XIV.
STUART'S WINTER QUARTERS.
COON HOLLOW!--
What gay memories are evoked by that familiar name! How we laughed andsang in that hollow in the hills near Orange, in the cold winter of1863!
Stuart called his head-quarters "Wigwam Independence," but the officersof his staff gave them the sobriquet of "Coon Hollow;" and I adopt in mymemoirs the old familiar designation.
Never were soldiers more comfortable than the inhabitants of CoonHollow!--and Stuart's tent was the most comfortable of all. He hadstretched a large canvas beneath some sheltering trees; and filling upthe opening at each end with a picturesque wicker-work of evergreens,ensconced himself there in his sylvan lodge, like some Robin Hood, orranger of the greenwood in old times. The woodland haunt and openair life seemed, at first, to charm the bold cavalier; nothing seemedwanting to his happiness, lost here in the forest: but soon the freezingairs "demoralized" even the stout cavalryman, and he exchanged hiscanvas for a regular tent of the largest description, with a plankfloor, a camp-couch, and a mighty chimney, wherein sparkled, ere long,a cheerful fire of hickory, driving away the blasts of the cold winternights, which were sent on their way with song.
Such was Stuart's own domicile. The staff tents were grouped around,with their solid chimneys of rock. The "cavalry head-quarters" wascomplete--a warm nest in the woods. Couriers came and went; sabresrattled; spurs jingled; the horses whinnied from their stables, wovenof pine boughs, near by; and in and out of the general's tent played histwo boisterous setters, Nip and Tuck, the companions of his idle hours.We all messed together, under a broad canvas, at one table: musicresounded; songs were sung; Sweeney, soon, alas! to be dead, was yetking of the woodland revels; Stuart joined in his songs, to the music ofthe banjo; and not seldom did the bright faces of fair ladies shine onus, bringing back all the warmth of the summer days--the blue sky, thesunshine, and the smiles!
Such was good old "Coon Hollow." I recall it with delight. The chillairs cut you to the bone when you ventured out on horseback from thesheltered nook; but in Coon Hollow all was warm and bright. In the woodson the crest above, the winds sighed: but in the hollow below, the banjorattled; laughter resounded; great fires roared; and, as though in opendefiance of winter and its tempests, Stuart, carolled in his clear andsonorous voice, his favorite ditty,
"The dew is on the blossom."
So we sang and laughed all those long winter evenings. The winds carriedaway the sound of jests, and banjo notes. The long hours of winter thusflew by like birds lost, one by one, in the night of the past. Happydays! happy nights! I remember them still. Stuart is dead--more than oneof my dear companions have followed him--but their voices sound again,their eyes again flash, their friendly smiles linger in memory.
So the days fled by--and I wonder if our friends across the Rapidan, whowere going to crush us, were as gay as the folk about to be crushed?The future looked stormy, but we laughed--and we did right, did we not,friend? That mirth was not unseemly--not unworthy of approval. It isevidence at least of "game," _non fractum esse fortuna et retinerein rebus asperis, dignitatem_--is it not? Good fortune, wealth, andsuccess, are nothing compared to that. For my part, I would rather havethe equal mind in arduous things, than money in my purse, or victory.The army of Northern Virginia had that in the winter of 1863, as theyhad had it in 1861 and '62, and were going to have it in the dark yearand black winter preceding April, 1865.
But I linger too long on those days at "Coon Hollow." The wave of warhad wafted us to that quiet nook; for a time, we laughed and sang; butthe storm was coming. Soon it struck us; and we left the harbor, drivenby the tempest.
So I dismiss Coon Hollow, lost amid the hills of Orange. The spot isdesolate to-day, and the bleak wood is silent. But for me, Stuart issinging there now as then--and will sing in my memory forever!
XV.
LEE'S "RAGGED REGIMENTS."
It required a stout heart to laugh and sing, _con amore_, in the lastdays of that winter, and the first days of spring, 1864.
Those very figures, "1864," tell the story, and explain this. Do theynot, reader?
Each year of the war has its peculiar physiognomy.
1861--that is mirth, adventure, inexperience, bright faces, wreaths offlowers, "boxes" from home, and "honorable mention" in reports, if youonly waved your sword and shouted "Hurrah!" Then you heard the brassbands playing, the drum gayly rolling, the bugles sending their joyousnotes across the fields and through the forests--blooming fields,untouched forests!--and that music made the pulses dance. Gayly-cladvolunteers marched gallantly through the streets; the crowds cheered;the new flags, shaped by fair hands, fluttered;--not a bullet had tornthrough them, not a rent was seen in the new uniforms. As the trainsswept by with the young heroes on board, bevies of lovely girls cheered,waved handkerchiefs, and threw nosegays. Eyes were sparkling, lipssmiling, cheeks glowing in '61. The youths had havelocks to ward off thesun; gaiters to keep out the dust; woollen belts to prevent rheumatism;fanciful shirt bosoms, and pretty needle-cases and tobacco pouches ofsilk and velvet, decked with beads and gay needle-work, by the dearestfingers in the world!
So they went to the wars--those stout and ruddy youths. Every oneanxious to have his head taken off by a cannon ball, all for the honorand glory of it. They marched along cheering, as the white handkerchiefswaved; they proudly kept step to the tap of the drum, or moved brisklybeside the cannon, or cantered by on their glossy and spirited horses.
The epoch was agitated, but joy coursed in every vein. And when thefirst successes came, those small affairs were greeted with "thunders ofapplause."
General Spoons marched to Bethel; took a look at the gray people; fireda gun or two before retreating--and a thousand Southern journalistsshouted "lo, triumphe!--a grand victory!" The brave Del. Kemper fired ashot at the Federal train approaching Vienna, and the journalists cried,"we have driven back the whole Federal army!"
Then some real fighting came, and the applause was again tremendous.When the news of the first Manassas flashed over the wires, the Southernpeople stood upon their heads, and went wild. The war was ended--theaffair was over--the brass bands, and rolling drums, and dazzlinguniforms had speedily done the business. The power of the Northwas broken. She had run upon the breakers. The great hulk was lyingstranded, the waves were beating her, and she was about to go to pieces.
Such was 1861--an era of mirth, inexperience, inflated views, brilliantpageants, gay adventures, ruddy cheeks, sparkling eyes and splendidbanners, floating proudly in the sunshine of victory!
1862 came, and with it a new phase of the war. Sweat, dust, andblood had replaced the music and wreaths of roses. Faces, were not soruddy--they began to look war-worn. The rounded cheeks had become gaunt.The bright uniforms were battle-soiled. Smoke had stained them, thebivouac dimmed them, the sun had changed the blue-gray to a sort ofscorched yellow. Waving handkerchiefs still greeted the troops--asthey greeted them to the end of the war. But few flowers were thrownnow--their good angels looked on in silence, and prayed for them.
They were no longer holiday soldiers, but were hardened in battle. Theyknew the work before them, and advanced to it with the measured trampof veterans. They fought as well as soldiers have ever fought in thisworld. Did they not? Answer, Cold Harbor, Malvern Hill, Cedar Mountain,Manassas, Boonsboro', Sharpsburg, and Fredericksburg! And every battle,nearly, was a victory. In the lowlands and the mountains--in Virginiaand Maryland--they bore aloft the banner of the South in stalwart hands,and carried it forward with unshrinking hearts, to that baptism of bloodawaiting it. That was the great year for the South. The hour was dark--ahuge foe fronted us--but wherever that foe was met, he seemed toreel before the mailed hand that buffeted his front. All fripperyand decoration had long been stripped from the army. The fingers ofwar--real war--had torn off the gaudy trappings; and the grim lips hadmuttered, "What I want is hard muscle, and the brave heart--not tinsel!"The bands were seldom heard--the musicians were tending the wounded. The
drums had ceased their jovial rattle, and were chiefly used in the "longroll," which said "Get ready, boys! they are coming!"
So in the midst of smoke and dust,--with yells of triumph, or groans ofagony, in place of the gay cheering--passed that year of battles, 1862.
The South was no longer romantic and elated on the subject of the war.The soldiers no longer looked out for adventures, or for the gloriouscannonball to carry off their heads, and make their names immortal. Athome, the old men were arming, and the women sending words of cheer totheir husbands and sons, and praying. In the camps, the old soldiers hadforgotten the wreaths of roses. Their havelocks were worn out, and theyno longer minded the sun. Gray flannel had replaced the "fancy" shirtbosoms; they carried tobacco in their pockets; and you saw them, seatedon some log, busy sewing on buttons, the faces once so round and ruddy,now gaunt and stained with powder.
1863 came, and it was an army of veterans that struck Hooker atChancellorsville. It was no longer a company of gay gallants marchingby, amid music, waving scarfs, and showers of nosegays from fairy hands.It was a stormy wave of gaunt warriors, in ragged clothes and begrimedfaces, who clutched their shining muskets, rushed headlong over thebreastworks, and, rolling through the blazing and crackling woods, sweptthe enemy at the point of the bayonet, with the hoarse and menacing cry,"Remember Jackson!" Gettysburg followed--never was grapple more fiercethan that, as we have seen; and when the veterans of Lee were hurledback, the soil of the continent seemed to shake. They were repulsed andretreated, but as the lion retreats before the huntsman, glaring back,and admonishing him not to follow too closely, if he would consult hisown safety. At Williamsport the wounded lion halted and turned--hispursuer did not assail him--and he crossed the Potomac, and descendedto the Rapidan, to strike in turn that dangerous blow in October, whenMeade was nearly cut off from Washington.
With that campaign of Bristoe, and the fiasco of Mine Run, the year of1863 ended.
It left the South bleeding, and what was worse,--discouraged. Affairswere mismanaged. The army had scarcely sufficient meat and bread tolive on. The croakers, clad in black coats, and with snowy shirtbosoms, began to mutter under their breath, "It is useless to strugglelonger!"--and, recoiling in disgust from the hard fare of "war times,"began to hunger for the flesh-pots of Egypt. Manna was tasteless now;the task-master was better than the wilderness and the scant fare. Oh!to sit by the flesh-pots and grow fat, as in the days when they did eatthereof! Why continue the conflict? Why waste valuable lives? Why thinkof still fighting when flour was a hundred dollars a barrel, coffeetwenty dollars a pound, cloth fifty dollars a yard, and good whiskeyand brandy not to be purchased at any price? Could patriotism live amidtrials like that? Could men cling to a cause which made them the victimsof Yankee cavalry? Why have faith any longer in a government that wasbankrupt--whose promises to pay originated the scoffing proverb, "asworthless as a Confederate note!" Meat and drink was the religion of thecroakers in those days. Money was their real divinity. Without meat anddrink, and with worthless money, the Confederacy, in their eyes, wasnot the side to adhere to. It was unfortunate--down with it! Let it beanathema-maranatha!
The croakers said that--and the brave hearts whom they insulted couldnot silence them. There were stout souls in black coats--but thecroakers distilled their poison, working busily in the darkness. It wasthe croakers who bought up the supplies, and hoarded them in garrets,and retailed them in driblets, thereby causing the enormous priceswhich, according to them, foretold the coming downfall. They evaded theconscript officers; grew fat on their extortions; and one day you wouldmiss them from their accustomed haunts--they had flitted across thePotomac, and were drinking their wine in New York, London, or Paris.
Meanwhile, three classes of persons remained faithful to the death:--theold men, the army, and the women.
The gray-beards were taking down their old guns and swords, and forminghome-battalions, to fight the enemy to the death when his cavalry cameto lay waste the country.
The women were weaving homespun, knitting socks, nursing the wounded,and praying. They had never ceased to pray, nor had they lost the heartof hope. The croakers believed in success, and their patron saint wasMammon. The women believed in the justice of the cause, and in God. In1861, they had cheered the soldiers, and waved their handkerchiefs, andrained bouquets. In 1862, they had sent brave words of encouragement,and bade their sons, and brothers, and husbands fight to the end. In1863, they repeated that--sent the laggards back to the ranks--and whenthey were not sewing, or nursing the sick, were praying. O women ofVirginia, and the great South to her farthest limits, there is nothingin all history that surpasses your grand record! You hoped, in the darkdays as in the bright;--when bearded men shrunk, you fronted the stormunmoved! Always you hoped, and endured, and prayed for the land. Hadthe rest done their duty like the women and the army, the red-cross flagwould be floating to-day in triumph!
The army--that was unshaken. Gettysburg had not broken its strength,nor affected its stout manhood. Lee's old soldiers believed in him afterGettysburg, in the winter of '63, as they had believed in him afterFredericksburg, in the winter of '62. They had confidence still in theirgreat leader, and in their cause. The wide gaps in their ranks did notdismay them; want of food did not discourage them; hunger, hardships,nakedness, defeat,--they had borne these in the past, they were bearingthem still, they were ready to bear them in the future. War did notfright them--though the coming conflict was plainly going to be morebitter than any before. The great array of Grant on the north bankof the Rapidan did not depress them--had they not met and defeated atFredericksburg and Chancellorsville a force as great, and could not theydo it again?
So they lay in their camps on the Rapidan, in that cold winter of1863--a little army of ragged and hungry men, with gaunt faces, wastedforms, shoeless feet; with nothing to encourage them but the cause, pastvictories, and Lee's presence. That was much; what was enough, however,was the blood in their veins; the inspiration of the great race offighting men from whom they derived their origin. Does any one laugh atthat? The winner will--but the truth remains.
That ragged and famished army came of a fighting race. It was starvingand dying, but it was going to fight to the last.
When the cannon began to roar in May, 1864, these gaunt veterans werein line, with ragged coats, but burnished bayonets. When Lee, the graycavalier, rode along their lines, the woods thundered with a cheer whichsaid, "Ready!"
XVI.
HAMMER AND RAPIER.
I pass to the great collision of armies in the first days of May.
Why say any thing of that dark episode called "Dahlgren's raid?" A fullaccount would be too long--a brief sketch too short. And whatever ourNorthern friends may think, it is not agreeable to us to dwell onthat outrage. Was that _war_? Was it civilized warfare to march inthe darkness upon a city full of women and children--to plan theassassination of the Southern President and his cabinet; the destructionof the city by the torch; the release of the Federal prisoners at BelleIsle, to be let loose afterward with fire and sword on Richmond?
Alas! all that was planned. The orders were captured, and exist still.Was that war? I repeat. Answer, friends of the North. Or, did you thinkus mere wild beasts?
I omit all that, passing on to the real fighting.
General Ulysses S. Grant had been appointed commander-in-chief of thearmies of the United States, and had taken command in person of the armyof the Potomac, confronting Lee on the Rapidan.
Before the curtain rises, and the cannon begin to roar, let us glance atthe relative numbers, and the programme of the Federal leader.
Grant's "available force present for duty, May 1, 1864," was, accordingto the report of the Federal Secretary of War, 141,166 men.
Lee's force, "present for duty," as his army rolls will show, was 52,626men. That is to say, rather more than one-third of his adversary's.
Lee afterward received about 10,000 re-enforcements from Beauregard'scolumns. Grant received about 50,000.
With about 62,000 men Lee repulsed the attacks of Grant with about200,000 men, from the Rapidan to Petersburg--inflicting a loss on hisadversary, by the Federal statement of more than 60,000 men.
These numbers may be denied, but the proof is on record.
The programme of General Grant in the approaching campaign was one ofvery great simplicity. He intended to "hammer continuously" as he wroteto President Lincoln, and crush his adversary at whatever expense ofmoney and blood. From 1861 to 1864, war had been war, such as the worldunderstands it. Pitched battles had been fought--defeats sustained--orvictories gained.
Then the adversaries rested before new pitched battles: more defeats orvictories. General Grant had determined to change all that. It had beentried, and had failed. He possessed a gigantic weapon, the army of theUnited States. In his grasp was a huge sledge-hammer--the army of thePotomac. He was going to clutch that tremendous weapon, whirl it aloftlike a new Vulcan, and strike straight at Lee's crest, and try to endhim. If one blow did not suffice, he was going to try another. If thatfailed, in its turn, he would strike another and another. All the yearwas before him; there were new men to fill the places of those who fell;blood might gush in torrents, but the end was worth the cost. Would ithurl a hundred thousand men into bloody graves? That was unfortunate,but unavoidable. Would the struggle frighten and horrify the world? Itwas possible. But these things were unimportant. The rebellion mustbe crushed. The sledge-hammer must strike until Lee's keen rapier wasshattered. Hammer and rapier were matched against each other--the combatwas _a l'outrance_--the hammer must beat down the rapier, or fall fromthe grasp of him who wielded it.
Mohun; Or, the Last Days of Lee and His Paladins. Page 14
