Secret Service

<h3><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</SPAN></h3> <div class="chapquot"> <div> <p>He that outlives this day and comes safe home,<br/> Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named.</p> <p class="citation">King Henry V.</p> <p>Much work for tears in many an English mother,<br/> Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground.</p> <p class="citation">King John.</p> </div> </div> <div class="sidenote">Ordered to Washington.</div> <p>During the siege of Cincinnati, the Managing Editor telegraphed me thus:</p> <div class="blockquot"> <p>"Repair to Washington without any delay."</p> </div> <p>An hour afterward I was upon an eastern train.</p> <p>At the Capital, I found orders to join the Army of the Potomac. It was during Lee's first invasion. In Pennsylvania, the governor and leading officials nearly doubled the Confederate army, estimating it at two hundred thousand men.</p> <p>Reaching Frederick, Maryland, I found more Union flags, proportionately, in that little city, than I had ever seen elsewhere. The people were intensely loyal. Four miles beyond, in a mountain region, I saw winding, fertile valleys of clear streams, rich in broad corn-fields; and white vine-covered farm-houses, half hidden in old apple-orchards; while great hay and grain stacks surrounded&mdash;</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"The gray barns, looking from their hazy hills<br/></span> <span class="i0">O'er the dim waters widening in the vales."<br/></span></div> </div> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</SPAN></span></p> <p>The roads were full of our advancing forces, with bronzed faces and muscles compacted by their long campaigning. They had just won the victory of South Mountain, where Hooker found exercise for his peculiar genius in fighting above the clouds, and driving the enemy by an impetuous charge from a dizzy and apparently inaccessible hight.</p> <div class="sidenote">On the War-Path.</div> <p>The heroic Army of the Potomac, which had suffered more, fought harder, and been defeated oftener than any other National force, was now marching cheerily under the unusual inspiration of victory. But what fearful loads the soldiers carried! Gun, canteen, knapsack, haversack, pack of blankets and clothing, often must have reached fifty pounds to the man. These modern Atlases had little chance in a race with the Rebels.</p> <p>There were crowds of sorry-looking prisoners marching to the rear; long trains of ambulances filled with our wounded soldiers, some of them walking back with their arms in slings, or bloody bandages about their necks or foreheads; Rebel hospitals, where unfortunate fellows were groaning upon the straw, with arms or legs missing; eleven of our lost, resting placidly side by side, while their comrades were digging their graves hard by; the unburied dead of the enemy, lying in pairs or groups, behind rocks or in fence corners; and then a Rebel surgeon, in bluish-gray uniform, coming in with a flag of truce, to look after his wounded.</p> <p>All the morning I heard the pounding of distant guns, and at 4 <span class="smcap">p. m.</span>, near the little village of Keedysville, I reached our front. On the extreme left I found an old friend whom I had not met for many years&mdash;Colonel Edward E. Cross, of the Fifth New Hampshire Infantry. Formerly a Cincinnati journalist, afterward a miner in Arizona, and then a colonel at the head of a Mexican regiment, his life had been <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</SPAN></span> full of interest and romance.</p> <div class="sidenote">A Novel Kind of Duel.</div> <p>While living in Arizona he incurred the displeasure of the pro-Slavery politicians, who ruled the territory. Mowry, their self-styled Delegate to Congress, challenged him&mdash;probably upon the hypothesis that, as a Northerner, he would not recognize the code; but Cross was an ugly subject for that experiment. He promptly accepted, and named Burnside rifles at ten paces! Mowry was probably ready to say with Falstaff&mdash;</p> <div class="blockquot"> <p>"An' I thought he had been valiant and so cunning in fence, I'd have seen him damned ere I had challenged him."</p> </div> <p>Both were dead shots. Their seconds placed them across the strong prairie wind, to interfere with their aim. At the first fire, a ball grazed Mowry's ear. At the second, a lock of Cross's hair was cut off.</p> <p>"Rather close work, is it not?" he calmly asked of a bystander.</p> <p>At the third fire, Mowry's rifle missed. His friends insisted that he was entitled to his fire. Those of the other party declared that this was monstrous, and that he should be killed if he attempted it. But Cross settled the difficulty by deciding that Mowry was right, and stood serenely, with folded arms, to receive the shot. The would-be Delegate was wise enough to fire into the air. Thus ended the bloodless duel, and the journalist was never challenged again.</p> <p>A year or two later, I chanced to be in El Paso, Mexico, shortly after Cross had visited that ancient city. An old cathedral, still standing, was built before the landing of the Pilgrims on Plymouth Rock. Ascending to the steeple, Cross pocketed and brought away the clapper of the old Spanish bell, which was hung there when the edifice was erected. <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</SPAN></span> The devout natives were greatly exasperated at this profanation, and would have killed the relic-hunting Yankee had they caught him. I heard from them a great deal of swearing in bad Spanish on the subject.</p> <p>Now, when I greeted him, his men were deployed in a corn-field, skirmishing with the enemy's pickets. He was in a barn, where the balls constantly whistled, and occasionally struck the building. He had just come in from the front, where Confederate bullets had torn two rents in the shoulder of his blouse, without breaking the skin. A straggling soldier passed us, strolling down the road toward the Rebel pickets.</p> <p>"My young friend," said Cross, "if you don't want a hole through you, you had better come back."</p> <p>Just as he spoke, ping! came a bullet, perforating the hat of the private, who made excellent time toward the rear. A moment after, a shell exploded on a bank near us, throwing the dirt into our faces.</p> <div class="sidenote">How Correspondents Avoided Expulsion.</div> <p>We spent the night at the house of a Union resident, of Keedysville. General Marcy, McClellan's father-in-law and chief of staff, who supped there, inquired, with some curiosity, how we had gained admission to the lines, as journalists were then nominally excluded from the army. We assured him that it was only by "strategy," the details whereof could not be divulged to outsiders.</p> <p>One of the <cite>Tribune</cite> correspondents had not left the army since the Peninsular campaign, and, remaining constantly within the lines, his position had never been questioned. Another, who had a nominal appointment upon the staff of a major-general, wore a saber and passed for an officer. I had an old pass, without date, from General Burnside, authorizing the bearer to go to and fro from his head-quarters at all times, which enabled me to go by all guards with ease.</p> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</SPAN></span></p> <p>Marcy engaged lodgings at the house for McClellan; but an hour after, a message was received that the general thought it better to sleep upon the ground, near the bivouac-fires, as an example for the troops.</p> <div class="sidenote">Shameful Surrender of Harper's Ferry.</div> <p>Last night came intelligence of the surrender, to Stonewall Jackson, of Harper's Ferry, including the impregnable position of Maryland Hights and our army.</p> <p>Colonel Miles, who commanded, atoned for his weakness with his life, being killed by a stray shot just after he had capitulated. Colonel Thomas H. Ford, ex-Lieutenant-Governor of Ohio, who was stationed on the Hights, professed to have a written order from Miles, his superior officer, to exercise his own discretion about evacuating; but he could not exhibit the paper, and stated that he had lost it. He gave up that key to the position without a struggle. It was like leaving the rim of a teacup, to go down to the bottom for a defensive point. He was afterward tried before a court-martial, but saved from punishment, and permitted to resign, through the clemency of President Lincoln. In any other country he would have been shot.</p> <p>On September 16th, General McClellan established his head-quarters in a great shaded brick farm-house.</p> <p>Under one of the old trees sat General Sumner, at sixty-four erect, agile, and soldierly, with snow-white hair. A few yards distant, in an open field, a party of officers were suddenly startled by two shells which dropped very near them. The group broke up and scattered with great alacrity.</p> <p>"Why," remarked Sumner, with a peculiar smile, "the shells seem to excite a good deal of commotion among those young gentlemen!"</p> <p>It appeared to amuse and surprise the old war-horse that anybody should be startled by bullets or shots.</p> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</SPAN></span></p> <p>Lying upon the ground near by, with his head resting upon his arm, was another officer wearing the two stars of a major-general.</p> <p>"Who is that?" I asked of a journalistic friend.</p> <p>"Fighting Joe Hooker," was the answer.</p> <p>With his side-whiskers, rather heavy countenance, and transparent cheeks, which revealed the blood like those of a blushing girl, he hardly looked all my fancy had painted him.</p> <div class="sidenote">A Cavalry Stampede.</div> <p>Toward evening, at the head of his corps, preceded by the pioneers tearing away fences for the column, Hooker led a forward movement across Antietam Creek. His milk-white horse, a rare target to Rebel sharpshooters, could be seen distinctly from afar against the deep green landscape. I could not believe that he was riding into battle upon such a steed, for it seemed suicidal.</p> <p>In an hour we halted, and the cavalry went forward to reconnoiter. A few minutes after, Mr. George W. Smalley, of <cite>The Tribune</cite>, said to me:</p> <p>"There will be a cavalry stampede in about five minutes. Let us ride out to the front and see it."</p> <p>Galloping up the road, and waiting two or three minutes, we heard three six-pound shots in rapid succession, and a little fifer who had climbed a tree, shouted:</p> <p>"There they come, like the devil, with the Rebels after them!"</p> <p>From a vast cloud of dust, emerged soon our troopers in hot haste and disorder. They had suddenly awakened a Rebel battery, which opened upon them.</p> <p>"We will stir them up," said Hooker, as the cavalry commander made his report.</p> <p>"Why, General," replied the major, "they have some batteries up there!"</p> <p>"Well, sir," answered Hooker, "<del>have'nt</del><ins>haven't</ins> we got as many batteries as they have? Move on!"</p> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i003.jpg" width-obs="1000" height-obs="604" class="epub_only" alt="Opening of the Battle of Antietam.&mdash;General Hooker" title="Opening of the Battle of Antietam.&mdash;General Hooker" /> <SPAN href="images/i003.jpg" target="_blank"> <ANTIMG src="images/i003thumb.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="242" class="noepub" alt="Opening of the Battle of Antietam.&mdash;General Hooker" title="Opening of the Battle of Antietam.&mdash;General Hooker" /></SPAN> <p class="caption">Opening of the Battle of Antietam.&mdash;General Hooker.</p> <p class="click"><SPAN href="images/i003.jpg" target="_blank">Click for larger image.</SPAN></p> </div> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</SPAN></span></p> <div class="sidenote">"Fighting Joe Hooker" in Battle.</div> <p>McClellan, who had accompanied the expedition thus far, rode back to the rear. Hooker pressed forward, accompanied by General Meade, then commanding a division&mdash;a dark-haired, scholarly-looking gentleman in spectacles. The grassy fields, the shining streams, and the vernal forests, stretched out in silent beauty. With their bright muskets, clean uniforms, and floating flags, Hooker's men moved on with assured faces.</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,</span> <span class="i0">One glance at their array."</span></div> </div> <p>With a very heavy force of skirmishers, we pushed on, finding no enemy. Our line was three-quarters of a mile in length. Hooker was on the extreme right, close upon the skirmishers.</p> <p>As we approached a strip of woods, a hundred yards wide, far on our extreme left, we heard a single musket. Then there was another, then another, and in an instant our whole line blazed like a train of powder, in one long sheet of flame.</p> <p>Right on our front, through the narrow belt of woods, so near that it seemed that we might toss a pebble to them, rose a countless horde of Rebels, almost instantly obscured by the fire from their muskets and the smoke of the batteries.</p> <p>My <span lang="fr">confr&egrave;re</span> and myself were within a few yards of Hooker. It was a very hot place. We could not distinguish the "ping" of the individual bullets, but their combined and mingled hum was like the din of a great Lowell factory. Solid shot and shell came shrieking through the air, but over our heads, as we were on the extreme front.</p> <p>Hooker&mdash;common-place before&mdash;the moment he heard the guns, loomed <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</SPAN></span> up into gigantic stature. His eye gleamed with the grand anger of battle. He seemed to know exactly what to do, to feel that he was master of the situation, and to impress every one else with the fact. Turning to one of his staff, and pointing to a spot near us, he said:</p> <p>"Go, and tell Captain ---- to bring his battery and plant it there at once!"</p> <p>The lieutenant rode away. After giving one or two further orders with great clearness, rapidity, and precision, Hooker's eye turned again to that mass of Rebel infantry in the woods, and he said to another officer, with great emphasis:</p> <p>"Go, and tell Captain ---- to bring his battery here instantly!"</p> <p>Sending more messages to the various divisions and batteries, only a single member of the staff remained. Once more scanning the woods with his eager eye, Hooker directed the aid:</p> <p>"Go, and tell Captain ---- to bring that battery here without one second's delay. Why, my God, how he can pour it into their infantry!"</p> <p>By this time, several of the body-guard had fallen from their saddles. Our horses plunged wildly. A shell plowed the ground under my rearing steed, and another exploded near Mr. Smalley, throwing great clouds of dust over both of us. Hooker leaped his white horse over a low fence into an adjacent orchard, whither we gladly followed. Though we did not move more than thirty yards, it took us comparatively out of range.</p> <div class="sidenote">The Rebels Waver and Break.</div> <p>The desired battery, stimulated by three successive messages, came up with smoking horses, at a full run, was unlimbered in the twinkling of an eye, and began to pour shots into the enemy, who were also <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</SPAN></span> suffering severely from our infantry discharges. It was not many seconds before they began to waver. Through the rifting smoke, we could see their line sway to and fro; then it broke like a thaw in a great river. Hooker rose up in his saddle, and, in a voice of suppressed thunder, exclaimed:</p> <p>"There they go, G-d d--n them! Forward!"</p> <p>Our whole line moved on. It was now nearly dark. Having shared the experience of "Fighting Joe Hooker" quite long enough, I turned toward the rear. Fresh troops were pressing forward, and stragglers were ranged in long lines behind rocks and trees.</p> <p>Riding slowly along a grassy slope, as I supposed quite out of range, my meditations were disturbed by a cannon-ball, whose rush of air fanned my face, and made my horse shrink and rear almost upright. The next moment came another behind me, and by the great blaze of a fire of rails, which the soldiers had built, I saw it <span lang="fr">ricochet</span> down the slope, like a foot-ball, and pass right through a column of our troops in blue, who were marching steadily forward. The gap which it made was immediately closed up.</p> <p>Men with litters were groping through the darkness, bearing the wounded back to the ambulances.</p> <div class="sidenote">A Night Among the Pickets.</div> <p>At nine o'clock, I wandered to a farm-house, occupied by some of our pickets. We dared not light candles, as it was within range of the enemy. The family had left. I tied my horse to an apple-tree, and lay down upon the parlor floor, with my saddle for a pillow. At intervals during the night, we heard the popping of musketry, and at the first glimpse of dawn the picket-officer shook me by the arm.</p> <p>"My friend," said he, "you had better go away as soon as you can; <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</SPAN></span> this place is getting rather hot for civilians."</p> <div class="sidenote">The Battle of Antietam.</div> <p>I rode around through the field, for shot and shell were already screaming up the narrow lane.</p> <p>Thus commenced the long, hotly-contested battle of Antietam. Our line was three miles in length, with Hooker on the right, Burnside on the left, and a great gap in the middle, occupied only by artillery; while Fitz-John Porter, with his fine corps, was held in reserve. From dawn until nearly dark, the two great armies wrestled like athletes, straining every muscle, losing here, gaining there, and at many points fighting the same ground over and over again. It was a fierce, sturdy, indecisive conflict.</p> <p>Five thousand spectators viewed the struggle from a hill comparatively out of range. Not more than three persons were struck there during the day. McClellan and his staff occupied another ridge half a mile in the rear.</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"By Heaven! it was a goodly sight to see,<br/></span> <span class="i0">For one who had no friend or brother there."<br/></span></div> </div> <p>No one who looked upon that wonderful panorama can describe or forget it. Every hill and valley, every corn-field, grove, and cluster of trees, was fiercely fought for.</p> <p>The artillery was unceasing; we could often count more than sixty guns to the minute. It was like thunder; and the musketry sounded like the patter of rain-drops in an April shower. On the great field were riderless horses and scattering men, clouds of dirt from solid shot and exploding shells, long dark lines of infantry swaying to and fro, with columns of smoke rising from their muskets, red flashes and white puffs from the batteries&mdash;with the sun shining brightly on all this scene of tumult, and beyond it, upon the dark, rich woods, and <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</SPAN></span> the clear blue mountains south of the Potomac.</p> <div class="sidenote">Fearful Slaughter in the Corn-field.</div> <p>We saw clearly our entire line, except the extreme left, where Burnside was hidden by intervening ridges; and at times the infantry and cavalry of the Rebels. We could see them press our men, and hear their shrill yells of triumph. Then our columns in blue would move forward, driving them back, with loud, deep-mouthed, sturdy cheers. Once, a great mass of Rebels, in brown and gray, came pouring impetuously through a corn-field, forcing back the Union troops. For a moment both were hidden under a hill; and then up, over the slope came our soldiers, flying in confusion, with the enemy in hot pursuit. But soon after, up rose and opened upon them two long lines of men in blue, with shining muskets, who, hidden behind a ridge, had been lying in wait. The range was short, and the fire was deadly.</p> <p>The Rebels instantly poured back, and were again lost for a moment behind the hill, our troops hotly following. In a few seconds, they reappeared, rushing tumultuously back into the corn-field. While they were so thick that they looked like swarming bees, one of our batteries, at short range, suddenly commenced dropping shots among them. We could see with distinctness the explosions of the shells, and sometimes even thought we detected fragments of human bodies flying through the air. In that field, the next day, I counted sixty-four of the enemy's dead, lying almost in one mass.</p> <p>Hooker, wounded before noon, was carried from the field. Had he not been disabled, he would probably have made it a decisive conflict. Realizing that it was one of the world's great days, he said:</p> <p>"I would gladly have compromised with the enemy by receiving a mortal wound at night, could I have remained at the head of my troops until the sun went down." <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</SPAN></span></p> <p>On the left, Burnside, who had a strong, high stone bridge to carry, was sorely pressed. McClellan denied his earnest requests for re-enforcements, though the best corps of the army was then held in reserve.</p> <p>The Fifteenth Massachusetts Infantry took into the battle five hundred and fifty men, and brought out only one hundred and fifty-six. The Nineteenth Massachusetts, out of four hundred and six men, lost all but one hundred and forty-seven, including every commissioned officer above a first lieutenant. The Fifth New Hampshire, three hundred strong, lost one hundred and ten privates and fourteen officers. Colonel Cross, who seldom went into battle without receiving wounds, was struck in the head by a piece of shell early in the day, but with face crimsoned and eyes dimmed with blood, he led his men until night closed the indecisive conflict.</p> <div class="sidenote">Best Battle-Report of the War.</div> <p>At night, the four <cite>Tribune</cite> correspondents, who had witnessed the battle, met at a little farm-house. They prepared hasty reports, by a flickering tallow candle, in a narrow room crowded with wounded and dying.</p> <p>Mr. Smalley had been with Hooker from the firing of the first gun. Twice his horse had been shot under him, and twice his clothing was cut by bullets. Without food, without sleep, greatly exhausted physically and mentally, he started for New York, writing his report on a railway train during the night, by a very dim light.</p> <p>Reaching New York at seven in the morning, he found the printers awaiting him; and, an hour later, his account of the conflict, filling five <cite>Tribune</cite> columns, was being cried in the streets by the news-boys. Notwithstanding the adverse circumstances of its preparation, it was vivid and truthful, and was considered the best battle-report of the war.</p> <hr class="chap" /> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</SPAN></span></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />