated victory, this day seems to me like a dream.

To get our horses safely on board the steamer is no easy task, for wharf and deck are lumbered up with all the paraphernalia of a campaign, and squads of heavily-knapsacked men are still hurrying on board, all jubilant and some quite intoxicated with patriotism and poor whiskey.

Among our troops all ages are represented: here, a beardless boy, his brow yet warm with the parental blessing, and next him, perhaps, a gray-haired man, for whom a comfortable home and a warm chimney. corner seem far more fitting than the long march and bivouac of the campaign. But these are the days when the popular enthusiasm is still at high tide, submerging town and country, city and hamlet, and inciting young and old, sick and poor, to rally round the old flag. If there is any homesickness beneath these blue uniforms, it cannot long resist the influx of the general enthusiasm: it is soon fused and lost in the general hopefulness and joy. "On to Richmond "is the watchword. You may read it in every eye about you.

As we stand a while on the upper deck, cast your eye at the stalwart private near us, that you may know how a soldier looks in full war rig. The square knapsack on his back is crowned with a great roll of blankets, and contains his entire wardrobe— a change of clothes, a few toilet articles, probably a little Bible, and certainly a keepsake or two from the loved ones at home , his cartridge box, strapped beneath, holds only a few rounds of ball cartridge: as no battle is impending, his shoulders are festooned with his shelter tent, an oblong piece of thick cotton cloth, compressed into a roll ; his haversack is stuffed with three days' marching rations; his water canteen dangles at the other side, while his musket is stacked with the rest in the centre of the deck.

Thus he carries his food, and drink, and clothing, and canvas house, and weapon with him; he may be said, indeed, to be quite independent of society. Musket and all, his equipment weighs sixty pounds,

and with it he can safely march from fifteen to twenty miles a day.

The sergeants have picked up the last straggler and marched him on board, the last horse is disposed of, and we are finally off. Taking in tow several transports crowded with men, horses and government stores, gradually we, gather way, cheer after cheer rings out from the crowded wharf, responded to lustily by our upper deck, the band strikes up "Dixie,"and so we say farewell to Washington, and glide slowly down the river. In less than thirty days we expect, to be in Richmond, and fighting is as yet a myth we cannot fully realize; we are simply embarked on a military pleasure excursion. The day is very charming, and the beautiful Potomac seems disposed to tender us a most hearty and pleasant welcome.

35. The Innocent Deserter
By JOHN ESTEN COOKE (1862)

I WAS sitting on my horse near General Stuart, who had put in the skirmishers, and was now superintending the fire of his artillery, when a cavalry-man rode up and reported that they had just captured a deserter.

"Where is he ? "was Stuart's brief interrogatory. "Coming yonder, General."

"How do you know he is a deserter?

"One of my company knew him when he joined our army."

"Where is he from?

"Anglaize county."

"What is his name?"

"Morton."

"Bring him up,"said Stuart coldly, with a lowering glance from the blue eyes under the brown hat and black feather. As he spoke, two or three mounted men rode up with the prisoner.

I can see him at this moment with the mind's eye, as I saw him then with the material eye. He was a young man, apparently eighteen or nineteen years of age, and wore the blue uniform, tipped with red, of a private in the United States Artillery. The singular fact was that he appeared completely at his ease. He seemed to be wholly unconscious of the critical position which he occupied ; and as he approached, I observed that he returned the dark glance of Stuart with the air of a man who says, "What do you find in my appearance to make you fix your eyes upon me intently In another moment he was in Stuart's presence, and calmly, quietly, without the faintest exhibition of embarrassment, or any emotion whatever, waited to be addressed.

Stuart's words were curtest of the curt.

"Is this the man ? "he said.

"Yes, General,"replied one of the escort.

"You say he is a deserter ?"

"Yes, sir ; I knew him in Anglaize county, when he joined Captain Hollins's company; and there is no sort of doubt about it, General, as he acknowledges that he is the same person."

"Acknowledges it!"

"Yes, sir; acknowledges that he is Morton, from that county; and that after joining the South he deserted."

Stuart flashed a quick glance at the prisoner, and seemed at a loss to understand what fatuity had

induced him to testify against himself, thereby sealing his fate, His gaze, clear, fiery, menacing, was returned by the youth with apathetic calmness. Not a muscle of his countenance moved, and I now had an opportunity to look at him more attentively. He was even younger than I at first thought him, indeed, a mere boy. His complexion was fair; his hair flaxen and curling; his eyes blue, mild, and as soft in their expression as a girl's. Their expression, as they met the lowering glances of Stuart, was almost confiding. I could not suppress a sigh, so painful was the thought that this youth would probably be lying soon with a bullet through his heart.

A kinder-hearted person than General Stuart never lived; but in all that appertained to his profession and duty as a soldier, he was inexorable. Desertion, in his estimation, was one of the deadliest crimes of which a human being could be guilty ; and his course was plain, his resolution immovable.

"What is your name?"said the General coldly, with a lowering brow.

"Morton, sir,"was the response, in a mild and pleasing voice, in which it was impossible to discern the least trace of emotion.

"Where are you from?"

"I belonged to the battery that was firing at you, over yonder, sir."

The voice had not changed. A calmer tone I never heard.

"Where were you born ?"continued Stuart, as coldly as before.

"In Shelby, Virginia, sir."

"Did you belong to the Southern army at any time?"

"Yes, sir."

The coolness of the speaker was incredible. Stuart could only look at him for a moment in silence, so astonishing was this equanimity at a time when his life and death were in the balance. Not a tone of the voice, a movement of the muscles, or a tremor of the lip indicated consciousness of his danger. The eye never quailed, the colour in his check never faded. The prisoner acknowledged that he was a deserter from the Southern army with the simplicity, candour, and calmness of one who saw in that fact nothing extraordinary, or calculated in any, manner to affect his destiny unpleasantly. Stuart's eye flashed; he could not understand such apathy ; but in war there is little time to investigate psychological phenomena.

"So you were in our ranks, and you went over to the enemy, ? "he said with a sort of growl.

Yes, sir,"was the calm reply.

You were a private in that battery yonder ?

"Yes, sir."

Stuart turned to an officer, and pointing to a tall pine near, said in brief tones:

"Hang him on that tree!"

It was then that a change-sudden, awful, horrible-came over the face of the prisoner; at that moment I read in the distended eyeballs the vision of sudden death. The youth became ghastly pale; and the eyes, before so vacant and apathetic, were all at once injected with blood, and full of piteous fright. I saw in an instant that the boy had not for a single moment realized the terrible danger of his position ; and that the words "Hang him on that tree!"had burst upon him with the sudden and appalling force of a thunderbolt. He had evidently regarded himself

as a mere prisoner of war; and now be was condemned to death! He had looked forward, doubtless, to mere imprisonment at Richmond until regularly exchanged, when "hang him on that tree!"burst upon his ears like the voice of some avenging Nemesis.

Terrible, piteous, sickening, was the expression of the boy's face. He seemed to feel already the rope around his neck; he choked ; when he spoke his voice sounded like the death-rattle. An instant of horror-struck silence ; a gasp or two as if the words were trying to force their way against some obstacle in his throat; then the sound came. His tones were not loud, impassioned, energetic, not even animated. A sick terror seemed to have frozen him ; when be spoke it was in a sort of moan.

"I didn't know,"he muttered in low, husky tones. I never meant— when I went over to Maryland to fight against the South. They made me; I had nothing to eat—I told them I was a Southerner and so help me God I never fired a shot. I was with the wagons. Oh! General, spare me; I never-"

There the voice died out; and as pale as a corpse, trembling in every limb-a spectacle of helpless terror which no words can describe, the boy awaited his doom.

Stuart had listened in silence, his gaze riveted upon the speaker; his hand grasping his heavy beard; motionless amid the shell which were bursting around him. For an instant he seemed to hesitate—life and death were poised in the balances. Then with a cold look at the trembling deserter, he said to the men :

"Take him back to General Lee, and report the circumstances."

With these words he turned and galloped off ; the deserter was saved, at least for the moment.

I do not know his ultimate fate; but if he saw General Lee in person, and told his tale, I think he was spared, That great and merciful spirit inflicted the death-penalty only when he could not avoid it.

Since that day I have never seen the face of the boy—nor even expect to see it. But I shall never forget that vision of sudden death in his distended eyes, as Stuart's cold voice ordered, "Hang him on that tree."

36. The Hunt for the Scout
By JOHN ESTEN COOKE (1863)

AMONG the numerous scouts employed by General Stuart, none was braver or more intelligent than a young man named Frank Sutledge. He certainly was a ranger— born. He loved his friends, but lie loved his calling better still. It might have been said >of him that man delighted him not, nor, woman either. His chief delight was to penetrate the dense woods, assail the enemy wherever he found an opening, and inflict upon them all the injury in his power. In the eyes of the scout those enemies were wolves, and he hunted them: now and then they returned the compliment.

In person Sutledge was suited to his calling; stout but active; a good hand with pistol and sabre; quick of eye; and with nerves which no peril could shake. Soldiers generally prefer broad daylight and an open country to operate in ; Sutledge liked a forest where no moon shone. When he found it necessary to penetrate

the hostile lines, and could not elude the watchful guardians of the night, his habit was to brace himself in his stirrups, draw his pistol, and to the quick, "Halt! who goes there ? "shout, "Form fours I draw sabres! charge! "to an imaginary squadron behind him, and pass on with loud yells, firing his pistol as he advanced. The result was, generally, that the picket fired wildly at him, and then fled before the tremendous onslaught of "rebel cavalry,"whereupon the adventurous scout passed through at a thundering gallop, drove the picket before him, and adroitly slipping, at the opportune moment, into some by-path of the woods, was within the lines. When the enemy made a stand at the next rising ground to receive the expected charge, none came. When they returned to look for Sutledge, he had disappeared.

It was in November, 1863, when the Federal army lay around Culpeper Court-House and Mitchell's Station, that Sutledge was sent on a scout to ascertain the number, position, and movements of the Federal forces. Taking with him two companions, he crossed the upper Rapidan, and carefully worked his way toward Mitchell's Station. General Meade had pushed forward his lines to this point a few days before,-. or rather had established large camps there ; it was Sutledge's mission to ascertain, if possible, his designs.

In due time the small party reached the vicinity of the station, and it now became necessary to take the remainder of the journey on foot. They accordingly dismounted, and leaving their horses in a thick copse, "snaked "in the direction of a large Federal camp near at hand, taking advantage of every cover. In this manner they came close upon the camp, and

were rewarded with a sight of acres of canvas. The size of the encampments enabled Sutledge to form a tolerably accurate estimate of the amount of force which General Meade had concentrated at this point; he passed the whole day thus moving cautiously around the spot, thereby discovering all which a mere reconnoissance could reveal, and began to look for stragglers, from whom, as his prisoners, he might derive more accurate information still.

After a fatiguing day, Sutledge and his party lay down in the woods near the Federal camp, to snatch an hour's sleep before proceeding to their nocturnal work.

Sutledge had selected for his bivouac a retired spot where the encircling woods gave excellent promise of concealment, and the covert was so dense as to set him completely at his ease. Through the thick brushwood no glimmer of firelight could be seen; and the scouts ventured to kindle a fire, which the chill November night rendered far from unacceptable. By the carefully shaded blaze they warmed their benumbed fingers, ate their supplies of hard bread and bacon, and spread their blankets for a brief sleep. Sutledge took off his shoes; laid his hat at his head; and having picked up somewhere a certain "Life of Stonewall Jackson,"recently published in Richmond, now drew it from his haversack, and read a few passages by the firelight. This volume must have produced a soothing effect upon his feelings, for in a short time his eyelids drooped, the volume fell from his hands, and he sank to slumber. His companions were already snoring by his side.

They slept longer than they designed doing—in fact throughout the entire night. The weather, which

had been lowering at nightfall, became gradually more threatening; and soon an imperceptible drizzle began, just sufficient to wet the blankets of the sleepers, but not to chill and awake them. As day drew near, a squad of infantry soldiers, armed with muskets, came from the adjoining camp ; and this party, on their way to forage for butter, eggs, poultry, and other desirable components of a military breakfast, stumbled on the slumbering scouts.

The first intimation which Sutledge bad of the danger which menaced him was, he declared, an instinctive feeling that some dangerous foe was near; and this even before be woke. He was not long, however, to remain in doubt, or be compelled to question his instincts. He opened his eyes to find the blanket suddenly drawn away from his face, and to hear a harsh and sarcastic voice exclaim: "How are you, Johnny Reb? Come, get up, and we will give you more comfortable accommodations than out here in the rain !"

Sutledge was wide-awake in an instant, and through his half-closed lids reconnoitred, counting his opponents. They were six in number, all armed and ready. The situation looked ugly. With his companions wide-awake and on the alert there might have been some ground for hope; but they were slumbering like the Seven Sleepers, and in utter unconsciousness of danger. As to Sutledge himself, he was in their very grasp, and practically disarmed; for it was obvious that at the first movement which he made to draw his pistol from the holster around his waist, the six muskets, cocked and pointing at his breast, would be discharged as one piece, and his body riddled with bullets.

The situation was depressing : Sutledge and his companions were in a veritable trap. The least movement which he made would at once put an end to him, if six balls through the body could do so; and it was obviously necessary to surrender at once or betake himself to strategy. The first was out of the question, for Sutledge had made up his mind

never to surrender, had indeed sworn a solemn oath not to do so under any circumstances; the second alternative remained. A ruse had already suggested itself to his quick and daring mind; and this he now proceeded instantly to carry out. To the sneering address of his opponent bidding him get up, he made, no immediate reply, but again closed his eyes, pulled the blanket up again over his shoulders, and turning his back, muttered in a sleepy voice: "Oh! go away, and let me sleep, will you !"

This reply highly tickled his adversaries; and so much did they relish the evident impression of the Johnny Reb that he was among his own comrades in the Confederate camp, that they shook all over in the excess of their mirth. Sutledge was a dangerous man, however, to jest with. While his opponents were thus indulging their merriment, and highly enjoying the surprise and mortification he would feel when awake to the real nature of the situation, Sutledge was busy executing the plan which he had determined upon. Pulling his blanket still further over his head, he drew a long laboured breath, turned as men do languidly in slumber, and cautiously moved his hand beneath the blanket toward the pistol in his belt. The hand slowly stole downwards under the cover, approached the weapon, and then he had grasped the handle. A second careless movement extracted the pistol from the holster; his finger was on the hammer— without noise the— weapon was cocked.

37. The Escape of the Scout
By JOHN ESTEN COOKE (1863)

THE scout was just in time. The squad had finished their laugh, enjoyed their little comedy sufficiently, and now designed bringing the affair to an end. The leader accordingly stooped down and dragged away the blanket— when a shot followed, with the muzzle

of the pistol upon his breast, and he fell forward dead, covering Sutledge with his blood. The scene which followed was brief. The rest of the squad levelled their muskets at the scout, and fired with the muzzles nearly touching him, but he was wounded by none. The body of their companion lying across him received the larger portion of the balls; and Sutledge rose to his feet, armed with his deadly revolver, which still contained four charges. These he fired in succession rapidly, but with good aim, and two of the five remaining men were wounded. The three others, finding their guns discharged, dropped them, and hastily ran toward the Federal camp.

Sutledge's companions had been aroused by the firing, but were of no assistance to him. One disgracefully fled into the woods without firing a shot, and the other had committed the fatal fault of allowing his arms to become wetted by the rain. When he attempted to fire his pistol the cap snapped, and none of the barrels could be discharged.

This proved, however, of no great importance. Sutledge had repulsed the whole party for the moment, and did not need assistance. What remained for them now was a rapid retreat from the dangerous locality. The sudden firing, and the men running in, had alarmed the Federal camp, and a large party were seen approaching rapidly to take vengeance for the blood of their comrades. Sutledge accordingly hastened to retire, and disappeared with his companion just as the enemy rushed upon the area near the bivouac fire. In this sudden change of base, stores of some value to him were necessarily abandoned. In fact, he was compelled to leave his horse, hat, shoes, blanket, and "Life of Jackson"— to fly

bareheaded and in his stocking feet. Even thus lightened of all superfluous weight, it was doubtful if he could escape; for the shouts which now resounded as he ran showed that the enemy were pursuing him hotly, with the-evident determination of running him to earth and destroying him.

In a few moments it became plain to Sutledge that he was to be hunted down.

He surveyed his position at a glance, and estimated the chances. It seemed that nothing but his own quick eye and knowledge of woodcraft could save him; if he was caught, there appeared to be small likelihood of his escaping death. He felt that he would probably be treated as a guerilla, if not as a spy, and shot without benefit of clergy. For this reason he did not intend to surrender. He proposed to escape if he could; if he could not, he would sell his life as dearly as possible.

He had, however, been hunted before, and his brave heart did not recoil from the struggle. Running silently with bare head and shoeless feet through the woods, he paused from time to time to listen to the shouts of his pursuers, and it soon became obvious that they were rapidly approaching upon every side.

The woods were open-without undergrowth and every moment was now precious. Sutledge redoubled his speed, and darting through the wood, suddenly found himself in a small open field, in the middle of which rose a clump of pines, one of which had recently fallen. In the bushy top of this fallen tree he now concealed himself, panting from his long run, and listening to the sound of his approaching foes closing in on every side. To fight and die seemed his only resource; and reloading his pistol,

he grimly waited for the moment which should find him at bay, in the presence of his enemies.

He did not wait long. A few minutes only had elapsed when a party of three or four Federals entered the little area, and approached the clump of pines. They passed close to the scout, looking everywhere for traces of him; but he crouched down, held his breath, and they seemed about to prosecute their search in some other direction. Sutledge was indeed congratulating himself upon his safety, when, raising his head, he caught the eye of one of the enemy, who had lingered behind the rest, fixed steadily upon him. He was discovered; and starting to his feet, was greeted with the shout, "Here he is!"which was instantly echoed by a hundred voices,

Sutledge now saw that his life hung upon a thread. Unless he could force his way through the cordon hemming him in, he was lost. He was unwilling to waste the loads in his pistols before the final struggle took place—the last desperate struggle which was to terminate all. But that conflict now seemed about to take place.

For a single instant the scout and his foes stood looking at each other, and neither made any movement to fire. In presence of this desperate man, the enemy seemed averse to the encounter, and waited for their comrades to come up. This short pause gave the scout an opportunity to decide upon his course. If he could only secure a short start,—if he were only mounted! His feet were bruised and sore, his strength greatly diminished by the close, hot chase. Oh! for a horse to charge them and, break through, as he felt he could though they were forty deep! As the thought flashed through his

mind, his eyes fell on a mule which was grazing in the field not far from him. To dart to the animal and throw himself upon its back was the work of an instant; and in the midst of furious outcries and hastily fired shots he dug his heels into the sides of the frightened animal, and commenced his race for life.

The mule had no sooner recovered from his first fright at finding himself so unceremoniously mounted, than he made violent attempts by roaching his back, and kicking up, to unseat his rider. At the fifth or sixth kick-up, accompanied by a movement which made the mule resemble an angry cat in outline, the scout was landed on the ground, amid the shouts of his enemies, who rushed toward him, firing as they came.

They reached the spot, uttering outcries and curses; but their obstinate foe had once more eluded them. The scout had risen quickly, darted into the woods, and the chase again commenced with more ardour than at first.

Sutledge now put forth all his remaining strength to distance the enemy, following more hotly than ever on his track. Panting and worn out almost, half resolving a hundred times to turn and fight and die, he still kept on, the shouts of his enemies in his very cars., He was growing desperate, and had become nearly exhausted. A burning thirst raged in his throat; and although the enemy were on his very heels, he could not resist the temptation as he reached a little meadow through which ran a limpid stream, to pause and quench his thirst. Throwing himself upon his knees on the margin of the brook, he stooped and swallowed one refreshing draught of the cool

water, and then rising up, found from the shouts of his pursuers that they were at last upon him—all further hope from flight of no avail. A last desperate expedient suggested itself—concealment in the undergrowth which skirted the stream; and throwing himself at full length amid the bushes, not far from the spot where he had knelt down, he hastily drew the undergrowth around him and awaited the struggle. He had scarcely disappeared from view when his enemies reached the spot. He heard their footsteps; their cries resounded; and suddenly the voice of one of them exclaimed:

"Here's the scoundrel's knee-print in the sand, where he drank just now! He isn't far off!" This cry was the signal for all the detached parties to converge toward the spot; and very soon the field was full of them. The scout heard them deploying in every direction to guard all the outlets, preparatory to a rigid search of every species of covert in which a fugitive could conceal himself.

The moment had now come which was to decide his fate. The pursuers had searched every portion of the field without success, and now returned to the point from which they had set forth, subjecting the covert to a second and more rigid inspection. Their feet were heard trampling amid the undergrowth; they stopped to put aside the bushes, and peer into every nook. Sutledge heard their very breathing, and cast an eye upon his pistols to see that he had neglected nothing ; that every tube was capped, every barrel loaded, and both weapons cocked. All was right, and he experienced the fierce joy of the man who feels that at least he need not die without dragging down more than one enemy in his fall.

The steps were at his side; oaths and exclamations echoed in his very ears. One of the hostile party seemed determined to leave no inch of the ground unexplored, and bent down, plunging his glances into the very bushes over the scout's head.

Sutledge grasped his pistols with a firmer clutch, strung his nerves for instant contest, and prepared to rise suddenly to his feet, to lay the curious individual before him dead with a pistol bullet through the heart, and to throw himself like a tiger at bay into the midst of his enemies.

The bushes were thrust aside; an oath resounded within three feet of him ; he had covered the heart of his enemy with the muzzle of his right-hand pistol crossed over his breast-when the autumn foliage swayed back to its place, an exclamation of disappointment followed, and the footsteps retreated from his hiding-place.

The scout drew a long breath. He was saved.

All day long he lay hidden, hearing more than one sound which proved that his enemies were still hovering near; but they had given up the search in despair. At night he quietly rose, and found that the coast was clear. Proceeding cautiously to reconnoitre, he discovered that the ground around his hiding-place was only partially guarded, and had little difficulty in escaping. Eluding such parties as were still prowling around, be flanked the Federal pickets, travelled all night, and before daylight was safe within the Southern lines.

38. The Guilty Deserter
By GEORGE H. GORDON (1863)

I HAD received six soldiers who had been tried and sentenced to be shot for the crime of desertion. At Warrenton junction the sentences were to have been carried into execution. The field had been selected, coffins made and doom announced; but a sudden movement ordered for the day had caused a week's suspension, during which five of the fated ones were recommended to the President for pardon. For the sixth, however, a ringleader, the sentence was unchanged; and again my division was ordered to form on the morrow to witness his execution. The hopelessness of his reprieve had been communicated, the chaplain had performed his last office, the firing party had been detailed, when again an order to march at five o'clock in the morning threatened another inhuman interruption,— which, however, did not happen, as will appear.

With the stoutest of the troops this convict had arched sturdily and manfully to Greenwich, following his coffin for fifteen weary miles. Here, at the end of his last march, his last hour on earth had come. A field near the camp had been selected, and preparations made for a fitting termination of the ghastly ceremony, when the planter, who had heard that his own field was to be devoted to this novel use, bustled. up to ask with puffy earnestness, "Is it true, General, that you are going to shoot one of your men today?"Then, without awaiting a reply, he continued, "Now, my dear sir, you must not think any worse of me if I say this executing is a dreadful thing! And yet it is

an incident of the war; why, sir, it is historical, and,— bless my soul, sir!— I want to see it; and, if you do not think it improper, I should like to take my little boys with me."

"If you are so inclined, you may,"I replied. And indeed he did so incline, for he took a position as near to the scene as he could with safety. With umbrella under his arm, a linen coat over his shoulders, a little dog in front of him, and three small children (aged six, eight, and ten) by his side, he was the first on the field and the last to leave it.

Many years ago, hanging on the wall of an accustomed haunt, I remember finding a strange fascination in a coarse print of a military execution. Often have I stood spellbound before the picture. The condemned kneeling by the side of his grave, the coffin, the blindfolded victim, the platoon of soldiers with levelled muskets, the coming word, and in the distance a horseman galloping towards the spot, waving in his hand a pardon. Could be but fly! and did he reach there in time? I could never forget the dreadful reality, even with the consciousness that it was after all but a painting, a creation perhaps of the imagination. But this execution at Greenwich was not a dream. Here there was no coloring. A sad, stern duty was before me, and there was no reprieve. The hour had come; and the division was formed on three sides of a hollow square, leaving the fourth with an open grave and fresh earth on its edge, when a mournful procession approached.

Advancing slowly, silently, a firing party of six soldiers preceded an ambulance in which a soldier was seated upon his coffin, his arms pinioned and his eyes cast down. The provost guard followed. The

ranks were motionless; all eyes were fixed upon the condemned. He was assisted to the ground, the soldiers placed the coffin by the side of the grave, and then the poor, unhappy victim knelt upon his coffin. Not a sound was heard save the mournful prayer and solemn tones of the death sentence. Not a man moved, as the bandage which shut out forever the last ray of God's sunlight was placed over the eyes of one poor fellow-being. There was no pity and no hope. The sharp "Ready] aim!"and then came the awful choking suspense, relieved by the ringing volley which drowned that word of dread. For an instant the form remained erect, still on its knees; the next, a corpse rolled over its last receptacle to the brink of a yawning grave.

On their way back to their encampments the troops moved in column by the corpse. Death, so real, had set its seal upon this human face; death, so solemn, so earnest, had driven a soul so completely from its human tenement that I could hardly realize that this rigid form had ever felt a human passion, or given way to human weakness. When the last look had been taken and the field cleared of troops, a small burial party lowered the body, filled the grave with earth, covered the slight mound with a green sod, and left the scene of this tragedy alone with the dead. Of the six guns in the hands of the firing party but five were loaded ; no one, therefore, could tell who held the blank. But four guns were discharged; and from these but two bullets struck the condemned man,—one passing through his arm, another through his breast, near his heart. He died without a struggle. He died, and left no word, save that, as at last he realized the awful truth, he begged that he might

have an interview with myself or General Meade. But this was humanely denied, for I was only carrying out the will of General Meade, and he had passed relentlessly upon his case. The law had been defied; and so, at last, the law was vindicated.

39. Trumpet Song

40. The Belligerent Quaker
(1863)

GENERAL ORDERS NO. 47.— Captain Carter, 5th Indiana Volunteers, is hereby relieved from his command indefinitely, and will report at these headquarters immediately. By order of Major-General ROSECRANS.

Lieut. Col. C. GODDARD, A. A. G.

The above order was read upon dress parade to the gallant old 5th, in January, 1863. The regiment was struck dumb, so to speak, and the captain most of all. What could such an order mean? Surely, none deserved censure less than Captain Carter; but none could give a sufficient reason why he should be thus relieved; for, said they, does not the order imply disgrace? But these mutterings were not heard at headquarters, and were of no avail. The Captain retired to his tent, relieved himself of his accoutrements, called his servant Tom, and set out for headquarters, with none but his black companion.

General Rosecrans was quartered in Judge Ready's house, and had a private suit of rooms on the second floor, with windows opening upon a veranda. He was sitting before a bright fire on the evening our story opens, in undress uniform, with nothing but the buttons to betoken rank. An orderly entered and announced Captain Carter. The General arose quickly, and advanced to meet him, with that easy, smiling look, that put the Captain's fears at rest. The General took him by the hand, while his countenance assumed a more thoughtful look, or rather settled in repose, and said :

"This is Captain Carter, of the 5th Indiana?

"It is, sir,"replied the Captain.

"You received a peremptory order this evening to report forthwith."

"I did, sir, and have done so."

"Yes, yes ; take a seat, Captain. I am in want of a man of some experience, Captain, who has not only a 'hand to do and a heart to dare,' but also has judgment to guide and direct both. General Thomas, after quietly looking through his command, has picked on you ; and I have such confidence in the 'grizzled old hero' that I have summoned you here for secret service. Are you willing to undertake it, with all its risks?

"Anything, General, for our country's good."

"Very well, sir; you will remain here to-night. Any of your effects you may need, send for by the orderly at the door. During the night I will inform you what your duties will be."

One morning in February, 1863, two persons were making their way on horseback from Shelbyville to Spring Hill. The first of these was dressed in

Quaker garb, and bestrode a light-built, dapple bay stallion, whose small, sinewy limbs, broad chest, and open nostrils betokened both speed and bottom. Horse and rider were ill-matched, but seemed to have a perfect understanding.

The other person was a negro, dressed like his master, broad brim, white neck-tic and all, mounted on a stout roadster. They were fast approaching a vidette post; were shortly halted by a cavalryman; they drew rein and dismounted.

"Is thee a man of war?"asked the Quaker.

"Don't know; reckon, tho', I mought be. But what's your business, Quaker?"

"Does thee know a Mr. Van Dorn about here ?"

"Well, I reckon I does ; but he'll mister ye if you call him that."

"Well, I have business with him, and I desire admittance into thy camps."

"All right, old fellow; wait till I call the corporal."

General Van Dorn was examining some maps and charts, when an orderly entered and announced that a Quaker desired to see him.

"Admit him,"said the General.

"Is thee Mr. Van Dorn, whom carnal men call General? "

"What is your business with me, sir ? "asked the General, without answering the question.

"I am sent, friend Van Dorn, by my society, to administer comforts and consolation to these men of war, and would ask permission to bring such things as they may need or my means may supply."

"Have you any recommendations? " "Yes, verily; "and the Quaker produced a bundle

of papers, and commenced assorting them out. Here is one from friend Quakenbush, and here— "

"Never mind,"said the General, while the corners of his mouth commenced to jerk; "here, Mr.

"Thurston,"suggested the Quaker.

"Mr. Thurston, here is a pass through the lines at will for such articles as you may see proper to bring. This is all, sir?"

"May I ask, friend, how far it is to those ungodly men who are persecuting our people with fire and sword, whom the carnal men call the Yankees? "

"Yes, sir. About fourteen miles. See that you give them a wide berth, for they have a curious way of burning men of your persuasion."

"Yes, verily will I; "and with this the Quaker retired.

"Queer character, that,"remarked the General to himself; but it takes all kinds to make a world."

The Quaker passed out among the camps, meeting a smile here, and a rough jest there. The Quaker seemed to have a good supply of tracts and religious papers, which he scattered freely, with a word of gentle admonition to the card-players, and a hint of the world to come to all. He was particular in his inquiries for the sick, and even visited all the forts and fortifications, and made particular inquiries in and about them for the sick, writing a letter for one, furnishing a stamp to another ; so that at the close of the day he had visited all, and made a memorandum of what was needed, and was preparing to leave camp, when a Lieutenant

came and accosted him with, "I say, stranger, haven't we met before ? "

"Nay, verily,"replied the Quaker, "I go not about where carnal men do battle."

"No! Well, I must have seen you at some place, but I don't recollect where. Likely I'm mistaken."

"Very like, friend; good day to you."

"Massa, did ye see dat debbil's eyes brighten up towards the last ? Tells ye, sure, we'd better be trablin."

"Yes, Sam, I saw it, and my recollection is better than his, for I took him prisoner at Stone River,

though he escaped soon after. We will pass out as soon as possible."

That night a despatch went to General Bragg, which read:

"Look out for a Quaker, followed by a nigger. He is a spy. Arrest him.

41. The Quaker's Escape
(1863)

THE next day a negro rode into Murfreesboro', and passed on to General Rosecrans' headquarters, and presenting a pass, was admitted to his private apartments, and handed the General a paper which read: "2 overcoats and 6 hats, 37 shirts, 3200 tracts, 2000 for the unconverted at Spring Hill."

General Rosecrans was eagerly looking over the document when General Thomas was announced. The latter was cordially met by General Rosecrans, who immediately handed him the paper he had just received. "This is all cipher to me, General,"said General Thomas.

"I suppose so,"said the former, who had been writing." Well, here is something more intelligible: 'Two forts of six guns each ; thirty-seven additional guns; 3200 troops, 2000 of which are cavalry, at Spring Hill.'"

"Humph! Some of Captain Carter's ingenuity,"said General Thomas.

"Yes, he is doing his work nobly, so far. I only hope no harm may come to him."

"Well, General,"said Thomas, "Colonel Blake of the 5th Indiana, was asking me to-day why the Captain was relieved of his command; of course I knew nothing about it."

"That was right,"said Rosecrans; "the effectiveness of the 'secret service' would be greatly impaired by having the names of those engaged in it made known. I enjoined the utmost secrecy upon the

Captain, and kept him here that night that he might not be questioned too closely by his comrades. We will hear from him by ten o'clock to-morrow."

Just then a gentleman, evidently a Southerner, was shown in.

"Where do you reside? "asked General Bragg.

"I live near Brandyville, General, and came down to see if something can't be done to keep these infernal Yankees from our section. They were down there yesterday, and took off over two thousand bushels of corn, and nearly all the wheat in the country."

The speaker was a middle aged man of rather good features, but his countenance betokened the too free use of Confederate whiskey.

"What did you say your name was, Colonel?"

"Ashcroft, sir."

"Yes, yes, I have heard of your family. You have done nobly for our cause, from report."

"We have tried to do our duty, General, and what little I have left you are welcome to, but I don't want the Yankees to get it. I sent down by General Wheeler's command, the other day, a hundred bushels of meal as a gift."

"I wish we had more like you,"said Bragg. "Let me fill your glass again, Colonel. I wish I had something better to offer you."

"Permit me, General, to send to my portmanteau for a bottle of wine."

"Yes, sah."

"Rare vintage, this, General. It's one of a lot I got North before the war."

"Excellent,"says Bragg. "I would like to have a

supply. By the way, Colonel, did you see anything of a Quaker-like personage on the road this morning? "

"Riding a bay horse, with a nigger following?"

"The same."

"Why, yes. He came to my plantation last night. I insisted on his staying all night, but he was in a hurry, and could not stop."

"He was a Yankee spy,"said Bragg.

"The devil! and to think I gave the rascal his supper! "

"Well, well, never mind, Colonel; we'll pick him up yet. I'm looking for some Georgia and Alabama troops up shortly, and if the cowardly Dutchman doesn't run, I'll make another Stone River for him."

"Good for you, General. Don't leave even one of them on our soil. But it's getting late, and I must try and get some supplies before I go back. Will you accommodate me with a pass ?"

"Certainly, and here is a bill of protection for your person and property. No thanks ; good day to you."

"Golly, Massa Cap'n, you's bin talkin' to de ole debbil hissef."

"Hush ! not so loud, Tom. I've got one more to visit, and then we'll be off, and take a straight shoot up Hoover's Gap."

"Cap'n, Cap'n! dey's a regiment ob dese dirty rebels just started up de Manchester road, dat's going up from Hoober's Gap, for I heard de Kernel say so."

"All right, Tom; we'll take the Shelbyville road, and run the risk of meeting Van Dorn. Go out

through the 'abatis,' the same way we came in with the horses, and I'll meet you in half an hour by that old house."

"Missus, dey's a gentleman dat got a frow off his hoss out here, and would like to stop awhile wid ye, if ye please, Missus."

"Very well; I'll send a boy out to help him in. Are you much hurt, sir ? "

"No, madam, I think not; my horse got frightened at some object in the road, and threw me heavily on my right shoulder. A night's rest, madam, will enable me to pursue my journey, I think."

Our hero found, upon examination, that there were no bones broken, and yet the bruise was severe enough to make him covet a night's rest, in preference to passing it on the saddle. So without more ado, he submitted to his hostess's desire to bathe the bruised shoulder, and prepare him a comfortable bed by the fire.

During the night he was awakened by the loud clatter of horses' hoofs, followed immediately by a loud "hilloa."

During the conversation which occurred outside, he heard the name of Van Dorn mentioned, and the thought that they might meet was anything but comfortable to him just at that time ; but he resolved to trust to luck, and if that failed, he would try what virtue there was in "right angles, horizontals,"etc. Presently the door opened, and an officer entered, dressed in the height of Confederate style,— gilt buttons, gold lace, and all,— a glance at which showed that he bore the rank of Lieutenant-General. The conversation that ensued informed our hero that he had the honor of

occupying the same room with General Hardee. He had as yet feigned sleep. He heard the General ask the lady if she knew who he was, and her reply was that she did not. Then followed the story of his getting thrown, and so on. He was anxious to establish his reputation with the General as a sound secesh, and a little ruse occurred to him, which he resolved to practice and suddenly bawled out as if asleep,—

"Run, Tom; the infernal Yankees are coming; put all the horses in the back pasture; take away every nigger with you."

"Ha, ha! "laughed the General he's all right. I'll bet on him. But you see, madam, there is a spy in our lines that we are anxious to catch, and he has, so far, eluded us, and if we meet a stranger, we are anxious to find out his standing. I'm satisfied with this one, for a man will tell the truth when he's asleep."

"Your supper's ready, sah."

And I'm ready for it,"replied the General, and left the room.

Our hero moved, grunted, and finally turned over, found his hostess still in the room, and behind her he saw Tom making motions for him to come out.

The lady asked if he felt comfortable, had he slept well, to all of which he replied in the affirmative; upon which she left the room, and he followed soon after, and found Tom waiting for him.

"Massa, dese debbils has 'sprised' us, and we'd better be a leabin'. I'se got a 'nigh shoot' from de niggahs, dat we can cut across to Manchester and up fru de gap from heah."

"All right, Tom; where's the horses?"

"I'se got um, Massa, out below here."

"Here's for them, then, Tom; come on quickly."

They reached our lines the following evening, and reported to General Rosecrans.

The following order explains itself:—

SPECIAL FIELD ORDER.

Capt. Carter (5th Ind. Vols.) is hereby ordered to return to his command, and is recommended for promotion. By order

42. A Courier's Evening
By A TROOPER (1863)

OF all the duties performed by our soldiers in this war, none were more dangerous or exciting than those of the courier. True, the infantry and artillery fought the pitched battles, and the cavalry led the advance, held the outposts, or made long rides around the enemy's flanks; but they were conducted in person by officers of judgment and experience, and, besides, individual danger is immeasurably lessened by facing it en masse.

To the courier, however, were intrusted the written commands for the movements of the army, with which he was expected to make his way alone (unless particular danger was foreseen) through a country that was probably penetrated by the enemy's scouts or infested by the more dreaded guerillas.

We had just got settled into camp again, at Trenton,

Georgia, after the laborious scaling of Sand Mountain, when, early one bright starry morning, the orderlies shook us out from the comfortable blankets, with injunctions to pack everything and saddle up immediately. Then we started on a long and dusty, but a pleasant, starlight ride across the valley, passing the rear camps of McCook and Thomas, from which the reveille was beating merrily in the crisp morning air. These corps were on the march to cross the Lookout Mountains, which loomed up grandly in the distance. We were not long in discovering the nature of our new duties. As we proceeded, details of five or six men, under a non-commissioned officer, were left at convenient points along the road; these were stations or reliefs on the courier line which we were forming. Our station was the most remote from the head-quarters of the army, while the constant advance of the different corps left us every day more isolated.

It was about ten o'clock on a cool night in the early part of September. Our little cabin blazed with a cheerful fire, which sent a gleam of dancing light out through the open doorway and across the road. The couriers, belted and spurred, stood or reclined in all sorts of positions around the fire, silently awaiting despatches. We had learned to be expectant at night, as experience bad proved that the majority of the mysterious packages came through at that time. Sergeant Daniels had just made a remark to that effect, when the familiar sound of horse's feet broke upon our ears. Mine were, perhaps, more alive to the sound at that moment than the rest, it being my turn to carry the next despatch. I walked to the door to listen. By the speed of the approaching

messenger, I knew that the missive he carried was in haste. In advance of his arrival, therefore, I proceeded to mount Shiloh, who was in excellent trim, and rubbed his nose briskly on my shoulder as I untied him. He knew right well that a long and perilous journey was to be made, and like a brave animal snorted defiance.

In another moment the courier arrived. Sergeant Daniels examined the despatch, and handed it to me as I rode up to the door. By the light from within I glanced at the superscription and read: "Major General Thomas, commanding 14th Corps. Full speed."An instant later I was galloping away.

The night was very clear, but chilly, and I braced myself anew for the weary ride. I had traversed those roads several times before at night, but on this occasion they appeared to be unusually gloomy. The fenceless fields by which I swept seemed more forlorn than usual; the woods were darker through which I felt my way; the hideous cry of the owls seemed to fill the air with demon voices. I could not shake from me the presentiment of some impending evil. Instinctively my hand sought the revolver at my side, and half-cocked it. The action caused Shiloh to prick up his ears and increase his speed, and in a short time I found myself under the bold brow of Lookout, which shut out half the heavens, and rendered the darkness more intense.

The approach to the mountain lies through a dense woods, along the outer skirt of which flowed a small stream. Approaching the creek, I loosened the rein in order to allow my horse to drink, as he was accustomed to do at this place. The banks were rather steep, and as he lowered his nose and was about to

feel his way into the water, the woods behind were torn into a million echoes by the report of a rifle ! At the same time my horse plunged madly forward into the creek, lost his Looting, and we both went down together. It will readily be believed that I was scared; but I preserved sufficient presence of mind to disengage my feet from the stirrups and to draw my pistol, which I held up out of the water. The current of the stream was neither deep nor strong, so that Shiloh and myself soon regained our feet, and made all haste up the opposite bank. It was not until that moment that I noticed a mounted figure darkly outlined on the other side of the stream. It was my would-be murderer, who had doubtless expected to find me dead or disabled. I gave him a positive assurance to the contrary by discharging a shot at him, which caused the figure to disappear as suddenly as it had come. I listened to the sound of the rascal's retreat until it died away in the distance. Then, wringing some of the water out of my clothes, and remounting, I pushed forward with all speed from what appeared to be a dangerous locality.

But my horse had not proceeded twenty yards before I perceived that his strength was failing. His steps lagged more and more every moment, in spite of my utmost efforts to urge him forward. With a heavy heart I dismounted and examined him. My fears proved too true : he was wounded. I felt a perforation, from which the warm blood oozed slowly down his flanks. The brave beast finally succumbed, and with a deep drawn sigh staggered heavily to the ground. For awhile my own danger was forgotten in sympathy for the poor horse. He had borne me

faithfully and well through a thousand perils, and now he was giving up his life in my service.

My situation was certainly alarming. The bushwhacker might follow me, and it was equally probable that others of his clan were lying in advance, to make sure of the victim. Those dreadful marauders seldom traveled alone.

For aught I knew their practiced eyes might even then be staring through the darkness around me. For a moment or two I was in a painful state of indecision. In night rides I had always trusted implicitly to the instinct of my horse; but now that resource was denied me, and my topographical instincts were none of the best. Should I make my way back to the station, remount and bring a comrade with me ? A feeling of pride determined me to go forward at all hazards and deliver my despatch. Quickly stripping the bridle, blanket, and saddle-bags from the dead animal, and securing them about my person, I gave my belt an extra hitch, and started forward.

By the position of the few stars that were visible I assumed the time to be near midnight. The road up the mountain was fearfully trying to legs and wind. For two hours (as I judged) I clambered up the rocky way, stopping every hundred yards to rest and fill my exhausted lungs. The air grew colder as I neared the summit, and the heavy dew saturated my cap and great-coat, already well soaked in the creek. It was growing lighter, too, as I ascended. I turned at times to look off into the valley behind, which stretched away dark and shadowy to the horizon.

I turned away with a sigh and bent my steps again toward the summit. I had not gone far when "Halt! who comes there? "yelled out shrill and clear, as if

from the clouds. The unexpected challenge thrilled me to the marrow. Was it a rebel or a Union picket? The lightning-like process by which I arrived at the conclusion that my challenger was a Federal sentry, is long since forgotten; but to such a conclusion I did arrive in an instant. Answering—

"A courier with despatches."

"Dismount, courier, and advance,"he replied.

As I was already dismounted, I proceeded to obey the latter part of the injunction. I had gone but a few yards, however, when I was halted again. "Where's your horse?" inquired the sentinel, who was evidently growing suspicious. This question led to an explanation of affairs; and in a short time I was the centre of a gaping crowd on the mountain top, to whom I related my adventure in the valley. My listeners were a portion of Harrison's Mounted Infantry, who were returning from a scout. I hold in grateful remembrance a tin-cup full of hot coffee, which one of these brave boys prepared for my benefit. I think they called him "Gussy."Aided by the advice of these boys, and a captured mule which they loaned me, I was not long in finding the way into the other valley, where the newly risen sun and freshly traveled roads enabled me to keep track of the 14th Corps. I found the Head-Quarters of Thomas in the saddle, and delivered my despatch to one of his staff.