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Secret Service

<h3>CHAPTER XXV.</h3> <div class="chapquot"> <div> A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty. Taming of the Shrew. </div> </div> <div class="sidenote">On the March Southward.</div> When the army left Harper's Ferry, on a forced march, it moved, with incredible celerity, thirty miles in nine days! The Virginians east of the Blue Ridge were nearly all hot Secessionists. The troops, who had behaved well among the Union people of Maryland, saw the contrast, and spoiled the Egyptians accordingly. I think if Pharaoh had seen his homestead passed over by a hungry, hostile force, he would have let the people go. In the presence of the army, many professed a sort of loyal neutrality, or neutral loyalty; but I did not hear a single white Virginian of either sex claim to be an unconditional Unionist. At Woodgrove, one evening, finding that we should not go into camp before midnight, I sought supper and lodging at a private house of the better class. My middle-aged host and his two young, unmarried sisters, were glad to entertain some one from the army, to protect their dwelling against stragglers. <div class="sidenote">Rebel Girl with a Sharp Tongue.</div> The elder girl, of about eighteen, was almost a monomaniac upon the war. She declared she had no aspiration for heaven, if any Yankees were to be there. She would be proud to kiss the dirtiest, raggedest soldier in[Pg 300] the Rebel army. I refrained from discussing politics with her, and we talked of other subjects. During the evening, Generals Gorman and Burns reached the house to seek shelter for the night. The officers, discovering the sensitiveness of the poor girl, expressed the most ultra sentiments. Well educated, and with a tongue like a rapier, she was at times greatly excited, and the blood crimsoned her face; but she out-talked them all. "By-the-way," asked Burns, mischievously, "do you ever read <cite>The Tribune</cite>?" She replied, with intense indignation: "Read it! I would not touch it with a pair of tongs! It is the most infamous Abolition, negro-equality sheet in the whole world!" "So a great many people say," continued Burns. "However, here is one of its correspondents." "In this room?" "Yes, madam." "He must be even worse than you, who come down here to murder us! Where is he?" "Sitting in the corner there, reading letters." "I thought you were deceiving me. That is no <cite>Tribune</cite> correspondent. I do not believe you." (To me:) "This Yankee officer says that you write for <cite>The New York Tribune</cite>. You don't, do you?" "Yes, madam." "Why, you seem to be a gentleman. It is not true! It's a jest between you just to make me angry.<del>'</del><ins>"</ins> At last convinced, she withheld altogether from me the expected vituperation, but assailed Burns in a style which made him very glad to abandon the unequal contest. She relentlessly persisted that he should always wear his star, for nobody would suspect him of being a [Pg 301] general if he appeared without his uniform—that he was the worst type of the most obnoxious Yankee, etc. At Upperville, the next day, I inquired of a woman who was scrutinizing us from her door: "Have you seen any Rebel pickets this morning?" She replied, indignantly: "No! Why do you call them Rebels?" "As you please, madam; what do you call them?" "I call them Southern heroes, sir!" <div class="sidenote">The Negroes "Watching and Waiting."</div> The negroes poured into our lines whenever permitted. "Well, Uncle," I asked of a white-haired patriarch, who was tottering along the road, "are you a Rebel, like everybody else?" "No, sir! What should I be a Rebel for? I have been wanting to come to you all a heap of times; but I just watched and waited." Watching and waiting! Four millions of negroes were watching and waiting from the beginning of the war until President Lincoln's Proclamation. On the march, Major O'Neil, of General Meagher's staff, started with a message to Burnside, who was a few miles on our left. Unsuspectingly, he rode right into a squad of cavalry dressed in United States uniform. He found that they were Stuart's Rebels in disguise, and that he was a captive. O'Neil had only just been exchanged from Libby Prison, and his prospect was disheartening. The delighted Rebels sent him to their head-quarters in Bloomfield, under guard of a lieutenant and two men. But, on reaching the village, they found the head-quarters closed. "I wonder where our forces are gone," said the Rebel officer. "Oh, here they are! Men, guard the prisoner while I ride to them." And he galloped down the street to a company of [Pg 302] approaching cavalry. Just as he reached them, they leveled their carbines, and cried: "Surrender!" He had made precisely the same mistake as Major O'Neil, and ridden into our cavalry instead of his own. So, after spending three hours in the hands of the Rebels, O'Neil found himself once more in our lines, accompanied by three Rebel prisoners. The slaveholders complained greatly of the depredations of our army. A very wealthy planter, who had lost nothing of much value, drew for me a frightful picture of impending starvation. "I could bear it myself," exclaimed this Virginian Pecksniff, "but it is very hard for these little negroes, who are almost as dear to me as my own children." He had one of the young Africans upon his knee, and it was quite as white as "his own children," who were running about the room. The only perceptible difference was that its hair was curly, while theirs was straight. <div class="sidenote">Removal of General McClellan.</div> At Warrenton, on the 7th of November, McClellan was relieved from the command of the Army of the Potomac. He issued the following farewell: <div class="blockquot"> "An order from the President devolves upon Major-General Burnside the command of this army. In parting from you, I cannot express the love and gratitude I bear you. As an army, you have grown under my care; in you I have never found doubt or coldness. The battles you have fought under my command will brightly live in our nation's history; the glory you have achieved, our mutual perils and fatigues, the graves of our comrades fallen in battle and by disease, the broken forms of those whom wounds and sickness have disabled, make the strongest associations which can exist among men. United still by an indissoluble tie, we shall ever be comrades in supporting the Constitution of our country and the nationality of its people." </div> [Pg 303] McClellan's political and personal friends were aggrieved and indignant at his removal in the midst of a campaign. Three of his staff officers even made a foolish attempt to assault a <cite>Tribune</cite> correspondent, on account of the supposed hostility of that journal toward their commander. General McClellan, upon hearing of it, sent a disclaimer and apology, and the officers were soon heartily ashamed. The withdrawal was worked up to its utmost dramatic effect. Immediately after reading the farewell order to all the troops, there was a final review, in which the outgoing and incoming generals, with their long staffs, rode along the lines. Salutes were fired and colors dipped. At some points, the men cheered warmly, but the new regiments were "heroically reticent." McClellan's chief strength was with the rank and file. <div class="sidenote">Pickets Talking Across the River.</div> Burnside pushed the army rapidly forward to the Rappahannock. The Rebels held Fredericksburg, on the south bank. The men conversed freely across the stream. One day I heard a dialogue like this: "Halloo, butternut!" "Halloo, bluebelly!" "What was the matter with your battery, Tuesday night?" "You made it too hot. Your shots drove away the cannoneers, and they haven't stopped running yet. We infantry men had to come out and withdraw the guns." "You infantrymen will run, too, one of these fine mornings." "When are you coming over?" "When we get ready to come." "What do you want?" "Want Fredericksburg." "Don't you wish you may get it?" [Pg 304] Here an officer came up and ordered our men away. The army halted for some weeks in front of Fredericksburg. <div class="sidenote">How Army Correspondents Lived.</div> By this time, War Correspondence was employing hundreds of pens. <cite>The Tribune</cite> had from five to eight men in the Army of the Potomac, and twelve west of the Alleghanies. My own local habitation was the head-quarters of Major-General O. O. Howard, who afterward won wide reputation in Tennessee and Georgia, and who is an officer of great skill, bravery, and personal purity. My dispatches were usually prepared, and those of my associates sent to me, at night. Before dawn, a special messenger called at my tent for them, and bore them on horseback, or by railway and steamer, to Washington, whence they were forwarded to New York by mail or telegraph. Correspondents usually lived at the head-quarters of some general officer, bearing their due proportion of mess expenditures; but they were compelled to rely upon the bounty of quartermasters for forage for their horses, and transportation for their baggage. Having no legal and recognized positions in the army, they were sometimes liable to supercilious treatment from young members of staff. They were sure of politeness and consideration from generals; yet, particularly in the regular army, there was a certain impression that they deserved Halleck's characterization of "unauthorized hangers-on." To encourage the best class of journalists to accompany the army, there should be a law distinctly authorizing representatives of the Press, who are engaged in no other pursuit, to accompany troops in the field, and purchase forage and provisions at the same rates as officers. They should, of course, be held to a just responsibility [Pg 305] not to publish information which could benefit the enemy. Nightly, around our great division camp-fire, negroes of all ages pored over their spelling-books with commendable thirst for learning. <div class="sidenote">I'd rather be Free.</div> One boy, of fourteen, was considered peculiarly stupid, and had seen hard work, rough living, and no pay, during his twelve months' sojourn with the army. I asked him: "Did you work as hard for your old master as you do here?" "No, sir." "Did he treat you kindly?" "Yes, sir." "Were you as well clothed as now?" "Better, sir." "And had more comforts?" "Yes, sir; always had a roof over me, and was never exposed to rain and cold." "Would you not have done better to stay at home?" "If I had thought so, I should not have come away, sir." "Would you come again, knowing what hardships were before you?" "Yes, sir. I'd rather be free!" He was not stupid enough to be devoid of human instinct! <div class="sidenote">The Battle of Fredericksburg.</div> In December occurred the battle of Fredericksburg. The enemy's position was very strong—almost impregnable. Our men were compelled to lay their pontoons across the river in a pitiless rain of bullets from the Rebel sharpshooters. But they did it without flinching. Our troops, rank, file, and officers, marched into the jaws of death with stubborn determination. We attacked in three columns; but the original design [Pg 306] was that the main assault should be on our left, which was commanded by General Franklin. A road which Franklin wished to reach would enable him to come up in the rear of Fredericksburg, and compel the enemy to evacuate his strong works, or be captured. Franklin was very late in starting. He penetrated once to this road, but did not know it, and again fell back. Thus the key to the position was lost. In the center, our troops were flung upon very strong works, and repulsed with terrible slaughter. It proved a massacre rather than a battle. Our killed and wounded exceeded ten thousand. I was not present at the battle, but returned to the army two or three days after. Burnside deported himself with rare fitness and magnanimity. As he spoke to me about the brave men who had fruitlessly fallen, there were tears in his eyes, and his voice broke with emotion. When I asked him if Franklin's slowness was responsible for the slaughter, he replied: "No. I understand perfectly well that when the general commanding an army meets with disaster, he alone is responsible, and I will not attempt to shift that responsibility upon any one else. No one will ever know how near we came to a great victory. It almost seems to me now that I could have led my old Ninth Corps into those works." Indeed, Burnside had desired to do this, but was dissuaded by his lieutenants. The Ninth Corps would have followed him anywhere; but that would have been certain death. Burnside was, at least, great in his earnestness, his moral courage, and perfect integrity. The battle was better than squandering precious lives in fevers and dysentery during months of inaction. Better a soldier's death on [Pg 307] the enemy's guns than a nameless grave in the swamps of the Chickahominy or the trenches before Corinth. Ordered to move, Burnside obeyed without quibbling or hesitating, and flung his army upon the Rebels. The result was defeat; but that policy proved our salvation at last; by that sign we conquered. Every private soldier knew that the battle of Fredericksburg was a costly and bloody mistake, and yet I think on the day or the week following it, the soldiers would have gone into battle just as cheerfully and sturdily as before. The more I saw of the Army of the Potomac, the more I wondered at its invincible spirit, which no disasters seemed able to destroy. <div class="sidenote">Curious Blunder of the Telegraph.</div> In January, among the lookers-on in Virginia, was the Hon. Henry J. Raymond, of <cite>The Times</cite>. He had a brother in the service, and one day he received this telegram:— <div class="blockquot"> "Your brother's corpse is at Belle Plain." </div> Hastening to the army as fast as steam could carry him, to perform the last sad offices of affection, he found his relative not only living, but in vigorous health. Through the eccentricities of the telegraph, the word corps had been changed into corpse. On the 22d of January, Burnside attempted another advance, designing to cross the Rappahannock in three columns. The weather for a long time had been fine, but, a few hours after the army started, the heavens opened, and converted the Virginia roads into almost fathomless mire. Advance seemed out of the question, and in two days the troops came back to camp. The Rebels understood the cause, and prepared an enormous sign, which they erected on their side of the river, in full [Pg 308] view of our pickets, bearing the inscription, "Stuck in the mud!" <div class="sidenote">The Batteries at Fredericksburg.</div> Army of Potomac, near Falmouth, Va., Monday, Nov. 24. Still on the north bank of the Rappahannock! Upon the high bluffs, along a line of three miles, twenty-four of our guns point threateningly toward the enemy. In the ravines behind them a hundred more wait, ready to be wheeled up and placed in position. Upon the hills south of the river, distant from them a thousand to five thousand yards, Rebel guns confront them. Some peer blackly through hastily-built earthworks; some are just visible over the crests of sharp ridges; some almost hidden by great piles of brush. Already we count eighteen; the cannonading will unmask many more. <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> "Ah, what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, When the Death-angel touches these swift keys! What loud lament and dismal miserere Will mingle with their awful symphonies!"</div> </div> In front of our right batteries, but far below and hidden from them, the antique, narrow, half-ruined village of Falmouth hugs the river. In front of the Rebel batteries, in full view of both sides, the broad, well-to-do town of Fredericksburg, with its great factories, tall spires, and brick buildings, is a tempting target for our guns. The river which flows between (though Fredericksburg is half a mile below Falmouth), is now so narrow, that a lad can throw a stone across. Behind our batteries and their protecting hills rests the infantry of the Grand Division. General Couch's corps occupies a crescent-shaped valley—a symmetric natural amphitheater. It is all aglow nightly with a [Pg 309] thousand camp-fires; and, from the proscenium-hill of General Howard's head-quarters, forms a picture mocking all earthly canvas. Behind the Rebel batteries, in the dense forest, their infantry occupies a line five miles long. By night we just detect the glimmer of their fires; by day we see the tall, slender columns of smoke curling up from their camps. <div class="sidenote">A Disappointed Virginian.</div> All the citizens ask to have guards placed over their houses; but very few obtain them. "I will give no man a guard," replied General Howard to one of these applicants, "until he is willing to lose as much as I have lost, in defending the Government." The Virginian cast one long, lingering look at the General's loose, empty coat-sleeve (he lost his right arm while leading his brigade at Fair Oaks), and went away, the picture of despair. Army of Potomac, Sunday, Dec. 21. The general tone of the army is good; far better than could be expected. There is regret for our failure, sympathy for our wounded, mourning for our honored dead; but I find little discouragement and no demoralization. This is largely owing to the splendid conduct of all our troops. The men are hopeful because there are few of the usual jealousies and heart-burnings. No one is able to say, "If this division had not broken," or "if that regiment had done its duty, we might have won." The concurrence of testimony is universal, that our men in every division did better than they ever did before, and made good their claim to being the best troops in the world. We have had victories without merit, but this was a defeat without dishonor. In many respects—in all respects but the failure of [Pg 310] its vital object—the battle of Fredericksburg was the finest thing of the war. Laying the bridge, pushing the army across, after the defeat withdrawing it successfully—all were splendidly done, and redound alike to the skill of the general and the heroism of the troops. <div class="sidenote">Honor to the Brave and Bold.</div> And those men and officers of the Seventh Michigan, the Nineteenth and Twentieth Massachusetts, and the Eighty-ninth New York, who eagerly crossed the river in open boats, in the teeth of that pitiless rain of bullets, and dislodged the sharpshooters who were holding our whole army at bay—what shall we say of them? Let the name of every man of them be secured now, and preserved in a roll of honor; let Congress see to it that, by medal or ribbon to each, the Republic gives token of gratitude to all who do such royal deeds in its defense. To the living, at least, we can be just. The fallen, who were left by hundreds in line of battle, "dead on the field of honor," we cannot reward; but He who permits no sparrow to fall to the ground unheeded, will see to it that no drop of their precious blood has been shed in vain. <hr class="chap" /> [Pg 311] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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