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STORIES 
 
 OF 
 
 THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 BY 
 
 ALBERT F. BLAISDELL 
 
 AUTHOR OF «« THE STUDV OK THE ENGLISH CLASSICS," "CHILD'S BOOK OF 
 
 HEALTH," '« HOW TO KEEP WELL," " OUR BODIES AND HOW WE 
 
 LIVE," "FIKbT STEPS WITH AMERICAN AND ENGLISH 
 
 AUTHOKS," " READINGS FROM THE 
 
 WAVERLEY NOVELS," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON MDCCCXC 
 LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 
 
 10 MILK STREET NEXT " THE OLD SOUTH MEETING HOUSE " 
 
 NEW YORK CHAS. T. DILLINGHAM 
 
 71S AND 720 BROADWAY 
 

 Copyright, 1890, by Lee and Shepard. 
 
 3 OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 S. J. PARKHILL & CO., rRINTEAS 
 BOSTON 
 
^ 
 
 X 
 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 This is a book of stories about the Civil War. It 
 is not a history — only a book of stories edited for 
 school and home use. Our aim has not been to crowd 
 the mind with facts, but to arouse in the younger 
 generation a lively interest in the brave men who 
 fought in the war for the Union. 
 
 We have tried to present a series of pictures of 
 our national life during the late war, around which a 
 fuller knowledge of the course of its history may 
 gather. 
 
 These stories are designed to interest as well as to 
 instruct young people, and to excite in their minds 
 a keen desire to know more of the noble deeds of 
 their fathers and grandfathers, who sacrificed so much 
 during this momentous period of our country's history. 
 
 In making selections from the great mass of books 
 
4 PREFACE 
 
 about the war, we have kept in mind these three 
 points : 
 
 First, to make such selections as are interesting, 
 graphic, and founded on fact. 
 
 Second, to select those written by men who person- 
 ally took part in the scenes which they describe. 
 
 Third, to prepare such pieces as will arouse a greater 
 love and reverence for those who fought, bled, and 
 died, that we, as a people, might live to-day in peace 
 and prosperity. 
 
 The stories are written in a lively and attractive 
 style, and in very simple language. In many of them 
 a graphic style and terse diction will more than make 
 up for any lack of rhetorical finish. 
 
 The thanks of the editor are due to Messrs. D. Apple- 
 ton & Co. ; Fords, Howard, & Hulbert ; T. Y. Crowell 
 & Co. ; Charles L. Webster & Co. ; and to the Pub- 
 lishers of the Youth's Companion, for kind permission 
 to use selections from their copyrighted authors. 
 
 ALBERT F. BLAISDELL. 
 
 July, 1890. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Nation's Peril 7 
 
 II. The Bombardment of Fort Sumter . . . .11 
 
 III. Sunday in Norwood after the Fall of Fort 
 
 Sumter 16 
 
 IV. Battle-Hymn of the Republic 23 
 
 V. The Death of Colonel Ellsworth .... 25 
 
 VI. Under Fire for the First Time .... 28 
 
 VII. Little Eddie the Drummer Boy .... 36 
 
 VIII. The Combat between the Monitor and Merrimac , 42 
 
 IX. A Thrilling Experience in an Army Balloon . 47 
 
 X. A Pen Picture of Abraham Lincoln ... 54 
 XL How A Boy helped General McClellan win a 
 
 Battle 62 
 
 XII. Old Abe, the Soldier Bird 68 
 
 XIII. A Boy's Experience at the Battle of Freder- 
 
 icksburg 74 
 
 XIV. The Story of Sheridan's Famous Ride ... 82 
 XV. The Cavalry Charge 89 
 
 XVI. The Destruction of the Albemarle ... 93 
 
 XVII. The Final Struggle at Gettysburg ... 99 
 
 XVIII. Lincoln's Gettysburg Speech 105 
 
 XIX. The Black Regiment 109 
 
6 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XX. Two Scouts who had Nerves of Steel . .113 
 
 XXI. The Clothes-Line Telegraph 120 
 
 XXII. Combat between the Kearsarge and Alabama, 124 
 
 XXIII. The Message of Life 129 
 
 XXIV. Sherman starts on his March to the Sea . 138 
 XXV. Sherman's March to the Sea . . . .144 
 
 XXVI. The Perils of a Spy's Life 146 
 
 XXVII. How Admiral Farragut was lashed to the 
 
 Rigging 154 
 
 XXVIII. The Horrors of Andersonville Prison . . 158 
 
 XXIX. The Heroism of Rebecca Wright . . . 164 
 
 XXX. The Fortunes of War 169 
 
 XXXI. Barter and Trade in Andersonville Prison . 178 
 
 XXXII. Bread cast upon the Waters . . . .182 
 
 XXXIII. The Surrender of General Lee. . . .187 
 
 XXXIV. The Grand Review in Washington . at the 
 
 Close of the War . ... . .193 
 
 XXXV. Running the Blockade 197 
 
 XXXVI. Boys in the Late War 208 
 
 XXXVII. How They Lived in the South during the 
 
 War . . 216 
 
 XXXVIII. Foes become Friends 222 
 
 XXXIX. The Blue and the Gray 230 
 
 XL. The Brave Men who fought for the Union . 233 
 
 XLI. Memorial Day 237 
 
 XLII. Ode for Memorial Day 242 
 
STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 THE NATION'S PERIL 
 
 Thirty years ago there took place, in this country, 
 one of the most exciting political campaigns in Ameri- 
 can history. Abraham Lincoln, the candidate of the 
 Republican party, was elected President of the United 
 States on November 6, i860. 
 
 A large book would not suffice to give the young 
 student the full history of this campaign and the memor- 
 able events which followed during the next six months. 
 It was the culmination of affairs which had taken place 
 during the half-century before. It was the outburst of 
 a storm which had been brewing for many long years. 
 Wise statesmen of a former generation had foreseen, 
 with mingled sorrow and dismay, just such a crisis in 
 our country's history. The deep-seated cause, of which 
 a long and costly war was the natural result, is a subject 
 for earnest study in connection with the formal history 
 of the United States. It does not come v/ithin the 
 scope of this book. 
 
8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 As soon as the election of Lincoln was announced, 
 men of extreme views at the South proceeded at once 
 to carry out their threats of attempting to withdraw 
 from the Union. Seven States seceded, at intervals 
 more or less brief, from the Union, and organized what 
 was known as the Southern Confederacy. Four States 
 seceded later. The people at the North were amazed 
 at the rapidity with which the organization against the 
 national government established itself. The humiliat- 
 ing events of that dread winter of 1860-61 are a part of 
 our history. The government at Washington stood as 
 if paralyzed. The President was a weak, old man, and 
 did not know what to do. Most of his cabinet officers 
 were friendly to the South, and took advantage of their 
 official positions to allow the enemies of the country to 
 take possession of the national stores, arms, arsenals, 
 forts, and navy yards, within the limits of the seceding 
 States. The government did not even dare to send 
 re-enforcements to the forts along the southern seacoast 
 lest such action should precipitate a civil war. This 
 weak and irresolute action gave the seceding States 
 ample opportunity to prepare for the coming strife at 
 the expense of the nation. This cost the country many 
 millions of dollars and thousands of lives to regain dur- 
 ing the next four years. 
 
THE NATION S PERIL 9 
 
 Such, briefly, was the condition of the country when 
 Abraham Lincoln, fearful of life, came to Washington 
 in March, 1861, and quietly took the reins of the gov- 
 ernment. How little could the good President, or even 
 the wisest of his advisers, realize the overwhelming 
 responsibility of his position. 
 
 With the stirring events which followed we are 
 familiar. The story of how Major Anderson removed 
 his little band of United States troops from Fort Moul- 
 trie to Fort Sumter, in Charleston harbor, for greater 
 safety, is a familiar one ; likewise, how the Confederates 
 fired upon a vessel sent with supplies intended for it ; 
 and, finally, after a severe bombardment, how they com- 
 pelled the fort to surrender. Forbearance had ceased 
 to be a virtue. It was seen even by the most timid and 
 conservative that something must be done at once to 
 assert the majesty and power of the national govern- 
 ment. President Lincoln acted resolutely and promptly. 
 On the 15th of April, 1861, he issued a proclamation 
 calling out seventy-five thousand militia, for three months, 
 to suppress the rebellion. 
 
 The people of the North answered promptly and 
 vigorously to the dry and formal words of the proclama- 
 tion. No one had suspected how deep in the hearts 
 of the people was the sentiment of patriotism. The 
 
10 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 lowering of the flag at Fort Sumter pierced the pride 
 and the honor of the North to the quick. The morn- 
 ing and evening of a single day saw peace utterly laid 
 aside, and twenty millions of people filled with the spirit 
 of war. 
 
 The same scenes were at the same time occurring in 
 the Southern States. Even more fiery was the out- 
 break, because the people were of more demonstrative 
 natures. 
 
 And thus it came to pass that thirty millions of 
 people, divided into two bands, went seeking each 
 other through the darkness and mystery of war. 
 
BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER II 
 
 II 
 
 THE BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER 
 
 [The Story as told by an Eye-witness.'] 
 
 It was already near morning (April 12, 1861). The 
 east was changing, and a faint twilight came stealing 
 over the harbor (Charleston), every moment growing 
 brighter. At no moment of the day has light such an 
 enchanting effect as between twilight and sunrise. 
 Everything has a freshness, an unworn and pure look, 
 as if it had just been created. A light film of mist lay 
 along the rim of the harbor ; but within that silver set- 
 ting the water lay dark and palpitating. Out of its 
 bosom rose Fort Sumter, sheer from the water, which 
 lapped its very base on every side. How serene and 
 secure the fort looked ! How beautifully the morning 
 brightened around it, though as yet the sun rose far 
 down below the sea. 
 
 I was startled by the roar of a mortar a little be- 
 hind me. Out of its white smoke rose, with graceful 
 curve, a bomb that hurtled through the air and burst 
 above the fort. 
 
12 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 " May violence overtake the wretch, and a disgrace- 
 ful death ! " I did not know that it was my own State 
 that broke the peace. Edmund Ruffin it was, an old 
 man with white hair that hung down in profusion over 
 his shoulders, and was now flying wild, his eyes bright 
 with an excitement either of fanaticism or insanity. 
 
 This single shot given, there was a dead pause for a 
 moment or two. A flock of wild ducks, startled from 
 their feeding-ground, flew swiftly along the face of the 
 water, and were lost behind the fort. The peace was 
 gone. This tranquil harbor was changed to a volcano. 
 Jetting forth from around its sides came tongues of 
 fire, wrapped in smoke, and the air was streaked with 
 missiles converging from every side and meeting at 
 Sumter. Now that the circle was once on fire it flamed 
 incessantly. Gun followed gun — battery answered bat- 
 tery — and the earth fairly trembled with the explosions. 
 I was fascinated. I could not withdraw. I waited to 
 see the fort deliver its fire. It stood silent. 
 
 As the sun flamed above the horizon and shot its 
 light across the waters, up rose the flag from the fort, 
 gracefully climbing to its topmost height, and rolled out 
 its folds, as if it were sent up to look out over the 
 troubled scene and command peace. Still no gun from 
 the fort replied. Two hours of bombarding, and not a 
 
BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER I3 
 
 shot in return. But at seven in the morning, a roar 
 from the lower tier of guns gave notice that the fort 
 had roused itself and joined in the affray. Its shot 
 began to fall around me. I retreated within the bat- 
 tery, and then, sick and heart-heavy, I determined to 
 make my way back to the city. My heart was with 
 the seventy men battling for the flag against five 
 thousand. 
 
 As I drew near the city, I began to hear the church 
 bells ringing wild with joy. Crowds everywhere lined 
 the wharves, filled the streets, covered the roofs of the 
 hitherward houses. The people had been out all night. 
 Many, discouraged at the delay, had begun returning 
 to their homes. But the first sound of a gun brought 
 them back with alacrity. One would think that the 
 humbling of the national flag was the most joyous occa- 
 sion in the world. 
 
 All the afternoon the same continuous firing filled 
 every part of the city with its sound. Volumes of 
 black smoke rolled up from the fort. It was on fire. 
 Its guns fired but infrequently. Every time the smoke 
 rolled away I looked anxiously through the glass to see 
 if the flag still waved. The sun went down upon it. 
 All night, but at intervals of fifteen minutes, the bom- 
 bardment went on. People who had expected to reduce 
 
14 STORIES OF T}^ CIVIL WAR 
 
 the fort in a few hours seemed discouraged at this pro- 
 tracted defence. 
 
 The morning came, and with its first full light the 
 forts that lay in a circle round the fort opened in order, 
 Johnson on the south, Cummings' Point on the east, 
 Moultrie on the north, and the floating battery on the 
 west, together with the smaller intermediate batteries. 
 As far as I could discern, the walls of Sumter had suf- 
 fered little. No breach appeared. The barbette guns 
 were knocked away. But though they were the heavi- 
 est, they had never been used. The besiegers aimed to 
 sweep them with such a fire that the men could not 
 work them. Again the smoke rolled up from the fort, 
 and flames could now be seen. Moultrie poured a con- 
 tinuous stream of red-hot shot upon the devoted fort. 
 At last came noon. The firing ceased. Boats were 
 putting off to the fort. By one o'clock it was noised 
 abroad that t4ie garrison had surrendered. It was true. 
 On Sunday noon, they were to salute the flag and evac- 
 uate the fort. 
 
 If the week days were jubilant, how shall I describe 
 the Sabbath .? The churches were thronged with ex- 
 cited citizens. In many of these all restraint was 
 thrown off, and the thanksgiving and rejoicing for the 
 victory swept everything like summer winds. I went 
 
BOMBARDMENT OF FORT SUMTER 1 5 
 
 to my own church. The decorum of the service, which 
 is a bulwark against irreverent excitements, served, on 
 this occasion, a good purpose. Yet, strange as it may 
 seem, in J:he lessons for the day occurred a passage that 
 sounded in my ears like a prophecy, and full of warning 
 and doom. It was this: *' Prepare war, wake up the 
 mighty men ; let them come up. Beat your plough- 
 shares into swords, and your pruning-hooks into spears ; 
 let the weak say, I am strong. Multitudes, multitudes 
 in the valley of decision ; for the day of the Lord is 
 near in the valley of decision." 
 
 As I came from church, a south wind blew, and I 
 heard the sound of cannon. I walked rapidly to the 
 point, and only in time to see through my glass the flag 
 descending from over Sumter. The drama is ended 
 — or rather opened ! who can tell what shall be the end 
 of this } It may be that all the roar and battle of the 
 two days past is as nothing to that which at some future 
 day shall precede the raising again of the flag over this 
 fallen fortress. The future is in the hand of God. 
 Over the future hangs a dark cloud which I would that 
 I might pierce and know what it hides. 
 
1 6 STORIES OF T^ 
 
 CIVIL WAR 
 
 III 
 
 SUNDAY IN NORWOOD AFTER THE FALL OF FORT 
 SUMTER 
 
 [From Henry Ward Beecker^s "Norwoody'\ 
 
 On Sunday morning, the 14th of April, 1861, it was 
 known that Fort Sumter had surrendered. The scales 
 fell from men's eyes. 
 
 There was war ! 
 
 The flag of the nation had been pierced by men who 
 had been taught their fatal skill under its protection. 
 The nation's pride, its love, its honor, suffered with 
 that flag, and with it trailed in humiliation. 
 
 Without concert or council, the whole people rose 
 suddenly with one indignation, to vindicate the nation's 
 honor. It came as night comes, or the morning, broad 
 as a hemisphere. It rose as the tides raise the whole 
 ocean, along the whole continent, drawn upward by the 
 whole heavens. 
 
 The frivolous became solemn ; the wild grew stern ; 
 the young felt an instant manhood. 
 
 It was the strangest Sunday that ever dawned on 
 
DEFENCE OF FORT SUMTER. 
 
SUNDAY IN NORWOOD 1/ 
 
 Norwood since the colonial days, when, by reason of 
 hostile Indians, the fathers repaired to church with 
 their muskets. All the region round came forth. 
 Never had such an audience gathered in that house. 
 Every face had in it a new life. Dr. Buell was not 
 wont to introduce into his Sabbath services topics allied 
 to politics, nor did he mean to change his habit to-day. 
 
 His sermon, weighty, and on themes which usually 
 are accounted more solemn than all others, yet sounded 
 light and empty in men's ears. Nor had he ever 
 preached with so much difficulty. He lost the connec- 
 tion, hurried passages which should have been deliber- 
 ate, and afterwards owned that he was never so glad to 
 get through a sermon. 
 
 It was in the prayer following that the stream burst 
 forth. A mighty tide rose within him, and he poured 
 out his soul for the country. He prayed for the gov- 
 ernment, for the men in Fort Sumter, who had been 
 like the three children in the fiery furnace, for the flag, 
 and for all in authority, that they might have wisdom 
 and courage to vindicate it. 
 
 The house was still, so still that the ear ached be- 
 tween every pause. The word " Amen " set loose an 
 army of handkerchiefs, and people wiped more eyes 
 than were ever wet at once in that house. Just as Dr. 
 
1 8 STORIES OF TOE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Buell rOse tO give out the closing hymn, he saw the choir 
 rising as if to give an anthem. The minister sat right 
 down ; but he quickly rose up again, and every man in 
 the house, as the choir sang the *' Star-Spangled Ban- 
 ner." Such a scene had never been known in sober 
 Norwood. And when the last strain died, it was with 
 difficulty that the minister could repress an open cheer. 
 
 " Why didn't you let 'em } " said Deacon Marble. 
 " It's enough to make the stones cry out. I never felt 
 so sorry before that I hadn't a house full of boys." 
 
 Aunt Polly, for once, found nothing to rebuke in the 
 deacon. " This is the Lord's work. Sunday isn't a 
 bit too good to teach men that they ought 'er save the 
 country ! . . . My gran'father dug the sile out from 
 under this church to git saltpetre to make powder on, 
 to fight for our liberties ! And I guess the old man's 
 bones that's lyin' yonder shook when they heard them 
 cannon jar ! Now's the time for folks to show them- 
 selves." 
 
 The whole population seemed to be in the street. 
 Men formed groups and discussed the only topic. 
 Party lines were fast rubbing out. There was an 
 afternoon service, but it was like a dream. As yet 
 men's feelings had found no channels, and no relief in 
 action. A few discordant notes there were. Tough old 
 
SUNDAY IN NORWOOD IQ 
 
 Hunt, farmer up in " Hardscrabble," as a poor neigh- 
 borhood was called, in spite of angry eyes and frowning 
 brows, would have his say : — 
 
 " I alius told you that the Abolitionists would bring 
 blood on us. Now I hope they're satisfied. They've 
 been teasin' and worryin' the South for twenty years, 
 and now the South has turned and gored 'em. Sarved 
 'em right !" 
 
 "I tell ye, old leather-skin," said Hiram Beers, 
 " you'd better shut up ! The boys ain't in a temper to 
 hear such talk. You'll git hurt afore you git through 
 a hundred speeches like that." 
 
 Old Hunt was a small, wiry man, about sixty years 
 of age, with black hair, and a turbid hazel eye that 
 looked cruel when he was wrathful. Hiram's words set 
 him aflame. 
 
 " Where's the man that's goin' to stop my tongue .? 
 This is a free country, I guess. I shall say what I've a 
 mind to" — 
 
 Just then Hiram, who saw that trouble was brewing, 
 changed the attack from the old man to his horse, who 
 was as fiery and obstinate as his master, and already 
 had exhausted his patience and fodder in a long Sun- 
 day under the horse-shed. While the old man was 
 standing in his wagon, bristling all over like a black- 
 
20 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 and-tan terrier, and fierce for opposition, Hiram gave 
 his horse a keen cut where a horse least likes to be hit. 
 The first thing Hunt knew, he was sprawling in his 
 wagon, and the horse was heading for home with a 
 speed unbecoming a Sabbath day. The old man, nim- 
 ble and plucky, gathered himself up, utterly at a loss 
 which he was most angry with, the public or the horse ; 
 now giving the animal a rousing pull, and then shaking 
 his left fist back at the crowd, he disappeared from the 
 green, in a medley of utterances which, addressed 
 sometimes to his horse and sometimes to Hiram, and 
 sometimes to the imaginary Abolitionists, formed a 
 grotesque oration. 
 
 ''I'm as much of a Democrat as he is," said Hiram, 
 "and have alius gone with my party. But I tell ye, 
 boys, this is no party matter. This is a black business, 
 and there ain't but one way to settle it. We've tried 
 the votes, and they won't stand that. Now we'll try 
 the bullets, and the side that can stand that longest is 
 goin' to rule this country, that's all." 
 
 Old Mr. Turfmould, the village undertaker, ventured 
 to say, without meaning any harm — merely as a moral 
 reflection: — ''Ah, Mr. Beers, it's awful, killin' folks, 
 and huddlin' 'em into holes without funerals and decent 
 fixin's of any kind." 
 
~ . SUNDAY IN NORWOOD 21 
 
 "Shet up, old owl!" said Hiram. "This thing's 
 goin' to be fought out, that's sartain, and we won't have 
 nobody hangin' back at home. A man that won't fight 
 when his flag's fired on, ain't worth a dead nit." 
 
 Old Deacon Trowbridge was talking with Judge 
 Bacon, to whom he usually deferred with profound 
 respect for his legal learning. 
 
 "I hope," said Judge Bacon, with calm and gentle 
 tones, " that the government will forbear and not be in 
 haste to strike again. We ought not to think of 
 coercion. Our Southern brethren will come to their 
 reason if we are patient, and wait for their passions to 
 subside." 
 
 "I tell ye, judge, we ain't goin' to wait. We've 
 waited long enough, and this is what we've got for it ! 
 Secede ! rob the government ! shoot our flag ! and kill 
 our soldiers, shut up in the fort like chickens in a coop, 
 and then not fight ? You might as well have a Day of 
 Judgment and nobody hurt. If we ain't goin' to fight 
 now, we'd better swap clothes with the women, and let 
 them try awhile. I tell ye we will fight ! " 
 
 Deacon Trowbridge was like a green hickory fire on a 
 winter's morning. It requires the utmost skill and 
 blowing to get it to burn, but when once it is started, 
 it blazes and crackles with immense heat, and speedily 
 
22 STORIES OF "I^ CIVIL WAR 
 
 drives all those who were cuddling and shivering about 
 it, far back into the room. 
 
 On he went, indignant at the judge, and talking to 
 every one he met. " It's come ! Ye can't help it. I 
 don't want to help it ! It's the Lord's will, and I am 
 desperate willin'. If my boys — some on 'em — don't 
 go, I'll disown 'em — don't want no cowards on my 
 farm ! " 
 
 The sun had gone down. Every household in Nor- 
 wood and wide about was a scene of excitement. That 
 night, prayer was a reality. Never before had the chil- 
 dren heard from their fathers' lips such supplications 
 for the country. Never before had the children's 
 hearts been open to join so fervently in prayer them- 
 selves. Men seemed to be conscious that they were 
 helpless in the presence of an immeasurable danger. 
 By faith they laid their hearts upon the bosom of God, 
 till they felt the beatings of that great Heart whose 
 courses give life and law to the universe. 
 
BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 23 
 
 IV 
 
 BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 
 
 [By Mrs. Julia Ward Howei\ 
 
 Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 
 
 Lord ; 
 He is tramphng out the vintage where the grapes of 
 
 wrath are stored ; 
 He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible 
 
 swift sword : 
 
 His truth is marching on. 
 
 I have seen him in the watchfires of a hundred cir- 
 cling camps ; 
 
 They have builded him an altar in the evening dews 
 and damps ; 
 
 I have read his righteous sentence by the dim and flar- 
 ing lamps : 
 
 His day is marching on. 
 
 I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of 
 
 steel : 
 " As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace 
 
 shall deal ; 
 Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with 
 
 his heel. 
 
 Since God is marching on." 
 
24 STORIES OF xrf^ CIVIL WAR 
 
 He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call 
 retreat ; 
 
 He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judg- 
 ment seat ; 
 
 Oh ! be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be jubilant, my 
 
 feet ! 
 
 Our God is marching on. 
 
 In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the 
 
 sea. 
 With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me ; 
 As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men 
 
 free, 
 
 While God is marching on. 
 
THE DEATH OF COLONEL ELLSWORTH 25 
 
 THE DEATH OF COLONEL ELLSWORTH 
 
 It was two o'clock on the morning of the twenty- 
 fourth of May, 1 86 1, when the expedition planned by 
 General Scott started secretly from Washington to 
 take military possession of Alexandria. One-half of 
 the troops crossed the Long Bridge, and marched down 
 the right bank of the Potomac, to enter Alexandria by 
 the rear, and to cut off any Confederate troops who 
 might be lurking about the city. The other half, in- 
 cluding the Fire Zouaves under Colonel Ellsworth, 
 went down the river in steamers, from the Washington 
 Navy Yard. It was in the first gray of the morning, 
 when the steamers touched at the wharves. Of this 
 division Colonel Ellsworth was in command. He was 
 one of the first to land. While the regiment was form- 
 ing in line, one company was sent, post haste, to seize 
 the telegraph station, that no communication could be 
 sent to Richmond of their landing. This was of such 
 vital importance that Colonel Ellsworth himself accom- 
 
26 STORIES OF TH^T 
 
 IVIL WAR 
 
 panied the party, passing through the streets on the 
 full run. 
 
 On their way they went by the Marshall House, a 
 hotel kept by one Jackson, over the roof of which a 
 Confederate flag was flaunted. "We must have that 
 flag," said Colonel Ellsworth, and, rushing in, he found 
 a white man, in the front room, half dressed, and a 
 negro. "Who raised that flag.^" inquired the colonel. 
 " I do not know," was the reply, "I am a boarder here." 
 Followed by two or three, he sprang up-stairs to the 
 roof of the house, seized the flag, and was descending 
 with it in his hands, hardly a moment having been 
 occupied in the movement, when the same half-dressed 
 man, who had said that he was a boarder, but who 
 proved to be Jackson himself, a brutal desperado, 
 jumped from a dark passage, and, levelling a double- 
 barrelled gun at Colonel Ellsworth's breast, at a dis- 
 tance of not more than two yards, fired a couple of 
 slugs directly into his heart, and which, of course, 
 proved fatal. 
 
 Ellsworth was on the second or third step from the 
 landing, and he dropped forward with that heavy, hor- 
 rible, headlong weight, which always comes of sudden 
 death inflicted in such a manner. His assailant had 
 turned like a flash to give the contents of the other 
 
THE DEATH OF COLONEL ELLSWORTH 2/ 
 
 barrel to Francis E. Brownell, a private, but either he 
 could not command his aim, or the Zouave was too 
 quick with him, for the slugs went over his head, and 
 passed through the panels and wainscot of the door, 
 which sheltered some sleeping lodgers. Simultaneously 
 with his second shot, and sounding like the echo of the 
 first, Brownell's rifle was heard, and the assassin stag- 
 gered backward. His wound, exactly in the middle of 
 the face, was frightful beyond description. Of course 
 Brownell did not know how fatal his shot had been, 
 and so, before the man dropped, he thrust his sabre 
 bayonet through and through the body, the force of the 
 blow sending the dead man violently down the upper 
 section of the second flight of stairs. 
 
 The body of the murdered colonel was laid upon a 
 bed ; and the flag, stained with his blood, and purified 
 by this contact from the baseness of its former mean- 
 ing, was fitly laid about his feet. 
 
 Thus died, by the hand of a cowardly assassin, the 
 brave and gallant Ellsworth. The tragic death of 
 this young officer at a time when the country was not 
 used to the horrors of war made a profound impression 
 upon the people of the North. 
 
28 STORIES OF TM CIVIL WAR 
 
 •VI 
 
 UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 
 
 How does a soldier feel who is under fire for the first 
 time ? To hear the bullets go singing past, now on this 
 side, now on that, and now just overhead ! How does a 
 regiment act during its first battle ? An ofificer of a 
 Maine regiment thus vividly describes the behavior of 
 his men during their first experience in battle. To one 
 glancing along the line, the sight was ludicrous in the 
 extreme. All were excited, and were loading and firing 
 in every conceivable manner. 
 
 " Some were standing, but most were kneeling or 
 lying down. Some were astride their pieces, and were 
 ramming the charge totally regardless of the rules on 
 that point. Many had poured their cartridges on the 
 ground, and were ^ peddling out ' the lead with more 
 speed than accuracy. We all took occasion to gibe our 
 friends in gray to the best of our ability. So, with the 
 din of musketry and the yells of friend and foe, it seemed 
 as if bedlam were let loose. 
 
 " The behavior of those who were hit appeared most 
 
UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 29 
 
 singular ; and, as there were so many of them, it looked 
 as if we had a crowd of howling dervishes dancing and 
 kicking around in our ranks. 
 
 *' A bullet often knocks over the man it hits, and rarely 
 fails by its force alone to disturb his equilibrium. Then 
 the shock, whether painful or not, causes a sudden 
 jump or shudder. 
 
 " Now, as every man, with hardly an exception, was 
 either killed, wounded, hit in the clothes, hit by spent 
 balls or stones, or jostled by his wounded comrades, it 
 follows that we had a wonderful exhibition. Some 
 reeled round and round, others threw up their arms 
 and fell over backward, others went plunging backward 
 trying to regain their balance ; a few fell to the front, 
 but generally the force of the bullet prevented this, 
 except where it struck low, and apparently knocked the 
 soldier's feet from under him. Many dropped the 
 musket and seized the wounded part with both hands, 
 and a very few fell dead. 
 
 " The enemy were armed with every kind of rifle and 
 musket, and as their front was three times ours, we 
 were under a cross-fire almost from the first. The 
 various tunes sung by the bullets we shall never forget, 
 and, furthermore, shall never confound them with any 
 we heard later. In a moment when curiosity got the 
 
30 STORIES OF T}^ CIVIL WAR 
 
 better of fear, I took notice of this fact, and made a 
 record of it in my diary a day or two afterward. 
 
 **The fierce sip of the minie bullets was not promi- 
 nent by comparison at that particular moment, though 
 there were enough of them certainly. The main body 
 of sound was produced by the singing of slow, round 
 balls and buckshot fired from a smooth-bore, which do 
 not cut or tear the air as the creased ball does. 
 
 " Each bullet, according to its kind, size, rate of speed, 
 and nearness to the ear, made a different sound. They 
 seemed to be going past in sheets, all around and 
 above us." 
 
 When the war broke out, many officers on both sides, 
 even of high rank, were unskilled in military tactics. 
 Hence the art of war was rapidly learned, but at the 
 expense of stupid blunders and of many valuable lives. 
 A Confederate colonel gives the following interesting 
 sketch of his first battle. On entering a strip of wood, 
 it occurred to him that his men, being raw recruits, 
 would not fight well on horseback, and hence he ordered 
 them to dismount. This, of course, stopped the whole 
 body of the army behind the regiment. While the 
 men were leisurely tying their horses, an aide came up 
 at a furious gait and asked peremptorily : " What have 
 you stopped here for, and blocked up the whole road ? " 
 
UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 3 1 
 
 '**You mind your business,' said the adjutant; 'our 
 colonel knows what he's about.' 
 
 '* I saw the point in a moment, and had them move out 
 in the woods. In the meantime my scabbard got itself 
 hitched in a tangled bush. So I told the battalion to 
 form at the edge of the timber and wait for me. Then 
 I cut the straps and left my broken scabbard in the 
 bush, while, with naked blade flashing in my hand, I 
 rushed to the front. Not a man could I find. They 
 were anxious to see the fun, and had run over the brow 
 of the hill, and scattered along the whole length of the 
 line. 
 
 " With infinite difficulty I got them together, leaving 
 wide gaps in the battle array. Barely in position, I 
 heard a distant cannon, and at the same instant saw the 
 ball high in the air. As near as I could calculate, it 
 was going to strike about where I stood, and I dis- 
 mounted with remarkable agility, only to see the missile 
 of war pass sixty feet overhead. 
 
 *' I felt rather foolish as I looked at my men, but a 
 good deal relieved when I saw that they, too, had all 
 squatted to the ground, and were none of them look- 
 ing at me. I quickly mounted and ordered them to 
 * stand up.' 
 
 *'We were soon ordered to charge, and drove the 
 
32 STORIES OF THJ^CiVIL WAR 
 
 enemy through the tall prairie grass, till they came to 
 a creek and escaped. We passed some of the dead and 
 wounded, the first sad results of real war that I had 
 ever seen. At night the heavens opened wide, the rain 
 fell in torrents ; not even a campfire could be kept to 
 light up the impenetrable gloom, and I sought a friendly 
 mud-hole to sleep as best I could. 
 
 '' The pale, rigid faces that I had seen turned up to 
 the evening sun, appeared before me, as I tried in vain 
 to shield my own from the driving rain, and as the big 
 foot of a comrade, blundering round in the darkness, 
 splashed my eyes full of mud, I closed them to sleep, 
 muttering to myself : 'And this is war.' " 
 
 Here is a brave soldier's story of how he felt during 
 his first battle. 
 
 " No person who was not upon the ground, and an eye- 
 witness of the stirring scenes which there transpired, 
 can begin to comprehend from a description the terrible 
 realities of a battle ; and even those who participated 
 are competent to speak only of their own personal ex- 
 perience. Where friends and foes are falling by scores, 
 and every species of missile is flying through the air, 
 threatening each instant to send one into eternity, 
 little time is afforded for more observation or reflection 
 than is required for personal safety. 
 
UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 33 
 
 " The scene is one of the most exciting and exhilarat- 
 ing that can be conceived. Imagine a regiment passing 
 you at 'double-quick,' the men cheering with enthu- 
 siasm, their teeth set, their eyes flashing, and the whole 
 in a frenzy of resolution. You accompany them to the 
 field. They halt. An aide-de-camp passes to or from 
 the commanding general. The clear voices of officers 
 ring along the line in tones of passionate eloquence. 
 The word is given to march, and the body moves into 
 action. For the first time in your life you listen to the 
 whizzing of iron. Grape and canister fly into the ranks, 
 bomb-shells burst overhead, and the fragments fly all 
 around you. A friend falls ; perhaps a dozen or twenty 
 of your comrades lie wounded or dying at your feet ; a 
 strange, involuntary shrinking steals over you, which it 
 is impossible to resist. You feel inclined neither to 
 advance nor recede, but are spell-bound by the con- 
 tending emotions of the moral and physical man. The 
 cheek blanches, the lip quivers, and the eye almost 
 hesitates to look upon the scene. 
 
 " In this attitude you may, perhaps, be ordered to 
 stand an hour, inactive, havoc meanwhile marking its 
 footsteps with blood on every side. Finally the order 
 is given to advance, to fire, or to charge. And now, 
 what a change T With your first shot you become 
 
34 STORIES ofWhe civil war 
 
 a new man. Personal safety is your least concern. 
 Fear has no existence in your bosom. Hesitation gives 
 way to an uncontrollable desire to rush into the thick- 
 est of the fight. The dead and dying around you, if 
 they receive a passing thought, only serve to stimulate 
 you to revenge. You become cool and deliberate, and 
 watch the effect of bullets, the shower of bursting 
 shells, the passage of cannon-balls as they rake their 
 murderous channels through your ranks, the plunging 
 of wounded horses, the agonies of the dying, and the 
 clash of contending arms, which follows the charge, 
 with a feeling so calloused by surrounding circum- 
 stances that your soul seems dead to every sympathiz- 
 ing and selfish thought. 
 
 " Such is the spirit which carries the soldier through 
 the field of battle. But when the excitement has 
 passed, when the roll of musketry has ceased, the noisy 
 voices of the cannons are stilled, the dusky pall of 
 smoke has risen from the field, and you stroll over the 
 theatre of carnage, hearing the groans of the wounded, 
 discovering here, shattered almost beyond recognition, 
 the form of some dear friend whom only an hour before 
 you met in the full flush of life and happ'ness, — 
 then you begin to realize the horrors of war, and 
 experience a reaction of nature. The heart opens its 
 
UNDER FIRE FOR THE FIRST TIME 35 
 
 floodgates, humanity asserts herself again, and you 
 begin to feel. 
 
 " Friend and foe alike now receive your kindest serv- 
 ices. The enemy, whom, but a short time before, full 
 of hate, you were doing all in your power to kill, you 
 now endeavor to save. You supply him with water to 
 quench his thirst and with food to sustain his strength. 
 All that is human or charitable in your nature now rises 
 to the surface, and you are animated by that spirit of 
 mercy which ^blesseth him that gives and him that 
 takes.' A battle-field is eminently a place that tries 
 men's souls." 
 
36 STORIES OF tIK civil WAR 
 
 VII 
 
 LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 
 
 A FEW days before our regiment received orders to 
 join General Lyon, on his march to Wilson's Creek, the 
 drummer of our company was taken sick and conveyed 
 to the hospital On the night before the march, a 
 negro was arrested within the Hnes of the camp, and 
 brought before our captain, who asked him what 
 business he had within the lines. He replied: ''I 
 know a drummer that you would like to enlist in your 
 company, and I have come to tell you of it." He was 
 immediately requested to inform the drummer that if 
 he would enlist for our short term of service, he would 
 be allowed extra pay, and to do this he must be on the 
 ground early in the morning. 
 
 On the following morning there appeared before the 
 captain's quarters during the beating of the reveille, a 
 middle-aged woman, dressed in deep mourning, leading 
 by the hand a sharp, sprightly-looking boy, apparently 
 about twelve or thirteen years of age. Her story vv^as 
 soon told. She was from East Tennessee, where her 
 
LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 37 
 
 husband had been killed by the Confederates and all 
 their property destroyed. 
 
 During the rehearsal of her story the little fellow 
 kept his eyes intently fixed upon the countenance of 
 the captain, who was about to express a determination 
 not to take so small a boy, when he spoke out : " Don't 
 be afraid, captain, I can drum." This was spoken with 
 so much confidence that the captain immediately ob- 
 served, with a smile : " Well, well, sergeant, bring the 
 drum, and order our fifer to come forward." In a few 
 moments the drum was produced, and our fifer, a tall, 
 good-natured fellow, who stood, when erect, something 
 over six feet in height, soon made his appearance. 
 
 Upon being introduced to his new comrade, he 
 stooped down, with his hands resting upon his knees, 
 and, after peering into the little fellow's face a moment, 
 he observed: ''My little man, can you drum.?" — *'Yes, 
 sir," he replied, "I drummed in Tennessee." Our fifer 
 immediately commenced straightening himself upward 
 until all the angles in his person had disappeared, when 
 he placed his fife at his mouth and played the '' Flowers 
 of Edinborough," one of the most difficult things to follow 
 with the drum that could have been selected, and nobly 
 did the little fellow follow him, showing himself to be a 
 master of the drum. When the music ceased, our cap- 
 tain turned to the mother, and observed, — 
 
38 STORIES OF Tiff CIVIL WAR 
 
 " Madam, I will take your boy. What is his name ? '* 
 
 " Edward Lee," she replied ; then, placing her hand 
 upon the captain's arm, she continued, " Captain, if he 
 is not killed" — here her maternal feelings overcame 
 her utterance, and she bent down over her boy and 
 kissed him upon the forehead. As she rose, she ob- 
 served : " Captain, you will bring him back with you, 
 won't you } " 
 
 "Yes, yes," he replied, "we will be certain to bring 
 him back with us. We shall be discharged in six 
 weeks." 
 
 An hour after, our company led the Iowa First out 
 of camp, our drum and fife playing "The girl I left 
 behind me." Eddie, as we called him, soon became a 
 great favorite with all the men in the company. When 
 any of the boys had returned from a foraging excur- 
 sion, Eddie's share of the peaches and melons was the 
 first apportioned out. During our heavy and fatiguing 
 march, it was often amusing to see our long-legged 
 fifer wading through the mud with our little drummer 
 mounted upon his back, and always in that position 
 when fording streams. 
 
 During the fight at Wilson's Creek, I was stationed 
 with a part of our company on the right of Totten's 
 battery, while the balance of our company, with a part 
 
LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 39 
 
 of an Illinois regiment, was ordered down into a deep 
 ravine upon our left, in which it was known a portion 
 of the enemy was concealed, with whom they were 
 soon engaged. The contest in the ravine continuing 
 some time, Totten suddenly wheeled his battery upon 
 the enemy in that quarter, when they soon retreated to 
 the high ground behind their lines. In less than 
 twenty minutes after Totten had driven the enemy 
 from the ravine, the word passed from man to man 
 throughout the army, ''Lyon is killed!" and soon after, 
 hostilities having ceased upon both sides, the order 
 came for our main force to fall back upon Springfield, 
 while a part of the Iowa First and two companies of 
 the Missouri regiment were to camp upon the ground 
 and cover the retreat next morning. That night I was 
 detailed for guard duty, my turn of guard closing with 
 the morning call. When I went out with the officer as 
 a relief, I found that my post was upon a high eminence 
 that overlooked the deep ravine in which our men had 
 engaged the enemy, until Totten's battery came to 
 their assistance. It was a dreary, lonesome beat. The 
 moon had gone down in the early part of the night, 
 while the stars twinkled dimly through a hazy atmos- 
 phere, lighting up imperfectly the surrounding objects. 
 The hours passed slowly away, when at length the 
 
40 STORIES OF T^ 
 
 CIVIL WAR 
 
 morning light began to streak along the eastern sky, 
 making surrounding objects more plainly visible. Pres- 
 ently I heard a drum beat up the morning call. At 
 first I thought it came from the camp of the enemy 
 across the creek ; but as I listened, I found that it came 
 up from the deep ravine ; for a few minutes it was silent, 
 and then I heard it again. I listened — the sound of 
 the drum was familiar to me — and I knew that it was 
 our drummer boy from Tennessee. 
 
 I was about to desert my post to go- to his assistance, 
 when I discovered the officer of the guard approaching 
 with two men. We all listened to the sound, and were 
 satisfied that it was Eddie's drum. I asked permission 
 to go to his assistance. The officer hesitated, saying 
 that the orders were to march in twenty minutes. I 
 promised to be back in that time, and he consented. I 
 immediately started down the hill through the thick 
 undergrowth, and upon reaching the valley I followed 
 the sound of the drum, and soon found him, seated 
 upon the ground, his back leaning against the trunk of 
 a fallen tree, while his drum hung upon a bush in front 
 of him, reaching nearly to the ground. As soon as he 
 discovered me he dropped his drumsticks and ex- 
 claimed, " O corporal ! I am so glad to see you. Give 
 me a drink, please," reaching out his hand for my can- 
 
LITTLE EDDIE THE DRUMMER BOY 4I 
 
 teen, which was empty. I immediately turned to bring 
 him some water from the brook that I could hear rip- 
 pling through the bushes near b}^, when, thinking that 
 I was about to leave him, he began crying, saying : 
 "Don't leave me, corporal — I can't walk." I was 
 soon back with the water, when I discovered that he 
 was seriously wounded in both of his feet by a cannon- 
 ball. After satisfying his thirst, he looked up into my 
 face and said : " You don't think I will die, corporal, do 
 you ? This man said I would not — he said the sur- 
 geon could cure my feet." I now discovered a man 
 lying on the grass near him. By his dress I recognized 
 him as belonging to the enemy. It appeared that he 
 had been shot through the bowels, and fallen near 
 where Eddie lay. Knowing that he could not live, and 
 seeing the condition of the boy, he had crawled to him, 
 taken off his buckskin suspenders, and corded the little 
 fellow's legs below the knee, and then lay down and 
 died. While he was telling me these particulars, I 
 heard the tramp of cavalry coming down the ravine, 
 and in a moment a scout of the enemy was upon us, 
 and I was taken prisoner. I requested the officer to 
 take Eddie up in front of him, and he did so, carrying 
 him with great tenderness and care. When we reached 
 the camp of the enemy, the little fellow was dead. 
 
42 STORIES OF THe4^VIL WAR 
 
 VIII 
 
 THE COMBAT BETWEEN THE MONITOR AND 
 MERRIMAC 
 
 About nine o'clock on Saturday evening, March 8, 
 1862, Ericsson's new ironclad turret ship, the Moni- 
 tor, reached Fortress Monroe from New York. Every 
 exertion had been made by her inventor to get her out 
 in time to meet the Merrimac ; and the Confederates, 
 finding out from their spies in New York that she 
 would probably be ready, put a double force on their 
 frigate and worked day and night. It is said that this 
 extra labor gained that one day in which the Merrimac 
 destroyed the Cumberland and the Congress. 
 
 The Monitor was commanded by Lieutenant John L, 
 Worden. A dreadful passage of three days had almost 
 worn out her crew. The sea had swept over her decks ; 
 the turret was often the only part above water. The 
 tiller-rope was at one time thrown off the wheel. The 
 draught-pipe had been choked by the pouring down of the 
 waves. The men were half suffocated. The fires had 
 been repeatedly extinguished. Ventilation had, how- 
 
THE MONITOR AND MERRIMAC 43 
 
 ever, been obtained through the turret. Throughout the 
 preceding afternoon, Worden had heard the sound of 
 the cannonading. He delayed but a few minutes at the 
 fortress, and soon after midnight had anchored the 
 Monitor alongside the Minnesota. 
 
 Day broke, a clear and beautiful Sunday. The flag 
 of the Cumberland was still flying. The Merrimac 
 approached to renew the attack. She ran down toward 
 the fortress, and then came up the channel through 
 which the Minnesota had passed. Worden at once 
 took his station at the peep-hole of his pilot-house, laid 
 the Monitor before her enemy, and gave the fire of his 
 two eleven-inch guns. The shot of each was one hun- 
 dred and sixty-eight pounds weight. Catesby Jones, 
 who had taken command of the Merrimac, Buchanan 
 having been wounded the day before, saw at once that 
 he had on his hands a very different antagonist from 
 those of yesterday. The turret was but a very small 
 work to fire at, nine feet by twenty ; the shot that 
 struck it glanced off. One bolt only, from a rifle-gun, 
 struck squarely, penetrating the iron. For the most 
 part, the shots flew over the low deck, missing their aim. 
 
 Five times the Merrimac tried to run the Monitor 
 down, and at each time received, at a few feet distance, 
 the fire of the eleven-inch guns. In her movements, at 
 
44 STORIES OF TH^CIVIL WAR 
 
 one moment she got aground, and the Hght-drawing 
 Monitor, steaming round her, tried at every promising 
 point to get a shot into her. Her armor at last began 
 to start and bend. 
 
 Unable to shake off the Monitor, or to do her any 
 injury, the Merrimac now renewed her attack on the 
 frigate Minnesota, receiving from her a whole broadside, 
 which struck squarely. "It was enough," said the 
 commander of the frigate, "to have blown out of the 
 water any wooden ship in the world." In her turn, she 
 sent from her rifled bow-gun a shell through the Min- 
 nesota's side ; it exploded within her, tearing four of 
 her rooms into one, and setting her on fire. Another 
 shell burst the boiler of a tugboat which lay alongside 
 the Minnesota. The frigate was firing on the iron- 
 clad solid shot as fast as she could. 
 
 Once more the Monitor ran between them, compell- 
 ing her antagonist to change position, in doing which 
 the Confederate ram again grounded, and again re- 
 ceived a whole broadside from the Minnesota. The 
 blows she was receiving were beginning to tell upon 
 her. As soon as she could get clear, she ran down the 
 bay, followed by the Monitor. Suddenly she turned 
 round and attempted to run her tormentor down. Her 
 beak grated on the Monitor's deck and was wrenched. 
 
THE MONITOR AND MERRIMAC 45 
 
 The turret ship stood unharmed a blow like that which 
 had sent the Cumberland to the bottom ; she merely 
 glided out from under her antagonist, and in the act 
 of so doing gave her a shot while almost in contact. 
 It seemed to crush in her armor. 
 
 The Monitor now hauled off for the purpose of hoist- 
 ing more shot into her turret. Catesby Jones thought 
 he had silenced her, and that he might make another 
 attempt on the Minnesota. He, however, changed his 
 course as the Monitor steamed up, and it was seen that 
 the Merrimac was sagging down at the stern. She 
 made the best of her way back to Craney Island. The 
 battle was over ; the turreted Monitor had driven her 
 from the field and won the victory. 
 
 The Minnesota had fired two hundred and forty-seven 
 solid shot, two hundred and eighty-two shells, and more 
 than ten tons of powder. The Monitor had fired forty- 
 one shot, and was struck twenty-two times. The last shell 
 fired by the Merrimac at her struck her pilot-house 
 opposite the peep-hole, through which Worden at that 
 moment was looking. He was knocked down senseless 
 and blinded by the explosion. When consciousness re- 
 turned, the first question this brave officer asked was : 
 ** Did we save the Minnesota ? " The shattering of the 
 pilot-house was the greatest injury that the Monitor 
 
46 STORIES OF TI^ 
 
 CIVIL WAR 
 
 received. On board the Merrimac two were killed and 
 nineteen wounded. She had lost her iron prow, her 
 starboard anchor, and all her boats ; her armor was dis- 
 located and damaged ; she leaked considerably ; her 
 steam-pipe and smoke-stack were riddled ; the muzzle's 
 of two of her guns were shot away ; the wood-work 
 round one of the ports was set afire at every discharge. 
 
 This remarkable naval engagement excited the most 
 profound interest throughout the civilized world. It 
 seemed as if the day of wooden navies were over. Nor 
 was it the superiority of iron as against wood that was 
 settled by this combat ; it showed that a monitor was a 
 better construction than a mailed broadside sh'p, and 
 that mclined armor was inferior to a turret. 
 
 It may be interesting to know that the monitors 
 proved to have serious defects as sea-going vessels. 
 What became of the original Monitor ? She foundered 
 in a storm off Cape Hatteras during the same year. 
 The Merrimac was blown up by the Confederates, when 
 they abandoned Norfolk, in May, 1862. 
 
A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 4/ 
 
 IX 
 
 A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN AN ARMY BALLOON 
 
 During General McClellan's campaign against Rich- 
 mond, in 1862, balloons were often used to ascertain 
 more accurately the position of the enemy's forces and 
 fortifications. 
 
 The aeronaut of the Army of the Potomac was 
 Professor Lowe. He had made seven thousand ascen- 
 sions, and his army companion was usually either an 
 artist, a correspondent, or a telegrapher. 
 
 A minute insulated wire reached from the car to 
 headquarters, and McClellan was thus informed of all 
 that could be seen within the Confederate works. 
 Sometimes they remained aloft for hours, making obser- 
 vations with powerful glasses, and once or twice the 
 enemy tested their distance with shell. 
 
 Heretofore the ascensions had been made from re- 
 mote places, for there was good reason to believe that 
 batteries lined the opposite hills ; but now, for the first 
 time, Lowe intended to make an ascent whereby he 
 could look into Richmond, count the forts encircling it, 
 
48 STORIES OF TH^ CIVIL WAR 
 
 and note the number and position of the camps that 
 intervened. The balloon was named the " Constitu- 
 tion," and looked like a semi-distended boa-constrictor, 
 as it flapped, with a jerking sound, and shook its oiled 
 and painted folds. It was anchored to the ground by 
 stout ropes tied to stakes, and also by sandbags which 
 were hooked to its netting. The basket lay alongside ; 
 the generators were contained in blue wooden wagons, 
 marked " U. S." ; and the gas was fed to the balloon 
 through rubber and metallic pipes. A tent or two, a 
 quantity of vitriol in green and wicker carboys, some 
 horses and transportation teams, and several men that 
 assisted the inflation, were the only objects to be re- 
 marked. As some time was to elapse before the 
 arrangements were completed, I went to one of the 
 tents to take a comfortable nap. The professor 
 aroused me at three o'clock, when I found the canvas 
 straining its bonds, and emitting a hollow sound, as of 
 escaping gas. The basket was made fast directly, the 
 telescopes tossed into place ; the professor climbed to 
 the side, holding by the network ; and I coiled myself 
 up in a rope at the bottom. 
 
 ^' Stand by your cables," he said, and the bags of 
 ballast were at once cut away. Twelve men took each 
 a rope in hand, and played out slowly, letting us glide 
 
A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 49 
 
 gently upward. The earth seemed to be falling away, 
 and we poised motionless in the blue ether. The tree- 
 tops sank downward, the hills dropped noiselessly 
 through space, and directly the Chickahominy was visi- 
 ble beyond us, winding like a ribbon of silver through 
 the ridgy landscape. 
 
 Far and wide stretched the Federal camps. We saw 
 faces turned upward gazing at our ascent, and heard 
 clearly, as in a vacuum, the voices of soldiers. At 
 every second the prospect widened, the belt of horizon 
 enlarged, remote farmhouses came in view ; the earth 
 was like a perfectly flat surface, painted with blue woods, 
 and streaked with pictures of roads, fields, fences, and 
 streams. As we rose higher, the river seemed directly 
 beneath us, and the farms on the opposite bank were 
 plainly discernible. Richmond lay only a little way off, 
 enthroned on its many hills, with the James stretching 
 white and sinuous from its feet to the horizon. We 
 could see the streets, the suburbs, the bridges, the out- 
 lying roads, nay, the moving masses of people. The 
 Capitol sat, white and colossal, on Shockoe Hill, the 
 dingy buildings of the Tredegar Works blackened the 
 river-side above, and, one by one, we made out familiar 
 hotels, public edifices, and vicinities. The fortifications 
 were revealed in part only, for they took the hue or the 
 
50 STORIES OF T)^ CIVIL WAR ^ 
 
 soil, and blended with it ; but many camps were plainly 
 discernible, and by means of the glasses we separated 
 tent from tent and hut from hut. The Confederates 
 were seen running to the cover of the woods, that we 
 might not discover their numbers, but we knew the 
 location of their campfires by the smoke that curled 
 toward us. 
 
 A panorama so beautiful would have been rare at 
 any time, but this was thrice interesting from its past 
 and coming associations. Across those plains the 
 hordes at our feet were either to advance victoriously, 
 or be driven eastward with dusty banners and dripping 
 hands. Those white farmhouses were to be receptacles 
 for the groaning and the mangled ; thousands were 
 to be received beneath the turf of those pasture 
 fields ; and no rod of ground on any side that 
 should not, sooner or later, smoke with the blood of 
 the slain. 
 
 "Guess I've got 'em now, jest where I want 'em," 
 said Lowe, with a gratified laugh; "jest keep still as 
 you mind to, and squint your eye through my glass, 
 while I make a sketch of the roads and the country. 
 Hold hard there, and anchor fast ! " he screamed to the 
 people below. Then he fell imperturbably to work, 
 sweeping the country with his hrcwk-eye, and letting 
 
A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 5 1 
 
 nothing escape that could contribute to the complete- 
 ness of his jotting. 
 
 We had been but a few minutes thus poised, when 
 close below, from the edge of a timber stretch, puffed 
 a volume of white smoke. A second afterward, the air 
 quivered with the peal of a cannon. A third, and we 
 heard the splitting shriek of a shell, that passed a 
 little to our left, but in exact range, and burst be- 
 yond us in the ploughed field, heaving up the clay as 
 it exploded. 
 
 " Ha ! " said Lowe, '' they have got us foul ! Haul in 
 the cables — quick ! " he shouted in a fierce tone. 
 
 At the same instant, the puff, the report, and the 
 shriek were repeated ; but this time the shell burst to our 
 right in mid-air, and scattered fragments around and 
 below us. 
 
 '' Another shot will do the business," said Lowe be- 
 tween his teeth ; " it isn't a mile, and they have got the 
 range." 
 
 Again the puff and the whizzing shock. I closed my 
 eyes, and held my breath hard. The explosion was so 
 close that the pieces of shell seemed driven across my 
 face, and my ears quivered with the sound. I looked at 
 Lowe to see if he was struck. He had sprung to his 
 feet, and clutched the cordage frantically. 
 
52 STORIES OF TH^CIVIL WAR 
 
 *' Are you pulling in there, you men ? " he bellowed 
 with a loud imprecation. 
 
 " Puff ! bang ! whiz-z-2>z 1 splutter ! " broke another 
 shell, and my heart was wedged in my throat. 
 
 I saw at a glimpse the whole bright landscape again. 
 I heard the voices of soldiers below, and saw them run- 
 ning across fields, fences, and ditches, to reach our 
 anchorage. I saw some drummer boys digging in the 
 field beneath for one of the buried shells. I saw the 
 waving of signal flags, the commotion through the 
 camps, — of^cers galloping their horses, teamsters 
 whipping their mules, regiments turning out, drums 
 beaten, and batteries limbered up. I remarked, last of 
 all, the site of the battery that alarmed us, and, by a 
 strange sharpness of sight and sense, believed that I 
 saw the gunners swabbing, ramming, and aiming the 
 pieces. 
 
 ** Puff ! bang ! whiz-z-z-z ! splutter ! crash ! " 
 
 ** Puff ! bang ! whiz-z-z-z ! splutter ! crash ! " 
 
 " My God ! " said Lowe, hissing the words slowly and 
 terribly, '' they have opened upon us from another bat- 
 tery ! " 
 
 The scene seemed to dissolve. A cold dew broke 
 from my forehead. I grew blind and deaf. I had 
 fainted. 
 
A THRILLING EXPERIENCE IN A BALLOON 53 
 
 "Throw some water in his face," said somebody. 
 " He ain't used to it. Hallo ! there he comes to." 
 
 I staggered to my feet. There must have been a 
 thousand men about us. They were looking curiously 
 at the aeronaut and me. The balloon lay fuming and 
 struggling on the clods. 
 
 ** Three cheers for the Union Bal-loon ! " called a lit- 
 tle fellow at my side. 
 
 " Hip, hip — hoorooar ! hoorooar ! hoorooar ! " 
 
 " Tiger-r-r — yah ! whoop ! " 
 
54 
 
 STORIES OF TfK CIVIL WAR 
 
 X 
 
 A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
 
 The most marked characteristic of President Lin- 
 coln's manners was his simplicity and artlessness. 
 
 This at once impressed 
 itself upon the observa- 
 tion of those who met 
 him for the first time, 
 and each successive in- 
 terview deepened the 
 impression. People de- 
 lighted to find in the 
 ruler of the nation free- 
 dom from pomposity 
 and affectation, min- 
 gled with a certain sim- 
 ple dignity which never 
 forsook him, even in 
 the presence of critical 
 or pol'shed strangers. There was always something 
 which spoke the fine fibre of the man. While his dis- 
 regard of courtly conventionalities was something ludi- 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 55 
 
 crous, his native sweetness and straightforwardness of 
 manner served to disarm criticism and impress the 
 visitor that he was before a man, pure, self-poised, col- 
 lected, and strong in unconscious strength. 
 
 The simple habits of Mr. Lincoln were so well known 
 that it is a wonder that he did not sooner lose that 
 precious life which he seemed to hold so lightly. He 
 had an almost morbid dislike for an escort, or guard, and 
 daily exposed himself to the deadly aim of an assassin. 
 "If they kill me," he once said, "the next man will be 
 just as bad for them ; and in a country like this, where 
 our habits are simple, and must be, assassination is 
 always possible, and will come if they are determined 
 upon it." A cavalry guard was once placed at the gates 
 of the White House for a while, and he said, privately, 
 that he "worried until he got rid of it." 
 
 Gentleness mixed with firmness characterized all of 
 Mr. Lincoln's dealings with public men. Often bitterly 
 assailed and abused, he never appeared to recognize the 
 fact that he had political enemies. His keenest critics 
 and most bitter opponents studiously avoided his pres- 
 ence. It seemed as if no man could be familiar with 
 his homely, heart-lighted features, his single-hearted 
 directness and manly kindliness, and remain long 
 an enemy, or be anything but his friend. It was this 
 
56 STORIES OF T4|P CIVIL WAR 
 
 warm frankness of Mr. Lincoln's manner that made a 
 hard-headed politician once leave the hustings v/here 
 Lincoln was speaking in 1856, saying, " I won't hear 
 him, for I don't like a man that makes me believe in 
 him in spite of myself." 
 
 " Honest old Abe " has passed into the language of 
 our time and country as a synonym for all that is just 
 and honest in man. Yet thousands of instances, 
 unknown to the world, might be added to those already 
 told of Lincoln's great and crowning virtue. This 
 honesty appeared to spring from religious convictions. 
 This was his surest refuge at times when he was most 
 misunderstood or misrepresented. There was some- 
 thing touching in his childlike and simple reliance upon 
 Divine aid, especially when in such extremities as he 
 sometimes fell into. Though prayer and reading of the 
 Scriptures were his constant habit, he more earnestly 
 than ever, at such times, sought that strength which is 
 promised when mortal help faileth. His address upon 
 the occasion of his re-inauguration has been said to be 
 as truly a religious document as a state-paper ; and his 
 acknowledgment of God and His providence are inter- 
 woven through all of his later speeches, letters, and 
 messages. Once he said : " I have been driven many 
 times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction 
 
A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 5/ 
 
 that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and 
 that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.** 
 
 A certain lady lived for four years in the White 
 House with President Lincoln's family. She gives the 
 following incident of the sad days of 1863 : — 
 
 " One day, Mr. Lincoln came into the room where I 
 was fitting a dress on Mrs. Lincoln. His step was 
 slow and heavy, and his face sad. Like a tired child he 
 threw himself upon a sofa, and shaded his eyes with his 
 hands. He was a complete picture of dejection. Mrs. 
 Lincoln, observing his troubled look, asked, — 
 
 " * Where have you been, father } ' 
 
 " ' To the War Department,' was the brief answer. 
 
 " * Any news } ' 
 
 " ' Yes, plenty of news, but no good news. It is dark, 
 dark everywhere.* 
 
 " He reached forth one of his long arms and took a 
 small Bible from a stand near the head of the sofa, 
 opened the pages of the holy book, and was soon ab- 
 sorbed in reading them. 
 
 " A quarter of an hour passed, and, on glancing at 
 the sofa, I saw that the face of the President seemed 
 more cheerful. The dejected expression was gone, and 
 the countenance seemed lighted up with new resolution 
 and hope. 
 
58 STORIES OF T4P CIVIL WAR 
 
 ''The change was so marked that I could not but 
 wonder at it, and wonder led to the desire to know 
 what book of the Bible afforded so much comfort to the 
 reader. 
 
 " Making the search for a missing article an excuse, 
 I walked gently around the sofa, and, looking into the 
 open book, I saw that Mr. Lincoln was reading that 
 divine comforter. Job. He read with Christian eager- 
 ness, and the courage and hope that he derived from 
 the inspired pages made him a new man. 
 
 " I almost imagined I could hear the Lord speaking 
 to him from out the whirlwind of battle : ' Gird up 
 now thy loins like a man ; for I will demand of thee, 
 and answer thou me.* 
 
 " What a sublime picture was this ! The ruler of a 
 mighty nation going to the pages of the Bible for com- 
 fort and courage — and finding both — in the darkest 
 hours of his country's calamity." 
 
 No man but President Lincoln knew how great was 
 the load of care which he bore, nor the amount of hard 
 labor which he daily accomplished. With the usual per- 
 plexities of his great office, he carried the burdens of the 
 Civil War, which he always called ''this great trouble." 
 Though the intellectual man had greatly grown, mean- 
 time, few people would recognize the hearty, blithe- 
 
A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 59 
 
 some, genial, and wiry Abraham Lincoln of earlier 
 days, with his stooping figure, dull eyes, careworn face, 
 and languid frame. The old, clear laugh never came 
 back ; his even temper was sometimes disturbed, and 
 his natural charity for all was often turned into an 
 unwonted suspicion of the motives of men, whose selfish- 
 ness cost him so much wear of mind. 
 
 Lincoln did not have a hopeful temperament. 
 Although he tried to look at the bright side of things, 
 he was always prepared for disaster and defeat. He 
 often saw success when others saw disaster; butoftener 
 perceived a failure when others were elated with victory. 
 He was never weary of commending the patience of 
 the American people, which he thought something 
 matchless and touching. He would often shed tears 
 when speaking of the cheerful sacrifice of the light and 
 strength of so many homes throughout the land. His 
 own patience was marvellous. He was never crushed 
 at defeat or unduly elated by success. Once he said 
 the keenest blow of all the war was at an early stage, 
 when the disaster at Ball's Bluff, and the death of his 
 beloved friend, General Baker, smote upon him like a 
 whirlwind from a desert. 
 
 Mr. Lincoln loved to read the humorous writers. He 
 could repeat from memory whole chapters from- the 
 
6o STORIES OF T^ CIVIL WAR 
 
 chronicler of the " Mackerel Brigade," Parson Nasby, 
 and *' Private Miles O'Reilly." These light trifles 
 diverted his mind, or, as he said, gave him refuge from 
 himself and his weariness. The Bible was a very famil- 
 iar study, whole chapters of Isaiah, the New Testa- 
 ment, and the Psalms, being fixed in his memory. He 
 liked the Old Testament best, and dwelt on the simple 
 beauty of the historical books. Of the poets, he pre- 
 ferred Tom Hood and Holmes, the mixture of humor 
 and pathos in their writings being attractive to him 
 beyond all other poets. 
 
 The President's love of music was something pas- 
 sionate, but his tastes were simple and uncultivated, 
 his choice being old airs, songs, and ballads, among 
 which the plaintive Scotch songs were best liked. 
 "Annie Laurie," and especially *' Auld Robin Gray," 
 never lost their charms for him. 
 
 He wrote slowly and with greatest deliberation, and 
 liked to take his time ; yet some of his despatches, 
 written without any corrections, were models of com- 
 pactness and finish. His private correspondence was 
 extensive. He preferred writing his letters, with his 
 own hand, making copies himself frequently, and filing 
 everything away in a set of pigeon-holes in his office. 
 He conscientiously attended to his enormous corre- 
 
A PEN PICTURE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 6l 
 
 spondence, and read everything that appeared to 
 demand his attention. Even in the busiest days of the 
 war, the good President found time to send his auto- 
 graph to every schoolboy who wrote to him for it. 
 
 " None of the artists or pictures," says Walt Whit- 
 man, " caught the deep, though subtle and indirect ex- 
 pression of Lincoln's face. There is something else 
 there. One of the great portrait painters of two or 
 three centuries ago is needed. 
 
 " Probably the reader has seen physiognomies (often 
 old farmers, sea-captains, and such) that, behind their 
 homeliness, or even ugliness, held superior points so 
 subtle, yet so palpable, making the real life of their 
 faces almost as impossible to depict as a wild perfume, 
 or fruit-paste, or a passionate tone of the living voice 
 — and such was Lincoln's face, the peculiar color, the 
 lines of it, the eyes, mouth, expression. Of technical 
 beauty it had nothing — but to the eye of a great artist 
 it furnished a rare study, a feast and fascination." 
 
62 
 
 STORIES OR^HE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XI 
 
 HOW A BOY HELPED GENERAL M'CLELLAN 
 WIN A BATTLE 
 
 Rich Mountain is famous as the scene where the first 
 
 decisive battle was fought in West Virginia between 
 
 General McClellan and 
 the Confederate General 
 Garnett. Rich Mountain 
 Range is long, narrow, 
 and high ; and, except 
 the summit, whereon is 
 Mr. Hart's farm, it is cov- 
 ered with timber densely, 
 save a narrow strip on one 
 side, which is thickly cov- 
 ered with laurel. The 
 Parkersburg and Staun- 
 ton pike winds round the 
 
 mountain, and passes, by the heads of ravines, directly 
 
 over its top. 
 
 The formation of the mountain-top is admirably 
 
 adapted for the erection of strong military defences; 
 
 GEORGE B. M'CLELLAN. 
 
HOW A BOY HELPED m'cLELLAN 63 
 
 and on this account General Garnett had selected it as 
 a stronghold. He had erected formidable fortifications, 
 rendering an attack fatal to the assailing party, on the 
 road leading up the mountain, which was deemed the 
 only route by which the enemy could possibly reach his 
 position. General McClellan was advancing with an 
 army of five thousand men from Clarksburg, on the 
 turnpike, intending to attack Garnett early in the morn- 
 ing where his works crossed the road, not deeming any 
 other route up the mountain practicable. Had he car- 
 ried his plan into execution, subsequent examination 
 showed that no earthly power could have saved him and 
 his army from certain defeat. The mountain was 
 steep in front of the fortifications ; reconnoissance, 
 except in force, was impossible ; and McClellan had 
 determined to risk a battle directly on the road, where 
 Garnett, without McClellan's knowledge, had rendered 
 his defences impervious to any power that man could 
 bring against him. 
 
 Mr. Hart, whose farm is on the mountain, was a 
 Union man, knew the ground occupied by Garnett, and 
 had carefully examined his fortifications on the road 
 coming up the mountain. Hearing that McClellan 
 was advancing, and fearing that he might attempt to 
 scale the works at the road, he sent his little son, 
 
64 STORIES OF ^ 
 
 E CIVIL WAR 
 
 Joseph Hart, in the night, to meet McClellan and 
 inform him of the situation of affairs on the mountain. 
 Joseph, being but a boy, got through the Confederate 
 lines without difficulty, and, travelling the rest of the 
 night and part of the next day, reached the advanced 
 guard of the Union army, informed them of the object 
 of his coming, and was taken under guard to the gene- 
 ral's quarters. Young as he was, the Federal com- 
 mander looked upon him with suspicion. He questioned 
 him closely. Joseph related in simple language all his 
 father had told him of Garnett's position, the number 
 of his force, the character of his works, and the impos- 
 sibility of successfully attacking him on the mountain 
 in the direction he proposed. The general listened 
 attentively to his simple story, occasionally interrupting 
 him with, *' Tell the- truth, my boy." At each interrup- 
 tion Joseph earnestly biit quietly would reply, " I am 
 telling you the truth, general." ** But," says the latter, 
 *' do you know, if you are not, you will be shot as a 
 spy ? " "I am willing to be shot if all I say is not 
 true," gently responded Joseph. *' Well," says the 
 general, after being satisfied of the entire honesty of 
 his little visitor, " if I cannot go up the mountain by 
 the road, in what way am I to go up ? " Joseph, who 
 now saw that he was believed from the manner of his 
 
HOW A BOY HELPED m'cLELLAN 65 
 
 interrogator, said there was a way up the other side, 
 leaving the turnpike just at the foot, and going round 
 the base to where the laurel was. There was no road 
 there, and the mountain was very steep ; but he had 
 been up there ; there were but few trees standing, and 
 none fallen down to be in the way. The laurel was 
 very thick up the side of the mountain, and the top 
 matted together so closely that a man could walk on 
 the tops. The last statement of Joseph once more 
 awakened a slight suspicion of General McClellan, who 
 said sharply, '' Do you say men can walk on the tops of 
 the laurel ? " " Yes, sir," said Joseph. " Do you think 
 my army can go up the mountain over the tops of the 
 laurel ? " '' No, sir," promptly answered Joseph ; " but 
 / have done so, and a man might if he would walk 
 slowly and have nothing to carry." " But, my boy, 
 don't you see, I have a great many men, and horses, 
 and cannon to take up, and how do you think we could 
 get up over that laurel .? " ''The trees are small ; they 
 are so small you can cut them down, without making 
 any noise, with knives and hatchets ; and they will not 
 know on the top of the mountain what you are doing 
 or when you are coming," promptly and respectfully 
 answered Joseph, who was now really to be the leader 
 of the little army that was to decide the political destiny 
 of West Virginia. 
 
66 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 The Federal commander was satisfied with this ; and 
 although he had marched all day, and intended that 
 night to take the easy way up the mountain by the road, 
 he immediately changed his plan of attack, and suddenly 
 the army of the Union was moving away in the direc- 
 tion pointed out by Joseph Hart. When they came to 
 the foot of the mountain, they left the smooth and easy 
 track of the turnpike, and with difficulty wound round 
 the broad base of the mountain through ravines and 
 ugly gorges, to the point indicated by the little guide. 
 Here the army halted. McClellan and some of his 
 staff, with Joseph, proceeded to examine the nature of 
 the ground, and the laurel covering the mountain from 
 its base to its summit. All was precisely as Joseph 
 had described it in the general's tent on the Staunton 
 pike ; and the quick eye of the hero of Rich Mountain 
 saw at a glance the feasibility of the attack. It was 
 past midnight when the army reached the foot of the 
 mountain. Though floating clouds hid the stars, the 
 night was not entirely dark, and more than a thousand 
 knives and hatchets were soon busy clearing away 
 the marvellous laurel. Silence reigned throughout the 
 lines, save the sharp click of the small blades and the 
 rustle of the falling laurel. Before daybreak the nar- 
 row and precipitous way was cleared, and the work of 
 
HOW A BOY HELPED m'cLELLAN 6/ 
 
 ascending commenced. The horses were tied at the 
 foot of the mountain. The artillery horses were taken 
 from the carriages. One by one the cannon were taken 
 up the rough and steep side of the mountain by hand, 
 and left within a short distance of the top, in such a 
 situation as to be readily moved forward when the mo- 
 ment of attack should arrive. The main army then 
 commenced the march up by companies, many falling 
 down, but suddenly recovering their places. The ascent 
 was a slow and tedious one. The way was winding and 
 a full mile. But before daybreak all was ready, and the 
 Union cannon were booming upon and over the enemy's 
 works, nearly in the rear, at an unexpected moment, and 
 from an entirely unexpected quarter. They were thun- 
 der-struck, as well as struck by shell and canister. 
 They did the best they could by a feeble resistance, and 
 fled precipitately down the mountain, pursued by the 
 Federals to Cheat River, where the brave Garnett was 
 killed. Two hundred brave men fell on the mountain, 
 and were buried by the side of the turnpike, with no 
 other sign of the field of interment than a long indenta- 
 tion made by the sinking down of the earth in the line 
 where the bodies lay at rest. 
 
6S - STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XII 
 
 OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 
 
 One day, in the spring of 1 86 1, Chief Sky, a Chippewa 
 Indian, living in the northern wilds of Wisconsin, captured 
 an eagle's nest. To make sure of his prize, he cut the 
 tree down, and caught the eaglets as they were sliding 
 from the nest to run and hide in the grass. One died. 
 He took the other home and built it a nest in a tree 
 close by his wigwam. The eaglet was as big as a hen, 
 covered with soft brown down. The red children were 
 delighted with their new pet ; and as soon as it got ac- 
 quainted it liked to sit down in the grass and see them 
 play with the dogs. But Chief Sky was poor, and he 
 had to sell it to a white man for a bushel of corn. The 
 white man brought it to Eau Claire, a little village alive 
 with men going to the war. " Here's a recruit," said 
 the man. "An eagle, an eagle !" shouted the soldiers, 
 **let him enlist;" and, sure enough, he was sworn into 
 the service with ribbons, red, white, and blue, round his 
 neck. 
 
 On a perch surmounted by stars and stripes, the 
 
OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 69 
 
 company took him to Madison, the capital of the State. 
 As they marched into camp, with colors flying, drums 
 beating, and the people cheering, the eagle seized the 
 flag in his beak and spread his wings, his bright eye 
 kindling with the spirit of the scene. Shouts rent the 
 air : " The bird of Columbia ! the eagle of freedom for- 
 ever ! " The State made him a new perch, the boys named 
 him " Old Abe," and the regiment, the Eighth Wisconsin, 
 was henceforth called "the Eagle regiment." On the 
 march it was carried at the head of the company, and 
 everywhere was greeted with delight. At St. Louis, a 
 gentleman offered five hundred dollars for it, and 
 another his farm. No, no, the boys had no notion to 
 part with their bird. It was above all price, an emblem 
 of battle and of victory. Besides, it interested their 
 minds, and made them think less of hardships and of 
 home. 
 
 I cannot tell you all the droll adventures of the bird 
 through its three years of service, its flights in the air, 
 its fights with the guinea-hens, and its race with the 
 darkies. When the regiment was in summer quarters 
 it was allowed to run at large, and every morning went 
 to the river half a mile off, where it splashed and 
 played in the water to its heart's content, faithfully re- 
 turning to camp when it had enough. Old Abe's 
 
70 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 favorite place of resort was the sutler's tent, where a 
 live chicken found no quarter in his presence. But 
 rations got low, and for two days Abe had nothing to 
 eat. Hard-tack he objected to, fasting was disagree- 
 able, and Tom, his bearer, could not get beyond the 
 pickets to a farmyard. At last, pushing his way to the 
 colonel's tent, he pleaded for poor Abe. The colonel 
 gave him a pass, and Tom got him an excellent dinner. 
 
 One day a farmer asked Tom to come and show the 
 eagle to his children. Satisfying the curiosity of the 
 family, Tom set him. down in the barnyard. Oh, what 
 a screeching and scattering among the fowls ; for what 
 should Abe do but pounce upon one and gobble up 
 another, to the great disgust of the farmer, who de- 
 clared that was not the bargain. Abe thought, how- 
 ever, there was no harm in confiscating, nor did Tom. 
 
 He seemed to have sense enough to know that he was 
 a burden to his bearer on the march. He would occa- 
 sionally spread his wings and soar aloft to a great height, 
 the men all along the line of march cheering him as he 
 went up. He regularly received his rations from the 
 commissary, the same as any enlisted man. Whenever 
 fresh meat was scarce he would go on a foraging expedi- 
 tion himself. He would be gone two or three days, but 
 would always return, and generally with a young lamb 
 
OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 7I 
 
 or a chicken in his talons. However far he might fly 
 in search of food, he was always sure to find his regi- 
 ment again. In what way he distinguished the two 
 armies so accurately that he was never known to mis- 
 take the gray for the blue, no one can tell. But so it 
 was, that he was never known to alight save in his own 
 regiment, and amongst his own men. 
 
 Abe was in twenty battles, besides many skirmishes. 
 He was at the siege of Vicksburg, the storming of 
 Corinth, and marched with Sherman up the Red River. 
 The whiz of bullets and the scream of shell were his 
 delight. As the battle grew hot and hotter, he would 
 flap his wings and mingle his wildest notes with the 
 noise around him. He was very fond of music, espe- 
 cially " Yankee Doodle " and " Old John Brown." Upon 
 parade, he always gave heed to "Attention." With his 
 eye on the commander, he would listen and obey orders, 
 noting time accurately. After parade he would put off 
 his soldierly air, flap his wings, and make himself at 
 home. The Confederates called him '' Yankee Buzzard," 
 "Owl, Owl," and other hard names; but his eagle 
 nature was quite above noticing it. 
 
 The Confederate General Price gave orders to his 
 men to be sure and capture the eagle of the Eighth 
 Wisconsin. He would rather have it than a dozen 
 
72 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 battle-flags. But for all tnat he scarcely lost a feather, 
 only one from his right wing. His tail feathers were 
 once cropped by a bullet. 
 
 The shield on which he was carried, however, showed 
 so many marks of the enemy's bullets, that it looked 
 on the top as if a groove plane had been run over it. 
 
 At last the war came to an end, and the brave Wis- 
 consin Eighth, with its live eagle and torn and riddled 
 flags, was welcomed back to Madison. It went out a 
 thousand strong, and returned a little band, scarred and 
 toil-worn, having fought and won. 
 
 And what of the soldier bird ? In the name of his 
 gallant veterans he was presented to the State. The 
 Governor accepted the illustrious gift, and ample quar- 
 ters were provided for him in the beautiful State House 
 grounds. 
 
 Nor was the end yet. At the great fair in Chicago^ 
 an enterprising gentleman invited '' Abe " to attend. He 
 had colored photographs of the old hero struck off, and 
 sold many thousands of dollars' worth for the benefit of 
 poor and sick soldiers. 
 
 At the centennial celebration, held in Philadelphia in 
 1876, *'01d Abe" occupied a prominent place on his 
 perch on the west side of the nave in the Agricultural 
 Building. He was still alive, though evidently growing 
 
OLD ABE, THE SOLDIER BIRD 73 
 
 old, and was the observed of all the observers. Thou- 
 sands of visitors, from all sections of the country, paid 
 their respects to the grand old bird. 
 
 The soldier who had carried him during the war con- 
 tinued to have charge of him after the war was over, 
 until the day of Old Abe's death, which occurred in 
 1881. 
 
74 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XIII 
 
 A BOY'S EXPERIENCE AT THE BATTLE OF 
 FREDERICKSBURG 
 
 [From the " YotttJi's Companiony^ 
 
 I WAS but seventeen years of age when I enlisted in 
 a Maine regiment. We were not brought face to face 
 with the enemy until December, 1862, when the great 
 battle of Fredericksburg was fought. The morning of 
 December 11 found us opposite Fredericksburg, which 
 is situated on the south side of the Rappahannock River. 
 We spent the entire day in watching our batteries 
 throwing shells over into the burning city. With the 
 aid of a glass we could see the enemy's works, stretch- 
 ing far down the river. That night their camp-fires 
 were plainly visible, and at times faint cheers were 
 wafted to us on the evening breeze. 
 
 The engineer corps was endeavoring to lay pontoon 
 bridges for our army to cross upon. The Confederate 
 sharp-shooters hotly contested the laying of the bridges, 
 and many a poor fellow lost his life that day. But at 
 last they were ready for us, and on the morning of the 
 
A BOY S EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG 75 
 
 1 2th, in a dense fog, we crossed over, about two miles 
 below the city. Our supply of food was rather limited, 
 and, warned by past experiences, I dined and supped on 
 parched corn and hot coffee. I slept soundly upon the 
 frozen ground that night, and long before daybreak the 
 next morning the whole army was astir, and we had 
 cooked and eaten a hasty breakfast. 
 
 The Rappahannock River, upon whose banks we lay, 
 runs in a south-easterly direction. Back a distance of 
 about a mile rise the heights of Fredericksburg, at the 
 foot of which runs the railroad to Richmond ; and 
 behind the railroad embankment and upon the heights 
 were intrenched the Confederates. About half-way 
 between the heights and the river, and running nearly 
 parallel with the latter, is the Bowling Green turnpike. 
 The right of our line of battle extended above the city, 
 but we were on the left. 
 
 At sunrise our brigade began to move toward the 
 turnpike. We had scarcely marched a dozen yards 
 before the Confederates opened fire on us. I could not 
 refrain from laughing aloud when I saw how nimbly the 
 captain of my company, who had been under fire 
 before, dodged the shells as they came over our heads, 
 but I soon learned to do it myself, and then thought it 
 no joke. We double-quicked to the turnpike, where we 
 
76 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 found shelter by lying flat upon our faces in a ditch, 
 while the shells went bursting over us with such fright- 
 ful noises that I hugged the earth for life. I know of 
 no sound so horrible as the fiendish music which comes 
 from the flying pieces of a burst shell. 
 
 Our batteries replied to the fire with promptness and 
 energy ; and the sharp and almost continuous rattle of 
 musketry told us that the battle was in progress. Aids 
 and mounted orderlies went dashing hither and thither 
 in hot haste, bearing orders to the various commands, 
 and generals with their staffs were gathered in groups 
 anxiously scanning the Confederate movements through 
 field-glasses. Great clouds of smoke settled over us, 
 like that from a burning city, and half obscured the 
 columns of men who were marching with quick step, 
 and " swiftly forming in the ranks of war." Bugles 
 blared and drums beat, and a little to my right and 
 front, high above the din of battle, rose the shrill cry 
 of some poor, wounded soul. 
 
 The first one killed in our regiment was a noble 
 young fellow from my company, who was struck in the 
 back by a spent cannon-ball. We had time to dig him 
 a shallow grave with our bayonets before we moved 
 forward. 
 
 A little after noon, word was given to prepare for the 
 
A BOY S EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG // 
 
 advance. Between us and the Confederates, a distance 
 of nearly half a mile, lay an open, level field, where 
 corn had been planted the preceding summer. The 
 ground, frozen the night before, and thawed again at 
 midday, was miry and treacherous, and we often sank 
 half-way to our knees. At intervals deep ditches had 
 once been dug for drainage. 
 
 General R , commanding our brigade, rode down 
 
 the line and gave us words of encouragement. 
 
 ''Boys," said he, ''don't dodge when" — but before 
 he could finish the sentence a shell whizzed so close to 
 his head that he himself dodged very emphatically. 
 
 With a laugh he added, " But you may dodge when 
 they come as close as that ! " 
 
 Then we gave three cheers for our general, who, if 
 he did dodge, was a brave and kind man. 
 
 Now our line moved forward a dozen yards. 
 
 "Halt ! Unsling knapsacks ! Fix bayonets ! '* 
 
 Then I knew we were to fight the Confederates with 
 cold steel. 
 
 Down the line came the order again, " Forward ! " 
 The bullets now began to sing angrily about our ears, 
 and our men began to fall. The one with whom I 
 touched elbows on my left was among the first victims. 
 The ball entered his leg with a sickening "thud," 
 
y8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 and he fell to the ground with a cry of " Oh, I'm 
 shot!" 
 
 The company to which I belonged was the "color 
 company," and the two brave fellows who carried the 
 flags, as soon as the order to move forward was given, 
 stepped out of the ranks in advance of the others, and 
 maintained that position during the charge. It was a 
 daring deed, for the sharp-shooters always seek to pick 
 off the color-bearers. 
 
 Down to this time I had felt nervous; my knees 
 trembled, and my legs were weak. I confess that I was 
 afraid ; but being afraid, and yielding to fear, are two 
 different things. When my mother bade me good-by, 
 the day my regiment left for Washington, she said, " I 
 shall expect always to hear that you have done your 
 duty." The remembrance of her pale face was, of 
 itself, enough to make one brave. But I needed no 
 such incentive ; when I saw my comrades falling on 
 every side, fear left me, and, young as I was, my anger 
 was roused, and I believe I could have fought a whole 
 army. 
 
 Now came the order, *' Charge bayonets ! Forward, 
 double-quick ! " We had a quarter of a mile of muddy 
 ground to cross, and deep ditches to leap down into and 
 clamber out of in the midst of a terrible fire. With 
 
A BOY S EXPERIENCE AT FREDERICKSBURG 79 
 
 each advancing step, the fire of the Confederates in- 
 creased, and the air was filled with bursting shells, grape 
 and canister and rifle balls. So thickly did this deadly 
 hail fall around us that the mud and dirt were con- 
 stantly spattering in my face. Instinctively we bowed 
 our heads to this fierce storm as we swept on. 
 
 There were great gaps in our ranks, as our company, 
 one after another, fell under the awful fire ; but there 
 was no flinching, no hesitation, as with swift steps and 
 stern faces we swept across the few remaining yards of 
 ground between us and that long row of levelled rifles 
 from which were belching forth death and destruction. 
 With a wild, determined cry our regiment leaped upon 
 them. There was only a brief struggle, when the Con- 
 federates fell back up the heights, followed a short dis- 
 tance by our troops. 
 
 But I never reached the intrenchment myself. When 
 we were almost upon it, and I was grasping my rifle 
 firmly, expecting in a moment to use it, I found myself 
 flat upon the ground, and heard the captain, as the com- 
 pany passed over my body, shout, *' Lay low, boy ! ** 
 Then I realized that I had been hit. For a few mo- 
 ments I lay perfectly still ; then I determined to make 
 a desperate effort to get off the field, for I feared our 
 men might be driven back again. 
 
80 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 I dared not examine m}^oiind lest I should faint, 
 and so fall into the hands of the Confederates. Finding 
 that I could make some progress by using my rifle as a 
 support, I slowly and painfully dragged myself to the 
 rear. The battle was still raging behind me with un- 
 abated force, and the shot and shells from our own, as 
 well as the Confederate batteries, were passing over my 
 head with a deafening noise. On every side lay the 
 dead and wounded, and the groans and appeals for help 
 were pitiful to hear. 
 
 At last I reached the turnpike, and beneath its shel- 
 ter I first examined the nature of my injury. I was 
 overjoyed to find that the supposed wound was only a 
 very severe bruise. An army cup which I carried on 
 the outside, and a tin plate and my stock of hard bread 
 which were inside my knapsack, had saved me. The 
 force of the bullet was such that it had taken a piece 
 clear out of the cup, which was made of thick mate- 
 rial ; and it passed through the plate and the hard 
 bread, and did not fairly enter my flesh. I still have 
 the piece which was torn from my cup. 
 
 I was sent to the hospital for a few days, until I could 
 march again. 
 
 As I had surmised, the survivors of our regiment 
 were finally driven back from the position they had, at 
 
A boy's experience at FREDERICKSBURG 8 1 
 
 SO fearful a cost, won. When the sixty rounds of 
 ammunition which were in their cartridge-boxes had 
 been fired away, and no fresh cartridges were sent, 
 there was nothing left for them to do but to fall back. 
 
 From the time our regiment left the turnpike, on the 
 charge, until it returned, was, I think, hardly an hour. 
 We started on with less than five hundred men, and in 
 that brief time we lost, in killed, wounded, and missing, 
 over two hundred and fifty, more than one-half. My 
 own company lost thirty-three out of fifty. 
 
 Some years ago I revisited the battle-field. The 
 bodies of the fallen had been gathered into the soldiers' 
 cemetery just back of the city, and near the deadly 
 stone wall where the right of our army was engaged. I 
 walked down the turnpike to where we fought. Nature 
 had obliterated nearly every sign of the conflict, and 
 the miry field across which we charged on that eventful 
 December day was covered with waving corn. The sun 
 shone as clearly, the birds sang as sweetly, and the 
 flowers bloomed as brightly, as if that field had never 
 been ploughed with shot and shell, and fertilized with 
 the blood of brave men. 
 
82 
 
 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XIV 
 
 THE STORY OF SHERIDAN'S FAMOUS RIDE 
 
 The stirring lines of Buchanan Read's well-known 
 poem called "Sheridan's Ride" are familiar as household 
 
 words to the boys and 
 girls of our day. This 
 poem has been read 
 and recited for many 
 years by American 
 school children. It 
 has always been a 
 favorite, for it records 
 in verse the gallant 
 deed of one of the 
 most brilliant and suc- 
 cessful generals in the 
 war for the Union. 
 The victory gained by General Sheridan at Cedar 
 Creek, Va., October 19, 1864, surpassed in interest the 
 victory gained precisely one month earlier at Winches- 
 ter. It was a victory following upon the heels of 
 apparent reverse, and therefore reflecting peculiar 
 
 PHILIP H, SHERIDAN. 
 
Sheridan's famous ride 83 
 
 credit on the brave commander to whose timely 
 arrival upon the field the final success of the day must 
 be attributed. 
 
 The general was at Winchester in the early morning 
 when the enemy attacked — twenty miles distant from 
 the field of operations. General Wright was in com- 
 mand. The enemy had approached under cover of a 
 heavy fog, and, flanking the extreme right of the 
 Federal line, held by General Crook's corps, and at- 
 tacking in the centre, had thrown the entire line into 
 confusion, and driven it several miles. The enemy 
 was pushing on, turning against the Union forces a 
 score of guns already captured from them. 
 
 Sheridan's victorious and hitherto invincible army was 
 routed and in disorderly retreat before a confident enemy. 
 The roads were crowded with wagons and ambulances 
 hurrying to the rear, while the fields were alive with 
 wounded, stragglers, and disorganized troops without offi- 
 cers, without arms, and without courage — all bent on 
 being the first to carry the news of the disaster back to 
 Winchester. 
 
 " Up from the south, at break of day, 
 Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
 The affrighted air with a shudder bore. 
 Like a herukl in haste, to the chieftain's door, 
 The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, 
 Telling the battle was on once more, 
 And Sheridan twenty miles away." 
 
84 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 A brave nucleus of the army, which had not shared 
 in the surprise and subsequent demoralization, was 
 fighting with determined pluck to prevent disaster from 
 becoming disgrace. The universal thought, and, in 
 varying phrase, the spontaneous utterance, was : " Oh, 
 for one hour of Sheridan ! " But Sheridan was twenty 
 miles away, at Winchester, where he had arrived the 
 day before from Washington. 
 
 At this juncture, those who were stationed near the 
 Winchester pike heard, far to the rear, a faint cheer go 
 up, as a hurrying horseman passed a group of wounded 
 soldiers, and dashed down that historic road toward the 
 line of battle. As he drew nearer, it was seen that the 
 coal-black horse was flecked with foam, both horse and 
 rider grimed with dust, and the dilated nostrils and 
 laboring breath of the former told of a race both long 
 and swift. 
 
 " But there is a road to Winchester town, 
 A good, broad highway, leading down ; 
 And there, through the flush of the morning light, 
 A steed, as black as the steeds of night. 
 Was seen to pass as with eagle flight : 
 As if he knew the terrible need, 
 He stretched away with his utmost speed." 
 
 A moment more, and a deafening cheer broke from 
 the troops in that part of the field, as they recognized 
 
Sheridan's famous ride 85 
 
 in the coming horseman the looked-for Sheridan. 
 Above the roar of musketry and artillery, that shout 
 arose like a cry of victory. The news flashed from 
 brigade to brigade along the front with telegraphic 
 speed ; and then, as Sheridan, cap in hand, dashed 
 along the rear of the straggling line, thus confirming 
 to all eyes the fact of his arrival, a continuous cheer 
 burst from the whole army. Hope took the place of 
 fear, courage the place of despondency, cheerfulness the 
 place of gloom. The entire aspect of things seemed 
 changed in a moment. Further retreat was no longer 
 thought of. Order came out of chaos, an army out of a 
 rabble. 
 
 Sheridan's leadership perfectly restored the courage 
 and spirit of the army. It had got over its panic, and 
 was again ready for business. Generals rode out to 
 meet him, officers waved their swords, and men threw 
 up their caps. 
 
 General Custer, discovering Sheridan at the moment 
 he arrived, rode up to him, threw his arms around his 
 neck, and kissed him on the cheek. Waiting for no 
 other parley than simply to exchange greeting, and to 
 say, " This retreat must be stopped ! " Sheridan broke 
 loose and began galloping down the lines, along the 
 whole front of the army. Everywhere the enthusiasm 
 caused by his appearance was the same. 
 
86 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 " And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because 
 The sight of the master compelled it to pause. 
 With foam and with dust the black charger was gray. 
 By the flash of his eye, and his red nostrils' play, 
 He seemed to the whole great army to say : 
 ' I have brought you Sheridan, all the way 
 From Winchester down, to save you the day ! '" 
 
 The line was speedily reformed ; provost-marshals 
 brought in stragglers by the scores ; the retreating 
 army turned its face to the foe. An attack just about 
 to be made by the latter was repulsed, and the tide of 
 battle turned. Then Sheridan's time was come. A 
 cavalry charge was ordered against right and left flank 
 of the enemy, and then a grand advance of the three 
 infantry corps from left to right on the enemy's centre. 
 On through Middletown, and beyond, the Confederates 
 hurried, and the Army of the Shenandoah pursued. 
 The roar of musketry now had a gleeful, dancing sound. 
 The guns fired shotted salutes of victory. Custer and 
 Merritt, charging in on right and kft, doubled up the 
 flanks of the foe, taking prisoners, slashing, killing, 
 driving as they went. The march of the infantry was 
 more majestic and terrible. The lines of the foe 
 swayed and broke before it everywhere. Beyond 
 Middletown, on the battle-field fought over in the morn- 
 ing, their columns were completely overthrown and dis- 
 
Sheridan's famous ride 87 
 
 organized. They fled along the pike and over the fields 
 like sheep. 
 
 Thus on through Strasburg with two brigades of cav- 
 alry at their heels. Two thousand prisoners were 
 gathered together, though there was not a sufficient 
 guard to send them all to the rear. The guns lost in 
 the morning were recaptured, and as many more taken, 
 making fifty in all, and, according to Sheridan's report, 
 the enemy reached Mount Jackson without an organized 
 regiment. The scene at Sheridan's headquarters at 
 night after the battle was wildly exciting. General 
 Custer arrived about nine o'clock. The first thing he 
 did was to hug General Sheridan with all his might, 
 lifting him in the air, and whirling him around and 
 around, with the shout : " God be praised, we've 
 cleaned them out and got the guns ! " Catching sight 
 of General Torbert, Custer went through the same 
 proceeding with him, until Torbert was forced to cry 
 out : "There, there, old fellow, don't capture me ! " 
 
 Sheridan's ride to the front, October 19, 1864, will go 
 down in history as one of the most important and thrill- 
 ing events which have ever given interest to a battle 
 scene. Stripped of all poetic gloss, and analyzed after 
 more than a quarter of a century of peace, the result 
 achieved by Sheridan's matchless generalship, after he 
 
88 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 reached his shattered army on the field of Cedar Creek, 
 as an illustration of the wonderful influence of one man 
 over many, and as an example of snatching a great 
 victory from an appalling defeat, still stands without a 
 parallel in history. 
 
 " Hurrah, hurrah, for Sheridan ! 
 Hurrah, hurrah, for horse and man ! 
 And when their statues are placed on high, 
 Under the dome of the Union sky — 
 The American soldier's Temple of Fame — 
 There with the glorious general's name, 
 Be it said, in letters both bold and bright : 
 ' Here is the steed that saved the day 
 By carrying Sheridan into the fight. 
 From Winchester twenty miles away ! ' " 
 
THE CAVALRY CHARGE 89 
 
 XV 
 
 THE CAVALRY CHARGE 
 
 With bray of the trumpet 
 
 And roll of the drum, 
 And keen ring of bugles, 
 
 The cavalry come. 
 Sharp clank the steel scabbards, 
 
 The bridle-chains ring, 
 And foam from red nostrils 
 
 The wild chargers fling. 
 
 Tramp ! tramp ! o'er the green sward 
 
 That quivers below, 
 Scarce held by the curb-bit, 
 
 The fierce horses go ! 
 And the grim-visaged colonel. 
 
 With ear-rending shout. 
 Peals forth to the squadrons 
 
 The order, "Trot out !" 
 
90 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 One hand on the sabre, 
 
 And one on the rein, 
 The troopers move forward 
 
 In line on the plain. 
 As rings the word " Gallop ! " 
 
 The steel scabbards clank, 
 And each rowel is pressed 
 
 To a horse's hot flank ; 
 And swift is their rush 
 
 As the wild torrent's flow, 
 When it pours from the crag 
 
 On the valley below. 
 
 ". Charge ! " thunders the leader. 
 
 Like shaft from the bow 
 Each mad horse is hurled 
 
 On the wavering foe. 
 A thousand bright sabres 
 
 Are gleaming in air ; 
 A thousand dark horses 
 
 Are dashed on the square. 
 
 Resistless and reckless 
 Of aught may betide, 
 
 Like demons, not mortals. 
 The wild troopers ride. 
 
THE CAVALRY CHARGE gt 
 
 Cut right ! and cut left ! 
 
 For the parry who needs ? 
 The bayonets shiver 
 
 Like wind-shattered reeds ! 
 
 Vain — vain the red volley 
 
 That bursts from the square — 
 The random-shot bullets 
 
 Are wasted in air. 
 Triumphant, remorseless, 
 
 Unerring as death, — 
 No sabre that's stainless 
 
 Returns to its sheath. 
 
 The wounds that are dealt 
 
 By that murderous steel 
 Will never yield case 
 
 For the surgeons to heal. 
 Hurrah ! they are broken — 
 
 Hurrah ! boys, they fly — 
 None linger save those 
 
 Who but linger to die. 
 
 Rein up your hot horses, 
 
 And call in your men ; 
 The trumpet sounds *' Rally 
 
 To color" again. 
 
92 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Some saddles are empty, 
 Some comrades are slain, 
 
 And some noble horses 
 Lie stark on the plain ; 
 
 But war's a chance game, boys, 
 And weeping is vain. 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 93 
 
 XVI 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 
 
 One of the most daring and successful exploits of 
 the late war was performed by a brave and intrepid 
 young naval officer. To Lieutenant William B. Gush- 
 ing was due the destruction of the famous Confederate 
 ram called the Albemarle. This powerful ironclad had 
 become a formidable obstruction to the occupation of 
 the North Carolina sounds by the Union forces. 
 
 During the summer of 1864, Lieutenant Cushing, 
 commanding the Monticello, one of the sixteen vessels 
 engaged in watching the ram, conceived the plan of 
 destroying their antagonist by means of a torpedo. 
 Upon submitting the plan to Rear-Admiral Lee and the 
 Navy Department, he was detached from his vessel, 
 and sent to New York to provide the articles necessary 
 for his purpose, and, these preparations having been at 
 last completed, he returned again to the scene of action. 
 His plan was to affix his newly contrived torpedo appa- 
 ratus to one of the picket launches — little steamers 
 not larger than a seventy-four's launch, but fitted with 
 
94 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 a compact engine, and designed to relieve the seamen 
 of the fatigue of pulling about at night on the naval 
 picket line — and of which half a dozen had been then 
 recently built. Under Lieutenant Cushing's super- 
 vision, picket launch No. i was supplied with the tor- 
 pedo, which was carried in a basket, fixed to a long 
 arm, which could be propelled, at the important mo- 
 ment, from the vessel, in such a manner as to reach the 
 side of the vessel to be destroyed, there to be fastened, 
 and exploded at the will of those in the torpedo boat, 
 without serious risk to themselves. Having prepared 
 his boat, he selected thirteen men, six of whom were 
 officers, to assist him in the undertaking. His first at- 
 tempt to reach the Albemarle failed, as his boat got 
 aground and was only with difficulty released. On the 
 following night, however, he again set out upon his 
 perilous duty, determined and destined this time to 
 succeed. Moving cautiously, with muffled oars, up the 
 narrow Roanoke, he skilfully eluded the observation of 
 the numerous forts and pickets with which that river 
 was lined, and, passing within twenty yards of a picket 
 vessel, without detection, he soon found himself abreast 
 of the town of Plymouth. The night was very dark 
 and stormy, and, having thus cleared the pickets, the 
 launch crossed to the other side of the river, opposite 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 95 
 
 the town, and, sweeping round, came down upon the 
 Albemarle from up the stream. The ram was moored 
 near a wharf, and, by the light of a large campfire on 
 the shore. Gushing saw a large force of infantry, and 
 also discerned that the ironclad was protected by a 
 boom of pine logs which extended about twenty feet 
 from her. The watch on the Albemarle knew nothing 
 of his approach till he was close upon them, when they 
 hailed, ''What boat is that.?" and were answered, 
 *' The Albemarle's boat ; " and the same instant the 
 launch struck, "bows on," against the boom of logs, 
 crushing them in about ten feet, and running its bows 
 upon them. She was immediately greeted with a heavy 
 and incessant infantry fire from the shore, while the 
 ports of the Albemarle were opened, and a gun trained 
 upon the daring party. Gushing promptly replied with 
 a dose of canister, but the gallant young fellow had 
 enough for one man to manage. He had a line at- 
 tached to his engineer's leg, to pull in lieu of bell 
 signals ; another line to detach the torpedo, and 
 another to explode it ; besides this, he managed the 
 boom which was to place the torpedo under the vessel, 
 and fired the howitzer with his own hand. But he 
 coolly placed the torpedo in its place and exploded it. 
 At the same moment he was struck on the right wrist 
 
96 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 with a musket ball, and a shell from the Albemarle 
 went crashing through the launch. The whole affair 
 was but the work of a few minutes. Each man had 
 now to save himself as best he might. Gushing threw 
 off his coat and shoes, and, leaping into the water, struck 
 out for the opposite shore ; but, the cries of one of his 
 drowning men attracting the enemy's fire, he turned 
 down the stream. The water was exceedingly cold, and 
 his heavy clothing rendered it very difficult for him to 
 keep afloat ; and after about an hour's swimming he went 
 ashore, and fell exhausted upon the bank. On coming 
 to his senses, he found himself near a sentry and two 
 officers, who were discussing the affair, and heard them 
 say that Gushing was dead. Thinking that he had 
 better increase the distance between the rebels and 
 himself, he managed to shove himself along on his 
 back, by working with his heels against the ground, 
 until he reached a place of concealment. 
 
 After dark, he proceeded through the swamp for some 
 distance, lacerating his feet and hands with the briers 
 and oyster shells. He next day met an old negro whom 
 he thought he could trust. The negro was frightened 
 at Gushing's wild appearance, and tremblingly asked 
 who he was. *'I am a Yankee," replied Gushing, "and 
 I am one of the men who blew up the Albemarle." 
 
'M^'^M 
 
 '""•" -*f*::jLiAt«ifc'.itt' ". 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ALBEMARLE 9/ 
 
 " My golly, massa!" said the negro, " dey kill you if 
 dey catch you ; you dead gone sure ! " Gushing asked 
 him if he could trust him to go into the town and bring 
 him back the news. The negro assented, and Gushing 
 gave him all the money he had and sent him off. He 
 then climbed up a tree and opened his jack-knife, the 
 only weapon he had, and prepared for any attack which 
 might be made. 
 
 After a time the negro came back, and, to Gushing's 
 joy, reported the Albemarle sunk and the people leav- 
 ing the town. Gushing then went farther down the 
 river, and found a boat on the opposite bank belonging 
 to a picket guard. He once more plunged into the 
 chilly river and detached the boat, but, not daring to 
 get into it, left it drift down the river, keeping himself 
 concealed. At last, thinking he was far enough away 
 to elude observation, he got into the boat and paddled 
 for eight hours until he reached the squadron. After 
 hailing them, he fell into the bottom of the boat, utterly 
 exhausted by hunger, cold, fatigue, and excitement, to 
 the surprise of the people in the squadron, who were 
 somewhat distrustful of him when he first hailed, think- 
 ing him a rebel who was trying some trick. 
 
 Nothing, indeed, but an overruling Providence and an 
 iron will ever saved Gushing from death. He saw two 
 
98 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 of his men drown, who were stronger than he, and said 
 of himself that when he paddled his little boat his arms 
 and his will were the only living parts of his organization. 
 
 One man of the party returned, having been picked 
 up after he had travelled across the country and been 
 in the swamps nearly two days. 
 
 But one or two were wounded, and the larger part 
 were captured by the rebels, being unable to extricate 
 themselves from their perilous position among the logs 
 of the boom, under the guns of the ram. The Albe- 
 marle had one of her bows stove in by the explosion of 
 the torpedo, and sank at her moorings within a few mo- 
 ments, without loss of life to her crew. Her fate 
 opened the river to the Union forces, who quickly occu- 
 pied Plymouth; the North Carolina sounds were again 
 cleared from rebel craft, and the large fleet of vessels 
 which had been occupied in watching the ironclad were 
 released from that arduous duty. 
 
 Lieutenant Gushing, to whose intrepidity and skill 
 the country was indebted for this and many other dash- 
 ing exploits, was engaged in thirty-five naval combats 
 during the war. What a glorious record for a young 
 man twenty-three years old ! He died at the age of 
 thirty-two, the youngest officer of his rank in the United 
 States Navy. 
 
THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG 99 
 
 XVII 
 
 THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG 
 
 [Froj?i Henry Ward Beecher^s "JVorwoociy'\ 
 
 On the third day of July, 1863, and the third of the 
 complex battle of Gettysburg, General Lee, having in 
 vain assaulted the left of the Union line on the day 
 before, determined to break through the centre, and 
 at the same time to' enlarge the hold which he had 
 secured upon the extreme Union right, on the eastern 
 slope of Gulp's Hill. But by four in the morning Gen- 
 eral Meade attacked the intrusive forces which had 
 thus, while yesterday's battle raged on the extreme left, 
 as it were, stolen in on the right, and by eleven o'clock 
 they were driven out, thus anticipating and defeating 
 Lee's intention of turning the Union right. 
 
 A wonderful silence now came over the vast battle- 
 field and brooded for the space of two hours. Birds sang 
 again, though the ground beneath them was covered 
 with unburied men. The rustling of leaves could be 
 heard once more by the men who lay resting under the 
 trees. But the very silence, that usually brings all 
 
lOO STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 thoughts of peace, now sharpened men's fears. It was 
 like that dreadful calm which precedes the burst of 
 storms. Just such it was. At one o'clock it was 
 broken by an uproar as wonderful as had been the 
 silence. Two hundred and thirty-five cannon joined in 
 a clangor of death, such as had never been heard upon 
 this continent. Lee had concentrated a hundred and 
 forty-five guns over against the centre of Cemetery 
 Ridge, and Meade replied with eighty guns — all that 
 could be well placed in his narrower space. The other 
 battle before seemed noiseless compared with this 
 immense cannonading. The slopes of Oak Ridge and 
 the swells upon the further side of the valley seemed 
 on fire. Each little hill-top became a volcano. From 
 the right, from the left, from the centre, battery upon 
 battery, and parks of batteries flamed and thundered. 
 The smoke rolled up white and bluish gray, as storm- 
 clouds lift and roll up the sides of mountains. From 
 every direction came the flying missiles — cross-plough- 
 ing Cemetery Hill with hideous furrows, in which to 
 plant dead men. Shot flew clear over the ridge — cais- 
 sons sheltered behind the hill were reached and blown 
 up. Horses standing harnessed to reserved artillery, in 
 places before secure, were smitten down. Strange was 
 the discordant music of the missile sounds, for which 
 
THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG lOI 
 
 there were no pauses, that filled the air. Some went 
 hissing, some flew with muffled growl, some shook out 
 a gushing sound like the rush of waters ; some carried 
 with them an intense and malignant howl ; some spit 
 and sputtered in a spiteful manner ; others whirred or 
 whistled, or spun threads of tenor or treble sounds. 
 But, whatever the variety in this awful aerial music, all 
 meant death. If a thousand meteors had burst, and 
 each one flung down shattered masses of meteoric stone, 
 it would have scarcely seemed more like a deluge of 
 iron rain than now it did. Orderlies and aids found the 
 roads and fields on the far side of the hill, safe before, 
 now raining with bullets. Meade's headquarters were 
 riddled, and his staff driven to another quarter. In 
 half an hour all the fields were cleared and the men 
 were under cover. Fortunately, the enemy's artillery 
 was elevated too much. The Union soldiers escaped 
 with comparatively little harm, while the reverse of the 
 hill was excoriated with shot and shell. In the burial- 
 ground on the head of Cemetery Ridge, projecting 
 toward the village of Gettysburg, fell the iron hail, 
 rending the graves and splintering the monuments. 
 Flowers growing on graves were rudely picked by 
 hurtling iron. Soldiers who had fallen at Fair Oaks, 
 and had been brought here for burial, far away from all 
 
102 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 thought of battle, in this quiet Pennsylvania vale, were 
 still pursued by war, which rudely tore up their graves ; 
 and they heard again the thunder of battle swelling 
 above these resting-places, where, it would seem, they 
 should have found quiet. 
 
 When it had thundered and rained iron for more than 
 two hours, there came moving across the valley fifteen 
 thousand men to take possession of that ridge ! As 
 they moved from afar the Union artillery smote them ; 
 but they did not heed it. As they drew near, still rent 
 by shot and shell, — earnest, eager, brave, — there burst 
 upon their right flank a fire of musketry and artillery 
 that quite crumpled up and swung back their men upon 
 their centre. Next, their left wing was utterly riddled 
 and routed by the sharpness of the musketry ; and what 
 part was not captured fled and escaped. But the mass- 
 ive centre, with men as brave as ever faced death, stern, 
 headlong, pushed right up to General Hancock's lines, 
 and across them, but could come no further ! Like a 
 ship whose impetus carried it far up upon a shoal, from 
 which it cannot recede when it would, several brigades 
 had shot, by the terrible momentum, so far up that 
 when from the slopes of the cemetery, and from the 
 artillery on Meade's left wing, they were enfiladed, while 
 Hancock, with fresh brigades drawn from his left, met 
 
THE FINAL STRUGGLE AT GETTYSBURG IO3 
 
 them in front with a fire that pierced like a flame, they 
 yielded themselves up. They had gotten the hill for 
 which they came, but not as victors. The rest shrunk, 
 driven backward, sharply raked with artillery and 
 scorched with sheets of musketry, got them out of the 
 battle, and fled across the valley to their lines, whence 
 they should come no more out hitherward. Many that 
 longed to go with them lay with pitiful wounds. A 
 thousand that an hour before were fierce in ambitious 
 expectation, now and never more cared what befell 
 them, nor what happened under the sun ! When the 
 sun went down on that 3d of July, the Union army, a 
 mighty sufferer in more than twenty thousand slain and 
 wounded men, yet had never such cause of rejoicing for 
 the coming anniversary day as now, when all those 
 thousands of men joyfully had died or suffered wounds 
 to preserve that nation's life whose birthday is cele- 
 brated on the Fourth of July ! 
 
 The morning of Saturday, the Fourth of July, rose fair 
 over Gettysburg. Ewell's corps of Lee's army with- 
 drew from the town, and Howard's troops immediately 
 took possession. 
 
 There was great joy throughout the Union army. 
 Officers congratulated each other ; the men were raised 
 to the proudest exultation. The Army of the Potomac, 
 
104 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 the victim of misfortunes, but always a model of in- 
 domitable patience, had at length met their great 
 antagonist in a long and severe fight, and thoroughly- 
 defeated him. While all were exhilarated with the 
 immediate victory, the thoughtful men of the army 
 experienced a deeper gladness in their prescience 
 of the scope of this victory in its relation to public 
 affairs. The climax was reached. Henceforward the 
 Confederate cause was subject to decline, weakness, 
 and extinction. 
 
LINCOLN S GETTYSBURG SPEECH I05 
 
 XVIII 
 LINCOLN'S GETTYSBURG SPEECH 
 
 When Abraham Lincoln had gained the people's ear, 
 men noticed that he scarcely made a speech or wrote a 
 state paper in which there was not an illustration or a 
 quotation from the Bible. He had been thoroughly 
 instructed in it by his mother. It was the one book 
 always found in the pioneer's cabin, and to which she, 
 being a woman of deep religious feeling, turned for 
 sympathy and guidance. Out of it she taught her boy 
 to spell and read, and with its poetry, histories, and 
 principles she so familiarized him that they always 
 influenced his subsequent life. 
 
 In the good President's religious faith two leading 
 ideas were prominent from first to last — man's help- 
 lessness, both as to strength and wisdom, and God's 
 helpfulness in both. 
 
 To a friend who anxiously asked him in the dark 
 days of 1862: ''Do you think we shall succeed.?" he 
 said, "I believe our cause is just; I believe that we 
 shall conquer in the end. I should be very glad to take 
 
I06 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 my neck out of the yoke and go back to my old home 
 and my old life at Springfield. But it has pleased 
 Almighty God to place me in this position ; and, looking 
 up to Him for support, I must discharge my destiny as 
 best I can." 
 
 The words of Lincoln seemed to grow more clear and 
 more remarkable as they approached the end. His last 
 inaugural was characterized by a solemn religious tone, 
 peculiarly free from earthly passion. Listen to his 
 words : " With malice toward none, with charity for all, 
 with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the 
 rio^ht, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind 
 up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have 
 borne the battle, and for his widow and orphans, to do 
 all which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting 
 peace among ourselves and with all nations." 
 
 Perhaps in no language, ancient or modern, are any 
 number of words found more touching and eloquent 
 than his speech of November 19, 1863, at the Gettys- 
 burg celebration. 
 
 He wrote it in a few moments on being told that he 
 would be expected to make some remarks. After 
 Edward Everett had delivered his masterly oration. 
 President Lincoln rose and read the following brief 
 address : — 
 
LINCOLN S GETTYSBURG SPEECH I07 
 
 " Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought 
 forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in 
 liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men 
 are created equal. We are engaged in a great civil war, 
 testing whether that nation — or any nation so con- 
 ceived and so dedicated — can long endure. We are met 
 on a great battle-field of that war. We are met to 
 dedicate a portion of that field as the final resting-place 
 of those who here gave their lives that that nation 
 might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we 
 should do this. But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedi- 
 cate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this 
 ground. The brave men, living and dead, who strug- 
 gled here, have consecrated it far above our power to 
 add or detract. The world will little note, nor long 
 remember, what we say here ; but it can never forget 
 what they did here. 
 
 " It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here 
 to the unfinished work which they have thus far so 
 nobly carried on. It is rather for us to be here dedi- 
 cated to the great task remaining before us ; that from 
 these honored dead we take increased devotion to that 
 cause for which they here gave the last full measure of 
 devotion ; that we here highly resolve that these dead 
 shall not have died in vain ; that this nation shall, under 
 
I08 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 God, have a new birth of freedom ; and that govern- 
 ment of the people, by the people, for the people, shall 
 not perish from the earth." 
 
 The audience admired Everett's long address, but at 
 Mr. Lincoln's few and simple words they cheered, and 
 sobbed, and wept. When the President had ended, he 
 turned and congratulated the distinguished orator from 
 the Old Bay State on having succeeded so well. Mr. 
 Everett replied with a truthful and real compliment : 
 " Ah, Mr. Lincoln, how gladly would I exchange all my 
 hundred pages, to have been the author of your twenty 
 lines." Time has tested the strength of this short, 
 simple address. After more than a quarter of a cent- 
 ury, its glowing words are still being committed to 
 memory by young people throughout our broad land. 
 
THE BLACK REGIMENT IO9 
 
 XIX 
 
 THE BLACK REGIMENT 
 
 [Geo7-£e H. Boker. Po7't Hudson^ La., June ^ 1863.] 
 
 Dark as the clouds of even, 
 Ranked in the western heaven, 
 Waiting the breath that Hfts 
 All the dread mass, and drifts 
 Tempest and falling brand 
 Over a ruined land ; — 
 So still and orderly, 
 Arm to arm, knee to knee, 
 Waiting the great event. 
 Stands the Black Regiment. 
 
 Down the long dusky line 
 Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine ; 
 And the bright bayonet, 
 Bristling and firmly set. 
 Flashed with a purpose grand, 
 Long ere the sharp command 
 
no STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Of the fierce rolling drum 
 Told them their time had come, 
 Told them what work was sent 
 For the Black Regiment. 
 
 '* Now," the flag-sergeant cried, 
 '' Though death and hell betide, 
 Let the whole nation see 
 If we are fit to be 
 Free in this land ; or bound 
 Down, like the whining hound, — 
 Bound with red stripes of pain 
 In our old chains again ! " 
 Oh, what a shout there went 
 From the Black Regiment ! 
 
 " Charge ! " Trump and drum awoke, 
 Onward the bondmen broke ; 
 Bayonet and sabre-stroke 
 Vainly oppose their rush. 
 Through the wild battle's crush, 
 With but one thought aflush. 
 Driving their lords like chaff. 
 In the guns' mouths they laugh ; 
 Or at the slippery brands 
 Leaping with open hands. 
 
THE BLACK REGIMENT HI 
 
 Down they tear man and horse, 
 Down in their awful course ; 
 Trampling with bloody heel 
 Over the crashing steel, 
 All their eyes forward bent, 
 Rushed the Black Regiment. 
 
 "Freedom ! " their battle-cry — 
 " Freedom ! or leave to die ! " 
 Ah ! and they meant the word, 
 Not as with us 'tis heard, 
 •Not a mere party shout : 
 They gave their spirits out ; 
 Trusted the end to God, 
 And on the gory sod 
 Rolled in triumphant blood. 
 
 Glad to strike one free blow. 
 Whether for weal or woe ; 
 Glad to breathe one free breath, 
 Though on the lips of death. 
 Praying — alas ! in vain ! — 
 That they might fall again. 
 So they could once more see 
 That burst to liberty ! 
 This was what ** freedom " lent 
 To the Black Regiment. 
 
12 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Hundreds on hundreds fell ; 
 But they are resting well ; 
 Scourges and shackles strong 
 Never shall do them wrong. 
 
 Oh, to the living few, 
 Soldiers, be just and true ! 
 Hail them as comrades tried ; 
 Fight with them side by side ; 
 Never, in field or tent. 
 Scorn the Black Regiment. 
 
TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL II3 
 
 XX 
 
 TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL 
 
 The scout must be a man with a cool head, resolute 
 will, and nerves of steel. Such a man was a scout 
 named Hancock, attached to General Grant's army in 
 Virginia. He was captured as a spy and sent to Castle 
 Thunder in Richmond. This bold scout was remark- 
 able for his facial expression and powers of mimicry. 
 He was a jolly fellow, and often relieved the monotony 
 of prison life with merry song and dances. 
 
 One evening, while singing a song for the amuse- 
 ment of his fellow-prisoners, he suddenly stopped, threw 
 up his hands, staggered, and then fell like a bag of sand 
 to the floor. 
 
 There was great confusion among the men, and as 
 some of them inspected the body and pronounced it 
 without life, the guards were notified of what had oc- 
 curred. 
 
 The post surgeon was called in to say whether it was 
 a faint or a case of sudden death. It happened that he 
 had just come in from a long, cold ride, and he was 
 
114 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 tired and in a hurry to get to his quarters, so his exam- 
 ination was hardly more than a look at the man. 
 
 *' Dead ! " he said, as he rose up, and in the course of 
 twenty minutes the body was deposited in a wagon to 
 be sent to the hospital, and there laid in a cheap coffin 
 and forwarded to the burying-place. 
 
 When the driver reached the end of his journey the 
 body was gone ! 
 
 There was no tail-board to his vehicle, and, thinking 
 he might have jolted the body out on the way, he drove 
 back and made inquiry of several persons if they had 
 seen a lost corpse anywhere. 
 
 Hancock's " sudden death " was a part of his plan to 
 make an attempt to escape. While he had great nerve 
 and an iron will, his being so quickly passed by the sur- 
 geon was a surprise to him, for he knew he could hardly 
 have passed under less favorable circumstances. 
 
 On the way to the hospital he had dropped out of the 
 wagon and joined the pedestrians on the walk. When 
 the driver returned to the Castle and told his story, a 
 detail of men was at once sent out to capture the tricky 
 prisoner, and the alarm was given. 
 
 To leave the city was to be picked up by a patrol ; to 
 remain in it was to be hunted down. Hancock had 
 money sewed in the lining of his vest, and he walked 
 
TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL II5 
 
 straight to the best hotel, registered himself as from 
 Georgia, and took a good night's sleep. 
 
 In the morning he procured a'change of clothing, and 
 sauntered around the city with the greatest unconcern, 
 carrying the idea to some that he was in Richmond on 
 a government contract, and to others that he was in the 
 secret service of the Confederacy. 
 
 Shortly after dinner he was arrested on Main Street 
 by a squad of provost troops, who had his description 
 to a dot. But no sooner had they put hands on him 
 than the prisoner was seen to be cross-eyed and to have 
 his mouth drawn to one side. 
 
 The men were bewildered, and Hancock was feeling 
 for "letters to prove his identity," when the hotel- 
 clerk happened to pass and at once secured his liberty. 
 
 Four days after his escape from the Castle, the scout 
 found himself out of money, and while in the corridor 
 of the post-office he was again arrested. 
 
 This time he drew his mouth to the right, brought a 
 squint to his left eye, and pretended to be very deaf. 
 He was, however, taken to the Castle, and there a won- 
 derful thing occurred. 
 
 Guards who knew Hancock's face perfectly well were 
 so confused by his squint that no man dared give a cer- 
 tain answer. 
 
Il6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Prisoners who had been with him for four months 
 were equally at fault, and it was finally decided to lock 
 him -up and investigate his references. 
 
 For seven long days the scout kept his mouth twisted 
 around and his eye on the squint, and then he got tired 
 of it and resumed his accustomed phiz. 
 
 The minute he did this he was recognized by every- 
 body, and the Confederates admired his nerve and per- 
 severance fully as much as did his fellow-prisoners. 
 
 The close of the war gave him his liberty with the 
 rest, but ten days longer would have seen him shot as a 
 spy. 
 
 Scout number two was on the Confederate side. He 
 is now a leading clergyman in Virginia. His life was 
 one of daring adventure and hairbreadth escapes. 
 Once upon a time, the house in which he was hid was 
 surrounded by a detachment of Union soldiers. The 
 scout took in everything at a glance and determined to 
 try to cut his way through the soldiers and risk the 
 chances. But the ladies represented to him that this 
 
 was certain death. They could conceal him, and S 
 
 assented. 
 
 The young ladies acted promptly. One ran to the 
 window and asked who was there, while another closed 
 the back door — that in front being already fastened. 
 
TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL 11/ 
 
 S was then hurried up the staircase, one of the 
 
 ladies accompanying him to show him his hiding-place. 
 
 The Federal troops became impatient. The door was 
 burst in and the troopers swarmed into the house. 
 
 S had been conducted to a garret bare of all fur- 
 niture, but some planks lay upon the sleepers of the 
 ceiling, and by lying down on these a man might con- 
 ceal himself. He mounted quietly and stretched him- 
 self at full length, and the young lady returned to the 
 lower floor. From his perch the scout then heard all 
 that was said in the hall beneath. 
 
 -Where is the guerilla?" exclaimed the Federal 
 
 officer. 
 
 *<What guerilla.?" asked one of the ladies. 
 
 "The rascal S ." 
 
 " He was here, but he has gone." 
 
 " That is untrue," the officer said, '' and I am not to 
 be trifled with. I shall search this house. But first 
 read the orders to the men," he added, turning to a 
 
 sergeant. 
 
 The sergeant obeyed, and S distinctly overheard 
 
 the reading of his death-warrant. The paper chronicled 
 his exploits, denounced him as a guerilla and bush- 
 whacker, and directed that he should not be taken alive. 
 
 This was not reassuring to the scout concealed under 
 
Il8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 the rafters above. It wa^^robable that he would be 
 discovered, in which case death would follow. 
 
 There was but one thing to do — to sell his life dearly. 
 After ransacking every room on the first and second 
 floors, the troops ascended to the garret. The ladies 
 had attempted to divert their attention from it, but one 
 of them asked, — 
 
 " What room is that up there } " 
 
 "The garret," was the reply. 
 
 " He may be there — show the way." 
 
 " You see the way," returned the young lady. *' I do 
 not wish to go up in the dust ; it would soil my dress." 
 
 " You go before, then," said the trooper to a negro 
 girl who had been made to carry a lighted candle, for 
 night had come now. 
 
 The girl laughed and said, there was nobody up 
 there, but at the order went up-stairs to the garret, fol- 
 lowed by the troopers. 
 
 S heard the tramping feet, and cocked both his 
 
 pistols. The light streamed into the garret, and he saw 
 the garret filled with troopers. His discovery seemed 
 certain. He was about to spring down and fire, when 
 the men growled, — 
 
 ** There's nothing here," and went down the stairs 
 again. 
 
TWO SCOUTS WHO HAD NERVES OF STEEL I I9 
 
 The servant girl had saved him by a ruse. She had 
 taken her stand directly beneath the broad plank upon 
 
 which S was extended, and the deep shadow had 
 
 concealed him. To this ruse he doubtless owed his life. 
 An hour afterward the Federal detachment left in ex- 
 treme ill-humor, and before morning S was miles 
 
 away from the dangerous locality where he had over- 
 heard his sentence of death. 
 
120 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXI 
 
 THE CLOTHES-LINE TELEGRAPH 
 
 In the early part of 1863, when the Union army was 
 encamped at Fahnouth, and picketing the banks of the 
 Rappahannock, the utmost tact and ingenuity were dis- 
 played by the scouts and videttes, in gaining a knowl- 
 edge of contemplated movements on either side ; and 
 here, as at various other times, the shrewdness of the 
 colored camp-followers was remarkable. 
 
 One circumstance in particular shows how quick 
 the race is in learning the art of communicating by 
 signals. 
 
 There came into the Union lines a negro from a farm 
 on the other side of the river, known by the name of 
 Dabney, who was found to possess a remarkably clear 
 knowledge of the topography of the whole region ; and 
 he was employed as cook and body-servant at head- 
 quarters. When he first saw our system of army tele- 
 graphs, the idea interested him intensely, and he begged 
 the operators to explain the signs to him. They did so, 
 and found that he could understand and remember the 
 
THE CLOTHES-LINE TELEGRAPH 121 
 
 meaning of the various movements as well as any of 
 his brethren of paler hue. 
 
 Not long after, his wife, who had come with him, ex- 
 pressed a great anxiety to be allowed to go over to the 
 other side as servant to a " secesh woman," whom Gen- 
 eral Hooker was about sending over to her friends. 
 The request was granted. Dabney's wife went across 
 the Rappahannock, and in a few days was duly installed 
 as laundress at the headquarters of a prominent rebel 
 general. Dabney, her husband, on the north bank, was 
 soon found to be wonderfully well informed as to all the 
 Confederate plans. Within an hour of the time that a 
 movement of any kind was projected, or even discussed, 
 among the Confederate generals, Hooker knew all about 
 it. He knew which corps was moving, or about to move, 
 in what direction, how long they had been on the march, 
 and in what force ; and all this knowledge came through 
 Dabney, and his reports always turned out to be true. 
 
 Yet Dabney was never absent, and never talked with 
 scouts, and seemed to be always taken up with his 
 duties as cook and groom about headquarters. 
 
 How he obtained his information remained for some 
 time a puzzle to the Union officers. At length, upon 
 much solicitation, he unfolded his marvellous secret to 
 one of the officers. 
 
122 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Taking him to a point wfrcre a clear view could be 
 obtained of Fredericksburg, he pointed out a little 
 cabin in the suburbs near the river bank, and asked him 
 if he saw that clothes-line with clothes hanging on it to 
 dry. '' Well," he said, " that clothes-line tells me in half 
 an hour just what goes on at Lee's headquarters. You' 
 see my wife over there ; she washes for the officers, and 
 cooks, and waits around, and as soon as she hears about 
 any movement or anything going on, she comes down 
 and moves the clothes on that line so I can understand 
 it in a minute. That there gray shirt is Longstreet ; 
 and when she takes it off it means he's gone down 
 about Richmond. That white shirt means Hill ; and 
 when she moves it up to the west end of the line, Hill's 
 corps has moved up-stream. That red one is Stonewall 
 Jackson. He's down on the right now, and if he moves 
 she will move that red shirt." 
 
 One morning Dabney came in and reported a move- 
 ment over there. "But," said he, *'it don't amount to 
 anything. They are just making believe." 
 
 An officer went out to look at the clothes-line tele- 
 graph through his field-glass. There had been quite a 
 shifting over there among the army flannels. " But 
 how do you know but there is something in it ? " 
 
 "Do you see those two blankets pinned together at the 
 
THE CLOTHES-LINE TELEGRAPH I23 
 
 bottom ? " said Dabney. ** Yes ; but what of it ? " said 
 the officer. '' Why, that's her way of making a fish- 
 trap ; and when she pins the clothes together that way, 
 it means that Lee is only trying to draw us into his 
 fish-trap." 
 
 As long as the two armies lay watching each other on 
 opposite sides of the stream, Dab'ney, with his clothes- 
 line telegraph, continued to be one of the promptest 
 and most reliable of General Hooker's scouts. 
 
124 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXII 
 COMBAT BETWEEN THE KEARSARGE AND ALABAMA 
 
 During the war, the Confederates, with the aid of the 
 British ship-builders, sent out several j^owerful vessels 
 which played sad havoc with American merchantmen 
 and whalers. These vessels were furnished with the 
 best cannon known and the most improved shells. The 
 most famous of these privateers was the Alabama, 
 which captured sixty-five vessels, and destroyed many 
 million dollars' worth of property. She was built in 
 PZngland, and, notwithstanding the protest of the 
 American Minister, was allowed to go to sea in July, 
 1862. She sailed for the Azores under the name of the 
 290. She was supplied with her armament and stores 
 by another British ship, and, shortly after putting to sea, 
 Semmes, the former captain of the privateer Sumter, 
 appeared on deck in full uniform as her captain. 
 
 After these long years it is not easy to realize the 
 dismay excited among our merchants by the singularly 
 successful career of the famous Alabama. After cap- 
 turing and burning many vessels, she returned to 
 
COMBAT BETWEEN THE KEARSARGE AND ALABAMA 125 
 
 Europe in the summer of 1864, and went into a French 
 
 """Let me now tell you of the memorable naval contest 
 between the United States vessel Kearsarge, Captain 
 John A Winslow, and the Alabama, Captain Raphael 
 Semmes, on the morning of June 19, 1864, off Cher- 
 bourg, France, which ended the career of the famous 
 Confederate privateer. 
 
 The Kearsarge was lying at Flushing, Holland, when 
 a telegram came from Mr. Dayton, the American Mm- 
 ister in Paris, stating that the Alabama had arrived at 
 Cherbourg. The Kearsarge immediately put to sea, 
 and arrived at Cherbourg in quick time, taking the Ala- 
 bama quite by surprise by so sudden an appearance on 
 her track. Through the consular agent there a sort of 
 challenge was received by Captain Winslow from Cap- 
 tain Semmes, the latter stating that if the Kearsarge 
 remained off the port he would come out and fight her, 
 and that he would not detain the vessel long. 
 
 After cruising off the port for five days, until the 
 19th of June, Captain Winslow, at twenty minutes after 
 ten o'clock, descried the starry ensign of the Alabama 
 floating in the breeze, as she came boldly out of the 
 western entrance, under the escort of the French iron- 
 clad Couronne. The latter retired into port after see- 
 
126 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 ing the combatants outside of French waters. Captain 
 Winslow had previously had an interview with the 
 admiral of Cherbourg, assuring him that in the event 
 of an action occurring with the Alabama, the position 
 of the ship should be so far off shore that no question 
 would be advanced about the line of jurisdiction. 
 
 The Alabama came down at full speed until within a 
 distance of about three-quarters of a mile, when she 
 opened her guns on the Kearsarge. The Kearsarge 
 made no reply for some minutes, but ranged up nearer, 
 and then opened her starboard battery, fighting six guns 
 and leaving only one thirty-two-pounder idle. The 
 Alabama fought seven guns, working them with the 
 greatest rapidity, sending shot and shell in a constant 
 stream over her adversary. Both vessels used their 
 starboard batteries, the ships being manoeuvred in a 
 circle about each other at a distance of from five hun- 
 dred to one thousand yards. Seven complete circles 
 were made during the combat, which lasted a little over 
 one hour. At the last of the action, when the Alabama 
 would have made off, she was near five miles from the 
 shore ; and, had the combat continued from the first in 
 parallel lines, with her head in-shore, the line of juris- 
 diction would, no doubt, have been reached. From the 
 first, the firing of the Alabama was rapid and wild ; 
 
COMBAT BETWEEN THE KEARSARGE AND ALABAMA 12/ 
 
 towards the close of the action her firing became 
 better. The Kearsarge gunners, who had been cau- 
 tioned against firing rapidly without direct aim, were 
 much more deliberate ; and the instructions given to 
 point the heavy guns below rather than above the water 
 line, and clear the deck with hghter ones, was fully ob- 
 served. 
 
 Captain Winslow had endeavored, with a port helm, 
 to close in with the Alabama ; but it was not until just 
 before the close of the action that she was in position 
 to use grape. This was avoided, however, by the Ala- 
 bama's surrender. The effect of the training of the 
 Kearsarge's men was evident ; nearly every shot from 
 the guns told fearfully on the Alabama, and on the 
 seventh rotation in the circular track she winded, set- 
 ting fore -trysail and two jibs, with head in-shore. Her 
 speed was now retarded, and by winding, her port broad- 
 side was presented to the Kearsarge, with only two 
 guns bearing, having been able to shift over but 
 one. Captain Winslow now saw that she was at his 
 mercy, and a few more guns, well directed, brought 
 down her flag, though it was difficult to ascertain 
 whether it had been hauled down or shot away ; but a 
 white flag having been displayed over the stern, the fire 
 of the Kearsarge was reserved. 
 
128 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Two minutes had not more than elapsed before the 
 Alabama again opened fire on the Kearsarge, with the 
 two guns on the port side. This drew Captain Winslow's 
 fire again, and the Kearsarge was immediately steamed 
 ahead and laid across her bows for raking. The white 
 flag was still flying and the Kearsarge's fire was again 
 reserved. Shortly after this, her boats were to be seen 
 lowering, and an ofiicer in one of them came alongside 
 and stated that the ship had surrendered and was fast 
 sinking. In twenty minutes from this time the Ala- 
 bama went down, her mainmast, which had been shot, 
 breaking near the head as she sunk, and her bow rising 
 high out of the water, as her stern rapidly settled. 
 
 A few years after the war, as you will read in your 
 text-book of history, a court of arbitration decreed that 
 Great Britain should pay ^15,500,000 to the United 
 States for permitting the Confederate cruisers to fit 
 out in the English ports. These claims are commonly 
 called the Alabama claims, from the name of the Con- 
 federate vessel which did the most harm to our 
 shipping. 
 
THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 1 29 
 
 XXIII 
 
 THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 
 \F}'Ofn The Youth'' s Companion. 1 
 
 Twenty-five years ago I was one of many witnesses 
 of a scene that left a deep impression upon my memory. 
 The sequel of the story, which I learned some months 
 afterward, is narrated here with the principal event. 
 
 It was in February, 1865. I was a staff-officer of a 
 division of the Union army stationed about Winchester, 
 Virginia. I had succeeded in getting leave of absence 
 for twenty days. Reaching Harper's Ferry by rail 
 after dark, I found, to my great disappointment, that 
 the last train for the day for Baltimore had left, and 
 that the next train would start at five o'clock on the 
 following morning. I gave a small reminder to the 
 negro servant at the hotel, and received his solemn 
 promise that he would arouse me at four o'clock. It 
 must have been two o'clock when sleep visited my 
 weary eyes. A rude disturbance at my door awakened 
 me, and I became dimly conscious of the voice of the 
 negro outside. 
 
130 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 " What is it ? " I cried testily. " What do you wake 
 me up for at this time of night ? " 
 
 "'Deed, sah, Ise sorry ; 'pon my honah, I is, sah ! but 
 de train hab done gone dese two hours." 
 
 It was even so. Broad dayh'ght — seven o'clock in 
 the morning — the train gone, and no chance to get out 
 of Harper's Ferry till twelve more precious hours of my 
 leave had passed — this was the unpleasant situation to 
 which I awoke upon that dreary February morning. 
 Breakfast over, I strolled around the queer old place 
 merely to while away the time. 
 
 I went back to the hotel after an hour's stroll, wrote 
 some letters, read all the newspapers I could find about 
 the place, and shortly after eleven o'clock went out 
 again. This time my ear was greeted with the music 
 of a band, playing a slow march. Several soldiers were 
 walking briskly past, and I inquired of them if there 
 was to be a military funeral. 
 
 *' No, sir," one of them replied ; " not exactly. It is 
 an execution. Two deserters from one of the artillery 
 regiments here are to be shot up on Bolivar Heights. 
 Here they come ! " 
 
 The solemn strains of the music were heard near at 
 hand, and the cortege moved into the street where we 
 stood, and wound slowly up the hill. First came the 
 
THE MESSAGE OF LIFE I3I 
 
 band ; then General Stevenson, the military command- 
 ant of the post, and his staff ; then the guard, preced- 
 ing and following an ambulance, in which were the 
 condemned men. A whole regiment followed, marching 
 by platoons, with reversed arms, making in the whole a 
 spectacle than which nothing can be more solemn. 
 
 Close behind it came, as it seemed to me, the entire 
 population of Harper's Ferry : a motley crowd of sev- 
 eral thousand, embracing soldiers off duty, camp-fol- 
 lowers, negroes, and what not. It was a raw, damp 
 day, not a ray of sunlight had yet penetrated the thick 
 clouds, and underfoot was a thin coating of snow. 
 
 The spot selected for the dreadful scene was rather 
 more than a mile up the heights, where a high ridge of 
 ground formed a barrier for bullets that might miss 
 their mark. Arrived here, the troops were formed in 
 two large squares of one rank each, one square within 
 the other, with an open face towards the ridge. Two 
 graves had been dug near this ridge, and a coffin was 
 just in the rear of each grave. Twenty paces in front 
 was the firing party of six files, under a lieutenant, at 
 ordered arms ; the general and his staff sat on their 
 horses near the centre. 
 
 Outside the outer square, the great crowd of specta- 
 tors stood in perfect silence. The condemned men had 
 
132 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 been brought from the amDulance, and each one sat on 
 his coffin, with his open grave before him. 
 
 They were very different in their aspect. One, a 
 man of more than forty years, showed hardly a trace of 
 feehng in his rugged face ; but the other was a mere 
 lad of scarcely twenty, who gazed about him with a 
 wild, restless look, as if he could not yet understand 
 that he was about to endure the terrible punishment of 
 his offence. 
 
 The proceedings of the court-martial were read, 
 reciting the charges against these men, their trial, con- 
 viction, and sentence ; and then the order of General 
 Sheridan approving the sentence, ''to be shot to death 
 with musketry," and directing it to be carried into 
 effect at twelve o'clock, noon, of this day. 
 
 A chaplain knelt by the condemned men and prayed 
 fervently, whispered a few words in the ear of each, 
 wrung their hands, and retired. Two soldiers stepped 
 forward with handkerchiefs to bind the eyes of the suf- 
 ferers, and I heard the officer of the firing party give 
 the command in a low tone, — 
 
 '' Attention ! — shoulder — arms ' " 
 
 I looked at my watch ; it was a minute past twelve. 
 The crowd outside had been so perfectly silent that a 
 flutter and disturbance running through it at this 
 
THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 133 
 
 instant fixed everybody's attention. My heart gave a 
 great jump as I saw a mounted orderly urging his horse 
 through the crowd, and waving a yellow envelope over 
 his head. 
 
 The square opened for him, and he rode in and 
 handed the envelope to the general. Those who were 
 permitted to see that despatch read the following : 
 
 Washington, D. C, February 23, 1865. 
 General Job Stevenson, Harper's Ferry, — Deserters re- 
 prieved till further orders. Stop the execution. 
 ^ A. Lincoln. 
 
 The older of the two men had so thoroughly resigned 
 himself to his fate that he seemed unable now to realize 
 that he was saved, and he looked around him in a dazed, 
 bewildered way. 
 
 Not so the other ; he seemed for the first time to 
 recover his consciousness. He clasped his hands 
 together, and burst into tears. As there was no mili- 
 tary execution after this at Harper's Ferry, I have no 
 doubt that the sentence of both was finally commuted. 
 
 Powerfully as my feelings had been stirred by this 
 scene, I still suspected that the despatch had, in fact, 
 arrived before the cortege left Harper's Ferry, and that 
 all that happened afterward was planned and intended 
 as a terrible lesson to these culprits. 
 
134 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 That afternoon I visited General Stevenson at his 
 headquarters, and, after introducing myself and refer- 
 ring to the morning's scene, I ventured frankly to state 
 my suspicions, and ask if they were not well founded. 
 
 " Not at all," he instantly replied. '* The men would 
 have been dead had that despatch reached me two 
 minutes later. In order to give the fellows every possi- 
 ble chance for their lives, I left a mounted orderly at 
 the telegraph office, with orders to ride at a gallop if a 
 message came for me from Washington. It is well I 
 did! — the precaution saved their lives." 
 
 How the despatch came to Harper's Ferry must be 
 told in the words of the man who got it through. 
 
 THE telegrapher's STORY. 
 
 On the morning of the 24th of February, 1865, I 
 was busy at my work in the Baltimore telegraph office, 
 sending and receiving messages. At half-past ten 
 o'clock — for I had occasion to mark the hour — the 
 signal C — A — L, several times repeated, caused me 
 to throw all else aside and attend to it. 
 
 That was the telegraphic cipher of the War Depart- 
 ment ; and telegraphers, in those days, had instructions 
 to put that service above all others. A m.essage was 
 quickly ticked off from the President to the commanding 
 
THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 135 
 
 officer at Harper's Ferry, reprieving two deserters who 
 were to be shot at noon. The message was dated 
 the day before, but had in some way been detained 
 or delayed between the Department and the Wash- 
 ington office. 
 
 A few words to. the Baltimore office, which accom- 
 panied the despatch, explained that it had " stuck " at 
 Baltimore, that an officer direct from the President was 
 waiting at the Washington office, anxious to hear that 
 it had reached Harper's Ferry, and that Baltimore must 
 send it on instantly. 
 
 Baltimore would have been very glad to comply ; but 
 the line to Harper's Ferry had been interrupted since 
 daylight ; nothing whatever had passed. So I explained 
 to Washington. 
 
 The reply came back before my fingers had left the 
 instrument. " You must get it through. Do it, some 
 way, for Mr. Lincoln. He is very anxious ; has just 
 sent another messenger to us." 
 
 I called the office superintendent to my table, and 
 repeated these despatches to him. He looked at the 
 clock. 
 
 "Almost eleven," he said. "I see just one chance 
 
 a very slight one. Send it to New York : ask them 
 
 to get it to Wheeling, and then it may get through by 
 
136 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Cumberland and Martinsbu^. Stick to 'em, and do 
 what you can." 
 
 By this time I had become thoroughly aroused in the 
 business, and I set to work with a will. The despatch 
 with the explanation went to New York, and promptly 
 came the reply that it was hopeless ; the wires were 
 crowded, and nothing could be done till late in the after- 
 noon, if then. 
 
 I responded just as Washington had replied to me: 
 It must be done ; it is a case of life and death ; do it 
 for Mr. Lincoln's sake, who is very anxious about it. 
 And I added for myself, by way of emphasis : For 
 God's sake, let's save these poor fellows ! 
 
 And I got the New- York people thoroughly aroused, 
 as I was myself. The answer came back, **Will do 
 what we can." 
 
 It was now ten minutes past eleven. In ten minutes 
 more I heard from New York that the despatch had got 
 as far as Buffalo, and could not go direct to Wheeling ; 
 it must go on to Chicago. 
 
 Inquiries from Washington were repeated every five 
 minutes, and I sent what had reached me. 
 
 Half-past eleven, the despatch was at Chicago, 
 and they were working their best to get it to 
 Wheeling. 
 
THE MESSAGE OF LIFE 137 
 
 Something was the matter ; the Wheeling office did 
 not answer. 
 
 The next five minutes passed without a word ; then 
 — huzza ! — New York says the despatch has reached 
 WheeHng, and the operator there says he can get it 
 through to Harper's Ferry in time. 
 
 At this point the news stopped. New York could 
 learn nothing further for me, after several efforts, and 
 I could only send to Washington that I hoped it was 
 all right, but could not be sure. Later in the day the 
 line was working again to Harper's Ferry, and then I 
 learned that the despatch had reached the office there 
 at ten minutes before twelve, and that it was brought to 
 the place of execution just, in time. 
 
138 
 
 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXIV 
 
 SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA 
 
 [From General Shermaii's ^^ Personal Alemoirs.'"^ 
 
 About seven o'clock, on the morning of November 
 1 6, 1864, we rode out of Atlanta by the Decatur road, 
 
 filled by the marching 
 troops and wagons of the 
 Fourteenth Corps ; and 
 reaching the hill, just out- 
 side of the old Confederate 
 works, we naturally paused 
 to look back upon the 
 scenes of our last battles. 
 We stood upon the very 
 ground where was fought 
 the bloody battle of July 
 22, and could see the copse 
 of wood where McPherson fell. Behind us lay Atlanta, 
 smouldering and in ruins, the black smoke rising high in 
 the air, and hanging like a pall over the city. Away off 
 in the distance, on the McDonough road, was the rear 
 
 WILLIAM T. SHERMAN. 
 
mm* » 
 
SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA 1 39 
 
 of Howard's column, the gun-barrels glistening in the 
 sun, the white-topped wagons stretching away to the 
 south ; and right before us the Fourteenth Corps, 
 marching steadily and rapidly with a cheery look and 
 swinging pace, that made light of the thousand miles 
 that lay between us and Richmond. Some band, by 
 accident, struck up the anthem of *' John Brown's soul 
 goes marching on," the men caught up the strain, and 
 never, before or since, have I heard the chorus of 
 '* Glory, glory, hallelujah ! " done with more spirit, or in 
 better harmony of time and place. 
 
 Then we turned our horses' heads to the east. 
 Atlanta was soon lost behind the screen of trees, and 
 became a thing of the past. Around it clings many a 
 thought of desperate battle, of hope and fear, that now 
 seems like the memory of a dream ; and I have never 
 seen the place since. The day was extremely beautiful, 
 clear sunlight, with bracing air; and an unusual feeling 
 of exhilaration seemed to pervade all minds, a feeling of 
 something to come, vague and undefined, still full of 
 venture and intense interest. Even the common sol- 
 diers caught the inspiration, and many a group called 
 out to me as I worked my way past them, *' Uncle 
 Billy, I guess Grant is waiting for us at Richmond !" 
 Indeed the general sentiment was that we were march- 
 
I40 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 ing for Richmond, and that there we should end the 
 war ; but how and when they seemed to care not, nor 
 did they measure the distance, or count the cost in life, 
 or bother their brains about the great rivers to be 
 crossed, and the food required for man and beast, that 
 had to be gathered by the way. There was a " devil- 
 may-care " feeling pervading officers and men, that 
 made me feel the full load of responsibility, for success 
 would be accepted as a matter of course, whereas, 
 should we fail, this "march" would be adjudged the 
 wild adventure of a crazy fool. I had no purpose to 
 march direct for Richmond by way of Augusta and 
 Charlotte, but always designed to reach the seacoast 
 first at Savannah or Port Royal, South Carolina, and 
 even kept in mind the alternative of Pensacola. 
 
 The first night out we camped by the roadside. 
 Stone Mountain, a mass of granite, was in plain view 
 cut out in clear outline against the blue sky ; the whole 
 horizon was lurid with the bonfires of rail-ties, and 
 groups of men all night were carrying the heated rails 
 to the nearest trees and bending them around the 
 trunks. Colonel Foe had provided tools for ripping up 
 the rails and twisting them when hot ; but the best and 
 easiest way is the one I have described, of heating the 
 middle of the iron rails on bonfires made of the cross- 
 
* 
 SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA I4I 
 
 ties, and then winding them around a telegraph-pole or 
 the trunk of some convenient sapling. I attached much 
 importance to this destruction of the railroad, gave it 
 my own personal attention, and made reiterated orders 
 to others on the subject. 
 
 The next day we passed through the handsome town 
 of Covington, the soldiers closing up their ranks, the 
 color-bearers unfurling their flags, and the bands strik- 
 ing up patriotic airs. The white people came out of 
 their houses to behold the sight, spite of their deep 
 hatred of the invaders, and the negroes were simply 
 frantic with joy. Whenever they heard my name, they 
 clustered about my horse, shouted and prayed in their 
 peculiar style, which had a natural eloquence that would 
 have moved a stone. I have witnessed hundreds, if not 
 thousands, of such scenes, and can now see a poor girl, 
 in the very ecstasy of hugging the banner of one of the 
 regiments. 
 
 I remember, when riding around by a by-street in 
 Covington to avoid the crowd that followed the march- 
 ing column, that some one brought me an invitation to 
 dine with a sister of Sam Anderson, who was a cadet 
 at West Point with me ; but the messenger reached me 
 after we had passed the main part of the town. I 
 asked to be excused, and rode on to a place designated 
 
142 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 for camp about four miles to The east of the town. 
 Here we made our bivouac, and I walked up to a plan- 
 tation-house close by, where were assembled many 
 negroes, among them an old, gray-haired man, with as 
 fine a head as I ever saw. I asked him if he under- 
 stood about the war and its progress. He said he did ; 
 that he had been looking for the "angel of the Lord" 
 ever since he was knee-high, and, though we professed 
 to be fighting for the Union, he supposed that slavery 
 was the cause, and that our success was his freedom. 
 I asked him if all the negro slaves comprehended this 
 fact, and he said they did surely. I then explained 
 to him that we wanted the slaves to remain where they 
 were and not to load us down with useless mouths, 
 which would eat up the food needed for our fighting 
 men ; that our success was their assured freedom ; that 
 we could receive a few of their young, hearty men as 
 pioneers ; but that, if they followed us in swarms of old 
 and young, feeble and helpless, it would simply load us 
 down and cripple us in our great task. I believe that 
 old man spread this message to the slaves, which was 
 carried from mouth to mouth, to the very end of our 
 journey, and that in part saved us from the great dan- 
 ger we incurred of swelling our numbers so that famine 
 would have attended our progress. It was at this very 
 
SHERMAN STARTS ON HIS MARCH TO THE SEA I43 
 
 plantation that a soldier passed me with a ham on his mus- 
 ket, a jug of sorghum molasses under his arm, and a big 
 piece of honey in his hand, from which he was eating, and, 
 catching my eye, he remarked sctto voce and carelessly to 
 a comrade, " Forage liberally on the country," quoting 
 from my general orders. On this occasion, as on many 
 others that fell under my personal observation, I re- 
 proved the man, explained that foraging must be limited 
 to the regular parties properly detailed, and that all 
 provisions thus obtained must be delivered to the regu- 
 lar commissaries to be fairly distributed to the men who 
 kept their ranks. 
 
144 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XX \^ 
 
 SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA 
 [By Samitel H. M. Byers.'] 
 
 [This popular song was written while its author was a prisoner at Columbia, 
 S. C. Of its origin he says : " There are hundreds of old comrades who remem- 
 ber the afternoon in the prison-pen at Columbia when our glee club said, ' Now we 
 are going to sing something about Billy Sherman ! ' and with what rousing cheers 
 the song and the writer were welcomed. The Confederate officers ran in to see 
 what was loose among the prisoners, and they, too, had music in their souls, and 
 said if the glee club would sing ' Dixie Land' they might sing 'Sherman's March 
 to the Sea' also; and so for weeks our glee club — the only sunshine we had in 
 prison — made the old barrack walls ring with songs of the blue and the gray."] 
 
 Our campfires shone bright on the mountain 
 
 That frowned on the river below, 
 As we stood by our guns in the morning, 
 
 And eagerly watched for the foe ; 
 When a rider came out of the darkness 
 
 That hung over mountain and tree, 
 And shouted, "Boys, up and be ready! 
 
 For Sherman will march to the sea ! '* 
 
 Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman 
 
 Went up from each valley and glen, 
 And the bugles re-echoed the music 
 
 That came from the lips of the men ; 
 For we knew that the stars in our banner 
 
 More bright in their splendor would be. 
 And that blessings from Northland would greet us 
 
 When Sherman marched down to the sea. 
 
Sherman's march to the sea 145 
 
 Then forward, boys ! forward to battle ! 
 ■ We marched on our wearisome way, 
 We stormed the wild hills of Resaca — 
 
 God bless those who fell on that day ! 
 Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory, 
 
 Frowned down on the flag of the free ; 
 But the East and the West bore our standard, 
 
 And Sherman marched on to the sea. 
 
 Still onward we pressed, till our banners 
 
 Swept out from Atlanta's grim walls, 
 And the blood of the patriot dampened 
 
 The soil where the traitor flag falls ; 
 We paused not to weep for the fallen 
 
 Who slept by each river and tree. 
 Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel. 
 
 As Sherman marched down to the sea. 
 
 Oh, proud was our army that morning. 
 
 That stood where the pine darkly towers, 
 When Sherman said, ''Boys, you are weary, 
 
 But to-day fair Savannah is ours ! " 
 Then sang we the song of our chieftain, 
 
 That echoed o'er river and lea, 
 And the stars in our banner shone brighter 
 
 When Sherman marched down to the sea. 
 
146 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXVI 
 
 THE PERILS OF A SPY'S LIFE 
 
 The life of a spy is one full of peril and hardship. 
 The danger incurred is often more serious and personal 
 than that of the battle-field. He is sent by his supe- 
 riors to discover, if possible, the enemy's plans, in 
 order to thwart them. The spy goes to his duty fully 
 aware of the possibilities in store for him. If the 
 enemy catches him, he knows that in a few hours his 
 dead body will dangle from a tree. Listen to the story 
 of the narrow escape of one of the most daring spies 
 of the Arjny of the Potomac. 
 
 "It was a dark night. Not a star on the glimmer. I 
 had collected my bits of intelligence, and was on the 
 move for the Union lines. I was approaching the 
 banks of a stream whose waters I had to cross, and had 
 then some miles to traverse before I could reach the 
 pickets of our gallant troops. A feeling of uneasiness 
 began to creep over me ; I was on the outskirt of a 
 wood fringing the dark waters at my feet, whose pres- 
 ence could scarcely be detected but for their sullen 
 
THE PERILS OF A SPY's LIFE- I47 
 
 murmurs as they rushed through the gloom. The wind 
 sighed in gentle accordance. I walked forty or fifty 
 yards along the bank. I then crept on all fours along 
 the ground, and groped with my hands. I paused — I 
 groped again — my breath thickened, perspiration oozed 
 from me at every pore, and I was prostrated with hor- 
 ror ! I had missed my landmark, and knew not where 
 I was. Below or above, beneath the shelter of the 
 bank, lay the skiff I had hidden ten days before. 
 
 "As I stood gasping for breath, with all the unmis- 
 takable proofs of my calling about me, the sudden cry 
 of a bird or plunging of a fish would act like mag- 
 netism on my frame, not wont to shudder at a shadow. 
 No matter how pressing the danger may be, if a man 
 sees an opportunity for escape, he breathes with free- 
 dom. But let him be surrounded by darkness, impene- 
 trable at two yards' distance, within rifle's length of 
 concealed foes, for what knowledge he has to the con- 
 trary ; knowing, too, with painful accuracy, the detec- 
 tion of his presence would reward him with a sudden 
 and violent death ; and if he breathes no faster, and 
 feels his limbs as free and his spirits as light as when 
 taking a favorite promenade, he is more fitted for a 
 hero than I am. 
 
 '' In the agony of that moment — in the sudden and 
 
148 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 utter helplessness I felt to discover my true bearings — 
 I was about to let myself gently into the stream, and 
 breast its current, for life or death. There was no 
 alternative. The Union pickets must be reached in 
 safety before the morning broke, or I should soon 
 swing between heaven and earth, from some green limb 
 of the black forest in which I stood. 
 
 '' At that moment the low, sullen bay of a blood- 
 hound struck my ear. The sound was reviving — the 
 fearful stillness broken. The uncertain dread flew 
 before the certain danger. I was standing to my 
 middle in the shallow bed of the river, just beneath the 
 jutting banks. After a pause of a few seconds I began 
 to creep mechanically and stealthily down the stream, 
 followed, as I knew from the rustling of the grass and 
 frequent breaking of twigs, by the bloodthirsty dog ; 
 although, by certain uneasy growls, I felt assured he 
 was at fault. Something struck against my breast. I 
 could not prevent a slight cry from escaping me, as, 
 stretching out my hand, I grasped the gunwale of a boat 
 moored beneath the bank. Between surprise and joy I 
 felt half choked. In an instant I had scrambled on 
 board, and began to search for the painter in the bow, 
 in order to cast her from her fastenings. 
 
 " Suddenly, a bright ray of moonlight — the first 
 
THE PERILS OF A SPY S LIFE I49 
 
 gleam of hope in that black night — fell directly on the 
 spot, revealing the silvery stream, my own skiff (hidden 
 there ten days before), lighting the deep shadows of the 
 verging wood, and, on the log half buried in the bank, 
 and from which I had that instant cast the line that had 
 bound me to it, the supple form of the crouching blood- 
 hound, his red eyes gleaming in the moonlight, jaws 
 distended, and poising for the spring. With one dart 
 the light skiff was yards out in the stream, and the 
 savage after it. With an oar I aimed a blow at his head, 
 which, however, he eluded with ease. In the effort thus 
 made the boat careened over towards my antagonist, 
 who made a desperate effort to get his forepaws over 
 the side, at the same time seizing the gunwale with his 
 teeth. 
 
 ''Now was the time to get rid of my canine foe. 
 I drew my revolver, and placed the muzzle between his 
 eyes, but hesitated to fire, for that one report might 
 bring on me a volley from the shore. Meantime, the 
 strength of the^ dog careened the frail craft so much 
 that the water rushed over the side, threatening to 
 swamp her. I changed my tactics, threw my revolver 
 into the bottom of the skiff, and, grasping my ' bowie,' 
 keen as a Malay creese, and glittering, as I released it 
 from the sheath, like a moonbeam on the stream, in 
 
150 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 an instant I had severed the sinewy throat of the hound, 
 cutting through brawn and muscle to the nape of the 
 neck. The tenacious wretch gave a wild, convulsive 
 leap half out of the water, then sank, and was gone. 
 
 " Five minutes' pulling landed me on the other side 
 of the river, and in an hour after, without further acci- 
 dent, I was among friends, encompassed by the Union 
 lines. That night I related at headquarters the intelli- 
 gence I had gathered." 
 
 Not often does the spy escape from his enemies 
 so easily. A staff officer thus describes the death 
 of a spy, who had been caught by one of General Cus- 
 ter's officers in a village near Cedar Creek, Virginia: 
 
 *' 'What's the matter ? ' said I to Custer, who was sit- 
 ting with his staff round the campfire. ' You seem sad.' 
 
 " ' I have reason to be. I fear we have a disagreeable 
 duty to perform. You know we captured a man in the 
 village.' 
 
 " ' Yes. What of him .? ' 
 
 '''Only that my adjutant-general has just recognized 
 him as one of the Confederate guards who escorted him 
 and other Federals when they were taken prisoners. 
 He has gone with two other officers, who were captured 
 at the same time, to see the prisoner.' 
 
THE PERILS OF A SPY S LIFE I5I 
 
 " * You think, then, the fellow is a spy ? ' 
 
 "* That's just it ; and a dangerous one, too, judging 
 from his looks.' 
 
 " At that moment the three officers came up to make 
 their report. 
 
 *' ' Well, gentlemen/ said Custer, ' what do you think 
 of the prisoner } ' 
 
 *''We all recognized him as one of our old guards,' 
 said the adjutant. 
 
 " < Very well, gentlemen,' said Custer slowly. * The 
 evidence seems to be clear. Adjutant, order the pris- 
 oner to be brought before me.' 
 
 ** The prisoner was brought up between two sentries. 
 * My man, we think you are a spy,' said General Custer, 
 in a quiet voice. ' What have you to say to the 
 charge ? ' 
 
 " ' There's a woman here from the village,' replied 
 the man, ' and she'll tell you I am her son. I live in 
 the village. Does that make me a spy ? ' 
 
 " An elderly woman, evidently in some terror, came 
 forward. 
 
 " ' Is this man your son ? ' 
 
 '' 'Yes, he is.' 
 
 '"How long has he been in the village ? * 
 
 " 'Ever since last spring.' 
 
152 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 "'Does he belong to the Smithern army? ' 
 
 "'I diinno.' 
 
 "At this moment an orderly handed the adjutant-gen- 
 eral a bundle, and whispered a word in his ear. Quietly 
 unrolling it, the adjutant brought out a Confederate uni- 
 form. 
 
 " ' General,' said he, ' this uniform was found in the 
 woman's house where we captured the prisoner.' 
 
 " A sudden flash in the man's face, a swift look of 
 anger, and a glance between him and the woman 
 was the only answer either made to the announce- 
 ment. 
 
 "'That will do; remove the woman,' said Custer 
 gravely. 
 
 "The woman gazed for a moment into the face of the 
 prisoner, but it was evident that she was not his mother. 
 She made no effort to bid him farewell. 
 
 " ' My man, it's a clear case. You are a soldier of the 
 Confederate army, and inside our lines in disguise. 
 You are therefore a spy. It is my duty to inform you 
 that you must die.' 
 
 " * Die .'* What ! without a trial } ' exclaimed the 
 startled prisoner. 
 
 " 'You have just been tried. I, as a United States 
 general, have condemned you as a spy. You die at 
 
THE PERILS OF A SPy's LIFE 1 53 
 
 eight to-morrow morning. I will send the chaplain to 
 you, and I hope you will prepare to meet your fate.* 
 
 "At the appointed hour the next morning the poor 
 fellow was brought out and hanged, in the presence of 
 the entire brigade." 
 
154 
 
 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXVII 
 
 HOW ADMIRAL FARRAGUT WAS LASHED TO THE 
 RIGGING 
 
 Some day you will read all about the brilliant naval 
 fight for the possession of Mobile Bay. The brave 
 
 Admiral Farragut had de- 
 termined to make the at- 
 tempt on Thursday, August 
 4, 1864, but was delayed 
 because one of his ironclads 
 did not arrive. The vessel 
 arrived at sunset, and Far- 
 ragut gave orders for the 
 fleet to move at sunrise. 
 The day opened with a 
 dense fog which hid the 
 forts in the bay, and made 
 the great men-of-war and 
 black ironclads look like so many phantoms. The 
 fog soon lifted, and at an early hour the whole fleet 
 was under way. Now was fought one of the most 
 brilliant naval contests of modern times. By this vic- 
 
 DAVID G. FARRAGUT. 
 
HOW FARRAGUT WAS LASHED TO THE RIGGING I55 
 
 tory the port of Mobile was closed against blockade- 
 runners. 
 
 During the fight an incident happened which caught 
 the public fancy at the time, and has since become fixed 
 in the popular mind as an incident of deep historical 
 interest for all time. 
 
 At the beginning of the action, Admiral Farragut 
 was standing in the main port rigging, which position 
 enabled him to overlook the other vessels of the fleet. 
 It also gave him command of both his own flagship and 
 the Metacomet. The latter vessel was lashed on to the 
 port side of the Hartford, for the purpose of carrying 
 the flagship inside the bay in case her machinery should 
 be disabled. A slight breeze was blowing the smoke 
 from the Union guns on to Fort Morgan. Soon the 
 smoke gradually obscured the admiral's view, and he 
 almost unconsciously climbed the rigging, ratline by 
 ratline, in order to see over it, until finally he found 
 himself in shrouds, some little distance below the 
 main-top. Here he could lean either backward or for- 
 ward in a comfortable position, having the free use of 
 both hands for his spyglass, or any other purpose. 
 Captain Drayton, commanding the Hartford, also chief 
 of staff to the admiral, becoming anxious lest even a 
 slight wound, a blow from a splinter, or the cutting 
 
156 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 away of a portion of the rigging, might throw his chief 
 to the deck, sent the signal-quartermaster aloft with a 
 small rope to secure him to the rigging. The admiral 
 at first declined to allow the quartermaster to do this, 
 but quickly admitted the wisdom of the precaution, and 
 himself passed two or three turns of the rope around 
 his body. The admiral remained aloft until after the 
 flagship had passed Fort Morgan. 
 
 After the passage of the forts was accomplished and 
 the vessels were anchored, the Confederate ram Ten- 
 nessee was seen to be moving out from under the guns 
 of Fort Morgan. Captain Drayton reported this fact 
 to the admiral, stating that Buchanan, the Confederate 
 admiral, was going outside to destroy the outer fleet. 
 The admiral immediately said, " Then we must follow 
 him out ! " though he suspected that Buchanan, be- 
 coming desperate, had made up his mind to sink or 
 destroy the flagship Hartford, and do as much injury as 
 possible before losing his own vessel. Soon after this 
 remark, Farragut said, " No ! Buck's coming here. Get 
 under way at once ; we must be ready for him." 
 
 Of the desperate fight which now took place we may 
 learn mere details at some future time. After a fierce 
 contest, the great ram, the pride and boast of the Con- 
 federate navy, and under the command of Buchanan, 
 
FARRAGUT LASHED TO THE RIGGING 
 
HOW FARRAGUT WAS LASHED TO THE RIGGING 1 5/ 
 
 the commander of the Merrimac in the fight with the 
 Monitor, was forced to surrender. 
 
 The fact that the admiral was lashed in the main 
 rigging during the fight gave him a great reputation 
 throughout the country. Farragut was amused and 
 amazed at the notoriety of the incident. When a comic 
 picture of the scene, in one of the illustrated papers, 
 came to hand a few days after the battle, the admiral 
 said to Captain Drayton in conversation, " How curi- 
 ously some trifling incident catches the popular fancy. 
 My being in the main rigging was a mere incident, 
 owing to the fact that I was driven aloft by the smoke. 
 The lashing was the result of your own fears for my 
 safety." At the close of the war the admiral yielded 
 to the solicitations of a celebrated artist, to stand for 
 a historical portrait in the position in which he was 
 first lashed. 
 
158 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 
 
 [Frovi Walier Lee Cass's ^'' Jed^^ 
 
 The rain was pouring in torrents when, on the 23d 
 of May, 1864, about sundown, we arrived at Anderson 
 Station. We were formed in single ranks on the long 
 platform of the depot, and were then formally turned 
 over to the prison guard. We were marched east a 
 short distance, by a road running through a little valley, 
 surrounded by thick pine woods, when there loomed up 
 before us, in the moist atmosphere and gathering dark- 
 ness, a long line of palisades, the sight of which gave 
 me a shiver of foreboding and dread. The rainfall and 
 the chill of evening oppressed me with gloom. 
 
 The gates before us now swung inward, and we were 
 marched into the prison. Many, oh, how many ! never 
 passed through those gates again until they were car- 
 ried to the graveyard trenches beyond. Gaunt crea- 
 tures, with shrunken forms and blackened faces, clothed 
 in dirty, ragged shreds of blue, thronged round us as 
 
THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 1 59 
 
 we entered the prison. The impress of suffering and 
 famine was over all. Their hollow-eyed countenances, 
 dishevelled hair, half-naked limbs, and grotesque habili- 
 ments, for a while made it impossible for us to realize 
 that they, like ourselves, were Union soldiers. 
 
 Exposure to rain and sun, starvation and confinement 
 within the deadly embrace of these prison walls had 
 obliterated all semblance of manhood from these 
 patriotic men. Some stared apathetically at us, as if 
 visitants from another world, in which they no longer 
 had a part. From their faces all hope and cheerfulness 
 had faded out. Others gathered around us, and in 
 plaintive, tremulous, but eager voices, inquired for news 
 of the outside world from where we came, or invited 
 to trade. " Where is Sherman } " " What is Grant 
 doing ? " " Got any hard-tack or coffee to trade for 
 corn bread ?" "Do you know when we are to be ex- 
 changed ? " are samples of the interrogations which 
 came from faltering lips. The last question was the 
 most common one. This, coming from wretched men, 
 hollow-eyed, famine-pinched, and with scurvied, swol- 
 len faces, blue and trembling with cold, dampness, and 
 the weakness of famine, made the questionings almost 
 an appeal. Though this scene brought a shiver of 
 creeping horror over many a man among us accustomed 
 
l60 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 to face death in battle, yet we but feebly comprehended 
 its full import then. 
 
 A revolting stench filled the moist atmosphere. Our 
 feet mired into a wallow of filth at every step. We 
 constantly stumbled on squalid huts scarcely high 
 enough to creep under. These were made of blankets, 
 shirts, shreds of clothing, or were built up with mud 
 and roofed with brush or twigs of pine. . Coming from 
 ordinary scenes of war, this prison, by contrast, was so 
 horrible as to seem to be the very jaws of death and the 
 gates of hell. Within its deadly maw all semblance of 
 humanity was crushed. 
 
 The side hill beyond, we were told, was to be our 
 quarters. But where ? The whole hillside was so 
 crowded with huts and human forms lying on the 
 muddy ground, that at a first glance there appeared to 
 be no room for us. It was only by scattering in groups 
 of two or three at different points that we finally found 
 the needed space to spread our blankets. 
 
 Sadly thinking of my far-off Northern home and 
 friends, and of the terrible contrasts here, I fell into a 
 troubled sleep. The sun was shining brightly when I 
 was awakened by men stumbling against me. As I 
 arose to my feet the daylight revealed, for the first 
 time, the whole prison area to my sight. 
 
THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON l6l 
 
 In form the enclosure of stockade was a parallelo- 
 gram, shown by after measurements to be ten hundred 
 and ten feet in length, and seven hundred and seventy- 
 nine feet wide. The sides of this parallelogram ran 
 north and south. It enclosed two opposite hillsides, 
 and the valleys and plateaus back of them. Near the 
 centre, running from east to west, was a brook, eight to 
 ten feet in width. On each side of this creek was a 
 swampy marsh reaching to the foot of both the north * 
 and south hillsides. 
 
 The stockade was built of pine logs set upright in the 
 ground, scored slightly on the sides, so as to fit them 
 closely together. These were firmly held together by 
 means of a plank or slab, spiked on the outside and 
 across the face of the logs near the top. Sentry 
 boxes, thirty-five in number, were scaffolded outside, 
 close to the stockade, so that the guard could over- 
 look the area within. 
 
 No vegetation was in this pen. The dense growth ^ 
 of pines formerly covering the ground had been cleared^J^ 
 away when the stockade was built ''"^"^ 
 
 AT 1 ^-^"^ 
 
 As 1 went down the hill to wa.#i myself at the brool^,, 
 I saw, for the first time, a little railing three feet high, ^ 
 running eighteen feet from, and parallel with, the 
 stockade, inside and all around it. It was made by 
 
1 62 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 nailing a strip of board, about three inches wide, to the 
 top of posts set firmly in the ground. 
 
 "What is that for?" I asked an old prisoner. 
 
 *' You'd better keep away from it if you don't want 
 to get shot," he replied. " That's the dead line. I saw 
 one of the guard shoot one of our old men the other 
 day while he was reaching over to pick up a weed which 
 was growing inside." 
 
 " What did he want of the weed } " I inquired won- 
 deringly. 
 
 " Don't know. Guess he wanted it to eat ; good for 
 scurvy," was the reply. 
 
 On every side strange and terrible sights greeted me. 
 Men were cooking at little fires scarcely large enough 
 to make a blaze. Dead men, with unclosed eyes, lay in 
 the path by the side of the little hutSs Sick men, with 
 scurvied, bloated limbs, were trying to eat, while their 
 teeth almost dropped from their jaws. Wounded men, 
 with festering, unhealed wounds, were lying with naked 
 limbs and with hair matted in the filth of their sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 With inarticulate, pfteous whines, they looked with 
 their lustreless eyes or reached out their withered, 
 feeble hands in mute appeal for help. They were cov- 
 ered with vermin. God in heaven 1 what horrors 
 greeted every step ! 
 
THE HORRORS OF ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 163 
 
 Such was our introduction to the living death of 
 Andersonville, and thus it was that we settled down to 
 the common life of prisoners. As bitter and terrible 
 as was the opening scene described, it afterwards 
 became inexpressibly worse, month by month, during 
 our stay there. 
 
64 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXIX 
 
 THE HEROISM OF REBECCA WRIGHT 
 
 [^Fro7H General Sheridaii's ''''Personal Memoirs "] 
 
 Early in the fall of 1864, I felt the need of an effi- 
 cient body of scouts to collect information concerning 
 the enemy. I therefore began to organize my scouts on 
 a system which I hoped would give better results than 
 had the method hitherto pursued in the department, 
 which was to employ doubtful citizens and Confederate 
 deserters. If these should turn out untrustworthy, the 
 mischief they might do us gave me grave apprehensions. 
 I finally concluded that those of our own soldiers who 
 should volunteer for the delicate and hazardous duty 
 would be the most valuable material. These men were 
 disguised in Confederate uniforms whenever necessary, 
 were paid from the secret-service fund in proportion to 
 the value of the intelligence they furnished, which 
 often stood us in good stead in checking the forays of 
 Harry Gilmor, Mosby, and other irregulars. 
 
 Beneficial results came from the plan in many other 
 
THE HEROISM OF REBECCA WRIGHT 1 65 
 
 ways too, and particularly so when, in a few days, two 
 of my scouts put me in the way of getting news con- 
 veyed from Winchester. They had learned that just 
 outside of my lines there was living an old colored man 
 who had a permit from the Confederate commander to 
 go into Winchester and return three times a week, for 
 the purpose of selling vegetables to the inhabitants. 
 The scouts had sounded this man, and, finding him both 
 loyal and shrewd, suggested that he might be made 
 useful to us within the enemy's lines. The proposal 
 struck me as feasible, provided there could be found in 
 Winchester some trustworthy person who would be will- 
 ing to co-operate and correspond with me. I asked 
 General Crook, who was acquainted with many of the 
 Union people of Winchester, if he knew of such a per- 
 son, and he recommended a Miss Rebecca Wright, a 
 young lady whom he had met there before the battle of 
 Kernstown, who, he said, was a member of the Society 
 of Friends and the teacher of a small private school. 
 He knew she was faithful and loyal to the government, 
 and thought she might be willing to render us assist- 
 ance ; but he could not be certain of this, for, on ac- 
 2;ount of her well-known loyalty, she was under constant 
 surveillance. I hesitated at first, but, finally deciding to 
 try it, despatched the two scouts to the old negro's 
 
l66 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 cabin, and they brought him to my headquarters late at 
 night. I was soon convinced of the negro's fidehty, 
 and, asking him if he was acquainted with Miss 
 Rebecca Wright of Winchester, he replied that he 
 knew her well. Thereupon, I told him what I 
 wished to do, and, after a little persuasion, he agreed 
 to carry a letter to the young lady on his next 
 marketing trip. 
 
 My message was prepared by writing it on tissue 
 paper, which was then compressed into a small pellet, 
 and protected by wrapping it in tinfoil so that it could 
 be safely carried in the man's mouth. The probability 
 of his being searched when he came to the Confederate 
 picket-line was not remote, and in such event he was to 
 swallow the pellet. The letter appealed to Miss Wright's 
 loyalty and patriotism, and requested her to furnish me 
 with information regarding the strength and condition 
 of Early's army. The night before the negro started, 
 one of the scouts placed the odd-looking communica- 
 tion in his hands, with renewed injunctions as to secrecy 
 and promptitude. 
 
 Early in the morning it was delivered to Miss Wright 
 with an intimation that a letter of importance was 
 enclosed in the tinfoil, the negro telling her at the same 
 time that she might expect him to call for a message in 
 
THE HEROISM OF REBECCA WRIGHT ' 167 
 
 reply before his return home. At first Miss Wright 
 began to open the pellet nervously, but when told to be 
 careful, and to preserve the foil as a wrapping for her 
 answer, she proceeded slowly and carefully, and when 
 the note appeared intact the messenger retired, remark- 
 ing again that in the evening he would come for an 
 answer. 
 
 On reading my communication Miss Wright was 
 much startled by the perils it involved, and hesitatingly 
 consulted her mother ; but her devoted loyalty soon 
 silenced every other consideration, and the brave girl 
 resolved to comply with my request, notwithstanding it 
 might jeopardize her life. The evening before, a con- 
 valescent Confederate officer had visited her mother's 
 house, and in conversation about the war had disclosed 
 the fact that Kershaw's division of infantry and a 
 battalion of artillery had started to rejoin General Lee. 
 At the time Miss Wright heard this, she attached but 
 little importance to it, but now she perceived the value 
 of the intelligence. As her first venture, she deter- 
 mined to send it to me at once, which she did, with a 
 promise that in the future she would with great pleas- 
 ure continue to transmit information by the negro 
 messenger. 
 
 Miss Wright's answer proved of more value to me 
 
1 68 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 than she anticipated, for it^ot only quieted the con- 
 flicting reports concerning Anderson's corps, but was 
 most important in showing positively that Kershaw had 
 gone. This circumstance led, three days later, to the 
 battle of Winchester. 
 
THE FORTUNES OF WAR 1 69 
 
 XXX 
 
 THE FORTUNES OF WAR 
 
 [From the '■'■ Yoiitli' s Compnttion"'\ 
 
 The tide of war penetrated for the first time into 
 Kentucky in the summer of 1862. The armed neu- 
 trality which the State had declared as its policy, and 
 which it had striven to maintain, had proved a failure. 
 The Confederates entered the State, hoping and expect- 
 ing to find her ready to come at their call. 
 
 The attempt proved a failure. After many defeats, 
 the broken and routed army was driven back into the 
 valley of East Tennessee. 
 
 The silence of the forest was broken by the tramp 
 of thousands of feet ; the hills swarmed with the blue 
 and the gray. Giant trees, the growth of centuries, 
 were felled to make room for batteries and rifle-pits. 
 The scanty crops of corn and potatoes were soon ex- 
 hausted, and forage for man and beast became every 
 day more scarce. 
 
 Supplies were brought up the river on steamboats, 
 then transferred to wagon-trains, and, when the roads 
 became impassable, were carried on pack mules. 
 
170 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 So the advancing Federal army under Burnside had 
 no lack. But for General Bragg's men, who were 
 retreating, weary, discouraged, footsore and ragged, 
 there was no recourse but to ravage the surrounding 
 country, and this they did with such effect that the 
 natives, who are always abjectly poor, were reduced 
 to extremities. 
 
 Communication with home was cut off, and mails 
 were irregular and infrequent. Yet it was a question 
 whether to be glad or to be sorry when a mail did come, 
 so piteous were the tales of destitution and need that it 
 brought. 
 
 The early twilight was settling down, a light fall of 
 snow had sprinkled the hills with white, the wind 
 whistled drearily through the pine trees. Shivering, the 
 men drew closer to the roaring campfire. 
 
 Suddenly one of the group started up, and, dashing a 
 letter he had been reading to the ground, exclaimed, 
 *' Boys, I'm bound ter git a leave an' go home fur a 
 week ! " 
 
 *' Git a leave in the face uv the Blue Jackets ! Why, 
 John Rowsey, air ye crazy ? " 
 
 "I tell yer, fellers, I'm bound ter go — my wife an' 
 the young uns they's starvin', ain't got nothing to eat 
 at all!" 
 
THE FORTUNES OF WAR 17I 
 
 He groaned as he walked away to present his petition 
 to General Breckinridge, his brigade commander. 
 
 With orderlies and adjutants on guard, it is by no 
 means easy for a private to approach his chief, but a 
 motive such as impelled Rowsey would have overcome 
 even greater obstacles than these, and he was in a short 
 time standing in the general's tent. 
 
 *' Beg pardon, general," said the aide, "I tried to keep 
 the man out, but nothing would do but he must see you 
 himself." 
 
 The young officers who filled the tent smiled audibly 
 at the appearance of the ragged, unkempt, shoeless 
 man who presented himself among them. But General 
 Breckinridge was too polite to find matter for merriment 
 in genuine distress, however humble. With a glance of 
 stern rebuke to the jesters, he turned, and, with the 
 same gracious, sweet courtesy that marked his manners 
 to every one, he said, ''Well, my man, what can I do 
 for you ? " 
 
 " I would like a week's leave, general, if you 
 please." 
 
 " Why, my good fellow, don't you know that in the 
 face of the enemy no one can have a leave } " 
 
 **Read that, general, if you please." 
 
 It was a torn and soiled half-sheet of coarse paper. 
 
/ 
 
 1/2 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 The general took it, and these were the pencilled words 
 he deciphered : 
 
 Dear John, — Can't you come home and help us? We ain't 
 had nothin' ter eat sence day before yesterday, 'cep' some dry 
 crusts uv corn bread. The soldiers hev took everything. They've 
 kilt the cow, an' the meal's all gone ; if you can't come soon we'll 
 all be starved. Good-by, an' God bless you if I don't see you no 
 more. Mary. • 
 
 No petition from high official had ever moved General 
 Breckinridge as did that simple little letter. 
 
 "My poor fellow," said he, laying his hand on the 
 soldier's shoulder, " I will indorse your petition and 
 send it up to headquarters. You know that when we 
 are so near a battle as now no one but the commandino^ 
 general can grant a leave, but you shall have it if I can 
 get it for you." 
 
 " God bless you, general ! " sobbed the poor fellow, as 
 he sank on his knees. " God bless you, and thank you 
 kindly." 
 
 There were few dry eyes in the tent as Breckinridge 
 read the letter to the officers who surrounded him, after 
 Rowsey had gone, and he lost no time in sending it 
 with his own indorsement to General Bragg. 
 
 John Rowsey slept with troubled dreams of love and 
 Mary, and awoke stretching out his arms and crying, 
 " I'm a-coming, Mary, I'm coming ! " 
 
THE FORTUNES OF WAR 1 73 
 
 "Pore feller," said his comrades, "he's all dazed wi* 
 his trouble." 
 
 " Message for Private John Rowsey, Company E, — th, 
 K. V. M.," called out a gay-looking officer, galloping 
 down the line. 
 
 Flushed with hope, he came forward, received the 
 packet, and tore it open eagerly ; but when he saw his 
 wife's letter enclosed with General Breckinridge's in- 
 dorsement, while across the paper were written the 
 fatal words, " Request disallowed," he dropped heavily 
 to the ground. " I tell yer, boys, I must go ! " he said 
 an hour or two later to a group of friends. 
 
 " But yer'll be caught ! " 
 
 "Ef I am they can't do nothin' but shoot me, an* I 
 rather be dead than stay here. Good Lord, you dunno 
 what 'tis ter feel as them as yer love better'n yerself's 
 starvin' ter death, an' you can't do nothin' ter help 
 'em ! " 
 
 After that no one said anything to hinder him, but 
 all gave him money to help him. 
 
 " Give my respects to General Breckinridge, Jim," he 
 said to a comrade, as he started, "an' thank him fur 
 what he tried to do fur me, an' tell him I hed ter go." 
 Then he turned and walked quietly down the line, into 
 the thick woods patrolled by the boys in gray. 
 
174 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Past the first and second sentry he went unchallenged, 
 no one taking notice of the man who walked along 
 coolly and seemed to be minding his business. Only 
 one more picket, and then — freedom and Mary, when — ■ 
 
 *' Who goes there ? " called a stentorian voice. 
 
 ''A friend." 
 
 "Advance and give the countersign." 
 
 A dash through the woods was the only answer. 
 What odds, however, had one against half a dozen ? 
 The sentry's gun gave the alarm, and John Rowsey was 
 surrounded and lodged in the guard-house. 
 
 The tidings soon penetrated to the little group who 
 were so anxiously awaiting the result. 
 
 "Sarves him right," said a burly Tennessean, "fur 
 desartin' his country's flag." 
 
 " Shet up, Jake Larkins ! Country's well enough, 
 but if them what's bone o' yer bone's a-starvin' an' 
 a-callin' fur ye, I reckon ye wouldn't be thinyng 'bout 
 country," said Jim, as he strode off to Breckinridge's 
 quarters. 
 
 " Is it any use, general, do ye think, axin' fur a pardon ? 
 I knows as it's a mighty bad case, but jes' ye think what 
 was puUin' the poor feller t'other way." 
 
 " I'll see, I'll see," said the general, with a tremble in 
 his voice. 
 
THE FORTUNES OF WAR 1/5 
 
 " My God, I wish I had given him the leave and taken 
 the risk myself." 
 
 And " see " he did, for he got up a petition which was 
 signed by half a dozen brigade commanders ; but all to 
 no effect. 
 
 *' Deserter John Rowsey to be shot at high noon," 
 was the sentence issued. 
 
 The prisoner sat in the guard-house trying to write a 
 letter by a dim light. As he was writing, General 
 Breckenridge opened the door and came in. 
 
 " My poor fellow, I am sorry for this ! " 
 
 " I knowed you'd be, general, I knowed you'd be. I 
 love my country, too, but I couldn't help doin' it. I 
 was bound to go, you see." 
 
 " Is there anything I can do for you ? " 
 
 " If you'd find my Mary, general, an' tell her how I 
 tried ter come, an' give her this letter, an' if you could 
 help her a bit." 
 
 " I will, I win," was the answer. " I will find her 
 myself." 
 
 "An', general, you don't think I run away cos I was 
 a coward ^ " 
 
 " A coward, no ! " and the kindly blue eyes shone 
 with moisture. 
 
 "I ain't afeard ter fight, an' I ain't afeard ter 
 
176 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 die, but there's some tnings as takes the heart 
 outer a feller." 
 
 *' I'll tell Mary that you died like a brave man," 
 said the general, as he grasped the horny hand of 
 the soldier. 
 
 '* Bless you fur that word! " cried the other, springing 
 up eagerly. " An' God bless you now an' alwiz, ai? 
 keep you frum trouble like mine ! " And there the-/ 
 stood hand in hand, the general and the gentleman, and 
 the uncouth mountaineer whose ideas were limited to 
 his native hills. 
 
 Around a large, partially cleared space, where the 
 stumps of the trees showed that the wilderness had but 
 lately given way before the advance of man, the bat- 
 talions were drawn up to see — what ? 
 
 One solitary man standing in the centre of the circle, 
 with eyes blinded, a target for the bullets of half a 
 dozen bright, glittering rifles fifty yards away. 
 
 ** I'll not do it," said one. '* I came to fight the enemy 
 and not to murder a defenceless man." 
 
 " Orders is orders," said another, '' and he's a de- 
 serter." 
 
 . " Deserter, indeed ! Wouldn't you have done the 
 same in his place ? " 
 
 " Well, I wasn't in his place, and how do I know what 
 
THE FORTUNES OF WAR 177 
 
 I would have done if I had been ? " with which piece 
 of philosophy he turned away. 
 
 The signal given, a flash, a discharge, a muffled 
 scream, and all was over. No one noticed that one of 
 the shots was fired into the air. 
 
 General Breckinridge's face grew whiter and whiter 
 as he sat immovable on his horse at the head of his 
 troops and watched the preparations. And when the 
 fainfcry was heard he fell to the ground in a dead faint. 
 
 What mattered it to the thousands in that camp, who 
 might themselves meet death in the next twenty-four 
 hours, that one soul had gone on before .? 
 
 When General Breckinridge sought out that once 
 happy little home on the spur of Pine Knob, he found 
 only an empty and deserted cabin. Whether Mary had 
 heard the sad tidings and gone to the settlement in the 
 valley away down below, or whether she had wandered 
 into the wilderness in pursuit of sustenance for herself 
 and little ones, and perished there, no one will ever 
 know. 
 
1/8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXXI 
 
 BARTER AND TRADE IN ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 
 [From Warren Lee Cass's ^'' Jedr'\ 
 
 The teams with rations usually came in at the north 
 gate. These rations consisted of Indian meal, and 
 sometimes of bacon. As a whole there was a large 
 quantity, but when subdivided among twenty or thirty 
 thousand men it gave to each one but a small quantity. 
 A street or path, to which was given the name of Broad- 
 way, led from the gate through the stockade from east 
 to west. Here, at ration time, was gathered a motley 
 crowd. With eager, hungry eyes, they watched each 
 division of the food, the sight of which seemed to have 
 a strange fascination for the hungry wretches, long 
 unused to full stomachs. They crowded to the wagons 
 to get a sight of each bag of meal or piece of meat. 
 The attempt to grasp a morsel which sometimes fell 
 from the wagon, the piteous expression of disappoint- 
 ment on their pinched and unwashed faces if they 
 failed, the involuntary exclamations, and the wistful, 
 hungry look, had in them a pathos not easily described. 
 
BARTER AND TRADE IN ANDERSONVILLE PRISON 1 79 
 
 After the drawing of rations, a dense throng of pris- 
 oners always gathered near the north gate to trade. 
 One with tobacco cut in pieces not larger than dice 
 might be seen trying to trade it for rations. Another 
 could be heard crying out, ''Who will trade a soup-bone 
 for Indian meal.''" "Who'll trade cooked rations for 
 raw ? " " Who'll trade beans for wood ? " While others 
 with small pieces of dirty bacon an inch or two in size, 
 held on a sharpened stick, would drive a sharp trade 
 with some one whose mouth was watering for its pos- 
 session. But for its misery, the scene would often have 
 been intensely comical. 
 
 The dirty faces, anxious looks, and grotesque gar- 
 ments, and the loud cries, so much in contrast with the 
 usual value of the articles offered, had a humorous side 
 not hard to appreciate even by men as miserable as 
 themselves. The struggle of these thousands, all 
 striving to better their condition by barter and trade, 
 was pathetic. How each bettered his condition by the 
 process of trade, I could never learn. 
 
 We had not long^been prisoners before we discovered 
 that men here, as in other conditions of life, in order to 
 "get on" and preserve life, must adopt some trade or 
 business. This necessity made men ingenious. Some 
 set up as bakers, and bought flour, and baked biscuits 
 
I So STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 which they sold to such as had money to buy. The 
 ovens which were built showed such ingenuity as to 
 extort expressions of surprise from the Confederates 
 who occasionally visited us. The soil contained a red 
 precipitate of iron, which was very adhesive. This was 
 made into rude bricks by mixing the earth with water, 
 and the oven was built of these over a mould of sand. 
 After being left to harden in the sun for a few days, the 
 sand was removed, a fire was kindled, and the oven was 
 ready for use. 
 
 Others made wooden buckets to hold water, whittling 
 out the staves and making the hoops with a jack-knife. 
 Others purchased (of outside parties) sheet tin, gener- 
 ally taken from the roofs of railway cars, and, with a 
 railway spike and a stone for tools, made small camp 
 kettles, without solder, by bending the pieces ingen- 
 iously together. These were eagerly purchased by those 
 who had money. As no cooking utensils were pos- 
 sessed by the prisoners, except such as they brought 
 into prison with them, these tinmen were benefactors. 
 
 Others tinkered broken-down watches, the object of 
 their owners being simply to make them "go" long 
 enough to effect a trade. The purchaser was usually a 
 Confederate, who found these watch-owners easier to 
 interview before the trade than afterwards, when he 
 
BARTER AND TRADE IN ANDERSONVILLE PRISON l8l 
 
 desired to bring them to account for selling watches 
 that refused to go unless carried by the purchaser. 
 Others fried flapjacks of Indian meal, and sold them 
 hot from the griddle for ten cents each. Among the 
 professional men were brewers, who vended around the 
 camp beer made of Indian meal soured in water. This 
 was sold for vinegar, and proclaimed by the venders to 
 be a cure for scurvy, but was principally used as a re- 
 freshing drink. A certain enterprising prisoner added 
 ginger and molasses to the compound, and made, as he 
 termed his success, a " boom " by selling it. He became 
 so rich as to buy food, and so regained his health and 
 strength. 
 
82 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXXII 
 
 BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS 
 
 The promise is that bread cast upon the waters shall 
 be found after many days. The fulfilment of this 
 promise in its fullest measure was never better exem- 
 plified than in the personal history of those who took 
 an active part in the late war. Here are two incidents 
 which show us that the Christian spirit may always be 
 exercised in the midst of commonplace and every-day 
 surroundings. 
 
 In 1864, some wounded soldiers lay in a farmhouse 
 
 in the Shenandoah Valley. Mrs. B , the mother of 
 
 one of them, the wife of a neighboring planter, rode 
 ten miles every day to see her boy, bringing with her 
 such little comforts as she could obtain. Her house 
 was burned, and the plantation was in ruins, trampled 
 down by the army. One day she carried to him a pail 
 of beef-tea. Every drop was precious, for it was with 
 great difificulty, and at a high price, that she had ob- 
 tained the beef from which it was made. 
 
 As she sat watching her boy sip the steaming, savory 
 
BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS 1 83 
 
 broth, her eye caught the eager, hungry eye of a man 
 on the next cot. 
 
 She turned away with a quick, savage pleasure in his 
 want. He was a Yankee soldier, perhaps one of the 
 very band who had burned her home. 
 
 She was a bitter Southerner. But she was also a 
 noble-hearted woman, and a servant of Christ. Her 
 eye stole back to the pale, sunken face, and she remem- 
 bered the words of her Master, *' If thine enemy thirst, 
 give him drink." 
 
 After a moment's pause, and with pressed lips, for it 
 required all the moral force she could command for her 
 to do it, she filled a bowl with the broth and put it to 
 his lips, repeating to herself the words, "For His sake; 
 for His sake ; for His sake I do it." 
 
 Then she brought fresh water and bathed the soldier's 
 face and hands as gently as if he too had been her son. 
 The next day when she returned he was gone, having 
 been exchanged to the North. 
 
 Last winter, the son of a senator from one of the 
 Northern States brought home, during the Christmas 
 vacation, as his chum, a young engineer from Virginia. 
 
 He was the only living son of Mrs. B , the boy 
 
 whom she had nursed having been killed during the 
 later years of the war. 
 
184 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 She had struggled for years to educate this boy as a 
 civil engineer, and had done it. But without influence 
 he could not obtain a position, and was now supporting 
 himself by copying. 
 
 Senator Blank became much interested in the young 
 Virginian, inquired into his qualifications, and after he 
 had returned home used his influence to procure an 
 appointment for him as chief of the staff of engineers 
 employed to construct an important railway. It would 
 yield him a good income for many years. 
 
 Senator Blank enclosed the appointment in a letter 
 
 to Mrs. B , reminding her of the farmhouse on the 
 
 Shenandoah, adding, ''The wounded man with whom 
 you shared that bowl of broth has long wished to thank 
 you for it. Now he has done it." 
 
 A story is also told of two young men, who, shortly 
 before the war broke out, were fellow-students and room- 
 mates at a Pennsylvania college, one a Southerner. 
 
 Both were hard students, and aspired to be leaders of 
 their class ; and in time the sharp rivalry between them 
 changed their friendship to bitter enmity. Mutual 
 charges were made, and the hostile feeling finally culmi- 
 nated in a challenge from the Southerner, which the 
 other treated with contempt. 
 
BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS 1 85 
 
 After graduation the young duellist went home, and 
 in the cares and excitements of the following years his 
 college quarrel was forgotten. The memory of it sud- 
 denly came back to him one day, after he had become a 
 Christian, and shocked him with the discovery of a sur- 
 viving hatred. 
 
 It was at the battle of Stone River. Our student, now 
 a Confederate officer, was riding across the battle-field, 
 when his horse nearly trod upon a wounded Union soldier. 
 He dismounted, with the humane intention of giving 
 some assistance, but when he looked the soldier in the 
 face, he recognized his old college enemy. He turned 
 quickly to remount his horse, but better thoughts and 
 feelings checked his first cruel impulse, and "in Christ's 
 name " he caused the soldier to be removed to a place 
 of refuge, and procured for him the services of a sur- 
 geon and a chaplain. 
 
 The wounded man knew his deliverer, but was too 
 weak to utter inquiries or thanks. Informed that his 
 wound was fatal, he could only request that his mother 
 be written to, and assured that he " died like a true 
 soldier ; " and this kind service also the Southern 
 officer faithfully performed as soon as the battle was 
 over. 
 
 He had no suspicion that the care he had secured for 
 
1 86 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 the sufferer would prove the means of saving his former 
 enemy's life. 
 
 After the war, the Northern man wrote to thank his 
 forgiving enemy ; but no answer was received, and fur- 
 ther inquiry brought the information that he had been 
 killed. 
 
 Twenty-one years passed ; the Northerner was a phy- 
 sician in prosperous practice, when business called him 
 to Charleston, S. C. In a street of that city, then 
 partly in ruins, the two men who had twice been dead 
 to each other met again. 
 
 The startled doctor saw the classmate who had once 
 been willing to take his life, and once had saved it. 
 The man had lost his all in the great earthquake ; and 
 his old enemy and grateful friend took him and his 
 needy family back with him to his own city, and estab- 
 lished him in a good situation. 
 
THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE I 87 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE 
 
 \_Frofn General Gi'aiifs '■'■ Perso7tal Memoi7's."'\ 
 
 Before stating what took place between General 
 Lee and myself, I will give all there is of the story of 
 the famous apple-tree. 
 Wars produce many 
 stories of fiction, some 
 of which are told until 
 they are believed to be 
 true. The war of the 
 rebellion was no excep- 
 tion to this rule ; and 
 the story of the apple- 
 tree is one of those fic- 
 tions based on a alight 
 foundation of fact. 
 
 ULYSSES S. GRANT. 
 
 There was an apple 
 
 orchard on the side of the hill occupied by the 
 Confederate forces. Running diagonally up the hill 
 was a wagon road, which, at one point, ran very 
 
1 88 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 near one of the trees, so that the wheels of vehi- 
 cles had, on that side, cut off the roots of this tree, 
 leaving a little embankment. General Babcock, of my 
 staff, reported to me that when he first met General 
 Lee he was sitting upon this embankment, with his feet 
 in the road below and his back resting against the tree. 
 The story has no other foundation than that. Like 
 many other stories, it would be very good if it was only 
 true. 
 
 I had known General Lee in the old army, and had 
 served with him in the Mexican War, but did not sup- 
 pose, owing to the difference in our age and rank, that 
 he would remember me ; while I would more naturally 
 remember him distinctly, because he was the chief of 
 staff of General Scott in the Mexican War 
 
 When I had left camp that morning I had not ex- 
 pected so soon the result that was then taking place, 
 and consequently was in rough garb. I was without a 
 sword, as I usually was when on horseback on the field, 
 and wore a soldier's blouse for a coat, with the shoulder- 
 straps of my rank to indicate to the army who I was. 
 When I went into the house I found General Lee. We 
 greeted each other, and after shaking hands took our 
 seats. I had my staff with me, a good portion of whom 
 were in the room during the whole of the interview. 
 
THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE 
 
 189 
 
 >^*- 
 
 
 \ 
 
 What General Lee's feelings were I do not know. 
 As he was a man of much dignity, with an impassible 
 face, it was impossible to say whether 'he felt inwardly 
 glad that the end had finally come, or felt sad over the 
 result, and was too 
 manly to show it. 
 Whatever his feel- 
 ings, they were en- 
 tirely concealed from 
 my observation ; but 
 my own feelings, 
 which had been quite 
 jubilant on the re- 
 ceipt of his letter, 
 were sad and de- 
 pressed. I felt like 
 anything than rejoic- 
 ing at the downfall 
 of a foe who had 
 fought so long and valiantly, and had suffered so 
 much for a cause, though that was, I believe, one 
 of the worst for which a people ever fought, and 
 one for which there was the least excuse. I do not 
 question, however, the sincerity of the great mass of 
 those who were opposed to us. General Lee was 
 
190 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 dressed in a full uniform which was entirely new, and 
 was wearing a sword of considerable value, very likely 
 the sword which had been presented by the State of 
 Virginia ; at all events, it was an entirely different 
 sword from the one that would ordinarily be worn ,in 
 the field. In my rough travelling suit, the uniform of 
 a private, with the straps of a lieutenant-general, I must 
 have contrasted very strongly with a man so handsomely 
 dressed, six feet high, and of a faultless form. But 
 this was not a matter that I thought of until afterwards. 
 We soon fell into a conversation about old army 
 times. He remarked that he remembered me very well 
 in the old army ; and I told him that as a matter of 
 course I remembered him perfectly. Our conversation 
 grew so pleasant that I almost forgot the object of our 
 meeting. General Lee called my attention to the 
 object of our meeting, and said that he had asked for 
 this interview for the purpose of getting from me the 
 terms I proposed to give his army. I said that I meant 
 merely that his army should lay down their arms, not 
 to take them up again during the war unless duly and 
 properly exchanged. He said that he had so under- 
 stood my letter, and that the terms I proposed to give 
 his army ought to be written out. I then began writing 
 out the terms. When I put my pen to paper I did 
 
THE SURRENDER OF GENERAL LEE IQI 
 
 not know the first word that I should make use of, I 
 only knew what was in my mind, and that I wished to 
 express it clearly so that there could be no mistaking it. 
 As I wrote on, the thought occurred to me that the 
 officers had their own private horses and effects, which 
 were important to them, but of no value to us : also 
 that it would be unnecessary humiliation to call upon 
 them to deliver their side-arms. 
 
 No conversation, not one word, passed between Gen- 
 eral Lee and myself, either about private property, side- 
 arms, or kindred subjects. When he read over that part 
 of the terms about side-arms, horses, and private prop- 
 erty of the officers, he remarked — with some feeling, I 
 thought — that this would have a happy effect upon the 
 army. I then said to him that I thought this would be 
 about the last battle of the war — I sincerely hoped so ; 
 and I said further, I took it that most of the men in the 
 ranks were small farmers. The whole country had been 
 so raided by the two armies that it was doubtful 
 whether they would be able to put in a crop to carry 
 themselves and their families through the next winter 
 without the aid of the horses they were then riding. 
 The United States did not want them, and I would 
 therefore instruct the officers I left behind to receive 
 the paroles of his troops to let every man who claimed 
 
192 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 to own a horse or mule take the animal to his home. 
 Lee remarked again that this would have a happy effect. 
 
 The much-talked-of surrendering of Lee's sword and 
 my handing it back, this and much more that has been 
 said about it is the purest romance. The word sword 
 or side-arms was not mentioned by either of us until I 
 wrote it in the terms! General Lee, after all was com- 
 pleted and before taking his leave, remarked that his 
 army was in a very bad condition for want of food, and 
 that they were without forage ; and that his men had 
 been living for some days on parched corn exclusively, 
 and that he would have to ask me for rations and forage. 
 I told him ''certainly," and asked for how many men he 
 wanted rations. His answer was, ''About twenty-five 
 thousand." I authorized him to send his own commis- 
 sary and quartermaster to Appomattox Station, where 
 he could have all the provisions wanted. Lee and I 
 then separated as cordially as we had met; he returning 
 to his own men, and all went into bivouac for the night 
 at Appomattox. 
 
 When the news of the surrender first reached our lines, 
 our men commenced firing a salute of a hundred guns, 
 in honor of the victory. I at once sent word, however, 
 to have it stopped ; the Confederates were now our pris- 
 oners, and we did not want to exult over their downfall. 
 
GRAND REVIEW AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR 1 93 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 THE GRAND REVIEW IN WASHINGTON AT THE 
 CLOSE OF THE WAR 
 
 [/tw!7Z General SJiefniaii's ^^'^ Personal Memoirs.'''''\ 
 
 By invitation I was on the review stand and wit- 
 nessed the review of the Army of the Potomac, com- 
 manded by General Meade in person. The day was 
 beautiful, and the pageant was superb. Washington 
 was full of strangers, who filled the streets, in holiday 
 dress, and every house was decorated with flags. The 
 army marched by divisions in close column around the 
 Capitol, down Pennsylvania Avenue, past the President 
 and Cabinet, who occupied a large stand prepared for 
 the occasion directly in front of the White House. 
 
 During the afternoon and night of May 23, 1865, the 
 Fifteenth, the Seventeenth, and Twentieth Corps 
 crossed Long Bridge, bivouacked in the streets about 
 the Capitol, and the Fourteenth Corps closed up to the 
 bridge. The morning of the 24th was extremely beau- 
 tiful, and the ground was in splendid order for our re- 
 view. The streets were filled with people to see the 
 
194 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 pageant, armed with bouquets of flowers for their 
 favorite regiment or heroes, and everything was propi- 
 tious. Punctually at 9 a.m., the signal gun was fired, 
 when in person, attended by General Howard and all 
 my staff, I rode slowly down Pennsylvania Avenue, the 
 crowds of men, women, and children densely lining the 
 sidewalks and almost obstructing the way. We were 
 followed close by General Logan at the head of the Fif- 
 teenth Corps. When I reached the Treasury Building 
 and looked back, the sight was simply magnificent. 
 The column was compact, and the glittering muskets 
 looked like a solid mass of steel, moving with the regu- 
 larity of a pendulum. We passed the Treasury Build- 
 ing, in front of which and of the White House was an 
 immense throng of people, for whom extensive stands 
 had been prepared on both sides of the avenue. As I 
 neared the brick house opposite the lower corner of 
 Lafayette Square, some one asked me to notice Mr. 
 Seward, who, still feeble and bandaged for his wounds, 
 had been removed there that he might behold the troops. 
 I moved in that direction, and took off my hat to Mr. 
 Seward, who sat at an upper window. He recognized 
 the salute, returned it, and then we rode on steadily 
 past the President, saluting with our swords. All on 
 his stand arose and acknowledged the salute. Then, 
 
GRAND REVIEW AT THE CLOSE OF THE WAR I95 
 
 turning into the gate of the Presidential grounds, we 
 left our horses with orderlies and went upon the stand, 
 where I found Mrs. Sherman, with her father and son. 
 Passing them, I shook hands with the President, Gen- 
 eral Grant, and each member of the Cabinet. I then 
 took my post on the left of the President, and for six 
 hours and a half stood while the army passed in the 
 order of the Fifteenth, Seventeenth, Twentieth, and 
 Fourteenth Corps. It was, in my judgment, the most 
 magnificent army in existence — sixty-five thousand men 
 — in splendid physique, who had just completed a 
 march of nearly two thousand miles in a hostile coun- 
 try, in good drill, and who realized that they were being 
 closely scrutinized by thousands of their fellow-country- 
 men and by foreigners. Division after division passed, 
 each commander of an army corps or division coming 
 on the stand during the passage of his command, to be 
 presented to the President, his Cabinet, and spectators. 
 The steadiness and firmness of the tread, the careful 
 dress of the guides, the uniform intervals between the 
 companies, all eyes directly to the front, and the tat- 
 tered and bullet-riven flags festooned with flowers, all 
 attracted universal notice. Many good people up to 
 that time had looked upon our Western army as a sort 
 of mob ; but the world then saw and recognized the 
 
196 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 fact that it was an army in the proper sense, well organ- 
 ized, well commanded and disciplined ; and there was 
 no wonder that it had swept through the South like a 
 tornado. For six hours and a half that strong tread of 
 the Army of the West resounded along Pennsylvania 
 Avenue ; not a soul of that vast crowd of spectators 
 left his place, and when the rear of the column had 
 passed by, thousands of the spectators still lingered to 
 express their sense of confidence in the strength of a 
 government which could claim such an army. 
 
 Some little scenes enlivened the day, and called for 
 the laughter and cheers of the crowd. Each division 
 was followed by six ambulances, as a representative of 
 its baggage train. Some of the division commanders 
 had added, by way of variety, goats, milch-cows, pack- 
 mules, whose loads consisted of game-cocks, poultry, 
 hams, etc., and some of them had the families of freed 
 slaves along, with the women leading their children. 
 Each division was preceded by its corps of black pio- 
 neers, armed with picks and spades. These marched 
 abreast in double ranks, keeping perfect dress and step, 
 and added much to the interest of the occasion. On 
 the whole, the grand review was a splendid success, and 
 was a fitting conclusion to the campaign and the war. 
 
RUNNING THE BLOCKADE IQ/ 
 
 XXXV 
 
 RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 
 \^From "Dcboihavi's Vozv,'" by Amelia B. Edzuards.'] 
 
 And now the rapid dusk comes on. The men are at 
 their posts ; the captain gives the word ; and the 
 Stormy Petrel, which has been busily getting up her 
 steam for the last hour or more, swings slowly round, 
 and works out of the port (Nassau^ as composedly and 
 unobtrusively as she had worked in. The chain of 
 lamps along the quays, the scattered lights sparkling 
 along the shores of the bay, the steady fire of the 
 beacon at the mouth of the harbor, fade and diminish 
 and are lost one by one in the distance. For a long 
 time the Stormy Petrel skirts the coast line, keeping in 
 with the Bahamas, and pursuing her way through Brit- 
 ish waters, but a little after midnight she stands out to 
 sea. 
 
 A lovely night, the horizon somewhat hazy after the 
 heat of the day, but the sea breaking all over into 
 phosphorescent smiles and dimples, and the heavens 
 one glowing vault of stars. The Stormy Petrel, her 
 
IQo STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 steam being now well up, rushes on with a foam of fire 
 at her bows and a train of molten diamonds in her 
 wake. Thus the night wears, and at gray dawn the boy 
 in the crow's-nest reports a steamer on the starboard 
 quarter. 
 
 Scarcely has this danger been seen and avoided than 
 another and another is sighted at some points or other 
 of the horizon. And now swift orders, prompt obedi- 
 ence, eager scrutiny, are the rule of the day, for the 
 vessel is in perilous waters, and her only chance of 
 safety lies in the sharpness of her lookout, and the 
 speed with which she changes her course when any 
 possible enemy appears in sight. All day long, there- 
 fore, she keeps doubling like a hare, sometimes stop- 
 ping altogether, to let some dangerous-looking stranger 
 pass on ahead ; sometimes turning back upon her 
 course, but, thanks to her general invisibility and the 
 vigilance of her pilot, escaping unseen, and even mak- 
 ing fair progress in the teeth of every difficulty. 
 
 And now the sun goes down, half gold, half crimson, 
 settling into a rim of fog bank on the western horizon. 
 Lower it sinks, and lower, the gold diminishing, the 
 crimson gaining. Now, for a moment, it hangs upon 
 the verge of the waters, and the sky is flushed to the 
 zenith, and every ripple crested with living fire. And 
 
RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 199 
 
 now, suddenly it is gone, and before the glow has yet 
 had time to fade, the southern night rushes in. 
 
 An hour or so later the wind drops, and the Stormy 
 Petrel steams straight into alight fog which lies across 
 her path like a soft, fleecy, upright wall of cloud. 
 
 -This fog is in our favor, Mr. Polter" (the pilot), 
 says Debenham (the supercargo), pacing the deck with 
 rapid steps ; for the night has now turned somewhat 
 
 chill and raw. 
 
 "Waal, sir, that's as it may be," replies the pilot, 
 cautiously. - The fog helps to hide us ; but then, yew 
 see, it likewise helps to run us into danger." 
 
 At a little after midnight, when all seems to be soli- 
 tude and security, and no breath is stirring, and no 
 sound is heard save the rushing of the Stormy Petrel 
 through the placid waters, there suddenly rises up 
 before the eyes of all on board a great, ghostly, shad- 
 owy something — a phantom ship, vague, mountainous, 
 terrific, from the midst of which there issues a trumpet- 
 tongued voice, saying, — 
 
 - Steamer ahoy ! Heave to, or I'll sink you ! " 
 
 "Guess it's the Roanoke," observed the pilot calmly. 
 
 Even as he said the words, the man-of-war loomed 
 out distincter, closer, within pistol shot from deck to 
 deck. 
 
200 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 The captain of the Stormy Petrel answered the hos- 
 tile summons. 
 
 "■ Ay, ay, sir," he shouted through his speaking- 
 trumpet. *' We are hove to." 
 
 And then he called down the tube to those in the 
 engine-room, '' Ease her." 
 
 *' You won't stop the vessel. Captain Hay ? " ex- 
 claimed Debenham, breathlessly. 
 
 " I have stopped her, sir," snarled the captain. 
 
 Then thundered a second mandate from the threaten- 
 ing phantom alongside : 
 
 "■ Lay to for boats." 
 
 To which the captain again responded, " Ay, ay, sir ! " 
 
 Debenham ground his teeth. " But, God of heaven ! 
 man," he said, scarcely conscious of his own vehe- 
 mence, " do you give in thus — without an effort } " 
 
 The captain turned upon him with an oath. 
 
 *' Who says I'm going to give in.'* " he answered sav- 
 agely. " Wait till you see me do it, sir ! " 
 
 And now the Stormy Petrel, her steam being sud- 
 denly turned off, had ceased to move. All on the deck 
 stood silenti motionless, waiting with suspended breath. 
 They could hear the captain of the cruiser issuing 
 his rapid orders, trace through the fog the outline of 
 the quarter boats as they were lowered into the water, 
 
RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 201 
 
 hear the splash of the oars, the boisterous gayety of 
 the men. . . . 
 
 Debenham uttered a suppressed groan, and the per- 
 spiration stood in great beads upon his forehead. 
 
 " Will you let them board us ? " he said hoarsely, 
 pointing to the boats, now half-way between the two 
 vessels. 
 
 The captain grinned, put his lips again to the tube, 
 shouted down to the engineer, " Full speed ahead ! " 
 and, with one quivering leap, the Stormy Petrel shot out 
 again upon her course, like a greyhound let loose. 
 
 "There, Mr. Supercargo," said the captain grimly, 
 " that is my way of giving in. Our friend will hardly 
 desert his boats upon the open sea in such a night as 
 this, even for the fun of capturing a blockade runner." 
 
 At this moment, a red flash and a tremendous report 
 declared the prompt resentment of the Federal com- 
 mander. But almost before those rolling echoes had 
 died away, the Stormy Petrel was half a mile ahead, 
 and not an outline of the cruiser was visible through 
 the fog. 
 
 The night passed over without further incident, and 
 by five o'clock next morning the blockade-runner was 
 within eight hours of her destination. Both captain 
 and pilot had calculated on making considerably less 
 
202 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 way in the time, and had allowed a much wider margin 
 for detours and delays, so that now they were not a 
 little perplexed at finding themselves so near the end of 
 their journey. To go on was impossible, for they could 
 only hope to slip through the cordon under cover of the 
 night. And yet to remain where they were was almost 
 as bad. However, they had no alternative, so, after 
 some little consultation, they agreed to lie to for the 
 present, keeping up their steam meanwhile, and holding 
 themselves in readiness to repeat the manoeuvres of 
 yesterday whenever any vessel hove in sight. 
 
 The fog had now cleared off. The day was brilliant, 
 the sky one speckless dome of intensest blue. The 
 blockade-runners would have given much for dark 
 and cloudy weather. Presently a long black trail of 
 smoke on the horizon warned them of a steamer in the 
 offing, whereupon they edged away in the opposite direc- 
 tion as quickly as possible. 
 
 Towards sunset the pilot began to look grave. 
 *' Guess we sha'n't know whar we air if this game goes 
 on much longer," said he. " It aren't in natur not to 
 get out of one's reck'ning arter dodgin and de-vi-atin' 
 all day long in this style." 
 
 Still there was no help for it. Dodge and deviate the 
 Stormy Petrel must, if she was to be kept out of harm's 
 
RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 203 
 
 way ; and even so, with all her dodging and deviating, 
 it seemed well-nigh miraculous that she should escape 
 observation. 
 
 At length, as evening drew on and the sun neared the 
 horizon, preparations were made for the final run. Both 
 captain and pilot, by help of charts, soundings, and so 
 forth, had pretty well satisfied themselves as .to their 
 position ; and the pilot, knowing at what hour it would 
 be high tide on the bar, had calculated the exact time 
 for going into the harbor. 
 
 "'Twouldn't be amiss, cap'n," said this latter, "if you 
 was to change that white weskit for suthin dark ; nor if 
 you, sir," turning to Debenham, '' was to git quito' that 
 light suit altogether for the next few hours." 
 
 The captain muttered something about " infernal non- 
 sense," but went to his cabin all the same to change the 
 obnoxious garment. Whereupon Mr. Polter gave it as 
 his opinion that if the captain and all on board were to 
 black the whites of their eyes and put their teeth in 
 mourning, it would not be more than the occasion war- 
 ranted. 
 
 The brief twilight being already past, the engineers 
 piled on the coal, the captain gave the word, and the 
 blockade-runner steered straight for Charleston. 
 
 And now it is night ; clear, but not over-clear, 
 
204 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 although the stars are shining. Objects, however, are 
 discernible at some distance, and ships are sighted con- 
 tinually. But as none of these lie directly in his path, 
 and as he knows his own boat to be invisible by night 
 beyond a certain radius, the captain holds on his course 
 unhesitatingly. In the mean while, the hours seem to 
 fly. The Stormy Petrel, now clearing the waters at full 
 speed, stretches herself like a racer to her work, fling- 
 ing the spray over her sharp bows and speeding onward 
 gallantly. About midnight the stars begin to cloud 
 over and the night thickens ; but there is still no mist 
 upon the sea. Towards two in the morning the lead 
 tells that they are nearing shore. Then the pilot gives 
 orders to " slow down the engines," a breathless silence 
 prevails, every eye is on the watch, every ear on the 
 alert, and, momentarily expecting to catch their first 
 glimpse of the blockading squadron, they steal slowly 
 and cautiously on their way. 
 
 And now the sense of time becomes suddenly re- 
 versed. Up to this point the hours have gone by like 
 minutes ; but now the minutes go by like hours. 
 Beacons there are none to guide them, for the harbor 
 lights have all been abolished since the arrival of the 
 Federal ships outside the bar ; but those on board begin 
 to ask themselves whether some outline of the coast 
 ought not, ere this, to be visible. 
 
RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 20$ . 
 
 Still the Stormy Petrel creeps on, still each fresh 
 sounding brings her into shallower water, still those 
 eager watchers stare into the darkness, knowing that 
 the tide will turn and the dawn be drawing on ere long, 
 and that after sunrise neither speed nor skill can save 
 them. 
 
 At length, when suspense is sharpened almost to pain 
 there comes into sight a faint, indefinite something 
 which presently resolves itself into the outline of a 
 large vessel lying at anchor with her head to the wind 
 and a faint spark of light at her prow. 
 
 The pilot slaps his thigh triumphantly. 
 
 "That ar's the senior officer's ship," he whispers. 
 '' She lies just tew miles off the mouth o' Charleston 
 bar, an' she's bound, yer see, to show a light to her own 
 cruisers. Zounds, now if we ain't fixed it uncommon 
 tidy this time ! " 
 
 And now, not one by one, but, as it were, simultane- 
 ously, the whole line of blockaders comes into sight, 
 some to the right, some to the left of that which shows 
 the light. Of these they count six besides the flagship, 
 all under way and gliding slowly, almost imperceptibly, 
 to and fro in the darkness. 
 
 Between some two of these the blockade-runner must 
 make her final run. 
 
206 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Steam is again got up to the highest pressure, and 
 the Stormy Petrel rushes on at full speed. Then the^ 
 two ships between which lies her perilous path grow 
 momentarily clearer and nearer, and a dark ridge of 
 coast becomes dimly visible beyond them. 
 
 And now the supreme moment is at hand. Straight 
 and fast the vessel flies, her propellers throbbing furi- 
 ously, like a pulse at high fever, and the water hissing 
 past her bows. Now every man on board holds his 
 breath. Now flagship and cruiser (the one about half a 
 mile to the right, the other about half a mile to the 
 left) lie out a few hundred yards ahead ; how, for the 
 briefest second, the Stormy Petrel is in a line with both ; 
 now, all at once she is in the midst of a current and 
 rushing straight at that long white ridge of boiling surf 
 which marks the position of the bar.! 
 
 '' By Jove ! " says the captain, drawing a long breath, 
 *' we've done it." 
 
 '' Don't yer make tew sartin, cap'n, till we're over the 
 bar," replies the pilot. '*We ain't out o' gunshot range 
 yet awhile." 
 
 Over the bar they are, however, ere long, safe and 
 successful. 
 
 And now the steam whistle is blown twice, shrill and 
 fearlessly, and two white lights are hung out over the 
 
RUNNING THE BLOCKADE 20/ 
 
 bows of the vessel, for their pilot has been in before, 
 and knows the signals necessary to be observed inside 
 the cordon. Were these signals neglected, they would 
 be fired upon by the Confederate forts. 
 
 And now, too, lights are lit, and tongues are loosened, 
 and even the captain unbends for once, promising the 
 men a double allowance of grog. A long irregular line 
 of coast has meanwhile emerged into the gray of dawn ; 
 and just as the first flush of crimson streams up the 
 eastern sky, the Stormy Petrel casts anchor under the 
 sand-bag batteries of Morris Island. 
 
208 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 
 
 [Gen. Horace Porter in the ^"^ Youth'' s Compatiiony^ 
 
 When a call for troops was made at the outbreak of 
 the war, Young America exhibited himself in his most 
 combative form. Youngsters were the first to enlist, 
 they poured in upon the recruiting officers in swarms 
 like bees ; when too short they strained and stretched 
 to reach the standard of height, and often added a few 
 imaginary years to their lives so as not to be rejected 
 on account of age. 
 
 They were afterwards as eager to get at the enemy 
 as they had been to reach the recruiting sergeant, and 
 many a mere lad was much more conspicuous for his 
 bravery than were his elders. 
 
 During one of the battles in front of Petersburg, an 
 infantry regiment on a part of the line which had been 
 hard pressed for hours by the enemy began to fall back. 
 The men were becoming more and more demoralized, 
 the color sergeant, who carries the flag in battle, had 
 been killed, the flag had fallen to the ground, and there 
 was serious danger of matters running into a panic. 
 
BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 209 
 
 At this moment, a smooth-faced lad, a mere boy in 
 appearance, snatched up the flag, waved it over his 
 head, cried out to his comrades not to desert their 
 colors, and then with a firm and cheery voice started up 
 the song, ** Rally round the flag, boys ! " 
 
 As his clear, ringing tones rose above the din of bat- 
 tle, his comrades faced about one after another, caught 
 up the strains of the soldiers' song, and soon the whole 
 line was charging into the enemy with such effect that 
 it swept everything before it, and victory was snatched 
 from defeat. 
 
 It seemed the work of inspiration, and the oldest 
 heads in the regiment might have been proud to do the 
 work of the boy who that day had made himself their 
 leader. He was made a sergeant at once for his gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 In an assault on the works which had been con- 
 structed around Vicksburg for its defence, a young man 
 belonging to a Western regiment, who seemed to be 
 one of the youngest soldiers in the ranks, pushed ahead 
 with great dash, until he got some distance in advance 
 of the others. 
 
 The assault was unsuccessful, and the troops were 
 compelled to fall back. The young man soon found 
 himself left in a Confederate outwork, with about half 
 
2IO STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 a dozen of the enemy. 4Before they could make an 
 effort to take him prisoner he aimed his musket at them 
 and ordered them to file off in the direction of the 
 Union lines. 
 
 They were so completely taken aback by the bold- 
 ness and suddenness of the act, that they offered no 
 effectual resistance, and he triumphantly marched them 
 into camp as prisoners. 
 
 The circumstance was reported to the commanding 
 general, and the affair was soon the talk of the camps. 
 
 General Grant thought this was the kind of material 
 that should have a permanent place in the army, and he 
 was successful in getting the young man a cadetship at 
 West Point. 
 
 His mental capacity seemed to be equal to his cour- 
 age, and he was graduated from that institution with 
 distinguished honors and given a commission in the 
 Engineer Corps of the army. 
 
 Young men have much more to contend against 
 physically in war than their elders. The constitution is 
 not matured, the system is much more susceptible to 
 malarial influences, and they are apt to " break down " 
 sooner under loss of sleep, over-fatigue, inferior food, 
 and the general hardships to which troops must always 
 expect to be subjected during an active campaign. 
 
BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 211 
 
 In the Army of the Cumberland, a little pale-faced 
 fellow had joined the cavalry, and it is pretty certain 
 that the recruiting officer who enlisted him had to give 
 him the benefit of a doubt both as to age and height, in 
 order that he might come up to the requirements of the 
 regulations. 
 
 He was hardly equal to the work of serving with his 
 regiment, and was detailed as an "orderly" at head- 
 quarters to carry messages or to hold the horses of the 
 staff officers. 
 
 At the battle of Chickamauga, while he was behav- 
 ing with great coolness, he was struck by a bullet in the 
 side of the neck. He fell from his horse and was left 
 on the field for dead. 
 
 Twenty years afterwards a gentlemanly-looking man 
 stepped up to me in a hotel where I was staying, and 
 asked me if I remembered the little orderly who was 
 shot at Chickamauga. I said yes, that! recollected the 
 circumstances of his death very well. 
 
 He then turned his head to one side, showed me a 
 deep groove in his neck, and went on to tell me that he 
 was the person, that a surgeon had come across him on 
 the field, had stopped the bleeding, and succeeded in 
 having him carried to a hospital, that his memory had 
 left him for two years so that he could scarcely recall 
 
212 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 his own name, but he then ixcovered all his mental powers 
 and became perfectly well. 
 
 I found he was a very successful business man, and 
 amongst other enterprises was conducting a large cattle 
 interest in the West. His suddenly turning up in the 
 corridors of a hotel, so many years after his supposed 
 death, seemed like the entrance of an apparition. 
 
 The youngest class of enlisted persons in the army 
 were drummer boys. These little fellows suffered a 
 great deal from wounds and still more from disease. 
 The hospifals always contained a large percentage of 
 them, but they were generally cheerful and plucky, and 
 after all showed more endurance than most people 
 would imagine. 
 
 They always kept up with the men on the march, 
 though they had to take a good many more steps, and 
 the drum they carried was no small incumbrance in get- 
 ting over fences and working their way through the 
 tangled undergrowth of forests. 
 
 During the battle of the Wilderness, one of these 
 little fellows was seen coming out of the woods with an 
 ugly wound in his arm, and carrying a musket he had 
 evidently secured for the occasion, for drummers do not 
 carry guns. 
 
 Going up to a staff officer who was riding to the front, 
 
BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 213 
 
 the boy cried out to him, " I say, colonel, can you tell 
 me where there's a field hospital ? " 
 
 " Right down the road, half a mile in rear," replied 
 the officer. '' You seem to be badly hurt." 
 
 ** Oh, this ain't nothing ! " said the boy, with the cool- 
 ness of a veteran. '' If I can strike a hospital I'll soon 
 get this arm fixed up, and come back and have another 
 crack at the 'Johnnies.' I've been fightin' them now 
 nigh two years, and I'll just bet you that in that time 
 I've killed more of 'em than they ever have of me." • 
 
 Drummers were always handy little fellows on the field. 
 When they were not required to play with the bands 
 or beat the "calls," they would help to attend to the 
 wounded, and carry messages when the men could not 
 be spared from the ranks for these duties. 
 
 While they played a good many pranks, got into no 
 end of scrapes, and often made life miserable for the 
 drum-majors whose duty it was to discipline them, they 
 did many an act that commanded the highest admira- 
 tion of their officers. 
 
 When General Sherman's corps was advancing upon 
 Jackson, Miss., in the campaign in the rear of Vicks- 
 burg, and his troops were engaged in a sharp fight with 
 the enemy, the general heard a shrill voice calling out to 
 him that one of the regiments was out of ammunition, 
 
214 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 and the men could not hola their position unless a sup- 
 ply of cartridges was sent to them at once. 
 
 He looked around and saw that the messenger was a 
 little drummer boy who was limping along the road 
 with the blood running from a wound in his leg. 
 
 ''All right," said the general, "I'll send the ammuni- 
 tion ; but you seem to be badly hurt, and you must go 
 and find a surgeon and get your wound attended to." 
 
 The boy started for the rear, and the general was 
 about giving the order for the ammunition, when he 
 heard the same piping voice crying to him, " General, 
 calibre fifty-eight ! calibre fifty-eight ! Be sure and 
 send them calibre fifty-eight ! " 
 
 Looking round he saw that the little fellow had turned 
 back and was running after him as fast as the wound in 
 his leg would let him, to describe the kind of ammuni- 
 tion required, which he had forgotten to mention before. 
 
 The various regiments were armed with several dif- 
 ferent sizes of guns. In this one the diameter of the 
 gun barrels was fifty-eight hundredths of an inch, and 
 the ammunition required to fit them was known as 
 calibre fifty-eight. 
 
 The general found the boy was more thoughtful than 
 himself, for he had not stopped to inquire of the lad 
 the kind of ammunition needed. He asked the boy his 
 
BOYS IN THE LATE WAR 21$ 
 
 name, complimented him on his coolness and pluck, and 
 promised to remember his services. 
 
 The ammunition reached the men, the boy's wound 
 soon healed up, and after the war the general, who has 
 never forgotten the incident, interested himself in the 
 lad's behalf, and procured for him an appointment to the 
 Naval Academy at Annapolis. 
 
 Not long ago General Sherman was repeating the 
 story, and the circumstances seemed to be as fresh in 
 his memory as on the day on which the service was 
 performed. 
 
2l6 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 HOW THEY LIVED IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 
 
 Before the war, the Southern people were engaged 
 almost exclusively in producing cotton, sugar, molasses, 
 and a few other staple articles, and depended on Europe 
 and the Northern States for manufactured goods. 
 Hence, during the war they felt greatly the need of 
 such articles as cloth, paper, leather, and household 
 utensils. All sorts of ways were devised to supply 
 these. 
 
 The wife of a Southern general wrote lately an amus- 
 ing account of the devices of the Virginian ladies to 
 clothe themselves. Homespun flannel was dyed gray 
 with ivy, purple with maple bark, and green with peach 
 bark. Ball dresses were made of mosquito netting and 
 brocade curtains. 
 
 At a time when a pair of boots cost four hundred dol- 
 lars and a lawn dress two hundred dollars, they grew 
 skilful in making neat gaiters out of bits of cloth and 
 canvas, and in weaving picturesque hats for themselves, 
 
IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 21 7 
 
 their husbands, and brothers, out of corn shucks. 
 Chicken and geese feathers were made, too, into deli- 
 cate artificial flowers. 
 
 Old-fashioned looms were set up, and ladies wove 
 homespun cloth in their homes. Cotton cloths were 
 easily made, but wool was scarce, and the fur of rabbits 
 and other animals was often used 'instead of it. A lady 
 in South Carolina made very handsome cloths with a 
 warp of cotton and a filling of coon's fur. Leather was 
 difBcult to make, so many substitutes for it were de- 
 vised. It is said that very good shoes were made out 
 of old wool hats, and soft shoes for ladies from squirrel- 
 skins. Wooden shoes were made sometimes, the soles 
 being made of gum wood and the uppers of leather. 
 Soles for boots were made out of saddle-skirts, leather 
 machine-belts, and double thicknesses of heavy cloth 
 with thin pieces of white oak, hickory, or birch bark 
 between them. 
 
 Paper was scarce and very costly. Much ingenuity 
 was exercised to find some substitute for it. News- 
 papers were printed on straw paper and paper hangings. 
 Brown paper and wall paper took the place of ordinary 
 letter paper. Some of the books published at the South 
 during v/ar times are curiosities in the art of book- 
 making. 
 
2l8 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 ** There are many little things in which our daily life 
 is changed," said the wife of a Confederate general, 
 *'many luxuries cut off from the table which we have 
 forgotten to miss. Our mode of procuring necessaries 
 is very different and far more complicated. The condi- 
 tion of our currency has brought about many curious 
 results; for instance, I have just procured leather, for 
 our negro-shoes, by exchanging tallow for it, of which 
 we had a quantity from some fine beeves, fattened and 
 killed upon the place. 
 
 *' I am now bargaining with a factory up the coun- 
 try, to exchange pork and lard with them for blocks of 
 yarn to weave negro-clothes ; and not only negro-cloth- 
 ing I have woven, I am now dyeing thread to weave 
 homespun for myself and daughters. I have ravelled 
 all the old scraps of fine worsteds and dark silks, to 
 spin thread for gloves for the general and self, which 
 gloves I am to knit. These home-knit gloves and these 
 homespun dresses will look much neater and nicer than 
 you would suppose. My daughters and I being in want 
 of under-garments, I sent a quantity of lard to the 
 Macon factory, and received in return fine unbleached 
 calico — a pound of lard paying for a yard of cloth. 
 They will not sell their cloth for money. This un- 
 bleached calico my daughters and self are now making 
 
IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 219 
 
 up for ourselves. You see some foresight is necessary 
 to provide for the necessaries of life. 
 
 " If I were to describe the cutting and altering of old 
 things to make new, which now perpetually go on, I 
 should far outstep the limits of a letter — perhaps I have 
 done so already — but I thought this sketch would 
 amuse you, and give you some idea of our Confederate 
 ways and means of living and doing. At Christmas I 
 sent presents to my relatives in Savannah, and instead 
 of the elegant trifles I used to give at that season, I be- 
 stowed as follows : several bushels of meal, peas, bacon, 
 lard, eggs, sausages, soap (home-made), rope, string, and 
 a coarse basket ! all which articles, I am assured, were 
 most warmly welcomed, and more acceptable than 
 jewels and silks would have been. To all of this we 
 are so familiarized that we laugh at these changes in 
 our ways of life, and keep our regrets for graver things." 
 
 Before the close of the Civil War the Confederate 
 currency had depreciated to such an extent that gold 
 was at more than twelve thousand per cent premium, 
 and the prices of all articles of trade had risen accord- 
 ingly. The situation was similar to that in the colonies 
 before independence was acknowledged, when it used 
 to be said : *' Before the war we went to market with 
 the money in our pockets, and brought back our pur- 
 
220 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 chases in a basket ; now we take the money in the bas- 
 ket, and bring the things home in our pocket." 
 
 A Southerner writes of the situation in the Confed- 
 eracy : " Matters must have been at a pretty pass when 
 quinine sold at two thousand dollars an ounce, and a 
 soldier paid a negro boy two hundred dollars for watch- 
 ing his horse while he ate his dinner." 
 
 A cavalry officer, entering a little country store, found 
 there one pair of boots which fitted him. He inquired 
 the price. 
 
 "Two hundred dollars," said the merchant. 
 
 A five-hundred-dollar bill was offered, but the mer- 
 chant, having no smaller bills, could not change it. 
 
 ** Never mind," said the cavalier, " I'll take the boots 
 anyhow. Keep the change ; I never let a little matter 
 of three hundred dollars stand in the way of a trade." 
 
 Articles raised on the plantations were reasonably 
 cheap. Thus wood could be bought for fifteen dollars 
 a cord, and turkeys sold for ten dollars apiece. Luxu- 
 ries were very high, and only the richest people could 
 afford them. 
 
 Every appeal of the Southern generals to the people 
 for aid was bravely answered by the women of the South. 
 Blankets and overcoats were made for the soldiers at 
 the front from carpets taken up from the floors of hotels 
 
IN THE SOUTH DURING THE WAR 221 
 
 and private houses. Beds were stripped of coverings, 
 and rooms of rugs and curtains, and these were duly 
 sent to the suffering soldiers enduring the miseries of a 
 winter campaign in Virginia. Such were the straits and 
 ingenious expedients to which the people of the South 
 were driven during the long and bitter years of the 
 war. 
 
222 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 FOES BECOME FRIENDS 
 
 Even in the fiercest heat of the war for the Union, 
 Americans did not forget that they were brothers. 
 Veteran soldiers remember it now with more sincerity, 
 because they fought more than a quarter of a century 
 ago for a cause which they deemed the right. Many 
 incidents of individual experiences of the war have 
 been published of late years. The main point in all 
 such incidents is the eagerness with which the kindness 
 of soldiers on the other side is extolled. 
 
 There is much in these incidents which may seem 
 sentimental to the generation which was born after the 
 war. But to Americans who remember how mighty 
 were the interests involved in it, and how desperate 
 was the struggle, these signs of the deep cordial peace 
 which now exists between the North and South have a 
 most pathetic and lofty meaning. 
 
 Only men who could nobly risk their fortunes and 
 their love for a cause they held to be right could clasp 
 hands when the struggle was over with forgiveness so 
 true and complete. 
 
FOES BECOME FRIENDS. 223 
 
 Let US read of a few such incidents told by veteran 
 soldiers of both sides at the annual reunions. 
 
 A private in a New Jersey regiment took part in a 
 skirmish in which he was shot in the ankle, and again 
 by a minie ball under the shoulder-blade, through the 
 right lung. He was left for dead on the field. When 
 he revived, he was surrounded by the Confederates. 
 He lay for hours in an agony of pain and thirst, but 
 summoned courage at last to ask a young lad for a 
 drink. 
 
 The boy put his hand on his bayonet, saying, " I 
 would liefer give you this," and passed on. Then sud- 
 denly turning, he said, " We are not as bad as you think 
 us," and, stooping, gently lifted the head of the wounded 
 man, and put a canteen to his lips. 
 
 A battery was placed near to where he lay, and one 
 of the gunners, a man from Alabama, propped him up 
 on his own blanket, brought a bucket of water and put 
 it within reach, and came to him several times during 
 the night to change his position. The next day a 
 Southern doctor cut off his leg ; he was carried to the 
 hospital in Fredericksburg, and there was nursed by 
 the good women of the town, one of whom he after- 
 wards married. 
 
224 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 At the reunion in GettysliR'g, a few years ago, of the 
 old soldiers from the North and South, who had fought 
 against each other on that battle-field, many touching 
 little incidents occurred that showed how cordial was 
 the good-feeling now existing between the former 
 enemies. 
 
 "Just here," said a crippled New-Yorker, stopping on 
 the corner of a field, ''my leg was shot off." 
 
 *' And just here," said a man beside him, the sleeve 
 of whose gray coat hung empty, " I lost my arm." 
 
 The two men became friends at once, pitched a tent 
 on the spot that had been so eventful to both, and there 
 "kept house" together during the whole time of the 
 reunion. Each found the other to be a man of sense, 
 high principle, and good-feeling. They will probably 
 remain friends for life. 
 
 So many of the once bitter foes exchanged coats, 
 canteens, and knapsacks, in token of good-will, that it 
 became almost impossible to distinguish Northern from 
 Southern soldiers. They pitched their tents together, 
 most of the men preferring to camp again, instead of 
 going to the hotels, in order that they might meet their 
 old antagonists more freely, and dis.cuss every incident 
 of the battle, about the bivouac fires. 
 
 A Northern officer brought to Gettysburg a sword. 
 
FOES BECOME FRIENDS 225 
 
 gold-handled and set with jewels, which he had taken 
 from a young Southerner. After the war was over he 
 had tried in vain to restore it. He now gave it to the 
 commandant of the corps to which its owner belonged, 
 in the hope that it might reach him at last. 
 
 A large man and a very small one met on the street. 
 
 ''I think I have seen you before," said the small 
 man. 
 
 " Yes, I took you prisoner," was the reply. Where- 
 upon they shook hands heartily, took dinner together, 
 and the next day brought a photographer to the spot 
 where they had fought, and had their pictures taken 
 standing with uncovered heads and clasped hands. 
 
 An old Pennsylvania farmer, after reading an account 
 of this celebration at Gettysburg, in which both Union 
 and Confederate soldiers bore a part, said, '* I went to 
 Gettysburg the night after the battle in 1863, and helped 
 to bury the dead. 
 
 " One lad, I remember, in a gray uniform, whom we 
 dragged from under a heap of dead bodies, was still 
 breathing. He was but a pretty, chubby-faced school- 
 boy. We brought the surgeon, and worked with him 
 for an hour, but it was too late, he was too far gone to 
 feel the probe. He turned uneasily, smiling and mut- 
 
226 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 tering something, which snowed that he thought he was 
 back at home, 
 
 '' ' Mother ! dear mother ! ' he said, and tried to lift 
 his arms. Then came the fearful choking, and he was 
 dead. 
 
 " Close beside him was the body of a private, belong- 
 ing to the Sixty-eighth Pennsylvania. He was a young, 
 firmly built man, with a face which, even in death, was 
 gentle and kindly. His sunburned skin and horny 
 hands showed him to have been a farmer. 
 
 "In his breast pocket we found a letter from * Jenny,' 
 with a few words about the crops and the poultry ; but 
 the letter was mainly *Baby,* its doings and sayings, 
 and at the bottom v/as a great blot made by Baby's own 
 hand. 
 
 " Next his heart was a little photograph of a sweet- 
 faced girl and a child, evidently Jenny and the baby. 
 
 *' We buried the two men side by side. 
 
 ''The blue and gray coated soldiers, the other day, 
 were talking, and laughing, and fraternizing together 
 over their graves, and near by, the corner-stone of a 
 church, dedicated to the ' Prince of Peace,' was laid. 
 
 " But it seemed to me as if those two gallant boys who 
 fought against one another here, each for a cause which 
 he deemed just, must have long ago met elsewhere, and 
 
FOES BECOME FRIENDS 22/ 
 
 recognized each other as friends, and soldiers under one 
 Captain." 
 
 The reception at Atlanta, in the fall of i88r, of the 
 hero of the "March through Georgia," was a striking 
 example of the generosity and warm-hearted forgetful- 
 ness of the Southern people. A Southern writer 
 pleads for a better understanding with these people, 
 with whom we were once at war, and draws the follow- 
 ing vivid sketch of General Sherman's two visits to 
 Atlanta : — 
 
 "He was at Atlanta once — and he looked the city 
 over. I may say he felt it over. He made the ac- 
 quaintance of its citizens, and its citizens made his 
 acquaintance. The acquaintance may be said to have 
 been mutual if not cordial. It was a decidedly warm 
 acquaintance. When that stern commander got through 
 with the city it looked with its bare and blackened 
 chimneys like a forest of girdlings. Not a building of 
 consequence was left. 
 
 " Seventeen years go by, and the man at whose order 
 the city of Atlanta went up in smoke to come down in 
 ashes, is invited by the authorities of the Exposition, a 
 majority of whom were citizens of Atlanta, to return to 
 that city as a guest. 
 
22b STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 *' I said to myself, How \4H they receive him as they 
 remember their beautiful homes, their business blocks, 
 their churches reduced to ashes, their city which on one 
 day stood fair and beautiful as a bride in the light, and 
 which on the next was a heap of shapeless ruins ? 
 
 "I secured my seat early and near the stand in the 
 judges' hall, that I might study the problem of contending 
 emotions, this phenomenon of a people rising superior 
 to their prejudices and even to their very memories. 
 For half an hour the people filed in till the hall was 
 packed. I overheard the conversation which went on 
 about me. One man from Louisville declared it was 
 adding insult to injury — Sherman's return to Atlanta. 
 Two others immediately took him to task. They said 
 to him, — 
 
 *' ' Do not talk in that way. We live here. Sherman 
 burned our property ; but he did it in the heat of war. 
 While war lasted we fought him ; but the war is over, 
 and General Sherman has come here to-day as the guest 
 of Atlanta.' 
 
 " Presently the hero entered with his comrades of the 
 Mexican War, many of them former generals of the Con- 
 federate army. Instantly there was an ovation of ap- 
 plause and waving of handkerchiefs. But I said, * This 
 may be intended for the Southern generals.' The speech 
 
FOES BECOME FRIENDS 229 
 
 was made and the exercises were about to close, when 
 from all parts of the house there arose one universal 
 and prolonged cry of ' Sherman ! Sherman ! Sher- 
 man ! ' And when he stepped from his place among 
 his comrades and mounted the stand, the applause arose 
 to a deafening roar. 
 
 "'I said, 'This is one of the grandest displays of 
 magnanimity to a former foe that the world has ever 
 witnessed.' " 
 
230 ' STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 
 
 {^Frauds Miles Finck.^ 
 
 This poem is founded upon an incident that occurred at Columbus, Miss., on 
 Memorial Day, 1867, when flowers were strewn upon the graves of Confederate 
 and Federal soldiers alike. 
 
 By the flow of the inland river, 
 
 Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
 Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 
 Asleep are the ranks of the dead ; 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment day ; 
 Under the one, the Blue; 
 Under the other, the Gray. 
 
 These, in the robings of glory, 
 
 Those, in the gloom of defeat, 
 All with the battle-blood gory. 
 In the dusk of eternity meet ; 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment day; 
 Under the laurel, the Blue ; 
 •Under the willow, the Gray. 
 
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 23 1 
 
 From the silence of sorrowful hours 
 
 The desolate mourners go, 
 Lovingly laden with flowers 
 
 Alike for the friend and the foe ; 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment day ; 
 Under the roses, the Blue ; 
 Under the lilies, the Gray. 
 
 So, with an equal splendor, 
 
 The morning sun-rays fall, 
 With a touch impartially tender, 
 On the blossoms blooming for all ; 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the judgment day ; 
 Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 
 Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 
 
 So, when the summer calleth. 
 On forest and field of grain, 
 With an equal murmur falleth 
 The cooling drip of the rain ; 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment day ; 
 Wet with the rain, the Blue ; 
 Wet with the rain, the Gray. 
 
232 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 
 
 The generous deed was done ; 
 In the storm of the years that are fading. 
 No braver battle was won ; 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment day; 
 Under the blossoms, the Blue ; 
 Under the garlands, the Gray. 
 
 No more shall the war-cry sever. 
 Or the winding rivers be red ; 
 They banish our anger forever, 
 
 When they laurel the graves of our dead. 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the judgment day ; 
 Love and tears for the Blue ; 
 Tears and love for the Gray. 
 

 UNION SOLDIERS RALLYING ROUND THE FLAG. 
 
BRAVE MEN WHO FOUGHT FOR THE UNION r 233 
 
 XL 
 
 THE BRAVE MEN WHO FOUGHT FOR THE UNION 
 [From GerrisK's '■^Reminiscences of the War."] 
 
 Nearly a generation has passed away since the break- 
 ing out of the war, and many of those now living know 
 but little of the soldier's sacrifices. These should not 
 be forgotten ; the nation cannot afford to have them 
 blotted out. They sacrificed for a time all the domestic 
 relations of life. This may appear to some as a very 
 small sacrifice to make. But ask that man who, on that 
 eventful morning, kissed his wife good-by, and pressed 
 his little child to his breast for the last time, as he 
 shouldered his knapsack and marched away ; or ask the 
 smooth-faced lad who went forth to battle, with his 
 mother's kiss damp upon his brow ; and they will tell 
 you of a fearful experience that raged within their hearts. 
 This is one of the greatest sacrifices that men can be 
 called upon to make for the country, and none but patri- 
 otic men can make it. They sacrificed the conveniences 
 and comforts of home for the inconveniences and suf- 
 ferings of the field. No army was ever marshalled 
 
234 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 upon the globe, that left iRh homes of comfort and 
 luxury as did the Union army, in the war of the rebel- 
 lion. They exchanged the mansion of comfort for the 
 miserable shelter tent ; the soft, clean bed, for a sol- 
 dier's blanket spread upon the hard ground ; good, 
 wholesome food, for the scanty rations of a soldier ; lives 
 of ease and healthy labor, for the exhaustion and weari- 
 ness of forced marches ; they threw aside for a period 
 of years the personal liberty so dear to every American 
 citizen, and took upon themselves a species of slavery, 
 to be commanded by other men who were frequently 
 their inferiors in all save military rank. They exchanged 
 a life of comparative safety for one filled with a thou- 
 sand dangers ; they stepped forth from the peaceful 
 circles of safety, within which so many remained, and 
 boldly stood forth in the way where death passed by ; 
 and there bravely battled for the principles of liberty 
 and justice. All these sacrifices were made for the sal- 
 vation of the Republic. 
 
 These men suffered without complaint. What a les- 
 son may be learned from their example ! I wonder if 
 the young people of our day ever stop to think how 
 much their fathers and grandfathers who fought the 
 battles of the Union suffered, sleeping on the hard, 
 frozen ground, the cold winds sweeping over them, with 
 
BRAVE MEN WHO FOUGHT FOR THE UNION 235 
 
 nothing but their thin, ragged clothing to protect them 
 from the elements, marching barefooted over the rough 
 roads where their tracks were stained with blood that 
 flowed from their lacerated feet, weary and exhausted, 
 famishing with hunger when the government had no 
 bread to give them ; lying for days on the battle-fields 
 between the contending lines, with broken limbs and 
 mangled bodies, the sun pouring its deadly rays upon 
 them, without food, their lips and throats parching with 
 thirst, no medical aid, and their gaping wounds fester- 
 ing in the intense heat. All this they endured without 
 murmuring, to preserve the Union. What an example 
 they have set for us to follow ! The patient sufferings 
 of our soldiers through those four yeaoB of war should 
 be held up as object lessons before our American youth, 
 for all the years to come, that their hearts may be 
 moulded in the same patriotic love and devotion for the 
 country's welfare. 
 
 Our soldiers were brave men, and faced dangers fear- 
 lessly. The nation, I fear, is forgetting those deeds of 
 bravery too rapidly. If we could only pass along those 
 battle lines once more, and gather up those feats of in- 
 dividual daring, so many of which occurred in every 
 regiment — deeds, which, if they had been performed 
 in the Spartan wars, or in the days of the Crusaders, 
 
236 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR ' 
 
 or of Napoleon the First, wuld have been recorded on 
 the pages of history, and would thrill the passing gen- 
 erations as they read ! I wish we could gather up the 
 unwritten history of the war — the deeds that were per- 
 formed by heroes whose names were never known out- 
 side the ranks where they fought, or the beloved circle 
 of friends at home, and which, if preserved, would fill 
 volumes. These soldiers were as modest as they were 
 brave, and many of them have never spoken of the wild 
 adventures through which they passed, or of the nar- 
 row escapes, the hand-to-hand encounters which they 
 experienced, or of the shot and shells that went tear- 
 ing past them, so near that the slightest deviation 
 from their onward course would have caused their 
 death. These events are locked up within their own 
 breasts, cherished as sacred reminders of God's provi- 
 dence in preserving their lives. But some evening, as 
 you sit beside some maimed hero, draw him forth from 
 his seclusion, get him to unfold that secret chapter of 
 his life, and as he proceeds with that wonderful narra- 
 tive, you will decide that I have not exaggerated when I 
 have claimed that the soldiers who fought for the Union 
 were brave men. 
 
MEMORIAL DAY ^3/ 
 
 XLI 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 How dear to the hearts of the American people is 
 Memorial Day, one of the red-letter days of the year. 
 It began in the South. A few mourning women assem- 
 bled each year to lay flowers on the graves of their dead. 
 The custom soon became general in both South and 
 North. It may be that during the first few years bitter- 
 ness and animosity towards the living mingled with the 
 honors given to the dead. But sectional enmity faded 
 out of the hearts of both conquerors and conquered 
 long ago. For a few years it seemed as if Decoration 
 Day, as it was first called, would be given over to stump 
 speeches, athletic sports, regattas, and frivolous amuse- 
 ments generally. The sad anniversary of mourning 
 threatened to become a noisy echo of the Fourth of 
 July. The decency and right feeling of the people, 
 however, has checked this tendency, and restored the 
 day to its sacred purpose. With each year, too, the 
 wish has been more widely expressed that not only 
 the graves of soldiers, but of all the heroic dead, should 
 be honored. 
 
238 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 How dear to every one, ^th old and young, are the 
 familiar ceremonies of this sacred anniversary ! Year 
 by year, the ranks of the gray-haired and grizzled vet- 
 erans become thinner as they march on Memorial Day, 
 with faltering steps, in the ranks of the Grand Army of 
 the Republic. The beautiful and pathetic ceremonies 
 of the day are now celebrated in every nook and corner 
 of our broad land. It is exceedingly appropriate that 
 school children should collect the flowers, sing their 
 beautiful songs, and decorate the graves of the heroic 
 dead. It will remind them in the most impressive man- 
 ner how their fathers and grandfathers fought the bat- 
 tles of their country. 
 
 A number of years ago, a famous orator, and a 
 brave officer during the war, was called upon to address 
 the veteran soldiers on Memorial Day in Indianapolis. 
 The following eloquent passage from his oration can 
 be read and re-read many times, and one will not tire of 
 it. Its stirring patriotism is only exceeded by its ten- 
 der pathos and vivid imagery. 
 
 " The past rises before me like a dream. Again we 
 are in the great struggle for national life. We hear the 
 sounds of preparation — the music of the boisterous 
 drums — the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see 
 thousands of assemblages, and hear the appeals of ora- 
 
MEMORIAL DAY 239 
 
 tors ; we see the pale cheeks of women, and the flushed 
 faces of men ; and in those assemblages we see all the 
 dead whose dust we have covered with flowers. We 
 lose sight of them no more. We are with them when 
 they enlist in the great army of freedom. We see 
 them part from those they love. Some are walking for 
 the last time in quiet woody places with the maidens 
 they adore. We hear the whisperings and the sweet 
 vows of eternal love as they lingeringly part forever. 
 Others are bending over cradles, kissing babies that are 
 asleep. Some are receiving the blessings of old men. 
 Some are parting, who hold them and press them to 
 their hearts again and again, and say nothing; and 
 some are talking with wives, and endeavoring with 
 brave words, spoken in the old tones, to drive from their 
 hearts the awful fear. We see them part. We see 
 the wife standing in the door, with the babe in her 
 arms — standing in the sunlight, sobbing — at the 
 turn of the road a hand waves — she answers by 
 holding high in her loving hands the child. He is 
 gone, and forever. 
 
 " We see them all as they march proudly away under 
 the flaunting flags, keeping time to the wild, grand 
 music of war — marching down the streets of the great 
 cities — through the towns and across the prairies — 
 
240 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 down to the fields of glo^p^ to do and to die for the 
 eternal right. 
 
 ''We go with them one and all. We are by their side 
 on all the gory fields, in all the hospitals of pain, on all 
 the weary marches. We stand guard with them in the 
 wild storm and under the quiet stars. We are with 
 them in ravines running with blood, in the furrows of 
 old fields. We are with them between contending: 
 hosts, unable to move, wild with thirst, the life ebbing 
 slowly away among the withered leaves. We see them 
 pierced by balls and torn with shells in the trenches by 
 forts, and in the whirlwind of the charge, where men 
 become iron, with nerves of steel. 
 
 *' We are with them in the prisons of hatred and fam- 
 ine ; but human speech can never tell what they endured. 
 
 " We are at home when the news comes that they are 
 dead. We see the maiden in the shadow of her first 
 sorrow. We see the silvered head of the old man bowed 
 with the last grief. 
 
 "The past rises before us, and we see four millions of 
 human beings governed by the lash ; we see them bound 
 hand and foot ; we hear the strokes of cruel whips ; we 
 see the hounds tracking women through tangled swamps. 
 We see babes sold from the breasts of mothers. Cruelty 
 unspeakable ! Outrage infinite ! 
 
MEMORIAL DAY 24I 
 
 " Four million bodies in chains — four million souls 
 in fetters. All the sacred relations of wife, mother, 
 father, and child, trampled beneath the brutal feet of 
 might. And all this was done under our own beautiful 
 banner of the free. 
 
 " The past rises before us. We hear the roar and 
 shriek of the bursting shell. The broken fetters fall. 
 These heroes died. We look. Instead of slaves we 
 see men, and women, and children. The wand of prog- 
 ress touches the auction-block, the slave-pen, the 
 whipping-post, and we see homes and firesides, and 
 school-houses and books, and where all was want and 
 crime and cruelty and fetters, we see the faces of the 
 free. 
 
 ** These heroes are dead. They died for liberty — 
 they died for us. They are at rest." 
 
242 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR. 
 
 XLII 
 
 ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 Bring flowers to strew again 
 
 With fragrant purple rain 
 
 Of lilacs, and of roses white and red, 
 
 The dwellings of our dead, our glorious dead ! 
 
 Let the bells ring a solemn funeral chime, 
 
 And wild war music bring anew the time 
 
 When they who sleep beneath 
 
 Were full of vigorous breath. 
 And in their lusty manhood sallied forth. 
 
 Holding in strong right hand 
 
 The fortunes of the land, 
 The pride and power and safety of the North ! 
 It seems but yesterday 
 The long and proud array — 
 But yesterday when even the solid rock 
 Shook as with earthquake shock, — 
 As North and South, like two huge icebergs, ground 
 Asfainst each other with convulsive bound. 
 
ODE FOR MEMORIAL DAY 243 
 
 And the whole world stood still 
 
 To view the mighty war, 
 
 And hear the thunderous roar, 
 While sheeted lightnings wrapped each plain and hill. 
 
 Alas ! how few came back 
 
 From battle and from wrack ! 
 
 Alas ! how many lie 
 
 Beneath a Southern sky, 
 
 Who never heard the fearful fight was done, 
 
 And all they fought for won. 
 
 Sweeter, I think, their sleep. 
 
 More peaceful and more deep, 
 
 Could they but know their wounds were not in vain, 
 
 Could they but hear the grand triumphal strain, 
 
 And see their homes unmarred by hostile tread. 
 
 Ah ! let us trust it is so with our dead — 
 
 That they the thrilling joy of triumph feel. 
 
 And in that joy disdain the foeman's steel. 
 
 We mourn for all, but each doth think of one 
 
 More precious to the heart than aught beside — 
 Some father, brother, husband, or some son 
 
 Who came not back, or, coming, sank and died : 
 In him the whole sad list is glorified ! 
 " He fell 'fore Richmond, in the seven long days 
 
244 STORIES OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 When battle raged from morn till blood-dewed eve, 
 And lies there," one pale widowed mourner says. 
 
 And knows not most to triumph or to grieve. 
 " My boy fell at Fair Oaks," another sighs ; 
 "And mine at Gettysburg!" his. neighbor cries. 
 
 And that great name each sad-eyed listener thrills. 
 I think of one who vanished when the press 
 Of battle surged along the Wilderness, 
 
 And mourned the North upon her thousand hills. 
 Yes, bring fresh flowers and strew the soldier's grave, 
 
 Whether he proudly lies 
 
 Beneath our Northern skies. 
 Or where the Southern palms their branches wave ! 
 Let the bells toll and wild war-music swell, 
 And for one day the thought of all the past — 
 Of all those memories vast — 
 Come back and haunt us with its mighty spell ! 
 Bring flowers, then, once again. 
 And strew with fragrant rain 
 Of lilacs, and of roses white and red, 
 The dwellings of our dead. 
 
SUPPLEMENTARY READING 
 
 The following books will prove of great interest to 
 young people who may wish to read about the great 
 Civil War. 
 
 1. C. Carleton Coffin's Days and Nights on the Battlefield. 
 
 2. C. Carleton Coffin's Drum-beat of the Nation. 
 
 3. C. Carleton Coffin's Marching to Victory. 
 
 4. C. Carleton Coffin's Redeeming the Republic. 
 
 5. Abbot's Battlefields of '61. 
 
 6. Abbot's Blue Jackets of '61. 
 
 7. Champlin's Young Folks' History of the War for 
 the Union. 
 
 8. Goss's Jed. A Boy's Adventures in the Army. 
 
 9. Keiffer's Recollections of a Drummer Boy. 
 
 10. Soley's Sailor Boys of '61. 
 
 11. Williams's Bullet and Shell. 
 
 12. Billings's Hardtack and Coffee. 
 
 13. P. C. Headley's Young Folks' Heroes of the 
 Rebellion. 6 volumes: illustrated. Consisting of: Fight it Out on 
 this Line ; The Life of General Grant. Facing the Enemy ; The Life of 
 General Sherman. Fighting Phil ; The Life of General Sheridan. Old 
 Salamander; The Life of Admiral Farragut. The Miner Boy and his 
 Monitor; The Career of John Ericsson, Engineer. Old Stars; The Life 
 of Major-General O. M. Mitchel. 
 
 14. Battles and Leaders of the Civil War. 3 volumes, with 
 hundreds of illustrations. Battles and events described by the great 
 generals of the war. An invaluable work of reference for the school 
 library 
 
 245 
 
\ £E AND * * n OLLAR * * 
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 Comprising the following New Books and New Editions in attracti09 
 
 English cloth binding and illustrated Any volume sold 
 
 separately $1-00 per volume 
 
 THE CASTAWAY STORJES 6 vols 
 Adrift in the Ice Fields The A-ctic Crusoe 
 
 Cast Away in the Cold The Prairie Crusoe 
 
 Willis the Pilot The Young Crusoe 
 
 FAMOUS BOY SERIES 4 vols. Illustrated 
 The Patriot Boy A popular life of George Washington 
 The Bobbin Boy The Early Life of Gen. N. P. Banks 
 The Border Boy A popular life of Daniel Boone 
 The Piinter Boy or How Ben Franklin made his Mark 
 
 FRONTIER CAMP SERIES 4 vols Illustrated 
 The Cabin on the Prairie By Dr. C. H. Pearson 
 Planting the Wilderness By James D McCabe Jun. 
 The Young Pioneers By Dr. C. H. Pearson 
 
 Twelve Nights in the Hunter's Camp By Rev. Dr. Wilua5« 
 Baarows 
 
 GALLANT DEEDS LIBRARY 4 vols. Illustrated 
 Great Men and Gallant Deeds By J- G. Edgar 
 Yarns of an Old Mariner By Mary Cowden Clarke 
 Schoolboy Days By W. H. G. Kingston 
 Sand Hills of Jutland By Hans Christian Andersen 
 
 INVINCIBLE LIBRARY 4 vols. Illustrated 
 The Young Invincibles By I. H Anderson 
 Battles at Home By Mary G. Darling 
 In the World By Mary G. Darling 
 Golden Hair By Sir Lascelles Wraxhall Bart. 
 
 LIFE-BOAT SERIES Of Adventures 5 vols Illustrateil 
 Dick Onslow among the Red Skins By W H. G. Kingston 
 The Young Middy By F. C. Armstrong 
 
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 The Life Boat By R M. Ballantyne 
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 EE AND * * n OLLAR * * 
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 Comprising the following New Books and Neiv Editions in atttactiue 
 
 English cloth binding and illustrated Any volume sold 
 
 separately $1.00 per volume 
 
 OARING-DEEDS SERIES 6 vols. Illustrated 
 Daring Deeds of the Old Heroes of the Revolution 
 The Old Bell of Independence and Other Stories of the RevoIulioQ 
 The Father of his Country A Young-Folk's Life of Washington 
 The Friend of Washington A Young-Folks' Life of Lafayette 
 The Great Peace-Maker A Young-Folks' Life of Penn 
 Poor Richard's Story A Young-Folks Life of Franklin 
 
 THE LIVE BOYS' SERIES 6 vols Illustrated 
 Live Boys in Texas Young Trail Hunters 
 
 Live Boys in the Black Hills Crossing the Quicksands 
 Paul and Persis Young Silver Seekers 
 
 NATURAL HISTORY SERIES By Mrs. R. Lee Illus- 
 trated by Harrison Weir 5 vols. 
 
 Anecdotes of Animals The African Crusoes 
 
 Anecdotes of Birds Reptiles and The Australian Crusoes 
 Fishes The Australian Wanderers 
 
 THE WILD SCENES LIBRARY 5 vols. Illustrated 
 Wild Scenes of a Hunter's Life Pioneer Mothers of the West 
 Noble Deeds of American Gulliver's Travels 
 Women ^sop's Fables 
 
 OLD ROUGH AND READY SERIES 6 vols. Illustrated 
 Old Rough and Ready Young Folks' Life of General Zachary Taylor 
 Old Hickory Young Folks' Life of General Andrew Jackson 
 The Little Corporal Young Folks' Life of Napoleon Bonaparte 
 The Swamp Fox Young Folks' Life of General Francis Marion 
 The Mill-Boy of the Slashes Young Folks' Life of Henry Clay 
 The Great Expounder Young Folks Life ol Daniel Webster 
 
 GOOD AND GREAT SERIES 6 vols Illustrated 
 Good and Great Msn The Whales W^e Caught 
 
 "Women of W^orth House on Wheels. 
 
 A Quaker among the Indians Inn of the Guardian Angel 
 
 AROUND THE WORLD LIBRARY By Jules Verne 
 Round the World in Eighty Days Wreck of the Chancellor 
 A Winter in the Ice 
 DORA DARLING LIBRARY 
 Dora Darling Dora Darling and Little Sunshine 
 
 The Year's Best Days 
 
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 Comprising new editions of the following popular Juveniles Bound in 
 best English cloth bright colors Any volume sold separately 
 
 CHARLEY AND EVA STORIES By Miss L. C. Thurstoh 
 How Charley Roberts became a Man 
 How Eva Roberts gained her Education 
 Home in the West 
 Children of Amity Court 
 
 Miss Thurston writes with a purpose. She is an admirer of manly boys 
 and womanly girls, and so carries her characters through scenes and 
 situations that elevate and purify. The books are by no means slow, 
 being full of adventures. 
 
 GOLDEN PROVERB SERIES By Mrs. M. E. Bradley 
 and Miss Kate J. Neely 
 Birds of a Feather 
 
 Fine Feathers do not make Fine Birds 
 Handsome is that Handsome Does 
 A Wrong Confessed is Half Redressed 
 One Good Turn deserves Another 
 Actions Speak Louder than Words 
 
 Two capital story-tellers, "birds of a feather," have flocked together, 
 and produced from six old proverbs six as bright and taking story-books 
 as ever gladdened the hearts of Young America; showing, indeed, that 
 " handsome is that handsome does." 
 
 GOLDEN RULE STORIES By Mrs. S. C. B. Samuels 
 The Golden Rule Nettie's Trial 
 
 The Shipwrecked Girl The Burning Prairie 
 
 Under the Sea The Smuggler's Cave 
 
 CELESTA'S LIBRARY for Boys and Girls 
 Celesta A Thousand a Year 
 
 Crooked and Straight Abel Grey 
 
 The Crook Straightened May Coverley 
 
 Mrs. Samuels has written many attractive books. The scenes and 
 incidents she portrays are full of life, action, and interest, and decidedly 
 wholesome and instructive. 
 6ALT-WATER DICK STORIES By May Mannering 
 Climbing the Rope The Little Spaniard 
 
 Billy Grimes's Favorite Salt-Water Dick 
 
 Cruise of the Dashaway Little Maid of Oxbow 
 
 Not all tales of the sea, as the title of the series would imply, but stories 
 of many lands by a lady who has been a great traveller, and tells what she 
 has seen, in a captivating way. 
 UPSIDE-DOWN STORIES By Rosa Abbott 
 Jack of all Trades Upside Down 
 
 Alexis the Runaway The Young Detective 
 
 Tommy Hickup ^he Pinks and BlUes 
 
 VACATION STORIES for Boys and Girls 6 vols. 
 
 Illustrated 
 Worth not Wealth Karl Keigler or The Fortunes 
 
 Country Life of a Foundling 
 
 The Charm Walter Seyton 
 
 Holidays at Chestnut Hill 
 
 GREAT ROSY DIAMOND STORIES for Girls 
 
 6 vols. Illustrated 
 The Great Rosy Diamond Minnie or The Little Womao 
 
 Daisy or The Fairy Spectacles The Angel Children 
 Violet a Fairy Story Little Blossnm's Reward 
 
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 W HITE R LflGK AND QOID gERlES 
 
 On fine paper, profusely illustrated, and bound in white, black, and gold, 
 
 with new and original dies, making very attractive books 
 
 Per uolume, $1.50 New edition 
 
 HEROES OF THE CRUSADES By Amanda M. Douglas 
 
 With 50 full-pag-e illustrations by Gustave Doke 
 
 *' This work is an accurate and exceedingly interesting? history of the 
 Crusades, a story of the personal incidents and efforts of the Crusaders 
 themselves in their heroic endeavors to rescue the Holy Sepulchre, break 
 up the Feudal System, and extend tlie influence of the Christian civiliza- 
 tion. The work abounds in fascinating passages, descriptive of the 
 heroism of the Crusaders, and the 50 full-page illustrations add greatly 
 to its value and interest." 
 
 ADVENTURES OF A CHINAMAN By Jules Verne 
 50 full-page illustrations 
 
 " In this volume he gives a full rein to his lively fancy, and the result is a 
 book that will compare with any of his preceding works in the matter of 
 pleasure to be derived from its pages. The Flowery Kingdom offers a fertile 
 field for a writer such as he is, and he has made it the scene of incidents that 
 show his fertility of invention, his keen sense of humor, and his faculty for 
 imparting valuable information, garnished with much that is extravagant and 
 only designed to amuse." — Budget. 
 FIGHTING PHIL The Life of Gen. Philip H. Sheridan, by 
 
 Headlev With full-page illustrations 
 
 " The present volume is one of the most successful that the author has 
 produced. It is the life-record of a brave and good man, who was honored, 
 admired, and respected. Little Phil Sheridan endeared himself to the hearts 
 of a nation whose offspring should learn the story of his life. The worK 
 is very handsomely printed, illustrated and bound, and, while it is one of the 
 most desirable gifts for a boy, it is a thoroughly historical and readable work, 
 suitable for all who wish to learn the facts in the career of a noble American 
 hero." — A mericati Hebrew, 
 PERSEVERANCE ISLAND or The Robinson Crusoe of 
 
 THE Nineteenth Century By Douglas Frazar With full-page illus- 
 trations 
 
 " It is an admirably told story, full to repletion of the most exciting adven- 
 ture. Its author was cast away alone upon a desolate island in mid-ocean, 
 and all his shipmates lost. The writing is a history' of his life and adventures. 
 This history was launched in the balloon, and reached civilization and the 
 public in the manner specified. The old Robinson Crusoe was a bungler, but 
 this modern specimen was an adept in all mechanical contrivance, and the 
 young reader will be not only entertained, but instructed, in the chapters. 
 How he prepared fresh water, how he made gunpowder, lucifer matches, 
 edged tools, built houses and boats, is graphically told in these pages." 
 — luter-Ocean. 
 OUR STANDARD-BEARER Oliver Optic's Life of Gen. 
 
 U. S. Grant With full-page illustrations 
 
 " This volume is specially adapted to the youth of the country, but is 
 equally, if not more, interesting to those of maturer years. It is just such a 
 book as will be a favorite in the library of any household, be that library large 
 or small. It gives fine entertainment and capital instruction. The scenes 
 and incidents of the great general's infancy, childhood, and youth are told in 
 a pleasant way, while the later incidents of his eventful career are described 
 with a faithful and graphic pen." — Keokuk Democrat. 
 LIVES OF THE PRESIDENTS From Washington to 
 
 Cleveland With new portraits. 
 
 A very interesting series of short biographies of the Presidents, describing 
 the principal events of each administration in an entertaining and readable 
 manner, giving just the information that is needed to convey, in brief, the 
 history of the United States, and affording in compact form a ready reference 
 book on national affairs. 
 
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