EMORY UNIVERSITY
Sketches of Army Life
in the Sixties
and
"The Mansion by the Spring''
A Civil War Story of the
Shenandoah
By
Henry S. Clapp
123rd Ohio Volunteer Infantry
and
19th Colored Troops, U.S.A.
Preface
VER since the days when we girls, perched on the
arm of Father's big chair, used to beg for a
"war story," we have wanted his reminiscences put
in some permanent form.
During the winters of 1908 and 1909 he wrote
these sketches, which were at that time published in
the Norwalk Reflector. Somehow newspaper clippings
did not satisfy our filial pride in the record of how our
father helped to save the Union.
Then we thought of the old comrades still left,
and of the nephews, nieces and cousins who might
share somewhat in our interest and pride. The result
is this little holiday gift edition which is published
after some argumentative struggle with the modesty
of the author.
The story which Father characterizes as, "A simple
little love story," is dear to us and worthy to be
included we feel. Its local color and picture of the
beautiful Shenandoah Valley will be a pleasure to
"the 123rd boys", and its wholesome, quiet charm
may suggest to all the friends what it does to us.
Mart Belle Clapp Cline
Katharine B. Clapp Horton
Sketches of Army Life
in the Sixties
I. Recollections of a Private
II. Recollections of a Corporal
III. Recollections of a Lieutenant
IV. On the Mexican Border at the Close of the
Civil War
Recollections of a Private
MY FIRST bunkmate was Irving Cole. I think
he must have been a descendant of the famous
old king whose fondness for his pipe, bowl, and
fiddlers has come down to us in nursery rhyme. Not
that my friend was given to over-indulgence in any
of these things, but he was a jolly soul, and is to this
day though he lost his good right arm at Winchester.
We were husky well grown farmer boys, not lacking
in patriotism but much needed at home, which accounts
for our remaining there until Lincoln's call for
"Six hundred thousand more." Then we enlisted in
Company B. of the 123rd Ohio Volunteer Infantry.
In October 1862 the fortunes of war sent our regiment
to West Virginia. In the following five months we
marched and counter-marched to and through New
Creek, St. George, Buckhannon, Beverly, Huttons-
ville, Webster, Petersburg, Moorfield and Romney.
In March 1863 we moved through Blue Gap into the
beautiful Valley of the Shenandoah and to Winchester.
We put up our Sibley tents on a pleasant grassy spot
in the outskirts of the town. Our life in the three
months of our stay in this camp was both busy and
pleasant. The time was fully taken up with drill,
picket duty, and frequent raids up the valley to Stras-
burg, Wardonsville, New Market and other towns.
In all of this time our regiment had never been in an
engagement and I think I can safely say that we of
7
Company B. had never seen an armed Confederate.
Early in June there were indications that the compar¬
ative quiet of Milroy's little army at Winchester was
about to be broken. The cavalry was kept busy scout¬
ing the valley to the south and about the 10th or 11th
of the month they began bringing in reports of the
approach of a large Confederate force, but there was
no thought that we were to meet as formidable a foe
as Lee's army.
On the evening of June 12th, Company B. was ordered
out for special duty. I think we went out on the
Front Royal road perhaps three miles. It was a
beautiful moonlight night and our orders to move
quietly put a glamour of mystery and adventure
over the proceeding that appealed to our young blood.
About 10:00 o'clock we bivouacked in a grove of small
timber near the road and those of us who were so for¬
tunate as to escape picket duty sank down upon the
dewy grass and slept soundly until morning.
We were not allowed to build fires and so ate our
breakfast without coffee. About 9:00 a. m. the
pickets reported rebel cavalry in sight. We had been
looking for rebels for months and now our hopes or
fears were about to be realized but we saw only one,
a cavalryman on a distant hillside. As he was beyond
musket range we made no effort to molest him, and
he soon disappeared. Returning to camp about noon
we found it deserted except for the sick and a few
guards left behind. They informed us that the long
roll had called the regiment into line that morning
and that it had gone out on the valley pike. After
eating a hasty dinner we started out to join the regi¬
ment which we found at Kearnstown, two miles from
Winchester. It was resting at the left of the pike
opposite the old stone mill. There was a quiet serious¬
ness about the men that told us plainer than words
8
that there was something doing. There is nothing
more trying to a soldier's courage than the period of
inaction which often precedes a battle. It is then
that thoughts of home and loved ones make life seem
a thing too precious to be wantonly thrown away;
but when the time for action comes, the words of
command, the sound of the bugles, the cheers of the
victors and the groans of the dying, drive all thought
of self away, and the soldier becomes again merely
a part of a fighting machine called an army. Soon
tired, dejected looking troops of cavalry began to
come in from the front with an occasional ambulance
filled with wounded. In answer to our enquiries as
to the rebels we got the uncomfortable assurance
that we would "find plenty of them back there."
About 4 p. m. the regiment moved across the pike
by the right flank, then facing to the left we moved
in line of battle up the slope of a long hill on the crest
of which we came to a halt. Before us lay an open
field perhaps forty rods across. Near the farther
side of this field was a rebel skirmish line and it was
the most active and belligerent specimen of its kind I
ever met. One glance at them told us. they were
veterans. I was so charmed by their manner of doing
business that I think I must have gazed at them for
a moment with open-mouthed admiration. They
would take deliberate aim at us, fire, and then setting
the butts of their guns on the ground move around
in a circle while loading, doing it all with jaunty,
careless indifference to danger which was almost
incomprehensible to a tenderfoot who had not yet
learned the art of war.
Back of the skirmish line was a stone wall behind
which lay their line of battle. We gave them a volley
at once and then fired at will. How long we stood
in that unprotected spot I cannot tell. It might have
9
been thirty minutes, perhaps more. We were in
double ranks, close order, a human wall stopping every
bullet that did not go over our heads. Laughable as
it may seem, my greatest fear was from the guns of
my comrades in the rear rank. The muzzles were
uncomfortably close to our ears and the hands that
held some of them rather unsteady. I have often
wondered why my comrades never roasted me in later
years for turning around and telling them to "be careful
about their shooting back there." My ideas at that
time of the risks a soldier takes in battle were limited.
Of the scenes and incidents crowded into the short
time we stood there I have but an indistinct recollec¬
tion. Those which stand out clearest in my memory
are the tragic ones. The pained look upon the faces
of comrades who fell near me, the horrible picture of
one, shot through the face at the base of the jaw,
covered with blood, staggering about among us for a
moment crazed by his wound, then falling down upon
the field to die. These are some of the scenes I would
gladly forget. We soon fell back in orderly retreat
to a stone wall near the mill leaving our dead and
wounded on the field. After dark we moved back
near Winchester and stood in line of battle in a narrow
street through the long wretched night, during a part
of which the rain came down in torrents. We were
tired, hungry, wet, disheartened over the loss of our
comrades and our defeat, and we gladly welcomed the
daylight and an order to return to our old camp.
What a feeling of sadness came over us at mess No.
One as we went into our almost deserted tent. We had
left half of our happy military family dead or wounded
on yesterday's battlefield. After breakfast we shoul¬
dered our knapsacks and deserting our once pleasant
camp, moved into the rifle pits near the fort where
we remained through the day.
10
Lee's army was tightening its coils around us.
Towards night the rebel batteries on three sides of us
began shelling the fort but did no great damage. At
midnight came the order to evacuate Winchester.
Not a wheel was to be moved. We were to steal
away as silently as possible without even "folding"
our tents. Company B was sent to the wagon yard
to gather up the team and ambulance horses and ride
them out. Getting such horses and trappings as we
could find in the dark we mounted and followed the
infantry and cavaliy out on the Martinsburg pike.
As we rode silently along in the dim uncertain light
of the early morning, we might have been likened to
the legendary army of ghosts that had once "beleagured
the walls of Prague." We had gone perhaps four
miles. Day was just beginning to break when a few
rifle shots rang out clear and sharp from the front.
The column halted. We sat upon our horses listening
for some explanation of the trouble. Then came the
sound of hurried commands to the. infantry, forming
a line of battle, then the rattling volleys of musketry
told that the battle was on once more. The Confede¬
rates had planted a force across our line of retreat.
Soon word came back to us that our troops were going
to surrender, and we should make our escape if pos¬
sible. We weie opposite an orchard with a low stone
wall between it and the pike. The cavalry went over
the wall and down through the orchard and we fol¬
lowed them.
The filing had excited my horse and he charged
over the wall and under the trees in a way that came
near unseating me. Striking into a narrow road which
led towards the mountains we followed the cavalry
at a wild gallop. I had my knapsack on my back
and my gun hung over my shoulder. There did not
seem to be conceit of action between these articles
H
and my horse. When he was going down they would
be going up and vice versa.
I realized that I must throw some of my ballast
overboard. My knapsack contained my scanty change
of clothing and some useful little articles brought from
home. I disliked to part with it, but it would not do
to drop my musket. I had enlisted to save the Union
and I could never do it without a gun.
In those early days of our service we still clung to
the ideals which possessed us when we enlisted. Later
on when our enthusiasm had become somewhat tem¬
pered in the fire of experience we were content to do
the duty set before us and not so ready to go out of
our way to meet dangers we knew not of, or knowing,
thought best to avoid. It was this ideal which caused
our genial old messmate, "Dick" Evans, to shoulder
his gun and go out with the regiment when the long
roll sounded the call to arms. He was detailed for
a special service in the regiment which excused him
from duty in the ranks. In his voluntary sacrifice
for his country he gave the full measure, his life. He
was mortally wounded and died a few days later in
a Confederate hospital at Winchester.
It was the same spirit, combined with a naturally
combative disposition which inspired our popular
commissary sergeant, Fred Wickham, to borrow a
gun and go into the ranks that day. He, like Comrade
Evans, was not obliged to carry a gun or fight in the
ranks. Fred did his duty like the brave soldier that
he was but he had his fill of fighting. Ever after when
the long roll sounded Fred would get busy among
the hard tack, salt pork and other delicacies of the
commissary department and pretend that he did not
hear it. But to get back to my story, if I saved my
gun the knapsack must go, so the next time I felt it
trying to lift me off my horse I slipped out of it.
12
I had left my wounded bunkmate on the field of the
first day's battle. With a shamelessness common to
our frail, human nature I had immediately attached
myself to another and we rode together through the
long wearisome day. Although used to riding I had
not been on a horse for months. I was mounted on
a large, raw-boned horse with no saddle and only a
light blanket under me. It is not necessary to give
further particulars to convince the reader that the
ride was, to say the least, unpleasant. About 4 p. m.
we rode into a little station on the B. & O. railroad.
A train was about to leave which would take us still
farther away from trouble. The train was not made
up of Pullmans or even day coaches but we were in
a condition to welcome anything on wheels.
But the horses; we had been ordered to ride them
out of Winchester to save them from capture by the
Confederates. We had done so at considerable personal
suffering and we resolved that the sacrifice should
not be made in vain. So we led them up to the com¬
manding officer of the cavalry we had been following
through the day and turned them over to his tender
mercies. Then with lightened conscience we grasped
our guns, crawled on to a flat car and making ourselves
as comfortable as possible on the bare floor, we took
an inventory of the things we had to be thankful for
and let the other side go unbalanced. Within a few
days we were, with other refugees from Winchester,
in camp near the little town of Bath, Pa., where we
remained several weeks. On the afternoon of July
3rd, those of us who were beyond the noise of our
camp, could hear the roar of the guns that preceded
Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.
13
Recollections of a Corporal
I WAS in the service a year or more before I was
promoted to corporal. Company B was in a way
unfortunate in its corporals. They were as fine
men as ever faced a foe, but when it came to retreating
(and it seemed in the early part of our service that
it always came to that) they lacked speed. They
were continually falling into the hands of the enemy
and going to southern prisons, and leaving us to get
along as best we could without them. Our captain
evidently wanted a corporal who could be relied upon
to show up after the battle.
I think my promotion was due to the ability I had
shown in several retreats, in not only keeping out of
the hands of the enemy but in making myself doubly
safe by getting well up in the front of the procession.
My regiment, which was nearly all captured at Win¬
chester with Milroy, was exchanged and returned to
duty at Martinsburg, Va., where we spent the winter
of '63 and '64. It was during this winter that "Dan"
Husted, Harris Smith and myself availed ourselves
of the opportunity offered by the government to go
to Washington for examination for commissions in
colored regiments. We spent a few weeks in studying
tactics and overhauling and polishing up the job lot
of general information which we possessed, then we
went to Washington, and after a few anxious days of
"cramming" for the examination we went before
General Casey's board and much to our relief, passed
for modest positions.
15
We put in a few days seeing Washington, winding
up by attending a reception at the White House,
where we had the gratification of grasping the hand
and looking into the sad face of Abraham Lincoln,
and hearing his half-whispered greeting, "How do you
do?" We were to return to our regiment and serve
with it until our appointments should be sent to us.
Our campaign of 1864 was what might be called a
hummer. We started cut in April with General Siegel
in command. We moved up the valley by easy marches
to New Market where we met a Confederate force under
General Breckenridge, who had been hastily sent out
from Richmond with reinforcements for their army in
the valley. Siegel was not prepared for battle. For
some unaccountable reason only one brigade of his army
was at the front. The balance was miles in the rear.
We had a weak position. Our line was across the
bare face of a hill sloping away to the south. Far
beyond us, a half mile or more away, we could see the
rebel columns moving down another slope towards us.
They were in two lines, one behind the other, their
banners fluttering in the breeze and the shrill sound
of their "rebel yell" coming faintly to our ears.
Colonel Horace Kellogg, then major, was in command
of the regiment. He was a fine officer, brave and cool,
winning the love and respect of his men by always
looking after their comfort and welfare. He was
wounded later in the day and had his horse shot under
him. At this time he rode out in front of our line
and told us in very few words that he expected every
man to do his duty. The prospect ahead of us was
not encouraging and the colonel wisely thought that
a little advice of the "stand pat" order was needed.
As the rebel lines approached, our commander saw
the folly of our remaining in that unprotected position
to receive their charge, so, after giving them one
16
volley, we were ordered to fall back, which we did,
loading and firing as we went. We had no thought
that this meant defeat. It was Siegel's way of fight¬
ing, on a retreat. We thought it was a superior im¬
ported brand of strategy, seeming at the first whiff
very much like the common American variety we were
accustomed to, but we hoped before the battle was
over it would prove the undoing of the rebel hordes
who were yelling at our heels. We expected to find
somewhere in the rear the balance of our army in a
strong position, but our hopes were vain; everybody
seemed to be going our way. The retreat became
almost a rout and ended two or three days later when
we had reached the shores of Maryland. Siegel was
here relieved and the relief extended in a different
form to all of us.
General Hunter now took command of us, and in
the latter part of May we started out on the famous
Lynchburg raid. As a foretaste of things to come
we were ordered to carry scant rations and one hundred
and forty rounds of ammunition per man. One hot,
sultry day we had stopped a moment to rest. We
were tired and in bad humor. A staff officer riding
by, asked what troops those were. Quick as a flash
came the answer, "Troops? h—11! These ain't troops.
This is Hunter's ammunition train."
There was a break in the leaden sky of our military
horizon when we met a Confederate force at Piedmont
and in a short but bloody battle gained a complete
victory. But at Lynchburg it was the old, old story,
a force sent out from Richmond was too strong for
us and we were driven back.
Then began a retreat which made all of our former
ones seem like holiday excursions. We were hundreds
of miles from our base of supplies; our rations were
nearly gone. Of coffee we had an abundance, of
17
everything else nearly nothing. The country through
which we were to march was mostly mountainous and
barren. The way out was to be over the Alleghenies
through the White Sulphur Springs anil the wild
sparsely settled region of West Virginia to the Kanawha
River, where supplies would be sent to us. We were
nine days and nights getting through; we marched
night and day, stopping only when exhausted for one
or two hours' sleep then up and on again. It was a
march for rations—a contest between our endurance
and starvation or capture. Of order there was very
little. It was a go as you please, every man for him¬
self and the Confederate cavalry hanging at our rear
took the hindmost.
For the first few days we got small rations of beef
or mutton, such as could be gathered up in the country
through which we passed, but as we entered the barren
mountainous region such supplies ceased. On about
the fifth day out the last rations of any kind were is¬
sued. After that it was coffee, coffee, coffee. Hun¬
ger had its firm grip upon us. We were looking con¬
tinually for something to eat, scanning the bushes we
passed for hidden berries, and searching the deserted
houses along the way for morsels of food overlooked
by the equally hungry hordes that had passed before.
We slept as we marched until awakened by a misstep
or the jostling of a comrade. When we felt the need
of more coffee we would stop at one of the many little
fires burning by the roadside, dash a little coffee into
our cups, fill them with water of which there was an
abundance of the best, doze while it was heating over
the coals, then gulp it down and go on again.
Perhaps it was the effect of the coffee that numbed
my body so that I was nearly insensible to fatigue.
Climbing mountains even by well-beaten roads is
usually tiresome work, but I could go up as easily as
18
down. My legs seemed to work automatically. Some
good genii had taken charge of my powers of locomo¬
tion and relieved me of all effort. The first solid food,
if it might be called solid, that my companion and I
had eaten for days was a little fine bran which we
wet up with water, adding a little salt, and baked
over the coals.
We came out at Gauley bridge on the Kanawha
River. The scenery about there rivals that in the
Yellowstone Park, but the sight that impressed us
most was the six-mule teams loaded with provisions
which we found awaiting us. We remained there a
week then marched down to Charlestown, where we
were loaded onto boats, taken down the Kanawha to
the Ohio River, then up to Parkersburg. There we
were furnished special trains of elegant box cars fin¬
ished in natural wood, with the hardest of hard floors,
without seats, straw or other upholstering, and trans¬
ported back to Martinsburg, our starting point. The
round trip was said to be a thousand miles—I never
doubted it. One-half of it we had marched.
Taking advantage of our absence in West Virginia
the Confederate general, Early, had come down the
valley and was at this time threatening Washington
at Monocacy, Md. We were ordered to the rescue.
We were tired, ragged and dirty, but we braced up,
took another hitch in our belts and drove Early off
without much fighting. We followed him up the
Loudon valley to Snicker's gap. There somebody
blundered again and sent a part of our army across
the river to meet a superior force of the enemy. We
were driven back. As we reached the river on our
retreat "Dan" Husted, "Mike" Freund and one or
two other boys of the regiment who were with me
stopped behind a stone wall which butted down to
the river bank. Looking back over the narrow open
19
field we had just crossed, we saw the rebel line of
battle coming out upon it from a timber lot beyond.
A few rods in front of the line rode the commanding
officer. To all appearance he was the coolest man
I ever saw on a battle field. He had his sword in
one hand and his bridle rein held loosely in the other.
As he rode he turned easily in his saddle from side
to side, waving his sword to his men to urge them on
but they evidently needed but little urging from the
amount of yelling they were doing. The officer's
horse was as cool as his rider. He walked along at a
moderate gait, showing no more excitement than he
would if he were being ridden down to the river to
water. The stone wall in front of us made a fine
breastwork and as we stood behind it, we tried to
pick the officer off his horse. He was within easy
musket range but we could not get him. He seemed
to bear a charmed life. I have been thankful many
times in later years that we failed. We remained
there as long as we dared, then turning, we plunged
into the river. Before we were half way across, the
rebels were on the bank taking pot shots at us and
with the bullets spatting the water all about us, we
waded to the other shore. Many of our men were
killed in the river as we were fording it. Lieutenant
Williams and Henry Stultz, of Company B, were
among the number. Lieutenant Williams was a
genial, whole-souled man, loved by all who knew him.
He was a fine singer and always joined us in singing
the old war songs when on the march.
We moved back to Harper's Ferry, where we
were allowed a much-needed rest. We exchanged
our rags for new clothing and washed off successive
layers of dirt in the blue waters of the Shenandoah.
Hunter was relieved and Sheridan placed in com¬
mand of us.
20
It is a long lane that has no turning. Ours had
thus far led us through the valley of defeat and humili¬
ation; but we had reached the turning. Under our
fearless leader it was now to lead up from victory to
victory until Early's army should be completely wiped
out and campaigning in the beautiful valley of the
Shenadoah a thing of the past. Sheridan put his
army in the best possible fighting condition, and on
the nineteenth day of September he met Early at
Opequan, and before night he wrote his dispatch to
Grant: "Sent the enemy whirling through Winches¬
ter." We followed them up and next found them in
a strong position at Fisher's Hill, but the skill and
energy of Sheridan soon routed them, and this time
they retreated on straight lines; they did not have
time to whirl. We followed the remains as far as
Harrisburg, then we returned leisurely to Cedar Creek.
Early, having new life injected into his army by rein¬
forcements, came back and lay quietly watching us
at a safe distance.
Several weeks previous to this I had received my
appointment of second lieutenant in the 19th United
States Colored Troops, then in front of Petersburg.
I had waited for an order for discharge from my regi¬
ment before leaving it. The order reached me here.
On the morning of the eighteenth of October, with
my discharge in my pocket, I bade my comrades
good-bye and journeyed by ambulance to Martinsburg.
The next morning when I awoke I could hear the roar
of the guns up the valley at Cedar Creek. Early
was making his famous attack on our sleeping army,
and "Sheridan twenty miles away," but history tells
us that he got there.
The proper thing for me to do that morning was
to take the first train east to Washington, thence by
boat down the Potomac to City Point, and then on
21
to my destination. Was it the sound of the guns
back there at Cedar Creek that revived the germs of
that old retreating mania of mine, or was it the fact
that I was for the time being not a soldier but a citizen
of the United States, and as such, possessed the in¬
alienable right to "liberty and the pursuit of happi¬
ness" which is supposed to belong to the privilege?
Quien sabe?
What I did was to take the first train west and
never stop until I had reached my home in Ohio.
How I enjoyed the golden October days with my
parents on the old farm, and the fried chicken and
pumpkin pie which my mother set before me. Per¬
haps my stolen leave of absence added to the sweet¬
ness of it all. I remained at home long enough to
cast my first ballot for Abraham Lincoln, then I hur¬
ried away to new scenes and new duties.
22
Recollections of a Lieutenant with the
Colored Troops in the Last Months
of the Civil War.
IN the afternoon of a dull cheerless day in No¬
vember, 1864,1 climbed on board a freight train
at City Point, Va. This place was then the head¬
quarters of General Grant and the base of supplies for
that part of the Army of the Potomac operating about
Petersburg. The train was made up of open and
box cars and loaded with every conceivable thing
needed by an army, from horses to hard tack. The
road was a temporary military affair, built for the
most part without grading or ballast. It lay in the
rear of our line of earthworks and for a part of the
way was in range of the enemies' guns.
I had an appointment in my pocket of second lieu¬
tenant in the Nineteenth U. S. Colored Troops then
in front of Petersburg and I was on my way, a stranger
in a strange army, to join my command. Nearing
my destination I gladly left my uncomfortable seat
on a cracker box and began my search for my regi¬
ment. I soon found it and going to the headquarters
tent my rap on the flap was answered by a "Come in."
Seated at a desk was a grave, dignified looking officer
whom I subsequently found to be Major Knorr then
in command of the regiment. I introduced myself
and with some fear and trepidation produced my
papers. I had consumed nearly a month's time in
making my way from Sheridan's army at Cedar Creek
to the Army of the Potomac, a journey that could
have been accomplished in about forty-eight hours.
It came about through my taking a train on the B. & O.
railroad at Martinsburg, Va., which was going in
23
the wrong direction and which finally landed me at a
station in northern Ohio which by a happy coincidence
was near my home.
The major looked over my papers very carefully
and then asked me in a very severe tone what I had
been doing since the 18th day of October. I informed
him that I had thought a change of climate and diet
would be beneficial to me and that I had been at my
home in Ohio. I was much relieved when the major
told me with a tone of regret that under the
circumstances nothing could be done with me for the
unwarrantable liberty I had taken, as I could not be
mustered into the regiment until there was a vacancy,
which would not occur for several days. Surely the
luck which had thus far saved me from death, wound,
or capture had not deserted me.
The Nineteenth Regiment of U. S. Colored Troops
had been in the service about one year. Its officers
were mostly men who had seen hard service in the
regiments of many of the northern states and were of
the best material from the rank and file of those regi¬
ments. The men had been recruited in Maryland
and Virginia and the greater number of them had been
slaves. The regiment had been in the affair of the
mine at Petersburg and had lost many men and officers
killed and wounded. It was because of such loss
among the officers that I and others later were sent
to the regiment.
I was introduced to one of the line officers who
took me to his quarters. The news that there was a
recruit in camp soon became known and many officers
came in to see me, among them two from Ohio. They
all seemed to realize my friendless and homeless con¬
dition and I was made to feel that I should not lack
for either. In a few days promotions were made in
the regiment which created a vacancy and I was again
24
mustered into the service. Within an hour after I
had again become a soldier in Uncle Sam's army I
was ordered to report for duty to Colonel Dempey of
the Twenty-third U. S. Colored Troops which was
in the same brigade with the Nineteenth.
I regretted to leave my new-found friends and go
again among strangers but there was no alternative.
The Twenty-third was in desperate need of officers,
which naturally suggests the reason of an inexperienced
second lieutenant such as I, being sent to it. I was
immediately placed in command of a company and
coolly informed that I was to have it in line for dress
parade in half an hour. For a few moments the
glamour of wearing shoulder straps and carrying a
sword lost all its charm for me and I longed to go
back to the simple life of a high private. In my old
regiment I held the rank of sixth or seventh corporal,
a position which did not inspire any great amount of
awe or respect in the mind of the average volunteer
in the sixties. My experience in handling men had
been limited to two or three files on picket or guard
duty and orders from a corporal were generally put
in the mild form of requests. To be transformed
at one jump from such a modest position to the com¬
mand of a company on dress parade gave me a severe
jolt, but I recovered sufficiently to tell the first ser¬
geant to form the company for parade. Then I went
into the vacant officers' tent and while brushing up
and buckling on my new sword for the first time, I
ran over and over again in my mind the orders neces¬
sary to give, to get that company into line for parade
and back to quarters. My luck did not desert me and I
got through the ordeal without any very noticeable blun¬
ders, not even getting tangled up in my sword scabbard.
The men of the Twenty-third Regiment had been
assigned to companies according to their height.
25
My company was composed of the smallest men in
the regiment. They were bright, quick-witted little
fellows, eager to learn and quite proud of their per¬
sonal appearance. When lined up for dress parade or
inspection with shoes and belts blackened, guns and
metals polished and spotless white gloves they looked
well. They were quick and prompt in executing
orders and the officer who had the vim and energy
to get them enthused in their work had reason to be
proud of the results.
I found the deference and obedience which they
showed their officers quite a contrast to the democratic
form of government which prevailed in most of
the volunteer regiments. I came to like my service
with them much better than I had expected. I was
the proverbial new broom and got the best work out
of the little fellows I knew how. I succeeded so well
that in a prize drill among the companies of the regi¬
ment which occurred about a month later my company
stood second from the top; of which I, a green second
lieutenant, felt reasonably proud.
Within a short time we moved to the right, relieving
a white regiment on the Bermuda Hundred front, where
General Ben Butler at one time said in a letter to the
authorities at Washington that he was "bottled up."
We moved one morning into the spacious winter quar¬
ters left for us and a little later when I was eating my
dinner in the log kitchen and dining-room left me by my
fastidious predecessor and was congratulating myself on
my inheritance, a shell from the enemies' guns struck one
corner of it, ruined the building and spoiled my dinner.
Taking it altogether, our stay of a month or six
weeks in this camp which at first sight seemed so in¬
viting proved to be rather uncomfortable. Scarcely
a night passed that there was not some disturbance
on the picket line which called us out from under
26
our warm blankets to line up behind the earthworks
and shiver for an hour or two until things quieted
down. But the picket duty was the most unpleasant
of all. The lines on our front ran through an open,
level field and were very near together, within hailing
distance. The line consisted of a string of pits 75 or
100 feet apart, dug two or three feet deep and large
enough to protect five or six men. The dirt was
thrown up in a sharp ridge cn the side towards the
enemy and a head log placed on top of it. Under
the log holes were punched for the rifles. There
had been a truce between the white troops we relieved
and the Johnnies and there was no firing on the picket
line, but when the colored boys appeared there was
music in the air. The rebels had no love for us and
they shot at every head they saw and we did the same
unto them and did it first when we could. We could
only move about on the line after dark unless we
cared to take the chances of a dash from one hole to
another. On account of this unpleasantness on the
line the pickets had to be relieved at night. It was
on this line that Major Frank Holsinger was wounded
in the right forearm rendering it practically useless
for most purposes except drawing a pension. He
says it never fails him there.
One night I had gone on picket duty without taking
my dinner for the next day. I had a bright colored
boy for a striker and the brave little fellow started
out of his own accord the next day about noon to
bring my dinner to me. I saw him when he came
through the gap in the abatis and motioned for him
to go back but he had ideas of his own and continued
to come on. He was now in sight of the Johnnies and
the cowardly brutes began shooting at the little un¬
armed boy. He got within about 50 yards of me when
he fell and lay perfectly still. I thought he was dead
27
and the rebels evidently thought so too for they stopped
firing at him. I could not go to him without running
foolhardy risks and he lay there through the long
afternoon without making a move that I could de¬
tect. As soon as it was dark I went to him and found
him very much alive. He had been wounded in the
ankle but it was not very serious. He had played
possum all of the afternoon to save himself from the
chance of being hit again.
About the highest degree of misery was a stormy
day on that picket line. At night we could move
about and keep warm, but in daylight we had to sit
in the pits with our feet in snow or water and wish
for something to happen, no matter what; we were
confident it would be for the better. When we were
ordered to leave this line and move still farther to
the right, we did it without regret. This time we
crossed the James River to Chapin's farm, where we
went into camp well back in the rear of our line. Here
we were kept busy with drill parades and reviews, but
no picket duty or other disagreeable service.
In March many of the veteran regiments on our
lines in front of Richmond were ordered to the left
where the final struggle between the two armies was
soon to take place. Weitzel's corps, in which were
most of the colored troops in the Army of the Potomac,
held the lines on the right.
On the second day of April we moved into our works
directly in front of Richmond. Our orders were to
charge the rebel lines in front of us at daylight the
next morning. The prospect was not pleasing. Those
lines were as strong as their best engineers could make
them. The best troops in our army had tried to take
them and failed. Could we expect to do better?
There was no sound of revelry in our camp that night.
As we rolled up in our blankets we thought it might
28
be for the last time for many of us. It was not given
us then to know that Sheridan had defeated Pickett
at Five Forks the day before and that while we slept
Lee was evacuating Richmond.
We were in line the next morning at daybreak,
but when we went over our works and crossed the
intervening space between the lines, not a shot was
fired. The rebel lines were deserted. We picked
our way carefully among the thickly planted torpedoes,
each marked with a little red tab, in front of the fort,
climbed over the earthworks and among the strangely
silent guns. , Then we began to realize with devout
thankfulness that this was the beginning of the end,
and the beautiful sunrise which followed seemed like
the dawn of peace. We marched into Richmond,
through its deserted streets lined with silent homes
with closed doors and darkened windows. Fire was
raging in many parts of the city when we entered it.
Our troops were trying to prevent its progress. We
crossed the river near the old Libby prison and went
into camp at Manchester.
Our active part in the drama of the Civil War was
over. We remained in Manchester until long after
the surrender of Lee and Johnston. The victorious
northern army returned to home and friends, but the
colored troops were destined to see many more months
of service. In June we were ordered to Brownsville,
Texas, on the border of Mexico. Napoleon III., through
the ill-fated Maximilian, had attempted the conquest
of Mexico while Uncle Sam had been busy with domes¬
tic affairs. Now that his hands were free, he advised
Napoleon to withdraw his troops at a certain date,
and our Twenty-fifth Army Corps under Major
General Godfrey Weitzel was to be on the north banks
of the Rio Grande to see that the order was obeyed.
29
On the Mexican Border at the
Close of the Civil War
IN JUNE, 1865, after the close of the Civil War, the
Twenty-fifth Army Corps, commanded by Major
General Godfrey Weitzel, was ordered to Browns¬
ville, Texas. In the corps were nearly all of the colored
troops in the Army of the Potomac. We went on
board transports at City Point or Fortress Monroe,
and after a pleasant and uneventful voyage down the
Atlantic coast and across the gulf we landed at Brazos
de Santiago, near the mouth of the Rio Grande River,
about July first. We marched up the river to Browns¬
ville, a distance of about twenty miles.
Brownsville, which a few years ago came into
the lime-light through being "shot up" by some re¬
fractory colored troops, was then a straggling, unpre¬
tentious town without a single pleasant redeeming
feature. The buildings were low, and dingy with
age and dirt. The better ones were built of sun-dried
brick, and from these they ranged downward to the
adobes with thatched roofs and earthen floors. The
streets were unpaved, dirty and treeless. The only
water supply was the river. The river was very crook¬
ed and rapid, with banks continually caving, which
made the water very muddy. The only "water
wagons" known then were barrels with a spike or
gudgeon in either end. To these, ropes were attached
and they were rolled about the streets by men who
31
were called barreleros. They sold water to those
who chose to buy rather than go to the river for it.
The inhabitants were mostly Mexicans, the lower
clasp being called "greasers." There were also many
Americans and a few of other nationalities. Spanish
was the prevailing dialect. There was less of crime
and extreme disorderly conduct than would be ex¬
pected in a town where regulation and restraint were
unknown, situated as it was on the border where des¬
perate characters of two nations would naturally
congregate. Probably the presence of United States
troops had a restraining effect and we did not see it
at its worst. But murders were of frequent occur¬
rence. One of our officers, a surgeon from northern
Ohio, was shot from his horse in the outskirts of Browns¬
ville. If there was any civil authority in the com¬
munity it never made itself manifest in the punish¬
ment of crime. If the dead body of a native was
found by the road-side a little wooden cross would be
erected in a mound of stones upon the spot and the
incident would be closed.
The writer once visited an officer who was stationed
some ways back from the river. He showed me a
spot in a dense chaparral, where, in a little cleared
space, were the remains of a camp-fire. Strewn about
upon the ground were empty cans and broken bottles.
At one side, dangling from a small tiee, hung two
horsehair ropes. Underneath the ropes lay the grin¬
ning skulls and bones of two men, all mute evidence
of an unlawful execution and a drunken carousal.
The ordinary Mexican, no matter whether he was
eating, dancing, gambling or riding (they never walk¬
ed), always carried one or two large revolvers, and
perhaps a knife, strapped about him below his short
jacket and bright colored banda which was wound
about his waist. The men were not given to quarrels
32
or drunken carousals, or murders would have been
more frequent with the means of committing them
always at hand.
Across the river from Brownsville was the city of
Matamoras, Mexico. The city lay a mile or more
back from the river. Hacks were always waiting at
the river bank to convey passengers to the city. We
crossed frequently, taking delight in rambling about
the sleepy old town. The city may have contained
at that time twelve or fifteen thousand inhabitants.
How they lived was a mystery to us. There seemed
to be very little business going on. All days were
alike and they all seemed like Sunday to a northern
man. The city lay in the midst of an arid, treeless
plain upon which nothing grew to support man or
beast except a little scanty grass. The only means
of communication with the interior was a wagon-road.
At the river there were no wharves to suggest com¬
merce with other nations.
The only solution of the problem as to how they
existed with so little exertion was the fact that they
lived and dressed simply. Their wants were few
and easily satisfied. Though their warm climate
robbed them of energy and ambition it made some
compensation by lessening their needs, and they
seemed contented and happy.
In the center of the city was a large square or plaza.
On three sides of this fronted the principal business
houses. The fourth side was occupied by a cathedral
and its grounds. The cathedral, built of sun-dried
brick, was quite imposing in appearance and was
scarred from base to turret by the bullets and other
missiles hurled at its defenders in the many insurrec¬
tions which had taken place since its erection.
Our army on the Mexican border was styled "an
army of observation." During the progress of our
33
Civil War Maximilian, aided by French troops furnished
by Napoleon III., had undertaken the conquest of
Mexico. When our war was over and our government
had leisure to attend to matters other than domestic,
the four years' accummulation of dust and cobwebs
was brushed off the Monroe doctrine and it was pre¬
sented to the French emperor for inspection, with
the advice that he withdraw his troops from Mexico
on or before January 1st, 1866. This he readily
promised to do, and our "army of observation" was
to see that he did it. In those days diplomacy had
not reached its present state of perfection, or the pres¬
ence of our army on the border would have been osten¬
sibly for the purpose of "maneuvers" but at that time
we had quite enough of war and we did not care to
play the game just for exercise or amusement.
The French troops took their departure from Mexico
on schedule time, and as we had nothing further to
"observe" and it seemed to be the intention of the
government to keep us on the border until the ex¬
piration of our time, January 1st, 1867, we pro¬
ceeded to make the best of a not altogether unpleasant
situation and get all the pleasure we could out of it.
Our military duties were light, simply looking after
the wants of our men and keeping them under fair
discipline. Drills and parades were a thing of the past
for us who were only waiting for the time of our en¬
listment to expire. The object of our enlistment, viz:
the suppression of the rebellion, had been satisfac¬
torily accomplished, and after four years of hard ser¬
vice we felt that we were entitled to a little respite.
In the spring of 1866 our regiment, the Nineteenth
United States Colored Troops, was distributed by com¬
panies at stations below and above Brownsville. The
headquarters of the regiment were at Edinburg, seventy
miles above. Other stations were at Santa Maria and
34
Rancho Blanco. Edinburg was a small town of no im¬
portance. Across the river from it lay old Reynosa.} It
was a strange old ruin. At one time it had evidently
been quite a city; now, except in one small quarter where
some very nice people still lived, it was entirely de¬
serted. The thatched roofs of the buildings had fallen
in and the walls, built of some concrete material that
whitened with age, stood erect and ghostly, like tomb¬
stones, lacking only inscriptions to tell the story of
their former occupants. We often had our horses
ferried across the river to ride about the deserted streets
and wonder what had been the fate of those who had
once lived in the ruined homes.
The instinct, whether^ offensive or defensive, which
caused the men on the border to always go heavily
armed, seemed to pervade all plant, reptile and insect
life about us. All plants, from the prickly pear cactus,
which grew in great clumps on the open ranges, down
to the smallest, were armed with thorns. Even the
attractive red berries of the useful chille collorado,
if carelessly bitten into, would bring tears into a man's
eyes and hot impressions and expressions to his mouth
until it cooled down to normal. The reptiles and
insects were nearly all armed with poisonous bites or
stings, from the rattlesnakes down to centipedes.
The horned toads were the exception which made the
rule good but they made up in hideousness what they
lacked in venom, their speckled bodies being covered
with horns. We had learned that it was wise to shake
out our blankets at night before crawling into them,
to warn the lizards and scorpions which were frequently
beneath them, that there was about to be a change of
occupants. Rattlesnakes and tarantulas were com¬
mon and were often found in our quarters. A lieu¬
tenant who had a penchant for wearing high-top
boots, in drawing them on one morning thought one
35
of them seemed heavy. Turning it bottom side up
a rattler dropped between his feet. It was an inter¬
esting place to live. The poet who wrote that "Every
prospect pleases and only man is vile," had some other
locality in mind at the time. But it had its compensa¬
tions for us. The heat of the summer days was in¬
tense, but with the setting sun came a cool breeze
from the gulf, which made the evenings delightful.
On moonlight nights we would make up a gay party
of officers and start out with the four-mule ambulance
to attend a fandango, due notice of which had been
given us. A ride of ten or fifteen miles to attend one
of these dances only added zest to the occasion. The
dusky, dark-eyed senoritas, always under the watchful
eyes of their chaperons, managed to make us under¬
stand in mute ways, purely feminine, that the presence
of the "Americano officials" on these occasions was
pleasing to them. Flirtations with the senoritas were
carried on under difficulties. The first obstacle was
the chaperon; the next was their utter ignorance of
the English language and our limited knowledge of
Spanish. It was very discouraging but we soon
learned their dances and made the best of a situation
which offered great possibilities if the obstacles had
been removed.
A fandango under full swing was an interesting
sight to us. They were always held out in the open,
generally in a cleared space surrounded by chaparral.
In the center of the space was the dancing ground,
for they had no floors when dancing outdoors.
Around the dancers was a circle of rude seats for the
senoritas. Outside of the circle of seats several gam¬
bling tables would be in operation surrounded by a
crowd of men eagerly watching the fall of the cards.
The ground was lighted by lanterns. The music was
always a bass drum and a clarionet. The clarionet
36
had. frequently to stop for breath, but the drum kept
up the perfect time and all went merrily. All was
conducted very quietly. Except for the noise of the
drum and an occasional call from the dancing floor of
"Uno-no-mas" when a couple was needed to fill out
a set, there was no noise above ordinary conversation.
There was but little drinking and no disorderly con¬
duct. The senoritas were neatly dressed, quiet and
demure. The men wore their wide sombreros and
a full equipment of revolvers, knives and spurs. The
Mexicans were fine dancers, easy and graceful in every
move, no matter whether they were dancing on the
ground or a polished floor. Their waltzing was the
very poetry of motion and could no more be compared
to the waltz and two-step of the present day than
the uncertain gyrations of a "devil chaser" to the
graceful sweep of a rocket.
Our jolly party would return to camp in the wee
small hours of the night, singing with more noise than
melody "The Battle of the Nile," with its monotonous
reiteration that "we were there all the while," or "John
Brown's Body" or that other John Brown who "had
a little Injun" but generally winding up with "Home
Sweet Home," as our tents showed up in the moonlight.
Our colonel, who, by the way, had relatives in
Norwalk and was quite well known there before the
war, was a talented, eccentric genius as full of vagaries
as a March wind. While we were at Edinburg he
conceived the idea of organizing a band. He selected
his musicians from among the colored boys of the
regiment. We got together all the instruments at
hand that went by wind or muscle, capping or rather
ballasting them all with a huge triangle which re¬
quired two men to carry and manipulate. We raised
a liberal band fund and hired a handsome young
Mexican for a conductor. When it pleased our colonel
37
to order the band out for parade it was ail exhibition
never to be forgotten. Among the instruments the
clarionets predominated, and as they gave forth a raw,
squawky sound the effect was similar to the flight of
a flock of huge and unknown species of birds through
our camp. They had learned to play several Mexican
airs and were progressing finely when our handsome
Mexican conductor ran away with another man's wife
and all of our funds he could lay his hands on, and the
band collapsed.
In return for the many courtesies shown us by our
Mexican friends along the river, the officers of the Nine¬
teenth gave a dance at Edinburg to which they were all
invited. We served light refreshments, which was an
unusual custom among the natives. The writer started
to pass a plate well filled with assorted candies to the
senoritas. The first one I approached, a pretty, black-
eyed damsel from the Mexican side of the river, looked
at the plate uncertainly for a moment, then taking
it from me she deftly dumped the contents into her
lap, returning the plate with a smile and "Mucho
gracias, SenorThe situation was too much for
me. Veteran though I was I acknowledged myself
whipped and beat a hasty retreat.
In October, 1866, the Nineteenth Regiment was again
assembled at Brownsville. In a few days after our
arrival I was sent to the hospital for a two months'
siege with typhoid fever. At that time there was one
of the usual insurrections going on at or near Mata-
moras. Our hospital tents were on the bank of the
river, and in my convalescent days I could sit under
the awning and look across fairly between the lines
of their so-called armies. It was a novel situation for
us to be spectators of a fight in which we had no part
or interest, but it would have been much more inter¬
esting if there had been more noise and action on
38
their part. They had no artillery and their fighting
lacked dash and vigor to make it spectacular. They
fought very much as they worked, and the casualties
were few and mostly accidental. We used to think
it was no wonder that insurrections were common in
Mexico when they could be carried on with so little
risk and exertion.
On the fifteenth day of January, 1867, our regiment
was mustered out at Brownsville and we gladly turned
our faces towards home.
39
18 6 4
The Mansion by the Spring.
I
THE BLINDING rays of the noonday sun were
pouring down upon the dusty pike. The shim¬
mering waves of heat danced over the brown
fields until they were lost to view in the shade of the
evergreens which clothed the sides of the mountains.
A troop of Federal cavalry had halted at a wayside
watering place. They had been riding at a smart
trot for two hours, and the men and horses, half choked
with heat and dust, were crowding about the large
spring and the long stone trough through which the
overflow ran, eagerly quenching their thirst with the
pure, cold water.
The lieutenant in command of the troop had been
among the first to refresh himself at the spring. He
had bathed his face in the trough where the horses
were drinking, had shaken himself free from the dust
of the road, and he now stood in the shade of a large
tree near the spring, his cap in one hand, his bridle
rein in the other, while his horse nibbled the scanty
grass at his feet. He watched with satisfaction his
men and horses as they gulped down the cold water,
and listened with amusement to the remarks of the
tired troopers, one of whom was cursing the day that
he enlisted and consigning the man who induced him
to do it, to a place supposed to be much hotter than
the surrounding temperature. His comrades, who
knew the man to be one of the best soldiers in the troop,
always the first into danger and the last out, greeted
the remark with shouts of laughter as they began to
feel the refreshing effects of the cold water.
41
The lieutenant told his sergeant that they would
stop there a short time for dinner. A strong guard
was sent a mile up the pike, and of the men detailed
to watch while their comrades rested, none came for¬
ward more willingly than the man who had cursed
the day he enlisted. Videttes were posted at other
points where danger might lie in wait. These things
attended to, the saddle girths were loosened, the horses
given their oats in the nose bags, while the men made
coffee and ate their lunch from the contents of their
haversacks.
The time was August, 1862. The troop belonged to
a regiment of Vermont cavalry. The place was the
beautiful valley of the Shenandoah, fifteen miles above
Winchester.
The lieutenant commanding the troop, Charles
Brownell, had been sent out to look for a company of
Confederate cavalry commanded by Captain Harry
Faulkner, a somewhat noted raider. He was supposed
to be in the vicinity of Fisher's Hill or Cedar Creek.
It was the lieutenant's first experience in command
of a scouting party, but he looked to be equal to the
responsibility placed upon him. He was six feet in
height, broad shouldered, had an honest grey eye, an
open, sunny face, and, except on rare occasions, a
cheery word and smile for every one. He was a native
of Vermont, a graduate from an eastern college, had
studied law, and was about to begin its practice when
Lincoln's first call for troops changed his plans. He
enlisted for one year in a Vermont regiment of infantry,
and was discharged at the end of that time. His fond¬
ness for horses induced him to try the cavalry arm
of the service. An application to the governor of
his state brought a promise of a commission provided
he enlisted a certain number of men. These were
soon secured among the green hills of his boyhood
42
home. He received his commission, joined his legi-
ment and had done his part so well in helping to make
it a credit to his state that his colonel had given him
command of this expedition, to see, as he said, "what
stuff there was in the young fellow."
Opposite the spring, a short distance west from the
pike, stood a fine old brick mansion of the typical
southern style, a broad veranda extending around three
sides. In the rear of the mansion were the neatly
whitewashed negro cabins, and off to the left the barns
and outhouses.
The spacious lawn between the spring and the man¬
sion was dotted with large, beautiful shade trees.
Under these the tired troopers had led their horses to
munch their oats, some of the men improving the op¬
portunity to stretch themselves out on their backs
and catch a wink of sleep while a comrade was boiling
the coffee at the little fire kindled by the roadside.
The lieutenant, after seeing that his orders were all
carried out, walked up the broad gravel path to the
mansion. The front door was open. The heavy
brass knocker, being somewhat out of reach, he rapped
lightly on the casing. There was no one in sight and
while awaiting an answer to his summons he turned,
and with a look and action which showed that he real¬
ized the responsibility resting upon him, he closely
scanned the road and horizon to the south. Far
away, rising sharp against the background of Massa-
nutton Mountain, he saw a cloud of dust. He took
out his field glass and watched it intently until he
was satisfied that it was moving in his direction. He
was speculating upon what might be the cause of it,
when he was brought back to himself by a voice At
his elbow which showed rather poorly suppressed
anger.
"Do you wish to see me?"
43
He turned and found himself facing a tall, beautiful
and very indignant young lady. She was dressed in
white, with a single rosebud at her throat. Her fluffy,
reddish brown hair and peachbloom cheeks framed
the brightest pair of dark brown eyes that the young
man had ever seen. She stood aggressively near him
on the threshold of the door, which brought her eyes
on a level with his own, and they were flashing daggers
at him, each pointed with an interrogation as to why
he and his blue-coated followers were trespassing upon
her premises.
The beautiful apparition quite took the lieutenant's
breath away and rendered him speechless and motion¬
less for a moment. Before he could collect his senses,
doff his cap and make his bow she said:
"If you have any business here I wish you would
make it known. I am very busy."
He was now getting used to the dazzling brightness
of those eyes and his mind began to return to its nor¬
mal condition. His grey eyes, with a shadow of amuse¬
ment in them, looked squarely into hers as he said,
"I am sorry to take up so much of your time, but
I felt that I ought to apologize for trespassing as we
have upon your grounds."
"You need make no apology. We are so accus¬
tomed to being run over by the Yankee hordes that
we have become hardened to it."
The smile in the lieutenant's eyes deepened a little
as he said,
"The persecution does not seem to have left any
visible impression upon you."
"If my wrath was altogether visible it might impress
you."
"Then it is fortunate for me that you have it so
well under control. I am quite overcome as it is.
I judge from your manner that you are not in sym-
44
pathy with the Northern soldiers. If so you would
probably object to letting me know whether there
have been any Confederate troops in this vicinity
within a day or two."
"Your judgment does you great credit. It is slow
but correct. You will do well to cultivate it. All
it lacks is speed."
"Thank you," said the lieutenant with a good-
natured laugh. "I will make a memorandum of that."
Turning to the south and pointing to the cloud of
dust which was now perceptibly nearer, he said,
"Would you tell me what you think is the probable
cause of that cloud of dust?"
She looked intently at it for a moment and the
lieutenant saw the defiant gleam in those brown eyes
change to one of hope and exultation.
"It may be stock that is being driven down to Tum¬
bling River to water."
"Yes, it may be, but it is more likely to be a company
of Confederate cavalry moving this way."
The girl made no reply.
"We shall be here only a short time, but while we
remain I will place a guard at the barn to see that
your property is not molested."
"Oh, it will not be necessary for you to put yourself
to that trouble," said she, showing for the first time a
disposition to unbend. "We have but little to tempt
anyone and we are used to taking care of ourselves."
"I have no doubt that you are quite capable of
doing it, but you will not be compelled to put it to
the test while we are here. You may have a good
saddle horse in the barn. If so I will see that it re¬
mains there until after we are gone."
Lifting his cap he bade her good-day and quickly
returned to his command.
45
The guard was stationed at the barn and orders
were given to bring in any one seen leaving the mansion.
The men were ordered to be prepared to move at a
moment's notice. A scout who was accompanying the
expedition came in, saying that a company of Confeder¬
ate cavalry was but a few miles away and approaching
rapidly.
The sergeant, with twenty men, was sent up the
pike some distance, where a turn in the road would
prevent their being seen by the Confederates. They
were to offer only sufficient resistance to put the enemy
on their mettle, then they were to retreat, drawing
the Confederates after them.
The balance of the command under the lieutenant
left the pike a short distance south of the mansion,
where a by-road led out into some brushy second-
growth timber which would conceal them from the
enemy.
The lieutenant had been waiting in this position
but a short time when one of his men brought in a
colored boy. On being questioned the boy said his
name was George Washington and that he belonged
to Colonel Fairchild back here at the big house. When
asked why he was sneaking through the woods he
said "Miss Sally" sent him.
"George," said the lieutenant,"wheie were you going?"
"I—I was just going up the pike a little ways,
Colonel."
"Who were you going to see?"
"I—I couldn't tell you dat, Colonel."
"Why not?"
"Cause Miss Sally said I mustn't."
"George, give me that note your mistress gave you."
"Oh, no, Colonel, I couldn't do dat, suah."
"See here, George, I will tie you up by the thumbs
in one minute if you don't give up that note."
46
The lieutenant took out his watch and turned his
back to George to hide a smile which did not look
very threatening. One half minute passed and George
produced the note, a very dainty one, sealed with a
red wafer and addressed in a neat, girl's hand to Cap¬
tain Harry Faulkner.
The lieutenant looked at the note a moment with
longing eyes, then putting it in his book placed it
carefully in his pocket.
"George, I want you to stay with me for a little
while, and when I see your mistress again I'll say a
good word for you."
Whether there was any attraction down the pike
for Captain Harry Faulkner other than the chance of
meeting a Federal scouting party, we can only surmise.
He was certainly making good time and the lieutenant
did not have long to wait before the rattle of the car¬
bines told that the sergeant was getting in his work.
An anxious fifteen minutes passed before the clatter
of hoofs and the well known rebel yell showed that the
sergeant was retreating with the Confederates in full
cry at his heels.
The lieutenant turned to his men and said in a quiet
voice, "Follow me, boys, and keep together. Empty
your revolvers first and then give them the saber."
The rear of the Confederate column had barely
cleared the by-road before the lieutenant's men were
upon them. When the Confederates found that they
had a foe behind them they turned at the spring to
beat them off. The fighting for the next fifteen min¬
utes was fast and furious. The lieutenant's men
were outnumbered and the fight seemed to be going
against them, but the sergeant, finding that his pursuers
were falling back, wheeled his men and came charging
in upon the Confederates with a rush that they could
47
not withstand. Their leader was wounded and they
broke and scattered in every direction. Many threw
down their arms and surrendered.
The wounded were brought into the shade of a large
tree near the spring and first helps given to all, both
friend and foe. A courier was sent to Winchester
for a surgeon, ambulances and such supplies as were
needed for the wounded.
These things attended to, the lieutenant again pre¬
sented himself at the door of the mansion. The young
lady answered his summons this time with dilated
eyes and pale cheeks.
"Miss Fairchild, I am sorry to have to inform you
that Captain Faulkner is wounded. His wound is
painful but I think not very serious. I thought you
might want to have him brought to the house. There
are also a number of other seriously wounded men
who ought to be cared for at once. If you have a
room that you can convert into a hospital until to¬
morrow morning I can then get them to Winchester."
"Bring them in at once," said the girl in a low voice.
"I will do all I can for them."
As she was turning away the lieutenant handed
her the note addressed to Captain Harry Faulkner,
saying, "I took this from your boy George. He was
in no way to blame for giving it up. I hope you will
not reprimand him."
She took the note, turned it over and looked at the
unbroken seal. Regarding the lieutenant a moment
with a grave look of surprise in her eyes, she turned
away.
The wounded were brought into the house and
everything possible was done for their comfort by
their comrades and the young girl, who assumed
charge of all and seemed suddenly transformed into
a brave, skillful nurse.
48
Captain Faulkner was placed in a room by himself
aDd his wound found to be a fracture of the left arm
and a badly bruised knee, caused by the fall of his
horse.
Among the mortally wounded was a boyhood friend
of the lieutenant. He realized that he had but a short
time to live. The lieutenant bent over him, heart¬
broken at the poor boy's condition.
"I want to send a few words to Mother," said the
boy. Will you write them for me?"
The lieutenant took out his note book and pencil.
An effort to raise his right hand brought a look of
pain to his face. Miss Fairchild was near, and hand¬
ing her the book and explaining the boy's request, he
asked her to write. She readily consented, though
with a somewhat surprised, inquiring look at the lieu¬
tenant. They bent over the boy to take his dying
words, and when it was done he thanked the girl with
a faint smile upon his face, then, with a whispered
good-bye to the lieutenant, he was gone.
They arose and looked at him a moment with tear-
dimmed eyes, when the girl bent over him, crossed
his hands upon his breast, and placing her lace-bordered
handkerchief over his face, turned away. Returning
to the room a few moments later she was surprised
to see the boy's face covered with a gentleman's light
silk handkerchief. She raised one corner of it—her
own was gone. Stepping out upon the porch she
saw the lieutenant sitting in a chair with some of
his men about him, one of whom was supporting his
head. Inquiry showed that he had fallen heavily
into the chair and immediately become unconscious.
They had discovered a wound in the right shoulder
under the collar bone.
The girl ordered the men to take him into a room
opening on the porch, to place him in bed and remove
49
his outer clothing. When this was done she came in
with such restoratives as the house afforded, and the
young man was soon brought back to consciousness.
A disgusted look was on his face when told that he
had fainted, and he requested that he be allowed to
get up at once.
"I am your superior officer now," said the girl,
"and I order you to lie quietly in bed until your sur¬
geon arrives. Then I will turn you over to him. You
are seriously wounded and you did a very foolish,
boyish thing in not having your wound dressed when
it should have been done."
The young man took his scolding in good-natured
silence. Later, when the girl was dressing his wound
and bathing his face, and he felt the touch of her
soft, cool hands, he thought that perhaps, after all,
fate had not been so unkind to him, and we fear he
selfishly hoped that the surgeon would use no undue
haste in getting there.
When Sally was taking care of the lieutenant's
clothes in an adjoining room his note book fell out of
a pocket. On picking it up it opened where a neatly
folded, lace bordered handkerchief lay, marked on
the upper corner, "S. F." She carefully replaced the
book and handkerchief in his pocket.
The lieutenant sent for his sergeant, praised him for
his good work that day and told him he should have
a commission if he could bring it about. He ordered
him to arrange to move the troop, prisoners, and all
of the wounded, except Captain Faulkner, to Winches¬
ter the next day. The captain was to be paroled and
allowed to remain at the mansion.
The surgeon arrived about midnight and the wound¬
ed were soon properly cared for. When the surgeon
had finished his examination of the lieutenant's wound
he said:
50
"Young man, you have had a close call. You have
got to lie quietly in bed for weeks, probably. Unless
you are very careful youi injury may extend to your
lung. You have comfortable quarters here and a
faithful man to take care of you, and I think that with
a little attention from the young woman and an occa¬
sional visit from me you'll come out all right."
The lieutenant made a rather feeble protest against
the surgeon's order, but he was firm, so the next day
the mansion was left to its usual occupants and the
wounded officers with their servants.
Captain Faulkner soon recovered from his injuries
sufficiently to allow him to enjoy the opportunity given
him to pay his addresses to Miss Fairchild. He was
a handsome, dashing young fellow, who prided him¬
self principally upon his good blood, good horseman¬
ship and gallantry. These qualifications added to
his notoriety as a daring raider made him a general
favorite with the young ladies of the valley. He ac¬
companied Miss Fairchild in her daily rides on her
favorite horse and endeavored to make himself gener¬
ally useful and agreeable as companion and escort.
The days and weeks which followed were filled with
alternating happiness and despair for the lieutenant.
Every care that womanly skill and sympathy could de¬
vise was given him by the young girl. Her regular
morning visits to his room were eagerly awaited. Her
very presence was a tonic that made the world look
brighter to him. The touch of that cool hand upon
his forehead or the pressure of soft fingers upon his
pulse made him wish that the fever would be of long
duration.
Although the girl's duties were performed in a very
quiet, demure manner, it is not to be supposed that
she was at all unmindful of the effect her presence
had upon the young officer.
51
She was as sweet and womanly as an angel in these
morning visits. If her conscience troubled her for
thus giving aid and comfort to the enemy of her be¬
loved Southland, she balanced the account later in the
day, when, coming in from her ride with the captain,
she would come immediately to the lieutenant's room,
looking more bewitching than ever in her hat and riding
habit, and with shining eyes and flushed cheeks pro¬
ceed to tell him of their ride, dwelling particularly
upon the gallantry and horsemanship of her escort.
One day she had been more tantalizing than ever.
She had come in as usual, and seating herself opposite
the bed, gave the lieutenant a minute account of their
ride which ended with a race that the gallant captain
had allowed her to win.
"I could never have done it if the captain had not
held in his horse; for he has the best horse and he is
the best horseman in the valley."
During the recital she had watched the lieutenant
closely as usual, to see that he was taking his punish¬
ment properly, and also to note the last degree that
it would be safe to administer at one sitting, but in
her enthusiasm over the race she had gone too far.
An unusual flush in the lieutenant's face told that
"the worm had turned."
"You have a fine horse, Miss Fairchild. If there
was a probability of my ever being able to ride again
I would like to buy him."
"Oh, I shall never sell Prince. At least not until
I have to. Besides, I have never allowed a gentleman
to ride him."
"But you do allow your boy George to ride him on
urgent occasions, don't you?"
The young lady cast a furtive, inquiring look at the
lieutenant, and then seemed to be intently eyeing the
toe of her boot.
52
"The corporal who posted the guard at the barn the
day of the fight told me that he found George strap¬
ping a man's saddle on the back of your horse. "If
George had succeeded in getting away with the horse
that day your note would have reached its destination.
You see it only 'lacked speed.' "
The young lady arose, and with a slight toss of the
head, promptly turned her back to him and left the
room.
As the days went by the mental condition of the
lieutenant went from bad to worse. If at times the
young lady allowed him to see a deeper, sweeter side
of her nature than he thought she possessed it was
sure to be followed by an equal degree of torture which
required all the New England fortitude he had to
suppress the outward visible signs. When he was
able to sit up and be about the house, and in a measure
one of the family, the opportunities for punishing
him were much greater and were promptly utilized
by the young lady. The gallant captain was allowed
to show her, before the lieutenant, many delicate
evidences of his devotion, which he well knew would
not be permitted on other occasions.
One day, after the young lady and the captain had
gone for their usual ride, the lieutenant received a
visit from the surgeon. He was told that he had been
promoted to captain and the sergeant to second lieu¬
tenant, for skill and gallantry in the fight at the spring.
Also that his regiment was ordered to the western
army. An ambulance was on its way out from Win¬
chester, in which the lieutenant was to return early
the following morning. He was to be sent home to
regain his health and then join his regiment.
The balance of the afternoon was spent in making
preparation for the journey. The young man called
upon the lady of the house, a sweet-faced invalid,
53
told her of his intended departure, thanked her in his
hearty, earnest way for the kindness and care given
him, and left upon the table a sum of money, which,
though sadly needed, he knew would be refused if
offered to her, and which he felt poorly expressed
his sense of obligation to her and her daughter.
This done, he went into the parlor and awaited the
return of the riders. He had long to wait. The moon
was shining brightly when they returned, lighting the
porch and partly the room in which he sat.
The young lady came immediately into the parlor,
her escort seating himself on the porch. She explained
their late arrival by giving a vivacious account of
their ride over the mountain by a new road, which
resulted in their getting lost. She had gone on for
some time before she noticed that the lieutenant was
unusually silent. She paused for a moment to study
this new phase.
It gave him his opportunity. He told her of the
surgeon's visit, the orders received by his regiment,
and of his intended departure in the morning. He
thanked her with rather an unsteady voice for all she
had done for him. After a short pause, he said:
"I go early in the morning. When I part with
you tonight it will be to say good-bye. Before I go
there is something I wish to say to you. It is quite
probable that we shall never meet again. You will,
most likely, continue to live in your old home, sur¬
rounded by those who are dear to you, and I foresee
that when the war is over you have a prospect of a
happy life before you. When I am fit for service I
shall join my regiment in Sherman's army. What the
fortunes of war have in store for me, none can tell.
If I am alive when it is over I shall probably open a
law office in some cross-roads town in my native state
and try to earn a subsistence as a third rate lawyer."
54
The young lady sat motionless with downcast eyes,
seemingly studying the figures in the carpet.
"What I wish to say to you before I go is that I
love you."
The girl raised her head and with flashing eyes and
uplifted hand, said:
"Stop. I will not allow an enemy of the South to
speak words of love to me."
"Please hear me through," said the lieutenant. "I
ask nothing from you and expect nothing. It can
certainly do you no harm to know that you possess
the honest love of a man, even though he be a Union
soldier."
"I tell you to stop. You shall not speak to me of
love. I hate you!"
The lieutenant arose and offering his hand, of which
no notice was taken, said good-bye and left the room.
Captain Faulkner had been a listener to all that
had transpired in the parlor and thinking it a good
opportunity for a display of chivalry, upon which he
prided himself, stepped in front of the lieutenant as
he came out on the porch and struck him a stinging
blow across the face with his gauntlet, saying,
"That is the way I treat a man who annoys a lady
friend of mine."
For a moment the young officer was speechless with
rage. His first impulse was to knock the man down
and kick him off the porch.
"You sneaking, contemptible eavesdropper," said
the lieutenant as soon as he could speak. "If it were
not for the respect I have for Miss Fairchild I would
punish you as you deserve. You are a miserable
specimen of your so-called southern chivalry. I un¬
derstand the meaning of your insult. I will not gratify
you. I despise you and your code of honor, and let
55
me say to you that if you ever insult me again by word
or look I will horsewhip you."
The angry young officer strode down the gravel
path and turned up the pike for a long walk to cool
his blood.
When the captain had recovered from his tongue-
lashing he went into the parlor. The girl sat with
her arms upon the table, her head bowed upon them.
The captain, laying his hand upon her shoulder, said,
"Don't cry, Miss Sally. I punished him for his
insolence."
The girl sprang to her feet and faced him with blaz¬
ing eyes.
"Don't you dare touch me or call me Sally again.
Whenever I need your assistance I will let you know.
He has never been insolent to me, and your interference
was uncalled for."
With a frigid good-night she left the room. When
the lieutenant returned two hours later the house was
dark and silent. He threw himself upon the sofa and
slept until daylight, when he was awakened by his
man, who informed him that they were ready to start.
In a short time they were on their way to Winchester.
When the young lady came down that morning with
very red eyes and pale cheeks she was informed by
George Washington that "de gemmen had boaf gone."
II
We shall now follow the fortunes of the three prin¬
cipal characters in this story with a quicker pen.
The lieutenant returned to his Green Mountains
and was soon restored to health. He joined his regi¬
ment and shared its fortunes through the campaign
that gave us Atlanta. The chances and changes of
war had left his regiment without a colonel. He
56
was promoted to the vacancy, for conspicuous service.
He led his brave Vermonters on the march to the sea
and the northward march to Goldsboro, where the
war ended with the surrender of Johnston. Then
followed the grand review at Washington, the muster
out of the regiment, the parting of comrades and the
return to the "paths of peace."
The plan of his life which he had mapped out to
the Virginia girl on that memorable evening, he carried
out, except that he opened a law office in one of the
larger towns of his state instead of a small one which
he had modestly said was his intention. He had been
a good student and his rise was rapid and well deserved.
At the end of five years from the opening of our story
he stood well up among the young lawyers of his state.
He had taken an active part in political matters and
was talked of as a possible candidate for congressional
honors. He went but little into society, and although
he was a favorite with the ladies, both old and young,
he was said by them all to be an incorrigible bachelor.
Since leaving the mansion that morning he had never
heard one word of its occupants. At times, when he
was alone, an almost irresistible desire to see or know
something of the girl came over him, but the thought
of those last words, "I hate you," checked the impulse
and compelled him to turn his thoughts into other
channels.
Captain Harry Faulkner continued to lead his raiders
until the close of the war. In his rides about Win¬
chester he sometimes met Miss Fairchild. His efforts
to reinstate himself in hei esteem met with such a
chilling reception that they were soon discontinued. He
left the valley when his occupation as a raider was gone.
To the girl in the mansion by the spring, time had
seemed to deal unkindly. Her father gave up his life
57 •
at Gettysburg for the southern cause. The gentle
mother, already frail, soon followed him to the grave.
The girl, now left alone, faced her trials and afflictions
with a courage wonderful in one so young. A widow¬
ed aunt came to live with her and fill, in a measure,
the mother's place.
The valley continued to be the scene of strife and
conflict, one day held by the Blue, the next by the
Grey, and destruction and destitution followed in the
wake of both. The Confederates were her friends
bul their needs were great and she suffered alike
from friend and foe. Her barns were burned, with
hundreds of others, by Sheridan's relentless troopers
in a futile effort to prevent future Confederate raids.
When the war was over there seemed to be little
left for her. Her home was heavily mortgaged, and
with the exception of her favorite horse and the loyalty
of a few of her father's faithful servants everything
seemed to have shared the fate of the lost cause.
She gathered up the broken threads of her home life
and did what she could to check the tide of disaster.
Under her direction the servants were encouraged to
till a few acres of the plantation, and she helped out
the scanty income by teaching music two days in
every week in the families of her friends in Winchester,
riding back and forth on her sleek-coated thoroughbred.
She had seen a notice in a Winchester paper of the
promotion of Captain Brownell to colonel of the Ver¬
mont regiment, and later of the muster out of that
regiment. Since then she knew nothing of him. It
seemed to the girl that he had told her truly on that
never-to-be-forgotten night that their parting meant
good-bye forever.
Sorrow and care had veiled her old coquettishness
with a sweet, womanly grace that made her more
58
charming than ever. She had many admirers but
she treated them all with a sisterly impartiality that
kept them at a respectful distance.
Ill
One bright morning in June, nearly five years
from the time our story opened, our young Ver¬
mont lawyer came down to his office very reluctantly.
All nature seemed to be conspiring to keep him out
of doors. The birds, the trees, the balmy air were
all trying to draw him away to the brooks and the
woods. He had been reared upon a farm and had
never lost his love for the simple, plain, outdoor life
of his boyhood home. "The call of the wild" was
upon him, but knowing that work was the only remedy
for it he settled himself resolutely down to his desk.
In looking hastily over his morning paper he
saw a notice of the marriage of Captain Harry Faulk¬
ner, the noted Confederate raider, to a Miss Burklay,
of Chicago.
He dropped the paper and for a few moments sat
with his elbows on his desk, his face in his hands.
Then, leaning back, he took from an inside pocket
a little morocco, silk-lined case. Opening it, there
lay the little lace handkerchief marked with the ini¬
tials, S. F. He looked at it very earnestly for a mo¬
ment. Then his lips tightened with a sudden reso¬
lution. He shut the case with an emphatic snap and
replaced it in his pocket.
Calling his clerk from an adjoining room he said:
"I am going out of town for a few days. To any one
inquiring for me you may say that I was unexpectedly
called away on an important—er—er—suit. No!
That won't do. Say a very urgent case. No! No!
That's no better. Well, you can fix up something to
59
tell them," said he, with a very decided flush rising
in his face.
In two hours' time he was speeding towards the
south. Arriving at Winchester he procured a saddle
horse, and one evening as the moon was rising over
the mountain, flooding the valley with its mellow light,
he rode up to the Mansion by the Spring.. Throwing
his bridle-reins over the hitching rail, he walked up
the familiar gravel path. As he neared the house
the melody of an old song which he had often asked
the girl to sing for him floated softly out upon the
summer breeze. Her voice! She was there—and the
old song, more sweet than ever, seemed to assure
him of a welcome. He waited until the song was
finished, then stepped upon the porch.
In answer to his rap the girl stood before him as
she had stood five years before. The light of surprise
and gladness which shone from her eyes made his
heart bound with joy. He took her extended hand
in both of his, and said, in a low voice.
"Miss Fairchild—Sally—do you hate me now?"
"Oh!" said she, "I never hated you. It was your
uniform that I hated. I did not know until it was too
fete."
He put his arm around her and drew her, unresisting,
close to him.
"Sally, do you love me?"
The proud head was bowed upon his shoulder as
she said, «
"I believe I have loved you since the first day I
met you here."
They sat upon the porch and talked long and earn¬
estly of the past and of the future, and then they
came back to the present to realize how happy they
were, what a beautiful world it was and what a joy
it was to live.
60
Before their talk was over he had won her consent
to an early wedding. The proposal was met at first
with strenuous opposition, but her lover was a lawyer
and noted in his profession as a strong pleader. To
aid his plea he took from his pocket the little
morocco case, and opening it, placed it in her hands.
"Sally, I cannot go away again without you. For
five years I have been wedded to that little handker¬
chief. If I had not accidentally seen a notice of Cap¬
tain Faulkner's marriage I should probably have gone
through life without a wish to be divorced from it,
but now I want you."
She looked at the handkerchief for a moment, then
pressing it to her lips, closed the case and returned it
to him. Looking up with a bright, sweet smile, she
said:
"The war is over. I surrender."
And here we leave them on the threshold of the
happy new life that was opening before them.
As time passed, the old Virginia home took on new
life. Yankee thrift and energy transformed it into an
ideal country home. Barns and fences were rebuilt,
the stables were filled with fine horses, and herds of
fine stock grazed in the shaded pastures.
In the bright summer days happy children played
upon the lawn by the spring where strife and carnage
once held full sway.
61