The Blue and the Gray; Or, The Civil War as Seen by a Boy
by Annie Randall White · English · Gutenberg #45382 · 515,262 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Blue and the Gray; Or, The Civil War as Seen by a Boy
Author: Annie Randall White
Illustrator: Frank Beard
Release date: April 14, 2014 [eBook #45382]
Most recently updated: March 16, 2018
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45382
Credits: Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLUE AND THE GRAY; OR, THE CIVIL WAR AS SEEN BY A BOY ***
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY
OR,
THE CIVIL WAR
AS SEEN BY A BOY
A Story of Patriotism and Adventure in Our War for the Union
By A. R. White
With Over 150 War Photographs And Original Drawings
Illustrated by Frank Beard
“We live for freedom; let us clasp each other by the hand;
In love and unity abide, a firm, unbroken band;
We cannot live divided--the Union is secure!
God grant that while men live and love, this nation may endure.”
--DR. FRED A. PALMER,
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0011]
[Illustration: 0013]
[Illustration: 0014]
1898
BY
K. T. BOLAND.
TO THE SONS AND THE DAUGHTERS OF THE VETERANS OF THE CIVIL WAR;
TO THOSE WHO FOUGHT ITS BATTLES AND LIVED TO INSTIL ITS LESSONS OF
PATRIOTISM IN THE HEARTS OF THEIR CHILDREN; TO THOSE OF ALL CLIMES WHO
LOVE LIBERTY AND THE NOBLE LAND WHERE FREEDOM HAD HER BIRTH; TO THE
MEMORY OF THE HEROES OF NORTH AND SOUTH WHO FELL IN battle; TO ONE
UNITED COUNTRY,
BOTH NORTH AND SOUTH, FOREVER ONE IN ALL NOBLE AND LOFTY PURPOSES AND
AIMS; TO THE HOMES OF AMERICA; THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED BY YOURS
SINCERELY
THE AUTHOR.
CALEB B. SMITH, Secretary of Interior.
EDWIN M. STANTON, Secretary of War.
GIDEON WELLES, Secretary of Navy.
WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State.
EDWARD BATES, Attorney-General.
SIMON P. CHASE, Secretary of Treasury.
MONTGOMERY BLAIR, Postmaster-General.
JUDAH P. BENJAMIN, Attorney-General, War, State.
ROBERT TOOMBS, Secretary of State.
LEROY P. WALKER, Secretary of War.
STEPHEN R. MALLORY, Secretary of the Navy.
CHRISTOPHER G. MEMMINGER. Secretary of Treasury.
JOHN H. REAGAN, Postmaster-General.
[Illustration: 9015]
HE scenes of the war, related by a boy who followed the flag from
the beginning to the end of the war, must carry with them a sense of
accuracy, for they are the recollections of actual service. Those books
which have been written upon the war have, with very few exceptions,
been penned from the standpoint of mature opinions and experiences. In
this work the views and struggles of a boy who went into the army, from
an honest desire to do right, are portrayed. To fight was abhorrent to
his nature, but there was a call for men who were willing to defend the
institutions of his beloved land. And that defense was only possible
through bloodshed and conflict. Tenderly instructed by a loving and
gentle mother, whose early home was in the South, it was almost a
wrenching of her cherished opinions, to give him up to fight against
her kindred. But her boy did not enter the contest with a thought of
conquering his fellow-beings, but as a duty which, though painful,
must be performed. How that dear mother gave him to his country, how he
marched, and fought, and endured hardships, are here set forth in the
colors of truth, for it is a true story.
And that the boys and girls of to-day and their fathers and mothers may
follow the varying fortunes of the boy of our story, thus ushered into
the conflict, with pleasure and profit, is the heartfelt hope of
The Author.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Abraham Lincoln and His Cabinet.........................008
A Business Street in Manila.............................389
A Cuban Home............................................371
Allan Pinkerton and Secret Service Officers.............073
An Alexandria Anti-bellum Relic.........................069
Appomattox Court House..................................227
Artillery Going to the Front............................126
Asking for Furlough.....................................095
A Southern Mansion......................................086
A Stolen Child..........................................338
A Sugar Factory in Manila...............................377
Attack on Fredericksburg................................145
Attack on the Mail......................................337
A Typical Colored Boy...................................080
Battle of Bull Run......................................051
Battle of Chancellorsville..............................298
Battle of Malvern Hill-Lee's Attack.....................076
Battle of Phillipi......................................046
Battle of Shiloh........................................194
Bearing Dispatches......................................106
Burning of Chicago......................................328
Burnside Bridge.........................................135
Burying Old Bill........................................142
Camp Douglas............................................159
Camp Fire Songs.........................................117
Camp Life-In the Kitchen................................071
Camp Life on Monday.....................................077
Camp of the Army of the Potomac.........................104
Capitol at Richmond.....................................065
Captain John L Worden Commanding the Monitor............175
Capture of a White Child................................340
Caring for the Dead.....................................055
Charge of a Confederate Cavalry at Trevalian Station... 221
Colonel John S Mosby and a Group of His Raiders.........211
Confederate Soldiers' Monument--Richmond, Va............259
Crossing Big Black River................................191
Custer's Last Charge....................................347
Death of Sitting Bull...................................343
Decoration Day--Gettysburg..............................262
Destruction of Cervera's Fleet..........................385
Devil's Den.............................................208
Dewey's Victorious Battle...............................375
Diamond Joe and Aunt Judah When Young...................082
“Do Any of You Know Peter Hall?”........................123
Drinking from the Same Canteen..........................245
Earthquake at Charleston................................334
Episcopal Church at Alexandria, Va......................088
Fairfax Court House.....................................027
Fall of General James B McPherson near Atlanta..........215
Federal Gunboat--Foraging...............................072
Foraging................................................197
Fort Donelson...........................................161
Fortress Monroe.........................................022
Fort Sumter.............................................019
Franklin Buchanan Commanding the Merrimac...............172
Fremont's Body Guard....................................101
Fun in Camp.............................................119
Garfield Lying in State.................................314
Garfield's Struggle with Death..........................316
General Grant's Birthplace..............................309
General Hancock and Friends.............................153
General Lee on His Favorite Horse.......................295
General Longstreet Wounded by His Own Men...............213
General Meade's Headquarters............................298
General Miles...........................................393
Gettysburg Cemetery Gate................................212
Grant's Tomb-New York...................................258
Grant Breaking a Horse..................................311
Grant Plowing at the Age of 11..........................310
Hailing the Troops......................................064
Harper's Ferry..........................................040
Horticultural Hall, Philadelphia........................323
House Where Lee Surrendered.............................242
Indian Chief............................................349
Indian Dance............................................339
Indian Schools of To-day................................341
Indian Scout............................................350
Interior of Hospital....................................249
In Winter Quarters......................................105
Jefferson Davis and His Cabinet.........................010
Joe Hiding in the Woods.................................083
John Brown's Capture....................................042
Location of the Union Troops--Henry House...............053
Making a Military Road Through a Swamp..................198
Map-Battlefields of the Great Civil War.................147
Map-Loyal and Seceding States...........................052
Map--Showing the Seat of War............................132
Map-The Shenandoah Valley...............................121
McLean House............................................232
National Cemetery at Richmond, Va.......................217
Negro Village in Georgia................................036
Off for the War.........................................018
Old Aunt Judah..........................................081
Old City Hall-New Orleans...............................113
On Board the Hartford-Battle of Mobile Bay..............168
On the March............................................039
Picket Off Duty Forever.................................059
Proposed Monument to Jefferson Davis....................260
Portrait-Alexander H Stephens...........................024
Portrait-Abraham Lincoln................................236
Portrait-Admiral Cervera................................381
Portrait--Benjamin F Butler.............................043
Portrait-Brigadier-General Neal Dow.....................222
Portrait-Buffalo Bill, a Foe of the Indians.............342
Portrait-Belle Boyd.....................................257
Portrait-Charles A Dana.................................133
Portrait-Captain Charles Wilke..........................203
Portrait-Capt Raphael Semmes............................218
Portrait-Commander David D Porter.......................186
Portrait-Christopher Carson.............................351
Portrait-Colonel Charles W Le Gendre....................214
Portrait-Florence Nightingale...........................255
Portrait-Frances Willard................................358
Portrait-General Ambrose E Burnside.....................125
Portrait-General Custer.................................218
Portrait-General George B McClellan.....................047
Portrait-General George E Meade.........................151
Portrait-General Grant..................................163
Portrait-General Grant..................................231
Portrait-General Hooker.................................154
Portrait-General John A Dix.............................025
Portrait-General James Longstreet, C S A................062
Portrait-General Joseph E Johnston......................091
Portrait-General John C Fremont.........................100
Portrait-General John A Logan...........................190
Portrait-General James B McPherson......................196
Portrait-James Abram Garfield...........................315
Portrait-General Lee....................................399
Portrait-General Lew Wallace............................127
Portrait-General Oliver O Howard........................220
Portrait-General P T G Beauregard.......................045
Portrait-General Phil Kearney...........................139
Portrait-General Pickett................................209
Portrait-General Rosecrans..............................136
Portrait-General Stonewall Jackson......................182
Portrait-General Winfield Scott.........................030
Portrait-General Winfield Hancock.......................152
Portrait-General William Tecumseh Sherman...............189
Portrait-General Wade Hampton...........................205
Portrait-General Robert Anderson........................292
Portrait-Harriet B Stowe................................206
Portrait-Henry Ward Beecher.............................021
Portrait-Hobson.........................................383
Portrait-Honorable Charles Sumner.......................087
Portrait-Horace Greeley.................................204
Portrait-James Murray Mason.............................020
Portrait-John Slidell...................................020
Portrait-John Brown.....................................041
Portrait-Jennie Wade....................................209
Portraits (from Photographs)-John M Morgan and Wife.....216
Portrait-John A Winslow.................................219
Portrait-John B Gordon..................................229
Portrait-Jefferson Davis................................230
Portrait-John Wilkes Booth..............................237
Portrait-Lee's Surrender................................239
Portrait-General Montgomery Meigs.......................026
Portrait-Major-General Philip H Sheridan................226
Portrait-Miss Nellie M Taylor...........................251
Portrait-Miss Hattie A Dana.............................252
Portrait-Mrs Mary D Wade................................252
Portrait-Miss Clara Barton..............................253
Portrait-Major-General Fitzhugh Lee, C S A..............094
Portrait-Miss Louisa M Alcott...........................256
Portrait-Mrs Mary Livermore.............................254
Portrait-Miss Margaret Breckenridge.....................256
Portrait-Robert E Lee...................................078
Portrait-Rear Admiral David G Farragut..................186
Portrait-Thomas A Edison................................325
Portrait--Walter Q Gresham..............................223
Portrait--William H Seward..............................320
Portrait-William McKinley...............................356
Portrait-William J Bryan................................356
Pickets Examining Passes................................175
Prayer in Stonewall Jackson's Camp......................183
Prayer at the Funeral of the Maine's Victims............369
Punishment in the Army..................................207
Ralph and the Officer...................................029
Ralph's Good-Bye........................................032
Recruiting Office, New York City Hall Park..............181
Rejoicing...............................................066
Review of Soldiers-Washington...........................241
Ruins of the House......................................085
Sharp Shooters..........................................107
Sheridan Reconnoitering at Five Forks...................224
Siege Gun...............................................020
Soldiers Near Santiago..................................395
The Art Palace, World's Fair............................353
The Battle of Atlanta, Ga...............................097
Stand of Flags..........................................170
The Death of Ellsworth..................................043
The Frigate Cumberland Rammed by the Merrimac...........173
The Sister's Farewell...................................277
Thomas A Edison and His Talking Machine.................326
The Soldier's Farewell..................................180
Troops Going to Manila..................................373
Uncle Ned...............................................149
United States Military Wagon............................035
Warning the Inhabitants.................................332
Wesley Merritt and His Staff............................199
West Point..............................................293
What Caused the War-The Negro and Cotton................057
Wounding of General Stonewall Jackson...................178
INTRODUCTION.
[Illustration: 9021]
OOKS without number have been written upon the Civil War. There will
probably be many more, for it is a fruitful theme. Many of them are
faithful and accurate presentations of the great deeds done in that
war. But whether large or small, they are all imbued with a desire
to perpetuate that love of our country which should become one of the
absorbing passions of the soul. It is a truth worth remembering--that
the man who is a traitor to his country will be a traitor to all the
relations of life.
Our land, young as it is, has received an awful baptism of fire and
blood. It sprang into being amid the anguish of the Revolution, and
before it had achieved a century of freedom, it was plunged into one
of the saddest conflicts which ever desolated a nation--the conflict
between brothers, speaking the same tongue, living under the same
government, and enjoying the same great privileges. But from that
terrible ordeal it has emerged, and we are once more one in aim and
purpose, and have taken our stand among the proudest nations of the
earth, their equal in intelligent achievements, religion and progress.
The little book we offer our young readers is the simple story, told
in plain language, of a boy who was really in the army--one who left a
pleasant home, as did thousands of others, a mere lad, loving his native
land, knowing her need of strong hands and willing hearts to defend her.
His purpose was noble, his mind fresh and ready for impressions; the
scenes of those days are as ineffaceable as though written on marble,
and not even the corroding touch of time can eat them away. So the
present volume has been penned, that the boys and girls who read its
pages may know of the hardships and self-sacrifice of the boys of those
days--how cheerfully they enlisted to uphold the “starry flag,” whose
folds shall ever “float o'er the land of the free, and the home of the
brave.”
There are other lessons to be taught, as well as that of courage alone;
the lessons of patriotism, of sacrifice, of respect for a government
that offers to all its protection so long as they obey its just and
equitable laws. No one doubts the courage of our boys, but they must
remember that there is a higher quality than mere bravery--regard for
human life, that' it be not destroyed wantonly, a respect for others'
rights and opinions, a readiness to submit to discipline, a willingness
to yield up life when honor and duty demand it. All these thoughts were
impressed upon the boy of our story, and made him a grander man for
their lessons, when the pursuits of peace claimed him.
To the boys and girls whose fathers and friends fought that a great
principle should live, to those whose dear ones fell in battle, or died
of wounds, to all who read this true history of one boy's life in the
army, we send forth this picture, the type of a true soldier, who did
not love war for its noise and glitter, but who conscientiously
fought the battles of his country because he revered her beneficent
institutions. It was there that he was taught what true freedom meant,
and through all his trials, his privations, he kept his faith in God and
humanity undimmed.
Such was our boy, and of such material heroes are made.
The Publishers
THE CIVIL WAR AS SEEN BY A BOY.
CHAPTER I. THE BEGINNING OF WAR.
[Illustration: 9023]
HE early {017}spring days of 1861 were dreams of beauty. The skies
smiled blandly upon the earth, and every heart was glad that the long
winter was over, and the charms of outdoor life could be enjoyed once
more. Surely nature had done her part in making men happy.
A spirit of unrest and uncertainty, however, brooded in the air. The
long conflict between opposing ideas, which had waged so long and
bitterly in politics and churches, and through the columns of the press,
had come to a focus, and dread murmurs were abroad, of an impending war,
and its attendant horrors. Men looked in each other's faces, and asked,
with sad forebodings--“What is coming next?”
The South made ample preparations to seize two South Carolina forts,
Moultrie and Sumter, as early as December, 1860.
Lieutenant-Colonel Gardner was the commander of Fort Moultrie, and,
loyal to the government, he sent to Washington asking for reinforcements
to help him hold that fort. This request offended the Southern members
of Congress, who construed it into an insult, and demanded his removal.
This demand was acceded to by Secretary of War Floyd, and Major Robert
Anderson of Kentucky was appointed to supersede Colonel Gardner.
Major Anderson, {018}faithful to the trust reposed in him by the
government, soon decided that Fort Moultrie could not be held against
a vigorous assault, and he moved his garrison secretly to Sumter, a
fortress across the harbor. This fort could not be approached by land,
and, consequently, from this fact, was deemed more secure against any
opposing force. The undertaking was a dangerous one. The harbor was full
of guard boats, vigilant and watchful, and only their supposition that
the little rowboats containing Major Anderson and his men were laborers
going to the other fort to work on it, prevented their detection and
arrest.
[Illustration: 0024]
Moultrie's guns had been trained to protect this transfer in case the
Major's intention was discovered, and the fort, whose defense rendered
the gallant Anderson immortal, was occupied by his troops at only twenty
minutes' notice! We think that was the quickest “moving time” on record.
A siege gun which was turned upon Fort Sumter is shown on page 20.
Its carriage is broken, and it was thus rendered useless by the
Confederates, when they abandoned the fort in 1864.
France {019}and England would not acknowledge the South as an
independent nation, but the Confederate government did all possible to
bring this about by sending Messrs. James M. Mason of Virginia and John
Slidell of Louisiana to London and Paris with the hope that their claims
would be recognized. Henry Ward Beecher, when in the height of his fame,
afterward went to England, addressing immense audiences, and setting
forth the true condition of American affairs.
[Illustration: 0025]
The hope of the Southerners was that the government would allow a
peaceable withdrawal of the dissatisfied States, and that no bloodshed
would be necessary, but as time went by and the most active preparations
for keeping them in the Union were made by the general government, they
commenced hostilities, and the first gun of the war was fired by the
Confederates under General Beauregard on the morning of April 12, and
while the officers and men within the fort were eating their breakfast,
a perpetual bursting {020}of shells and shot kept them awake to the fact
that the peace had been broken, and war had begun.
[Illustration: 0026]
After breakfast the force was divided up into firing parties and
the first reply on the part of the Union was made by Captain Abner
{021}Doubleday. But their guns were very light.
A bombardment followed, and on the 14th of April, 1861, General Robert
Anderson evacuated the fort.
[Illustration: 0027]
Blockade running was so common it became necessary to fit out out an
expedition to close the most valuable of the openings, Hatteras Inlet.
The first expedition projected for this purpuse was fitted out near
Fortress Monroe and was under the command of Flag Officer Silas H.
Stringham. The engagement lasted three hours with a complete victory for
Stringham, and several blockade runners entered the inlet and were
captured.
The news fell like a pall upon the North. It was impossible so many and
old man urged, that Americans, our own people could be so disloyal. Why
had they done it? What did it mean? And when, in consequence of this
act, President Lincoln ordered them to disperse within twenty days, and
called for 75,000 men from the various States, to enlist to “suppress
this combination against the laws,” the response came swiftly.
In every town and village the patriotic fires were kindled, and boys and
old men pressed on, side by side, willing to give their lives, if need
be, to uphold their country's flag.
{022}
[Illustration: 0028]
Many {023}a smooth-cheeked lad, loved dearly and tenderly reared, went
forth from his home, never again to enter its portal. Alas, for those
sad days!
[Illustration: 9029]
Recruiting went swiftly on. Speech-making and passionate appeals to the
people were heard in every quarter of the North.
Women could not fight, but they could organize sewing societies, and
work untiringly for those who had gone to the front. Many an article
found its way to the army that was useful, and when blood had been
spilled, these same patient and tearful women sent lint, and bandages,
and medicines, for the sick and wounded.
As the call for soldiers awoke the boys and men of the North, so did a
like summons from their leaders arouse the spirit of the South. They had
orators in their midst, whose tones swayed them, and they, too, enlisted
to form an army which should repel the “encroachments” of those whom
they deemed their enemies.
Boys went forth from luxurious homes, and stood shoulder to shoulder
with the humblest, clad in the gray, all equally ready to sacrifice life
and home to their idea of duty.
One {024}lad, in his Western home, a dreamer thus far, the light of his
widowed mother's life, heard the war cry, and the blood tingled in his
veins as he listened to stirring arguments day by day, and saw one after
another of his companions leave their homes to join the forces that were
being hurried forward to headquarters.
[Illustration: 0030]
He felt that{025} he must go with them. Why not? His eye was as keen,
his brain as clear, his arm as strong to do whatever his country
required of him, as were theirs.
[Illustration: 0031]
This longing haunted him by day and night, until it became unbearable.
He went to his mother, and with earnest words begged her to send him.
Alas, that mother was not equal to the task. {026}She was loving,
gentle and shrinking, and when he urged her to let him go, her answer
was--“Ralph, you know not what you ask. Do you forget that I am a
Southern woman, whose childhoods days were spent in that beautiful
country? All my people are there. Would you have me send my boy away to
fight those I love, and whose feelings I must share? You are asking too
great a sacrifice at my hands.”
“Mother, it is true that you were born and educated there. But did
you not love my father so dearly that you left your home and all your
friends to come to the North with him, where I was born?”
[Illustration: 9032]
A tender smile flitted across her still beautiful face. “Yes, I did love
him,” she said softly to herself, “and I honor his memory. What shall I
do?--I cannot forget my dear childhood's home. It is too hard a question
for me to decide.”
“Let me decide for you, mother. You surely love your Northern home and
friends. The people of the South have fired upon our forts in Charleston
harbor, and driven the garrison away. I, too, am a Southerner in many
ways. Are you not my mother, and do you not know I honor every thought
or wish of yours?”
“There must be some other way to bring them back, rather than by
fighting. War is a cruel and unnatural alternative. Why, they will be
firing upon their own people--like brothers in one family falling out,
and seeking to do each other deadly harm.” {027}
[Illustration: 0033]
Ralph {028}was silent. His heart burned with patriotic fire, and it
seemed to him that it was his duty to help swell the numbers of those
who were ready to respond to the President's call. But he also knew that
his mother loved her early home, and that it seemed to her unnatural
for him to be so ready to take up arms against “her people,” and he
respected her too deeply to wound her willingly. That mother had been
gently born, and when she met the young Northern lawyer, she had loved
him from the first, and cheerfully shared his humble but peaceful home.
She was now left alone in the world, with her three girls and this boy,
the youngest. The fortunes of war were too varying. She might never see
him again, and how could she live without him?
To Ralph was presented a problem that he was called unexpectedly to
solve. He pondered over it in the silence of night, and in the busy
hours of day. Was it right to fly in the face of his beloved mother's
prejudices by joining the Federal forces? On the one hand he felt that
he, too, was Southern in feeling and in birth. His father was a Northern
man, and he would uphold the old flag; but which side it was his duty to
join, he could not determine. He was resolved to go into one of the two
armies. In the crisis that had come, it was clearly every one's duty to
come to the front.
The boy talked with every one whom he could interest. He was not able
to study out the problem alone. One of his schoolmates had the proud
distinction of having an uncle who was a commissioned officer, and he
took the bold step of meeting him one day when he was walking past his
home.
“Sir,” he said timidly, “may I speak to you?”
“Certainly,” the officer replied. And then and there he poured forth his
doubts, his desire to do what was right, his mother's objections--all,
he told the waiting gentleman whose opinion he so desired.
The officer laid his hand kindly on the boy's shoulder.
“Your wish does you credit. The fortunes of war are too varying for me
to decide for you. Try and work out the proper answer yourself, and may
you be helped to make a wise decision.”
Alas, {029}the question was too hard for a boy like him to answer. He
was humbly trying to see where his duty lay, and then he was ready to
enlist on whichever side called him. On one hand was his mother and her
early teachings, on the other his dead father, with all his views. “What
side would _he_ choose were he here?” was the ever-recurring thought in
his anxious brain.
[Illustration: 8035]
But after weeks of this long, weary struggle, he decided to join the
Union army. His mother saw that he believed he was shirking a duty, and
that he longed for action.
She thought she would make one more effort to change his purpose. She
said to him suddenly one day, when she saw his troubled face: “Ralph,
you are only seventeen. You have never been away from your home, and
know nothing about hardships and privations. Do you think you could face
a cannon, and know that its deadly mouth might lay you low on the field,
mangled and torn?”
“Oh, mother, I never think of such things. If I enlist, I must take my
chances with the rest. I want to go with the other boys. Eddie Downing
and George Martin have and are going into camp to-morrow, at Readville.”
“But will the government accept you? Eddie and George are three or four
years older than you. There are plenty of men, without taking a boy who
is his mother's chief comfort.”
{030}
[Illustration: 0036]
“I am strong and well. When I come back, you will be the proudest
mother in the land, to think you sent your boy away. I may go with your
blessing, may I not? That will protect me.”
The {031}boy's eyes were moist with emotion. His mother, with a sigh,
gave her reluctant consent, and though many a bitter tear was shed in
the loneliness of her room, she bravely hid them from the boy she loved.
Now that the decision was final, she made every preparation for the
comfort of the boy who was to leave them so soon. His sisters wept
continually--not a very cheerful parting, but Ralph was the idol of his
home.
“Mother,” he said to her a day or two after she had given her consent,
“do not worry about me. I shall do my duty. This war _can't_ last long.
Then I'll come back to you, and stay at home as long as I live, depend
on that.”
His beaming face half reassured her, and she began to share his
enthusiasm. He was enrolled as a soldier. Although his youth was at
first objected to, his earnestness carried the day, and he was told to
report at Camp Hale at once.
He was a real soldier at last! A genuine soldier, who must fight. He
did not belong to the would-be soldiers, such as they used to call the
“militia,” who simply paraded on the open green, or turned out on dress
occasions, with the curious for an audience, who would watch and be
astonished at their evolutions and their showy uniforms, when the Fourth
of July or kindred days made their demands upon them.
In his neat-fitting suit of blue, the cap setting jauntily upon his
head, his musket in hand, and his belt with its bayonet buckled around
him, he looked so manly that a thrill of pride flashed o'er his mothers
face, as she looked at her boy, her Ralph, in his “soldier clothes.”
But when the day came for him to leave the only home he had ever known,
and he turned to take a last look at its plain walls, his heart almost
failed him. His beloved mother stood in the doorway, her hands pressed
over her face, while she strove to keep back the choking sobs, as she
bade her boy--“Good-bye, and may God bless and protect you.” Those
solemn words came back to Ralph in many a lonely hour, and brought him
consolation and support.
Thus, {032}in many homes, both North and South, were the heartstrings
torn, as mothers and sisters bade farewell to the boys in blue and gray,
who went to the front, to lay down their lives for duty's sake.
Ralph was a proud boy when he joined his companions in camp, wearing
the blue uniform, with its shining buttons bearing the U. S. stamp upon
them.
[Illustration: 0038]
{033}
[Illustration: 0039]
He was naturally retiring, but now he felt as if the eyes of the world
were upon him. He had taken an important step, and he would show his
friends and that great big world that he knew exactly what he was doing.
Camp life was one continual drill--so it seemed to him. Readville was a
quiet little town, but its people were ablaze with patriotism, and the
“boys in blue” were the recipients of perpetual admiration. Every move
they made was noticed and approved, and it is not to be wondered at if
some of them did greedily swallow considerable flattery, which led them
to assume quite lofty airs.
The sameness of life in camp soon wearied, and Ralph longed for
something more stirring. When the bugle call rang out, every man sprang
up, and, after a hasty ablution, at a second call they made a charge
upon their breakfast with vehemence, and tin cups and plates rattled in
a most discordant fashion. Then the drill began; first with musket and
rifle, and then with the bayonet. A bayonet charge was a fierce reminder
of the real thing. When men meet the enemy with fixed bayonets, a
dreadful slaughter may always be counted on. This drilling was kept up
at intervals, all through the day; first in squads and companies, and
then the entire regiment would take part in the use of these weapons,
and the various evolutions that the drill-master taught.
Ralph was very anxious to become proficient in their use, and while many
of the older men grumbled at this work, he kept on, learning at each
repetition something more of their actual value.
“You'll have to know all about this,” said Lieutenant Hopkins to them,
or you'll be in a nice hole when you're caught out in the field. “We
don't know how soon we may be sent to the front, and then there won't be
much time for this sort of practice. It'll be march and fight then.”
Way down in his heart this quiet stripling, hitherto jealously guarded
from a knowledge of the world by a fond mother and sisters, had his own
dreams of fame burning brightly and steadily. What if he could plan or
assist in some grand sortie, and be mentioned {034}in the dispatches
as “the gallant private of Company K---- Mass. Volunteers, whose valor
turned the tide and carried the day?” Then probably he would be summoned
before the commanding officer, and honors would be thrust upon him.
Perhaps, if he kept on, he might be a general! What would the dear ones
at home say then? The picture was too brilliant; his head fairly grew
dizzy at the prospect.
“I'll tell you,” he said to a comrade, “we are in no danger of starving
here in camp, at any rate, if we don't have much variety.”
“That's so. What's the matter with pork, beans, soup, bread, molasses
(here he made a wry face), rice and hard tack? If we get enough
of these, we'll pull through all right,” his companion responded
cheerfully.
“And we sleep as sound as kittens in our wooden bunks, with plenty of
straw for a bed, and our big army blankets over us,” continued Ralph.
“The pillows might be a little softer,” said Harvey Phillips. “Overcoats
doubled up ain't quite as easy shook up as feathers.”
“No, but our captain tells me that we are living in clover just at
present. Wait till we go into a battle. Perhaps we'll come out without
any heads, then we won't need any pillows,” laughed Ralph.
“That's true. Your easy times are right here just now,” said a “vet,”
who had been in many a battle in the far West with the red men, and had
“smelt powder” to his heart's content. “War looks very pretty on paper,
with the big fellows at Washington moving the men like they're at a
chessboard, but wait till the guns speak up on the field, and men to
men are hurled against each other, to fight like demons. The real thing
ain't so romantic, let me tell you youngsters.”
“You can't frighten us,” said Harvey. “We are no three months' men. We
enlisted for the war and we propose to see the war out.”
“Boys, I tell you war aren't no pastime. It means work, and hardest kind
of work, at that. It's a great thing to organize an army, and keep its
various parts in trim. We don't usually {035}go out to fight the enemy
with only a flask of powder, and a knapsack filled with soda crackers.
There are men and horses and ammunition to carry along.”
“Who takes care of all these matters?” asked Ralph.
[Illustration: 0043]
“The quartermaster. He looks after the rations, the ammunition, in
fact, all the supplies--blankets for the men, medicines for the sick and
transportation for the baggage. He is usually a captain or a lieutenant.
The government appoints him.”
“Does he fight?”
“Oh, no. He's got no time for that. He has to look after the fellows who
do the fighting. The quartermasters have excitement and danger enough,
however, in protecting their stores They ain't like the sutlers.”
{036}
[Illustration: 0044]
“What is a sutler?”
“He's a chap that gets permission from the government to carry things
to sell to the soldiers. He furnishes them at his own expense, and then
trades and sells them to the boys.”
“Is he a soldier?”
“Not much. You don't see him in the battlefield. He takes good care not
to interfere in any skirmishes going on. Somehow, the smell of powder
don't agree with him.”
“Then he goes to war to make money?”
“That's {037}just what he does. He oftener loses it, though, and then
his friends don't cry nor take up a collection for him. Still, he's
generally a good sort of a fellow. He's obliging and always willing to
trust a man. Often the boys help themselves to his goods without his
leave, and then he's out that much. He has his ups and downs like the
rest of us.”
[Illustration: 0045]
CHAPTER II. ORDERED TO WASHINGTON.
[Illustration: 9046]
AMP life {038}was pleasant, aside from the perpetual drilling, marching
and countermarching. Friends had access to the boys at stated times,
little gifts and pledges were exchanged, and the time passed swiftly.
One day there was great excitement. Coffee was swallowed hastily,
knapsacks were packed in a hurry, arms were brightened up, ammunition
was dealt out, and the word ran through the camp--“We are ordered to
report at Washington.”
“Now I shall know something of what is going on. Poor mother, she will
grieve over her absent boy, and fancy me in a thousand dangers. But I
will write to her often, that will cheer her up.”
And he did. Many a line he scribbled on his knee with a bit of pencil or
a blackened stick, telling her of his safety and health. These short but
welcome missives were read over and over, and fondly kissed, the dear
little messengers of love and hope.
The war cloud was growing darker. The government arsenal at Harper's
Ferry had been burned by Lieutenant Jones, who knew it would lessen
its value to the Southern forces, who were marching upon the town. The
latter, however, saved considerable of the government property, and next
seized the bridge at Point of Rocks, thus circumventing General Butler,
who was near Baltimore. They also took possession of several trains,
which they side-tracked into Strasburg, a measure which helped the
Confederate train service in Virginia very perceptibly.
The ride of the boys in blue to Washington lay through the mountains
of West Virginia, where nature revels in grand surprises. Many a little
cabin perched far up the hillside was the home {039}of those who had
shed tears when old John Brown was led forth to die. Poor and scanty
though their daily fare was, they were loyal and true, and the spirit of
defiance to the old flag found no echoes in their breasts.
[Illustration: 0047]
To Ralph the scenery appealed with deep solemnity. He was born in the
West, where the green seas of the prairies seemed to know {040}no limit.
To him hills and valleys, with their somber shadows, were objects of
awe. He noted the beautiful homes of wealth and taste as he was whirled
swiftly by on the train. He saw the black faces of slaves working in
garden or field, and heard their voices as they talked.
[Illustration: 0048]
“Fore de Lawd!” he heard a grizzled old darkey say, as they drew into a
small station for water, “pears like dey look jess like de white folks
do down here!”
“You 'spected dey had horns, didn't you? Well, I knowed better. I'se
been Norf wid Massa too many times to take in dat _idee_.”
Washington, the capital of the nation, was reached. As they {041}steamed
into the depot, and began to unload, Ralph, for the first time since
leaving home, felt lonely. He saw throngs of people, but all was strange
and new to him, and his heart sank. The city was full of soldiers
waiting for orders, so full that it was a puzzle where to quarter them.
[Illustration: 9049]
The Government buildings were full to overflowing, they
“bunked” every-where, and wild pranks these boys played, their love
of fun leading them into many a mad frolic. The city was too small for
their mischievous natures, and it was no uncommon thing to make a trip
into the surrounding territory, bent on extorting all the sport they
might out of what most of them regarded as a sort of a gala time. “But
we are ready whenever we are called upon,” was their unanimous cry.
The shooting of Colonel Ellsworth at Alexandria, because he tore down
a secession flag, so short a time previous, and his prompt avenging, as
you remember, had roused them to a sense of the hostility which was felt
by those who sought to divide the North and South. Then the attack of
the mob of Baltimore upon the Sixth Massachusetts, {042}while being
transported from one depot to another, was another proof that their
brothers of the South had trampled friendly feelings beneath their feet,
and that the fires of sectional jealousy were burning fiercely.
[Illustration: 0050]
Their journey lay through a hostile State, and sober faces succeeded the
jokes and laughter of the past few weeks. The South was plainly up in
arms, and that “rebellion,” which the whole North at first thought but
the task of a few weeks to crush, began to assume the appearance and
proportions of a long and cruel conflict.
General Butler was in command of the military department of Virginia.
[Illustration: 8051]
“Wonder {043}if that means fight?” soliloquized Ralph. “The lads say
he is a smart lawyer, but I don't know as that proves him to be a good
fighter.”
Ralph wrote often to that dear mother who was praying for her boy. “We
move to the front to-morrow,” so his letter ran. “I know how fond you
are of your boy. I am going to do my duty, I believe. But is it not an
awful thought that it is no foreign foe we shall meet, but our own
people?--that is the sting in it to me.”
[Illustration: 8051]
The night before the battle the boys slept as calmly as if they were at
home. At dawn they were called to march, and after an attack upon their
rations, they began the advance into Virginia. Raw and undisciplined,
they did not accept the gravity of the situation. They marched along,
light-hearted and gay, enjoying the change from quiet camp life with all
the zest of school boys. Many of them fell out of the ranks and picked
the luscious berries growing thickly by the wayside, while others
wastefully tossed out the water in their {044}canteens and filled them
with fresh every time they came to one of the springs which abounded in
that beautiful and fertile region.
“This isn't hard work,” Ralph thought. “We are having more fun than
ever.”
A halt had been called for a few moments' rest. A few rods from the road
a dark stream ran slowly by, whose depths no one knew. A swim in its
cool waters was proposed at any hazard, and, quickly disrobing, some of
the younger ones plunged in, and were having a merry time, when the roll
of the drum was heard and the marching was resumed. Here was a fix! The
army began to move, and a dozen soldiers were still in the stream, who
snatched up the first garments they saw and hastened to dress. In their
confusion they had almost to a man seized the wrong clothes, and the fit
of some of them was ludicrous. But changes were quickly made, and after
much good-natured “chaffing” they fell into line, and were as sedate and
soldierlike as any “vet” among them.
The cry, “On to Richmond!” sounded throughout the land.
Officers and soldiers had been massed near Washington long enough,
and the people, as well as the boys in blue, were impatient tor some
results, now that an army had been called into being. The soldiers pined
for action; the people were anxious to know what would be the outcome.
“Who commands the Southerners?” Ralph asked old “Bill” Elliott, a
soldier who had taken quite a fancy to the boy, and was ready to answer
his questions at all times.
“Beauregard, the same chap who opened fire on Fort Sumter.”
“And what does he propose doing now?”
“Well, as I am not in his confidence, I can't just tell you, but I 'low
we're not going to be in the dark long, neither are we likely to be the
gainers by any move he makes if he can help it. He's got some thirty
thousand men with him, and we'll have a lively time soon, you bet.”
“The {045}men want a brush, I think, from what they say. They're
becoming tired of waiting.”
[Illustration: 0053]
“And so does the country; but they don't know how much easier it is
to talk war than to be in it. What does the man who stays at home know
about the dangers and trials of a soldier's life? How is he capable of
judging whether it is time to fight or where it is best to strike,
or how many odds a general of an army has against him? We'll have war
enough before long--they needn't fear.” {046}
[Illustration: 0054]
“Well, {047}I suppose we'll some of us be in it soon, and who knows how
many of us will come out?”
[Illustration: 0055]
“Why, boy, you're not showing the white feather, I hope!' and Bill
peered anxiously into the lad's troubled face.
“No, {048}sir, I am not, but I can't help thinking of my poor mother,
and, besides, you know I am going to fight her people. My mother is a
Virginian.”
“Is that so? I know, then, she must feel bad have you in our army. I
can't blame her, nuther.
“But she's loyal to our flag, Bill,” the boy hastened to add. “It would
break her heart, though, if anything should happen to me.”
“Cheer up! You'll get through all right. I can feel it in my bones.”
Ralph laughed. “Why, of course I shall. It seems to me this war won't be
a very long one.”
“Perhaps not--you can't tell. But McClellan taught the Johnnies a lesson
at the 'races' the other day.”
“The 'races?'” Ralph's eyes opened wide.
“Yes, the 'Philippi races,'” Bill went on. “The Confeds ran so fast from
our boys at that battle that they dubbed their retreat the 'Philippi
races,' in honor of the speed they showed. He has been made a general,
and given the Ohio troops to command. He crossed the Ohio with four
regiments and banged after the enemy. He found it hard work, for they
say Colonel Porterfield burned all the bridges. He wasn't long in
putting them in order, though, and getting over some big reinforcements.
He routed them at Philippi and at Rich Mountain. Government ought to
remember him, I tell you.”
And it did, for “Little Mac,” as he was called, was made
commander-in-chief of the Army of the Potomac. {049}
{050}
CHAPTER III. RALPH'S FIRST BATTLE.
[Illustration: 9057]
T Washington all sorts of rumors were plenty. It was generally known,
however, that General Beauregard was making for Bull Run, where the
stream presented a natural barrier. General McDowell left Washington
with a force, whose accompaniments of civilians, following the marching
columns on foot, reporters, congressmen and idle sight-seers in
carriages, was a motley and curious sight. Everyone declared this to be
the battle which was to close out the rebellion, and all were jubilant
at the prospect.
On the army pressed under the brave McDowell, who was planning to
execute a flank movement upon the Confederates' left. A two hours'
engagement routed the Rebels, who fled before the Union charge.
The victory seemed to the Federal troops an easy one, but Generals
Johnston and Beauregard took the field in person, and, planting their
artillery in a piece of woods, they held the open plateau across which
the Federals were advancing, wholly at their mercy. General McDowell
could see nothing of this, owing to the shape of the ground, only by
mounting to the top of the Henry House, where they took their stand, and
where the attack was resumed in the afternoon.
The men on both sides were raw troops; they had not become the machines
that after fighting made them. This was to most of them their first
encounter, and as shot and shell flew rapidly by them, as the Union men
advanced over the open ground upon the enemy, who were concealed
within the woods, only to be picked off, one by one, by the Confederate
sharpshooters, who took the gunners at their batteries, they became
disheartened.
[Illustration: 0058]
[Illustration: 0059]
The {052} fight in the forenoon had exhausted them, and they were
unprepared for the work still to be done.
The battle was fierce; men were falling like hail, in all the agonies
of death. Here a drummer boy was lying face downward, his stiff hand
clutching the stick whose strokes would never wake the echoes again.
There an officer, his uniform dyed with blood, lay prostrate on the
ground, his horse half across his stiffening body, while at every turn
the wounded were huddled together, in the positions in which they fell.
[Illustration: 0060]
Ralph's heart turned sick, as he saw the brave fellows who manned the
batteries tumbling over each other, many of them shot through the heart,
as the Confederates, tempted by their success, stole nearer to the guns.
Captain Griffin, who made the sad mistake of thinking the troops were
his own men coming to his aid, permitted the nearer approach of the
Confederates. He discovered his error when a volley of musketry took
nearly every gunner and stretched Lieutenant Ramsay low in death, as the
rebels rushed in and seized the guns.
{053}
[Illustration: 0061]
The {054}fighting went pluckily on; both sides were in deadly earnest.
The batteries seemed to be the coveted prize, and they were taken and
retaken, first by one army, and then the other.
Worn and harassed, in the confusion that ensued, regiments and companies
became mixed, and thousands of men lost track of their companies and
wandered about, not knowing where they belonged.
In the dense smoke that covered the battle ground, Ralph became lost,
and, making a short turn, found a clump of trees with a thick growth
of underbrush. He heard voices, and threw himself flat upon the ground,
determined not to be taken prisoner.
“Wonder what General Beauregard's next move will be?” The tones were low
and even.
“Well, Lieutenant, we cannot know at present, but it is certain we have
taught the Yanks a lesson this day. They'll never forget Johnston's
brigade. They were so sure of whipping us. It was a hot battle, and
three or four times I thought we had lost. Those fellows fight well, but
they're no match for the South. What's the matter over there? See, our
men are retreating. Don't they know we've won the day?”
It was true. So many times had the victory changed hands, that it was
hard to tell who had won finally and it looked as if the Confederate
line was breaking.
Jeff Davis' heart sank as he came up from Manassas and found that
hundreds of Confederates, under the impulse of fear, were fleeing to
the rear. He kept on, only to find that the Northern army was in
full retreat, and the battle of Bull Run was a bitter defeat for the
Federals.
Ralph lay there in ambush, pale with dread. He feared capture more than
death. He rose quickly as the two officers galloped away, to stay their
men, and looked upon the scene. Lines of men in blue and gray stretched
away in the distance, while the noise of the guns, the neighing of
wounded, horses, the huzzas of the victors, drowning the groans of the
wounded, made him faint with horror, and his cheeks grew white as he
saw men lying on their backs, their glassy eyes staring up to the sky,
{055}their faces ghastly and white, and peaceful, or else distorted with
pain. Here a wounded soldier would half raise himself on one arm, and
beg for water, while others, bleeding and dying, lay uncomplainingly,
their eyes fixed on the blue sky, which nevermore would greet their
waking vision.
[Illustration: 0063]
In the dim light he saw all this, and knew not where to go. The terrible
sights and hideous silence which succeeded the noise of conflict
sickened him, and Ralph, the brave soldier boy, actually fainted.
“What's this? Why, it's Ralph! Is he killed?”
The tones sounded, to the boy's benumbed senses, far away, as a
{056}heavily bearded man knelt down and placed his hand upon his heart.
He saw it was Bill, and the flush of mortification mounted to his brow,
as he tried to rise.
“I was weak--dizzy--and I--”
“I know all about it!” good-humoredly laughed Bill Elliott, for he
it was. “This is your first appearance, and you had a sort of a stage
fright.”
Ralph bit his lips with vexation.
“Oh, that's nothing. You'll make a better showing next time. You'll live
to be a brigadier-general. But I was kinder rattled myself when I saw
you so still. I didn't know but some fellow had tuk good aim at you!”
“I'm not hurt in the least, Bill.”
“Well, boy, come on. We've been whipped bad, and are most unpleasantly
nigh those fellows with the guns over thar, and as I'm pretty tall, they
might choose me for a mark, just to keep their hands in.”
The Federal army, broken and defeated, straggled back to Washington,
footsore, dirty and hungry. No battle during the war was fought with
more desperation, and bravery was shown by both sides--the Union and the
Confederate.
And though the defeat of General McDowell's forces was a blow to the
pride of the North, it carried a valuable lesson; that the South would
not be persuaded back to its old allegiance.
To the boys of this generation slavery is almost a myth. But when the
Civil War broke out the blacks were held in bondage to masters who had
acquired them by purchase or inheritance, and thus they represented
property or wealth.
The South bitterly resented any interference with an institution which
many of them honestly regarded as divine. In the North opinion was
divided, some believing slavery to be wrong, but that it would gradually
die out. All classes were unwilling that it should be extended into new
territory.
This difference of opinion led to the conflict which caused brave men
to take up arms and arrayed brother against brother, in defense of what
each believed to be just and fair.
{057}
[Illustration: 0065]
CHAPTER IV. RALPH DOES PICKET DUTY.
[Illustration: 9066]
LD Bill was a little fearful, spite of Ralph's protestations, {058}lest
his boy, as he dubbed him, was going to show the white feather, after
all, and so he kept him well under his eye.
“I don't want the tarnal little rascal skipping, for it 'ud go hard with
him to be caught. They'd shoot him sure.”
But he didn't know the true mettle of the boy. He was no coward, if he
did turn sick at the scenes of his first battle, and he was a lad of
honor, and would have died before he would leave his post.
So he felt a little down-hearted when orders came for a detail from
Company K to turn out for picket duty. The men themselves felt rather
blue at this news, for they were worn out and disheartened by their late
tussle, but they didn't expect their wishes would be considered in the
matter. Ralph's eyes gleamed with joy, for he longed for adventure.
“Bill, I believe you think I am cowardly. You'll change your mind soon,
I know.”
That individual grimly responded: “Picket duty is a very cheerful way of
passing one's time, but I guess you'll do.”
The picket line was twelve miles distant, and as the men got into line,
the air and the excitement infused courage into Ralph's breast. They had
been ordered out to relieve a regiment which had seen some hard work,
and who were anxious to get into shelter.
{059}
[Illustration: 0067]
The newcomers were told what spots needed the most watching, and as soon
as they were stationed at their posts and received {060}the necessary
instructions, they settled down to the importance of the duty assigned
them.
The woods lay behind them, and each picket sought their friendly
shelter, well aware that any “change of base” on their part would be an
invitation to the enemy to pick them off.
Memories of home filled Ralph's breast. The night was dark and starless.
A strong wind blew at intervals, now howling dismally through the trees,
and then shifting its course, rushing down the bank, as if it would rend
the earth and the tall grass in its anger.
“I wonder if mother thinks of her soldier boy,” he pondered.
When does a mother ever cease to think of and pray for her children?
The night wore on. Perfect quiet reigned, and Ralph began to consider
picket duty not half so risky as Old Bill called it, after all. But as
he kept his eyes on the opposite bank, where the “Johnnies” were, he
fancied he saw a small dark object creeping through the grass down to
the river, where it seemed to be looking up and down its shore. His
heart beat fiercely. What was it? he asked himself. Was it a man or some
animal hiding in the grass? If it were a reb, he would be shot dead, at
the least move on his part--that he well knew.
I am afraid you will not think my boy was much of a hero, but the truth
is, he was very much in love with life, as all young people should be,
and, though willing to do his whole duty, he could not help feeling a
trifle nervous about his surroundings, so he stooped quickly down behind
a tall bush that appeared to be growing there just for his benefit.
The object on which his gaze was fixed seemed so small that he almost
laughed aloud at his own fears.
“Why, it's only a dog that's strayed into camp,” he said.
“Wonder if they fatten him on hard tack.”
His gaze was riveted upon the dark mass, and his surprise nearly found
vent in a low whistle, which he speedily checked, as he saw a man or a
boy steal noiselessly along the bank, till he came {061}to a place where
the grass was tangled and thick, and stooping down he pulled a wide
board from its hiding-place, and picking up a long piece of wood which
lay there, he stepped on the plank and commenced to paddle across the
stream.
Ralph lay in the grass behind the bush, breathlessly watching the
approaching figure. Suddenly a dog began to bark on the opposite shore,
and the man on the plank gave utterance to a low, angry exclamation.
The dog stopped barking, and the stranger came slowly on, till his novel
craft touched the shore within five feet of Ralph.
He saw to his amazement that it was a boy, even younger than himself, it
seemed in the dim light, and he waited breathlessly till he came closer,
and was halted by Ralph's gun, which he brought sharply against the
other's breast, while his own was on fire with excitement, as he cried
aloud--“Halt--you are my prisoner!”
For a moment these two boys faced each other; then the stranger threw
his head proudly back, and, with a gesture of impatience, replied:
“I will not be made a prisoner--I am merely going about my own
business.”
“And that business is to spy upon our lines!” Ralph said hotly.
“Take me to your superior officer. I can soon convince him that I am
doing no harm,” answered the boy.
A stir ran through the picket lines, as the news was passed on that a
rebel spy had been captured, and soon the lad, whose proud carriage and
haughty face involuntarily commanded attention, was at headquarters,
where to all questioning he remained dumb, after telling an apparently
truthful story that he was crossing the river to visit an old uncle, and
knew nothing of the movements of either army.
“This 'old uncle' is one I fancy we'd better try to unearth,” said
Colonel Tuttle. “His acquaintance would be worth cultivating.” {062}
[Illustration: 0070]
The boy would give no further account of himself. His frank, boyish face
and manly bearing impressed the officer of the day favorably, and he
muttered to himself--“Wonder if he is a spy. If all the Johnnies are
as brave and resolute as this youth we'll have to work hard to conquer
them.”
An opinion which he found cause to verify often.
CHAPTER V. RALPH AT HEADQUARTERS.
[Illustration: 9071]
OU'RE in {063}luck, my boy,” and Bill Elliott's face showed genuine
pleasure as he shook hands with Ralph. “You are to show yourself at
headquarters and receive your reward, as the good boys in story books
always do.”
An orderly came up to Ralph, and said:--“You are wanted at
headquarters.”
Ralph proceeded to the officers' tent. For the first time he stood in
the presence of his commanding officers, and as he saluted respectfully,
a tall, kindly-faced man looked at him with some surprise.
“How old are you?” was the abrupt query, as the officer looked in the
beardless face of the boy.
“Nearly eighteen, sir.”
“Have you seen any service yet?”
“I was at Bull Run.”
The fine face clouded with sadness. “That was hard and tedious fighting.
You brought in a prisoner last night, whom we have strong reasons
to believe is a rebel spy. You have shown two qualities befitting a
soldier--pluck and forgetfulness of self. Your captain commends you to
me, and I have thought proper to make you a corporal.”
Ralph's heart beat loud and fast. What had he done to deserve this
honor?
“Your warrant will be handed to you, and you are expected to attend
strictly to all its requirements.”
To a general or a colonel the promotion would not seem very exalted; but
to this boy, who could not realize why he had been selected, it was as
if he had suddenly been lifted into the seventh {064}heaven To be
sure, it only meant two stripes on his jacket sleeve, and a trifle
of authority, but it also meant encouragement and notice from his
superiors, He could not answer, but, bowing low, he left the tent.
[9072]
“A board of inquiry must be appointed at once, and we'll see what this
lad whom Corporal Gregory brought in is doing within our lines.”
The boy was marched before them, but he parried all their questions, and
maintained a resolute and fearless mien.
“I have told you the truth,” he said proudly.
“I was going to make a visit when I was seized. You see I have no
weapons.”
“Spies do not always carry arms. Papers are more to their taste. You say
you came to see an uncle. Where does he live? Why did you visit him at
night?”
“I knew {065}that the enemy lay near us, and I didn't want to be taken
prisoner.”
“Where is this uncle?”
“He lives back of the bluff, on the right hand side of the road.”
“We'll invite him into our camp, and see if he'll own the relationship.”
[Illustration: 0073]
The boy's face flushed with wounded pride, as he answered scornfully:
“We call our old servants uncle and aunt. He is an old colored man, and
lives on this side of the river--one of our old slaves, whom my father
freed.”
“We'll send you to the guard-house until more is known about you,” was
the stern retort.
The boy was removed to the guard-house. To Ralph he was {066}an object
of much interest. His sympathies went out to him and he longed to say
something comforting.
And so when his turn to act as corporal of the guard, with the abrupt
frankness of youth, he blurted out:
“What were you doing over here the other night?”
[Illustration: 0074]
“I have given an account of myself to your superiors.”
“Don't be so lofty. I don't mean to be inquisitive, but I thought
you might like to know that I am awful sorry I brought you into this
trouble.”
The boys face softened.
“I don't know as you could do anything else under the circumstances.
{067}I suppose, in fact, I know, I'd have done just as you did. Perhaps
worse,” he muttered. “I might have shot you.”
“Then you don't hold any grudge against me?”
“Well, I can't pretend that I'm grateful to you for my detention in this
hole, but I can't blame you, either.”
“Were you really going to see the old slave you told the colonel about?”
An indescribable expression flitted across the boy's features. “I said
so once. My word is usually taken, where I am known. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, from curiosity, I suppose. You look too young to be very
dangerous.”
“I'm as old as you are. You look too young to be carrying arms against
your countrymen.”
“Oh, I'm going to help put down this rebellion.”
“A hard job you've selected. It is not a rebellion; it's an uprising
against meddlesome Yankee interference.”
Ralph's eyes flashed fire. “You don't mean to say that you justify the
South, do you?”
“I not only justify it, but am proud to belong to a people who can never
be subdued. Your people are trying to force us to give up our rights,
but we won't be driven. We have thousands of men in the field, who do
not know how to fear. And when their places are vacant, more are waiting
to fill them. We despise the North, and want to be a separate people.”
“You despise a government that has always protected you in all your
rights. You have no cause for wishing to be disunited. How dare you talk
so to me?”
“'Dare?' Am I not your equal? Why should I not speak when I am
insulted?”
“Don't talk treason to me again, then.”
“I am a prisoner,” the boy said, sadly, “innocent of any crime,
surrounded by foes and powerless. Were it not so you would not give me a
defiance.”
Ralph's conscience smote him. It did appear as if the odds were on
{068}his side, and with the quick generosity of youth he said--
“I am sorry for you. We will not quarrel.”
Not to be outdone in generosity, the other replied--“I believe you; but
we had better not talk about it any more, for we can never agree, and
we are both hot-headed. You see affairs in a different light from what I
do, that is all.”
The next day the youth was rigidly examined. He gave his name as Charles
Arlington, stated that he was merely crossing the river to look after
the old slave; that he had chosen the night-time as he heard the Union
pickets were thrown out, and he did not think, with his knowledge of
the stream, that he would be captured in the darkness. Meantime, the
soldiers had been searching, and had found an old half imbecile negro in
a little cabin half a mile back from the river, whom they brought into
camp, shaking with fear.
“Old man,” one of the soldiers said, “do you know this boy?”
“Yas, honey. I knows him well. I'se old Marsa Thomas' boy. I bin on his
old plantation since he was a baby. His mud-der was one of de----”
“Say, we don't care who his mother was. What do you know about the boy
standing there?”
“Yas, yas, I knows lots. Why, he was de littlest pickaninny of de
hull lot, and his father he say to me, 'Jim'--I was young and strong
den--'Jim, dis yere boy's gwine to be your young mastah some day, if
he ebber grows big enuff. And I tole him de sweetest posies were always
small, like de vi'lets and lilies ob de valley, and--”
“You black rascal, we don't want a dissertation on flowers. Tell us
about the young man standing there.”
“Yas, marsa, but you tole me to tell you all 'bout him, and doan't I hab
to begin at the beginning?”
“Well, go on,” the Colonel interposed. {069}
[Illustration: 0077]
“Dat ar chile dere was de idle of Massa Thomas' heart. My old woman,
Easter, who's dun been dead dese free years, nussed him. {070}And when
she died she cried mo' for leabing him alone in dis cold world dan she
did fer me. You see de boy's mudder was put under de roses when he was
only a few days in de world, and Easter she lubbed him mo' fer dat.
Oh, de old times kaint come back no mo'. Marsa Thomas is in de war wid
Gineral Johnston, and 'fore he went he say to me--'Jim, you'se been
a faiful old servant, and I gibs you yo freedom.' 'I doan't want it,
Marsa,' I say. 'Let me lib and die wid you,' 'Yo neber shall want,' he
kep' on, 'go lib in de little cabin toder side ob de ribber. You know he
owns bof sides ob dis yere big plantation. 'Go lib dar, and de chilluns
will look arter you.' An' bress dere hearts, dey all does care for po'
old Jim. But I fell sick wid some sort ob a feber, and de rest ob 'em
got a little scared like, all but dis yere chile. He neber left me till
I done got well and able to hoe my leetle truck patch. And now he's tuk
a prisoner, fer being kind to de po' ole man, who won't lib many years
longer, to git him into trubble.”
The old man's withered features shone with a light that was beautiful;
his utterance was choked, and the tears rolled down his black cheeks as
his simple eloquence found its way to the hearts of those who heard him.
“Sergeant, release the boy and let him go home. And while we stay here,
see that the old man is not molested.”
“Praise de Lawd! Bress you for yore kindness.”
The boy bowed courteously to the Colonel, and with a look of gratitude
he passed out of the officer's tent, with the old man hobbling after
him. As he approached Ralph he said, “Goodbye. We may meet again.”
It was not all danger and dread with the boys in the army. Weeks passed
swiftly, and fun reigned in camp. The gypsy life held charms for them
such as no indoor employment could offer. The men were hardy and strong,
and with light hearts talked of the battles yet in store for them.
And when jests were exchanged, often after having come from a scene of
carnage, it would be hard to believe that these same men were ready
to respond at any moment if summoned by the long roll of the drum into
action.
In {071}the early part of the war many little conveniences were provided
for the rank and file, among them being tents for shelter, which did not
keep out the cold, however, and many a man died from disease who would
have lived to fight, had he been properly housed. The second winter,
however, many huts were put up, rough enough, but better calculated to
withstand the cold than canvas.
[Illustration: 0079]
Each company had a “cook tent” and a cook, generally selected from
the men, the officers boasting a “cullered individual” who was always,
according to his own account, a “perfeshunal.” The culinary department
was ever a point of interest to the men, whose appetites were never so
dainty that they failed to enjoy their daily rations. No soldier, no
matter from what part of the North he came, {072}ever turned up his nose
at the beans, which were cooked in holes dug in the earth, and filled
with hot embers, in which the iron pot containing them was buried and
kept there all night.
To Bill Elliott fell the task of ministering to the hungry ones of his
company, and many were the compliments he received.
“You can broil a chicken as good as any French cook,” a man would
coaxingly declare.
[Illustration: 0080]
“Not a boughten one,” Bill replied; “somehow those kind of chickens the
sutler has on hand don't have the genooine flavor.”
The hint was always taken, and alas, for the poor farmer who had a nice
hen-roost, or a young porker in the sty. They had no regard for property
rights, and though they were not supposed to forage, except under
orders, yet the temptation was too strong to be resisted.
At {073}such times the cackling of the fowls, whose quiet was disturbed,
the melodious grunting of the pigs, who often led them a hard chase, and
the laughter and shouting of the pursuing soldiers, made a scene of wild
merriment never forgotten.
[Illustration: 90801]
But Ralph could not see the funny side of these depredations. To him it
was a clear wrong to take what did not belong to them. He never would
join them in these expeditions, a course which exposed him to much
ridicule for his “pious notions,” but which had no effect upon him.
Often their zeal in this direction brought its own punishment. On one of
these forays a long-legged, awkward fellow, who could outrun the fastest
chicken, chased an anxious hen into a thicket, where the grass was long
and rank. As he peered round for his game he spied a dozen or so eggs
shining in the sun. “Ah,” he said, “my lady hen is stealing a nest.
Well, they look white and fresh, and I'll just confiscate them.” His
pockets were full of sweet potatoes, he had a brace ot chickens slung
over his shoulders, he had lost his handkerchief, if he ever owned one,
and the problem was how to hold possession of the coveted prize.
“I know how I'll fix it. I'll put them in my cap. I can carry them all
right.”
The eggs were tenderly deposited therein, and he started for camp.
He heard the boys who were still engaged in the chase {074}laughing
boisterously, and saw Rob Douglass, one of the new recruits, with a rope
tied to one of the hind legs of a monstrous pig, who was jerking him
right and left, in quite an unmilitary fashion. Now he was nearly on the
animal's back, and next he was measuring his length on the ground, but
he never once released the rope, while the shouts and cheers of the boys
who were watching the contest made Rob more determined than ever to land
his prize at the cook's tent.
Zach Smith joined in the merriment and began to chaff Rob, whose face
was grimy with perspiration, while his dust-covered clothes looked as
though a good brushing and a few stitches would improve them materially.
Seeing Zach he called to him to help haul in the “critter.” The latter
started toward him, but Mrs. Piggie was of the same mind, for she turned
quickly and ran between his legs. Zach lost his balance and fell, and
as he instinctively shot out his hands to save his eggs his head struck
them squarely, while the liquid streaming down his face and neck sent
forth such an odor that the men, who had inhaled many strange ones since
leaving home, voted unanimously that that particular one “beat anything
on record.”
Zach made his way back to his tent, followed by the jibes of his
comrades, as he bade Rob, in very strong language, to settle the pig as
best he could while he attended to disinfecting himself.
[Illustration: 0082]
CHAPTER VI. ANOTHER BATTLE.
[Illustration: 9083]
OYS,” said {075}Lieutenant Graves, “we have our orders to turn out and
show what we are made of. You know General McClellan has command of the
Army of Virginia, and he thinks we've been rusting here long enough;
so we're to help General Stone in drawing out the enemy. They've so far
kept in hiding, and we've got to force them out into a square and open
fight.”
“The General thinks we're spoiling for a battle, doesn't he?”
“I suppose so. Anyway, we are to cross the Potomac at Conrad's Ferry
and wake 'em up. General McCall has his hands full watching the river
crossings, and we must help him do it.” This was good news to most of
the men, who had grown tired of inaction. The long summer had worn away,
and Ralph had often slipped away from camp and run into the negro cabins
near by, where he was sure of a nice piece of hoe cake, baked on the
hearth. The garrulous darkeys liked to see Ralph coming, and many a
question they put to him which he could scarcely answer, so little did
he know of the true state of affairs.
There are few idle moments in camp, for the duties of the soldier are
too numerous to afford him that leisure which permits of homesickness.
He has letters to write home, old ones to read; then, too, his spare
time is occupied in looking for something to eat which his knapsack
doesn't hold--not because his rations are scanty, or he is hungry, but
he grows tired of the regular diet. He is always doing duty, police or
fatigue, and the perpetual drilling, all keep him busy.
{076}
[Illustration: 0084]
Mending clothes became quite an art among the soldiers, and the manner
in which some of them darned their stockings would reflect credit
upon {077}many a housewife who has the reputation of being an ex pert
seamstress.
Wash day in camp was as important an occasion as it is at home, and
preparations were made with as much regard to convenience as the
surroundings would permit.
[Illustration: 0085]
Ralph was very fond of running into old “Aunt Judah's” cabin, for her
“pones” were especially toothsome. The old negress was not handsome--her
black skin was shriveled and seamed with age; she was nearly blind, but
she was an admirable cook.
“Massa,” she said to Ralph one day, when she had filled his knapsack
with smoking hot pone and luscious sweet potatoes, whose pulp was as
golden as the sunflower's petals,--“I'se been pondering in my own min'
and I kaint see what you all is fighting 'bout. Clar to goodness I
kaint.”
{078}
[Illustration: 0086]
“We {079}are fighting to make the Southerners come back into the Union.”
“De Union? What you mean by dat?”
“The Union--the States. There are thirty-five States, and how many
slabes does he own?”
“None at all. We don't have slaves up North.”
“Don't hab slabes? Who totes your water and picks de cotton and hoes de
fields?”
“We don't grow any cotton, and all our work is done by people whom we
hire and pay money to.”
The old slave's eyes opened wide with curiosity.
“And when dey gets sassy, does de oberseer whip 'em?” Ralph laughed
heartily as he thought of the suit for assault and battery whipping a
servant up North would bring about. Here was an old colored woman as
ignorant of her relationship to the great tide of humanity as a child.
Born in the West in a little village where no negroes were to be found,
he had seldom met one.
The old woman seemed to be talking to herself.
“It pears to me dey must be dissbedient and sassy sumtimes. All niggers
are. Wonder how dey makes dem mind. When dey runs across a right smart
uppish cullered pusson how do dey settle wid him? Did you say, massa,
dey neber whip dem?”
“No, auntie, they never do.”
Aunt Judah shook her head doubtingly. “Massa.”
“The one man governs the whole of them. Your old masters didn't like the
man who was chosen, and so they said they wouldn't stay in the Union to
be governed by him.”
“Is dat man a big man? Does he b'long to a good family?”
I was plain to her the difference between servants North and South? To
him slavery was a mere name. He knew nothing of its blighting understand
how dreary and hopeless the life of a “chattel” broke {080}out suddenly,
“dey flogs dem down here; dey has to, sumtimes. I neber was struck a
blow. I was a house servant, but my man worked on de plantation.
'Diamond Joe,' dey called him; he was lashed ebery now and den, and I
tink it made him ugly. He was a likely boy. Wy, massa used to 'clar if
he wan't so stubbon, jess like one of our plantation mules, he wouldn't
take de price of two boys for him, for he could hoe and pick mo' cotton
dan any 'mount of boys. His skin was as shiny as de satin in Missus'
dress, and dark, and he was tall like de poplar trees, and strong and
big. Joe lubbed me in dose days.”
[Illustration: 9088]
Ralph looked at her wonderingly. Here was a new thought. Did those
uncouth black folks care for each other as white people did? Were they
capable of attachments? She was almost hideous--had she ever been young?
A tear rolled down Aunt Judah's withered cheek, and she seemed to
be looking far away. She was silent so long that Ralph began to be
impatient to get back to camp with his knapsack full of good things.
“Well, auntie, where is Joe now? He must be pretty old by this time.”
A solemn look stole over her features, and looking up to where the blue
sky showed through the chinks in the little cabin roof, she said--
“In {081}Heben, I b'leeve. Oh, honey, it makes my heart heaby eben now,
and offen and offen de tears dey makes my old eyes burn. Many a day I'se
asked my hebenly Fader whar on dis big yarth my Joe was, but it must
hab been wicked fur me to ask de Great King anyting 'bout a po' cullered
boy, fur I neber had any answer. But Joe was a powerful hansum boy, de
best one on de plantation.”
[Illustration: 8089]
“How did he die?”
“Die? I didn't 'spress my 'pinion dat he _was_ dead. I has looked long
for Joe, and I 'mos knows he must be gone up above, for he lubbed me and
he lubbed de little missie--de little daisy, Missie Flossie. She was de
only one who could bring him out of his tantarums, fer po' Joe did hab
spells, when he was ugly. Massa Steve--he owned us bof--I 'members dat
day well; it was a sunshiny day, de yarth was all carpeted wid de short,
green grass, and de flowers filled de whole land wid deir sweetness. It
was so bright my heart was singing a song, and Missus Flora wanted to
be druv to town to buy some nice tings for de little missie's birfday
party. Massa {082}say 'Joe, Dicks got a sick hoss to 'tend you hitch up
de big black team, and take your mistress to town.' Joe, he whispered
to me--I had tuk de little lady out on de lawn--dat he cudn't dribe dem
speerited critters, fur he had burnt his hands roasting corn in de ashes
de night afore. 'Don't stan dar, you brack rascal,' massa said, fur he
seed him talking to me. 'Massa, I'se dead anxious to go, but I hab a
bery bad hand--caint Dick go dis time wid de missus?'
[Illustration: 9090]
“Then massa, he got as white as a sheet wif temper, and his voice was
like thunder--'No! go as I told you. Do you want anoder flogging?'
“I felt way down all fru me, sumfing was gwine to happen, for Joe he
looked so wicked, and he kep' muttering and muttering, and I was scared,
fur I knowed sumfing was about to break, when Joe 'muned wid his-self.
But oh, massa, I shall neber forget de awful night dat fell, and no Joe,
nor no missus, nor no carridge and hosses cumd home. Massa was wild.
He tore up and down de lawn, running here and shouting dar, and sending
fust one nigger, den anudder, to the neighbors' plantations to see if
missie had dun gone visiting at any ob dem. Den he called fur Dick and
his white hoss, and was jess jumping on his back when de hans' set up
a holler ing and {083}de carridge cum taring onto de lawn, and fust dey
'lowed Missus Flora was dead, fur she was cuddled up in a heap, as white
as snow. Wen dey got her to cum to she tole Massa Steve how Joe had dun
gone to town wid her and den wen she wanted to cum home he had rode 'em
off, way off inter de woods, and way inter de midst of de fick trees,
and gibing de hosses a terrible lashing he started dem, heads toward
home; den dey runned all de way ober sticks and limbs of trees till
dey foun' de open road, wen dey went so fas' Missus lost her breff and
cudn't see any mo'.
[Illustration: 9091]
“You should have seen massa den! He swore so loud it made my ears ache,
and all de time he was looking right at me. He said Joe had run away and
he'd hab de young black debil's hide off when he kotched him, and if he
was shore any ob de slabes knew he was going it ud be wuss for dem; he'd
sell 'em to de very next trader dat cumd along, and dey'd be toted down
Souf, whar dey'd be showed how to work. He swore he had nuffing but a
pack of lazy niggers roun' him, who didn't desarve to hab a good master.
And, honey, fore de Lawd, Massa Steve was a kind master, only he wud
swar and cuss at us once in awhile.”
“What became of Joe? Did they catch him?” asked Ralph, who was so deeply
interested in her story that he had forgotten all {084}about the boys in
camp who were waiting for that hot corn bread.
“Yes, massa, I seen him dragged in de next day, after dey had hunted all
night wid de dogs. Dey had torn his clothes in tatters, and his han's
and face was all red wid de blood whar he fought wid dem. De master he
was so mad he made de slaves all come outen deir cabins, to see how dey
sarbed a runaway. I can see it now”--and she covered her eyes with her
wrinkled black hands--“I can see it all. Oh, Joe, I neber forgits dat
day. And when de cruel 'black snake' cut his back ebery time it hit him
he neber said a word, but he kind o' shibered all over and set his teeth
hard, but I screamed out 'Po' Joe! Will nobody pity po' Joe?' and fell
down on de grass all cold as a stone. My breff was gone, and I fought
de angel ob de Lord had done called me home and jess den Massa Steve
say--'Go to your quarters, Joe.' My Joe, he walk off as proud as a king.
Missus she was bery sorry for me, and was allus bery kind to me, but Joe
neber sing in de field any mo'. He would fix his eyes on me so terrible
I was almos' afraid of him, and he would mutter dat de avenger was on
de white man's track. 'I'm gwine to be free. Neber no more will dey lash
Joe.' I used to tink de walls would hear him and tell de massa. But dey
didn't, and one night wen ebery libing soul 'cept de watch dogs were in
deir beds, de hosses 'gan to stamp and kick in deir boxes, and de dogs
were howling, and den we heard de white folks screaming, louder and
louder, and fas' as we could, we ran outen our cabins, and dar up on de
little knoll-whar de house stood, we saw de black smoke pouring out ob
de windows and rolling up to de sky, and den turning redder and redder,
and we could 'stinguish Massa Steve and Missus Flora out on de lawn jess
as dey jumped from deir beds.
“De oberseer was fighting de flames and he tole us to get all de buckets
we could, and fotch de water from de well in dem, and he jumped on a
hoss and galloped to de nearest plantation for help, and dey all turned
out, white people and slabes, and brought water, and soon de fire
{085}wasn't red no mo', but de house--you can see de walls now ober dar,
whar dey stand to 'min' me ebery day ob de dear massa and missie and de
little lamb, Flossie--was no house any more, all de insides gone, and de
black outside standing up in de summer air.”
[Illustration: 9093]
She paused to wipe away the hot tears that blinded her.
“What became of your master and his family?”
“Massa and missus were presarbed, but de little white blos-whose birfday
had been so bright, dey didn't know whar to look for her, and her mudder
was screeching 'My baby--my baby!' and going out o' one faint into
anoder, and her pa trying to rush inter de smoking house and calling for
his Flossie--oh, it was enuff to make de har turn gray!
“She muss hab been frightened so when de smoke got in her pretty blue
eyes dat she didn't know how to fin' de way out, fer she was crouched
down behind de front stairs, and dat's de spot whar Dick found her, wid
her night-dress all on fire, but de light tole him whar to look.
“When he put de little precious chile in my-arms she put her {086}baby
fingers on my black face and she said, 'Judah, tell mamma--I am not
hurt--but I caint see!' Honey, de nex' day she shut dem po' little eyes
on dis world, and missie, whose heart broke den, followed her lamb to de
hebenly pastures whar de good Lawd 'tends to all deir wants.”
“What became of your master?”
“Massa Steve? He went ober de sea, and he died in anoder country. De
plantation and all de slabes went to his brudder, who had de big house
yo' sees ober dar on de road put up. No one eber goes near de old place,
fer dey say its hanted.”
[Illustration: 0094]
“But the old home and Joe? You don't think he had anything to do with
setting it on fire?”
“Massa, de good Book tells de po' creatures dat dey musn't form no
'pinion to hurt deir neighbors. It goes agin me to say dat he did, but
yo' didn't know Joe, and I did.”
“Did they suspect him?”
“I neber could look dem in de face to know, but Joe neber was seen after
de house was burned, and dat's many years in de past.”
Ralph drew a long breath, and bidding the old negress goodbye, he
{087}went back to camp with a sad heart. When he entered the camp he
found the men gathered in knots, discussing the news they had just
received of a coming engagement.
“What are we going out for?” asked a new man.
“So as to give the rebs a chance to lay us out, or be laid out
themselves. What do you suppose we go to war for?”
[Illustration: 9095]
Old Bill's gruff tones nettled the man.
“It don't hurt you to answer a civil question, does it?”
“Well, not exactly. You see General McCall has had an advance guard out
reconnoitering, but he can't persuade the boys over on the Virginia side
to show up on open ground. They say there's a big force of Confeds at
Leesburg, five miles or so back from the river.”
“This will be my first battle,” the new recruit said, with a sigh, “but
I don't expect it'll be my last.”
“That's right--never say die. The man who is a little chicken-hearted at
first, often turns out to be the most courageous soldier.”
“I remember reading once,” Ralph interposed, “that at some charge on a
battery in one of the battles Napoleon fought when the odds were greatly
against him, his attention was called by one of his officers to the
cowardice of one poor fellow who was pressing on, up to the cannon's
mouth. His knees were shaking, {088}his eyes bulged out, and he gave
every evidence of being terror-stricken. But his gaze was fixed on the
coveted point, his teeth were set hard, and he kept resolutely on. 'That
man is not a coward,' said the great general; 'he sees that his life is
in danger, and still he does not shrink from his duty, but faces death
like a man. He will be shot before he yields.”
[Illustration: 00896]
“But the soldier was not wounded. He lived to become an officer in the
very regiment which one would have expected to see disgraced by his
cowardice, and won great fame through his heroic bravery in after
engagements.”
“Boys,” said Old Bill, who was always the spokesman for the {089}party,
“the 'Little Corporal'--that's Napoleon Bonaparte,” he continued in an
aside to the new man, who made a wry face at being singled out for an
explanation--“was right. It's agin human nature not to feel a little
shaky when you are going into your first battle. It's how you do your
duty that settles your standing. If you attend to that no one can blame
you for having a leetle private fear of your own.”
[Illustration: 0097]
CHAPTER VII. THE DISASTER AT BALL'S BLUFF.
[Illustration: 9098]
HASTY {090}breakfast, with a rigid inspection of their
muskets, and a hurried packing of knapsacks, preceded the long role of
the drum, the signal to be up and doing. The sight of a body of soldiers
with their glittering arms and tasty uniforms is inspiriting, and dull
and cold must be the bosom that does not leap quicker at the thought
that he belongs to this grand whole. Ralph felt a thrill of exultation
as he realized that he was a part and parcel of the men who were massed
on the bank of the Potomac that bright October day. There were Ralph's
regiment of Massachusetts men, the Forty-second New York, Seventy-first
Pennsylvania and a Rhode Island battery, counting, in all, some 2,000
men, watching for a chance to cross at an island which lay there.
The day was beautiful--the sun poured down his warm beams, for in
that region the winter is late. Many were the openly spoken murmurs of
impatience, however, on the part of the men.
“We shall never get across till doomsday,” Bill Elliott said to Ralph.
“Look at our men, over 2,000 of them, and we've only got two or three
old boats to carry us over. With all due respect to General McClellan,
I think he's made a great big mistake, as General Stone will find to his
cost before we're over. The Johnnies can see all we're doing and get
all ready for us. Why, it'll be dead easy for them to receive us in fine
shape.”
“They are having hard work with that battery, getting it up the bluff.
See how they slip at every step.”
And as Ralph watched the battery being dragged up with prodigious
exertion his heart felt heavy, and he, too, began to fear there was an
oversight somewhere.
[Illustration: 0099]
At {091}the top of the bluff lay a broad field of about ten acres,
hemmed in on all sides by thick woods, so dense that neither infantry
nor artillery could penetrate them in line. Colonel Baker was given
entire command of all the troops. Then began a desperate and gallant
attempt, which the Confederates met, dashing out from the timber, and
though the Federals fired round after round from their battery, it was a
hopeless conflict, for the rebel sharpshooters picked off their gunners,
one after another, and the pieces were left useless.
Still {092}on the Union forces pressed, to be met by a heavy body of
infantry, whose hot fire cut them down. For two hours they stood their
ground gallantly, and returned the fire with spirit. Suddenly an officer
riding a splendid horse, whose snowy sides were covered with foam,
dashed out of the woods, and coming toward them, waving his sword over
his head, he beckoned the Union forces forward.
Colonel Baker took new courage; he thought he recognized General
Johnston in the horseman, and wildly cheering to his command to follow,
he pressed forward, hoping at last he should meet the enemy in an open
fight. But he was met by a fierce onset of the Confederates, who came on
with tremendous force. Like a solid wall they met the Federals, and as
part of the latter's columns charged, Colonel Baker received the whole
contents of a revolver in the hands of one of the rebels, and fell dead.
His body was rescued through the bravery of Captain Beiral and his
company, who fought their way back through the thickest of the opposing
force, and with desperate courage rescued the body of their dead
commander, and conveyed it to the island. At once the rout began, and
the Union forces were driven back, down the steep clay bluffs, one
hundred feet high, falling, jumping down, pushed by the Confederates,
who followed at their heels, killing and taking prisoners.
It was an awful spectacle. Men whose courage could not be doubted, were
panic-stricken, and throwing away coats, muskets, and everything
that could impede them, plunged into the river, whose rapid current
overwhelmed them, and to their shrieks as they drowned, was added the
rapid firing of the Confederates on the cliff above, the roar of the
artillery, the cries of the wounded, making a scene of horror which
cannot be described. The imagination alone can fill in the picture.
Among the incidents of this day may be mentioned a desertion of one
of the regiments by its colonel, who swam the river on horseback, thus
making his escape. Many took to a boat, which was quickly filled, and
as quickly sunk with every soul. A {093}captain in the Fifteenth
Massachusetts came to the rescue of the fleeing Federals, with two
companies, and charged up the hill, only to see how little help he
could give, and a few moments decided him to wave his handkerchief, and
surrender to the Confederates.
Dispirited and weary, the remnant of the troops moved back to camp.
Their loss had been heavy. Over five hundred soldiers had been captured
by the Confederates, Colonel Baker had been shot, and they had lost
arms, ammunition and clothing.
Corporal Ralph Gregory had shown coolness and clearheaded courage, equal
to the oldest and bravest. When the battle began, the color-sergeant
had received a ball in the breast, and had fallen dead. Seizing the
flag from his stiffening fingers, Ralph rushed to the front, and held
it manfully, through the storm of bullets that riddled its folds, and
clinging desperately to it, he carried it proudly and safely, soiled and
torn, but not disgraced.
But his strength was not equal to his courage, and handing it to a
stalwart comrade whose arm was more powerful, he bade him to “protect
it from capture.” The colors went back to camp, and with them, went the
story of the boy's bravery.
Ralph was weak, his nerves were unstrung. His ears still echoed the
noise and confusion of the battle that had not yet died away. Still the
Union men were fleeing, pursued closely by their enemy, who wounded them
with muskets and swords, as they ran. The agonized shrieks of those
who met their death in the swift-flowing stream rang in his ears with
fearful distinctness, and he vaguely wondered if he would ever cease to
hear them.
He was unnerved. It was not cowardice, but the reaction that so often
follows times of great excitement. Exhaustion, complete and unavoidable,
had taken possession of him. He reeled like a drunken man. Making a
frantic effort to recover himself, he sank on the earth amid a clump of
leaves and brush, that half hid him from observation. How long he lay
in this stupor he could not tell, but when he became conscious of
the dreadful {094}place he was in, he slowly struggled to his feet,
half-dazed and bewildered. His first thought was to wonder where Bill
was. He recollected that he had fled in hot haste with the others, and
the last glimpse of him which he had, was when the plucky Massachusetts
captain made his stand, but was compelled to surrender. He was sure that
he had been wounded, for he saw blood streaming down Bill's face, as he
ran.
[Illustration: 8102]
“Could he have escaped, or is he among the dead lying here?” he thought.
“I must search for him.”
And as he threaded his way among the dead and wounded as best he could
in the twilight, he stumbled over the body of a boy. Kneeling down, he
turned the lad's face upward, and in the dim light he knew him.
“It is Charlie Arlington!--he is surely dead!”
The boy opened his eyes, and seeing Ralph, he assured him that he was
not wounded, but he feared his ankle was sprained. “I told you,” he
said, with a smile, “that we should meet again.”
“You did, but I did not think it would be so soon. Are you injured?”
“Only by my horse, who stumbled and threw me with such force against
that old stump that I fainted with pain. Do you think my leg is broken?”
“Let me examine it. No, I don't think it is. How are you going to ride,
however? Where is your horse?”
“Oh, he ran away after serving me that mean trick. But why {095}are you
here? Don't you know you are my prisoner now?” he continued, smiling
broadly.
“How's that?” Ralph spoke sharp and loud.
“Hush!” the other cautioned. “You'll have a dozen soldiers after you.
They're coming back to bury the dead. Of course you're my prisoner.
You're on our field--were you not routed?”
This fact rather staggered Ralph. It had not come home to him till then;
he looked anxiously toward the river's bank.
The boy divined his thought.
“It's no use to try to swim that stream here. The current's too strong.”
[Illustration: 8103]
“It seems I'm your prisoner, then.” Ralph's sad tones spoke volumes. The
horrors of captivity stared him in the face. He thought at that instant,
of his mother, sisters and the dear old home, and his heart was heavy as
lead.
Charlie appeared to be enjoying the advantage he had over Ralph, for he
never removed his gaze.
“I've but to raise my voice and you'd be surrounded in an instant.”
“But how is it you are here now; I thought you knew nothing about the
army,” said Ralph.
“I {096}didn't when I last saw you, but I joined the Southern army the
next week. I am in the cavalry service.”
Ralph's curiosity would never be silenced. “Do you like it?” he asked.
“Yes, and no. I have been in several engagements, but the hardest blow
I had was when they carried my father home dead, and I asked for a
furlough, to go home to see him once more, and was refused.”
Here the boy nearly broke down. Ralph's sympathies were aroused at
once. He knew not what to say. But Charlie recovered himself soon, and
continued--“You see how I'm placed now. I shall _have_ to take you into
our camp.”
“I wish Bill were here!” Ralph blurted out. “He wouldn't see me taken
prisoner so easily.”
To him Bill represented the sum total of all knowledge, and he felt
confident of his ability to rescue him, even in the face of the danger
that now menaced him.
A low whistle startled both boys. A few feet from them, stretched
lengthwise of a fallen tree, lay Bill, who raised his head, which was
bleeding freely.,
“I've a good mind to take you both prisoners!” he said, jocosely. “What
are you exchanging courtesies for? The boy's right. Unless we can get
away in a very big hurry, he can land us both in the rebel camp, and
then it'll be all over with us. You'd better be planning each other's
escape, and then you'll both be likely to be court-martialed!”
“It's my luck, isn't it? I can't blame Charlie if he does take me. But I
haven't got anything against him.”
“Neither has any of us got anything against any of the Johnnies. This is
not a personal affair, at all. But just the same we've got to fight 'em
because they're agin the government.”
Ralph looked closer at Bill. “You're wounded, and will be carried to
prison, too! Oh, Bill, what will become of you?”
{097}
[Illustration: 0105]
“It's nothing but a scratch. I lay here awhile till those fellows'
{098}guns gave out, for I felt a little dizzy, and didn't care to get up
till the smoke cleared away, and I could make out my bearings.”
A groan from their companion recalled them to their position. Ralph was
in a fever of anxiety. War was a brutalizing affair, he pondered.
“You mustn't have any feelings at all, Bill, if you want to be a good
soldier.”
“Nary a feeling. Humanity don't cut no figger in a battle. Why, boy,
I've stood in the ranks and seen father on one side, and son on the
other, blazing away with hate and bitterness in their eyes. And all
on account of a mere difference of opinion.” Ralph shuddered. “It is
dreadful; but war shall never make me so hardened and indifferent to
suffering that I will not do all I can in honor to relieve it. I intend
to fulfill all my duties as a soldier, but do not see why I should
hesitate to show mercy to an injured foe.”
“He's the right sort,” Bill chuckled to himself.
With that thought in his mind, Ralph went nearer to Charlie, and
said--“Give me your handkerchief, and I will bandage your ankle.” In a
few moments he had finished binding it on, tightly and skillfully, while
the boy looked his gratitude.
“It feels a little easier,” he said, “the pain was intense.” Bill
watched them both narrowly. In his heart he admired “the little rebel
cuss,” but he wished him a thousand miles away, for he saw that it was
impossible to make their escape, as Charlie had only to raise his voice
as he had suggested, and the enemy would be upon them.
It was a moment of anxiety for the man and his companion. Charlie was
the most indifferent of the three. “I'd rather have been killed than
have to go to their prison, for who knows how long it may be before I am
exchanged?” thought Bill.
The firing had ceased, and darkness had settled o'er the earth. Suddenly
Charlie seemed to recollect something, for he whispered--“Go--you must
go, at once. The detail will soon be here, to bury our poor boys, and
they will have you, sure. Go down the bluff as still as you can; don't
loosen a pebble even, for there {099}are sharp ears near. Keep close
to the river bank, and about half a mile down you'll see an old tree
standing that has been struck by lightning. Two rods north of the tree a
little skiff is hid in the tall weeds. Take it and row across. Go quick,
and, above all, make no noise. My life, as well as yours, is in danger.
They'd shoot me in a minute, if they knew I helped you escape.”
“You're a brick--you are!” broke out Bill, admiringly. Ralph wrung his
hand. “What will you do? You can't lie here all night.”
“They'll find me all right and carry me off to the hospital. I can talk,
if I can't walk, and I'll soon let them know where I am. But you haven't
a second to waste. Go!”
The hint, so urgently given, was acted upon, and none too speedily, for
a moment after, the men appeared, and Charlie was suddenly seized with a
violent fit of coughing, so loud and boisterous, it was well calculated
to cover any noise which Ralph and Bill might unintentionally make. He
was placed on a litter and borne away.
Bill scarce drew a breath until his feet touched the bottom of the boat.
Charlie's violent cough had served them well, for though they stole
noiselessly down the bluff, the night was so still that a breath almost
could be detected. They were soon across the noble river, and their
hearts beat tumultuously when they found themselves safe within the
Union lines.
Bill's wound was not serious, so he declared. He even objected to the
few days in the hospital which the surgeon prescribed. His good nature
never left him.
“Sick men may go and lay up, but you cain't kill Old Bill. I'm presarved
for something better than to stop a bullet. I've been through too many
hard sieges to give in for a little blow like that was.”
“You've got another invite to see the Colonel,” a grizzled old soldier
said to Ralph a day or two after the engagement. “He desires the
pleasure of your company in his tent. Leastwise, that's what it amounts
to, though that ain't the language he {100}made use of. Wonder why I
don't be asked once in awhile? He don't know what he's losing by not
consulting me. But hurry up--'tain't perlite to keep him waiting.”
Ralph trembled visibly, and every drop of blood turned to ice. He knew
something must be wrong. Perhaps he ought not to have helped Charlie,
but what else could he do? He walked briskly toward the tent of the
officer.
Colonel Hopkins was a stern, battle-scarred old soldier, who wasted no
words. His keen vision could discover merit, however, and as he looked
steadily at Ralph, he took his measure at once.
[Illustration: 9108]
“Your captain tells me you saved the colors of the regiment, in the late
engagement?”
“I did, Colonel.”
“And you risked your life in so doing.”
“Why should I not? I am a soldier, sir!” and the boy's “I will, with the
help of Heaven!” was Ralph's fervent utterance, as he followed the
orderly from the Colonel's tent.
{101}
[Illustration: 0109]
One of the most brilliant affaire of the war was the charge of a body of
cavalry under Fremont. This was a fine and choice {102}array of cavalry,
known as “Fremont's Body Guard,” whose exploits were famous. It was
commanded by Major Charles Zagonyi, a Hungarian, whose military record
had been made in Europe.
[Illustration: 9110]
This dashing and fiery soldier, with a band of 160 men, charged upon
a Confederate force of 2,000, who were drawn up in a hollow square.
He rode across the field, unheeding the firing of the skirmishers, but
charged into the midst of the Confederates, and with pistols and sabers,
scattered them like dry leaves in the autumn wind. Not content with
this, the daring Major chased them into the streets of Springfield, and
fought them hand to hand.
After this daring and unequaled achievement, he hoisted the National
flag upon the courthouse at Springfield, sent a guard to care for the
wounded, and then went quietly back to Bolivar.
[Illustration: 0110]
CHAPTER VIII. THE ARMY IN WINTER QUARTERS.
[Illustration: 9111]
INTER so {103}far had brought them much suffering and privation.
To Ralph it was peculiarly dreary. With the prospect of a period of
inactivity, it was strange that so little provision was made to protect
them from the cold, raw winds that were so frequent. Many of the
soldiers put up rude huts, made from the fine timber which grew
so plentiful in that region, and those who were independent and
enterprising enough to build for themselves, often fashioned a very
snug, cozy little house. The rough stone fireplace, put together with
Virginia mud, was never wanting. What though it was neither symmetrical
nor artistic? The warmth and cheer compensated for the absence of both
these features.
In some of these huts--they surely deserved a better title--the men
threw themselves down at night on the ground, which was covered with
blankets, rubber coats, and any material the jovial occupants could find
to keep out the dampness. Some, more pretentious, constructed bunks or
boxes round the sides, which were as comfortable as a spring bed would
be at home. It was quite common to find home-made chairs, benches and
tables, round which they gathered when off duty, and told stories or
discussed the situation. The walls were papered with illustrations cut
from newspapers, which added to the charms of the dwelling.
{104}
[Illustration: 0112]
But the greater number shivered under canvas tents, feeling keenly the
light snows and rains, followed by days of thaw and sunshine, which were
so frequent. To add to the dreariness of their surroundings, the funeral
dirge was often heard, as the dead were carried out from hospital, who
had succumbed to that apparently {105}simple disease, the measles, but
which leaves its victim feeble, exhausted, and unable to rally.
To a new recruit, or to one who is full of sensibility, as Ralph was,
these sights were particularly depressing.
[Illustration: 0113]
A snowstorm during the day had been succeeded by a windy, cold night.
Ralph had been writing to his mother, and while he took care to
make every word as cheerful as he could, and never to mention his
discomforts, vet the mother heart between the lines, and knew her boy
was homesick, pining for her, as she, alas! was longing for the loving
caress and the sound of his voice.
As he pushed back the stool which had answered for a writing desk, the
wind gave a sudden whirl and lifted the canvas, sending a shower of
sleet over him which made him shiver.
“The winter here is full as cold and disagreeable as up North!” he said.
“I thought this was a land of perpetual sunshine and flowers!”
He {106}peered out at the sentry, who hugged his great coat closer, as
he paced to and fro. He fancied he saw in the gloom a man and horse, and
heard the sharp challenge--
“Halt! Who goes there?”
The horseman drew up, and replied promptly--
“A messenger from General Shields, with dispatches for Colonel Hopkins.
I must deliver them at once.”
[Illustration: 0114]
The sentinel called--“Sergeant of the guard--post number five--a message
from headquarters!”
The words were passed along the line of guards, until it reached the
sergeant, who came instantly.
He carried the papers to his colonel, who read them hastily, and signed
each one, handing them back to the orderly, who rode swiftly away.
Ralph was by this time outside his tent, unmindful of the sleet
{107}which tore his flesh like sharp-pointed arrows. He longed to
know what those dispatches signified, but his curiosity had to remain
unsatisfied, and he went back to his tent to try to sleep, as well as he
could, for the biting wind that forced its way into every crevice.
[Illustration: 0115]
He seated himself on the side of his bed, and tried to think. He
wondered when General McClellan was going to take Richmond. The cry “All
Quiet on the Potomac” was heard continually, and weary men and weeping
women all over the land were longing for the dawn of peace which should
bring back to them fathers, husbands and sons. But ah, that peace was
far distant. The boy reasoned that he had no right to criticise the men
who held trusted positions in the army. But surely the boys in camp
and field were doing all they could, under orders, to hasten the end of
these troublous times. Would the conflict ever cease?
Perplexed {108}and worn out in trying to solve the problem agitating so
many of the most patriotic and the most far-seeing, all over the land,
Ralph at last fell asleep, to be roused by the reveille. He sprang
up, sure that he must be dreaming, for he had just been sleeping but a
moment--a mere “cat nap,” and this couldn't be a summons to leave his
comfortable bed. He had neither time nor right to object, however; his
sole duty was to obey orders, and he hastened to dress. Outside, the
soldiers were hurrying about, most of those who were called on glad of
any break in the monotony of their first winter in camp.
“Breakfast at two, march at half-past,” was the captain's peremptory
order.
“What an unearthly hour,” was Ralph's comment. “Where, are we bound? And
why march at night?”
“Can't say,” a comrade ventured, “unless it's so we won't have to march
by day!”
They were not long in suspense.
A portion of their regiment was ordered to assist a force of Ohio and
Indiana men under Colonel Dunning, in routing a body of Confederates who
were posted near Romney, Va., at a point called Blue Gap.
The wind had died away, the stars were out, and the moon shone
brilliantly. The cutting sleet had turned to snow, and the soft carpet
lay white and pure, muffling the sound of their footsteps. It was a
weird sight--that mass of men tramping along with steady steps,
while their shadows falling on the ground danced and flickered in the
moonbeams with startling vividness.
Blue Gap was a natural opening between hills, and was well defended by
howitzers and rifle pits. As they approached the Gap, Ralph's keen
eye detected a dozen men piling up limbs, straw, and other inflammable
material, against the bridge that spanned a stream running through the
Gap.
“Captain,” he said, “some of those fellows have left the lines, and are
fixing things nice to burn that bridge.”
“We'll block that game, instanter. We need that bridge more than they
do.”
A {109}dash was made for the bridge, led by the captain, who opened fire
upon them, and thus ended that attempt. On the hills the entrenchments
were held manfully, but the Confederates had scarce time to pour forth
their fire, before the two Ohio regiments dashed upon them, and captured
two pieces of artillery. The surprise was so complete and the attack so
overwhelming, that defense was vain.
The hills were swarming with Federals, fighting hand to hand, and
forcing their opponents back. The houses on the other shore were filled
with sharpshooters, whose constant firing harassed the Federals, and
brought down a soldier at nearly every shot.
A score of men sprang into a large boat lying at the bank, and with a
storm of bullets hissing and rattling about them, they crossed to the
shore where the sharpshooters were hidden. Death menaced them, but with
a huzza that would have put life into a stone, they rowed fast, and
sprang out of the boat. Dashing up the hill, to the houses which the
enemy had used for vantage ground, they found them vacated.
“They didn't wait to make our acquaintance,” Ralph said.
“No, but those sharpshooters introduced themselves to us in fine style.
Why, a man went down at nearly every shot.”
Bill said not a word, but leaned heavily over the side of the boat. No
one paid him attention, for their hearts were filled with a longing for
revenge.
“Boys, we have missed the rebs ensconced in these houses, but we can
prevent their using them again. We will burn them to the ground, and
take good care that not a timber stands, after we have done with them.
They have picked off some of our best men, and we won't leave a roof to
shelter them.”
A dozen pairs of willing hands were at work in an instant gathering wood
and brush, which they piled around the dwellings. With faces grimy and
soiled, these resolute men touched the pile with a match, while they
stood ready to shoot the first man who dared to show himself to protest,
and soon the flames leaped upward, crackling, sputtering and curling
round doors no and {110}windows, licking up every object within reach,
till naught but the charred and blackened timbers stood to mark the spot
where the sharpshooters had dealt their deadly work.
The skirmish was brief. It was an easy victory, and no loss had been
sustained by the Federals, save those who were shot in the boats. But
the Confederate loss was greater. Forty soldiers were lying dead in the
grass and weeds, and as many more were carried back to camp, prisoners.
Even while the houses were being consumed, Ralph went back to assist
those who had received the bullets of the sharpshooters. Some had fallen
overboard, and sunk in the stream. Others were lying as they had fallen,
their cold hands still grasping their weapons, which they would never
use again. One poor fellow was kneeling in the bottom of the boat, his
finger on the trigger of his musket, and his staring eyes fixed on the
shore. Ralph shuddered. Could he ever become inured to these dreadful
sights?
Bill Elliott was leaning over the side of the boat, in a half-stupor. The
wound in his head had opened afresh, and the red stream was running down
his face, staining its ghastly whiteness crimson. His arm hung useless
by his side, shattered by a bullet. Opening his eyes at the sound of
Ralph's voice, he whispered faintly: “I thought you'd come arter me.
They've fixed me this time, sure,” and he relapsed into unconsciousness.
A litter was soon hurried together, and Old Bill was placed in hospital.
[Illustration: 0118]
CHAPTER IX. FAIR OAKS.
[Illustration: 9119]
HE Johnnies {111}are busy these times, aren't they?' “And so are we,
chasing them up. I don't see that we are any nearer Richmond than we
were a month or so ago.”
“Nor we won't be,” broke in another man, “if General McClellan repeats
his Yorktown tactics. Perhaps, by the time we get to Richmond, we'll
find some 'Quaker guns' there.”
“It must have been kind of disheartening to the boys after lying 'round
a place a month to have the rebs move out just as they were getting
ready to go in, and find they had left a lot of wooden guns behind.”
All the next day the soldiers were working on the redoubts, and wholly
unaware of the surprise in store for them. May 31st dawned, and while
they were still fortifying their position, a tremor ran through the
line. “The Confederates are upon us!” was the cry, and as they tossed
aside the shovels, the Confederates charged upon them with their
well-known “yell” that so often echoed and re-echoed on the
battle-field.
But they found brave men ready to repel their assault. The Chickahominy
had swollen to such a height that bridges were carried away in its mad
rush. General McClellan had thrown the left wing of his forces across
the stream, but it was impossible to get reinforcements to their help.
Both sides showed unexampled bravery. General Johnston moved on toward
Richmond, six miles away, where he halted, for the purpose of striking
the detached wing of the Union forces. The rise of the river had
hampered the movements of the latter, and it seemed as if capture was
certain.
The half-finished redoubts had been occupied by General Casey's
{112}division of Keys' corps, and although they rallied several times,
it was in vain. The rebels, made a detour, and stole upon their rear,
and they could no longer hold them. Their line was in danger.
Meanwhile General Johnston's evident intention was to bring up a heavy
flanking force between General Casey and the river whose banks had risen
so unluckily for the Federals, cutting off all hopes of reinforcements.
And now a magnificent exhibition of courage was shown by Sumner. He
expected orders to go to the rescue, and his men were drawn up in line
ready for the summons. One bridge alone remained with which to cross the
river, and its approaches were under water. Some of its supports were
gone, and as the soldiers stepped upon it, the frail structure swayed
to and fro, mid the rushing waters, but they passed over as speedily and
safely as though it were a solid piece of masonry.
General Sumner's appearance was most opportune. He met the flank attack,
and was victorious. The slaughter was fearful. In this battle 12,000 men
gave up their lives--5,000 Northern men, and 7,000 Southern.
General Johnston fell, a Federal shot having taken effect. He was
carried off the field, and at first it was feared by the Confederates
that his wound was mortal, but after some months of suffering and
enforced retirement he recovered, and a year after assumed command of
the Confederate forces of the Mississippi.
Ralph was sent with one of the details to bury the dead and bring in the
wounded. Trenches were dug, and the dead piled in them. Many were left
where the last shot had struck them down, and earth was heaped
upon them. The ground was literally blood-soaked. The dead were
everywhere--the battle-field was one vast graveyard, with its tenants
left unburied.
Ralph entered a little log house in a pasture near the railroad, and
seated himself on a bench for a moment's rest. Just outside the door,
he found the dead and the wounded packed so close that he could scarcely
avoid stepping on them. To distinguish {113}them was a hard task, for
the wounded lay there so quiet and motionless, fast in that silent
resignation born of despair, that, save for the dull blackness that
covered the faces of those from whom life had fled, it would be easy to
mistake the living for the dead.
[Illustration: 0121]
All sorts and ages were there, in one mass--the boy, who had gone from
home, ardent and hopeful, the old man who had left the record of an
honorable life behind him; officers who had cheered their commands on to
victory, privates who had fought fearlessly--all lay there, while horses
had fallen dead across their riders, or were struggling in agony. The
picture was horrible! He was r e minded of h is duty by the voice of an
old man, who came into the room where he was musing.
“This is a cruel war, sir!” he said to Ralph. “I've been raised here,
man and boy, nigh onto seventy years, and I never thought, when I played
in these fields, that I should ever live to see them desecrated with
human blood.”
Ralph {114}raised his head, and looked at him earnestly.
“No,” the old man continued, “I have looked for the coming of the Lord'
these many years, but I never thought He would come in blood and smoke,
and the noise of battle.”
“What do you mean?” the boy asked, breathlessly. “How has the Lord
come?”
“Has He not come to set human beings free? Is not the black man's
bondage nearly over? Is not slavery doomed? Then the only blot upon the
fair name of America will be wiped out. The North and South will become
brothers again, and go hand in hand in all worthy undertakings. Thus, as
one family again, they will march on, to a grand and glorious destiny.”
“If my mother could hear him talk!” his listener thought. “What does he
mean by the blacks being set free?” For the Proclamation of Emancipation
had not yet been given to the world, and the position of the slaves
during hostilities had not been settled.
“Are you a Northerner?” he asked the old man.
“No, I am a Southerner,” with a tinge of pride in his tones. “How do you
dare say such things?”.
“I am an old man, and they call me childish and silly. But I love my
country, and I want to see her truly great.”
“Have you always talked in this way?” queried Ralph, puzzled at the old
man's language and manners.
“Always. Oh, I have paid dearly for my opinions. I have had my house
torn down over my head, I have suffered in my young days; but I have
lost all I ever loved, and they pity me now. I know I shall live to see
my prayer answered--that we may become a free and united country. Then I
shall be ready to die. Yes, it comes to that with old and young. We must
all be ready to die at any moment.”
With a courteous nod to Ralph, he passed out of the door, and the boy
was left alone.
“We must be ready to die at any moment!” The words sounded like a knell
to Ralph. Was _he_ ready to die? He had, been carefully nurtured by that
blessing to a child, a praying mother, {115}and his boyish days were
spent in the Sabbath school. Like all in the springtime of life, death
seemed afar off, something that would not approach him for many years.
Death was the expected portion of the old, but he had always resolutely
put aside all thoughts of a future that did not belong to this life.
Now these words came home like a shock. Was he ready? He had never been
a bad boy, in any sense, but still he was not ready or willing to die.
At that possibility his courage forsook him; memory went swiftly back to
many a childish piece of wrong-doing, which, under the fear of death,
he magnified into black and unpardonable sins. Filled with sorrow and
repentance he fell on his knees on the hard floor of that little cabin,
with the dead so near him, and cried--“Help, O Lord, or I perish!”
A wave of tender feeling swept over his soul, and his mother's favorite
psalm, the 118th which she had read to him so often, came to his
remembrance, and one verse was as music to him,--“The Lord is on my
side; I will not fear. What can man do unto me?” He rose to his feet,
refreshed and made strong.
[Illustration: 0123]
CHAPTER X. CAMP FUN.
[Illustration: 9124]
HAT time {116}should not hang heavy on their hands, much inventive
genius was brought into play, and no schoolboys, famous for their
ability in making up games, could equal these grown men in originating
sports to fill in the hours that otherwise would have been exceedingly
dull. Some such safety-valve was necessary, or else many would have
broken down with memories of the dear ones at home, and the depressing
sights of war, and its hardships.
The camp echoed often with the songs so dear to all who can be moved by
tender thoughts. Many of the men were the possessors of rich, melodious
voices, that brought many a thrill of delight to their listeners, in
their tones.
Ralph had a fine voice, and to please his comrades he often sang the
sweet old songs of childhood, while they listened with an enthusiasm
and rounds of applause that many a prima donna could not have inspired.
Throwing themselves around the blazing camp fire whose ruddy sparks flew
heavenward, the whole company would join him in singing the melodies
with hearty goodwill, and at those moments care and danger were
forgotten. Now he would give them a plaintive, gentle ditty that would
make the eyes of those brown-faced soldiers moist with emotion, as home
pictures started into life before them, and then a stirring song of
patriotism and victory would ring out, until the blood would leap
in their veins, and each man there was ready to attack any foe
single-handed.
But the boy's heart was heavy, even while his humble efforts in the
musical line were giving pleasure to his comrades. His constant prayer
was that some decisive move might be made, by which the war might be
brought to a speedy close. He {117}was lonely, too, for “Old Bill,” as
he always called himself, had been in the hospital for some time, and he
missed his cheery ways.
[Illustration: 0125]
One afternoon as he sat in his tent reading, he heard peals of
boisterous laughter ringing out upon the air. Going to the opening,
he saw a group of soldiers gathered round some object, and heard them
chaffing some one whom he could not see.
“What is the excitement, Harry?” he asked a companion who had evidently
come from the scene of action.
“I just came for you to pile out and see the fun. They've got {118}one
of our boys, and are amusing themselves at his expense. Come on, or
you'll be too late. The performance will be over.” Ralph hurried after
Harry, who was off like a deer, and going straight up to the group, he
saw a crowd of men tossing another one up in the air, and letting him
fall into a blanket, amid screams of laughter, and cries of “Send him up
higher!”
“Pickle him in his own salt!”
“Head him up in a barrel, and send him to the cook!”
“We'll make a high private in the rear rank of him!”
“Gently, boys,” the victim panted. “You don't want to be too hard on a
poor fellow for having a little joke of his own.”
“Who is it--what has he done?” inquired Ralph, who didn't enjoy such
rough sport, and was really concerned lest they might carry it so far as
to injure the man.
“It's Corporal Fred Greene, the funny fellow of Co. H,”
Tim Mackey responded. “It's his birthday, and we re celebrating it. And
he's having a high time.”
Fred was a mischievous young fellow, who had just seen his twenty-third
birthday. If there was any chance for a joke on any member of the
company, he never lost the opportunity of making the most he could out
of it.
In order to impress the fact that he had a birthday, he had invited a
score of his comrades to a “small spread” in his tent. The colored cook
was in the secret, and through his connivance, and the help of a few
cracker boxes draped with bunting, and some tin cans, he had succeeded
in making quite a tasty looking table. Before the banquet began, he
made a short speech of welcome, which was responded to in good faith by
Franklin Field, who was deputed to do the speaking on all occasions, as
he had quite a gift of extempore oratory.
Without further ceremony, Fred cordially pressed all of them to “fall
to.” Just at this interesting moment, the cook, a loose-jointed,
wrinkled old darkey, whose huge mouth looked as if it was always ready
to utter a guffaw, entered the tent, and scraping and bowing to the
“gemmens,” broke out with--“Sorry to put back your 'joyment, Massa Fred,
but youse wanted outside, bad.”
Fred {119}rose, and with a graceful salute to his guests, begged them,
in a most elaborate manner, to attack the food, which was entirely at
their service. It was unfortunate that he should be disturbed at such
a moment, but duty called him, and he would return at the earliest
opportunity.
“This black rascal is bound I shan't have my share, but fall to,
friends.” Once outside, he hunted a safe hiding place waited behind a
hedge.
[Illustration: 0127]
Those left behind sat a moment lost in wonder as to where the good
things sprang from. They did look inviting to these devourers of hard
tack and bacon. The table had for a centerpiece a fine-looking chicken,
flanked on both wings by oranges, potatoes roasted in the ashes, canned
fruit, and--two huge cakes!
“Where did Fred get these dainties? He's too lazy to forage, and I don't
believe he could buy them at the sutler's tent. His {120}credit, ain't
good enough,” was the comment made by one of his “friends.”
“Never mind where he got 'em,” a gaunt, hungry-looking fellow answered.
“Let's try 'em fust, and investigate afterwards.” No further urging was
necessary. They all “fell to,” as they had been ordered, but the wry
faces, choking, gasping breath, and muttered expletives, as one after
another bit into some tempting morsel to find a mouth filled with salt,
pepper or sand, would have been a subject for a painter. The chicken was
a sham; its unusual plumpness was due to a liberal stuffing of cotton
batting, the oranges were well sanded, while the cake was plentifully
seasoned with salt and pepper--two condiments that are very well in
proper proportions, but rather nauseating when taken in large doses.
They rose in a body--all were of one mind when they rushed out after
their host, who was making for the woods at the other end of camp.
A dozen fleet-footed men soon overtook him, and, bringing him back,
proceeded to inflict summary punishment, amid roars of laughter, for he
was liked by every man of the company.
Fred didn't play any more jokes upon those boys, and after his undesired
elevation, he was quite subdued. But they all forgave him, and “Fred's
birthday party” passed into a byword, when some illustration was needed
to indicate a good time.
Ralph was homesick. It was useless to disguise the fact, for it began to
tell upon his health. Malaria had fastened its strong hand upon him,
and he grew more listless every day. He did not waver in his duties,
however, and when marching orders came, he was among the first to pack
his knapsack and shoulder his musket.
{121}
[Illustration: 0129]
CHAPTER XI. SOUTH MOUNTAIN.
[Illustration: 9130]
HE summer {122}of 1862 was hot and dry. Streams were parched, the grass
was brown and burned. The army trailed through the dust, and lay down at
night footsore, weary and sick. Often the only water they had to
drink was supplied by “brackish” ponds, whose surface was covered with
greenish slime. Fevers and malaria broke out among the regiments, and
dissatisfaction was loud and outspoken. Now and then a brush would
take place, or a skirmishing party would sally out, surprise a party of
Confederates, bringing some of them into camp prisoners.
“Knapsacks and rations ready by seven in the morning!” Fred Greene said,
one September afternoon as they were watching eagerly and impatiently
for some move to be made. .
“Sure its not another of your jokes, corporal?”
“No joke this time, as you'll find to your sorrow, perhaps.”
“How many days' rations are we to carry along?”
“Can't say. We're going out to interview General Lee. His victory at
Manassas the other day has given him the idea that he can bring the
whole State of Maryland into his army. He's traveling in that direction.
He has a poster out inviting the Marylanders to enlist, but by all we
hear, it won't bring many valuable accessions to his ranks.”
“Why not?”
“For two reasons. If they want to enlist, they'll do so, without his
starting recruiting offices. Most of the able-bodied men who wanted to
go to war did so long since. Then again, most of the Marylanders are
fond of the old flag. The State has never left the Union. General Lee is
a fine military man, but he {123}surely don't understand the people he's
trying to interest. Hallo! what's a woman doing here? She's coming this
way.”
A woman, dressed in cheap, but neat and tidy-looking clothing, and
holding the hands of two sad-eyed, poorly attired children, was making
her way toward them. A soldier stepped up to her, and with a pleasant
smile asked her if she was looking for any one.
[Illustration: 9131]
The woman looked earnestly into his face, as she said--“You'uns all look
kind. Can you show me whar to find Peter Hall?”
The man looked puzzled, and uncertain as to how to answer her.
“Don't know him, ma'am. What regiment is he in?”
“I can't tell you, sir. He is my man, and he 'lowed he wouldn't go
against the old flag, for any one. The neighbors said he was a traitor
to the cause, and wouldn't give him any work. So he went off in the
night, and told me he'd make his way into the Union army, and as soon as
he could he'd send me word whar he was. He 'lowed I could take care of
the babies somehow, but I've found it mighty hard work to get bread for
'em often. They're good children, though, no better nowhar, and they
don't complain, not even when they're hungry. I heard you'uns were in
the neighborhood, and I thought as perhaps you'd know whar my Peter is.”
“Boys!” the soldier cried to a group who were listening at a little
distance. “Do any of you know Pete Hall?”
“_Peter_ Hall,” the woman corrected, with great dignity.
“Excuse {124}me, ma'am; _Peter_ Hall, I meant to say.”
“Why, certain, I know him,” a man answered. “He's in the Second
Maryland, and they're over there, on the brow of that hill. Go right
over, ma'am. You'll find him, I hope,” he added in a lower tone. “Don't
be afraid. No one will harm you.”
“Me and the children have walked twelve miles since yesterday noon,
and we want to see Peter bad. He'd have come out and met us, I know he
would, if he'd have thought we were so near,” she added, with refreshing
simplicity. The idea of Peter's leaving his company, even for so
important a matter as meeting her, caused a general laugh, which she did
not seem to observe, but continued--“You see, we have moved since Peter
went away, and he doesn't know where we live now.”
“God bless the woman and her Peter,” was the honest invocation sent
after her, as she hurried away in the direction pointed out, and they
were rewarded a few moments later, by seeing a soldier spring up from
the grass where he had been lounging, and hasten forward to receive
the greeting of his wife, who sobbed for joy upon his breast, while the
little ones could only jump and shout in the fullness of their pleasure
at seeing “Pa.”
Many a man stood there, and silently wished some of their loved ones
could meet and greet them also.
The entrance of the boys in blue into Frederick was a perfect ovation.
General Lee had retired from the town only two days before.
This welcome thrilled their hearts. From every door and window the
national flag fluttered, and the stores were decorated with the colors.
Banners were strung across the streets, from house to house, while
crowds of happy men and women with radiant faces, spoke words of
welcome.
Good luck seemed to be showered upon them, for General McClellan here
captured a copy of the orders of General Lee, which gave him a key to
the whole situation. It was of very recent date, and the Confederate
commander had mapped out his campaign. The {125}information contained in
these explicit instructions to his generals, enabled General McClellan
to see plainly how to thwart General Lee. So he proceeded to send two
corps through the two Gaps of South Mountain, with the prospect of being
able to cut the enemy's forces to pieces.
[Illustration: 9133]
Dividing his command, General McClellan ordered Franklin to Crampton's
Gap, while Reno and Hooker, with Burnside at their head, were sent to
Turner's Gap.
It was a toilsome task for even those sturdy men to ascend the sides of
the Gaps. South Mountain towered a thousand feet above them, while the
most accessible points were the two Gaps, each nearly 400 feet high.
“We've got to reach the top of those hills somehow,” Ralph said. “But
it's one step forward, and three backward. Our men are gaining a little.
They show splendid pluck.” Clambering, toiling up the rocky hillsides,
the Union forces made their painful way. From behind ledges and trees,
the rebel riflemen marked their slow progress, and sent many a man
to his death. The company to which Ralph belonged was under Reno, and
assaulted the southern crest of Turner's Gap. On the northern crest of
the mountain General Hooker, with splendid courage, kept on.
{126}
[Illustration: 0134]
Ralph now realized how desperately men will fight. He even felt that hot
hatred which two foes ever feel, when pitted against each other. He saw
the Federal army, scratched and bruised from forcing their way through
the brush and over rocks, while the Confederate riflemen poured bullets
into their midst like {127}rain. Hot, and panting with their efforts,
still they never wavered. Gibbon, with his brigade, was trying to force
a passage through the turnpike in the Gap, and here also the enemy did
terrible execution. The heat was blistering. The fervid rays of the
September sun burned into their very blood, and the dust which rose in
clouds mixed with the smoke of the powder, and choked and blinded them.
[Illustration: 9135]
They had fought continuously the entire day. Their canteens were
empty--their mouths parched and dry. Ralph saw a tall officer spur his
horse forward, and fire at General Reno. That gallant soldier reeled in
his saddle, and fell, but as he was borne to the rear to die, his eyes
were fixed on the men he had so gallantly led, with a last look of
farewell.
This contest was long. Each side fought to the death. As Ralph turned
to speak to a companion he heard a wild shout: “Forward! One more such
charge, and we'll have the Gap.”
It was the colonel's voice, and as he rose in his saddle and cheered
them on, they took fresh courage. Wild responses answered his appeal,
and new strength was given them.
“We are sure of victory,” Ralph said to himself, At that instant a horse
dashed madly by. He bore General Garland, of the Confederate force,
who was lying half across his back, as he was vainly striving to raise
himself in the saddle. His hat rolled down the hill as he came to the
ground with a shock; his fine features were distorted with pain, and his
long, dark hair was dabbled with blood. He made one frantic effort to
recover {128}his sword, which had slid from his grasp, and then he sank
half on his knees, a livid corpse. Ralph was so near he could almost
have touched him, and to his dying day, he never forgot the look of
agony on the wan face, as the eyes fast glazed in death.
Darkness settled down upon the earth, before the battle was won, by the
Confederates withdrawing and leaving the Union forces masters of the
field. But what a sacrifice of human life!--three thousand human beings
sent into eternity, as the result of one day's conflict.
The loss of life was felt equally by the two opposing forces; but
the boys in gray suffered a loss of fifteen hundred, who were taken
prisoners.
The night was warm. The stars looked down with kindly gleams upon
thousands of worn-out soldiers sleeping as quietly as little children,
while the wounded were groaning with pain, as the life-blood slowly
trickled over the grass which the hot sun and the trampling of feet and
stamping of horses had matted into a tangled and brown mass.
Ralph's captain threw himself down by the side of the boy, as he was
trying to shut out the dreadful pictures which were burned upon his
brain.
“Is the victory ours?” he asked.
“It is, and a dear one to us,” the captain replied. “We have left over
a thousand dead upon the field; but the Johnnies have moved off, and we
have orders to push on to the western side of the mountain. They raked
us down in terrible fashion, but the men stood their fire like statues.
There was some heavy firing over at the other Gap a while back, but
it has stopped now. Hallo!” he called to a man in the uniform of
an officer, “where are you going in such a hurry? Has anything
happened--any new move ahead?”
The man stopped suddenly, and coming up close to them, with features
convulsed and pallid, with either pain or fear, he made answer:
“Oh, captain, I'm sure I'll die, I'm in such misery. I'm all doubled
{129}up, and can't sleep. I'm in perfect agony. There--there goes that
twinge again. I must try and find my regiment, and hunt up the doctor
right away.”
Ralph looked incredulous at the man's apparent suffering. He felt sure
it was a pretense. “It's strange that he's so far away from his command,
and going in an exactly opposite direction. Can it be that he's going
to skip?” This was a painful thought, and brought an angry flush to his
brow, for he held nothing in such scorn, amounting to abhorrence, as he
did cowardice or dishonesty.
“Are you going in the right direction to join your company? If you
keep on the way you are faced, you'll be more than likely to find some
friendly boy in gray to snap you up.”
The officer looked steadily at him a moment, while his face turned
scarlet.
“Your advice is not required, sir. I shall remember your incivility at a
more fitting time.” And he stalked away, quite oblivious of the anguish
that had racked him so short a time before.
“That fellow must be a mind-reader,” laughed the captain. “He plainly
knew what you thought about him. But seriously, your opinion was rather
harsh; he's probably shamming to get excused from duty. For the honor
of our cause I should hope no officer would be guilty of such dastardly
conduct. Nor a private, either,” he added, a moment after, “for the
boys who carry the muskets have true grit, and don't run, only after the
enemy.”
“I know that's so, but when I saw him making such haste to get away, the
suspicion would come into my mind. To me it seems a shame for a man with
a spark of cowardice to wear a uniform.”
CHAPTER XII. MORE FIGHTING.
[Illustration: 9138]
ALPH arose {130}from the heap of leaves and brush which had served him
for a bed the night through, with his bones aching and sore. The army
was already stirring, for although the Passes were won, there was
promise of another engagement at once. Word was passed along the line
that General Lee had withdrawn his forces and crossed the Antietam,
where he took up his position on a high bluff near Sharpsburg, and was
thus able to command a view of the whole country. But he had met with
great losses, from the dead in battle, and from stragglers. He realized
the injury the latter had done him; indeed, he complained openly and
bitterly, saying that his army was “ruined by straggling.” But the
best men of his army were still left with him--picked men, of splendid
courage and vast endurance. He was determined that the coming battle
should decide the campaign, and he waited calmly its issue.
“Lee has the choice of positions,” the men said. “He has both flanks
resting on the streams. He has the whole four bridges across the creek
well guarded; that is, all but one, and that's the point we have to
take. We intend to call the attention of the Johnnies to our point of
attack, and throw our entire strength against the bridge that is left
unguarded, and then cross. They say Lee hasn't much over 40,000 men, but
they are a body we shall be proud to meet, and whip.”
The artillery practice on both sides was sharp all day, but not much
execution was done. At nearly five in the afternoon General Hookers
corps made, a dash across the upper bridge, and advancing through the
woods, fell upon General Hoods brigade, and a fierce skirmish followed,
but the darkness brought it to {131}a close for that night, and both
armies rested, eager for the morning light, that they might rush at each
other again.
Before sunrise General McClellan hurried Mansfield's corps to Hookers
aid, while Sumner was ready to follow.
The renewal of hostilities began early. As the sun rose, his beams
lighted up the two armies, angry and threatening. General Hooker threw
his forces with vigor against General Jackson's, and pressed him so hard
he fell back. The batteries came promptly to the front, and raked the
Confederates with shot the entire length of their line, breaking their
ranks in wild haste.
Crowding and forcing them back, General Mansfield came to the Unionists'
aid, when a shot struck him, and he fell dead, but his command kept on,
and entering the woods, got their position and held it, against immense
odds. General Hooker here received a serious wound, and was carried
away, just as General Sumner crossed the stream, drove the boys in gray
before him, and entrenched his men near the little church of Dunker.
Here the fighting raged so madly, and the artillery fire was so heavy,
that a historian relates that years after, when the trees were cut down
and sent to a sawmill to be made into logs, the saws were torn to pieces
by the quantity of metal that had pierced the trees, and been hidden
there by the growth of the wood. But in spite of this vigorous fire, no
irresolution was shown, and as fast as men were shot down at the guns,
others were ready to take their places, with undismayed zeal.
A lull occurred, and as the sounds of firing seemed to die away, there
was great rejoicing, for to the Federal army a victory was apparently
assured, when the hope was suddenly dispelled by the arrival of two
divisions of the enemy, who, with a loud yell, threw themselves into
a gap in Sumner's line, forcing him from his position, and across the
meadows and cornfields, where he made a stand, but the foe retired again
to its own position.
{132}
[Illustration: 0140]
“Harry, see those regiments,” Ralph said to a fellow soldier--“look
at the race. Which will come out ahead, I wonder? They are pretty well
matched--both are fleet-footed.”
It was a race, indeed. A New Hampshire regiment was marching parallel
with a Confederate regiment, and each were intent on reaching a certain
high piece of ground. As they ran, the bullets whizzed {133}back and
forth, from both sides, and these pleasantries were kept up.
“The Johnnies are ahead--no, they have fallen back a little. The New
Hampshire boys are in the lead now. They've reached the ground. Hurrah!”
shouted Harry, and in his excitement he threw up his cap, and caught it
on the point of his bayonet. As soon as the winners gained the coveted
point, they poured shot into their late rivals' ranks.
[Illustration: 8141]
The artillery was heaviest near the church, and the dead lay so thick
that they could have formed a foot bridge the entire length of the line.
“Wonder why Porter and Burnside keep so still?” This question was
asked again and again. “See the rebs mowing down our men like ripe
grass! Why don't they come to our assistance?”
“They are keeping their troops as reserves. The Confeds don't hold any
of their men back, but launch every one of them at us.”
“That don't seem to me to be the right policy,” said Ralph. “But
look--Franklin has come up from Crampton's Gap just in the nick of time.
He is very welcome, for there are fresh troops advancing, from the right
flank of the boys in gray.” Franklin's opportune coming infused new
hope, and the boys' {134}eyes brightened, cheery words went round, and
muskets were handled with a will.
“General Burnside's orders are to take that bridge. We've got to do
it; it won't be very much work, and then we'll soon be over to see our
friends on the other side.”
“You think that's easy, do you? Wait and see. We're on low ground here,
but the land over the other side is higher, and the road runs alongside
the stream. Those fellows have their guns well placed, and can damage us
bad.”
The bridge they were expected to take, was of stone, and rather narrow.
The first brigade to attempt to cross was General Crook's.
“Hark! he's gone the wrong way. The rebels are pouring shot into him.
He'll be cut all to pieces.”
The General had struck the wrong road, and was being subjected to a
heavy fire. A Maryland regiment and a New Hampshire followed him on the
double quick, but retreated, as they could not stand the fire!
“There is help for us now,” said Ralph, “for they are bringing up some
guns that will speak loud for our side.”
Two heavy guns were soon thundering over the ground, and commanding
the boys in gray who were guarding the bridge? Their persuasive tones
opened the passage, and triumphantly the Union men crossed the bridge,
and secured the position.
Four hours had been consumed, and thus General Lee improved his chance
to bring fresh troops to his aid, who drove Burnside from the heights,
and retook a battery which he had captured.
The battle was over. When the rattle of musketry is heard, the smoke of
battle, and the wild plunging of the frightened horses, and the shouts
and fierce onset of a maddened mass of human beings is felt, there is an
excitement, a fever in the blood that strengthens the arm, and
hardens the muscles--thoughts of self are forgotten. But when those
accompaniments are missing--when the awful stillness of a deserted
battle-ground succeeds them, then the heart grows faint and cold.
{135}
[Illustration: 0143]
Both {136}armies were glad to rest; both sides had been rent and
dismembered. Many regiments in both lines had been slaughtered
unmercifully. The victory belonged to McClellan, but the sorrow and
anguish belonged to those who loved the fallen ones--to the friends
alike of the blue and the gray, in cottage and mansion, all over this
broad land of ours.
[Illustration: 8145]
Daily papers were a luxury, and the boys in the army were always glad
to purchase them at a good round price. The newsboy is ubiquitous. He
is the product of the century, and will never be shelved as are so many
useful things. Their cries were welcome to those men, who were anxious
to know what each day was bringing forth and when one galloped into
camp, two days after the battle of the Antietam with a bag heavily
freighted with New York dailies, he was surrounded at once, and his
stock rapidly melted away.
“Good news!” flashed through the ranks as they eagerly devoured the news
of the battle of Iuka, with Rosecrans at the head.
“It was a daring attempt,” Ralph read aloud to the eager group; “the
account says that the Union forces attacked Price's men in a narrow
front, with ravines filled with undergrowth, where it was difficult to
maintaining a foothold, with but one battery, and with hosts against them,
three to one. Yet they swept down the enemy, and fought till darkness
overtook them, and in the night the Confederates beat a hasty retreat.”
This {137}news cheered the hearts of the boys in blue, and while they
were giving vent to their joy in different ways, Ralph's heart was
filled with a solemn thankfulness, for to him it seemed as if One above
surely ruled their destinies.
CHAPTER XIII. OLD BILL DIES.
[Illustration: 9147]
HE beautiful {138}autumn days grew shorter. Novembers blasts were keenly
felt, even in that sunny clime, and the boys looked forward with dismay
to a winter passed in inaction.
“Why, we'll have to fight to keep warm,” jolly Fred Greene said to the
comrades gathered round.
Old Bill had been in hospital for many months. Ralph visited him
often, and the sick man's face would brighten, and his voice grow
stronger whenever the boy came to his bedside. But he seemed to
have lost interest in everything pertaining to this life. Ralph tried
earnestly to induce him to talk of the events passing around them, but
without success.
One morning early in November, when he went to pay his usual visit, the
boy said:
“Bill, this is my first experience as a soldier. But you have seen
plenty of service before?”
The sick man shook his head slowly, but made no reply. Ralph waited a
few moments, and began to think his question had not been considered
worthy of an answer, when Bill suddenly spoke:
“Yes, I have been out on the border fighting Indians, for years. How I
detest the redskins. They seldom come out and give a man a fair show,
but they just go on the warpath, and then it's skulk and lie in ambush,
and burn sleeping villages, massacring women and children. Their mode of
warfare don't suit me.” And the disdainful curl of the lip showed what
he thought of them. After a long pause, he resumed:
“Then I was in the Mexican War. I was quite a stripling then, and I
fought under General Phil Kearney. He was a fighter, {139}brave as a
lion, and when he lost his arm not a man under him but would rather it
had been his own arm shot away. He's one 01 General McClellan's most
trusty officers. His experience is worth millions to younger men. How
I'd like to see noble Phil Kearney!”
“Why, Bill, didn't you know that he was killed at the battle of
Groveton, Va., in September?”
[Illustration: 9148]
“Kearney killed--and I've been lying here, and knew nothing about it!
It's too hard. Let's hear all you know, Ralph.”
“I can only tell you what we heard. You know we wasn't there to see
it, but he was sent to Hooker's support, when the lat-ter's men charged
Jackson with bayonets. They had an awful battle, but General Kearney had
been sent to their assistance too late, and he was forced back.
Hooker almost broke the enemy's line, but fresh bodies of Confederates
hastening up, changed the outlook, and so the Union boys were repulsed.
At six in the afternoon General Pope ordered another attack, and Kearney
came up in fine style, seizing a railroad cut on the Warrenton turnpike
{140}where Jackson was nicely entrenched, and holding it for awhile. One
of the Confederate regiments who ran short of ammunition, hurled great
stones and fragments of the rocks at our men, killing many. General
Kearney still maintained his position, but was overpowered by numbers,
and driven out of the cut.”
Ralph paused, but Bill's eyes were gleaming with excitement “Go on,” he
said, earnestly--“is that all?”
“The two armies rested till the next day, when a still fiercer attempt
was made to rout the rebels, but in spite of the most stubborn fighting,
our army was withdrawn from the field, and fell back to Fairfax Court
House; but the next evening, September 1st, Stonewall Jackson made
another attack upon General Popes flank, which was resisted hotly, and
General Kearney, with Hooker, Reno, McDowell and Stevens, were there
to help, but General Stevens fell dead at their fire, and as all their
ammunition had been used up, his men retired at once. General Kearney
started forward to reconnoiter, and was confronted by a Confederate
band; he put spurs to his horse, hoping to escape, but they shot him
dead.”
Bill shook his head solemnly, and leaning back on his pillow, he closed
his eyes, as if he had fallen asleep. Glad to have awakened even so
slight attention as he had succeeded in doing, the boy continued:
“Bill, we have a new commander now. The President has relieved General
McClellan, and we are to have General Burnside. What do you think of
that?”
A look of the old time came into Bill's face, as he answered:
“Yes, I have a new commander--one whose call will soon be heard!”
Ralph shuddered. He knew too well the meaning of Bills words.
“I mean our army commander, Bill; General McClellan has been relieved of
his command, and General Burnside has been appointed in his place.”
“General {141}McClellan--yes, he's too slow. It needs some one with a
little push. But it's all the same to me, now.”
And that was all he said about the change. He lay on his cot, looking
intently at Ralph, and suddenly he broke out with--“I don't know why
I'm so fond of you, boy, unless it's 'cause you mind me of Eddie. He was
just such a little plucky, fair-faced lad as you are, and I can't help
mixing you up with him.”
Ralph wondered who Eddie was, but he waited patiently. Bill's eyes
burned with a luster the boy had never seen there before. The sick man's
face was very thin. The brown tint that outdoor life always gives had
faded, and the sharp features looked more pinched and wan from their
pallor. He went on in a weak and trembling voice:
“She was a beauty, and I was powerful fond of her. Her eyes were like a
young fawn's, and her hair was brown as the chestnuts when they ripen
in the sun. She liked Frank better nor me, and she told me so. Then
when they were married, I hated him bitterly. But when the little fellow
come, and they sent for me, somehow from the first time I took the
little tot in my arms, and he smiled up into my face, all my anger died
out. After that I would have died sooner than harm his daddy. They were
happy with each other. But he died when the lad was ten or so, and left
the poor wife alone. I didn't know how to comfort her, and she grieved
continually. One day, when he was quite a lad, nearly sixteen, and
needed his mother most, they found her dead on her husband's grave. Ah,
that is the way some women love!
“That nigh killed me, but I meant to be a good friend to the boy. They
took even that comfort from me, for they carried him away down South to
his father's folks, and I never seed him again.”
The man's face was fever-flushed now, and his words came almost in a
whisper. He tossed uneasily from side to side.
“Ralph, my head bothers me--it aches so strangely. I wish--”
But {142}the wish was never told. A wild look came over his face, his
words became incoherent. A delirium had seized him, and kindly as he was
tended by the nurses and his comrades, he never regained his senses. A
few days of apparent suffering, and Bill Elliotts kindly heart ceased to
beat. The uncouth, rugged, but brave soldier had passed on to the Great
Beyond.
[Illustration: 0151]
It was late in the afternoon of a raw November day, while the winds
shrieked mournfully, when they carried him to a little valley in which
they had dug a grave, into whose depth they lowered the body of a brave
and true soldier, who never shirked a duty. The chaplain, a plain and
tender, man, read impressively that beautiful Psalm:
_“Hear my cry, O God; attend unto my prayer.
“From {143}the end of the earth will I cry unto Thee, when my heart is
overwhelmed; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
“For Thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.
“I will abide in Thy tabernacle forever. I will trust in the covert of
Thy wings. Selah_.”
In a clear and ringing voice he read the solemn burial service, and the
comrades of the dead soldier listened reverently. When he had concluded,
some one suggested that they sing, and a clear, sweet voice broke
plaintively into that exquisite hymn,
”_Abide with me, fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens--Lord, with me abide; *
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me._”
The voice suddenly broke into a passion of tears, and Ralph threw
himself on the grave, which was fast being filled up, and cried--“Bill,
Bill, you were my best friend--I cannot let you go.”
There were many looks of sympathy for the boy, but death was, after all,
nothing but a passing incident to men who faced it every hour, and as
Ralph went back to his tent, his heart rebelled at the levity which
allowed the merry jest to pass around, as to whose turn it would be
next.
To him it was a new experience. He had seen hundreds of men shot down in
battle, but no one had died whom he had cared for, and it came home to
him. He had become deeply attached to Bill, whose cheerful, off-hand
manners had enlivened the homesick boy. He had lost his comrade, but his
memory was cherished, and he was missed for a long time.
[Illustration: 0152]
CHAPTER XIV. FREDERICKSBURG.
[Illustration: 9153]
T was {144}with many forebodings and some outspoken prophecies of
failure that many of the Union officers learned that they were to move
at once upon Fredericksburg.
“It looks to me like a mad freak to send us out to assault such
fortifications as are thrown up on the hills south and west of the
town. It isn't right for a soldier to grumble, but when he sees a
man perpetrating a piece of folly, that is going to cause a needless
sacrifice of life, why, he can't help expressing himself as opposed to
the scheme.”
The plaint of the captain found a ready echo in the hearts of his fellow
officers, but a soldier must obey instructions unquestioningly.
Early morning hours came, the camp was astir, and all preparations were
made for a speedy move upon the fortifications.
“Lee has thrown up forts for five miles will stand any attack that
General Burnside can make. We are going to our death.”
A two o'clock breakfast, eaten in haste in the fog of early morning, was
all that the men were allowed. The outlook was gloomy. The river must
be crossed, but while Burnside was trying to lay pontoon bridges, the
engineers were terribly harassed by the continuous fire of the rebel
sharpshooters, who were using the houses skirting the river bank as
places of refuge.
{145}
[Illustration: 0154]
General Burnside determined to try the effect of shelling the town. The
men who were detailed to lay the pontoon bridges were falling at their
posts by the rifles in the hands of a Mississippi detachment which was
hidden securely in cellars, behind walls and fences, and in every corner
where it was possible to {146}conceal a man. Crack! crack! their rifles
were heard, and many a boy in blue was tumbled into the water with
a bullet in his brain, to be carried away by the current. It was a
fruitless endeavor to keep on with the work, the loss of life was so
great. The Federals had better luck at the lower bridges, being able to
dislodge the sharpshooters from their rifle-pits.
“What are the prospects for crossing?” asked Sergeant Gregory of an
officer who passed at that moment.
“We'll be over somewhere about doomsday, judging from the outlook. The
three bridges we need the most can't be laid under the present regime.
We've got to evict those sharpshooters from the houses along the river
bank, for it's worse than murder to post our men there to be picked off
in that cruel fashion--all to no purpose, for bridges can never be built
when men are shot down as fast as they show their heads.”
The country was hilly, now and then dotted with clumps of trees, while
barns, fences, and everything that was combustible, had been converted
to use by the two armies, as each in turn had passed over the land. All
was dreary and desolate. The sky was leaden-hued, save when a burst of
flame from the cannonading would lighten it for a short space, and then
it would die down, leaving it almost a pitchy blackness.
General Burnside's resolve to bombard the place had no power to oust the
sharpshooters, even when tons of shells were thrown into its streets,
setting fire to many of the buildings. When, after a brief rest, the
engineers resumed the construction of the bridges, the same result
followed--destruction of their numbers.
The town itself was almost impregnable, being completely encircled by
hills, save on the river side. These heights were bristling with forts,
entrenchments seamed them in every direction, and batteries were planted
in such profusion that no opening presented itself for attack. {147}
[Illustration: 0156]
How long this slaughter would have continued it is hard to tell,
{148}but a happy inspiration came to General Hunt, chief of artillery.
He suggested that a body of men could make a dash for the river, cross
in boats, and besiege the sharpshooters in the houses, driving them out,
and taking possession.
The daring of the plan almost took away one's breath, but it seemed the
only way to silence the enemy's murderous fire, and it was quickly put
in execution. The pontoon boats lay at the river bank. A band of tried
men was selected for the perilous undertaking, who at a sign, without a
sound or word of command, rushed from their concealment, leaped into the
boats, shot out from the shore, and were half across the stream before
the Confederates realized their intention. Then came a shower of bullets
from their rifles, rattling like hailstones about the heads of the
brave men, who held boards up before them for protection, dodging the
murderous fire as well as they could, while those who were rowing pulled
with a will, and the boats were across the stream in swift time. A few
were shot, falling into the river, but the largest number went over
safely.
Reaching the shore, the regiments ran up the hills, and succeeded in
forcing the sharpshooters from their lairs, capturing over a hundred of
them, while the rest fled to the hills.
The way was now clear for the completion of the bridges. A pontoon
bridge is a fine piece of ingenuity.
Heavy boats, perfectly flat, often twenty feet in length, are anchored
at equal distances from each other, lengthwise of the current, and beams
are placed upon them to unite them; then strong, thick planks are laid
across the beams, thus making a steady, wide roadway, strong enough to
endure the weight of horses, heavy pieces of artillery, and the tramp of
thousands of men.
While the bridge was being made, the enemy did not remain quiet, but
dropped shells at various points along the river, which exploded, but
happily did little injury.
{149}
[Illustration: 0158]
The smoke of the artillery, the flames bursting from the houses, and the
struggling army of the Union exposed to a pitiless fire made a picture
which was never effaced from Ralph's mind, and {150}years after, when he
saw the panorama of “The Battle of Gettysburg,” in Chicago, the memory
of that day at Fredericksburg came back with vivid force. He was once
more a stripling, in the midst of the noise and shock of battle, with
comrades falling about him, torn and mangled out of all semblance of
human beings, while he was miraculously preserved.
That night the Union forces rested on the ground, in the mud and frost,
not far away from the pontoon bridge; and though they knew the morning
would plunge them into further conflict, yet tired limbs and aching
heads found the refreshing slumber which they needed. Early next
morning, after a hasty breakfast, they were ready for any events which
the day might bring forth.
A heavy fog hid the other shore, while the air was cold and raw. Long
before the sun scattered the mists, cannonading began at the bridge, the
main point of attack, but the firing became so severe that orders were
issued for them to retire behind the bluffs.
At last the bridges were finished, and the army crossed to the other
side of the river, under the continuous shells of the enemy. Now began
a terrific struggle. General Franklin had advanced against the troops
on the hill, but they had repulsed him, with much loss. General Meade's
division was chosen to lead the attack. Down across the railroad they
dashed, under heavy fire, their skirmishers having been sent forward,
while the well-directed batteries hurled against the hills did some
execution.
But the Confederates from their elevated positions poured destruction
into their ranks, mowing them down. The Union forces were not daunted,
but made an entering wedge between two rebel divisions, turned back
their flanks, and captured prisoners and battle flags. Scaling the
heights, they were met by the second line, which drove them back in
confusion, and they were only saved from utter rout by General Birney,
who threw his command in front of the enemy, who were pursuing them.
[Illustration: 0160]
The sounds of battle grew louder, and as the divisions of French
{151}and Hancock moved in columns through the town, the Confederate
batteries burst upon them, but they charged across the open ground, to
be met by a veritable sheet of flame, which swept into their faces, and
literally consumed them. No bravery, no determination, could withstand
that awful fire of the enemy, who {152}had taken advantage of an ambush
which nature had seemed to furnish them, from whence they sent forth
their deadly aim.
[Illustration: 0161]
A road ran at the foot cf Marye's Hill, which had sunken so much as
almost to be unobserved, at a little distance. This road was bounded
at its outside edge by a stone wall, where were hidden two brigades of
Confederates, who had sent forth this {152}sheet of flame and death.
Their numbers were so great, that every man at the wall was assisted by
several behind him, who loaded muskets as fast as they could, and passed
them to him, while he discharged them as rapidly, leaving only his head
exposed for an instant, as he raised it to take aim.
In the face of these fearful odds, the Union soldiers were undismayed.
No disorganization, no wavering in their ranks, but they kept on, only
to meet certain death.
And now General Hancock, he whose presence was an inspiration, led the
charge with 5,000 men, whose intrepid daring carried them within twenty
yards of the fatal wall, only to be beaten back, leaving 2,000 dead to
tell the tale of the slaughter at Marye's Hill.
General Burnside was beside him himself with rage. In the face of these
defeats, he demanded that General Hooker make a bayonet charge, and
those doomed men rushed forward, with a valor never surpassed, rallying
again and again, until nearly half their number lay dead on the road, or
torn with fearful wounds.
[Illustration: 0162]
The rebel artillery was not idle, but as the Federals retreated, sent
shells after them, still plowing their numbers with deadly effect.
A heavy storm of rain came on in the night, and under cover of
its inclemency, the Union troops withdrew to the north bank of the
Rappahannock, although it had been General Burnside's determination
{154}to renew the assault the next day, and lead it in person. This
was a step which needed a vast deal of dissuasion on the part of his
generals ere he relinquished his mad attempt.
Mud was over the shoe-tops, and the rain was falling fast when the
Union army received orders to evacuate the town, and no time was lost in
obeying. The pontoon bridges carried them safely across from the scene
of disaster, and left the army in a sorry plight.
Decimated in numbers, the dead alone counting 12,000, disappointed,
hospitals full to overflowing, the dead to bury, the predictions of
defeat had been bitterly realized. It is said that the {155}brave and
dashing General Meagher went into that battle with the Irish brigade,
over 1,200 strong, and came out with a little over 200.
It was plain that the men had been sacrificed through incompetency and
stubbornness. Murmurs and discontent were abundant, as the army prepared
to settle down in its winter quarters.
[Illustration: 0164]
CHAPTER XV. RALPH IS SENT HOME.
[Illustration: 9165]
FTER the {156}slaughter at Fredericksburg, Ralph rapidly failed in
strength. The excitement of that scene of carnage and his increasing
exhaustion told upon his frame. He fulfilled his duty as well as he
could; he was cheerful and alert; he wrote more often to his dear mother
without ever alluding to his health.
“I can't understand what ails me,” he thought. “I have never received a
wound, while some of the boys who have been badly cut up are well again,
and seem as strong as ever. I do believe I miss Old Bill more every day.
I never felt sad or lonely when I had him to cheer me up.”
He grew daily worse. Often when on duty he would halt, with weak and
failing breath. He lost all desire for food, and his lusterless eyes and
pale skin told how he suffered.
“What seems to be the matter, sergeant?” one of his comrades asked,
anxiously. “You don't pear to have any vim about you. Why, if you hadn't
shown such pluck--fact is, if it was any one but you, I mout 'cuse you
of playing off.”
“I'm all right, Hank. I feel a little weak and have hard chills
sometimes--but I'll be better soon. I'm a little sick, that's all.”
“That's enough. You ain't been yerself since we fit at Fair Oaks I've
seen it a long time. That malary from the swamps has finished many a
strong man.”
At last Ralph had to succumb. His condition was observed by the doctor,
who called the attention of his captain to the fact that he was no
longer fit for duty. And when one morning he was not able to report at
early {157}roll call, it was with gloomy forebodings that he heard the
order that he be removed to the hospital at once.
“Is this the end of my ambitious hopes?” he queried. “Am I going to die
when I am willing to serve my country? I would not mind being killed
in battle, as a soldier should be, but to die in hospital, far from my
mother. It is hard!” And he buried his face in his pillow to hide the
hot tears that he could not keep back.
When weeks passed, and Ralph grew no better, the Colonels attention
was directed to his case. He was a severe disciplinarian, but he had
a kindly heart, and he speedily forwarded a recommendation to the war
department that Sergeant Gregory, Company K, Massachusetts Volunteers,
be honorably discharged from the service of the United States. A
document granting the request came back in due time, to the Colonel,
who passed it to the captain, and he handed it to Ralph, who could not
repress his emotion.
“I enlisted to the end of the war. I do not want a discharge. Could you
not have obtained me a sick leave? I know I shall be strong soon.”
The doctor shook his head solemnly.
“You are not fit to march, or do active duty--perhaps' never will be.
The hardships incident to a campaign have broken you down. You were very
young to have undertaken them. I do not wish to wound your pride, but
the government does not want sick men on its rolls.”
So Ralph was given his papers, and after writing his mother a few lines,
saying that he was quite sick, lest his sudden coming should alarm her,
he was sent home by the same route by which he came. It was a painful
journey, not alone from his physical suffering, but his heart bled as he
noted the ruin that had been wrought in the land--the deserted houses,
the neglected fields, miserable-looking people, mostly women and
children, whose woe-begone faces told of the privations they were daily
enduring, uncomplainingly. The {158}contrast between the early days of
the war and the present was bitter, and he felt how terribly real that
war was to these people. Their farms had been overrun by the tramping
of two armies, and each had equally despoiled them of their
possessions--both were alike unmindful and indifferent to their sorrow.
But brighter thoughts succeeded these gloomy musings, as he drew nearer
to his home, and already saw his beloved mother's sweet face, and felt
her warm kiss upon his cheek. But even in the Western country, as the
train stopped at the various stations, he noted careworn faces, and
anxious glances, as the murmured “God bless you!” was sent after the
boys in blue. There were several soldiers on the train, some going
home on furlough, and some on the same errand as Ralph--going home to
recuperate, or, perchance, to die.
When Ralph reached Chicago, he was glad to lie down on one of the
benches in the depot. He found he had to wait three hours for the train
that would convey him to his prairie home. The rest was welcome, and
after a nap, and a strong cup of coffee, he felt a little better; so
much so that he thought he would take a short walk of a block or so. The
city was, so to speak, in holiday attire. The streets were teeming with
an excited yet happy-looking people, and an unusual bustle pervaded
them. He wondered why every one was crowding to the edge of the
sidewalks, and as he was about to ask a bystander, he heard the tramp of
many feet. How familiar the sound of the steps was to his ear. The boys
in blue were coming, he thought, and again a wave of wounded pride came
over him, as he realized that he was shut out from the ranks, by reason
of an illness which he could not understand or conquer.
{159}
[Illustration: 0168]
But no--these were not his comrades, he saw, as he looked curiously
at the long procession filing past him, closely guarded by the boys in
blue, who kept step, while the men they hurried along were the subjects
of ridicule from the thoughtless crowd. They were prisoners--these
{160}men, some clad in the well-known gray, some wearing butternut
suits, some of them without coats or hats, their pants frayed and torn
clear up to the knees. Here would proudly march a clean-shaven, erect
young fellow, with a suit of gray, scarcely soiled, while at his side a
mere shadow of a man, ragged and dirty, would shamble along, barefooted
and wild-eyed.
Nearly all of them were emaciated, while the expression upon their
faces was one of sullen despair. Men were there who were the flower
and chivalry of the South, who had staked their lives and fame upon the
success of their cause, and there were men who scarce knew for what or
who they were fighting. To the former defeat was bitter humiliation--to
the latter capture meant something to eat, and beyond that, they did not
look. But to the careless crowd who watched them pass, they were merely
rebel prisoners. No sympathy their anguish and shame was felt; no pity
for their long months of captivity, when heart and brain would chafe
restlessly, moved the crowd, who jeered and exulted. It was so, we know,
the country over. The boys in blue were hooted at and mocked, when the
fortunes of war threw them into the hands of the enemy. They all forgot
that those who wore the blue and those who wore the gray were alike
animated by a love of country, and that all were brothers--equally
brave, equally earnest, equally true-hearted.
Thoughts like these passed through Ralph's mind as he saw the wretched
men on their way to Camp Douglas, the military prison at Chicago. To him
they were objects of sympathy, and he shuddered as he asked himself what
would have been his feelings had he been taken prisoner. He was
startled by a smart blow upon the shoulder, under whose force he almost
staggered. He turned in astonishment, and saw Alfred Boneel, a merry
French boy, who had been a schoolmate of his.
“Why, Alph, is it possible--you are looking well. You're as brown as a
nut, and say, where _did_ you get those whiskers?”
{169}
[Illustration: 0170]
“In the service, of course. There's nothing like army life to {162}bring
out a man's good qualities. But say, Ralph, I'm sorry I can't return
compliments. You are neither brown nor rugged looking. What's up?”
“They are sending me home as unfit to serve any longer,” Ralph replied,
dejectedly. “I don't know why they should single me out for such a
distinction.”
“Oh, you'll come out all right. I see you've done something besides get
sick, judging by your sergeant's stripes.”
“Yes, I won them, and was hoping for something better. But tell me all
about yourself, Al.”
“I haven't got much to tell, but I've seen some fighting, too. I was
at the Fort Donelson scrimmage, and it was the coldest time I ever
saw--snowing and blowing, and afterward turning out clear, but bitter
cold. The storm of rain and snow had been pretty severe, and the fellows
who were in the trenches must have been frost-bitten. I know we had
no shelter and were hungry besides, as rations had given out, and had
nobody round to ask us in to take dinner with 'em. We had pulled up
stakes at Cairo, and had to go up the Ohio to Smithland, and then up the
Cumberland River. Cavalry was no good in that country, for there was too
much big timber, and the ground was too rough. We were kept busy trying
to plant a battery, for those fellows in gray have some sharpshooters
worthy of their name, and though not one of them showed himself, it was
whiz! pang! every few minutes, and some one was sure to go down. We lost
Eddie Downing that way.”
Al paused a moment to brush an imaginary fly from before his eyes.
“Eddie Downing was shot? He was a noble boy. So he's dead!”
Al nodded assent.
“Where's George Martin? Do you know what regiment he joined?”
“Oh, sure. He was in the gunboat service. Poor fellow, he fared worse
than Eddie. He was on the Cumberland and had his right arm shot away.”
{163}
[Illustration: 0172]
“Is {164}he at home?”
“He was sent home as soon as the stump healed, and his only regret is,
so his father says, that it wasn't the left arm, for he declares he'd
try it again. But of course they wouldn't have him in any branch of the
service.”
“Of course not. But George always had grit. But how did you come out at
Fort Donelson?”
“We had taken Fort Henry, but didn't feel so certain about Donelson.
General Buckner had swelled the Confederate numbers there by about ten
thousand men. Then the fort stood on high ground, and had a fine battery
on the river front, as well as several lines of strong fortifications
on the land side, such as immense logs, bags of sand, were well
protected, and their riflemen were in little pits dug in the side of
a hill. All the time the weather staid stinging cold, and we suffered
terribly. They were resting when the gunboats came to the front. Their
gunners looked death right in the face every instant, but the way they
made the shells fly was lively. Commodore Foote is a hero, and {165}he
bombarded them in gallant style. He had six boats, and the sight was
worth seeing, as they would come up toward the fort, getting nearer, one
by one, and then each delivering its fire, and circling round to give
the other boats a shot at the rebs. And the fort was giving them
trouble, too, for they were sending solid shot over the decks, which
were doing damage.
[Illustration: 0173]
“When a bomb from the enemy struck the iron plates a terrible racket
would be heard, as they crashed into them, wrecking smoke pipes, and
tearing down the rigging, and wounding the crews. The Commodore kept his
flagship, the St. Louis, in the front. But he received a bad wound in
the ankle, which did not make him give up, though, but when his boat and
the Louisville began to fall behind, and they could not be managed, it
was seen something was wrong. It seems they had their machinery hurt,
and their steering gear gave out. So he had to stop, for the guns of
Fort Donelson were making sad havoc with his disabled fleet, and it
was found that the fort could not be captured by an attack on its water
side. The flagship had been hit fifty-nine times and the others twenty
or thirty times apiece, before it became clear that Fort Donelson must
be assaulted by the land forces.
“That night kept us all well occupied, in making preparations for the
next day's fight. That day was an awful one, and hundreds went down
before the desperate fire of the butternut boys, but we drove them back
into their entrenchments. Sunday didn't see us ready for church, for
we had other engagements. The boys in blue had just enough taste of the
excitement to make them want more, and General Grant had us all up in
line of battle early in the morning, and we were waiting impatiently
for the order to attack, when the word flashed along our ranks that an
officer carrying a white flag had come to visit the General. We knew
what that meant--some sort of an understanding, and we were not very
sorry after all, for we had lost many a gallant soldier, and didn't know
who'd be called away next. Still, we were ready, if it had to be.
“Ralph, I tell you, when we heard that the distinguished looking
{166}gentleman on the black horse had come to ask that the battle might
be stopped for a time, so that they could argue it out on some terms,
every man amongst us felt like throwing up his hat and hurrahing for
the plain, unassuming little man who commanded us, when he sent his
answer--'No terms other than an unconditional and immediate surrender
can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works.' That
speech is as grand as any you'll ever find in history. It will be
repeated through all the ages. Why, it's good enough to have
been uttered by the great Napoleon.” Alph's eyes glistened, as he
unconsciously expanded his chest, and took on a more dignified air, as
he walked proudly by the side of his friend, who was trembling with the
effort to keep up with his robust companion.
“The whole world knows what his firm answer did. General Buckner sent
another flag of truce, with the acceptance of General Grant's terms, and
the Union troops moved in to Fort Donelson.”
“You must have been glad.”
“Glad! Indeed we were. You should have heard us shout and yell. We
pulled the Confederate colors down in a hurry, and ran up the Union
flag. The very earth almost shook with the cheering of the boys, while
the band played 'Star Spangled Banner,' 'Red, White and Blue,' and
a dozen other patriotic airs. We almost felt like having that bright
little ditty 'In Dixie's Land' served up to us, we all felt so jubilant.
Before an hour had gone by, we were on the most friendly terms with
them all. We were trading off our greenbacks for tobacco, and they were
getting bacon and biscuits from us. They didn't have any hard feelings
against us, and I know we didn't have any, for they showed themselves
brave and worthy foes wherever we met the Confederates in battle.”
Ralph had listened with delight to his description of the taking of Fort
Donelson. But he suddenly recollected that the train must be due, and he
reminded Al of the fact.
“That's so, and here I am, going home on a furlough, and forgot {167}all
about it, while I was spouting. We'll hurry a little; we are only a
block or so from the depot. You're all out of breath!” he said, half
alarmed, as he observed Ralph's short, quick breathing, and the pallor
of his face. “We'll be there in a jiffy, and you can rest. It's a good
thing I'm going to be on the same train, for when we reach Marion, I can
take you to your own place. Pa's expecting me, and we'll drop you down
at your own door.”
This was pleasant news to Ralph, for his home was over a mile from the
station, and he sighed as he recalled how little that distance affected
him when he was leaving home, but now that he was returning, alas! he
knew that he could not walk so far.
[Illustration: 0176]
{168}
[Illustration: 0177]
CHAPTER XVI. RALPH AT HOME.
[Illustration: 9178]
OME {169}at last! And when that longing mother took her boy
in her arms once more, and looked long and earnestly into his weary
face, she saw only the boyish Ralph, whom sickness could not change;
he was to her the same lad who had left his home with strong hopes and
sunny smile. True, he was older and more careworn looking, but the
honest look of his childhood shone from his eyes, and the same truthful,
frank expression was on his features.
Ralph, as he rode up from the depot, with his friends, the Boneels,
looked around at the old familiar place with eagerness. He expected
to find everything changed--he had been absent so long, that to him it
seemed as though the landscape, even, must have taken on new features,
or at least changed its old. But there was the same gentle slope in
front of the door, the same trees in the fields beyond, the same sunny
knoll where he had played when a little boy. Oh, how long ago that
seemed to him, now, when he reviewed the experiences of the past four
years! Al and his father would not enter the house, though cordially
invited to do so; they did not wish to intrude upon the sacredness of
the first meeting with his mother.
She could scarcely speak for joy. At last she broke forth with words of
greeting:
“Oh, my boy, my boy, you are home once more; you have come home to me,
and you shall never go away again.”
“I am glad to be with you, dear mother; as glad as a little child, who
needs a good petting. But it was a bitter disappointment when I found
that I could not stay with the brave boys who are offering up their
lives for their country.”
“Never {170}mind, dear boy. You could not help getting sick. I will
bring you back both health and strength, and then--”
“And then they will take me back in the army, again. Oh, mother, do you
think it possible?”
[Illustration: 0179]
Her face grew sad. She had not thought of that, and her heart
experienced a bitter pang, for she felt that not even her love and
care were to him so sweet and dear as was his country and her cause. It
wounded her deeply when she saw that even in the flush of his delight
at being home again, he could not help clouding her joy by expressing a
wish that in her bosom found no response.
She sighed deeply, and made him no answer, but he was so absorbed in
greeting his sisters and friends who had met to welcome him, that he did
not notice her silence.
Ralph {171}could not endure patiently having to play the part of an
invalid, but the home doctor's peremptory orders were that he should
keep his bed, and visitors were to be admitted only when he felt as if
he were able to talk with them.
There were many long days when his voice was so faint and his strength
so nearly exhausted that he was forbidden the excitement caused by their
presence. But as the winter passed, under the tender ministrations of
his mother and sisters, hope again sprung up in his breast, that health
might return to him, and with health would come a return to the service.
The medical man was using every effort to restore him to health. He was
wise, keen-sighted and skillful, and he fathomed the secret of Ralph's
low vitality. His diligence and care were at length rewarded, and he
had the satisfaction of seeing the elastic, springing step return, the
bright color come back to his cheek, and the luster to his eyes, as he
grew stronger daily, and to those who had come to greet his home-coming,
and had mentally felt they were taking a last farewell, his recovery
seemed almost a miracle.
Soon he could walk long distances, and even spring on the back of a
horse for a ride. Al Boneel had returned to his regiment, but the young
man's father had sent Ralph a horse, with a suggestion that he should
ride every day when he was able, a privilege which brought the boy more
healing than even the doctor's careful attentions.
He had instinctively shrank from visiting George Martin, although that
young man had been to his home three or four times during his illness.
It was a fine afternoon, and he knew he was able to ride over to
George's father's farm, over three miles distant. He longed to talk over
the war with him, and yet he had a feeling of delicacy lest George might
be sensitive about any reference to his own misfortune. But he could not
help going, and he found George sitting on a bench in the orchard, where
the green buds were just beginning to shoot forth their promise for
future abundance.
“I'm {172}glad indeed to see you able to come down here, Ralph,” was
George's cordial greeting. “I've been wishing all day for some one to
talk over old times with.”
“Old times! Yes, we were happy, good-for-nothing lads in those days, I
know, and gave our teachers lots of uneasiness.”
“So we did, but I don't refer to those days; I mean the days in the
army.”
Ralph was all attention at once. “How did you like the service?” he
ventured.
[Illustration: 9181]
“Liked it clear through--way down to the bottom. You know how I lost my
arm?” he said, pointing to the empty sleeve.
Ralph nodded. He longed to know more of the particulars, but would not
ask.
“That was a great day. You should have been there, and seen a real
fight. Not that a fight on land ain't all right, but there's a dash and
inspiration about a battle on board ship that I enjoy! You feel as if
the boat were your castle--you can't get away from it, and you're bound
no one else shall get into it. Then the waves rocking beneath your feet,
the shells screaming and dancing over the water, and the thought that
your boat is almost a living thing, lends you a desperation nothing else
can equal.”
Ralph smiled faintly. To his way of thinking those sensations were
common to all who went into battle, whether on land or water.
“You know when I went into the service I made my way to {173}Washington
at once. I didn't wait to be enlisted here, but I knew Uncle Dick, who
lived there, could get me onto a war-ship, and he did.
[Illustration: 0182]
“Through his influence I went on the Cumberland. She was a wooden vessel,
but stanch and trim, with a good commander, {174}Lieutenant Morris, whom
we all liked. He was brave, resolute and determined. The Merrimac, under
Commander Franklin Buchanan, was trying to raise the blockade, and do us
all the harm she could. She was steaming round Hampton Roads, waiting
to sink any of the boats that were maintaining that blockade. Commodore
Buchanan evidently fancied he had an easy job on hand, but as soon as
we sighted the ungainly-looking craft, our hearts were made glad with
orders to pour a broadside into her, which we lost no time in doing. We
tried our best to destroy her, but her heavy iron plates withstood the
assault. Had she been made of wood, we would have made a sieve of her
with our charge. We did her some damage, though, for our shot went clear
into her open ports, and killed some of her crew. I heard some one say
when a man's hit he don't cry out, but I know better, for the shrieks
of the wounded on both sides that day, mingled with the roaring of the
shells, the crashing of shot against the iron-sheeted monster, and the
confusion of voices as orders rang out, sound in my ears yet.
“Lieutenant Morris would not say die, and when the rifled shot from the
big house, for that's what it looked like, tore our decks fore and aft,
the Merrimac's commander followed it up by turning his boat so that
he rammed into our gay little vessel's side, and left a huge gash. Our
commander's blood was up. We felt the frigate slowly settling beneath
our feet, but not a man dreamed of forsaking his gun, but steadily
poured fire into the Merrimac. We were willing to die, rather than
surrender, and even though the breath came quick and hard, and we may
have quailed a little as we looked at our watery grave, yet we waited
calmly to hear our leader's orders, while the enemy was dealing us
terrible blows with shot and shell.
“I felt a sharp pang, a numbness followed. The whole world was growing
black, and for a second I thought the night had suddenly settled over
us, and I knew no more, until one day I woke up in hospital, and found
my right arm and shoulder had parted company. A {175}messmate told me
what happened after I fell to the deck. Our brave commander would not
surrender; the water rose steadily, or, rather, the Cumberland sank
steadily, until the waves washed across her gun deck, when the crew
sprang overboard, and the ships boats carried them ashore.
[Illustration: 0184]
“Tom said it was a sickening sight--they had done us great havoc, but all
of our wounded who could be dragged into the boats were saved, myself
among the number. Tom said it was a gloomy sight when the trusty frigate
keeled over, and sank to the bottom, but she went down game, for her
top-masts stood above the water, with her flag flapping in the face of
the Merrimac and her commander.”
George paused. A sparkle was in his eyes, and he laughed aloud at his
own idea. He continued: “But I had my revenge when I heard about the
Monitor giving it to the Merrimac. You know Ericsson invented that queer
boat. It's a curious affair. You never saw it? It looks for all the
world like a big cheese box, with a round chimney or turret on it. This
turret carries two monstrous guns, {176}and it can be turned round so
that they can be pointed in any direction.
[Illustration: 9185]
“The mischief she did was something worth talking about. Lieutenant John
L. Worden commanded her, but he met with a mishap at the start. He was
looking through the sight hole, taking observations, when a shell struck
it, and hurt him badly, making him blind for a time, and he had to
turn over the command to Lieutenant Sam Greene. The two boats kept on
fighting wildly, each trying to ram the other. Why, they came so close
once in the fight, that both guns went off together, causing such a
shock that the crew at the after guns were knocked down, and some of
them bled at the nose and ears. They fought four hours, so the paper
stated, and the Merri-mac went back to Norfolk, badly used up, for they
put her in dry dock.”
George would have talked on all night, it seemed, but Ralph, who had
enjoyed the brief story of the sea-fight, said he must go, as the sun
would soon be down. But that visit was but one of many which he made to
George, and each one increased his anxiety to return to the army. He was
gaining health under his mother's care and the long rest he was having,
and he often laughingly declared that if the regimental doctor could see
him now, he'd never believe in his own predictions again.
Grateful as his mother was for his restoration to health, yet it
saddened her, for she saw it was useless to keep him back, for he talked
of nothing else but returning to the army. She felt {177}that he had
done his duty, and she could not see why that did not content him. But
she realized that it did not; she saw that he was determined to go, and
her heart sank like lead in her bosom at the thought.
The day for parting came, and as Ralph, with a few other soldiers who
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