CIVIL 
 
 WAR. 
 STORIES 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 00022228867 
 
 uidrakt OF THE COMMANDERY OF 
 THE STATE OF MASSACH US ETTS MILITARY 
 ORDER OFTHE LOYAL LEGION OF THE 
 UNITED STATES 
 
 CADET ARMORY, BOSTON 
 
 WITHDRAWN" 
 
Ktf.B.CLARKE"^! 
 
 OOKSELLERSiSTATlONERSi 
 26 & 28TREM0NTST.& 
 30 COURT SQ..BOSTON. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://archive.org/details/civilwarstoriesOOnewy 
 
CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
HISTORICAL STORIES 
 
 RETOLD FROM 
 
 ST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE 
 
 IN FIVE VOLUMES 
 * • 
 
 INDIAN STORIES 
 
 A mirror of Indian ideas, cu'stoms, and 
 adventures. 
 
 COLONIAL STORIES 
 
 Stirring tales of the rude frontier life of 
 early times. 
 
 REVOLUTIONARY STORIES 
 
 Heroic deeds, and especially children's 
 part in them. 
 
 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 Thrilling stories of the great struggle, 
 both on land and sea. 
 
 OUR HOLIDAYS 
 
 Something of their meaning and spirit. 
 
 Each about 200 pages. Full cloth, 1 2mo. 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
<J%U 
 
 SC4T&/ 
 
CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 RETOLD FROM ST. NICHOLAS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY THE CENTURY CO. 
 NEW YORK MCMXI 
 
Copyright, 1881, 1884, 1885, 1887, 1894, 1895, 
 
 1896, 1900, 1902, 1905, by 
 
 The Century Co. 
 
 THE DE VINNE PRESS 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Abraham Lincoln Frontispiece 
 
 From a photograph 
 
 OFF TO THE WAR Harry M. Kieffer 3 
 
 With illustrations by George Varian, M. J. Burns, and Thomas 
 Hogan 
 
 VIRGINIA SCENES IN '6i . . . Constance Cary Harrison 19 
 
 With illustrations by E. J. Meeker, A. C. Redwood, and E. W. 
 Kemble 
 
 THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR General Adam Badeau 33 
 
 With illustrations by Henry Sandham, W. Taber, and J. O. 
 Davidson 
 
 ELEANOR'S COLONEL .... Annah Robinson Watson 60 
 
 LIEUTENANT HARRY Thomas Edwin Turner 67 
 
 With illustrations by W. N. Shelton 
 
 A STORY OF FARRAGUT Charles H Bodder 88 
 
 With illustrations by T. de Thulstrup and from a photograph 
 
 A Drummer-Boy at Gettysburg . . Harry M. Kieffer 105 
 
 With illustrations by A. C. Redwood, George Varian, A. R. 
 Waud, and from a photograph 
 
 HOW MOSES WAS EMANCIPATED Susan Huntington Hooker 122 
 With illustrations by Theodore R. Davis, Louise L. Huestis, 
 and Harry Fenn 
 
 v 
 
vi CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Ulysses S. Grant as Lieutenant-General . . .134 
 
 From a photograph 
 
 Lincoln's God-Speed to Grant 135 
 
 Fac-simile of letter of April 30, 1864 
 
 SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY . . . General Adam Badeau 136 
 With illustrations by Theodore R. Davis and from a photograph 
 
 The Picret-Guard ..... . Ethelin Eliot Beers 154 
 
 With tail-piece by W. Taber 
 
 The Alabama and the Kearsarge 156 
 
 With illustrations By the Surgeon of the Kearsarge 
 
 by W. Taber, J. 0. Davidson, and from a photograph 
 
 Lieutenant Gushing and the Ram Albemarle . .178 
 
 With illustrations by J. 0. Davidson Theodore Roosevelt 
 
 and from a photograph 
 
 SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA . General Adam Badeau 188 
 
 With illustrations by W. L. Sheppard, Theodore R. Davis, and 
 W^. Taber 
 
PREFACE 
 
 This collection of Civil War Stories, like the 
 Indian Stories, Colonial Stories, and Revolu- 
 tionary Stories, presents quite accurately the 
 picture of an important epoch in United States 
 history. 
 
 It is now more than forty years since our 
 country was engaged in the great Civil War be- 
 tween the North and the South, that resulted 
 in the preservation of the Union, and the Stars 
 and Stripes which represent it. 
 
 These stories, simply told, yet vivid and true, 
 have been here brought together with the hope 
 of instilling in the minds of even the youngest 
 readers of history a love for their country and 
 an interest in the men who defended it and the 
 many who sacrificed their lives in so doing. 
 
CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
Fold up the banners ! smelt the guns ! 
 Love rules. Her gentler purpose runs. 
 
 A mighty mother turns in tears 
 
 The pages of her battle years, 
 Lamenting all her fallen sons. 
 
 Will H. Thompson. 
 
CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 OFF TO THE WAR 
 
 BY HARRY M. KIEFFER 
 
 WHEN, in 1 86 1, the war fever broke out in 
 the school I was attending, and one after 
 another the desks were left vacant where the 
 older boys had sat, and there were few scholars 
 left but the girls and the smaller boys who were 
 too young to think of following the envied ex- 
 ample of their older fellows, you can scarcely 
 imagine how dull our life became. We had no 
 interest in study, were restive and listless, and 
 gave our good teacher a world of trouble. The 
 wars of Caesar and the siege of Troy,— what 
 were they when compared with the great war 
 now actually being waged in our own land ? The 
 nodding plumes of Hector and the armor of 
 Homer's heroes were not half so interesting or 
 magnificent as the brave uniforms of the soldiers 
 we saw occasionally on our streets. And when, 
 one day, one of our own school-fellows was 
 
4 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 brought home, wounded by a ball through his 
 shoulder, our excitement knew no bounds ! And 
 so, here is a letter I wrote to my father: 
 
 Dear Father: I write to ask whether I may have 
 your permission to enlist. I find the school is fast 
 breaking up. Most of the boys are gone. I can't 
 study any more. Won't you let me go? 
 
 Poor father! In the anguish of his heart it 
 must have been that he sat down and wrote, 
 " You may go!" Without the loss of a moment 
 I was off to the recruiting-ofhce, showed my 
 father's letter, and asked to be sworn in; but 
 alas ! I was only sixteen, and lacked two years 
 of being old enough, and they would not take me 
 unless I could swear I was eighteen, which I 
 could not do, — no, not even to gain this ardently 
 desired object! 
 
 So, then, back again to the school, to Virgil 
 and Homer, and that poor little old siege of Troy, 
 for a few weeks more; until the very school- 
 master himself was taken down with the war 
 fever, and began to raise a company, and the 
 school had to look for a new teacher, and they 
 said I could enlist as drummer-boy, no matter 
 how young I might be, if only that I had my 
 
OFF TO THE WAR 5 
 
 father's consent! And this, most unfortunately, 
 had been revoked meanwhile, for there had come 
 a letter saying: "My dear boy: If you have not 
 yet enlisted, do not do so : for I think you are 
 quite too young and delicate, and I gave my per- 
 mission perhaps too hastily and without due con- 
 sideration." But, alas ! dear father, it was too 
 late then, for I had set my very heart on going; 
 the company was nearly full, and would leave 
 in a few days, and everybody in the village knew 
 that Harry was going for a drummer-boy. 
 
 There was an immense crowd of people at the 
 depot that midsummer morning when our com- 
 pany started off to the war. It seemed as if the 
 whole county had suspended work and \ r oted it- 
 self a holiday, for a continuous stream of people, 
 old and young, poured out of the little village 
 
 of L and made its way through the bridge 
 
 across the river, and over the dusty road beyond, 
 to the station where we were to take the train. 
 
 The thirteen of us who had come down from 
 
 the village of M to join the larger body of 
 
 the company at L— had enjoyed something 
 
 of a triumphal progress on the way. We had a 
 brass band to start with, besides no inconsid- 
 erable escort of vehicles and mounted horsemen, 
 
6 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 the number of which was steadily swelled to 
 quite a procession as we advanced. The band 
 played and the flags waved and the boys cheered 
 and the people at work in the fields cheered back, 
 and the young farmers rode down the lane on 
 their horses, or brought their sweethearts in 
 their carriages and fell in line with the dusty 
 procession. Even the old gate-keeper, who could 
 not leave his post, got much excited as we passed, 
 gave " three cheers for the Union forever," and 
 stood waving his hat after us till we were hid 
 from sight behind the hills. 
 
 Reaching L about nine in the morning, 
 
 we found the village all ablaze with bunting, and 
 the people so wrought up with the excitement 
 that all thought of work had evidently been given 
 up for that day. As we formed in line and 
 marched down the main street toward the river, 
 the sidewalks were crowded everywhere with 
 people— with boys who wore red-white-and-blue 
 neckties, and boys who wore fatigue caps, with 
 girls who carried flags, and girls who carried 
 flowers, with women who waved their kerchiefs, 
 and old men who waved their walking-sticks, 
 while here and there, as we passed along, at win- 
 dows and doorways were faces red with long 
 
THE DRUMMER-BOY S DREAM 
 
OFF TO THE WAR 9 
 
 weeping, for Johnrry was off to the war, and 
 maybe mother and sisters and sweetheart would 
 never, never see him again. 
 
 Drawn up in line before the station, we awaited 
 the train. There was scarcely a man, woman, 
 or child in that great crowd around us but had 
 to press up for a last shake of the hand, a last 
 good-by, and a last " God bless you, boys ! " 
 And so, amid cheering and hand-shaking, flag- 
 waving, and band-playing, the train at last came 
 thundering in, and we were off, with " The Star- 
 Spangled Banner " sounding fainter and far- 
 ther away, until it was drowned and lost to the 
 ear in the noise of the swiftly rushing train. 
 
 For myself, however, the last good-by had not 
 yet been said, for I had been away from home at 
 school, and was to leave the train at a way-sta- 
 tion some miles down the road, and walk out to 
 my home in the country and say good-by to the 
 folks at home, — and that was the hardest part 
 of it all, for good-by then might be good-by 
 forever. 
 
 If anybody at home had been looking out of 
 door or window that hot August afternoon he 
 would have seen, coming down the dusty road, 
 a slender lad with a bundle slung over his 
 
io CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 shoulder, and— but nobody was looking down the 
 road — nobody was in sight. Even Rollo the dog, 
 my old play-fellow, was asleep somewhere in 
 the shade, and all was sultry, hot and still. Leap- 
 ing lightly over the fence by the spring at the 
 foot of the hill, I took a cool draught of water, 
 and looked up at the great red farm-house above 
 with a throbbing heart, for that was home, and 
 many a sad good-by had there to be said, and 
 said again, before I could get off to the war ! 
 
 Long years have passed since then, but never 
 have I forgotten how pale the faces of mother 
 and sisters became when, entering the room 
 where they were at work, and throwing off my 
 bundle, in reply to their question, " Why, Harry, 
 where did you come from? " I answered, " I came 
 from school, and I 'm off for the war ! " You 
 may well believe there was an exciting time of 
 it in the dining-room of that old red farm-house 
 then. In the midst of the excitement, father 
 came in from the field and greeted me with, 
 "Why, my boy, where did you come from?" to 
 which there was but one answer, " Came from 
 school, and off for the war ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ; I can't let you go ! I thought you 
 had given up all idea of that. What would they 
 
OFF TO THE WAR u 
 
 do with a mere boy like you? Why, you 'd be 
 only a bill of expense to the government. Dread- 
 ful thing to make me all this trouble ! " 
 
 But I began to reason with poor father. I re- 
 minded him, first of all, that I would not go with- 
 out his consent; that in two years, and perhaps 
 less, I might be drafted and sent amongst men 
 unknown to me, while here was a company com- 
 manded by my own school-teacher, and composed 
 of acquaintances who would look after me; that 
 I was unfit for study or work wmile this fever 
 was on me, and so on, till I saw his resolution 
 begin to give way, as he lighted his pipe and 
 walked down to the spring to think the matter 
 over. 
 
 " If Harry is to go, father/' mother says, 
 "had n't I better run up to the store and get 
 some woolens, and we '11 make the boy an outfit 
 of shirts yet to-night?" 
 
 "Well, — yes; I guess you had better do so." 
 
 But when he sees mother stepping past the 
 gate on her way, he halts her with — 
 
 " Stop ! That boy can't go ! I can't give him 
 up!" 
 
 And shortly after he tells her that she "had 
 better be after getting that woolen stuff for 
 
12 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 shirts," and again he stops her at the gate 
 with— 
 
 " Dreadful boy ! Why will he make me all this 
 trouble ? . I can not let my boy go ! " 
 
 But at last and somehow mother gets off. 
 The sewing-machine is going most of the night, 
 and my thoughts are as busy as it is, until far 
 into the morning, with all that is before me that 
 I have never seen — and all that is behind me 
 that I may never seen again. 
 
 Let me pass over the trying good-by the next 
 morning, for Joe is ready with the carriage to 
 take father and me to the station, and we are 
 soon on the cars, steaming away toward the 
 great camp, whither the company already has 
 gone. 
 
 " See, Harry, there is your camp." And look- 
 ing out of the car window, across the river, I 
 catch, through the tall tree-tops, as we rush 
 along, glimpses of my first camp, — acres and 
 acres of canvas, stretching away into the dim 
 and dusty distance, occupied, as I shall soon find, 
 by some ten or twenty thousand soldiers, com- 
 ing and going continually, marching and counter- 
 marching until they have ground the soil into 
 the dirtiest and deepest dust I ever saw. 
 
OFF TO THE WAR 15 
 
 I shall never forget my first impressions of 
 camp-life as father and I passed the sentry at 
 the gate. They were anything but pleasant, and 
 I could not but agree with the remark of my 
 father, that " the life of a soldier must be a hard 
 life, indeed/' for, as we entered that great camp 
 I looked into an A-tent, the front flap of which 
 was thrown back, and saw enough to make me 
 sick of the housekeeping of a soldier. There was 
 nothing in that tent but dirt and disorder, pans 
 and kettles, tin cups and cracker-boxes, forks 
 and bayonet scabbards, greasy pork and broken 
 hard-tack in utter confusion, and over all and 
 everywhere that insufferable dust. Afterward, 
 when we got into the field, our camps in sum- 
 mer-time were models of cleanliness, and in win- 
 ter models of comfort, as far at least as ax and 
 broom could make them so; but this, the first 
 camp I ever saw, was so abominable, that I have 
 often wondered it did not frighten the fever out 
 of me. 
 
 But once among the men of the company, all 
 this was soon forgotten. We had supper— hard- 
 tack and soft bread, boiled pork, and strong cof- 
 fee (in tin cups), fare that father thought "one 
 could live on right well, I guess," and then the 
 
1 6 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 boys came around and begged father to let me 
 go; "they would take care of Harry; never you 
 fear for that/' and so helped on my cause that 
 that night, about eleven o'clock, when we were 
 in the railroad station together on the way home, 
 father said: 
 
 " Now, Harry, my boy, you are not enlisted 
 yet; I am going home on this train; you can go 
 home with me now, or go with the boys. Which 
 will you do?" 
 
 To which the answer came quickly enough; 
 too quickly and too eagerly, I have often since 
 thought, for a father's heart to bear it well : 
 
 " Father, I '11 go with the boys ! " 
 
 "Well, then, good-by, my boy! and may God 
 bless you and bring you safely back to me again ! " 
 
 The whistle blew " off brakes," the car door 
 closed on father, and I did not see him again for 
 three long, long years ! 
 
 Often and often have I thought over these 
 things since. I have never been able to come 
 to any other conclusion than this: that it was 
 the " war fever " that carried me off, and that 
 made poor father let me go. For that "war 
 fever" was a terrible malady in those days. 
 Once you were taken with it, you had a very fire 
 
OFF TO THE WAR 17 
 
 in the bones until your name was down on the 
 enlistment-roll. There was Andy, for example, 
 afterward my mess-mate. He was on his way 
 to school the very morning the company was 
 leaving the village, with no idea of going along ; 
 but seeing this, that, and the other acquaintance 
 in line, what did he do but run across the street 
 to an undertaker's shop, cram his school-books 
 through the broken window, take his place in line, 
 and march off with the boys without so much 
 as saying good-by to the folks at home! And 
 he did not see his Caesar and Greek grammar 
 again for three years. 
 
 I open my journal and read: 
 
 "Sept. 2d. — Received part of our uniforms, 
 and I got a new drum. Had a trial at double- 
 quick this evening till we were all out of breath, 
 after which thirty-five of our men were detailed 
 as camp-guard for the first time. They stand 
 guard two hours out of every six. 
 
 "Sept. 3d. — Slept soundly last night on the 
 ground, although the cold was severe. Have 
 purchased an India-rubber blanket— 'gum' 
 blanket, we call it, to keep off the dampness. To- 
 day were mustered into service. We were all 
 drawn up in line. Every man raised his right 
 
i8 
 
 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 hand, while an officer recited the oath. It took 
 only a few minutes, but when it was over one 
 of the boys exclaimed : ' Now, fellows, I 'd like 
 to see any man go home if he dare. We belong 
 to Uncle Sam now/ " 
 
 Of the one thousand men drawn up in line 
 there that day, some lived to come back three 
 years later and be drawn up in line again, almost 
 on that identical spot, and how many do you 
 think there were? No more than one hundred 
 and fifty. 
 
 A CAMP OVEN 
 
VIRGINIA SCENES IN '6i 
 
 BY CONSTANCE CARY HARRISON 
 
 (Mrs. Burton Harrison) 
 
 THE only association I have with my old home 
 in Virginia that is not one of unmixed hap- 
 piness relates to the time immediately succeed- 
 ing the execution of John Brown at Charlestown. 
 Our homestead was in Fairfax County, at some 
 distance from the theater of that tragic episode; 
 and, belonging as we did to a family among the 
 first in the State to manumit (release) slaves, — 
 our grandfather having set free those that came 
 to him by inheritance, and the people who served 
 us being hired from their owners and remaining 
 in our employ through years of kindliest rela- 
 tions, — there seemed to be no especial reason for 
 us to share in the apprehension of an uprising 
 of the blacks. But there was the fear — unspoken, 
 or pooh-poohed at by the men who were mouth- 
 pieces for our community— dark, boding, oppres- 
 
 19 
 
20 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 sive, and altogether hateful. I can remember 
 taking it to bed with me at night, and awaking 
 suddenly oftentimes to confront it through a 
 vigil of nervous terror, of which it never occurred 
 to me to speak to any one. The notes of whip- 
 poor-wills in the sweet-gum swamp near the 
 stable, the mutterings of a distant thunder-storm, 
 even the rustle of the night wind in the oaks that 
 shaded my window, filled me with nameless 
 dread. In the daytime it seemed impossible to 
 associate suspicion with those familiar tawny or 
 sable faces that surrounded us. We had seen 
 them for so many years smiling or saddening with 
 the family joys or sorrows; they were so guile- 
 less, so patient, so satisfied. What subtle influ- 
 ence was at work that should transform them 
 into tigers thirsting for our blood? The idea 
 was preposterous. But when evening came again, 
 and with it the hour when the colored people 
 (who in summer and autumn weather kept astir 
 half the night) assembled themselves together 
 for dance or prayer-meeting, the ghost that re- 
 fused to be laid was again at one's elbow. Rusty 
 bolts were drawn and rusty fire-arms loaded. A 
 watch was set where never before had eye or ear 
 been lent to such a service. In short, peace had 
 flown from the borders of Virginia. 
 
VIRGINIA SCENES IN '6i 21 
 
 Although the newspapers were full of seces- 
 sion talk and the matter was eagerly discussed 
 at our tables, I cannot remember that, as late as 
 Christmas-time of the year i860, coming events 
 had cast any definite shadow on our homes. The 
 people in our neighborhood, of one opinion with 
 their dear and honored friend, Colonel Robert 
 E. Lee, of Arlington, were slow to accept the 
 startling suggestion of disruption of the Union. 
 At any rate, we enjoyed the usual holiday gather- 
 ing of kinsfolk in the usual fashion. The old 
 Vaucluse house, known for many years past as a 
 center of cheerful hospitality in the county, threw 
 wide open its doors to receive all the members 
 who could be gathered there of a large family 
 circle. The woods about were despoiled of holly 
 and spruce, pine and cedar, to deck the walls 
 and wreathe the picture-frames. On Christmas 
 Eve we had a grand rally of youths and boys 
 belonging to the " clan," as they loved to call it, 
 to roll in a yule log, which was deposited upon 
 a glowing bed of coals in the big "red-parlor" 
 fire-place, and sit about it afterward, welcoming 
 the Christmas in with goblets of egg-nog and 
 apple-toddy. 
 
 "Where shall we be a year hence?" some one 
 asked at a pause in the merry chat; and, in the 
 
22 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 brief silence that followed, arose a sudden spec- 
 tral thought of war. All felt its presence; no 
 one cared to speak first of its grim possibilities. 
 
 On Christmas Eve of the following year the 
 old house lay in ruins, a sacrifice by Union troops 
 to military necessity; the forest giants that kept 
 watch around her walls had been cut down and 
 made to serve as breastworks for a fort erected 
 on the Vaucluse property as part of the defenses 
 of Washington. Of the young men and boys 
 who took part in that holiday festivity, all were 
 in the active service of the South, — one of them, 
 alas ! soon to fall under a rain of shot and shell 
 beside his gun at Fredericksburg; the youngest 
 of the number had left his mother's knee to fight 
 at Manassas, and found himself, before the year 
 was out, a midshipman aboard the Confederate 
 steamer Nashville, on her cruise in distant seas! 
 
 My first vivid impression of war-days was dur- 
 ing a ramble in the neighboring woods one Sun- 
 day afternoon in spring, when the young people 
 in a happy band set out in search of wild flowers. 
 Pink honeysuckles, blue lupine, beds of fairy 
 flax, anemones, and ferns in abundance sprang 
 under the canopy of young leaves on the forest 
 boughs, and the air was full of the song of birds 
 
24 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 and the music of running waters. We knew 
 every mossy path far and near in those woods; 
 every tree had been watched and cherished by 
 those who went before us, and dearer than any 
 other spot on earth was our tranquil, sweet Vau- 
 cluse. Suddenly the shrill whistle of a locomotive 
 struck the ear, an unwonted sound on Sunday. 
 " Do you know what that means ? " said one of 
 the older cousins who accompanied the party. 
 " It is the special train carrying Alexandria vol- 
 unteers to Manassas, and to-morrow I shall fol- 
 low with my company." Silence fell upon our 
 little band. A cloud seemed to come between 
 us and the sun. It was the beginning of the end 
 too soon to come. 
 
 The story of one broken circle is the story of 
 another at the outset of such a war. Before the 
 week was over, the scattering of our household, 
 which no one then believed to be more than tem- 
 porary, had begun. Living as we did upon 
 ground likely to be in the track of armies gather- 
 ing to confront each other, it was deemed advis- 
 able to send the children and young girls into 
 a place more remote from chances of danger. 
 Some weeks later the heads of the household, 
 two widowed sisters whose sons were at Manas- 
 
VIRGINIA SCENES IN '61 25 
 
 sas, drove away from their home in their car- 
 riage at early morning, having spent the previous 
 night in company with a half-grown lad digging 
 in the cellar hasty graves for the interment of 
 two boxes of old English silver-ware, heirlooms 
 in the family, for which there was no time to 
 provide otherwise. Although the enemy were 
 long encamped immediately above it after the 
 house was burnt the following year, this silver 
 was found there when the war had ended; it was 
 lying loose in the earth, the boxes having rotted 
 away. 
 
 The point at which our family reunited within 
 the Confederate lines was Bristoe, the station 
 next beyond Manassas, a cheerless railway inn; 
 a part of the premises was used as a country 
 grocery store; and there quarters were secured 
 for us with a view to being near the army. 
 
 Thanks to our own carriage, we were able 
 during those rallying days of June to drive fre- 
 quently to visit " the boys " in camp, timing the 
 expeditions to include battalion drill and dress 
 parade, and taking tea afterward in the different 
 tents. Then were the gala days of war, and our 
 proud hosts hastened to produce home dainties 
 dispatched from the far-away plantations — tears 
 
VIRGINIA SCENES IN '6i 27 
 
 and blessings interspersed amid the packing, we 
 were sure; though I have seen a pretty girl per- 
 sist in declining other fare, to make her meal 
 upon raw biscuit and huckleberry pie compounded 
 by the bright-eyed amateur cook of a well-beloved 
 mess. Feminine heroism could no farther go. 
 
 And so the days wore on until the 17th of July, 
 when a rumor from the front sent an electric 
 shock through our circle. The enemy were mov- 
 ing forward! On the morning of the 18th those 
 who had been able to sleep at all awoke early 
 to listen for the first guns of the engagement 
 of Blackburn's Ford. Deserted as the women at 
 Bristoe were by every male creature old enough 
 to gather news, there was, for us, no way of 
 knowing the progress of events during the long, 
 long day of waiting, of watching, of weeping, 
 of praying, of rushing out upon the railway track 
 to walk as far as we dared in the direction whence 
 came that intolerable booming of artillery. The 
 cloud of dun smoke arising over Manassas be- 
 came heavier in volume as the day progressed. 
 Still, not a word of tidings, till toward afternoon 
 there came limping up a single, very dirty sol- 
 dier with his arm in a sling. What a heavensend 
 he was, if only as an escape-valve for out pent-up 
 
28 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 sympathies! We seized him, we washed him, 
 we cried over him, we glorified him until the man 
 was fairly bewildered. Our best endeavors could 
 only develop a pin-scratch of a wound on his 
 right hand ; but when our hero had laid in a sub- 
 stantial meal of bread and meat, we plied him 
 with trembling questions, each asking news of 
 some staff or regiment or company. It has 
 since occurred to me that he was a humorist in 
 disguise. His invariable reply, as he looked from 
 
 one to the other of his satellites, was : " The 
 
 Virginia, marm? Why, of coase. They warn't 
 no two ways o' thinkin' 'bout that ar reg'ment. 
 They just kivered tharselves with glory!" 
 
 A little later two wagon-loads of slightly 
 wounded claimed our care, a.nd with them came 
 authentic news of the day. Most of us received 
 notes on paper torn from a soldier's pocket-book 
 and grimed with gunpowder, containing assur- 
 ance of the safety of the town. At nightfall a 
 train* carrying more wounded to the hospitals at 
 Culpeper made a halt at Bristoe; and, preceded 
 by men holding lanterns, we went in among the 
 stretchers with milk, food, and water to the suf- 
 ferers. One of the first discoveries I made, bend- 
 ing over in that fitful light, was a young officer 
 
VIRGINIA SCENES IN '61 
 
 29 
 
 whom I knew to be a special object of solicitude 
 with one of my comrades in the search; but he 
 was badly hurt, and neither he nor she knew the 
 other was near until the train had moved on. The 
 next day, and the next, were full of burning ex- 
 
 *7 /*'" w *»/ 
 
 LISTENING FOR THE FIRST GUN 
 
 citement over the impending general engagement, 
 which people then said would decide the fate of 
 the young Confederacy. Fresh troops came by 
 with every train, and we lived only to turn from 
 one scene to another of welcome and farewell. 
 On Saturday evening arrived a message from 
 
lo CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 General Beauregard, saying that early on Sun- 
 day an engine and car would be put at our dis- 
 posal, to take us to some point more remote from 
 danger. We looked at one another, and, tacitly 
 agreeing the gallant general had sent not an or- 
 der but a suggestion, declined his kind proposal. 
 With August heats and lack of water, Bristoe 
 was forsaken for quarters near Culpeper, where 
 my mother went into the soldiers' barracks, 
 sharing soldiers' accommodations, to nurse the 
 wounded. In September quite a party of us, upon 
 invitation, visited the different headquarters. 
 We stopped overnight at Manassas, five ladies, 
 sleeping upon a couch made of rolls of cartridge- 
 flannel, in a tent guarded by a faithful sentry. 
 I remember the comical effect of the five bird- 
 cages (of a kind without which no self-respecting 
 young woman of that day would present herself 
 in public) suspended upon a line running across 
 the upper part of our tent, after we had reluc- 
 tantly removed them in order to adjust ourselves 
 for repose. Our progress during that memorable 
 visit was royal ; an ambulance with a picked troop 
 of cavalrymen had been placed at our service, 
 and the convoy was " personally conducted" by 
 a pleasing variety of distinguished officers. It 
 
VIRGINIA SCENES IN '6i 31 
 
 was at this time, after a supper at the headquar- 
 ters of the " Maryland line " at Fairfax, that the 
 afterward universal war-song, " My Maryland!" 
 was put afloat upon the tide of army favor. 
 
 Another incident of note, during the autumn 
 of '6i, was that to my cousins, Hetty and Jennie 
 Cary, and to me was intrusted the making of 
 the first three battle-flags of the Confederacy. 
 They were jaunty squares of scarlet crossed with 
 dark blue edged with white, the cross bearing 
 stars to indicate the number of the seceded States. 
 We set our best stitches upon them, edged them 
 with golden fringes, and, when they were fin- 
 ished, dispatched one to Johnston, another to 
 Beauregard, and the third to Earl Van Dorn, 
 then commanding infantry at Manassas. The 
 banners were received with all possible enthu- 
 siasm; were toasted, feted, and cheered abun- 
 dantly. After two years, when Van Dorn had 
 been killed in Tennessee, mine came back to me, 
 tattered and storm-stained from long and honor- 
 able service in the field. But it was only a little 
 while after it had been bestowed that there ar- 
 rived one day at our lodgings in Culpeper a huge, 
 bashful Mississippi scout, — one of the most dar- 
 ing in the army, — with the frame of a Hercules 
 
32 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 and the face of a child. He had been bidden to 
 come there by his general, he said, to ask, if I 
 would not give him an order to fetch some cher- 
 ished object from my dear old home— something 
 that would prove to me " how much they thought 
 of the maker of that flag!" A week later I was 
 the astonished recipient of a lamented bit of finery 
 left "within the lines," a wrap, brought to us 
 by Dillon himself, with a beaming face. Mounted 
 on a load of fire-wood, he had gone through the 
 Union pickets, and while peddling poultry had 
 presented himself at the house of my uncle, Dr. 
 Fairfax, in Alexandria, whence he carried off 
 his prize in triumph, with a letter in its folds 
 telling us how relatives left behind longed to 
 be sharing the joys and sorrows of those at large 
 in the Confederacy. 
 
 iA/^ 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 
 
 BY GENERAL ADAM BADEAU 
 
 IN the first year of the Civil War, there were 
 two ships being built unlike any that had ever 
 been seen in this world; one at Norfolk, in Vir- 
 ginia, and the other at Brooklyn, in the State 
 of New York. Up to that time the navies of all 
 nations had been made of wood; and when a 
 wooden ship is struck in battle, every child knows 
 it may be set on fire, or so torn to pieces that un- 
 less the rush of water into the hole is instantly 
 stopped, the ship must sink. This is what makes 
 a sea-fight so terrible. 
 
 Now, it occurred to the leaders on both sides 
 in the great war, that if they could cover a ship 
 with iron which a cannon-ball could not pene- 
 trate, that ship would be able to destroy all its 
 enemies. It would be like some of the wonders 
 of the " Arabian Nights " ; whoever possessed this 
 enchanted vessel could do infinite harm to others 
 
 33 
 
34 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 without receiving any damage in return. He 
 could attack and demolish whole fleets, and not 
 only fleets, but even forts, and the cities which 
 the fleets and forts defended. So both sides set 
 to work to try to build such a wonderful ship. 
 
 The Southerners got the start. They were 
 blockaded from the world, and had neither means 
 nor material to construct an ordinary vessel of 
 war; but their energy was great, and they pos- 
 sessed the American faculty of invention. 
 
 If you look at a map, you will see that the 
 city of Norfolk stands on the Elizabeth River, 
 only a few miles south of the point where that 
 stream empties into the James. It is, however, 
 completely hidden from view at the mouth by the 
 windings of the river. Here, before the war, 
 the United States owned a large navy-yard which, 
 early in 1861, fell into the hands of the Confed- 
 erates, but not until all the vessels had been either 
 sunk or burned. Among the ships thus destroyed 
 was a huge steam frigate, called the Merrimac, 
 carrying forty guns, — one of the largest vessels 
 in the American navy. 
 
 This wreck the Southerners thought would do 
 for their purposes. They hoisted it out of its 
 miry bed, and then cut it down till the deck was 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 35 
 
 level with the water. Next they boarded over 
 each end for more than seventy feet. Then, on 
 the middle portion, one hundred and seventy feet 
 long, they built a wooden wall, rising on all sides 
 seven feet from the water's edge, and sloping in- 
 ward like a roof, till the sides came within twenty 
 feet of each other at the top. This wall, or roof, — 
 you may call it which you please, — they com- 
 pletely covered with iron plates four inches thick, 
 riveted into the wood. The vessel then looked 
 like a huge iron box, or a long, low fort with port- 
 holes in the sides through which the guns could 
 be fired. There were ten of these guns; one 
 at each end, bow and stern, the others at the sides. 
 In front was an iron horn, or ram, that projected 
 two feet and a half, intended to strike and pierce 
 the vessel of the enemy. The top of the box was 
 covered with an iron grating to keep off some 
 of the mischief of shells falling from above. 
 Through this grating came all the light and air 
 that the crew received, and when the ship was 
 not in battle, it served for a promenade. The ves- 
 sel was worked with the old engines, which had 
 of course been greatly damaged by the burning 
 and sinking they had undergone. Nothing at 
 all like this structure had ever been known in 
 
36 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 war. One or two iron ships had been built in 
 England and France, but none had ever been used 
 in actual battle. The Merrimac was an experi- 
 ment. She was, indeed, hardly a ship, but a float- 
 ing fort. 
 
 The Southerners had no navy, and it was diffi- 
 cult to find a crew; but three hundred men, who 
 had once been sailors, were finally recruited from 
 their army. The commander was Commodore 
 Buchanan, and the next in rank Lieutenant Jones, 
 both of whom had been officers of the United 
 States Navy. 
 
 Every effort was made to keep the building of 
 the new ship a secret from the North, but this 
 proved impossible, and the Washington govern- 
 ment at once set about preparing to meet so for- 
 midable an enemy. For if the Merrimac proved 
 a success, she could destroy any ship in the world, 
 enter any harbor at the North, passing the forts, 
 and fire directly into the heart of New York or 
 Boston from the bay. Nothing could withstand 
 a ship the armor of which was impenetrable. 
 
 Captain John Ericsson, a Swede by birth, but 
 an American citizen, had long been planning an 
 iron-clad ship of his own, and his plans were now 
 laid before the government and accepted. He 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR tf 
 
 built at Brooklyn, in New York harbor, what he 
 called a fighting machine. Instead of a great 
 floating fort, heavy and difficult to move, he de- 
 signed a small battery of only two heavy guns, 
 which was to be able to move in shallow water 
 where the great ship could not go, to be itself as 
 fully protected by its iron armor as the Merrimac, 
 but, being small, to be easily handled ; to be able to 
 turn more quickly, to approach the enemy at close 
 quarters when it chose, and to escape every at- 
 tack which it could not withstand. The great 
 question, however, was the protection— the armor. 
 To provide for this, Ericsson contrived a struc- 
 ture, you can hardly call it a ship, one hundred 
 and seventy feet long, and about forty wide, and 
 reaching eleven feet below the water, while the 
 deck was only one foot above. There was nothing 
 whatever above the deck but the pilot-house, and 
 a revolving iron tower with two guns on the in- 
 side ; these were the only cannon aboard, but they 
 fired shot weighing one hundred and eighty 
 pounds. The object of the revolving tower was 
 to be able to get along with fewer guns. By 
 turning the tower, the same gun could be used 
 in any direction; whereas, in a great unwieldy 
 ship the whole mass must turn, or you can only 
 
38 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 fire from one side. The tower or turret was 
 twenty feet across and nine feet high. The tops 
 of the smoke pipes also rose six feet above the 
 deck, and the blower pipes four and a half feet; 
 but when the thing was fighting, these pipes were 
 removed, and the openings were covered with iron 
 gratings, so that there was nothing to aim at, 
 nothing to be struck or injured, but the turret and 
 the pilot-house. The deck was plated with iron, 
 which hung over so as to guard the hull. 
 
 The pilot-house was extremely small, contain- 
 ing just space for three men and the wheel. It 
 was built entirely of iron, in solid blocks twelve 
 inches deep and nine inches thick. The only look- 
 out was through an opening left between the 
 blocks, making a long and narrow sight-hole all 
 around the pilot-house, five-eighths of an inch in 
 width. In battle the commanding officer was to 
 remain in the pilot-house, and direct the action of 
 the ship and the guns, while the next in rank, the 
 executive officer, superintended the firing. A 
 speaking-trumpet connected the pilot-house and 
 the turret and conveyed the commander's orders. 
 Everything else — engines, boilers, anchor, officers' 
 rooms, quarters for the men — all were below; all 
 shielded from the enemy by the iron armor reach- 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 39 
 
 ing over the deck on the outside. The whole thing- 
 looked like a cheese-box on a raft, or as one of 
 the Southerners said when he saw it for the first 
 time — like a tin can on a shingle. Ericsson called 
 it the Monitor, because it was to admonish, or 
 warn, the Southerners that they could not resist 
 the Union. 
 
 As the news came North that the Merrimac 
 was nearly complete, and might come out of her 
 hiding place in the Elizabeth River at any time, 
 work was pressed on the Monitor night and day. 
 For the whole result of the war might be changed 
 if the Confederate monster got out of the James. 
 Indeed, if the Monitor met her, it was uncertain 
 whether this strange invention of Ericsson could 
 withstand the gigantic ship. Still there was this 
 chance, the only one. The little craft was begun 
 in October, 1861, and in less than a hundred days 
 was launched. On the 25th of February she was 
 handed over to the government. She had a ship's 
 company of fifty-eight souls, Lieutenant Worden 
 commanding, and Lieutenant Greene, a boy of 
 twenty-two, next in rank. 
 
 Hampton Roads is the name given to the broad 
 sheet of water at the mouth of the James, into 
 which that river expands before it empties into 
 
4Q CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 Chesapeake Bay. On Saturday, the 8th of 
 March, a Union fleet was moving about this har- 
 bor between Fortress Monroe, at the entrance of 
 the bay, and Newport News, a point that juts out 
 from the northern shore seven miles up the river. 
 Off Newport News two sailing frigates were an- 
 chored, about three hundred yards from shore— 
 the Cumberland of thirty guns, and the Congress 
 carrying fifty cannon — both first-class men-of- 
 war. Farther toward the sea was the Minnesota, 
 a steam frigate of forty guns, and still beyond her 
 lay the Roanoke, her sister ship, and the St. Law- 
 rence, a sailing vessel of war, — all of the largest 
 size known. in the American navy. There were, 
 besides, several smaller steamers, armed tugs, 
 floating about the Roads. This fleet was engaged 
 in blockading the James — the only avenue be- 
 tween Richmond and the sea. Fortress Monroe, 
 the great work at the entrance, and a land battery 
 at Newport News were the only points on the 
 James at that time in the possession of the North- 
 erners ; but their naval strength enabled them to 
 command the river and prevent all communication 
 between Richmond and the outside world. 
 
 On the southern side of the bav the Confeder- 
 ates had several batteries, the most important of 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 43 
 
 which was at Sewell's Point, to protect the mouth 
 of the Elizabeth and the approach to Norfolk. 
 
 About noon on the 8th of March, the Merrimac 
 appeared. Steaming out of the Elizabeth River, 
 she came into the Roads and headed direct for 
 Newport News, where the Cumberland and the 
 Congress lay, unconscious of the approaching 
 danger. The Cumberland was a little west of 
 the peninsula, the Congress about two hundred 
 yards to the east. Both ships were at anchor, the 
 crews were washing their clothes, the small boats 
 were fastened to the booms. But as the mon- 
 strous mass moved steadily on, all knew at once 
 what the black-looking object must be. The 
 boats were dropped astern, all hands were ordered 
 to their places, and the Cumberland was swung 
 across the channel so that her broadside would 
 bear against the stranger. 
 
 As the Merrimac approached, she looked like a 
 huge crocodile floating on the surface of the water. 
 Her iron sides rose slanting and like the roof of a 
 house or the arched back of a tortoise, the ram 
 projecting in front above the water's edge. A 
 flag was floating from one staff and a pennant at 
 the stern ; but not a man could be seen on the out- 
 side. She came at the rate of four or five miles 
 
44 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 an hour. When she got within half a mile, the 
 Cumberland opened fire, followed by the Con- 
 'css, the gunboats and the batteries on shore. 
 
 The Merriniac, however, made straight for the 
 Cumberland, delivering a broadside into the Con- 
 gress as she passed. The Congress returned the 
 broadside, and the Cumberland poured in another, 
 but the balls bounced like India-rubber from her 
 mailed sides, making not the slightest impression. 
 The flagstaff was cut away, but no one could get 
 out to replace it, and she fought for a while with 
 only the pennant at her stern. 
 
 Now the Congress and the Cumberland and all 
 the shore batteries poured in their fire, and the 
 Merrimae fired forward into the Cumberland, kill- 
 ing and wounding the crew of one of the guns. 
 Two small vessels that had followed in her wake 
 from Norfolk also took sides, and three Confeder- 
 ate gunboats came down the James to participate, 
 while the Minnesota, the Roanoke, and the St. 
 Lazvrenee all started from their moorings for the 
 battle. 
 
 But the Merrimae steered steadily for the Cum- 
 berland and crushed her iron horn into the vessel's 
 side, making an enormous hole. The frigate was 
 forced back upon her anchors with a tremendous 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 45 
 
 shock, and the water at once went rushing into the 
 hole. The Merrimac then drew off, but her ram 
 was broken, and she left it sticking in the Cumber- 
 land's side. All the Union vessels now poured 
 shot and shell into or rather at the Merrimac. 
 Two of her guns had the muzzles blown off, one of 
 her anchors and all the smoke-pipes were shot 
 away; ropes, railings, timbers, everything unpro- 
 tected by armor was swept clean off. The flag- 
 staffs were repeatedly shot away, and the colors 
 after a while were hoisted to the smoke-stack; 
 when that went, they were fastened to a boarding- 
 pike. One of the crew came out of a port-hole to 
 the outside, and was instantly killed. But the 
 armor was hardly damaged, though a hundred 
 heavy guns must have been turned on it at once 
 from ship or shore. 
 
 The Merrimac herself kept up her fire on both 
 the Cumberland and the Congress from her differ- 
 ent sides. After a while she advanced again 
 towards the Cumberland, and shot one shell that 
 killed nine men, following this up with a broadside 
 that mowed down officers, sailors, and gunners; 
 for on the upper deck there was no protection 
 whatever. The men stood up like targets, fight- 
 ing against foes who were themselves unseen and 
 
46 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 completely shielded. Lieutenant Morris, who 
 commanded the Cumberland, was summoned to 
 surrender; but he replied, " Never! I '11 sink 
 alongside." The water all this time was rushing 
 into the hole made by the ram, the vessel had 
 been set on fire in several places, and the decks 
 were covered with dead and dying men. The 
 Merrimac was now within three hundred yards, 
 and from her safe iron walls her crew could send 
 each ball to its mark. The water kept pouring 
 into the Cumberland, not only at the great hole 
 made by the ram, but after a while at the port- 
 holes. As the ship sank lower and lower, the 
 crew was driven from deck to deck upward, work- 
 ing the guns that were left unsubmerged. At 
 thirty minutes past three the water had risen to 
 the spar deck, and the crew delivered a parting 
 fire. Each man then tried to save himself by 
 jumping overboard; some scrambled through the 
 port-holes, others leaped from the rigging or the 
 masts, but many went down with the ship, which 
 settled with a roar, the stars and stripes still wav- 
 ing. That flag was finally submerged, but even 
 after the hull had grounded on the sands, the pen- 
 nant was still flying from the topmast above the 
 waves. None of the crew were captured, but 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 47 
 
 nearly all the wounded were drowned. In all, 
 about a hundred were lost : small boats came out 
 from shore and rescued the remainder under the 
 Confederate fire. 
 
 The Merrimac now turned upon the Congress, 
 which, seeing the fate of her comrade, had moved 
 in toward shore and purposely run aground, 
 where the Merrimac could not follow without also 
 getting aground. This would have been fatal to 
 the heavy Confederate battery, so that there was 
 no danger of the Merrimac ramming the Con- 
 gress. Still, the unhappy frigate was at the 
 mercy of her enemy. The iron monster came up 
 so close that her crew fired pistol-shots into the 
 port-holes of the Congress. The Minnesota and 
 her sister frigates had all got aground lower down 
 the bay, and were unable to assist their struggling 
 consort. 
 
 The Merrimac at last took a position astern, at 
 a distance of only one hundred and fifty yards, 
 and raked her helpless antagonist fore and aft. 
 The other Confederate vessels all came up and 
 poured shot and shell into the stranded ship. 
 The commander was killed. There was no pros- 
 pect of relief from the Minnesota. The men were 
 knocked away from the guns as fast as they tried 
 
48 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 to fire, and at last not a single piece could be 
 brought to bear on the enemy. The ship was on 
 fire in several places, and at half-past four the 
 colors were lowered. When the father of Captain 
 Joseph Smith, the commander of the Congress, 
 was told that the Congress had shown the white 
 flag of surrender, he simply remarked, " Jo 's 
 dead." He knew that his son would not have sur- 
 rendered had he been alive. 
 
 Buchanan, who commanded the Merrimac, at 
 once sent a boarding party, and the flag, as well 
 as the sword of the dead commander of the Con- 
 gress, was surrendered. The second in rank was 
 directed to transfer his wounded to the Merrimac 
 as quickly as possible; but the batteries on shore 
 kept up their fire and would not permit the re- 
 moval of the prisoners, although the white flag 
 was flying. " We have not surrendered," said 
 General Mansfield, in command at Newport News. 
 As Buchanan was unable to take possession of 
 the prize, he ordered hot shell to be fired at her, 
 and tHe Congress was soon in flames in every 
 part. At the same moment he was himself shot 
 and severely wounded. His brother was an officer 
 on the Congress, so that they fought each other. 
 The Confederates were driven off by the renewed 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 49 
 
 fire, and the crew of the Congress escaped in small 
 boats, or by swimming, to the shore; but thirty 
 were captured and many lost. 
 
 The Merrimac now turned her attention to the 
 Minnesota, which was aground and at the mercy 
 of the Confederates. It was only five o'clock, and 
 there were still two hours of daylight ; but the tide 
 was ebbing, and there was some dispute on the 
 Merrimac about the channel. The Confederates 
 supposed they had only to wait till morning to 
 secure the remainder of the fleet : rescue was im- 
 possible: the giant could dispatch whichever vic- 
 tim stood in the way. So the Merrimac retired to 
 the entrance of the Elizabeth River and waited till 
 morning to resume her task. She had lost two 
 men killed and nineteen wounded. 
 
 During that terrible night the Minnesota lay 
 within a mile and a half of Newport News, on the 
 sandbank where the ship seemed to have made a 
 cradle for herself. At ten the tide turned to flood, 
 and all hands were at work from that time till four 
 in the morning with steam-tugs and ropes en- 
 deavoring to haul the ship off the bank, but with- 
 out avail. The St. Lawrence and the Roanoke 
 were below in the harbor. 
 
 The moon was in heY second quarter. The 
 
50 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 mast-head of the Cumberland could be seen above 
 the waves, with her colors still flying, while a little 
 south of Newport News the Congress was in a 
 blaze. As the flames crept up the rigging, every 
 mast and spar and rope glittered against the sky 
 in lines of fire. The port-holes in the hull looked 
 like the mouths of fiery furnaces; a shell or a 
 loaded gun went off from time to time, as the fire 
 reached it, and at two o'clock the magazine ex- 
 ploded with a tremendous shock and sound. A 
 mountain sheaf of flame went up, a flash seemed 
 to divide the sky, and the blazing fragments were 
 scattered in every direction. When the glare sub- 
 sided the rigging had vanished, and only the hull 
 remained, charred and shattered. The port-holes 
 were blown into one great gap, where the con- 
 flagration blazed and smoldered till morning. 
 
 That night there was consternation not only in 
 the fleet and at Fortress Monroe, but farther yet, 
 at Washington, and all over the North. It 
 seemed as if nothing could prevent the complete 
 success of the Merrimac. The anxious vessels 
 lay in the Roads, the Minnesota waiting to be de- 
 stroyed, like the Cumberland and the Congress, in 
 the morning. The President and his cabinet were 
 discussing gloomily what might happen, and in 
 
■<■ k-l -^ '■! 
 
 fv' 
 
 IIP 
 
 i % yif : I'M 
 
 ,il«-;N 
 
 1 vc4- ■ 
 
 
 mm 
 
THE MERRIMAC 'AND THE MONITOR 53 
 
 every city at the North men lay awake dreading 
 the news of the morrow. For it was not only 
 that the victory of the Union was delayed, that its 
 forces were resisted, its ships destroyed, but dis- 
 aster might be carried to any one of the harbors 
 or cities of the Atlantic by this one vessel, which 
 could find no opponent to withstand her, since she 
 was herself invulnerable while able to deal irre- 
 sistible blows. 
 
 At the South, on the other hand, the rejoicing 
 was extravagant. The result itself was exagger- 
 ated; the wildest hopes were cherished. The 
 blockade was to be raised, the war ended, the 
 South to be made independent — all because of the 
 Merrimac. On the spot, the plan was to destroy 
 the Minnesota in the morning, and later the re- 
 mainder of the fleet below Fortress Monroe. The 
 crew of the Merrimac slept at their guns dream- 
 ing of other victories. 
 
 But neither side knew what was to happen in 
 the morning. 
 
 At daybreak Worden perceived the Merrimac 
 at anchor with the Confederate gunboats, near 
 Sewell's Point. At half-past seven the Titan got 
 under way, and started direct for the Minnesota. 
 At once the little Monitor came out from behind 
 
54 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 the frigate to guard her lofty consort. Worden 
 took his station in the pilot-house, which projected 
 only four feet above the deck; Greene, with six- 
 teen men, was in the turret. The remainder of 
 the crew was distributed in the engine and fire 
 rooms, or was in the magazine. 
 
 On the Merrimac all was elation. The crew 
 had slept and rested and eaten ; they had achieved 
 a magnificent victory, and came out only to com- 
 plete the success that was already, they thought, 
 secure. They saw the little Monitor covering and 
 protecting with her diminutive proportions the 
 mighty Minnesota, and had no fear of the result. 
 
 Worden made at once for the enemy's fleet, so 
 as to attack them at as great a distance as possible 
 from the Minnesota. As he approached, with one 
 or two shots he drove the wooden vessels at once 
 out of range. Then, to the astonishment of all the 
 spectators on the ships around and on both shores, 
 the tiny Monitor laid herself directly alongside 
 the Merrimac and stopped her engines; the port- 
 hole was opened, the gun was run out, and the 
 dwarf attacked the monster. But the Merrimac 
 was ready. Gun after gun was returned by her 
 rapid broadsides, now only sixty yards away. 
 The Merrimac had ten guns to the Monitors two, 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 55 
 
 and the tower and deck and pilot-house of the 
 pigmy were struck again and again. But though 
 the shots struck, they only made indentations ; the 
 armor was proof; and, more than all, the turret 
 worked and turned, so that the gunners could 
 reply to the fire they received. When this was 
 certain, the crew felt reassured; for it was plain 
 that the results of yesterday could not be renewed. 
 The Merrimac had found an antagonist. The 
 Monitor was no longer an experiment. To the 
 spectators the shots of the Confederate vessel 
 seemed to have no more effect than so many peb- 
 bles thrown by a child. 
 
 The battle, when once begun, went on without 
 intermission. Finding she could accomplish no- 
 thing with the Monitor, the Merrimac turned 
 upon the wooden ships, and put an enormous shot 
 into the Minnesota, tearing four rooms into one, 
 and setting the ship on fire. The fire was quickly 
 extinguished, and the Minnesota replied with a 
 broadside that would have blown out of water 
 any wooden ship in the world; but the Merrimac 
 was unharmed. It seemed like magic, and in 
 other days would doubtless have been considered 
 the effect of wicked enchantment. Fifty solid 
 shot struck on the slanting sides without any ap- 
 
56 
 
 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 parent result. The Merrimac fired three times, in 
 return, at the Minnesota, and would soon have 
 destroyed her, but the little Monitor came dancing 
 down to the rescue, placing herself directly be- 
 
 *V- 
 
 
 ON BOARD THE " MERRIMAC " A SHOT AT THE " TIN CAN ON A SHINGLE 
 
 tween the two huge crafts, and compelled the 
 Merrimac to change her position. 
 
 While the ships were alongside, the commander 
 of the Merrimac called for men to board the 
 Monitor and overwhelm her by numbers, but the 
 little thing was beyond reach before his command 
 could be obeyed. 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 57 
 
 About noon the crisis of the battle occurred. 
 The Confederates determined to direct their at- 
 tack on the pilot-house of their enemy, and when 
 the little craft was only ten yards away they sent 
 one shell full against the sight-hole of the Moni- 
 tor. In exploding, it tore off the top of the pilot- 
 house, and wounded the gallant commander. 
 Worden was blinded with the powder, and for a 
 moment stunned. He supposed that all was lost, 
 for the sudden glare of light that poured in on his 
 injured eyes from the opening made him think the 
 pilot-house absolutely destroyed. He gave orders 
 to move off, and sent for Greene. The young 
 officer found his chief bleeding, blind, and dis- 
 abled, and the vessel apparently at the mercy of 
 the enemy. He led the wounded man to his cabin, 
 and then the boy assumed command. 
 
 The heroic Worden believed himself mortally 
 hurt, but he asked, in his agony: " Is the Minne- 
 sota safe? " When assured of this, he exclaimed: 
 " Then I can die happy." 1 
 
 1 The description of Worden's catastrophe is necessarily taken 
 from Lieutenant Greene's graphic and eloquent paper in the 
 "Century Magazine" for March, 1885, — the only possible au- 
 thority. It is unnecessary to say that an account of a battle written 
 by one who was not a participant or an eye-witness must, to be 
 correct, be a compilation from the reports of those who were ac- 
 tually present. As for Greene, he wrote almost as well as he 
 fought. 
 
58 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 When Greene returned to the pilot-house he 
 found the steering apparatus perfect, but the 
 Monitor had been drifting about without guid- 
 ance. Twenty minutes elapsed from the time of 
 the shock before it was determined what course 
 to pursue, and meanwhile the Merrimac had with- 
 drawn. She was leaking badly, her engines 
 would hardly work, and though doubtless she 
 might have continued the fight, it was evident 
 that she could accomplish nothing against her 
 dwarf antagonist, that was able, preposterous as 
 it seems, to defend the entire Northern fleet. 
 Neither adversary had been able to destroy the 
 other. The Monitor was now near shallow water 
 where the Merrimac could not follow, and at two 
 o'clock the great battery returned to Sewell's 
 Point, completely foiled in her object by Erics- 
 son's little machine. The Monitor fired a few 
 shots but did not follow. 
 
 It required a month to repair the damages the 
 Merrimac had received, and on the nth of April, 
 followed by six gun-boats, she came into the Roads 
 again. The Monitor was in sight with the Union 
 fleet, but her orders were positive not to briijg on 
 an engagement in the shallows, where the wooden 
 vessels would be unable to manceuver, and the 
 
THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR 59 
 
 Merrimac returned without a battle. This pro- 
 ceeding was repeated a few days later ; the Merri- 
 mac steamed out and then returned. Neither 
 side had another iron-clad, and neither wished to 
 risk the destruction of the craft that protected so 
 vast a stake. Thus the Monitor stayed the course 
 of the Merrimac and prevented all the great re- 
 sults that were hoped by one side and feared by 
 the other. For a while the issue of the war 
 seemed to depend on the little champion, and she 
 stood her ground. It was like the nursery stories 
 in which the dwarf beat off the giant and saved 
 the land. 
 
ELEANOR'S COLONEL 
 
 BY ANNAH ROBINSON WATSON 
 
 ELEANOR FAIRFAX lived in the Shenan- 
 doah Valley, one of the most beautiful parts 
 of Virginia. 
 
 Her home was the prettiest rose-covered cot- 
 tage in a small village, and here her young mother 
 lived, with only Mammy 'Liza, the old colored 
 nurse, to help her take care of the household. 
 
 Eleanor's father had gone off to the war with 
 the Southern soldiers, and Mammy 'Liza's hus- 
 band, Uncle Reuben, had gone, too, " to take care 
 of young marstuh," he said. 
 
 As yet, no Northern soldiers had been seen in 
 the town, and Eleanor and her little friends often 
 paused in their games to wonder what these sol- 
 diers were like, and whether they would ever 
 really come. 
 
 Eleanor was the eldest of three children, and 
 often her mother would take her in her arms and 
 talk long and seriously. 
 
 60 
 
ELEANOR'S COLONEL 61 
 
 " You must help mother," she would say ten- 
 derly, " father has gone, and mother has no one 
 but Eleanor to help her." 
 
 " Father is a Secesh, 1 is n't he? " said Eleanor, 
 slowly, one day, when they were talking. 
 
 " Yes, father is a Secesh," answered the mo- 
 ther, smiling. 
 
 " And you are a Secesh ? " continued the little 
 questioner. 
 
 " Yes, of course; I am whatever father is." 
 
 "Then I am a Secesh, too— a great big Se- 
 cesh," exclaimed the little girl, sturdily. " I 'd 
 like to be a soldier, too, like father." 
 
 "Well, a soldier must be loyal to his colors. 
 That means he must be true and always keep his 
 word. Even if the enemy should come and want 
 to shoot him for it, that should make no difference 
 to a really brave man, and he must always tell the 
 truth, no matter what it costs." 
 
 Eleanor looked very solemn as her mother said 
 this, and exclaimed : " I 'm not a coward, mother. 
 If the Yankees came, I would n't be afraid one 
 bit. I 'd tell them right out I was a Secesh, and 
 I ? d try to get them to let you and little sister and 
 Edward go free, and just take me." 
 
 1 Then a popular abbreviation for " secessionist." 
 
62 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 Tears came to the mother's eyes, though she 
 laughed as she caught the small soldier to her 
 breast. " Oh, there 's no danger of that, darling," 
 she said. " If the Yankees came they would n't 
 want such a little rebel as you." 
 
 It was only the next week that the Yankees 
 came, sure enough, and pitched their tents in the 
 beautiful Shenandoah Valley, just on the edge of 
 the little town. ■ 
 
 This caused great excitement, 'for no one knew 
 why the soldiers had come, whether there was to 
 be a battle, or what was to happen. Even the 
 children shared in the general feeling of anxiety 
 and unrest. They had been in the habit of visit- 
 ing each other freely, and of playing upon the 
 beautiful green spaces between the houses; but 
 now they were kept closely within doors, lest, as 
 they thought to themselves, they should be cap- 
 tured by the Yankees and carried off to prison. 
 
 But several days passed by, nothing terrible 
 happened, the soldiers had done no harm to any 
 one, and the citizens began to feel more comfort- 
 able, and the children to return to their usual 
 occupations and pleasures. Day by day, in their 
 games upon the meadow, they came nearer and 
 nearer to the Federal camp. They watched 
 
ELEANOR'S COLONEL 63 
 
 eagerly all the movements of the soldiers, and 
 one day a half-dozen of the most daring among 
 them decided to go nearer still, "just to see 
 what the 'bluecoats' look like," they said to one 
 another. 
 
 The youngest of the group was Eleanor. She 
 looked very serious, as if her little heart was bur- 
 dened with matters of great importance. She 
 may have been thinking that the time of trial had 
 come — that if she saw the terrible Yankees she 
 might tell them her father had gone to fight them, 
 and that if they wanted anybody, they must take 
 her, and let nothing hurt her dear mother, baby 
 sister, and little Edward. 
 
 Anyway, she was one of the band of children, 
 and they approached with quick-beating hearts 
 the Federal camp, which was only a few hundred 
 yards distant. 
 
 As they neared the place they saw a group of 
 soldiers out in front of the tents, and one of the 
 number, the colonel, called out cheerily: " Come 
 on, little people; I mi glad to see you." 
 
 At this the children looked much startled. Two 
 of the number took fright and beat a most in- 
 glorious retreat. Only four obeyed his summons. 
 These came somewhat reluctantly, and stood be- 
 
64 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 fore him, silent, and with anxious eyes lifted to 
 his face. 
 
 The colonel began to talk to them, and at last 
 said he wanted to know whether they were rebels 
 or Yankees — whether they were on his side or 
 were for Jeff Davis. 
 
 The children were speechless, and turned to 
 one another with wondering faces. But he con- 
 tinued: "Now, I '11 tell you what I '11 do: I '11 
 make a very nice present to the little girl who 
 gives me the best answer to that question." 
 
 With a common impulse, the children drew 
 back and began with great excitement to talk to 
 one another. 
 
 " What 's he going to do with us ? " asked one. 
 
 " Maybe shoot us," answered a little girl, shiv- 
 ering, " unless we say we 're for the Yankees." 
 
 " But that would be a story ! " exclaimed 
 Eleanor, hotly. " We 're not for the Yankees, 
 and you know it ! " 
 
 " I 'd rather be for the Yankees than be shot," 
 said little Eunice Clarke, looking frightened. 
 
 At this moment the colonel called them: 
 "Come on; I 'm ready for your answers." 
 
 A group of soldiers had gathered about him, 
 
ELEANOR'S COLONEL 65 
 
 attracted by the unusual scene, and the children 
 looked fearfully at the "bluecoats." 
 
 Eunice happened to be in front of the group. 
 " Well, my little girl," asked the colonel, " what 
 are your sentiments ? Whom are you for ? " 
 
 " I — I 'm for the Yankees, sir ! " she said in an 
 almost inaudible tone. 
 
 The colonel smiled and asked the next in line. 
 
 " If you won't shoot me, I '11 be a Yankee for— 
 for a little while," she answered, twisting the 
 corner of her apron. 
 
 "And' you?" was asked of the next; but the 
 child covered her face with her hands and said 
 nothing. 
 
 Only Eleanor was left. She took a step toward 
 the colonel. Her sunbonnet had fallen back, and 
 her tangled brown curls were blown by the sum- 
 mer breeze. 
 
 " And you, my little lady, whom are you for ? 
 The Yankees ? " he asked. 
 
 Eleanor lifted her brown eyes with a flash to 
 his face, while her cheeks glowed, and her lips, 
 though they quivered a moment, parted, as she 
 cried, stamping her little foot : 
 
 " No, no ! I 'm a Secesh. I '11 live a Secesh, 
 
66 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 and I '11 die a Secesh. That 's what I am. Now, 
 if you want to, take me and shoot me ! " 
 
 The men gave a loud cheer. " Hurrah for 
 the little Secesh! Hurrah for the brave little 
 Secesh ! " they cried. 
 
 " Hurrah for the little heroine ! " exclaimed the 
 colonel. "That 's what she is— a little trump of 
 a girl who 's not afraid to tell the truth. She 's a 
 dear, loyal little rebel ! " 
 
 Then he caught her in his arms, lifted her to 
 his shoulder, and, followed by the other children, 
 carried her into the town to a shop, where, sure 
 enough, he selected for her a beautiful gift. 
 
 "Just look!" said Eunice Clarke, with wide- 
 open eyes. " That 's what she got for telling 
 the truth. Just look! I don't believe I '11 be 
 afraid next time." 
 
 After this the colonel took Eleanor to her own 
 gate, and left her, saying tenderly, as he held her 
 hand at parting: "I hope, my dear little rebel, 
 you will always be as true as you have been to- 
 day." Then he kissed her and went back to camp. 
 
 This one colonel had in a sense captured the en- 
 tire town, and for years the children talked about 
 him, until he became their favorite hero. They 
 called him always " Eleanor's Colonel." 
 
LIEUTENANT HARRY 
 
 (An Episode of the War of the Rebellion) 
 
 BY THOMAS EDWIN TURNER 
 
 AT the close of a cold, dreary day in the winter 
 l\ of 1861-62, a boy, thirteen years old, wear- 
 ing the uniform of a lieutenant, and riding a high- 
 mettled dapple-gray pony, was making his way 
 rapidly toward the Federal headquarters which 
 were then situated at Tipton, Missouri. 
 
 The boy was followed by a mounted orderly. 
 On reaching his destination, Harry, for so we 
 may call him, dismounted, threw his bridle-rein to 
 the orderly, and rushed into the house, almost 
 overturning a guard placed at its main door. 
 Making a dash at a smaller door to the right of a 
 spacious hall, he flung it open, and, with snap- 
 ping eyes, glowing cheeks, breathless from rapid 
 movement, was in the presence of the commander 
 of the First Division of the West, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Let me go, father ; please do ! " 
 67 
 
68 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 "Let you go where?" the boy's father asked. 
 
 "I don't know where," the son answered; 
 " but I heard out at camp you were going to send 
 Major Gray and his company of cavalry some- 
 where to-night, and / want to go with them. I 
 am not a baby. All the men in our command say 
 I can ride any horse, in or out of it ; and I stood 
 the march toward Springfield when a lot of 
 officers and men gave out. It was all day and all 
 night work for sixty hours, with hardly one hour's 
 rest in six." 
 
 And here the lad, who had been talking very 
 fast, and with great earnestness, appealed to his 
 sire, who smilingly replied : 
 
 " Soldiers should not boast, my boy. I have 
 concluded to send you with Major Gray to-night. 
 More than that, I shall place you in command." 
 
 " Hooray for— thank you, sir!" he cried; "but 
 where are we to go? " 
 
 " That I will tell you in two hours, when you 
 report with your command for orders. Major 
 Gray and his company are to be here at eight 
 o'clock. So go back to camp, and prepare for 
 your journey. Use a fresh mount. You had 
 better ride my brown mare." 
 
LIEUTENANT HARRY 69 
 
 " Yes, father " ; and the boy hastened away to 
 make preparations for the great undertaking. 
 
 While he is so engaged, as you may be curious 
 to know, I will tell you how this mere child came 
 to be in the army instead of in school with other 
 patriots of his own age. 
 
 After the father became colonel of his regi- 
 ment, his physician, who was chosen surgeon of 
 the same regiment, expressed the opinion that it 
 might benefit the poor health of the colonel's son 
 if the latter was permitted to accompany his fa- 
 ther to the South. It was decided to follow the 
 good doctor's advice, and the result was all that 
 could be desired; for Harry, now the picture of 
 health, served as a member of staff, performing 
 the duties devolving upon a staff-officer, although 
 not sworn into the service, and, of course, not re- 
 ceiving government pay. 
 
 At eight o'clock in the evening of this red- 
 letter day in the life of our hero, a company of 
 cavalry was drawn up in line before the head- 
 quarters in Tipton. Its commander, Major Gray, 
 was in conference with his chief, within doors, 
 while the young lieutenant, wrapped in the regu- 
 lation army-overcoat, and mounted on a large 
 
jo CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 brown horse of great speed, occupied a position at 
 the head of the line of cavalry. 
 
 The major, accompanied by General T , 
 
 soon came from the house. Approaching the boy, 
 the general said : 
 
 " With Major Gray's consent, I put you in com- 
 mand of this expedition. You are to go to Ver- 
 sailles, reaching there as near the break of day as 
 possible. Post men on all roads entering the 
 town, to prevent escape of the enemy out of it, 
 and to warn you of his approach. Search each 
 house in Versailles, and bring in any men bear- 
 ing arms against us, or concealing themselves. 
 Whatever you do, keep near Major Gray, and 
 when in doubt be guided by him." 
 
 Here the speaker and the major exchanged 
 significant glances. Then the general turned 
 away, saying: 
 
 " I wish you a speedy and successful journey. 
 Good night, sir." And answering the salute re- 
 ceived as he ended his instructions, he was soon 
 within the house again. 
 
 For some reason or other, now that the boy 
 was fairly in for it, his courage and confidence 
 began to desert him. An hour before it seemed 
 easy enough, a simple thing, to manceuver a whole 
 
LIEUTENANT HARRY 71 
 
 division. Now he did n't know what to do with 
 a single company. He knew he ought to be off, 
 but how to move that company of men floored 
 him. Something must be done. So he shouted 
 in desperation : " Left wheel ! by twos ! For- 
 ward, march ! " uncertain whether those were the 
 proper orders to bring about the movement he 
 desired. Right or wrong, the words started his 
 little command in the right direction, and this 
 success set self-confidence on its legs again. 
 
 As he was the only one of the entire party who 
 had ever been over the road from Tipton to Ver- 
 sailles, Major Gray informed him this was the 
 reason for his being sent in command of the little 
 force that was to find it. He had only once been 
 in Versailles, and the journey there was made 
 during daylight, with a large detachment of 
 his father's division. And having paid no par- 
 ticular attention to the route, the truth was he 
 knew little about it. And now the snow began 
 to fall quietly, steadily, as if it meant to con- 
 tinue a long time, soon covering the earth with a 
 fleecy robe that reflected just light enough to re- 
 veal how deep the gloom had been without it. 
 
 A little after eleven o'clock, however, chancing 
 to glance far ahead, Harry saw something that 
 
72 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 made him regret he was acting in the capacity of 
 leader. What his eyes fell upon that caused 
 this disturbance of mind were simply : " Forks 
 ahead ! " where the road they were on branched 
 off into three prongs, going in as many different 
 directions. What should he do? For, to confess 
 the truth, he did not know which of the three 
 branches was the proper one to take in order to 
 reach Versailles. Riding close at Major Gray's 
 side, rising in his stirrups, and leaning as far 
 toward his companion as the position permitted, 
 the lad in a low tone said : 
 
 " Major Gray, I don't know which of those 
 three roads we ought to take ; but have mercy on 
 me, and don't tell your lieutenants or the men ! " 
 
 "You don't know the road?" the major an- 
 swered. "Try to remember the way you went 
 going down here before." 
 
 " I can't ; for I fail even to remember ever see- 
 ing the forks before," said the boy. 
 
 By this time the forks were reached, and in a 
 moment the little band was at a standstill, and 
 the kind-hearted major said in a low, clear voice 
 that reached every ear in the troop : 
 
 " We know one of these roads will take us to 
 Versailles, but another may be more direct, so we 
 
LIEUTENANT HARRY 75 
 
 will try to get information or a guide from the 
 cabins yonder. Wait here until Lieutenant Thorn 
 and I return/' 
 
 Now " Lieutenant Thorn/' as our hero was 
 called, had seen no sign of any habitation, but 
 the major's keen eyes had caught a glimpse of 
 three or four rude log huts a little distance 
 down the road that led off to the left. Approach- 
 ing one of the cabins, Major Gray, with the butt 
 of a navy revolver, rapped vigorously upon 
 its door of split logs. A voice inside the cabin 
 cried : 
 
 "Who'sthar?" 
 
 " Officers of the army," shouted the major. 
 
 " Which side be you uns on? " 
 
 " On the outside ! " returned the matter-of-fact 
 major. 
 
 " That 's enough. Ye 're Yanks," said the first 
 speaker. " Now what do you uns want? " 
 
 "A guide to Versailles; we want one quick," 
 was the answer. 
 
 " If you uns want to get to Versailles, take that 
 right-hand track." 
 
 "No, you don't," shouted the major; "you 
 must come with us. So stop talking, and come 
 out of there in short order." 
 
76 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 And in a few moments a door in the rear was 
 opened, and a voice cried : 
 
 " Come on; I will go with you uns." 
 
 They came upon a boy seemingly about sixteen 
 years of age, who, as they reached him, closed the 
 door in which he had been standing awaiting the 
 coming of the two officers. The latter saw that 
 tracks had been made through the snow from 
 the dwelling-house to the buildings back of it. 
 So the major's first words to the boy were : 
 
 "Who left this cabin while I was talking to 
 your father ? " 
 
 " No one, stranger," was the boy's answer. 
 
 "How came those tracks in the snow, then?" 
 he was sternly asked. 
 
 " Oh ! when you uns first came up, dad was 
 certain you uns was after the stock, and he sent 
 me out, quietly like, to slip their halters and let 
 'em take for the bush." 
 
 There was nothing to do but accept the ex- 
 planation, hoping, yet doubting, it was true. 
 
 In a short time the guide caught, saddled, and 
 bridled a long-haired, hungry-looking brute, and 
 mounting it, he followed the major and his young 
 companion to the spot where the company of 
 cavalry awaited them. 
 
LIEUTENANT HARRY 77 
 
 The major hurriedly explained to his officers, 
 and turning to the guide, said: " See here, young 
 man; I want you to take us to Versailles by the 
 most direct road you know. If you do so you will 
 be paid for your time and trouble ; but if you play 
 us false I will have you shot. Now, if you under- 
 stand me, lead on." 
 
 The person so addressed turned his horse's 
 head down the road leading to the right, Major 
 Gray and the young lieutenant riding one on each 
 side of him. With the two other officers directly 
 behind them, closely followed by their men, the 
 march was resumed. 
 
 It was now midnight, and the little band rode 
 silently onward, scarce a word being spoken. 
 The young guide appeared to act in good faith, 
 and led the way without hesitation. 
 
 All things must end, sooner or later, even Mis- 
 souri roads and hours of snow and rain. As the 
 welcome break of storm and day came to warm 
 and cheer the cold and weary horsemen, Ver- 
 sailles appeared in the distance. As soon as 
 Harry saw the village, he tightened his bridle- 
 rein, struck his spurs into his horse, and with as 
 ferocious a yell as he could command, dashed far 
 ahead of his comrades and into the Southern 
 
7% CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 town. He dropped one of his reins, and lost his 
 cap, but that was picked up by one of the men and 
 restored. As he shot past one of its suburban 
 dwellings, a window was thrown up with a crash, 
 and a man hurriedly thrust out a rifle, and dis- 
 charged it. The boy heard something flying be- 
 hind and beyond him, singing sip! and at the same 
 moment Major Gray roared, "Don't shoot! It is 
 only a boy ! " And then turning short around a 
 corner, our young lieutenant was soon in the pub- 
 lic square of Versailles, surrounded by his com- 
 panions. 
 
 In the center of this area was, of course, the 
 court-house, the pride of law-abiding citizens. 
 This building was surrounded by a low railing 
 that bore the initials of many a whittler. To this 
 railing three horses were hitched, saddled and 
 bridled. Standing in front of a store were a 
 dozen men and boys. 
 
 At Major Gray's suggestion, the young lieu- 
 tenant ordered the men to form a line facing their 
 captors, and surrender their arms to him. The 
 first command being speedily obeyed, our hero 
 rode up to each prisoner and obtained his wea- 
 pons, and a strange collection was made. 
 
 Among the captives were three who were evi- 
 
'- - 
 
 V 
 
LIEUTENANT HARRY 81 
 
 dently soldiers of the Southern army. On being 
 questioned, these men admitted that they be- 
 longed to General Price's army, but would di- 
 vulge neither their rank nor names. One of 
 them appeared to be an educated man and a 
 gentleman. His demeanor was cool, haughty, 
 and fearless. He seemed ashamed of the 
 cringing, frightened condition of most of his 
 companions. 
 
 Major Gray then detailed parties of three to 
 search for men and arms in the houses of the 
 town. Harry claimed, and his claim was granted, 
 the right to lead one of these parties. 
 
 As he was setting out to perform his self-im- 
 posed duty, Major Gray said to him: 
 
 " During your absence I shall be at the hotel, 
 where I intend to have our party take breakfast. 
 I shall ask the three Southern soldiers to be our 
 guests, as I am confident one of them at least is an 
 officer of no mean grade. So join me there when 
 you have made your search." 
 
 Feeling that already he had displayed general- 
 ship to be favorably compared with Napoleon's 
 crossing the Alps, the young lieutenant, with his 
 two men, a sergeant and a corporal, prepared to 
 carry by storm or strategy the only castle known 
 
82 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 in America— the dwelling-house of one of her 
 citizens. 
 
 I have not time to tell you of the exploration 
 the lieutenant and his men made in that house. 
 It is a story by itself. But explore it they did, 
 most thoroughly. 
 
 Soon after the little search-party left the house 
 and went back to the hotel, where the leader asked 
 Major Gray to appoint another to fill his place, 
 saying: "I guess I can serve my country better 
 here, Major, than poking over other people's 
 houses." 
 
 The major laughingly agreed with this sage 
 decision, and at the same time complied with the 
 boy's request. 
 
 When the search-parties had finished their 
 duties and returned to the hotel, reporting that no 
 concealed men or arms had been found, prepara- 
 tions for the return to Tipton were made. It was 
 decided to retain as prisoners only the three men 
 known to be Confederate soldiers. 
 
 The prisoners occupied a position in the center 
 of the company. There was something about 
 the most distinguished-looking of the three that 
 greatly attracted our hero, and from time to time 
 he would ride for a moment or two at the former's 
 
LIEUTENANT HARRY 83 
 
 side. The boy, too, seemed to interest and amuse 
 the captive, who at length, calling to Major Gray, 
 asked if there was any objection to the boy's re- 
 maining at his side during the journey. Being 
 answered in the negative, the two became travel- 
 ing companions. 
 
 It did not take long for the Southerner to draw 
 from our hero his whole story. But while seem- 
 ingly doing his share of the talking, he gave his 
 young companion very little information about 
 himself. 
 
 As the afternoon wore away, and the shadows 
 grew longer and longer, the cold began to make 
 itself felt. The young lieutenant's new friend 
 drew about him a short gray cloak that at the 
 time of his capture in the morning was hanging 
 on the pommel of his saddle, where he had thrown 
 it while he left his horse fastened to the railing in 
 front of the court-house. Something heavy in 
 this cloak, as he threw it about him, struck his 
 horse's shoulder with a dull sound. The boy 
 quickly looked up into his companion's face. For 
 a moment the unknown prisoner seemed buried in 
 deep thought. Then, turning to the lad, he said : 
 
 " Lieutenant, did you secure all of our weapons 
 this morning? " 
 
84 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 "All you had about you then/' was the an- 
 swer. 
 
 The prisoner smiled, and continued: "I want 
 to give you something to keep for me until the 
 fortunes of war bring it back to my hand. You 
 must not lose it, must not give it away, and you 
 must keep it about your own person while in the 
 army. Will you do this ? " 
 
 The boy promised. 
 
 Whereupon the prisoner drew from a deep 
 pocket in the lining of his gray cloak the most 
 beautifully chased silver-mounted revolver one 
 can imagine. Handing it to the young lieuten- 
 ant, its owner said : 
 
 " Be sure I shall some day take it back again." 
 
 The boy, delighted beyond expression at his 
 gift, made no reply beyond a simple " Thank 
 you " ; but added mentally, " No, you won't take 
 it back. I '11 keep it to show the boys at home— 
 the beauty ! " 
 
 The tired little force was now approaching 
 Tipton. As the young lieutenant's friend saw 
 houses in the distance, he said : 
 
 " You will soon be with your father again, and 
 I for one am glad of it. Some one did leave the 
 cabin you stopped at last night. It was the elder 
 
LIEUTENANT HARRY 85 
 
 brother of your guide. He went straight to Ver- 
 sailles after escaping from the house, reaching 
 there an hour before you did. He warned those 
 to fly whose capture by you and your men would 
 have hurt our army more than I dare tell you. 
 While you were searching houses, I sent the guide 
 that brought you to Versailles to hurry up certain 
 men of ours, not far off, to our rescue. I am glad 
 you did not change your road or stop at the house 
 of any of our friends for refreshment ; for if that 
 had been done you would be the prisoner now. 
 My boy, I am glad, for your sake only, that we 
 have reached Tipton without bloodshed. Re- 
 member, I shall recover my revolver from you. 
 Enjoy it while you can. Good-by, good-by." 
 And shaking the lad's hand warmly, with a kind, 
 sad smile softening the hard lines in his face, he 
 turned away. Harry never spoke to him again. 
 Resuming his position at Major Gray's side, the 
 company, with jingling sabers and clinking curb- 
 chains, trotted up to the headquarters. 
 
 In a moment our hero, with his arms full of 
 trophies, was in his father's room. 
 
 " See, see," the boy cried, " what I have cap- 
 tured, and a lot more outside! There are three 
 prisoners and three horses. One of the men is 
 
86 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 a general, I am sure. He gave me a revolver for 
 myself. And I say, father, may I keep it ? " 
 
 But by this time Major Gray came to his relief, 
 and gave a hurried report of their journey. The 
 general directed that the prisoners be taken to 
 camp and placed under guard, promising to talk 
 with his son's friend in the morning. He inti- 
 mated that the three men would be at once sent 
 to St. Louis for safe keeping. Harry was invited 
 to spend the night in his father's quarters, but de- 
 clined, preferring to go to camp along with his 
 company. So after obtaining permission to keep 
 the silver-mounted revolver, the young lieutenant 
 joined the company on their way to camp. Ere 
 long the camp was reached, and our young lieu- 
 tenant sought his tent, where a supper of hot 
 coffee, with bacon, beans, and hardtack, was soon 
 placed before him by his friend and orderly, 
 George. Harry related to the soldier his wonder- 
 ful adventures, and, I can promise you, they lost 
 nothing in the telling He displayed with pride 
 the handsome revolver, and intimated that his 
 friend the donor would be very wide awake if 
 he ever got it back again. 
 
 Shortly after supper the young officer con- 
 cluded to turn in, and made his way to the cot in 
 
LIEUTENANT HARRY 87 
 
 a corner of his tent, glad to lay his tired body be- 
 tween the warm blue blankets. Partly as a pre- 
 caution, but mainly that he might see it first thing 
 in the morning, he placed the unknown's gift 
 beneath his pillow, and quickly glided into dream- 
 land. Having reached that mysterious world, it 
 was not surprising that he should dream. Dream 
 he did, and most fantastically. 
 
 The sun was shining brightly when the boy 
 awoke. He put his hand under his pillow to draw 
 forth his revolver, that he might feast his eyes 
 upon it. It was not there! Springing from his 
 bed, he hurriedly dressed, and ran to the guards 
 charged with the security of the three prisoners. 
 Asking the sentinel on duty for his new-found 
 friend, he was reassured by a nod of the soldier's 
 head toward the prisoners' tent, a few feet distant. 
 Approaching it, our hero thrust head and shoul- 
 ders through one of the apertures between the 
 loops holding its flaps closely together, and saw 
 two prisoners calmly sleeping. The rider of the 
 sorrel horse, the owner of the fine revolver, the 
 friend of yesterday, was not there! 
 
 The young lieutenant never saw again the un- 
 known prisoner, never saw again the silver- 
 mounted revolver. 
 
A STORY OF FARRAGUT 
 
 BY CHARLES H. BODDER 
 
 ON the night of the 14th of March, 1863, Ad- 
 miral Farragut had planned to pass the bat- 
 teries of Port Hudson, on the Mississippi; to 
 clear the river of all fortifications between Port 
 Hudson and Vicksburg; to blockade the Red 
 River; and, with a portion of his fleet, to co- 
 operate with Grant at Vicksburg. 
 
 The vessels which were to pass these fortifica- 
 tions were the sloop-of-war Hartford, the frigate 
 Mississippi, the sloop-of-war Richmond, and the 
 gunboats Albatross and Genesee. 
 
 The batteries of Port Hudson were situated on 
 a high bluff, and erected to operate against land 
 and naval forces. They were five in number, 
 mounting from one to three heavy siege-guns 
 each, and were arranged in the form of a crescent. 
 
 It was planned that the shipping should make 
 the attack at night, and pass the batteries; and. 
 
=; 
 
 accomplished, 
 
 c • .-- Lilt; 
 
 ar f Port Hudson, under the command of Gen- 
 al Banks, was to make an assault upon the Con- 
 lerate works in the rear. 
 
 The senior commanding officer, next to Far- 
 gut, was Captain James Alden, of the United 
 a e s sloop-of -war i?«r/i mond. 
 
 The United States sloop-of-war Hartford was 
 the flag-ship ;: the fleet; but when the Admiral 
 w a s o a any other vessel b i s a g w a s h ; : s t ed on 
 that vessel during his stay on board, and she 
 would be consider r a as the flag-ship. 
 
 The naval attack ::t that night proved in a 
 measure disastrous to us. 
 
 The rzj/r: 1 yz lei the van with the Albatross 
 ice : next came the Mississippi, fol- 
 Richmond, with the Genesee lashed 
 
 lashed t: h 
 
 lowed by 1 
 
 to her side, 
 
 The bat 
 
 sice. ascer. 
 lashed to 
 
 rigaht-hana 
 
 ":: : ats were 
 
 ig the river, end the gunboa 
 
 e oort (or left-hand sites :: the 
 sloops-of-war as they went up the river. 
 
 0:t the Richmond was a boy who, from his 
 keenness :: sight, agility, and mischievousness, 
 
 had earned for hint self the tide :•: "' Vntkey." 
 which was shrntened t: "V::tk." He was a 
 
9 o CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 general favorite among officers and men, and his 
 position, as signal-boy, brought him in close con- 
 tact with the senior officers, as the station to 
 which he was assigned in action was abaft, on the 
 poop deck. 
 
 The night of the attack was a dark night, and 
 the current was running at the rate of about eight 
 miles an hour; against this current the vessels 
 had to make their way. .The batteries extended 
 for a distance of four miles. 
 
 The Hartford succeeded in passing and get- 
 ting above the fortifications, with the gunboat 
 Albatross. The Richmond had passed all except 
 the upper battery; but as she was turning the 
 point above, a plunging shot from one of the lower 
 batteries struck her, cutting one of her steam 
 pipes, which rendered her helpless. The Genesee, 
 the vessel lashed alongside of her, also becoming 
 disabled, they were prevented from proceeding 
 further up the river, and both vessels had to drift 
 at the mercy of the current, and were exposed to 
 the deadly fire from all the batteries. 
 
 The Confederates had, in the beginning of the 
 assault, built large fires on the bluff, which en- 
 abled them to see the shipping plainly, but con- 
 fused the sight of the gunners on the ships. 
 
A STORY OF FARRAGUT 91 
 
 The Mississippi ran aground opposite the third 
 battery and became a helpless target for the 
 enemy. She was set on fire by the Confederate 
 shells, which compelled her officers and crew to 
 abandon her. Toward daylight she floated off, 
 and drifted down the river all ablaze, with her 
 guns going off from the intense heat, and throw- 
 ing their shells in every direction. She finally 
 blew up six miles below Port Hudson, and what 
 remained of her wreck sank beneath the waters of 
 her namesake. 
 
 The Richmond and Genesee floated down the 
 river, taking up the positions they occupied 
 previous to the engagement. They lowered their 
 boats and sent them out to row about and pick up 
 any officers and men who might luckily have 
 escaped from the ill-fated Mississippi. 
 
 The lower fleet, under the command of Captain 
 James Alden of the Richmond, in cooperation 
 with the army, kept Port Hudson under siege 
 until it was compelled to surrender on the 7th day 
 of July following. 
 
 During the interval between the naval attack 
 and the surrender of Port Hudson, Admiral Far- 
 ragut had succeeded in blockading the Red River, 
 and destroying all fortifications of any note be- 
 
92 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 tween Port Hudson and Vicksburg. Leaving 
 the Hartford and the Albatross to hold the posi- 
 tion they had gained, he himself returned, by 
 land, to the lower fleet at Port Hudson, which 
 consisted of the Richmond, the gunboats Monon- 
 gahela, Keneo, and Genesee, and four mortar- 
 schooners. 
 
 During the time of the siege the Admiral chose 
 the Richmond for his flag-ship. 
 
 One afternoon during the month of June, the 
 Admiral came up from dinner from the captain's 
 cabin, and ascended the ladder to the poop deck, 
 where he found the boy Monk on watch. 
 
 One of the duties of the signal-boy was to be 
 on the lookout with a spy-glass to report anything 
 new that he might observe. 
 
 "Have you noticed anything new up there ?" 
 said the Admiral, addressing the boy, at the same 
 time reaching out for the spy-glass. Monk 
 handed him the glass, touching his cap in salu- 
 tation. 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Monk ; " just above the 
 citadel" (the citadel was the first battery, con- 
 taining two heavy siege-guns, and commanding 
 the approach from the river) " I noticed the edge 
 of a new earthwork." 
 
f " ' 
 
 
 
 
 j 
 I 
 
 \ 
 
 ! 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 
 # 
 
 rr^jS 
 
 812 
 
 , V |J# ; | j P 
 
 , 
 
 ■■■ 
 
 V 
 
 ^jl!! 
 
 
 iff 
 
 R 
 
 Up 
 
 Mr. 
 if i * 
 
 ADMIRAL DAVID G. FARRAGUT. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY SARONY 
 
A STORY OF FARRAGUT 95 
 
 "When did you first notice it?" asked the 
 Admiral. 
 
 "This morning, sir," replied Monk, "but as 
 I was not certain that it amounted to any- 
 thing, I thought I would wait and see if it 
 grew any larger before I reported it. It has 
 grown quite considerably during the last hour; 
 I was about to report it just as you came up, 
 sir." 
 
 " Take the glass," said the Admiral, handing it 
 back to him, " and look carefully." 
 
 The boy looked at the earthwork, and then, ad- 
 dressing the Admiral, said, " They are digging 
 there. I can see when they throw the dirt, but I 
 cannot see the men." 
 
 The Admiral again took the glass, and after a 
 moment's scrutiny, lowered it, and looking kindly 
 on the boy, said, " You have very keen sight, my 
 lad; I can see the new earth myself, but cannot 
 distinguish the operation." 
 
 At this moment Captain Alden joined the Ad- 
 miral. 
 
 " Alden," said the Admiral, " this youngster 
 has sharp eyes." 
 
 "Yes," answered the captain, "there is not a 
 man or boy on board whose eyesight is as keen 
 
96 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 and as far-reaching as his. I have known him to 
 distinguish the different colors of lights at sea 
 when all others failed to do so." 
 
 " He has discovered a new earthwork in prep- 
 aration up there among the batteries/' said the 
 Admiral. 
 
 "Where?" asked the captain, with eagerness, 
 and addressing himself to Monk. 
 
 " Just beyond the citadel, sir," said Monk. 
 
 " Suppose we go up and see what it is," said the 
 Admiral. 
 
 " With pleasure," replied Captain Alden. 
 
 " Mr. Boyd," said the captain to the officer of 
 the deck, " have Mr. Terry come on deck." Mr. 
 Terry was the executive officer. 
 
 " Mr. Terry," said the captain, " beat to quar- 
 ters, and stand by to slip the cable. Man the 
 starboard battery." 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir." 
 
 In a moment, the drum and fife were heard; 
 then there was the usual rush of the officers and 
 men hither and thither to reach their stations, 
 and the noise of casting loose the guns, placing 
 the handspikes in their positions, and the un- 
 shackling of the cable. After which came a sud- 
 den stillness. 
 
A STORY OF FARRAGUT 97 
 
 Everything being in preparation, the executive 
 officer saluted the captain, and said : 
 
 " To quarters, and all ready for slipping, sir." 
 
 " Slip cable, sir," ordered the captain. 
 
 " One bell, sir," said Mr. Terry, addressing the 
 engineer. One bell is the signal for starting 
 the engine slowly. 
 
 At the starting of the engine, the ship moved 
 forward just enough to hold her own against the 
 current. 
 
 " Slip the cable," came the order from the 
 executive officer to the forward officer. 
 
 The cable was slipped, and the moment the 
 ship was freed from her moorings, the executive 
 officer ordered the engineer to give her four bells, 
 which means, " Go ahead at full speed." 
 
 Captain Alden and the executive officer went 
 forward and occupied the bridge amidships, leav- 
 ing the Admiral and the boy Monk the only occu- 
 pants of the poop deck. 
 
 As the ship approached the batteries, she was 
 greeted with a shot from one of the upper bat- 
 teries, which fell short of its mark; the Admiral 
 was standing on the rail of the poop deck, and he 
 was holding on to the awning-rope to steady him- 
 self. 
 
98 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 Monk was standing by him on the deck, look- 
 ing through the spy-glass at the batteries we were 
 approaching. A puff of smoke came from the 
 upper battery, and Monk, lowering the glass, said; 
 "Admiral, here comes the Lady Davis." 
 
 In the upper battery was an 84-pound rifled 
 gun, which we in the fleet had nicknamed the 
 " Lady Davis." This gun had the longest range 
 of all the guns in the Confederate fortifications. 
 
 In a few seconds the report of the gun was 
 heard, followed by a terrific shrieking of the 
 shell; so certain did it seem to Monk, from the 
 fast approaching sound, that the shell would 
 strike the ship near him, that he dropped to the 
 deck, taking shelter under the rail. 
 
 He was not much mistaken in his judgment. 
 The shell struck the water directly beneath where 
 the Admiral and he were. It sent up a column of 
 water which nearly deluged both the Admiral and 
 Monk. But this did not visibly cause the least 
 movement on the part of the Admiral, or the 
 slightest change in his countenance excepting a 
 slight smile. 
 
 There was one thing that Admiral Farragut 
 was never known to do, and that was to bow his 
 head to a shot, no matter how near it came to him. 
 
THE SHELL SENT UP A COLUMN OF WATER WHICH NEARLY DELUGED 
 BOTH THE ADMIRAL AND MONK " 
 
A STORY OF FARRAGUT 101 
 
 The Admiral, turning, said to Monk : 
 
 "Why did you lie down?" 
 
 4k I thought," answered Monk, "that the shot 
 was going to strike us — " 
 
 "Well, suppose it had?" asked the Admiral. 
 "Would n't it have struck you just the same 
 whether you were lying down or standing up? " 
 
 " It might, sir," said Monk. " But I am a 
 little higher when I am standing up, and it would 
 have had more chances to hit me." 
 
 Some officers of the fleet had circulated among 
 the men the idea that when the sound of a shot or 
 shell was heard in the air, the missile had passed. 
 
 " They won't fool me any more by saying the 
 shot has passed when you hear the sound," mut- 
 tered Monk in an undertone. 
 
 "No, not very well, after this," said the Ad- 
 miral, smiling. 
 
 On regaining his feet, Monk saw a slight tinge 
 in the cheeks of the Admiral, and perceived also 
 that his lips were compressed with a determined 
 expression. He heard Farragut say, just above 
 a whisper : " Well, I will pay them for that shot." 
 
 " You go," said the Admiral, addressing Monk, 
 " and tell Captain Alden to man both batteries ; 
 and go up within range of the upper battery, and 
 
102 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 give it a broadside from our starboard battery; 
 and then turn, and give it a broadside from our 
 port battery ! " 
 
 This message Monk quickly delivered. 
 
 On proceeding up the river, it was found that 
 the enemy had mounted four guns, and were pre- 
 paring to mount others. 
 
 They opened fire from this new battery. The 
 fire was returned from the starboard battery, 
 which completely demolished the whole earth- 
 work, guns and all. Then, bringing the star- 
 board guns to bear on the upper battery, the ship 
 gave that a broadside, and turning, repeated the 
 broadside with the port battery, as the Admiral 
 had ordered. Then we returned down the river 
 to our old anchorage. 
 
 A few days after, some of our men ashore took 
 a negro prisoner, and brought him on board of 
 our ship. On the evening following this capture, 
 Monk finding the darky, whose name was Cato, 
 forward among the men, the following dialogue 
 ensued : 
 
 " Say, Cato, how long were you in Port Hud- 
 son?" 
 
 " I was dar 'bout free raon's." 
 
 " What did you do up there ? " 
 
A STORY OF FARRAGUT 103 
 
 " I cooked fer de of'cers." 
 
 " What were you doing when caught ? " 
 
 " Bress my soul, honey, Ah was a-fishin'." 
 
 " Did you have time up there to go fishing? " 
 
 " Ah had ter ketch fish, honey, or dey would n't 
 
 er had nuffin' for to eat." 
 
 " Did n't you have any bread and meat? " 
 "We use' ter have; afore dat day w'en dis 
 
 ship cum up dar, fightin' us." 
 
 " Did many of them get hurt that day ? " 
 
 " Umph, umph, honey, dat dey did ! " 
 
 " Say, Cato, what 's the matter with that big 
 
 rifled gun, up there? I have n't heard it for some 
 
 days." 
 
 " He, he, he ! " laughed the negro. " W'y, dat 
 
 same day one o' de shot from dis ship knocked de 
 
 muzzle off ! " 
 
 "Well," said Monk, just before he dropped 
 
 asleep that night. "The Admiral did pay them 
 
 back for that shot ! " 
 
A DRUMMER-BOY AT GETTYSBURG 1 
 
 ON the 12th of June, 1863, m y journal says: 
 " Very warm, dust plenty, water scarce, 
 marching very hard. Halted at dusk at an ex- 
 cellent spring, and lay down for the night with 
 aching limbs and blistered feet." 
 
 On the 14th we were racing with the enemy — 
 we being pushed on to the utmost of human endur- 
 ance — for the possession of the defenses of Wash- 
 ington. From five o'clock of that morning till 
 three the following morning, — that is to say, from 
 daylight to daylight, — we were hurried along 
 under a burning June sun, with no halt longer 
 than sufficient to recruit our strength with a hasty 
 cup of coffee at noon and nightfall. Nine, ten, 
 eleven, twelve o'clock at night, and still on! It 
 was almost more than flesh could endure. Men 
 fell out of line in the darkness by the score, and 
 tumbled over by the road-side, asleep almost be- 
 fore they touched the ground. 
 
 1 From " Recollections of a Drummer-Boy," 
 104 
 
A DRUMMER-BOY AT GETTYSBURG 105 
 
 Now comes a long rest of a week in the woods 
 near the Potomac, for we have been marching 
 parallel with the enemy, and dare not go too fast, 
 lest by some sudden and dexterous move in the 
 game he should sweep past our rear in upon the 
 defenses of Washington. And after this sweet 
 refreshment, we cross the Potomac on pontoons, 
 and march, perhaps with a lighter step, since we 
 are nearing home, through the smiling fields and 
 pleasant villages of " Maryland, my Maryland." 
 At Poolesville, a little town on the north bank of 
 the Potomac, we smile as we see a lot of children 
 come trooping out of the village school, — a merry 
 sight to men who have seen neither woman nor 
 child these six months and more, and a touching 
 sight to many a man in the ranks as he thinks of 
 his little flaxen-heads in the far-away home. 
 Aye, think of them now and think of them full 
 tenderly, for many a man of you shall never have 
 child climb on his knee any more ! 
 
 As we enter one of these pleasant little Mary- 
 land villages, we find on the outskirts of the place 
 two young ladies and two young gentlemen wav- 
 ing the good old flag as we pass, and singing 
 " Rally round the Flag, Boys." The excitement 
 along the line is intense. Cheer on cheer is given 
 
106 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 by regiment after regiment as we pass along, we 
 drummer-boys beating, at the Colonel's expres^ 
 orders, the old tune, " The Girl I left behind me," 
 as a sort of response. Soon we are in among the 
 hills again, and still the cheering goes on in the 
 far distance to the rear. 
 
 Only ten days later we passed through the same 
 village again, and were met by the same young 
 ladies and gentlemen, waving the same flag 
 and singing the same song. But though we 
 tried twice, and tried hard, we could not cheer 
 at all, for there 's a difference between five hun- 
 dred men and one hundred— is there not? So, 
 that second time, we drooped our tattered flags, 
 and raised our caps in silent and sorrowful 
 salute. 
 
 " Colonel, close up your men and move on as 
 rapidly as possible." 
 
 It is the morning of July ist, and we are cross- 
 ing a bridge over a stream, as the Staff-officer, 
 having delivered this order for us, dashes down 
 the line to hurry up the regiments in the rear. 
 We get up on a high range of hills, from which we 
 have a magnificent view. The day is bright, the 
 air is fresh and sweet, and the sun shines out of 
 an almost cloudless sky, and as we gaze away off 
 
A DRUMMER-BOY AT GETTYSBURG 107 
 
 yonder down the valley to the left— look ! Do you 
 see that ? A puff of smoke in midair ! Very small 
 and miles away, as the faint and long-coming 
 " boom " of the exploding shell indicates, but it 
 means that something is going on yonder, away 
 down in the valley, in which, perhaps, we may 
 have a hand before the day is done. See! An- 
 other — and another! Faint and far away comes 
 the long-delayed " boom ! " " boom ! " echoing over 
 the hills, as the Staff-officer dashes along the lines 
 with orders to "double-quick! double-quick!" 
 
 Four miles of almost constant double-quicking 
 is no light work at any time, least of all on such a 
 day as this memorable first day of July, for it is 
 hot and dusty. But we are in our own State now, 
 boys, and the battle is opening ahead, and it is no 
 time to save breath. On we go, now up a hill, 
 now over a stream, now checking our headlong 
 rush for a moment, for we must breathe a little. 
 But the word comes along the line again, " double- 
 quick," and we settle down to it with right good- 
 will, while the cannon ahead seem to be getting 
 nearer and louder. There 's little said in the 
 ranks, for there is little breath for talking, though 
 every man is busy enough thinking. We all feel, 
 somehow, that our day has come at last— as in- 
 deed it has ! 
 
108 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 We get in through the outskirts of Gettysburg, 
 tearing down the fences of the town lots and out- 
 lying gardens as we go ; we pass a battery of brass 
 guns drawn up beside the Seminary, some hun- 
 dred yards in front of which building, in a strip of 
 meadow-land, we halt, and rapidly form the line 
 of battle. 
 
 " General, shall we unsling knapsacks? " shouts 
 some one down the line to our Division-general, 
 as he is dashing by. 
 
 "Never mind the knapsacks, boys; it 's the 
 State now ! " 
 
 And he plunges his spurs up to the rowels in the 
 flanks of his horse, as he takes the stake-and-rider 
 fence at a leap and is away. 
 
 " Unfurl the flags, Color-guard! " 
 
 " Now, forward, double " 
 
 " Colonel, we 're not loaded yet! " 
 
 A laugh runs along the line as, at the command 
 " Load at will — load!" the ramrods make their 
 merry music, and at once the word is given, " For- 
 ward, double-quick ! " and the line sweeps up that 
 rising ground with banners gayly flying, and 
 cheers that rend the air — a sight, once seen, never 
 to be forgotten. 
 
 I suppose my boy-readers wonder what a drum- 
 
A DRUMMER-BOY AT GETTYSBURG in 
 
 mer-boy does in time of battle. Perhaps they 
 have the same idea I used to have, namely, that it 
 is the duty of a drummer-boy to beat his drum all 
 the time the battle rages, to encourage the men 
 or drown the groans of the wounded ! But if they 
 will reflect a moment, they will see that amid the 
 confusion and noise of battle, there is little chance 
 of martial music being either heard or heeded. 
 Our Colonel had long ago given us our orders : 
 
 " You drummer-boys, in time of an engage- 
 ment, are to lay aside your drums and take 
 stretchers and help off the wounded. I expect 
 you to do this, and you are to remember that, in 
 doing it, you are just as much helping the battle 
 on as if you were fighting with guns in your 
 hands." 
 
 And so we sit down there on our drums, and 
 watch the line going in with cheers. Forthwith 
 we get a smart shelling, for there is evidently 
 somebody else watching that advancing line be- 
 sides ourselves ; but they have elevated their guns 
 a little too much, so that every shell passes quite 
 over the line and plows up the meadow-sod about 
 us in all directions. 
 
 Laying aside our knapsacks, we go to the Sem- 
 inary, now rapidly filling with the wounded. This 
 
ii2 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 the enemy surely can not know, or they would n't 
 shell the building so hard ! We get stretchers at 
 the ambulances, and start out for the line of battle. 
 We can just see our regimental colors waving in 
 the orchard, near a log-house about three hundred 
 yards ahead, and we start out for it. 
 
 There is one of our batteries drawn up to our 
 left a short distance as we run. It is engaged in 
 a sharp artillery duel with one of the enemy's, 
 which we can not see, although we can hear it 
 plainly enough, and straight between the two our 
 road lies. So, up we go, at a lively trot, dodging 
 the shells as best we can, till, panting for breath, 
 we set down our stretchers under an apple-tree in 
 the orchard, in which, under the brow of the hill, 
 we find the regiment lying, one or two companies 
 being out on the skirmish line ahead. 
 
 I count six men of Company C lying yonder in 
 the grass killed — killed, they say, by a single shell. 
 Andy, my messmate, calls me away for a moment 
 to look after some poor fellow whose arm is off at 
 the shoulder ; and it was just time I got away, too, 
 for immediately a shell plunges into the sod where 
 I had been sitting, tearing my stretcher to tatters 
 and plowing up a great furrow under one of the 
 boys who had been sitting immediately behind me, 
 
A DRUMMER-BOY AT GETTYSBURG 113 
 
 and who thinks " That was rather close shaving, 
 was n't it, now?" The bullets whistling over- 
 head make pretty music with their ever-varying 
 "z-i-p! z-i-p!" and we could imagine them so 
 many bees, only they have such a terribly sharp 
 sting. 
 
 "Here they come, boys; we '11 have to go in 
 at them on a charge, I guess ! " Creeping close 
 around the corner of the log-house, I can see the 
 long lines of gray sweeping up in fine style over 
 the fields; but I feel the Colonel's hand on my 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Keep back, my boy; no use exposing yourself 
 in that way." 
 
 As I get back behind the house and look around, 
 an old man is seen approaching our line through 
 the orchard in the rear. He is dressed in a long, 
 blue, swallow-tailed coat and high silk hat, and 
 coming up to the Colonel, he asks : 
 
 "Would you let an old chap like me have a 
 chance to fight in your ranks, Colonel? " 
 
 " Can you shoot? " inquires the Colonel. 
 
 " Oh yes, I can shoot, I reckon," says he. 
 
 " But where are your cartridges ? " 
 
 " I 've got 'em here, sir," says the old man,, 
 slapping his hand on his pantaloons pocket. 
 
H 
 
 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 And so " old John Burns/' of whom every 
 school-boy has heard, takes his place in the line 
 and loads and fires with the best of them, and is 
 
 THE OLD HERO OF GETTYSBURG 
 
A DRUMMER-BOY AT GETTYSBURG 115 
 
 left wounded and insensible on the field when the 
 day is done. 
 
 Reclining there under a tree while the skirmish- 
 ing is going on in front and the shells are tearing 
 up the sod around us, I observe how evidently 
 hard pressed is that battery yonder in the edge of 
 the wood, about fifty yards to our right. The 
 enemy's batteries have excellent range on the poor 
 fellows serving it. And when the smoke lifts or 
 rolls away in great clouds for a moment, we can 
 see the men running, and ramming, and sighting, 
 and firing, and swabbing, and changing position 
 every few minutes to throw the enemy's guns out 
 of range a little. The men are becoming terribly 
 few, but nevertheless their guns, with a rapidity 
 that seems unabated, belch forth great clouds of 
 smoke and send the shells shrieking over the 
 plain. 
 
 Meanwhile, events occur which give us some- 
 thing more to think of than mere skirmishing and 
 shelling. Our beloved Brigadier-general, step- 
 ping out a moment to reconnoiter the enemy's po- 
 sition and movements, is seen by some sharp- 
 shooter of! in a tree, and is carried severelv 
 wounded into the barn. Our Colonel assumes 
 
 command of the brigade. Our regiment facing 
 
 7 
 
u6 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 westward, while the line on our right faces to the 
 north, is observed to be exposed to an enfilading 
 fire from the enemy's guns, as well as from the 
 long line of gray now appearing in full sight on 
 our right. So our regiment must form in line 
 and change front forward, in order to come in 
 line with the other regiments. Accomplished 
 swiftly, this new movement brings our line at 
 once face to face with the enemy's, which ad- 
 vances to within fifty yards, and exchanges a few 
 volleys, but is soon checked and staggered by 
 our fire. 
 
 Yet now, see! Away to our left, and conse- 
 quently on our flank, a new line appears, rapidly 
 advancing out of the woods a half-mile away, and 
 there must be some quick and sharp work done 
 now, Boys, or, between the old foes in front and 
 the new ones on our flank, we shall be annihilated. 
 To clear us of these old assailants in front before 
 the new line can sweep down on our flank, our 
 brave Colonel, in a ringing command, orders a 
 charge along the whole line. Then, before the 
 gleaming and bristling bayonets of our " Buck- 
 tail " brigade, as it yells and cheers, sweeping 
 resistlessly over the field, the enemy gives way 
 and flies in confusion. But there is little time to 
 
A DRUMMER-BOY AT GETTYSBURG 117 
 
 watch them fly, for that new line on our left is 
 approaching at a rapid pace ; and, with shells fall- 
 ing thick and fast into our ranks, and men drop- 
 ping everywhere, our regiment must reverse the 
 former movement by "changing front to rear/' 
 and so resume its original position facing west- 
 ward, for the enemy's new line is approaching 
 from that direction, and if it takes us in flank, we 
 are done for. 
 
 To " change front to rear " is a difficult move- 
 ment to execute even on drill, much more so under 
 severe fire; but it is executed now steadily and 
 without confusion, yet not a minute too soon! 
 For the new line of gray is upon us in a mad tem- 
 pest of lead, supported by a cruel artillery fire, 
 almost before our line can steady itself to receive 
 the shock. However, partially protected by a 
 post-and-rail fence, we answer fiercely, and with 
 effect so terrific that the enemy's line wavers, and 
 at length moves off by the right flank, giving us a 
 a breathing space for a time. 
 
 See yonder ! Our Colonel is clapping his hand 
 to his cheek, from which a red stream is pouring ; 
 our Lieutenant-colonel is kneeling on the ground, 
 and is having his handkerchief tied tight around 
 his arm at the shoulder; the Major and Adjutant 
 
u8 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 both lie low, pierced with balls through the chest ; 
 one Lieutenant is waving his sword to his men, 
 although his leg is crushed at the knee; three 
 other officers of the line are lying over there, 
 motionless now forever. All over the field 
 are strewn men wounded or dead, and comrades 
 pause a moment in the mad rush to catch the last 
 words of the dying. Incidents such as these the 
 reader must imagine for himself, to fill in 
 these swift sketches of how the day was won — 
 and lost ! 
 
 Aye, lost ! For the balls which have so far 
 come mainly from our front, begin now to sing in 
 from our left and right, which means that we are 
 being flanked. Somehow, away off to our right, a 
 half-mile or so, our line has given way and is al- 
 ready on retreat through the town, while our left 
 is being driven in, and we ourselves may shortly 
 be surrounded and crushed — and so the retreat is 
 sounded. 
 
 On, now, through that strip of woods, at the 
 other edge of which, with my back against a 
 stout oak, I stop and look at a beautiful and 
 thrilling sight. Some reserves are being brought 
 up; infantry in the center, the colors flying and 
 officers shouting; cavalry on the right with sa- 
 
A DRUMMER-BOY AT GETTYSBURG 119 
 
 bers flashing and horses on a trot; artillery on 
 the left, with guns at full gallop sweeping into 
 
 THE DRUMMER-BOY AT HIS POST 
 
 position to check the headlong pursuit — it is a 
 grand sight and a fine rally, but a vain one; for 
 
120 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 in an hour we are swept off the field and are in 
 full retreat through the town. 
 
 Up through the streets hurries the remnant of 
 our shattered corps, while the enemy is pouring 
 into the town only a few squares away from us. 
 There is a tempest of shrieking shells and whist- 
 ling balls about our ears. The guns of that bat- 
 tery by the woods we have dragged along, all the 
 horses being disabled. The artillery-men load 
 as w 7 e go, double-charging with grape and can- 
 ister. 
 
 " Make way there, men ! " is the cry, and the 
 surging mass crowds close up on the sidewalks to 
 right and left, leaving a long lane down the 
 center of the street, through which the grape and 
 canister go rattling into the ranks of the enemy's 
 advance-guard. 
 
 And so, amid scenes which I have neither space 
 nor power to describe, we gain Cemetery Ridge 
 toward sunset, and throw ourselves down by the 
 road in a tumult of excitement and grief, having 
 lost the day through the overwhelming force of 
 numbers, and yet somehow having gained it, too 
 (although as yet we know it not), for the sacri- 
 fice of our corps has saved the position for the 
 rest of the army, which has been marching all 
 
A DRUMMER-BOY AT GETTYSBURG 121 
 
 day, and which comes pouring in over Cemetery 
 Ridge all night long. 
 
 Aye, the position is saved — but where is our 
 corps? Well may our Division-general, who 
 early in the day succeeded to the command when 
 our brave Reynolds had fallen, shed tears of grief 
 as he sits there on his horse and looks over the 
 shattered remains of that First Army Corps, for 
 there is but a handful of it left. Of the five hun- 
 dred and fifty men that marched under our regi- 
 mental colors in the morning, but one hundred 
 remain. All our Field and Staff officers are 
 gone. Of some twenty captains and lieutenants, 
 but one is left without a scratch, while of my own 
 company only thirteen out of fifty-four sleep that 
 night on Cemetery Ridge, under the open canopy 
 of heaven. 
 
 ^ 
 
 »&AS? 
 
HOW MOSES WAS EMANCIPATED 
 
 (A True Story of the Civil War) 
 
 BY SUSAN HUNTINGTON HOOKER 
 
 MAMA, mama, where did you get this pho- 
 tograph of a darky with such funny, wide- 
 open eyes, and why are you keeping it ? " asked 
 Fritz, who had been rummaging in the drawer of 
 an old bureau sacred to relics of bygone days. 
 Mrs. Reed paused a moment on her way through 
 the room, and exclaimed: " Oh, Fritz, what 
 are you doing in that drawer? Shut it up. 
 There are all sorts of valuable and rubbishy 
 things there — things I shall never have time to 
 look over until you children are grown up, and I 
 am a gray old grandmother with nothing else 
 to do." 
 
 Mrs. Reed had taken the photograph in her 
 hand, and was utterly oblivious of Fritz's pres- 
 ence. Her mind was in the past. It was not the 
 photograph, but the glimpse she had of the 
 
 122 
 
HOW MOSES WAS EMANCIPATED 123 
 
 drawer, with its old letters, shoulder-straps, army 
 buttons, bits of Confederate scrip that had pa- 
 pered a room she saw in Vicksburg, and other 
 odd relics. She even wondered how she came by 
 that battered and faded old picture. 
 
 " I remember this now," said mama, after 
 a few moments' thinking. " Papa sent me 
 the picture while he was in the army. That 
 colored man has quite a history. This evening 
 ask your father to tell you ' How Moses was 
 Emancipated.' " 
 
 When Mr. Reed opened the front door that 
 evening he was at once surrounded by a clamor- 
 ous group of children, all talking at once. 
 
 "Tell us about Moses precipitated!" cried 
 Betty's shrill treble, a little higher than the 
 others. 
 
 "No, no, Betty; not precipitated," said Dan. 
 
 " Well, Moses anticipated, then," said she. 
 
 They all laughed, and Miss Betty subsided. 
 
 Her father picked her up and led the way into 
 the sitting-room. 
 
 Mr. Reed was a busy man, absorbed in the 
 cares of a large business. He found little time 
 to think of the past, and the old Civil War days 
 were sometimes almost like a dream to him, or 
 
124 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 seemed as if belonging to some previous exis- 
 tence. He had served three years in an engineer 
 regiment that was transferred from one army- 
 corps to another as their work was needed, 
 and as much of it was repairing and building 
 bridges and railroads in the hostile country, he 
 could tell of many a skirmish with bushwhackers 
 that belongs to the unwritten history of the 
 war. 
 
 It was a rare treat for the children when they 
 could lead him to tell some of the strange 
 and thrilling exploits in which he had taken 
 part. 
 
 After tea, when they were all gathered around 
 the fireplace with its bright wood fire, and Betty 
 had climbed into his lap and nestled her head 
 against him in a persuasive way, their father told 
 them " How Moses was Emancipated." 
 
 You all have heard that the siege of Vicks- 
 burg lasted many months. During the first part 
 of the siege our regiment was engaged in very 
 important and sometimes very dangerous work 
 in front of Vicksburg. We had a number of 
 times to run the blockade, and our work on the 
 fortifications was often directly under the ene- 
 
HOW MOSES WAS EMANCIPATED 125 
 
 mys guns. One day orders came for us to join 
 the forces in the rear of the city. We crossed 
 the river, and reached the other side after a 
 roundabout march. Our regiment was placed in 
 front of one of the enemy's most formidable for- 
 tifications. At first we were some distance away, 
 but we gradually worked up with our approaches 
 until we were within speaking distance. We came 
 so near that we could "pass the time o' day" 
 and talk in as friendly a way as you please. Oc- 
 casionally our men would throw the poor, hungry 
 fellows opposite a bit of bacon or a bite of hard- 
 tack. 
 
 We were fairly starving them out, and when 
 they surrendered there was not a bit of flour or 
 fresh beef in the city. They had long been living 
 on mule and horse meat and corn meal. An order 
 came at this time for a secret and dangerous ser- 
 vice, and we learned that we were to undermine 
 a part of the fort and blow it up. The entrance 
 to the tunnel was covered with a thick growth 
 of underbrush, and secretly and silently our brave 
 sappers and miners did their work. 
 
 We made a long tunnel, with a gradual de- 
 scent, flat at the bottom and arched overhead. 
 The men passed the dirt out one to the other in 
 
HOW MOSES WAS EMANCIPATED 127 
 
 pails and baskets, and it was carefully distributed 
 inside of our earthworks so as not to attract at- 
 tention. The work progressed slowly but surely, 
 until finally the day came when it was ready for 
 the mine. Our men carried in keg after keg of 
 powder until there were about three thousand 
 pounds in the end of the mine. Then fuses were 
 so placed as to connect the kegs, to make sure 
 of an instantaneous explosion. When the mine 
 was finished the tunnel was packed solidly with 
 earth for some distance, the fuse being carried 
 through the barrier by means of a tube. 
 
 When everything was ready our men came out, 
 leaving one man, a plucky fellow with nerves like 
 steel and a sure hand, to light the fuse. It was 
 a critical moment when the men lying in the in- 
 trenchments awaited the result. Our brave com- 
 rade had scarcely joined us when the explosion 
 took place. 
 
 We saw what looked like a volcano before us. 
 Stones, camp equipage, and clouds of dirt were 
 blown into the air, and one nondescript black 
 mass was thrown directly into our camp. Im- 
 agine our surprise, when this bit of wreck un- 
 rolled itself, at seeing the blackest and most 
 scared looking darky we ever beheld! — his eyes 
 
128 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 fairly protruding from their sockets. As he came 
 plump down on a pile of soft earth, and a mo- 
 ment later rolled off on to the ground, we were 
 about as much amazed as he was. Marvelous 
 as it may seem, the man was as sound as a dollar, 
 not a bone broken. As soon as he could articu- 
 late he said : 
 
 " Wha-wha-whar is I ? " 
 
 " Safe, safe in the Promised Land ! " said our 
 adjutant. 
 
 " Good Lawd, how 'd I get here? " 
 
 " I 'spect you came in a ' chariot of fire' ! " re- 
 plied the adjutant, who was never at a loss. 
 
 The bewildered darky looked around him in 
 a dazed sort of way, utterly unable to locate him- 
 self; but the blue coats of our soldiers and the 
 practical character of the camp seemed to con- 
 vince him that he was yet in the world. It took 
 him several days to pull himself together, and 
 after that we had great sport with him in the 
 camp, where he was a prime favorite. He used 
 to say: 
 
 " Gen'lemen, I admiah to stay heah ; but if ye 
 gwine send me back, I pray de Lawd ye won't 
 do it de way I come ! " 
 
 He told us direful stories of the straits of those 
 
MOSES ARRIVES IN CAMP BY THE " AIR LINE " 
 
HOW MOSES WAS EMANCIPATED 131 
 
 inside of the city. He said: "My missis she lib 
 in a cave 'side ob de road, for feah of de bomb- 
 shells. Her ha'r done all come out, and she 
 look moah like a scarecrow dan her own putty 
 self." 
 
 He gave us some valuable information in re- 
 gard to the fortifications and resources of the 
 enemy. He was delighted to be among the 
 " Yankees," and to feel that he was no longer a 
 slave. 
 
 When the boys questioned him about his flight, 
 he said : 
 
 " I was just lightin' de kindlin' to het up de 
 colonel a dish o' mule soup when de summons 
 come, and I was fired in de air like a rocket. I 
 dunno what all became ob de colonel or de 
 soup." 
 
 " What did you think, Moses, when you were 
 flying through the air?" was one of the inquiries 
 put to him. 
 
 " I done hab no use for thinkin'. 'T were too 
 suddint like; but, good Lawd, how de wind 
 blew!" 
 
 "Did n't you think that the last day had 
 come?" asked another soldier, upon joining the 
 group. 
 
132 
 
 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 " No, sah. I tawt de debbles was all let loose." 
 Moses proved a very good cook, and our colo- 
 nel appropriated him for his own particular use. 
 He always called him his " godsend," and was 
 never tired telling over the mess-table the story 
 of " How Moses was Emancipated." 
 
 I 
 
 l-PQUBCECAVt: -. r'~ ., _i__ u^'^^Vj 
 
ULYSSES S. GRANT AS LIEUTENANT-GENERAL 
 
jxji^tcU^^vi erf {yen*/ A^la^J (J (YuUZ?£i*s fOu^rvj- ffV~ /Z-£-e^& /& 
 
 Or\u^r^~e^i i f^a^C / £-^ a*rTf~C*Ce-~<, i J /i^^r^r ^^^o Atrt^ZT 
 fisw £e*>t &J^ pi> ^^^yCo A*rw o-CZ^ZC^j /£^w 1&&J MsmJU, 
 ^ (y>U™~_ J^ ^a^c ^ ^t^^l^ a^k^w i^£l*^i„ tsCC&+ 
 
 w^We*; /H^w f~JZZ^& 0-* £ryf^^tt &>~rx~j e^cts ^ u^tA? C**~U* fa** 
 
 Lincoln's god-speed to grant, (fac-simile of the 
 original, slightly reduced in scale) 
 
 [This remarkable letter was received by General Grant on 
 the ist of May, three days before the Wilderness campaign be- 
 gan. He was always careless about his papers, and private or 
 semi-official ones were often thrust into his pockets, where the) r 
 remained for months. In some such way Mr. Lincoln's beauti- 
 ful God-speed was mislaid. General Grant had forgotten its 
 existence, until in 1866 I came across it in my researches for 
 my history of his campaigns. He was so pleased at the dis- 
 covery, or recovery, that he gave me the original letter at the 
 time. It is my intention eventually to present it either to the 
 Government or to the family of General Grant. 
 
 Adam Badeau.] 
 
 New York, November io, 1885. 
 
SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY 
 
 BY GENERAL ADAM BADEAU 
 
 THERE are two kinds of war in modern 
 times: one is begun by governments, and 
 carried on principally by armies, and in this the 
 people of the countries have for the most part 
 little concern ; the other is war in which the peo- 
 ple themselves take an active part. The civil war 
 at the South was of the latter sort. After it was 
 once begun, the population of the South were as 
 profoundly interested as their own government, 
 and bore as important a part. Nearly every 
 grown white man in the Southern States was in 
 the ranks; and the women and children and the 
 few men who staid at home were, if anything, 
 more in earnest than those who belonged to the 
 army. The population, including the slaves, fur- 
 nished supplies of every sort to those at the front : 
 they made shoes and clothes and sometimes arms ; 
 they plowed and reaped, and ground and baked, 
 
 136 
 
SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY 137 
 
 and forwarded food. Without them the armies 
 of the South could not have been maintained. 
 
 The Valley of Virginia was the great farm- 
 ground and storehouse for Lee's army. It is an 
 unusually fertile region, two hundred miles long, 
 and fifty wide, lying between the Alleghany and 
 the Blue Ridge Mountains, and extending from 
 the Potomac on the north to the James River 
 on the south. Here the crops were raised that 
 fed the defenders of Richmond. Here the sad- 
 dles and harnesses for Lee's cavalry were made; 
 here were the gun-stock factories, the shoe-shops, 
 the cloth-mills, the furnaces and foundries that 
 furnished his munitions of war. 
 
 Grant believed that the war at the South could 
 not be ended solely by fighting. It was his policy 
 to destroy whatever supported the armies ; to kill 
 all the men ; to consume all the food, and to break 
 up all the roads by which further supplies could 
 be brought. There was plenty of fighting — as 
 many and fierce battles in the same space of time 
 as the world ever saw; but the struggle was be- 
 tween men of the same race, equally brave, equally 
 in earnest; and the only way to conquer, accord- 
 ing to Grant, was to attack the people as well as 
 the armies. One great means was the destruc- 
 
" THE ARMY CARRIED OFF ALL THE HORSES, CATTLE, AND MULES " 
 
SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY 139 
 
 tion of the supplies in the Valley of Virginia. 
 But the supplies were, ably and bravely defended, 
 and before they could be destroyed the defenders 
 must be beaten. This was Sheridan's first task. 
 
 He was just thirty-three years of age — the very 
 prime of life for a soldier ; for after forty no man 
 is so fit for war as before, so full of spirit and 
 vigor and endurance— and all these are qualities 
 of mind or body essential in a great commander. 
 " Old men for counsel, young men for action," 
 says the proverb, truly. But Sheridan was not 
 only full of energy; his judgment was clear, 
 which every one can see is also important in a 
 general. His decision too was quick, and this, if 
 possible, is more important still; for in the tur- 
 moil of battle there is not time to consider long. 
 As well decide wrong, as decide too late. Sheri- 
 dan had experience of war, he had skill, he had 
 undaunted courage. By courage I do not mean 
 merely the trait which enables a man to stand fire 
 without running away, but the fearlessness to 
 take great risks, to send his men into battle know- 
 ing that if he lost, he lost all — his own fame, the 
 lives of his troops, the future, perhaps, of his 
 country. Many a brave man shrinks in the pres- 
 ence of such possibilities. But this sort of daring 
 
HO CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 is indispensable in a great soldier; and this Sheri- 
 dan possessed. 
 
 He also had a sympathetic nature that attracted 
 men, gave him a great influence over them, and 
 made them love him and follow him. No soldier 
 on either side in the war had more of this personal 
 magnetism than Sheridan. In battle, he stood in 
 his stirrups, waving his hat and brandishing his 
 sword, and shouting to his men. His eyes 
 flashed, his face shone, and wounded men went 
 on after they had been shot, because he com- 
 manded them. He ordered the bands to play, and 
 led the front line himself with the colors in his 
 hand, and the example was contagious. Such a 
 man was almost sure to lead his troops to victory. 
 
 For six weeks the new commander moved cau- 
 tiously about at the entrance to the Valley; for 
 Sheridan was wary as well as active. His force 
 was little, if any, larger than Early's, and great 
 things hung on his success. It was important 
 to give the enemy no chance, yet a single mis- 
 move might leave open the road to Washington. 
 Besides this, he was hampered by the fact that 
 his own movements depended on those of other 
 armies a hundred miles away. 
 
 Finally, the country and the government be- 
 
(P-fcz/lu^ ^^s^ 
 
SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY 143 
 
 came impatient, as those often are who look at 
 war from afar, not knowing the plans or pros- 
 pects of commanders or, sometimes, the real situ- 
 ation. Grant therefore went to see Sheridan, 
 and talked with him of the position of affairs. 
 He took a plan of battle with him, in his pocket, 
 but he found Sheridan understood so well what 
 he had to do, that he told him to fight as he had 
 intended, and never showed him the plan. 
 
 The two armies were facing each other, a lit- 
 tle east of the town of Winchester, and Sheridan 
 moved forward the greater part of his command, 
 holding one division in reserve, to be used at the 
 crisis. Early learned that Grant had been with 
 Sheridan, and judging from this that a battle was 
 probable, recalled the detachment he had sent 
 away. It returned in the midst of the battle, and 
 proved an important re-enforcement, driving 
 Sheridan back from the ground he at first had 
 gained. Then, however, Sheridan brought up 
 his reserves on his own right, and wheeled them 
 around to envelop Early's left, while the North- 
 ern cavalry moved at the same time on the op- 
 posite flank. The double force approached with 
 terrible vigor, and the spectacle to the enemy was 
 tremendous. Crowded in on both flanks, over- 
 
^o 
 
 1M: 
 
 n%&& 
 
 » ill 
 
 tm wi 
 
 
 Vr '■'. NC'j. 
 
SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY 145 
 
 lapped on the left, with Sheridan's cavalry charg- 
 ing into them on the right, they fell into con- 
 fusion. " The result," said Grant, " was such 
 that I never afterward thought it necessary to 
 visit Sheridan before giving him orders." 
 
 The battle of Winchester lasted till dark on the 
 19th of September, and on the evening of the 20th 
 Sheridan came up with Early at Fisher's Hill. 
 
 On the morning of the 21st, Sheridan began 
 his preparations for another assault. He liked 
 the maneuver he had performed at Winchester so 
 well that he determined to try it again. 
 
 On the following day Sheridan drove the enemy 
 quite out of the narrow valley into the gaps of 
 the Blue Ridge Mountains, while his troops took 
 possession of the country a hundred miles south 
 of the Potomac River. The effect of these vic- 
 tories was prodigious. The whole North rang 
 with applause, and Sheridan became one of the 
 most conspicuous and popular of the Union gen- 
 erals. 
 
 It was now time for Sheridan to carry out 
 Grant's second set of orders. He had " followed 
 the enemy to the death," had " got south of them," 
 had driven them out of the coveted region, and re- 
 lieved the North from all fear of invasion by the 
 
146 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 Valley; now he was ready to begin the destruc- 
 tion of supplies. Sheridan therefore devastated 
 the whole country between the Blue Ridge and 
 the Alleghanies. It was very terrible, but it was 
 war ; and the crudest war is sometimes the most 
 merciful, for it is surer to be short. One side 
 or the other must give way. 
 
 So complete a destruction of the resources of a 
 country has hardly been known in modern war- 
 fare, but it answered its purpose, and helped to 
 end the war. 
 
 But the very success with which this plan was 
 carried out made it impossible for Sheridan him- 
 self to remain in the region. All forage and grain 
 south of him had been sent to Lee; all the rest 
 Sheridan himself had consumed or destroyed. 
 He was a hundred miles from his base, and sup- 
 plies could not be brought up rapidly enough to 
 enable him to penetrate farther. There was no 
 alternative but to retrace his steps. 
 
 Lee, however, could not yet make up his mind 
 to abandon this important territory; he deter- 
 mined to make one more effort to recover it. 
 Early had not absolutely crossed the Blue Ridge, 
 but had only fled to its western base, and Lee now 
 re-enforced him with ten thousand men, and or- 
 dered him to return. 
 
SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY 147 
 
 Sheridan, meanwhile, had begun his back- 
 ward march, " stretching the cavalry across the 
 Valley from the Blue Ridge to the eastern slope 
 of the Alleghanies, with directions to burn all 
 forage and barns, and drive off all stock as they 
 moved." 
 
 On the 9th of October, Early came up with the I 
 cavalry at a place called Tom's Brook, near the 
 site of the battle of Fisher's Hill; but Torbert, at 
 the head of Sheridan's horse, turned and routed 
 the Southern cavalry, capturing eleven guns, the 
 forges for the batteries, the wagons for head- 
 quarters, and everything else that was carried on 
 wheels. The enemy were followed " on the 
 jump " twenty-six miles, over a mountain and 
 across a river. 
 
 After this affair, the victorious general con- 
 tinued his northward march. Early remained 
 quiet for several days after his third defeat, and 
 then followed at a respectful distance. On the 
 13th of October, Sheridan was summoned to 
 Washington by the Secretary of War, who de- 
 sired to consult him about the further movements 
 of the campaign. On the 15th he started for the 
 capital, leaving his army, under the command of 
 General Wright. 
 
 Early, meanwhile, was preparing for a desper- 
 
148 
 
 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 ate effort, and on the night of the 18th of October, 
 he moved against Sheridan's army. Crossing 
 the river in the darkness, he crept unobserved 
 under the Union guns, attacked the army at day- 
 break, and drove in the left, capturing eighteen 
 
 /U* : jr^°H 
 
 SHERIDAN S HORSE 
 
 guns and a thousand prisoners. This part of the 
 command was absolutely routed. The right re- 
 mained unbroken, but the whole army was forced 
 back a distance of six or seven miles ; many of 
 the troops were in a deplorable condition, the in- 
 
SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY 149 
 
 fantry not even keeping together as companies. 
 It was a mob, not an army. 
 
 Sheridan had left Washington on the morning 
 of the 1 8th, by train, and passed the night at 
 Winchester, twenty miles north of the battle-field. 
 On the morning of the 19th, he heard the firing 
 of cannon, and sent out to inquire the cause, but 
 was told it came from a reconnoissance. At nine 
 o'clock he rode leisurely out of Winchester, not 
 dreaming that his army was in danger. After a 
 little, he heard again the sound of heavy guns, 
 and now he knew what it must mean. Not half a 
 mile from Winchester he came upon the appalling 
 marks of defeat and rout. The runaways from 
 the battle, still in flight, had got so far as this in 
 their terror. The trains of wagons were rushing 
 by, horses and drivers all in confusion, for there 
 is no worse turmoil in this world than the flight 
 and wreck of a beaten army. Sheridan had never 
 seen his own men in this condition before. 
 
 He at once ordered the trains to be halted, and 
 sent for a brigade of troops from Winchester; 
 these he posted across the road to prevent further 
 straggling. Then he called for an escort of 
 twenty men, and, directing his staff to stem the 
 torrent as well as they could, he set off himself 
 
SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY 151 
 
 for the battle-field. He rode straight into the 
 throng of fugitives, in a splendid passion of wrath 
 and determination, spurring his horse and swing- 
 ing his hat as he passed, and calling to the men : 
 
 " Face the other way, boys ! Face the other 
 way ! " 
 
 Hundreds turned at the appeal, and followed 
 him with cheers, for they all knew Sheridan. 
 
 It was ten o'clock before he reached the field. 
 There he rode about hurriedly, glanced at the po- 
 sition, and at once determined upon his course. 
 He re-arranged the line of those who were still 
 unbeaten, and then went back to bring up the 
 panic-stricken remainder. And now his presence 
 and personal influence told. He was in the full 
 uniform of a major-general, mounted on a mag- 
 nificent black horse, man and beast covered with 
 dust and flecked with foam; he rose again in his 
 stirrups, he drew his sword, he waved his hat, 
 and shouted to his soldiers : 
 
 " If I had been here, this never would have hap- 
 pened. Face the other way, boys! We are go- 
 ing back ! " 
 
 The flying soldiers were struck with shame 
 when they heard him shout and saw his face blaz- 
 ing with rage and courage and eagerness for 
 
152 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 them. They took up his cry themselves, " Face 
 the other way ! " It went on from one to another 
 for miles — from crowd to crowd — and they 
 obeyed the command. As the swelling shout 
 went on, the surging crowd returned. They 
 faced the other way, and, along the very road 
 which a cowering mob had taken three hours be- 
 fore, the same men marched, with the tread of 
 soldiers, to meet the enemy. They knew now 
 that they were led to victory. 
 
 He led them to their place; he re-formed the 
 whole line, and a breastwork of rails and logs 
 was thrown up— just in time. As Sheridan 
 reached the front he could see the enemy moving 
 to the attack; but now he was prepared. The 
 assault was heavy, but the men stood their 
 ground, and this time it was Early's troops that 
 broke. Then Sheridan advanced, and over the 
 same ground where his army had been defeated 
 in the morning, he pursued a shrinking enemy; 
 recaptured every cannon that had been lost, drove 
 the Southerners across the creek, found a ford 
 where the river turned, got among the wagons 
 and made the pursuit a rout. Early tried to rally 
 his men at Fisher's Hill, where he had fought a 
 few days before, but all in vain: there was no 
 
SHERIDAN IN THE VALLEY 153 
 
 organization left; he could not form them into 
 line. Two thousand made their way to the 
 mountains, and for ten miles the road was cov- 
 ered with small arms, blankets, knapsacks, and 
 wounded men — the fragments of a flying army. 
 
 This battle ended the campaign in the Valley; 
 the Southerners never again attempted to invade 
 the North, and Sheridan's men marched in what- 
 ever direction they chose, for there was no one to 
 oppose them. 
 
 It was only eleven weeks since Sheridan had 
 entered the Valley, and in this period he had 
 fought three pitched battles, besides directing an 
 important cavalry encounter, — and every one was 
 a complete victory. 
 
 The object of the campaign was as thoroughly 
 accomplished as in any series of movements in the 
 war, and Sheridan will always be known in his- 
 tory as the Hero of the Valley. 
 
THE PICKET-GUARD 
 
 BY ETHELIN ELIOT BEERS 
 
 All quiet along the Potomac," they say, 
 " Except, now and then, a stray picket 
 Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro, 
 
 By a rifleman hid in the thicket. 
 'T is nothing — a private or two, now and then, 
 
 Will not count in the news of the battle; 
 Not an officer lost— only one of the men, 
 
 Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle." 
 
 All quiet along the Potomac to-night, 
 
 Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; 
 Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon, 
 
 O'er the light of the watch-fires are gleaming. 
 A tremulous sigh of the gentle night-wind 
 
 Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping, 
 While stars up above, with their glittering eyes, 
 
 Keep guard, for the army is sleeping. 
 
 There 's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread, 
 As he tramps from the rock to the fountain, 
 
 And thinks of the two, in the low trundle-bed, 
 Far away in the cot on the mountain. 
 154 
 
THE PICKET-GUARD 155 
 
 His musket falls slack — his face, dark and grim, 
 
 Grows gentle with memories tender, 
 As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep — 
 
 For their mother — may Heaven defend her ! 
 
 He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree — 
 
 His footstep is lagging and weary; 
 Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, 
 
 Toward the shades of the forest so dreary. 
 Hark ! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves ? 
 
 Was it the moonlight so w T ondrously flashing? 
 It looked like a rifle — "Ha! Mary, good-bye!" 
 
 And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing ! 
 
 All quiet along the Potomac to-night — 
 
 No sound save the rush of the river : 
 While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead — 
 
 The picket 's off duty forever ! 
 
THE "ALABAMA" AND THE 
 "KEARSARGE" 
 
 BY THE SURGEON OF THE " KEARSARGE 
 
 N Sunday, the 12th of 
 * ;&**%&& ~ ~ J une > 1864, the Kear- 
 h'W*®^?'*' \"S^^ sarge, Captain John A. 
 Winslow, was lying at an- 
 chor in the Scheldt, off Flush- 
 Holland. The cornet suddenly 
 appeared at the fore, and a gun was fired. 
 These were unexpected signals that compelled 
 absent officers and men to return to the ship. 
 Steam was raised, and as soon as we were 
 off, and all hands called, Captain Winslow 
 gave the welcome news of a telegram from 
 Mr. Dayton, our minister to France, announcing 
 that the Alabama had arrived the day previous 
 at Cherbourg; hence, the urgency of departure, 
 the probability of an encounter, and the expecta- 
 tion of her capture or destruction. The crew 
 
 156 
 
REAR-ADMIRAL RAPHAEL SEMMES, CAPTAIN OF THE ALABAMA 
 From a photograph in possession of Mrs. J. Mcintosh Kell ; taken in England after the loss of his ship 
 
"ALABAMA" AND " KEARSARGE" 15.9, 
 
 responded with cheers. The succeeding day wit- 
 nessed the arrival of the Kearsarge at Dover, for 
 dispatches; and the day after (Tuesday) her ap- 
 pearance off Cherbourg, where we saw the Con- 
 federate flag flying within the breakwater. Ap- 
 proaching nearer, officers and men gathered in 
 groups on deck and looked intently at the "dar- 
 ing rover," that had been able for two years to es- 
 cape numerous foes and to inflict immense dam- 
 age on our commerce. She was a beautiful 
 specimen of naval architecture. The surgeon 
 went on shore and obtained permission to visit 
 the port for boats. Owing to the neutrality lim- 
 itation which would not allow us to remain in the 
 harbor longer than twenty-four hours, it was in- 
 expedient to enter the port. We placed a vigi- 
 lant watch by turns at each of the harbor en- 
 trances, and continued it to the moment of the 
 engagement. 
 
 On Wednesday Captain Winslow paid an 
 official visit to the French admiral commanding 
 the maritime district, and to the U. S. commer- 
 cial agent, bringing on his return the unantici- 
 pated news that Captain Semmes had declared 
 his intention to fight. At first the assertion was 
 barely credited, the policy of the Alabama being 
 
1 60 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 regarded as opposed to a conflict, and to escape 
 rather than to be exposed to injury, perhaps 
 destruction; but the doubters were half con- 
 vinced when the so-called challenge was known 
 to read as follows : 
 
 " C. S. S. 'Alabama,' Cherbourg, June 14, 1864. 
 " To A. Bonfils, Esq., Cherbourg. 
 
 "Sir: I hear that you were informed by the U. S. 
 Consul that the Kearsarge was to come to this port 
 solely for the prisoners landed by me, and that she was 
 to depart in twenty-four hours. I desire you to say to 
 the U. S. Consul that my intention is to fight the 
 Kearsarge, as soon as I can make the necessary ar- 
 rangements. I hope these will not detain me more 
 than until to-morrow evening, or after the morrow 
 morning at furthest. I beg she will not depart before 
 I am ready to go out. 
 
 I have the honor to be very respectfully, your obedi- 
 ent servant, R. Semmes, Captain/ 3 
 
 Preparations were made for battle, with no 
 relaxation of the watch. Thursday passed; Fri- 
 day came; the Kearsarge waited with ports 
 down, guns pivoted to starboard, the whole bat- 
 tery loaded, and shell, grape and canister ready 
 to use in any mode of attack or defense; yet no 
 Alabama appeared. French pilots came on board 
 and told of unusual arrangements made by the 
 
"ALABAMA" AND " KEARSARGE " 163 
 
 enemy, such as the hurried taking of coals, the 
 transmission of valuable articles to the shore, 
 such as captured chronometers, specie, and the 
 bills of ransomed vessels ; and the sharpening of 
 swords, cutlasses, and boarding-pikes. It was 
 reported that Captain Semmes had been advised 
 not to give battle. He replied he would prove to 
 the world that his ship was not a privateer, in- 
 tended only for attack upon merchant vessels, but 
 a true man-of-war; further, he had consulted 
 French officers, who all asserted that in his situ- 
 ation they would fight. Certain newspapers de- 
 clared that he ought to improve the opportunity 
 afforded by the presence of the enemy to show 
 that his ship was not a " corsair," to prey upon 
 defenseless merchantmen, but a real ship-of-war, 
 able and willing to fight the " Federal " waiting 
 outside the harbor. It was said the Alabama 
 was swift, with a superior crew, and it was known 
 that the ship, guns, and ammunition were of 
 English make. 
 
 Sunday the 19th came; a fine day, atmosphere 
 somewhat hazy, little sea, light westerly wind. 
 At ten o'clock the Kearsarge was near the buoy 
 marking the line of shoals to the eastward of 
 Cherbourg, at a distance of about three miles 
 
1 64 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 from the entrance. The decks had been holy- 
 stoned, the bright work cleaned, the guns pol- 
 ished, and the crew were dressed in Sunday suit. 
 They were inspected at quarters and dismissed 
 to attend divine service. Seemingly no one 
 thought of the enemy; so long awaited and not 
 appearing, speculation as to her coming had 
 nearly ceased. At 10:20 the officer of the deck 
 reported a steamer approaching from Cherbourg, 
 — a frequent occurrence, and consequently it cre- 
 ated no surprise. The bell was tolling for serv- 
 ice when some one shouted, " She 's coming, and 
 heading straight for us ! " Soon, by the aid of a 
 glass, the officer of the deck made out the enemy 
 and shouted, "The Alabama!" and calling down 
 the ward-room hatch repeated the cry, " The Ala- 
 bama!" The drum beat to general quarters; 
 Captain Winslow put aside the prayer-book, 
 seized the trumpet, ordered the ship about and 
 headed seaward. The ship was cleared for ac- 
 tion, with the battery pivoted to starboard. 
 
 The Alabama approached from the western 
 entrance, escorted by the French iron-clad frigate 
 Couronne, flying the pennant of the commandant 
 of the port. 
 
 Captain Winslow had assured the French ad- 
 
ALABAMA" AND " KEARSARGE 
 
 65 
 
 miral that in the event of an engagement the posi- 
 tion of the ship should be far enough from shore 
 to prevent a violation of the law of nations. To 
 avoid a question of jurisdiction and to avert an 
 
 THE CREW OF THE " KEARSARGE " AT QUARTERS 
 
 escape to neutral waters in case of retreat, the 
 Kearsarge steamed to sea, followed by the enemy, 
 giving the appearance of running away and being 
 pursued. 
 
 The action was now fairly begun. A shot 
 from an early broadside of the Kearsarge car- 
 ried away the spanker-gaff of the enemy, and 
 caused his ensign to come down by the run. This 
 
1 66 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 incident was regarded as a favorable omen by the 
 men, who cheered and went with increased con- 
 fidence to their work. The fallen ensign reap- 
 peared at the mizzen. The Alabama returned to 
 solid shot, and soon after fired both shot and shell 
 to the end. The firing of the Alabama was rapid 
 and wild, getting better near the close; that of 
 the Kearsarge was deliberate, accurate, and al- 
 most from the beginning productive of dismay, 
 destruction, and death. 1 The Kearsarge gunners 
 had been cautioned against firing without direct 
 aim, and had been advised to point the heavy 
 guns below rather than above the water-line, and 
 to clear the deck of the enemy with the lighter 
 ones. Though subjected to an incessant storm 
 of shot and shell, they kept their stations and 
 obeyed instructions. 
 
 The effect upon the enemy was readily per- 
 ceived, and nothing could restrain the enthusiasm 
 of our men. Cheer succeeded cheer; caps were 
 thrown in the air or overboard; jackets were dis- 
 carded ; sanguine of victory, the men were shout- 
 ing as each projectile took effect: "That is a 
 
 1 Captain Semmes in his official report says : " The firing now 
 became very hot, and the enemy's shot and shell soon began to tell 
 upon our hull, knocking down, killing, and disabling a number of 
 men in different parts of the ship." — J. M. B. 
 

"ALABAMA' 5 AND " KEARSARGE " 169 
 
 good one ! " " Down, boys I" " Give her another 
 like the last ! " " Now we have her ! " and so on, 
 cheering and shouting to the end. 
 
 After exposure to an uninterrupted cannonade 
 for eighteen minutes without casualties, a sixty- 
 eight-pounder Blakely shell passed through the 
 starboard bulwarks below the main rigging, ex- 
 ploded upon the quarter-deck, and wounded three 
 of the crew of the after pivot-gun. With these 
 exceptions, not an officer or man received serious 
 injury. The three unfortunates were speedily 
 taken below, and so quietly was the act done, that 
 at the termination of the fight a large number of 
 the men were unaware that any of their comrades 
 were wounded. Two shots entered the ports 
 occupied by the thirty-twos, where several men 
 were stationed, one taking effect in the hammock- 
 netting, the other going through the opposite 
 port, yet none were hit. A shell exploded in the 
 hammock-netting and set the ship on fire; the 
 alarm calling for fire-quarters was sounded, and 
 men detailed for such an emergency put out the 
 fire, while the rest stayed at the guns. 
 
 It is wonderful that so few casualties occurred 
 on board the Kearsarge, considering the number 
 on the Alabama— the former having fired one 
 
170 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 hundred and seventy-three shot and shell, and the 
 latter nearly double that number. The Kear- 
 sarge concentrated her fire and poured in the 
 eleven-inch shells with deadly effect. One pene- 
 trated the coal-bunker of the Alabama, and a 
 dense cloud of coal-dust arose. Others struck 
 near the water-line between the main and mizzen 
 masts, exploded within board, or passing through 
 burst beyond. Crippled and torn, the Alabama 
 moved less quickly and began to settle by the 
 stern, yet did not slacken her fire, but returned 
 successive broadsides without disastrous result 
 to us. 
 
 Captain Semmes witnessed the havoc made by 
 the shells, especially by those of our after pivot- 
 gun, and offered a reward for its silence. Soon 
 his battery was turned upon this particular of- 
 fending gun for the purpose of silencing it. It 
 was in vain, for the work of destruction went on. 
 We had completed the seventh rotation on the cir- 
 cular track and begun the eighth; the Alabama, 
 now settling, sought to escape by setting all avail- 
 able sail (fore-trysail and two jibs), left the cir- 
 cle, amid a shower of shot and shell, and headed 
 for the French waters; but to no purpose. In 
 winding the Alabama presented the port battery 
 
THE BOAT FROM THE " ALABAMA " ANNOUNCING THE SURRENDER AND ASKING 
 
 FOR ASSISTANCE 
 
 The picture shows shot-marks in the thin deal covering of the chain armor amidships 
 
 
"ALABAMA" AND " KEARSARGE " 173 
 
 with only two guns bearing, and showed gaping 
 sides through which the water washed. The 
 Kearsarge pursued, keeping on a line nearer the 
 shore and, with a few well-directed shots has- 
 tened the sinking condition. Then the Alabama 
 was at our mercy. Her colors were struck and 
 the Kearsarge ceased firing. Two of the junior 
 officers, so I was told by our prisoners, swore they 
 would never surrender, and in a mutinous spirit 
 rushed to the two port guns and opened fire upon 
 the Kearsarge. Captain Winslow, amazed at 
 this extraordinary conduct of an enemy who had 
 hauled down his flag in token of surrender, ex- 
 claimed, " He is playing us a trick; give him an- 
 other broadside." Again the shot and shell went 
 crashing through her sides, and the Alabama 
 continued to settle by the stern. The Kearsarge 
 was laid across her bows for raking, and in posi- 
 tion to use grape and canister. 
 
 Over the stern of the Alabama a white flag was 
 shown, and her ensign was half-masted, union 
 down. Captain Winslow for the second time 
 gave orders to cease firing. Thus ended the 
 fight after a duration of one hour and two min- 
 utes. 
 
 Boats were now lowered from the Alabama. 
 
174 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 Her master's-mate, Fullam, an Englishman, 
 came alongside the Kearsarge with a few of the 
 wounded, reported the disabled and sinking con- 
 dition of his ship, and asked for assistance. Cap- 
 tain Winslow inquired, " Does Captain Semmes 
 surrender his ship?" "Yes," was the reply. 
 Fullam then solicited permission to return with 
 his boat and crew to assist in rescuing the drown- 
 ing, pledging his word of honor that when this 
 was done he would come on board and surrender. 
 Captain Winslow granted the request. With less 
 generosity he could have detained the officer and 
 men, supplied their places in the boat from his 
 ship's company, secured more prisoners, and af- 
 forded equal aid to the distressed. 
 
 It was now seen that the Alabama was settling 
 fast. The wounded, and boys who could not 
 swim, were sent away in the quarter boats, the 
 waist boats having been destroyed. Captain 
 Semmes dropped his sword into the sea and 
 jumped overboard with the remaining officers 
 and men. 
 
 The Alabama sunk in forty-five fathoms of 
 water, at a distance of about four and a half miles 
 from the breakwater, off the west entrance. She 
 was severely hulled between the main and mizzen 
 
"ALABAMA" AND " KEARSARGE " 177 
 
 masts, and settled by the stern; the mainmast, 
 pierced by a shot at the very last, broke off near 
 the head and went over the side, the bow lifted 
 high from the water, and then came the end. 
 Suddenly assuming a perpendicular position, 
 caused by the falling aft of the battery and stores, 
 straight as a plumb-line, stern first, she went 
 down, the jib-boom being the last to appear above 
 water. Down sank the terror of merchantmen, 
 riddled through and through, and as she disap- 
 peared to her last resting-place there was no 
 cheer; all were silent. 
 
LIEUTENANT CUSHING AND THE 
 RAM "ALBEMARLE" 
 
 BY THEODORE ROOSEVELT 
 
 THE great Civil War was remarkable in 
 many ways, but in no way more remarkable 
 than for the extraordinary mixture of inventive 
 mechanical genius and of resolute daring shown 
 by the combatants. After the first year, when 
 the contestants had settled down to real fighting, 
 and the preliminary mob-work was over, the bat- 
 tles were marked by their extraordinary obsti- 
 nacy and heavy losses. In no. European conflict 
 since the close of the Napoleonic wars has the 
 fighting been anything like so obstinate and so 
 bloody as was the fighting in our own Civil War. 
 Hundreds of regiments, both Northern and 
 Southern, suffered each in some one engagement 
 far more heavily than either the Light Brigade 
 at Balaclava, or the Guards at Inkerman, or than 
 any German regiment in the Franco-Prussian 
 
 178 
 
THE BLOWING UP OF THE " ALBEMARLE 
 
CUSHING AND THE "ALBEMARLE" 181 
 
 war; and yet they have gone entirely unnoticed 
 by the poet, and dismissed with but a scant line or 
 two by the historian. In addition to this fierce 
 and dogged courage, this splendid righting capac- 
 ity, the contest also brought out the skilled in- 
 ventive power of engineer and mechanician in a 
 way that few other contests have ever done. 
 
 This was especially true in the navy. The 
 fighting under and against Farragut and his 
 fellow admirals revolutionized naval warfare. 
 The Civil War marks the break between the old 
 style and the new. The ships with which Decatur 
 and Perry and Hull and Porter won glory in 
 1812 were essentially like those with which 
 Drake and Hawkins and Frobisher had harried 
 the Spanish armadas two centuries and a half 
 earlier. They were essentially like the ships that 
 made up the fleets of Tromp and De Ruyter, as 
 of Collingwood and Nelson. But, in the Civil 
 War, steam, iron armor, and entirely new weap- 
 ons, worked such a revolution that the fleets of 
 to-day differ as widely from those of Nelson as 
 did his ships-of-the-line from the galleys of Al- 
 cibiades twenty-two hundred years before. The 
 steam-frigate, the ironclad, the ram, and the tor- 
 pedo in all its forms — the practical use of all 
 
 10 
 
1 82 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 these dates from the Civil War. Terrible en- 
 counters took place when these engines of war 
 were brought into action for the first time, and 
 one of these encounters has given an example 
 which, for heroic daring combined with cool in- 
 telligence, is unsurpassed in all time. 
 
 The Confederates showed the same skill and 
 energy in building their great iron-clad rams as 
 the men of the Union did in building the moni- 
 tors which were so often pitted against them. 
 Both sides, but especially the Confederates, also 
 used stationary torpedoes, and on a number of 
 occasions torpedo-boats likewise. These torpedo- 
 boats were sometimes built to go under the water. 
 One such, after repeated failures, was employed 
 by the Confederates, with equal gallantry and 
 success, in sinking a Union sloop-of-war off 
 Charleston harbor. The torpedo-boat itself went 
 to the bottom with its victim, all on board being 
 drowned. The other type of torpedo-boat was 
 simply a swift, ordinary steam-launch operated 
 on the surface. 
 
 It was this last type of boat which Lieutenant 
 W. B. Cushing brought down to Albemarle 
 Sound to use against the great Confederate ram 
 Albemarle. The ram had been built for the pur- 
 
CUSHING AND THE "ALBEMARLE" 183 
 
 pose of destroying the Union blockading forces. 
 Steaming down the river, she had twice attacked 
 the Federal gunboats, and in each case had sunk 
 
 COMMANDER W. B. CUSHING, U. S. N. 
 
 or disabled one or more of them, with little injury 
 to herself. She had retired up the river again 
 to lie at her wharf and rent. 
 
 The gunboats had suffered so severely as to 
 make it a certainty that when the ram came out 
 
1 84 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 again, thoroughly fitted up, to renew the attack, 
 the wooden vessels would be destroyed; and, 
 while she was in existence the Union vessels 
 could not attack and reduce the forts and coast 
 towns. Just at this time Cushing came down 
 from the North with his swift little torpedo-boat 
 — an open launch with a spar rigged to push out 
 in front, the torpedo being placed at the end. 
 The crew of the launch consisted of fifteen men, 
 Cushing being in command. He not only guided 
 his craft, but himself handled the torpedo by 
 means of two small ropes, one of which put it in 
 place, while the other exploded it. The action of 
 the torpedo was complicated, and it could not 
 have been operated in a time of tremendous ex- 
 citement save by a man of the utmost nerve and 
 self-command. But Cushing had both; he pos- 
 sessed precisely that combination of reckless 
 courage, presence of mind, and high mental ca- 
 pacity necessary to the man who leads a forlorn 
 hope under peculiarly difficult circumstances. 
 
 On the night of October 27, 1864, Cushing 
 slipped away from the blockading fleet, and 
 steamed up the river toward the wharf, a dozen 
 miles distant, where the great ram lay. The 
 Confederates were watchful to guard against 
 
CUSHING AND THE "ALBEMARLE" i85 
 
 surprise, for they feared lest their foes should try 
 to destroy the ram before she got a chance to 
 come down and attack them again in the Sound. 
 She lay under the guns of a fort, with a regiment 
 of troops ready at a moment's notice to turn out 
 and defend her. Her own guns were kept al- 
 ways clear for action, and she was protected by 
 a great boom of logs thrown out roundabout, of 
 which last defense the Federals knew nothing. 
 
 Cushing went up-stream with the utmost 
 caution, and by good luck passed, unnoticed, a 
 Confederate lookout below the ram. 
 
 About midnight he made his assault. Steam- 
 ing quietly on through the black water, and 
 feeling his way cautiously toward where he knew 
 the town to be, he finally made out the loom of 
 the Albemarle through the night, and at once 
 drove at her. He was almost upon her before 
 he was discovered ; then the crew and the soldiers 
 on the wharf opened fire, and at the same moment 
 he was brought to by the boom, the existence of 
 which he had not known. The rifle-balls were 
 singing about him as he stood erect guiding his 
 launch, and he heard the bustle of the men aboard 
 the ram, and the noise of the great guns as they 
 were got ready. Backing off, he again went all 
 
1 86 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 steam ahead, and actually surged over the slip- 
 pery log of the boom. 
 
 Meanwhile, on the deck of the Albemarle the 
 sailors were running to quarters, and the sol- 
 diers were swarming down to aid in her defense. 
 And the droning bullets came always thicker 
 through the dark night. Cushing still stood up- 
 right in his little craft, guiding and controlling 
 her by voice and signal, while in his hands he 
 kept the ropes which led to the torpedo. As the 
 boat slid forward over the boom, he brought the 
 torpedo full against the somber side of the huge 
 ram, and instantly exploded it, almost at the same 
 time that the pivot-gun of the ram, loaded with 
 grape, was fired point-blank at him, not ten yards 
 off. 
 
 At once the ram settled, the launch sinking at 
 the same moment, while Cushing and his men 
 swam for their lives. Most of them sank or 
 were captured; but Cushing reached midstream. 
 Hearing something splashing in the darkness, he 
 swam toward it, and found that it was one of his 
 crew. He went to his rescue, and they kept to- 
 gether for some time, but the sailor's strength 
 gave out, and he finally sank. In the pitch dark- 
 ness Cushing could form no idea where he was; 
 
CUSHING AND THE "ALBEMARLE" 187 
 
 and when, chilled through, and too exhausted to 
 rise to his feet, he finally reached shore, shortly 
 before dawn, he found that he had swum back, 
 and landed but a few hundred feet below the 
 sunken ram. All that day he remained within 
 easy musket-shot of where his foes were swarm- 
 ing about the fort and the great drowned iron- 
 clad. He hardly dared move, and until the after- 
 noon, he lay without food and without protection 
 from the heat or insects. Then he managed to 
 slip unobserved into a dense swamp, and began to 
 make his way toward the fleet. Toward evening 
 he came out on a small stream, near a camp of 
 Confederate soldiers. They had moored to the 
 bank a small skiff, and with equal stealth and 
 daring he managed to steal this, and began to 
 paddle down-stream. Hour after hour he pad- 
 dled on through the fading light, and then 
 through the darkness. At last, utterly worn out, 
 he found the squadron, and was picked up. 
 
 At once the ships weighed their anchors, and 
 they speedily captured every coast town and fort, 
 now that their dreaded enemy was no longer in 
 the way. 
 
 The fame of Cushing's deed went all over the 
 land, and his name will stand forever among the 
 highest on the honor-roll of the American Navy. 
 
SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA 
 
 BY GENERAL ADAM BADEAU 
 
 THE first thing for a boy or a girl to remem- 
 ber in considering war is— that soldiers 
 must eat. It is generally supposed that the most 
 important duty of a soldier is to fight; but this 
 is a mistake. He must eat before he can fight; 
 and more battles have been lost because com- 
 manders could not feed their armies, than be- 
 cause they could not fight the enemy. This fact 
 should be especially borne in mind by those who 
 wish to understand the March to the Sea. 
 
 In 1864, when Grant took command of the 
 armies of the United States, there were two great 
 forces of the South to be beaten and destroyed if 
 the Union was to be saved. One was the army 
 under General Robert E. Lee, between Washing- 
 ton and Richmond; the other that in Northern 
 Georgia, before Chattanooga, commanded by 
 General Joseph E. Johnston. Grant remained in 
 
SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA 191 
 
 person at the East, and undertook to defeat Lee's 
 army there; while he gave to General William T. 
 Sherman the task of subduing Johnston's forces. 
 Chattanooga is in the heart of the Cumberland 
 Mountains, on the borders of Tennessee and 
 Georgia. It stands at the junction of the great 
 railroad which runs east and west between the 
 Mississippi and the Atlantic, and that other 
 equally important one running north and south 
 between the Ohio and the Gulf of Mexico. By 
 these two railroads the Southern Confederacy, 
 during the early part of the war, had sent supplies 
 to its armies. But when Grant won Chattanooga 
 in 1863, one line was broken; and the Southern- 
 ers fell back for communication to other railroads 
 which met at Atlanta, connecting that place with 
 Mobile, Savannah, New Orleans, and Richmond. 
 
 The control of the railroads is the object of 
 every great campaign in modern war. Whoever 
 holds the railroads can move troops and ammuni- 
 tion and food to the important point more quickly 
 than the enemy. And everything depends upon 
 being stronger than your enemy at the impor- 
 tant point. 
 
 When Grant won Chattanooga, he secured the 
 great highway across the continent from Missis- 
 
1 92 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 sippi to the sea, as well as the gateway into 
 Georgia. Then he ordered Sherman to advance 
 southward to the next great crossing of railroads, 
 at Atlanta. It took Sherman four months to 
 carry out this order. He had to move through a 
 mountainous region, by narrow defiles, across 
 numerous streams, against an army of his own 
 countrymen, as good soldiers as ever fought, and 
 led by a general who had no superior in skill or 
 courage on either side during the war, who knew 
 how to fight and to fortify, to put every obstacle 
 in the way of his antagonist, to hold him off as 
 long as possible, and— quite as important as any- 
 thing else — to fall back when he could hold out 
 no longer. Johnston opposed Sherman in this 
 way. But Sherman had more men and equal 
 skill and courage. 
 
 Grant's plan had been that Sherman, after en- 
 tering Atlanta, should march on to Mobile, hold- 
 ing the line that he had gained. This would 
 have cut the Confederacy in two. But Sherman 
 found the achievement impossible; and after 
 chasing Hood about in the rear for a month 
 or two, and accomplishing nothing but to hold 
 his own, he conceived another idea, — one of the 
 grandest and boldest that ever occurred to a man 
 

194 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 in war. This was nothing else than to give up 
 Atlanta and the railroad to Chattanooga, to 
 abandon all supplies from the North, and to dash 
 into the enemy's country, depending upon the 
 country itself for supplies, and then make a way 
 to either the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico. He 
 proposed to take his sixty thousand men into the 
 interior of the Confederacy, where he could have 
 no communication with any other Union army, no 
 help from Grant or the Government, no news 
 from them for at least a month; to risk meeting 
 whatever force the Southerners might collect to 
 obstruct him, and to depend upon what he could 
 find to feed his army, — men and horses. No such 
 enterprise had ever been attempted in modern 
 war. 
 
 On the 1 6th of November, Sherman himself 
 rode out of Atlanta, his army having preceded 
 him. When he reached a hill just without the 
 town, he stood on one of his old battle-grounds 
 and paused to look back at the smoldering ruins 
 he had made. The smoke hung over the un- 
 fortunate city like a pall, but in front the men 
 were marching to the tune of "John Brown's 
 body lies moldering in the grave." They took 
 up the hymn as they bore their glistening mus- 
 
SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA 195 
 
 kets in the sun, and with swinging pace moved 
 lightly forward, thinking little then of the thou- 
 sand miles that lay between them and Richmond. 
 
 The troops started at the earliest dawn and 
 marched till noon. Then there was a halt for the 
 day, always, of course, near a stream ; water was 
 brought and the cooking began, and the pine- 
 trees were cut, not only for fire, but for shelter 
 and beds, for there were no tents taken with the 
 army; everybody went into bivouac. At night 
 the great fires blazed high for miles, and threw a 
 red light over the landscape long after the blue- 
 coated soldiers had sunk to slumber on their 
 couches of leaves. 
 
 The fences along the road were destroyed for 
 fire-wood, and all the rails of the railroads were 
 taken up. Huge piles of the iron were laid 
 across the fires till the metal was softened, and 
 then the soldiers took it to the neighboring trees, 
 and twisted it, red and hissing, around the juicy 
 saplings, so that it might not be used to repair the 
 road after the army had passed ; for the destruc- 
 tion of the railroads was one of the principal ob- 
 jects of the campaign. All bridges were burned 
 as soon as crossed, and the country was left as 
 impassable as possible for an enemy. 
 
'Mr 
 
 1L 
 
 
 ?:I 
 
 
 
SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA 197 
 
 The orders were for the troops to forage liber- 
 ally off the country. The region was rich and 
 had never before been visited by an enemy. 
 Meal, bacon, sweet potatoes, poultry, cows and 
 oxen were abundant, as well as horses and mules. 
 Parties were sent out before daylight from every 
 brigade, on each side of the line of march, to . 
 ransack every farm and plantation within range. 
 The men were all mounted on horses, mules, or 
 even cattle, sometimes with saddles but oftener 
 without; the animals were packed with hams, 
 live fowl, bags of grain or flour, and even articles 
 of furniture or clothing; for war is often only 
 organized robbery. The parties were surrounded 
 by crowds of negroes, who everywhere left their 
 masters to follow the Union army; men, women, 
 and children, all knew they were emancipated. 
 They swarmed around the column, clinging to 
 the horses, kissing the hands and feet of the offi- 
 cers, frantic with joy at the arrival of those whom 
 they looked upon as their deliverers. 
 
 On the 10th of December the army came up 
 with the defenses of Savannah. The place was 
 well fortified ; it had a good garrison and an able 
 commander, General Hardee, and it might hold 
 out for weeks. 
 
198 CIVIL WAR STORIES 
 
 On the 1 6th of December Sherman summoned 
 Hardee to surrender Savannah, but the Confed- 
 erate commander refused. There was still one 
 road out of the city, on the northern side, that 
 was left unclosed ; and Sherman went up to Port 
 Royal to order Foster to close that road. While 
 he was absent, on the night of the 21st, Hardee 
 evacuated the city by the still open road, and when 
 Sherman returned, on the 22d of December, he 
 found his own troops in possession of Savannah. 
 He telegraphed to the President: "I beg to pre- 
 sent you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Sa- 
 vannah, with one hundred and fifty heavy guns 
 and plenty of ammunition; also about twenty- 
 five thousand bales of cotton." This message 
 reached the President on Christmas Eve, and was 
 published in the Northern newspapers on Christ- 
 mas Day. Savannah was a big present to put 
 into the nation's stocking. 
 
 It was thirty-one days after starting from At- 
 lanta before Sherman re-opened communication 
 with the North. In that time he had destroyed 
 two hundred miles of railroad, and broken up 
 every connection between the Confederate forces 
 east and west of Georgia. 
 
 The success of this campaign was equal to its 
 
SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA 201 
 
 daring, and although its dangers proved less in 
 reality than in anticipation, the skill of the com- 
 mander and the courage of the men are none the 
 less to be admired. The romantic character of 
 the march is unsurpassed. That an army should 
 disappear from sight for a month, marching un- 
 harmed through hostile regions, its whereabouts 
 unknown to its friends, and emerge at last as if 
 out of a wilderness^ with undiminished numbers 
 and increased renown, is a circumstance that 
 equals in interest any in history; and so long as 
 American boys and girls read the account of the 
 nation's achievements, they will find no chapter 
 more fascinating than that which tells of Sher- 
 man's March to the Sea. 
 
ANIMAL STORIES 
 
 RETOLD FROM 
 
 ST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE 
 
 IN SIX VOLUMES. EDITED BY M. H. CARTER, 
 
 DEPARTMENT OF SCIENCE, NEW YORK 
 
 TRAINING SCHOOL FOR TEACHERS 
 
 ABOUT ANIMALS 
 
 Interesting facts about animals in general. 
 
 BEAR STORIES 
 
 Information and adventure. 
 
 CAT STORIES 
 
 Dealing with the cat as a pet. 
 
 STORIES OF BRAVE DOGS 
 
 Showing the dog's love and devotion to man. 
 
 LION AND TIGER STORIES 
 
 Stories of adventure 
 
 PANTHER STORIES 
 
 Stories of adventure. 
 EACH ABOUT 200 PAGES, FULL CLOTH, 12MO 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
GEOGRAPHICAL STORIES 
 
 RETOLD FROM 
 
 ST. NICHOLAS MAGAZINE 
 
 IN SIX VOLUMES 
 
 A Series of Books of Adventure, Travel and De- 
 scription, chiefly in the Great Sections 
 of the United States 
 
 WESTERN FRONTIER STORIES 
 
 Stories of the early West, full of adventure. 
 
 STORIES OF THE GREAT LAKES 
 
 Niagara and our great chain of Inland Seas. 
 
 ISLAND STORIES 
 
 Stories of our island dependencies and 
 of many other islands. 
 
 STORIES OF STRANGE SIGHTS 
 
 Descriptions of natural wonders, curious 
 places and unusual sights. 
 
 SEA STORIES 
 
 Tales of shipwreck and adventures at sea. 
 
 SOUTHERN STORIES 
 
 Pictures, scenes and stories of our Sunny 
 South. 
 
 Each about 200 pages. 50 illustrations. 
 Full cloth, 12mo. 
 
 THE CENTURY CO.