University of Virginia Library

5. PART V
IN CAMP AND ON THE MARCH

57. March!
By BAYARD TAYLOR (1862)

58. Tent Life
By JOHN D. BILLINGS (1861)

ENTER with me into a Sibley tent which is not stockaded. If it is cold weather, we shall find the cone-shaped stove, which I have already mentioned,

standing in the centre.— These stoves were useless for cooking purposes, and the men were likely to burn—their blankets on them in the night, so that many of the troops utilized them by building a small brick or stone oven below, in which they did their cooking, setting the stove on top as a part of the flue. The length of pipe furnished by the government was not sufficient to reach the opening at the top, and the result was that unless the inmates bought more to piece it out, the upper part of such tent was as black and sooty as a chimney flue.

The dozen men occupying a Sibley tent slept with their feet toward the centre. The choice place to occupy was that portion opposite the door, as one was not then in the way of passers in and out, although he was himself more or less of a nuisance to others when he came in. The tent was most crowded at meal times, for, owing to its shape, there can be no standing or sitting erect except about the centre. But while there was more or less growling at accidents by some, there was much forbearance by others, and, aside from the vexations arising from the constitutional blundering of some, these little knots were quite family-like and sociable.

The manner in which the time was spent in tents varied with the disposition of the inmates. It was not always practicable for men of kindred tastes to band themselves under the same canvas, and so just as they differed in their avocations as citizens, they differed in their social life, and many kinds of pastimes went on simultaneously. Of course, all wrote letters more or less, but there were a few men who seemed to spend the most of their spare time in this occupation. Especially was this so in the earlier part of a man's

war experience. The side or end strip of a hardtack box, held on the knees, constituted the writing-desk on which this operation was performed. It is well remembered that in the early months of the war silver

money disappeared, as it commanded a premium, so that, change being scarce, postage stamps were used instead. This was before scrip was issued by the government to take the place of silver; and although the use of stamps as change was not authorized by the national government, yet everybody took them, and the soldiers in particular just about to leave for the war carried large quantities away with them not all in the best of condition. This could hardly be expected when they had been through so many hands. They were passed about in little envelopes, containing twenty-five and fifty cents in value.

Many an old soldier can recall his disgust on finding, what a mess his stamps were in either from rain, perspiration, or compression, as he attempted, after a hot march, to get one for a letter. If he could split off one from a welded mass of perhaps a hundred or more, he counted himself fortunate. Of course they could be soaked out after a while, but he would need to dry them on a griddle afterward, they were so sticky. It was later than this that the postmaster-general issued an order allowing soldiers to send letters without prepayment; but, if I recollect right, it was necessary to write on the outside "Soldier's Letter."

Besides letter-writing the various games of cards were freely engaged in. Many men played for money. Cribbage and euchre were favorite games. Reading was a pastime quite generally indulged in, and there was no novel so dull, trashy, or sensational as not to find some one so bored with nothing to do that he would wade through it.

Chequers was a popular game among the soldiers, backgammon less so, and it was only rarely that the statelier and less familiar game of chess was to be observed on the board. There were some soldiers who rarely joined in any games. In this class were to be found the illiterate members of a company. Of course they did not read or write, and they rarely played cards. They were usually satisfied to lie on

their blankets, and talk with one another, or watch the playing. Yes, they did have one pastime—the proverbial soldier's pastime of smoking. A pipe was their omnipresent companion, and seemed to make up to them in sociability for whatsoever they lacked of entertainment in other directions.

One branch of business which was carried on quite extensively was the making of pipes and rings as mementos of a camp or battle-field. The pipes were made from the root of the mountain laurel when it could be had, and often ornamented with the badges of the various corps, either in relief or inlaid. The rings were made sometimes of dried horn or hoof, very often of bone, and some were fashioned out of large gutta-percha buttons which were sent from home.

The evenings in camp were less occupied in gameplaying, I should say, than the hours off duty in the daytime; partly, perhaps, because the tents were rather dimly lighted, and partly because of a surfeit of such recreations by daylight. But, whatever the cause, I think old soldiers will generally agree in the statement that the evenings were the time of sociability and reminiscence. It was then quite a visiting time among soldiers of the same organization. It was then that men from the same town or neighborhood got together and exchanged home gossip. Each one would produce recent letters giving interesting information about mutual friends or acquaintances, telling that such a girl or old schoolmate was married; that such a man had enlisted in such a regiment; that another was wounded and at home on furlough; that such another had been exempted from the forthcoming draft, because he had lost teeth,

that yet another had suddenly gone to Canada on important business-which was a favorite refuge for all those who were afraid of being forced into the service.

Then, there were many men not so fortunate as to have enlisted with acquaintances, or to be near them in the army. These were wont to lie on their blankets, and join in the general conversation, or exchange ante-war experiences, and find much of interest in common; but, whatever the number or variety of the evening diversions, there is not the slightest doubt that home, its inmates, and surroundings were more thought of and talked of then than in all the rest of the twentyfour hours.

In some tents vocal or instrumental music was a feature of the evening. There was probably not a regiment in the service that did not boast at least one violinist, one banjoist, and a bone player in its ranks—not to mention other instruments generally found associated with these—and one or all of them could be beard in operation, either inside or in a company street, most any pleasant evening. However unskilful the artists, they were sure to be the centre of an interested audience. The usual medley of comic songs and negro melodies comprised the greater part of the entertainment, and, if the space admitted, a jig or clog dance was stepped out on a hardtack box or other crude platform. Sometimes a real negro was brought in to enliven the occasion by patting and dancing "Juba,"or singing his quaint music. There were always plenty of them in or near camp ready to fill any gap, for they asked nothing better than to be with "Massa Linkum's Sojers."But the men played tricks of all descriptions on them, descending at times

to most shameful abuse until some one interfered. There were a few of the soldiers who were not satisfied to play a reasonable practical joke, but must bear down with all that the good-natured Ethiopians could stand, and, having the fullest confidence in the friendship of the soldiers, these poor fellows stood much more than human nature should be called to endure without a murmur. Of course they were on the lookout a second time.

59. "Hardtack and Coffee"
By JOHN D. BILLINGS (1861)

A FALSE impression has obtained more or less currency both with regard to the quantity and quality of the food furnished the soldiers. I have been asked a great many times whether I always got enough to eat in the army, and have surprised inquirers by answering in the affirmative. Now, some old soldier may say who sees my reply, "Well, you were lucky. I didn't."But I should at once ask him to tell me for how long a time his regiment was ever without food of some kind. Of course, I am not now referring to our prisoners of war, who starved by the thousands. And I should be very much surprised if be should say more than twenty-four or thirty hours, at the outside. I would grant that he himself might, perhaps have been so situated as to be deprived of food a longer time, possibly when he was on an exposed picket post, or serving as rear-guard to the army, or doing something which separated him temporarily from his company; but his case would be the exception and not the rule. Sometimes, when

active operations were in progress, the army was compelled to wait a few hours for its trains to come up, but no general hardship to the men ever ensued on this account. Such a contingency was usually known some time in advance, and the men would husband their last issue of rations, or perhaps, if the country admitted, would make additions to their bill of fare in the shape of poultry or pork;—usually it was the latter, for the Southerners do not pen up their swine as do the Northerners, but let them go wandering about, getting their living much of the time as best they can.

I will now give a complete list of the rations served out to the rank and file, as I remember them. They were salt pork, fresh beef, salt beef, rarely ham or bacon, hard bread, soft bread, potatoes, an occasional onion, flour, beans, split pease, rice, dried apples, dried peaches, desiccated vegetables, coffee, tea, sugar, molasses, vinegar, candles, soap, pepper, and salt.

It is scarcely necessary to state that these were not all served out at one time. There was but one kind of meat served at once, and this, to use a Hibernianism, was usually pork. When it was hard bread, it wasn't soft bread or flour, and when it was pease or beans it wasn't rice.

The commissioned officers fared better in camp than the enlisted men. Instead of drawing rations after the manner of the latter, they had a certain cash allowance, according to rank, with which to purchase supplies from the Brigade Commissary, an official whose province was to keep stores on sale for their convenience.

I will speak of the rations more in detail, beginning with the hard bread, or, to use the name by which it

was known in the Army of the Potomac, Hardtack. What was hardtack ? It was a plain flour-and-water biscuit. Two which I have in my possession as mementos measure three and oneeighth by two and seven-eighths inches, and are nearly half an inch thick. Although these biscuits were furnished to organizations by weight, they were dealt out to the

A BREAD OVEN.

[Description: Large woman standing beside a wood oven]

men by number, nine constituting a ration in some regiments, and ten in others; but there were usually enough for those who wanted more, as some men would not draw them. While hardtack was nutritious, yet a hungry man could eat his ten in a short time and still be hungry. When they were poor and fit objects for the soldiers' wrath, it was due to one of three conditions : first, they may have been so hard that they could not be bitten; it then required a very strong blow of the fist to break them; the second condition was when they were mouldy or wet, as sometimes happened, and should not have been given to the soldiers: the third condition was when from storage they had become infested with maggots.

When the bread was mouldy or moist, it was thrown away and made good at the next drawing, so that the men were not the losers; but in the case of its being infested with the weevils, they had to stand it as a rule ; but hardtack was not so bad an article of food, even when traversed by insects, as may be supposed. Eaten in the dark, no one could tell the difference between it and hardtack that was untenanted. It was no uncommon occurrence for a man to find the surface of his pot of coffee swimming with weevils, after breaking up hardtack in it, which had come out of the fragments only to drown; but they were easily skimmed off, and left no distinctive flavor behind.

Having gone so far, I know the reader will be interested to learn of the styles in which this particular article was served up by the soldiers. Of course, many of them were eaten just as they were received—hardtack plain; then I have already spoken of their being crumbed in coffee, giving the "hardtack and coffee."Probably more were eaten in this way than in any other, for they thus frequently furnished the soldier his breakfast and supper. But there were other and more appetizing ways of preparing them. Many of the soldiers, partly through a slight taste for the business but more from force of circumstances, became in their way and opinion experts in the art of cooking the greatest variety of dishes with the smallest amount of capital.

Some of these crumbed them in soups for want of other thickening. For this purpose they served very well. Some crumbed them in cold water, then fried the crumbs in the juice and fat of meat. A dish akin to this one which was said to make the hair curl, and certainly was indigestible enough to satisfy the cravings of the most ambitious dyspeptic, was prepared by soaking hardtack in cold water, then frying them brown in pork fat, salting to taste. Another name for this dish was skillygalee. Some liked them toasted, either to crumb in coffee, or if a sutler was at hand whom they could patronize, to butter. The toasting generally took place from the end of a split stick.

Then they worked into milk-toast made of condensed milk at seventy-five cents a can ; but only a recruit with a big bounty, or an old vet, the child of wealthy parents, or a reenlisted man did much in that way. A few who succeeded by hook or by crook in saving up a portion of their sugar ration spread it upon hardtack. And so in various ways the ingenuity of the men was taxed to make this plainest and commonest yet most serviceable of army food to do duty in every conceivable combination.

60. On the March
By CARLTON MCCARTHY (1861)

ORDERS to move ! Where ? when? what for ? are the eager questions of the men as they begin their preparations to march. Generally nobody can answer, and the journey is commenced in utter ignorance of where it is to end. But shrewd guesses are made,

and scraps of information will be picked up on the way. The main thought must be to get ready to move. The orderly sergeant is shouting "Fall in!"and there is no time to lose. The probability is that before you get your blanket rolled up, find your fryingpan, haversack, axe, etc., and fall in, the roll-call will be over, and some extra duty provided.

No wonder there is bustle in the camp. Rapid decisions are to be made between the various conveniences which have accumulated, for some must be left. One fellow picks up the skillet, holds it awhile, mentally determining how much it weighs, and what will be the weight of it after carrying it five miles, and reluctantly, with a half-ashamed, sly look drops it and takes his place in the ranks. Another having added to his store of blankets too, freely, now has to decide which of the two or three he will leave. The old waterbucket looks large and heavy, but one stout-hearted, strong-armed man has taken it affectionately to his care.

This is the time to say farewell to the bread tray, farewell to the little piles of clean straw laid between two logs, where it was so easy to sleep; farewell to those piles of wood, cut with so much labor; farewell to the girls in the neighborhood ; farewell to the spring, farewell to our tree and our fire, good-by to the fellows who are not going, and a general good-by to the very hills and valleys.

Soldiers commonly threw away the most valuable articles they possessed. Blankets, overcoats, shoes, bread and meat,— all gave way to the necessities of the march; and what one man threw away would frequently be the very article that another wanted and would immediately pick up; so there was not much lost after all.

The first hour or so of the march was generally quite orderly, the men preserving their places in ranks and marching in solid columns; but soon sorne lively fellow whistles an air, somebody else starts a song, the whole column breaks out with roars of laughter; route step takes the place of order, and the jolly singing, laughing, talking, and joking that follows no one could describe.

Troops on the march were generally so cheerful and gay that an outsider, looking on them as they marched, would hardly imagine how they suffered. In summer time, the dust, combined with the heat, caused great suffering. The nostrils of the men, filled with dust, became dry and feverish, and even the throat did not escape. The grit was felt between the teeth, and the eyes were rendered almost useless. There was dust in eyes, mouth, cars and hair. The shoes were full of sand, and the dust penetrated the clothes. The heat was at times terrific, but the, men became greatly accustomed to it, and endured it with wonderful ease. Their heavy woolen clothes were a great annoyance; tough linen or cotton clothes would have been a great relief; indeed, there are many objections to woolen clothing for soldiers, even in winter.

If the dust and heat were not on hand to annoy, their very able substitutes were: mud, cold, rain, snow, hail and wind took their places. Rain was the greatest discomfort a soldier could have ; it was more uncomfortable than the severest cold with clear weather. Wet clothes, shoes and blankets ; wet meat and bread; wet feet and wet ground; wet wood to burn, or rather not to burn; wet arms and ammunition; wet ground to sleep on, mud to wade through, swollen creeks to ford, muddy springs, and a thousand other

discomforts attended the rain. There was no comfort on a rainy day or night except in bed,— that is, under your blanket and oil-cloth. Cold winds, blowing the rain in the faces of the men, increased the discomfort. Mud was often so deep as to submerge the horses and mules, and at times it was necessary for one man or more to extricate another from the mud holes in the road.

Occasionally, when the column extended for a mile or more, and the road was one dense moving mass of men, a cheer would be heard away ahead—increasing in volume as it approached, until there was one universal shout. Then some favorite general officer dashing by, followed by his staff, would explain the cause. At other times, the same cheering and enthusiasm would result from the passage down the column of some obscure and despised officer, who knew it was all a joke, and looked mean and sheepish accordingly. But no man could produce more prolonged or hearty cheers than the old hare which jumped the fence and invited the column to a chase; and often it was said, when the rolling shout arose: "There goes old General Lee or a Molly Cotton Tail !"

The most refreshing incidents of the march occurred when the column entered some clean and cosy village where the people loved the troops. Matron and maid vied with each other in their efforts to express their devotion to the defenders of their cause. Remembering with tearful eyes the absent soldier, brother or husband, they yet smiled through their tears, and with hearts and voices welcomed the coming of the road-stained troops. Their scanty larders poured out the last morsel, and their bravest words were spoken as the column moved by.

After all the march had more pleasure than pain. Chosen friends walked and talked and smoked together; the hills and valleys made themselves a panorama for the feasting of the soldier's eyes ; a turnip path here and an onion patch there invited him to occasional refreshment; and it was sweet to think that camp was near at hand, and rest, and the journey almost ended.

61. The Chevalier of the Lost
Cause
By GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON (1861)

IN the great dining-hall of the Briars, an old-time mansion in the Shenandoah Valley, the residence of Mr. John Esten Cooke, there hangs a portrait of a broad-shouldered cavalier, and beneath is written, in the hand of the cavalier himself,

an autograph sentiment which seems to me a very perfect one in its way. There was no point in Stuart's character more strongly marked than the one here hinted at. He was yours to count on always : your friend if possible, your enemy if you would have it so, but your friend or your enemy "to count on,"in any case. A franker, more transparent nature, it is impossible to conceive. What he was he professed to be. That which he thought, he said, and his habit of thinking as much good as he could of those about him served to make his frankness of speech a great friend-winner.

I saw him for the first time when he was a colonel, in command of the little squadron of horsemen known as the first regiment of Virginia cavalry.

My company arrived at the camp about noon, after a march of three or four days, having travelled twenty miles that morning. Stuart, whom we encountered as we entered the camp, assigned us our position, and ordered our tents pitched. Our captain, who was even worse disciplined than we were, seeing a much more comfortable camping-place than the muddy one assigned to us, and being a comfort-loving gentleman, proceeded to lay out a model camp at a distance of fifty yards from the spot indicated. It was not long before the colonel particularly wished to consult with that captain, and after the consultation the volunteer officer was firmly convinced that all West Point graduates were martinets, with no knowledge whatever of the courtesies due from one gentleman to another.

We were weary after our long journey, and disposed to welcome the prospect of rest which our arrival in the camp held out. But resting, as we soon learned, had small place in our colonel's tactics. We had been in camp perhaps an hour, when a n order came directing that the company be divided into three parts, each under command of a lieutenant, and that these report immediately for duty. Reporting, we were directed to scout through the country around Martinsburg, going as near the town as possible, and to give battle to any cavalry force we might meet. Here was a pretty lookout, certainly! Our officers knew not one inch of the country, and might fall into all sorts of traps and ambuscades; and what if we should meet a cavalry force greatly superior to

our own? This West Point colonel was rapidly forfeiting our good opinion. Our lieutenants were brave fellows, however, and they led us boldly if ignorantly, almost up to the very gates of the town occupied by the enemy. We saw some cavalry but met none, their orders not being so peremptorily belligerent, perhaps, as ours were ; wherefore they gave us no chance to fight them. The next morning our unreasonable colonel again ordered us to mount, in spite of the fact that there were companies in the camp which had done nothing at all the day before. This time he led us himself, taking pains to get us as nearly as possible surrounded by infantry, and then laughingly telling us that our chance for getting out of the difficulty, except by cutting our way through, was an exceedingly small one. I think we began about this time to suspect that we were learning something, and that this reckless colonel was trying to teach us. But that he was a hare-brained fellow, lacking the caution belonging to a commander, we were unanimously agreed. He led us out of the place at a rapid gait, before the one gap in the enemy's lines could be closed, and then jauntily led us into one or two other traps, before taking us back to camp.

But it was not until General Patterson began his feint against Winchester that our colonel had full opportunity to give us his field lectures. When the advance began, and our pickets were driven in, the most natural thing to do, in our view of the situation, was to fall back upon our infantry supports at Winchester, and I remember bearing various expressions of doubt as to the colonel's sanity when, instead of falling back, he marched his handful of men right up to the advancing lines, and ordered us to dismount.

The Federal skirmish line was coming toward us at a doublequick, and we were set going toward it at a like rate of speed, leaving our horses hundreds of yards to the rear. We could see that the skirmishers alone outnumbered us three or four times, and it really seemed that our colonel meant to sacrifice his command deliberately. He waited until the infantry was within about two hundred yards of us, we being in the edge of a little grove, and they on the other side of an open field. Then Stuart cried out, "Backwards— march ! steady, men,— keep your faces to the enemy!"and we marched in that way through the timber, delivering our shot-gun fire slowly as we fell back toward our horses. Then mounting, with the skirmishers almost upon us, we retreated, not hurriedly, but at a slow trot, which the colonel would on no account permit us to change into a gallop. Taking us out into the main road he halted us in column, with our backs to the enemy.

"Attention! "he cried. "Now I want to talk to you men. You are brave fellows, and patriotic ones too, but you are ignorant of this kind of work, and I am teaching you. I want you to observe that a good man on a good horse can never be caught. Another thing: cavalry can trot away from anything, and a gallop is a gait unbecoming a soldier, unless he is going toward the enemy. Remember that. We gallop toward the enemy, and trot away, always. Steady now! don't break ranks!"

And as the words left his lips a shell from a battery half a mile to the rear hissed over our heads.

"There,"he resumed. "I've been waiting for that and watching those fellows. I knew they'd shoot too high, and I wanted you to learn how shells sound."

We spent the next day or two literally within the Federal lines. We were shelled, skirmished with, charged, and surrounded scores of times, until we learned to hold in high regard our colonel's masterly skill in getting into and out of perilous positions. He seemed to blunder into them in sheer recklessness, but in getting out he showed us the quality of his genius; and before we reached Manassas we had learned, among other things, to entertain a feeling closely akin to worship for our brilliant and daring leader. We had begun to understand, too, how much force he meant to give to his favorite dictum that the cavalry is the eye of the army.

I had been detailed to do some clerical work at his headquarters, and, having finished the task assigned me, was waiting in the piazza of the house he occupied, for somebody to give me further orders, when Stuart came out.

"Is that your horse?"he asked, going up to the animal and examining him minutely.

I replied that he was, and upon being questioned further informed him that I did not wish to sell my steed. Turning to me suddenly, he said:

"Let's slip off on a scout, then ; I'll ride your horse and you can ride mine. I want to try your beast's paces; "and mounting, we galloped away. Where or how far he intended to go I did not know. He was enamoured of my horse, and rode, I suppose, for the pleasure of riding an animal which pleased him. We passed outside our picket line, and then, keeping in the woods, rode within that of the Union army. Wandering about in a purposeless way, we got a near view of some of the Federal camps, and finally finding ourselves objects of attention on the

part of some well-mounted cavalry in blue uniforms, we rode rapidly down a road toward our own lines, our pursuers riding quite as rapidly immediately behind us.

"General,"I cried presently, "there is a Federal picket post on the road just ahead of us. Had we not better oblique into the woods ?"

"Oh no. They won't expect us from this direction, and we can ride over them before they make up their minds who we are."

Three minutes later we rode at full speed through the corporal's guard on picket, and were a hundred yards or more away before they could level a gun at us. Then half a dozen bullets whistled about our ears, but the cavalier paid no attention to them.

"Did you ever time this horse for a half-mile?"was all he had to say.

It was on the day of my ride with him that I heard him express his views of the war and his singular aspiration for himself. It was almost immediately after General McClellan assumed command of the army of the Potomac, and while we were rather eagerly expecting him to attack our strongly fortified position at Centreville. Stuart was talking with some members of his staff, with whom be had been wrestling a minute before. He said something about what they could do by way of amusement when they should go into winter-quarters.

"That is to say,"he continued, "if George B. McClellan ever allows us to go into winter-quarters at all."

"Why, general? Do you think he will advance before spring?"asked one of the officers.

"Not against Centreville,"replied the general

"He has too much sense for that, and I think he knows the shortest road to Richmond, too. If I am not greatly mistaken, we shall hear of him presently on his way up the James River."

In this prediction, as the reader knows, he was right. The conversation then passed to the question of results.

"I regard it as a foregone conclusion,"said Stuart, "that we shall ultimately whip the Yankees. We are bound to believe that, anyhow; but the war is going to be a long and terrible one, first. We've only just begun it, and very few of us will see the end. All I ask of fate is that I may be killed leading a cavalry charge."

The remark was not a boastful or seemingly insincere one. It was made quietly, cheerfully, almost eagerly, and it impressed me at the time with the feeling that the man's idea of happiness was what the French call glory, and that in his eyes there was no glory like that of dying in one of the tremendous onsets which he knew so well how to make. His wish was granted, as we know. He received his death-wound at the head of his troopers.

62. Old Heart of Oak [1]
By WILLIAM T. MEREDITH (1864)

63. An Escape from Prison

THE possibility of escape was a subject of thought and conversation among us quite early in our imprisonment. After Henry's departure, I made up my mind to try the experiment as soon as matters seemed ripe for it. The reports of exchange just at hand, which coaxed us into hope from week to week, for

four months, no longer tantalized us. I was exceedingly restless and impatient. There was scarcely a day of which I did not spend more than one hour in thinking of the possibilities and probabilities of the attempt; and many a night did my bedfellow and I lie awake after others had gone to sleep, and discuss the merits of 'various plans. I used to pace our empty front-room, and think of the sluggish wretchedness of our life here, and the joy of freedom gained by our own efforts,—the same round of thought over and over again,— until I was half wild with the sense of restraint and of suffocation.

Our plan, as finally agreed upon, was simple. Twice during the day we were allowed half an hour in the yard for exercise; being counted when we came in, or soon after, to assure the sergeant of the guard that we were all present. In this yard was a small brick building consisting of two rooms used as kitchens,— one by ourselves, the other by the naval officers. The latter of these had a window opening into a woodshed; from which, part of the side being torn away, there was access to a narrow space between another small building and the jail-fence. Our intention was to enter this kitchen during our halfhour of liberty, as we were frequently in the habit of doing; to talk with those who were on duty for the day; remain there after the cooks had gone in, leaving lay-figures to be counted in our stead by the sergeant; thence through the woodshed, and, by removing a board of the high fence already loosened for the purpose, into the adjoining premises, from which we could easily gain the street. The latter part of the movement— all of it, indeed, except the entrance into the kitchen, where we were to remain

quiet for several hours-was to be executed after dark.

The street once gained, my comrade and I intended to take the railroad running northward along the banks of the Broad River, follow it during the first night, while our escape was still undiscovered, then strike as direct a course as possible for the North-Carolina line. Through the latter State, we hoped to make our way westward across the mountains, where we should find friends as well as enemies, ultimately reaching Burnside's lines in East Tennessee. The distance to be passed over we estimated at about three hundred miles; the time which it would occupy, at from twenty to thirty days. The difficulties in our way were very great, the chances for and against us we considered certainly no better than equal.

Our preparations for such a trip were, of necessity, few. We manufactured a couple of stout cloth haversacks, in which, though hardly as large as the army pattern, we were to carry ten days' provision,— each of us two dozen hard-boiled eggs, and about six quarts of corn parched and ground. Besides a rubber blanket to each, we concluded, for the sake of light traveling, to carry but a single woolen one. This, with one or two other articles of some bulk, we placed in a wash-tub and covered with soiled clothes, in order to convey them, without exciting suspicion, to the kitchen. My baggage, for the journey, besides what has already been referred to, consisted of an extra pair of cotton socks, a comb, toothbrush, and piece of soap, needle and thread, a piece of stout cloth, a flask about one-third full of excellent brandy, a piece of lard, a paper of salt, pencil and paper, and my home-photographs.

Two dummies, or lay-figures, were to be made. The first was a mere pile of blankets; but its position in the second story of our double-tier bedstead protected it from close observation. For the second, I borrowed a pair of pants, and for one foot found a cast-off shoe. The upper part of the figure was covered with a blanket; and the face, with a silk handkerchief: attitude was carefully attended to. I flattered myself that the man was enough of a man for pretty sharp eyes, and was satisfied when Lieutenant Bliss came in, and unsuspectingly addressed him by the name of the officer whose pants he wore.

After the last thing was done which could be done in the way of preparation, time passed very slowly. I was impatiently nervous, and spent the hours in pacing the rooms and watching the sluggish clockhands. The excitement of anticipation was hardly less than that which I have felt before an expected fight. The personal stake at issue was little different.

My comrade in this venturesome move was Captain Chamberlain, of the 7th Connecticut. He was well-informed, an ex-editor, plucky, and of excellent physique, well calculated to endure hardship, and a good swimmer. He was that day on duty in the kitchen. At four P.M. we went out as usual for exercise. Entering the kitchen a few minutes before our halfhour had expired, I concealed myself in a snug corner, before which one or two towels, a huge tin boiler, and other convenient articles, were so disposed as to render the shelter complete should so unusual an event occur as a visit from the guard after that hour.

It was but a few minutes before the corporal, acting for the day as sergeant, was seen to enter the room to which all but the cooks and myself had returned.

Our confidence that all would go well was based in great measure upon his stupidity; and it was with greatly increased apprehensions that I heard that he was accompanied to-night by Captain Senn.

Rather than pass the ordeal of a visit from him, had we anticipated it, we should probably have deferred our attempt another day, even at the risk of losing our chance altogether. He opened the door and went in. I waited anxiously to hear what would follow. He seemed to stay longer than usual. Was there anything wrong? Suspense lengthened the minutes; but it was of no use to question those who could see, while the door remained closed, no more than myself. Presently I was told that the door was open; he was coming out; there seemed to be no alarm; he was stepping briskly toward the yard. We breathed more freely. A moment more, and he was going back, evidently dissatisfied with something. He re-entered the room. "It's all up,"said my reporter. I thought myself that there was little doubt of it, and prepared, the moment any sign of alarm appeared, to come from my retreat, which I preferred to leave voluntarily rather than with the assistance of a file of men. Too bad to be caught at the very outset, without so much as a whiff of the air of freedom to compensate us for the results of detection! But no: Captain Senn comes quietly out, walks leisurely through the hall; and his pipe is lit,—best evidence in the world that all is tranquil, his mind undisturbed by anything startling or unexpected.

But it was too soon to exult: congratulations were cut short by sudden silence on the part of my friends. I listened: it was broken by a step on the threshold,

and the voice of the captain close beside me. I didn't hold my breath according to the established precedent in all such cases ; but I sat for a little while as still as I did the first time that ever my daguerreotype was taken; then, cautiously moving my head, I caught a view of the visitor as he stood hardly more than at arm's-length from me. He was merely on a tour of inspection; asked a few unimportant questions of the cooks, and, after a brief call, took his leave. It was with more than mere physical relief that I stretched myself, and took a new position in my somewhat cramped quarters. Immediate danger was over: we had nothing more to fear until the cooks went in. We listened anxiously, until it seemed certain that all danger from another visit and the discovery of Captain Chamberlain's absence was over; then sat down to wait for a later hour.

After perhaps an hour of quiet, we set about what little was to be done before we were ready to leave the building,— the rolling of our blankets, not yet taken from the tub in which they had been brought out, the filling of our haversacks, etc. To do this in perfect silence was no easy task. Any noise made was easily audible outside: the window looking toward the jail had no sash, and the blinds which closed it failed to meet in the center. A sentry stood not far distant. More than once, startled by the loud rattling of the paper which we were unwrapping from our provisions, or the clatter of some dish inadvertently touched in the darkness, we paused, and anxiously peeped through the blinds to see if the sentry had noticed it. The possibility of any one's being in the kitchen at that hour was probably the last thought to enter his mind. Many times

we carefully felt our way around the room,— stockingfoot and tip-toe,—searching for some article laid down perhaps but a moment before, lost, without the aid of eyesight to recover it, until at length we thought ourselves ready to pass into the adjoining room, whose window opened upon the woodshed.

The only communication between these rooms was by a small hole broken through the chimney-back, scarcely large enough to admit the body, and with the passage further embarrassed by the stoves on either side, so placed that it was necessary to lie down, and move serpent-wise for a considerable distance. Captain Chamberlain made the first attempt, and discovered that the door of the stove on the opposite side had been left open, and wedged in that position by the wood, crowded in for the morning's fire; so that the passage was effectually obstructed. The hole had to be enlarged by the tearing-away of more bricks, which, as fast as removed, he handed to me to be laid on one side. Patient labor at length made a sufficient opening, and he passed through. I handed to him the blankets, haversacks, and shoes, and with some difficulty followed.

64. Escape from the Southern Lines
By WILLIAM G. STEVENSON (1862)

WE reached Chattanooga on June 1st, and I found it, to my chagrin, a military camp, containing seven thousand cavalry, under strict military rule. We

were now in a trap, as our pass here ended, and we were near the Federal lines. How to get out of the town was now the problem, and one of the most difficult I had yet met in my study of Rebel topography. We put up at the Crutchfield House, stabled our horses, and sat about in the bar-room, saying nothing to attract attention, but getting all the information

UNION PICKET LINE.

[Description: Union soldiers hiding behind some barracks]

possible. I was specially careful not to be recognized. The cavalry company I had commanded on the long retreat from Nashville, was in Chattanooga at this time. Had any one of them seen me, my position would have been doubly critical; as it was, I felt the need of circumspection. It was clear to me that we could not leave Chattanooga in military garb, as we had entered it, for, without a pass, no cavalry man could leave the lines. This settled, a walk along-the street showed me a Jew clothing-store, with suits new and old, military and agricultural. My resolution was formed, and I went to the stabletaking with me a newly fledged cavalry officer, who needed and was able to pay for an elegant cavalry saddle. Thus I was rid of one chief evidence of the military profession. A small portion of the price purchased a plain farmer-like saddle and bridle. An accommodating dealer in clothes next made me look quite like a country farmer of the middle class. My companion was equally successful in transforming himself, and in the dusk of the evening we were passing out to the country as farmers who had been in to see the sights.

We safely reached and passed the outer pickets, and then took to the woods, and struck in toward the Tennessee river, hoping to find a ferry where money, backed, if necessary, by the moral suasion of pistols, would put us across. I was growing desperate, and determined not to be foiled. We made some twelve miles, and then rested in the woods till morning, when selecting the safest hiding-place I could find, I left my companion with the horses and started out on a reconnoissance.

Trudging along a road in the direction of the river, I met a guileless man who gave me some information of the name and locality of a ferryman, who had formerly acted in that capacity, though now no one was allowed to cross. Carefully noting all the facts I could draw out of this man, I strolled on and soon fell in with another, and gained additional light, one item of which was that the old flat lay near, and just below, the ferryman's house. Thus enlightened,

I walked on and found the house and my breakfast. Being a traveler, I secured without suspicion sandwiches enough to supply my companion with dinner and supper, which he enjoyed as he took care of the horses in the woods. A circuitous route brought me to them, and I was pleased to see the horses making a good meal from the abundant grass. This was an important point, as our lives might yet depend upon their speed and endurance.

I laid before my companion the rather dubious prospect, that the orders were strict that no man should be ferried across the river; the ferryman was faithful to the South; he had been conscientious in his refusal to many applications; no sum would induce him to risk his neck, etc. Yet my purpose was formed: we must cross the river that night, and this man must take us over, as there was no other hope of escape. Having laid the plan before my companion, as evening drew on I again sought the cabin of the retired ferryman. My second appearance was explained by the statement that I had got off the road, and wandering in the woods, had come round to the same place. After taking supper with the ferryman, we walked out smoking and chatting. By degrees I succeeded in taking him down near the ferry, and there sat down on the bank to try the effect upon his avaricious heart of the sight of some gold which I had purchased at Montgomery. His eye glistened as e examined an eagle with unwonted eagerness, while we talked of the uncertain value of paper-money, and the probable future value of Confederate scrip.

As the time drew near when my companion, according to agreement, was to ride boldly to the

river, I stepped down to take a look at his unused flat. He, of course, walked with me. While standing with my foot upon the end of his boat, I heard the tramp of the horses, and said to him, in a quiet tone— "Here is an eagle; you must take me and my companion over."He remonstrated, and could not risk his life for that ; another ten dollars was demanded and paid, the horses were in the flat, and in two minutes we were off for—home.

I arranged, when we touched the bank, to be in the rear of the ferryman, and followed him as he stepped off the boat to take breath before a return pull. "Now, my good fellow,"said I, "you have done us one good turn for pay, you must do another for friendship. We are strangers here, and you must take us to the foot of Waldron's Ridge, and then we will release you."To this demand he demurred most vigorously; but my determined position between him and the boat, gentle words, and an eloquent exhibition of my six-shooter, the sheen of which the moonlight enabled him to perceive, soon ended the parley, and onward he moved. We kept him in the road slightly ahead of us, with our horses on his two flanks, and chatted as sociably as the circumstances would permit. For six long miles we guarded our prisoner-pilot, and, after apologizing for our rudeness on the plea of self-preservation, and thanking him for his enforced service, we bade him good-night, not doubting that he would reach the river in time to ferry himself over before daylight, and console his frightened wife by the sight of the golden bribe.

We were now, at eleven o'clock at night, under the shadow of a dark mountain, and with no knowledge

of the course we were to take, other than the general purpose of pressing northward.

By nine o'clock the next morning we reached a farm-house, whose inmates, without many troublesome inquiries, agreed to feed our half-starved horses and give us some breakfast.

We made some thirty miles that day, and ascending the Cumberland range in the evening, we again sought rest among the rocks. This we judged safest, since we knew not who might have seen us during the day, of an inquiring state of mind, as to our purpose and destination.

On the morning of June 4th, by a détour to conceal the course from which we came, and a journey of a dozen of miles, we reached the home of my friend.

The day after our arrival, he took to his bed and never rose again. The hardships he had endured in the journey home, acting upon a system enfeebled by his wound, terminated in inflammation of the lungs, which within a week ended his life.

One more step was needed to make me safe; that was, to get within the Federal lines, take the oath of allegiance, and secure a pass. But how could this be accomplished? Should the Federal authorities suspect me of having been in the Rebel service, would they allow me to take the oath and go my way.?

knew not ; but well I knew the Confederate officers were never guilty of such an absurdity.

An incident which occurred about the 20th of June, both endangered my escape and yet put me upon the way of its accomplishment. I rode my pet horse Selim into the village of McMinnville, a few miles from the place of my sojourn, to obtain information as to the proximity of the Federal forces, and, if possible,

devise a plan of getting within their lines without exciting suspicion. As Selim stood at the hotel, to the amazement of every one, General Dumont's cavalry galloped into town, and one of the troopers taking a fancy to my horse, led him off without my knowledge, and certainly without my consent. My only consolation was, that my noble Selim was now to do service in the loyal ranks.

The cavalry left the town in a few hours, after erecting a flagstaff and giving the Stars and Stripes to the breeze.

I left soon after the Federals did, but in an opposite direction, with my final plan perfected. When hailed by the pickets, a mile from the town, I told them I wished to see the officer in command. They directed me where to find him, and allowed me to advance. When I found the officer, I stated that some Federal cavalry had taken my horse in McMinnville a few days ago, and I wished to recover him. He told me he could give me no authority to secure any horse, unless I would take the oath of allegiance to the United States. To this I made no special objection. With a seeming hesitation, and yet with a joy that was almost too great to be concealed, I solemnly subscribed the following oath:

"I solemnly swear, without any mental reservation or evasion, that I will support the Constitution of the United States and the laws made in pursuance thereof; and that I will not take up arms against the United States, or give aid or comfort, or furnish information, directly or indirectly, to any person or persons belonging to any of the so-styled Confederate States who are now or may be in rebellion against the United States. So help me God."

The other side of the paper contained a military pass, by authority of Lieutenant-colonel J. G. Parkhurst, Military Governor of Murfreesboro.

65. Hiding Provisions from the Soldiers
By VICTORIA VIRGINIA CLAYTON (1862)

RUMORS of Northern troops making raids and committing all kinds of depredations through the Southern states came to us frequently. Being so far south we were not disturbed by them until the war was almost ended. Our Postmaster, Mr. Petty, sent one morning in the ever-to-be-remembered spring, to let me know the startling news had been received that General Grierson, with a detachment of Union soldiers, was passing through adjacent counties, and would probably reach Clayton very soon. I had old Joe called in and told him what had come. The old man seemed very much troubled. He said little, but that night, after all the family had retired and were wrapped in unconscious sleep, he came to consult me about secreting some provisions before the arrival of these hostile troops, fearing they might destroy these necessary articles and leave us in a state of want, as they had done in many instances. I said, "Well, Joe, you can do so if you wish."

He took his shovel-and spade and went into the vegetable garden, which was quite large as it furnished supplies for the entire family, white and colored. He began digging in good earnest and soon

had a large opening made to receive the things, but could not finish it in one night. Fortunately, the garden was situated in an entirely different direction from the negro quarters, so that in going out to work next morning the hands did not discover the excavation that had been made in the night.

The next night he worked away until it was sufficiently large to hold what we thought necessary, then came to let me know that he was ready to make the transfer. With my basket of keys we went out to select the articles-bacon, sugar, syrup, wine, and many other things. After putting these things in the excavation, with bard work he covered them over, put earth on top until the great hole was entirely hid. Next morning after starting all to work he returned to the house, went into the garden, laid off the place where the things were hid in rows with a plow, and set out cabbage plants, so that in a few days they were growing as peacefully as though nothing but mother earth was resting beneath them. No one knew of this except Joe, his wife, Nancy, and myself, until peace was restored.

66. In Camp with Grant
By ASSISTANT SECRETARY OF WAR CHARLES A. DANA (1863)

ALL of a sudden it is very cold here. Two days ago it was hot like summer, but now I sit in my tent in my overcoat, writing, and thinking if I only were at home instead of being almost two thousand miles away.

Away yonder, in the edge of the woods, I hear the drum-beat that calls the soldiers to their supper. It is only a little after five o'clock, but they begin the day very early and end it early. Pretty soon after dark they are all asleep, lying in their blankets tinder the trees, for in a quick march they leave their tents behind. Their guns are already at their sides, so that if they are suddenly called at night they can start in a moment. It is strange in the morning before

daylight to hear the bugle and drums sound the reveille, which calls the army to wake up. It will begin perhaps at a distance and then run along the whole line, bugle after bugle and drum after drum taking it up, and then it goes from front to rear, farther and farther away, the sweet sounds throbbing and rolling while you lie on the grass with your saddle for a pillow, half awake, or opening your eyes to see that the stars are all bright in the sky, or that there is only a faint flush in the east, where the day is soon to break.

Living in camp is queer business. I get my meals in General Grant's mess, and pay my share of the expenses. The table is a chest with a double cover, which unfolds on the right and the left; the dishes, knives and forks, and caster are inside. Sometimes we get good things, but generally we don't. The cook is an old negro, black and grimy. The cooking is not as clean as it might be, but in war you can't be particular about such things.

The plums and peaches here are pretty nearly ripe. The strawberries have been ripe these few days, but the soldiers eat them up before we get a sight of them. The figs are as big as the end of your thumb, and the green pears are big enough to eat. But you don't know what beautiful flower gardens there are here. I never saw such roses; and the other day I found a lily as big as a tiger lily, only it was a magnificent red.

67. A Turkey for a Bedfellow
By CORPORAL JAMES KENDALL HOSMER (1863)

So we live and listen and wait. I am reduced now to about the last stage. My poor blouse grows raggeder. My boots, as boys say, are hungry in many places. I have only one shirt; and that has shrunk about the neck., until buttons and buttonholes are

irretrievably divorced, and cannot be forced to meet. Washingdays, if I were anywhere else, I should have to lie abed until the washer-woman brought home the shirt. Now I cannot lie abed, for two reasons : first, I am washer-woman myself; second, the bed is only bed at night. By daytime, it is parlor-floor, divan, dining-table, and library, and therefore taken up. I button up in my blouse, therefore; and can so fix myself, and so brass matters through, that you would hardly suspect, unless you looked sharp, what a whited sepulchre it was that stood before you. I have long been without a cup. Somebody stole mine long ago; and I, unfortunate for me, am deterred, by the relic of a moral scruple which still lingers in my breast, from stealing somebody else's in return. My plate is the original Camp-Miller tin plate, worn down now to the iron. I have leaned and lain and stood on it, until it looks as if it were in the habit of being used in the exhibitions of some strong man, who rolled it up and unrolled it to show the strength of his fingers. There is a big crack down the side; and, soup-days, there is a great rivalry between that crack and my mouth,—the point of strife being, which shall swallow most of the soup; the crack generally getting the best of it.

Rations pall now-a-days. The thought of soft bread is an oasis in the memory. Instead of that, our wearied molars know only hardtack, and hard salt beef and pork. We pine for simple fruits and vegetables. The other day, however, I received a gift. An easy-conscienced friend of mine brought in a vast amount of provender from a foraging expedition, and bestowed upon me a superb turkey,—the biggest turkey I ever saw; probably the grandfather

of his whole race. His neck and breast were decorated with a vast number of red and purple tassels and trimmings. He was very fat, moreover; so that he looked like an apoplectic sultan. I carried him home with toil and sweat; but what to do with him for the night ! If he had been left outside, he would certainly have been stolen: so the only way was to make a bedfellow of him. Occasionally he woke up and "gobbled; "and I feared all night long the peck of his bill and the impact of his spurs. In the morning, we immolated him with appropriate ceremonies. The chaplain's coal-hod, the best thing in camp to make a soup in, was in use; but I found a kettle, and presided over the preparation of an immense and savory stew, the memory whereof will ever steam up to me from the past with grateful sweetness.

68. A Disappointing Dinner
BY GENERAL GEORGE H. GORDON (1863)

IN spite of all the vexations of starting, every commander of troops will admit that, once mounted and on the march, the most harassing cares give place to buoyancy if not to exuberance of spirits. As I turned my face towards Richmond, I responded to my host's farewell and invitation, "Call again, General,"with at least a seeming cordiality; and greeted almost tenderly good Doctor Hubbard who came to express his regrets at our departure. He was very sad, and I gave him all the encouragement I could. Again I bore a brief interruption from two young women, who, propelled in a tip-cart by a single donkey, parleyed

with me about a wagon taken by somebody, from somewhere, at some time.

At one o'clock in the afternoon we encamped for the night, two miles beyond Barhamsville. It rained fiercely. The men were in the woods; myself and staff in a dirty and empty shanty adjacent. General Keyes occupied the best farm-house in the neighborhood; but not for comfort,—it was a ruse. "Hush!"he uttered in bated breath; "still as death! this

house is not on the road we travel. I am here to deceive the enemy."Those who have always lived in comfort can have but a faint notion of the pleasures of an encampment at the end of a day's march, even in tempestuous and cheerless weather. Give a soldier wood for a roaring blaze, dry straw for a bed if he can get it, and if not, then hemlock boughs, and if neither, then a dry spot for his blanket ; add a plentiful supply of rations, and your true soldier will find cheer where to a civilian the outlook would be dark and forbidding. Before a merry camp-fire despondency gives place to levity, dulness to animation ; hopes rise, the muscles grow hard,' the eye brightens, resolution is strengthened, until the worn and cheerless soldier who threw off his canteen, cartridge-box, and haversack, and faded into a sorry heap, becomes erect, strong, and defiant. All this is born of food and fire, of a pipe and a merry group.

The dripping column that toiled heavily on its march from Barhamsville on the 25th of June, and halted in front of a dark and gloomy wood for the night, were soon transformed into happy dwellers, peopling the silent arches of the forest with song, or filling its dark recesses with a convivial glow. Soldiers, too, are mortal, with appetites pertaining to mortality. In common with races less civilized, they have a keen instinct for food, though they do not enjoy with the epicure the advantages of Fulton or Quincy market; hence, inroads on chickens, hogs, and cattle that are nurtured on sacred soil, and an accurate knowledge of the situation of smoke and spring house. Rank commands external respect: but rank, in common with . the lowest station, acknowledges demands of hunger; and rank, however exalted, will fail to secure the bounties of the surrounding country, if it does not provide against the wandering tribes that swarm over and into every hamlet within miles of the march of a column of troops.

It was a pleasing idea, that of dinner, as I watched the leaping blaze from my camp-fire, and dried wet places in my clothing. It was a consoling thought that I had stationed a sentinel at yonder farm-house

to protect the dinner which the owner had consented to prepare. In contemplation of my own meal, how I rejoiced as my beloved troops were preparing theirs! To see them crowding around the savory messes, to know that they were well fed and happy, was delightful indeed. At last I notified my staff that we would visit the Elysian fields of dinner.

"Which is the house, Mr. White? Go on, and show us the way."

"This is it, hey ? I admire your taste ; it is the best-looking house around here; and it was very prudent in you, too, to post this sentinel at the door. These dogs of soldiers are so sharp."

"This is Doctor Jones, General,"said Mr. White, as he introduced a gentlemanly person as the master of the mansion.

"Glad to see you, Doctor; we have come to dine with you."

"Why, General, I sent your dinner to you more than an hour ago."

"Eh! what?"

"Didn't you send 'for it?"

"Send for it ! "I echoed, feebly. "I see it all! Call up that sentinel. 'Has any soldier carried off a dinner while you have been on post?"

"No, sir!"

"Did any dinner walk off alone in your presence?"

"Didn't see it, sir."

"When did you send this— this dinner, Doctor ?"

"We cooked and sent it as quickly as possible after your arrival."

"But this sentinel was posted as soon as we arrived, was he not, Mr. White?"I said to my aid.

"I didn't post him until one hour after,"replied the conscience-stricken officer.

"And before he appeared,"said the doctor, "a soldier came and said he was sent by the General to bring his dinner to him."

"General who?"

"General Gordon."

"May that dinner choke that soldier!"I muttered. My aid was lost in meditation. But our dinner—ah, our dinner!—that was gone forever!

Doctor, have you anything left to eat?"

I am afraid not. Three chickens were cooked, but the soldiers came and carried them away. They also killed my sitting hens, and hens with chickens; took off my beehives, and ate all I had in the house. So you will have a mighty poor dinner, I'm afraid, gentlemen."

And it was poor, but filling. Though the hungry officers were not, the pickled mangoes were, nicely stuffed. The doctor favored us at the table with his presence, but several young ladies concealed in upper chambers, brooding over secession and nursing hatred to Yankees, did not. In a short after-dinner conversation my host declared the Southern belief to be that we were waging this war for their total subjugation, and that such belief rendered it impossible for them to do anything but fight. He thought they would come back to the Union as it was, if we would consent.

69. Stonewall Jackson as a Man
BY A VIRGINIAN (1863)

WE have seen what Jackson accomplished. Let us now endeavor to see what manner of man, outwardly, it was who thus overthrew all his enemies, and built himself a name which is the echo of glory and victory. How such men look is interesting how they dress and appear among their fellow-men. Jackson's costume and deportment were unique, and have doubtless contributed in some degree to that amazing individuality which he has secured in the popular mind. The writer of these lines first saw him soon after the battle of Port Republic, and can thus present an outline of the great athlete, as he appeared, all covered with the dust of the arena, whereon Banks and his compeers had been overthrown by him. Jackson was in his fighting costume at the moment; it was the conqueror of the Valley who moved before us; and, to complete the picture, he had, at the moment when we first encountered him, his war-look on— was in his veritable element.

The outward appearance of the famous leader was not imposing. The popular idea of a great general is an individual of stiff and stately bearing, clad in splendid costume, all covered with gold lace and decorations, who prances by upon a mettled charger, and moves on, before admiring crowds, accompanied by his glittering staff, and grand in all the magnificence of high command. The figure of General Stonewall Jackson was singularly different from this popular fancy. He wore an old sun-embrowned coat of gray cloth, originally a very plain one, and now almost out

at elbows. To call it sun-embrowned, however, is scarcely to convey an adequate idea of the extent of its discoloration. It had that dingy hue, the result of exposure to rain and snow and scorching sunshine, which is so unmistakable. It was plain that the general had often stretched his weary form upon the bare ground, and slept in the old coat; and it seemed to have brought away with it no little of the dust of the Valley. A holiday soldier would have disdained to wear such a garb; but the men of the old Stonewall Brigade, with their brave comrades of the corps, loved that coat, and admired it and its owner more than all the holiday uniforms and holiday warriors in the world.

The general rode in a peculiar fashion, leaning forward somewhat, and apparently unconscious that he was in the saddle. His air was singularly abstracted; and, unless aware of his identity, no beholder would have dreamed that this plainly clad and absent-looking soldier was the idolized leader of a great army corps, at that very instant hurling themselves, column after column, upon the foe.

The glittering eye beneath the yellow cap would have altered somewhat the impression that this man was a nobody—that wonderful eye, in whose blaze was the evidence of a slumbering volcano beneath; but beyond this, there was absolutely nothing in the appearance of General Jackson to indicate his great rank or genius as a soldier.

Such was the outward man of the famous general, as he appeared soon after the campaign of the Valley-and this plainness of exterior had in no small degree endeared him to his soldiers. His habits were still greater claims on the respect and regard of the best men of his command. He was known to be

wholly free from all those vices which are the peculiar temptation of a military life. He lived as plainly as his men, and shared all their hardships, never for a moment acting upon the hypothesis that his rank entitled him to any luxury or comfort which they could not share. His food was plain and simple; his tent, when he had one, which was seldom, no better

AN ARMY POST OFFICE.

[Description: A tent made into an army post-office with two men standing outside amidst bushes and trees]

than those of the men; he would wrap himself in his blankets and lie down under a tree or in a fence corner, with perfect content, and apparently from preference; for to fight hard and live hard seemed to be the theory of war. He was a devout Christian, and rarely allowed passion to conquer him; when he yielded, it was on exciting occasions, and when great designs were thwarted by negligence or incapacity on the part of those to whom their execution was intrusted. Such occasions seldom occurred, and Jackson's habitual temper of mind was a gentle and childlike sweetness; a simplicity and purity of heart, which proved that he had indeed become as a little child walking humbly and devoutly before his God. Prayer was like breathing with him—the normal condition of his being. Every morning he read his Bible and prayed, and the writer will not soon forget the picture drawn by one of his distinguished associates, who rode to his headquarters at daylight, last November, when the army was falling back to Fredericksburg from the Valley, and found him reading his Testament, quietly in !is tent, an occupation which he only interrupted to describe, in tones of quiet simplicity, his intended movements to foil the enemy. Before sitting down to table he raised both hands, and said grace. When he contemplated any movement, his old servant is said to have always known it by his wrestling in prayer for many hours of the night; and on the battle-field thousands noticed the singular gestures with the right arm, sometimes both arms, raised aloft. Those who looked closely at him at such moments saw his lips moving in prayer. Like Joshua,. he prayed with uplifted hand for victory.

70. Three War Songs

MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA

THE BATTLE-CRY OF FREEDOM

TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP

71. A Rainy Night
By REVEREND GEORGE HUGHES HEPWORTH (1863)

THAT night, our advance encamped within six miles of the enemy's works. I accepted the kind invitation of Colonel Bullock, of the Thirtieth, to share his tent, and slept as comfortably on the dry grass and dead leaves as though I had had a bed of down. A hard ride of six or eight hours naturally inclined me to hunger and sleep. I relished a pile of crackers and cheese more than Vitellius ever did his dainty dish of birds' tongues, and was soon afterwards on my back, giving good evidence of my condition.

I slept soundly until about half-past ten; when a faint, booming sound awoke me. It occurred at regular intervals of about a minute ; and, as soon as I gathered my scattered senses, I knew that the gunboats were hard at work. I lay quietly for some time, awed by the solemnity of the occasion; for it was then pitch dark, and the dull, heavy sound was freighted with success or defeat; and, on opening my eyes again, I could distinctly trace the course of the shell through the air by the light of the fuses. I watched them until about two o'clock, when I ordered my horse, and set out for headquarters. It was so dark that I could not keep the road, and so trusted to the instincts of my noble beast. It was a lonely ride,— five miles through dense woods, the silence only broken by the gruff " Who goes there ? "of the guard, and the ominous clicking of the hammer as he cocked his gun.

I had just reached headquarters when the welcome news came that a part of the fleet had succeeded in

getting by the fort. Still there was something ominous in a certain glare of light, which ever and anon burst up from the tree-tops in the distance. One of our vessels must have caught fire. It could not be a common gunboat, for the flames had already lasted several hours. At last a courier came, saying that the Mississippi had caught fire. That noble vessel was part of the price we were to pay for the victory hoped for.

THE ENCAMPMENT AT NIGHT.

[Description: Men standing around fires and horses and cooking]

I have never witnessed a scene so magnificent as that which closed the career of this war-ship. One moment, the flames would die away, and then the black darkness of the night seemed heavier than ever; in another minute, the flames would curl up again above the tree-tops, and tinge the cloud-edges with a lurid light. At length came the catastrophe. I thought the fire had gone out; and was just turning away, when fold After fold of cloudy flame, driven with terrific force, rose higher and higher, until the

entire heavens were illuminated, as though the sun itself had burst; and immediately after came a sound that shook the earth,—a crash so awful, that it seemed as though one could feel it; which thundered along the entire horizon, frightening the birds in their coverts and the horses in their stalls; and then all was still and dark. The Mississippi was no more. That noble vessel, which had made for herself a history, had at last fallen a victim to the chances of war. She was a splendid ship; and every American will remember with regret the hour when she was lost.

That night, fortune did not favor me. I had escorted Colonel Clarke, who had been wounded, beyond our lines, on the Baton-Rouge road; and, a second time, accepted the hospitality of Colonel Bullock. I was quietly and with great zest gnawing a beef-bone, wondering at the novelty of a soldier's life, when I was surprised out of my dream by the patter of rain. I was fully prepared for fine weather; but rain I had not reckoned upon. The ground was so low and marshy, that, in the course of the first half hour, there were at least three inches of water on it. I perched myself on a bread-box, however, and crossed my legs, feeling that delightful indifference to all fortune, which is the charm and necessity of a soldier's life. My bone and my hunger were enough to occupy all my thoughts. My inner man, astonished at the utter neglect of the last eighteen hours, was determined that I should concentrate my attention upon one thing only. That luscious beef-bone, which, only a few hours before, had been trotting about gayly in those very woods, seemed to me the richest luxury in the world.

When I had satisfied my hunger, I began to recognize

the fact, that the tent was pitched in four inches of water, and that it was raining most lustily. I splattered out, tied my horse under a large tree, laughed heartily at the look of perfect surprise he put on as I turned to leave him, and then hunted until I came across a stretcher which would lift me just six inches from the ground, and serve very comfortably for a bed. Fortune did indeed favor me. I was two inches above the water, and had a covering above my head, which only once in a while played the sieve, and showered me. I slept soundly as only the , tired man can. In the morning, my faithful horse waked me with his neighing; and, if he had had the power of speech, I do not doubt he would have scolded me well for leaving him all night in a pond.

I was surprised at the uniform cheerfulness of the men under these trying circumstances. They had no covering except their rubber-blankets, which they stretched out—a very poor roof— upon four upright stakes. They were, most of them, drenched to the skin. Yet around the camp-fires were heard only mirth and wildest hilarity. Once in a while, I came across some poor unfortunate, who had dropped his blanket in the mud, and down whose back the rain was trickling mercilessly; and who seemed to have arrived at the sage conclusion, that a soldier's life is not always gay, as generally represented, and that camp-life and camp-meeting are two very different things. But even he soon gathered his muddy clothes about him; and, crawling alongside the bright fire, got into a better humor with himself and the fortunes of war.

72. An Incident in the March to the Sea
BY GENERAL WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN (1864)

THE afternoon was unusually raw and cold. My orderly was at hand with his invariable saddle-bags, which contained a change of underclothing, my maps, a flask of whiskey and bunch of cigars, Taking a drink and lighting a cigar, I walked to a row of negro-huts close by, entered one and found a soldier or two warming themselves by a wood-fire. I took their place by the fire, intending to wait there till our wagons had got up, and a camp made for the night. I was talking to the old negro woman, when some one came and explained to me that, if I would come further down the road, I could find a better place. So I started on foot, and found on the main road a good double-hewed log-house, in one room of which Colonel Poe, Dr. Moore and others, had started a fire. I sent back orders to the "plum bushes"to bring our horses and saddles up to this house, and an orderly to conduct our head-quarter wagons to the same place.

In looking around the room, I saw a small box, like a candle box, marked Howell Cobb, and, on inquiring of a negro, found that we were at the plantation of General Howell Cobb, of Georgia, one of the leading rebels of the South, then a general in the Southern army, and who had been Secretary of the United States Treasury in Mr. Buchanan's time. Of course, we confiscated his property, and found it rich in corn, beans, peanuts, and sorghum-molasses.

GENERAL SHERMAN.

[Description: A portrait of General Sherman in full Union regalia]

Extensive fields were all around the house. I sent back word to General Davis to explain whose plantation it was, and instructed him to spare nothing. That night huge bonfires consumed the fence-rails, kept our soldiers warm, and the teamsters and men, as well as the slaves, carried off an immense quantity of corn and provisions of all sorts.

In due season the head-quarter wagons came up, and we got supper. After supper I sat on a chair astride, with my back to a good fire, musing, and be-came conscious that an old negro with tallow candle in his hand, was scanning my face closely.

I inquired, "What do you want, old man?"

He answered, "Dey say you is Massa Sherman."

I answered that such was the case, and inquired what he wanted. He only wanted to look at me, and kept muttering, " Dis nigger can't sleep dis night."I asked him why he trembled so, and he said that he wanted to be sure that we were in fact Yankees, for on some former occasion some rebel cavalry had put on light blue overcoats, personating Yankee troops, and many of the negroes were deceived thereby, himself among the number—had shown them sympathy, and had, in consequence, been unmercifully beaten therefor. This time he wanted to be certain before committing himself; so I told him to go out on the porch, from which be could see the whole horizon lit up with camp-fires, and he could then judge whether he had ever seen anything like it before.

The old man became convinced that the Yankees had come at last, about whom he had been dreaming all his life; and some of the staff officers gave him a strong drink of whiskey, which set his tongue going.

Lieutenant Snelling, who commanded my escort, was a Georgian, and recognized in this old negro a favorite slave of his uncle, who resided about six miles off ; but the old slave did not at first recognize his young master in our uniform. One of my staff officers asked him what had become of his young master George. He did not know only that he had gone off to the war, and he supposed him killed, as a matter of course. His attention was then drawn to Snelling's face, when he fell on his knees and thanked God that he had found his young master alive and along with the Yankees.

Snelling inquired all about his uncle and the family, asked permission to go and pay his uncle a visit, which I granted, of course, and the next morning he described to me his visit. The uncle was not cordial by any means, to find his nephew in the ranks of the host that was desolating the land, and Snelling came back, having exchanged his tired horse for a fresher one out of his uncle's stables, explaining that surely some of the bummers would have got the horse, had he not.

73. Sheridan's Ride
By THOMAS BUCHANAN READ (1864)

Up from the South, at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty Miles away.

This spirited poem was published a few days after the battle of Cedar Creek, when Sheridan's arrival prevented a defeat.

And wider still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar, And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea, uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, And Sheridan twenty miles away.

But there is a road to Winchester town, A good, broad highway, leading down; And there, through the flush of the morning light A steed, as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass as with eagle flight: As if he knew the terrible need, He stretched away with his utmost speed. Hill rose and fell; but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away.

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south, The dust, like the smoke from the cannon's mouth, Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster; The heart of the steed, and the heart of the master Were beating, like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle-field calls. Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away.

Under his spurning feet the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed; And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind; And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on with his wild eyes full of fire. But lo ! he is nearing his heart's desire;

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away.

The first that the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops. What was done-what to do—a glance told him both; Then, striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray. By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play, He seemed to the whole great army to say: "I have brought you Sheridan, all the way From Winchester down, to save you the day!

Hurrah, hurrah, for Sheridan! Hurrah, hurrah, for horse and man! And when their statues are placed on high, Under the dome of the Union sky The American soldiers' Temple of Fame, There, with the glorious General's name, Be it said, in letters both bold and bright:

"Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight,

From Winchester, twenty miles away!