A close watch was put upon the man, and sure enough, just before the regiment was to leave the state, he demurred to doing duty, pleading illness as an excuse. I sent him to the hospital but gave Dr. Spaulding a hint as to the probable nature of the man's illness, and he promised to give his best endeavors to the case. About a week, thereafter, the man came back, and whatever might have been his real condition when he went away, he was unmistakably ill. His pale face and weak voice were symptoms that could not be gainsaid.

"Well," said I, "have you recovered and are you ready for duty?"

"No, I am worse than ever."

"Why do you leave the hospital, then?"

"My God, captain," whined the man, "they will kill me, if I stay there."

"But if you are sick you need treatment."

"I cannot enter that place again."

"You prefer to perform your duties as a good soldier, then?"

"I will do anything rather than go there."

He was directed to go about his business and, soon thereafter, I inquired about the case. Dr. Spaulding said: "I discovered there was nothing the matter with the man, only that he was playing off, and when he described his alleged symptoms, I began a course of heroic treatment. He was purged, cupped, blistered, given emetics, until life really became a burden and he ran away from the 'treatment.'"

This man never went to the regimental hospital again, but he made no end of trouble. He was a chronic shirk. He would not work, and there were not men enough in the regiment to get him into a fight. Soon after the campaign of 1863 opened in Virginia he was missing, and the next thing heard from him was that he had been discharged from some hospital for disability. He never smelt powder, and years after the war, he was to all appearance an able-bodied man. I believe the Sixth was the third regiment which he had gone into in the same way. When he enlisted, the surgeon who examined him pronounced him a sound man, and it was a mystery how he could be physically sound or physically unsound, at will, and so as to deceive the medical examiners in either event. He died long ago and his widow drew a pension after his death as he did before it, but he never did a day's honest military duty in his life. Peace to his ashes! He may be playing some useful part in the other world, for all that I know. At all events, I am glad that his widow gets a pension, though as a soldier he was never deserving of anything but contempt, for he would desert his comrades when they needed aid and never exposed his precious carcass to danger for his country or for a friend.

That is not an attractive picture which I have drawn. I will paint another, the more pleasing by reason of the contrast which the two present.

One day a party of sixteen men came into camp and applied for enlistment. A condition of the contract under which they were secured for my troop was that one of their number be appointed sergeant. They were to name the man and the choice, made by ballot, fell upon Marvin E. Avery. At first blush, he was not a promising candidate for a non-commissioned office. Somewhat ungainly in figure, awkward in manners, and immature in mind and body, he appeared to be; while he seemed neither ambitious to excel nor quick to learn. He certainly did not evince a craving for preferment. In the end it was found that these were surface indications, and that there were inherent in him a strength of character and a robust manliness that only awaited the opportunity to assert themselves.

He was appointed sergeant but, at first, manifested so little aptitude for the work, that it was feared he would never become proficient in his duties, or acquire a sufficient familiarity with tactics to drill a squad. No one could have been more willing, obedient, or anxious to learn. He was a plodder who worked his way along by sheer force of will and innate self-reliance, and governed in all that he did by a high sense of duty. He never attained first rank as a sergeant while in camp, but in the field, he sprang to the front like a thoroughbred. From the moment when he first scented battle, he was the most valuable man in the troop, from the captain down. In this, I am sure, there is no disparagement of the scores of fearless soldiers who followed the guidon of that troop from Gettysburg to Appomattox.

Avery was a hero. In the presence of danger he knew no fear. The more imminent the peril, the more cool he was. He would grasp the situation as if by intuition and I often wondered why fate did not make him colonel instead of myself, and honestly believe that he would have filled the position admirably, though he reached no higher rank than that of sergeant. He had, however, made of himself the trusted assistant and adviser of the commanding officer of his regiment and would have received a commission, had he lived but a few days longer. From the day of his enlistment to the day of his death he was not off duty for a single day; and the command to which he belonged, was in no battle when he was not at the front, in the place of greatest risk and responsibility, from the beginning to the end. He was killed by a shell which struck him in the head, in the battle of Trevillian Station, June 12, 1864. A braver or a truer soldier never fell on the field of battle.

Another excellent soldier was Solon H. Finney, who entered service as sergeant. He rose to be second lieutenant and was killed at Beaver Mills, Virginia, April 4, 1865, just five days before Lee surrendered. Finney was a modest, earnest, faithful man, attentive to his duties, not self-seeking, but contented with his lot and ambitious only to do a man's part. It seemed hard for him to go through so near to the end only to be stricken just as the haven of peace was in sight; but his friends have the satisfaction of knowing that Solon Finney never failed to do that which was right and, though he gave his life, it was surrendered cheerfully in the cause of his country and its flag. He was one of those who would have given a hundred lives rather than have his country destroyed—a genuine patriot and a noble man.

With the Washtenaw contingent of troop "F" came Aaron C. Jewett, of Ann Arbor. Jewett was a leading spirit in University circles. His parents were wealthy, he an only son to whom nothing was denied that a doting father could supply. Reared in luxury, he was handsome as a girl and as lovable in disposition. It was current rumor that one of the most amiable young women in the college town—a daughter of one of the professors—was his betrothed. He was graduated with the senior class of that year and immediately enlisted. Notwithstanding his antecedents and his station in life he performed his humble duties in the ranks without a murmur, thus furnishing one more illustration of the patriotism that animated the best type of young men of that day. Ah! He was a comely soldier, with his round, ruddy face, his fresh complexion, his bright black eyes, and curling hair the color of the raven—his uniform brushed and boots polished to the pink of neatness.

These things together with his modest mien and close attention to his duties made of him a marked man and, in a short time, regimental headquarters had need of him. He was detailed as clerk, then as acting sergeant major and, when early in the year 1863, it was announced that Hiram F. Hale was to be appointed army paymaster, Jewett was chosen to succeed him as adjutant, but had not received his commission when death overtook him at Williamsport, Maryland, July 6. There was grief in the Sixth of Michigan on that fateful night when it was known that Aaron Jewett lay within the enemy's lines smitten by a fragment of a shell while faithfully delivering the orders of his colonel to the troops of the regiment as they successively came into line under a heavy fire of artillery. Weber and myself with our men tried to recover the body, but were unable to do so, a force of confederates having gained possession of the ground. In a week from that time, Weber himself lay cold in death, only five miles distant, with a bullet through his brain. That was in Maryland, however, north of the Potomac and, after we had crossed into Virginia, Jewett's father succeeded in finding the body of his son and performed the sad duty of giving it proper sepulture.

All the members of the field and staff of the regiment have been mentioned, except Quartermaster Charles H. Patten and Commissary Jacob Chapman. The latter soon resigned. Patten stuck to it till there was no more clothing to issue. He was a good quartermaster, honest, energetic and capable, and that is saying a good deal for him. There has been much uncalled for satirical comment at the expense of the quartermasters. They were really among the most useful of officers—indispensable in fact. The man who handled the transportation for a cavalry command had a position requiring tact, nerve, energy, endurance and ability of a high order. Mr. Patten was such a man. His wagon trains never failed to reach the front with needed supplies when it was possible to get them there. The white canvas of the army wagon was a pleasant sight to the soldier worn out with marching and fighting; and the quartermaster could always count on a cordial welcome when he appeared.

October 11, 1862, the regiment was mustered into the United States service. The mustering officer was General J.R. Smith of the regular army, a veteran of the Mexican war, in which he received a wound in one arm, disabling it. He had a slit in his sleeve tied with ribbons—a way he had, it was thought, of calling attention to his disability, and sort of a standing apology for being back in Michigan while his associates of the army were fighting at the front. It was an amiable and pardonable weakness, if such it may be called, and everybody had a liking for the old Mexican war officer.

One of my first acts after reaching the rendezvous had been to call on Colonel Kellogg, who was in his room, up to his eyes in papers and correspondence. He greeted me cordially, congratulated me on my success, and assured me that he was my friend, which he proved to be.

"Order your uniform at once," said he, "and go to work without delay."

The result of this interview was that a tailor took my measure for a suit and, in due time, I was arrayed in Union blue, with shining brass buttons, bright yellow facings, and the shoulder straps of a captain of cavalry. No boy in his first trousers ever felt happier or prouder.

Before the brasses had become tarnished or the trimmings soiled I took a run to Ann Arbor to say good-by to the boys. They were glad to see me, and the welcome I had was something to remember. They were like a band of brothers and showed the same interest as if we had been of one family.

I think the students felt a sort of clannish pride when one of their number enlisted and thought that the alma mater was doing the correct and patriotic thing in sending her sons into the army. It was plainly to be seen that many of them were holding back unwillingly. Indeed, it was not long till some of them dropped their studies abruptly and followed the example of those who had already gone. Everybody gave me an affectionate Godspeed and I was surprised at the number of my friends.



CHAPTER VII

THE DEPARTURE FOR WASHINGTON

It was on a bright moonlight night in December, 1862, that the Sixth cavalry of Michigan left its rendezvous in Grand Rapids and marched to the station to take the cars for Washington. It was like tearing asunder the ties of years, for those whose lines had been cast even for a brief time only, in the "Valley City."[3] The hospitality of the people had been unbounded. Many of the officers and men had their homes there. Those who had not, took short leaves and made flying visits to their families to say good-by and arrange their affairs for what might be a final farewell. The scenes of our sojourn for a few months, where we had engaged in daily drills and parades, in the pomp and circumstance of mimic warfare, were to know us no longer. The time for rehearsal had passed. We were about to enter upon the real stage of action, and do our part in the mighty tragedy then enacting.

The camp was broken. Tents were struck. Preparations for departure were made. Adieus were said. Horses were sent away in charge of a detail. The quartermaster took possession of the equipments. The regiment was not yet armed, but was to be supplied with all the needed munitions on arrival in the Capital City.

For some reason, it was deemed best to make a night march to the station. No notice of this was given to the citizens. The result was that when we left camp, at 2 a.m., the streets were deserted. The town was wrapped in slumber. No sound was heard, except the tramp, tramp of the soldiers, and the roar of the river as it plunged over the dam, which only served to intensify the stillness.

Through Michigan was a memorable trip. The same scenes with but slight variation, were enacted at each station. Officers and men alike, were warmed by the hearty and affectionate greetings, the memory of which followed them through all the days, and months, and years of their service.

On to Detroit, Toledo, Pittsburg, Harrisburg, Baltimore, quickly whirled. Flowers, music, words of cheer, everywhere. "God bless you, boys," was the common form of salutation. "Three cheers for the old flag," and "Three cheers for 'Abe Lincoln,'" were sentiments offered amidst the wildest enthusiasm, to which the twelve hundred Michigan throats responded with an energy that bespoke their sincerity. Baltimore was reached in the night, and when marching through the streets, from one station to the other, the strains of "John Brown's body lies mouldering in the ground," awoke the echoes in the city that had mobbed a Massachusetts regiment, and through which Abraham Lincoln on the way to his inauguration had to pass in disguise to escape assassination. "We'll hang Jeff. Davis on a sour apple tree," was a refrain in which all joined, and there was a heartiness about it that none can understand who did not pass through those troublous times.

But Baltimore was as peaceful as Pittsburg, and no mob gathered to contest the right of Michigan men to invade southern soil. It was quiet. There was no demonstration of any kind. The passage of troops had become a familiar story to the citizens of the Monumental city.

It was the thunder of Burnside's guns at Fredericksburg that welcomed us to the army of the east. The same sun that saw us bivouac beneath the dome of the Capitol, shone down upon the Army of the Potomac, lying once again beaten and dispirited, on the plains of Falmouth. Burnside had run his course, and "Fighting 'Joe' Hooker" was in command.



CHAPTER VIII

THE ARRIVAL IN WASHINGTON

There was little about Washington in 1862 to indicate that a great war was raging. The reference in the previous chapter to the "thunder of Burnside's guns" was figurative only. No guns were heard. It was Sunday morning. Church bells pealed out the call for divine worship and streams of well-dressed people were wending their way to the sanctuaries. The presence of uniformed troops in such a scene appeared incongruous, and was the only thing that spoke of war, if we except the white tents and hospital buildings that abounded on every side.

Rest was welcomed after the long jaunt by rail, and the day was given up to it, except for the necessary work of drawing and issuing rations. It was historic ground, made doubly so by the events then transpiring. Few realized, however, that we actually were engaged in making the history of the most eventful epoch in the career of the Republic, and the chief interest of the place seemed to lie in its associations with the past. The Capitol, with its great unfinished dome, towered above us. The White House, the Treasury building, the Patent office, Arlington, the former home of the Lees, Long bridge, Pennsylvania avenue, the Smithsonian institute, the tree where Sickles killed Key. These and other points of interest were quickly seen or visited.

And the Washington of 1862 was a very different city to the Washington of recent years. Where now are broad avenues of concrete pavement, were then wide streets of mud, through which teams of army mules, hauling heavy wagons, tugged and floundered. A dirty canal, full of foul smells, traversed the city where now are paved streets and fine buildings. Where then were waste places, now are lovely parks, adorned with statues. Rows of stately trees fringe the avenues, and green lawns dot the landscape, where in 1862 was a vast military camp, full of hospitals and squalid in appearance. The man who saw Washington then and returns to it for the first time, would be as much astonished as was Aladdin at the creations of his wonderful lamp. Certain salient features remain, but there has been on the whole a magical change.

Camp was pitched on Meridian Hill, well out on Fourteenth street, near Columbia college, then used for a hospital, and preparations were made to spend the winter there. The Fifth Michigan, which had reached Washington before us, was located on "Capitol Hill," at the opposite end of the city. We had a fine campground, stretching from Fourteenth street through to Seventh, well adapted to drill and parade purposes.

A few days after their arrival in Washington, the officers of the Sixth, under the escort of Congressman Kellogg, went in a body to pay their respects to President Lincoln, several members of the cabinet and the general of the army. Full dress was the proper "caper," they were told, and accordingly they were arrayed in their finest. The uniforms were new and there is no doubt that they were a gorgeous looking party as they marched up Pennsylvania avenue wearing shining brasses, bright red sashes, buff gauntlets, and sabres glittering in their scabbards. Mr. Kellogg pronounced the "Open Sesame" which caused the doors of the White House to open and secured admission to the presence of the President.

After being ushered into the "Blue Parlor" we were kept waiting for some time. Expectancy was on tip-toe, for few if any of the officers had seen Mr. Lincoln. But no introduction was needed when the door opened and the President stood before us. That was to me a memorable moment, for it was the first and last time that I saw Abraham Lincoln. There was no mistaking the tall, gaunt figure, the thin, care-worn face, the slovenly gait, as he entered the room. In appearance he was almost as unique as his place in history is unexampled. But spare, haggard and bent as he looked, he was yet a strikingly handsome man, for there was on his brow the stamp of greatness. We saw him as in a halo, and looked beyond the plain lineaments and habiliments of the man to the ideal figure of the statesman and president, struggling for the freedom of his country and the unity of his race, whom we all saw in the "Railsplitter" from Illinois; and he seemed, in his absent-minded way, to be looking beyond those present to the infinite realm of responsibility and care in which he dwelt.

It is the misfortune of Lincoln that his portraits have not been idealized like those of Julius Caesar, Napoleon Bonaparte, and Washington. It remains for some great artist, inspired by the nobility of his subject, to make those homely features so transparent that his reverent and grateful countrymen may look through them and see a presentment of the great soul and beautiful character that irradiated and glorified them in his life, and which will grow brighter and more lovely as the fugitive ages glide away.

The officers were introduced, one by one, and Mr. Lincoln gave each hand a shake as he uttered a perfunctory, but kindly, "How do you do?" and then turned quickly toward the door, as though his mind was still on the work which he had left in order to grant the interview, which must have trenched sadly upon his time.

But he was not to escape so easily, for the Congressman, rising to the occasion, said:

"Mr. President, these are the officers of a regiment of cavalry who have just come from my state of Michigan. They are 'Wolverines' and are on the track of 'Jeb' Stuart, whom they propose to pursue and capture if there is any virtue in a name."

"Gentlemen," said the President, with a twinkle of the eye, and the first and only indication of humor that he gave, "I can assure you that it would give me much greater pleasure to see 'Jeb Stuart' in captivity than it has given me to see you," and with a bow and smile he vanished.

Although we remained in Washington for about two months, I did not see him again. He never saw "Jeb Stuart" in captivity, but it was in a fight with the Michigan cavalry brigade that the dashing raider was killed. So the remark of the Congressman was not such an idle boast, after all.

When the Seventh Michigan arrived it was put in camp on the Seventh street side. Colonel J.T. Copeland, of the Fifth Michigan, was promoted to brigadier general of volunteers and assigned to the command of the three regiments. The brigade was attached to the division of General Silas Casey, all under General S.P. Heintzelman, who was in charge of the Department of Washington, with headquarters in the city. Freeman Norvell succeeded Copeland as colonel of the Fifth. The department extended out into Virginia as far as Fairfax Court House, and there was a cordon of troops entirely around the city.

The prospect was that the brigade would see little, if any fighting, for a time, as it was not to be sent on to the army at Falmouth. The work of drilling and disciplining went on without relaxation throughout the winter months, and when arms were issued, it was found, to the delight of all concerned, that we were to have repeating rifles.

The muskets or rifles issued to the United States infantry, during the civil war, were inferior weapons, and a brigade of Michigan militia of the present period would make short work of a military force of equal numbers so armed. It is one of the strange things about that war that the ordnance department did not anticipate the Austrians, Germans and French, in the employment of the fire-arm loaded at the breech which was so effective in the Franco-Prussian conflict and, if I am not mistaken, in the war between Prussia and Austria in 1866, also. This made of the individual soldier a host in himself. The old muzzle-loader, with its ramrod and dilatory "motions," ought to have been obsolete long before Grant left the West to lead the Army of the Potomac from the Wilderness to Appomattox. The Michigan cavalry brigade, armed as it was with repeating carbines, was never whipped when it had a chance to use them. In arming the infantry the government was fifty years behind the times.

Possibly the same thing might be said truthfully of the artillery also, though the union artillerists, notwithstanding the handicap, did such effective work as would have delighted the "Little Corporal," himself.

The "Spencer" rifle was an invention brought to the notice of the Ordnance Department about that time. Among the numerous "charges" brought against James G. Blaine was one that he was interested in the manufacture of this arm and in the contract for furnishing it to the government. How much truth there may have been in the assertion I do not know, but if Mr. Blaine was instrumental in bringing about the adoption of the "Spencer" for the use of the Federal cavalry, he ought to have had a vote of thanks by Congress, for a better gun had never been issued, and if the entire army had been supplied with it the war could not have lasted ninety days and Mr. Seward would have been a prophet.

The "Spencer" was a magazine gun carrying eight cartridges, all of which could be discharged without taking the arm from the shoulder. It was loaded at the breech and the act of throwing out an empty shell replaced it with a fresh cartridge. Against such arms the old-fashioned muzzle-loaders, with which the infantry was equipped, were ineffective. The Michigan men were fortunate in being among the very first to receive these repeating rifles which, after the first year in the field, were exchanged for the carbine of the same make, a lighter arm and better adapted for the use of cavalry.



CHAPTER IX

THE STAY IN WASHINGTON

The stay in Washington though brief, was monotonous. Time hung heavily on our hands. And yet, it was not devoid of incident. There is, perhaps, little of this that is worth recounting, of those things, at least, that appeared on the surface. Had one been able to reach the penetralia—the inmost recesses—of official and military life, he might have brought away with him reminiscences that would make racy reading. But this privilege was vouchsafed to but few, and they the elect. The logic of war is, learn to obey and ask no questions.

One thing happened which came very near breaking up my troop, and threatened to destroy the regiment itself. It was at that time difficult to get recruits for the regulars. Citizen-soldiers preferred the volunteers. But it was considered important to keep the regiments in the regular army recruited up to the minimum, at least, and an order was issued from the War Department permitting regular officers to recruit from the ranks of the volunteers. It was a bad order, and, as soon as tested, was rescinded. I had the misfortune first to experience its effects, and the good fortune to secure its abrogation.

There was in the troop a man who fancied he was slighted when the non-commissioned officers were appointed and, always thereafter, nursed his wrath to keep it warm. He was well-educated, but of a surly disposition and insubordinate. He was made a corporal, but thought his merits entitled him to something better and never got over the feeling. Had he gone on and done his duty, like General Grant, in the station to which he was assigned, he might have risen much higher. As it was, he never did. This man made the discovery of the War Department order, and soon there was a cabal which was constantly giving out that they were independent of my authority and could shake themselves free at any moment. At first, we did not know what this meant, but it soon leaked out, though they intended to keep it secret. It was ascertained, not only that they had the right to go, but that while down town on passes, eleven men actually had enlisted in the regular army. The recruiting officer had ordered them to report to him on a certain day which they arranged to do, thinking that they would be sent to New York harbor, to garrison forts and escape duty in the field.

When this became known, there was no time to be lost, and Colonel Gray drew up a paper setting forth that if these men were allowed to go it would be the end of all discipline in his command and asking that they be ordered to report back for duty. He well understood the art of putting things and the petition was brief, pointed and convincing. It was addressed to the adjutant general of the army, but had to go through the regular channels and, to save time, he gave me a letter directing that I take it up in person. In two days, it had been approved by Generals Copeland, Casey and Heintzelman,—and there was a delay of one day at that,—due to a staff officer, who acted as a buffer at Heintzelman's headquarters. Proceeding then at once to the adjutant general's office, I was referred to Major Williams,[4] assistant adjutant general, one of the most polished and courteous gentlemen it was ever my fortune to meet. He was most gracious and kind, assured me that the request would be granted at once, and told me to go back and dismiss all further uneasiness about the matter. The next day, the order was rescinded, once and for all. The eleven men were ordered to report back for duty, and the regulars did no more recruiting in the volunteers.

The men were ignorant of what had been done, and on the morning when they were to leave, they called on me in a body to say good-by. One of the number, acting as spokesman, assured me that it was on account of no ill-will toward captain or troop that they had taken the step. It was done because they believed it would be better for them and, as the act was authorized, begged that I would not think hard of it, at the same time assuring me of their lasting friendship. The speaker doubtless voiced the honest sentiments of all, for it is probable that they themselves had begun to suspect that they were making a mistake. In reply, they were assured that no ill-will was harbored, unless it would be in the "harbor" to which they were going, and they were urged to write and let us know how they liked New York Harbor, as we would always feel a warm interest in their welfare.

Then they started, but were halted at the "sallyport," and when they exhibited to the officer-of-the-day their passes from the regular army lieutenant, he presented to them the order from the adjutant general. They came back, looking crest-fallen enough. Thinking that they had been punished sufficiently, I assured them that if they would do their duty like men, the matter would be forgotten.

It was a good lesson and, from that time on, no officer ever had the honor to command men braver, more faithful, or more loyal, than were the regular army contingent of Troop "E" Sixth Michigan cavalry. They never had reason to regret the fate that kept them in the volunteers. Several of them are still living and among my most devoted friends.

At some time during that winter, the Michigan men in Washington had a banquet in one of the rooms or long hall-ways in the Capitol. It was a fine affair. There were long tables loaded with viands and decorated with flowers. The Michigan Senators—Chandler and J.M. Howard—and the Members of Congress were present, and there was speech-making and music. Among those who responded to toasts was Schuyler Colfax, afterwards vice-president, then, I believe, Speaker of the House. Colfax's remarks, alone, left much of an impression, but I wondered why he was regarded as a great man. He had a pleasant, smiling face and very white teeth, but his speech did not strike one as brilliant in any way.

The singing was led by Doctor Willard Bliss, surgeon-in-charge of Armory Square hospital, located on Fourteenth street, opposite the then unfinished Washington monument. Bliss went out as surgeon of the "Old Third,"[5] had already made a place for himself as one of the leading army surgeons, and his hospital was a model of good management. He was at Bull Run with his regiment and it was said that he sent a telegram from Washington to a relative in Michigan, saying: "A great battle fought; 'Zene' (meaning his brother) 'Zene' and I are safe." The wags were accustomed to figure out what extraordinary time he must have made in order to reach Washington in time to send that telegram. But it was the fashion to guy everybody who was in that battle, unless he was either wounded or taken prisoner. Bliss, as most men are apt to do, "went with the crowd." He remained in Washington after the war, making much money and spending it freely, and achieved notoriety, if not fame, through his connection with the case of President Garfield, after he was shot by the assassin, Guiteau.

The camp on Meridian Hill was a pleasant one, and enlivened at times by the presence of several ladies, among whom were Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Alger, and Mrs. Sheldon, wives of the colonel, lieutenant colonel and commissary, respectively. These ladies spent much time in camp, and when the weather was pleasant lived in tents, which always were delightfully homelike, and often crowded with visitors. 'Twas but a year or two since Mrs. Alger's soldier-husband led her to the altar as a bride and they were a handsome couple, not less popular than handsome. She was a decided favorite in camp, winning the affections of all by her gracious manners and kind heart, as she has done since, when presiding over her hospitable home in Detroit or the mansion of the War Secretary in Washington. Mrs. Sheldon, who was a niece of Dr. Willard Bliss, followed her husband to the field and was a ministering angel to many a sick or wounded soldier in hospital and in camp.

One day a man came to me and wanted to enlist. He said his home was in the State of New York, but he liked the Michigan men and desired to join them. He was a bright-looking, active young man and, as the numbers of the troop had been somewhat reduced by sickness and death, he was accepted and mustered in as a private. He remained with us until the morning of the third day at Gettysburg, when, about daylight, he gathered up a lot of canteens and went, ostensibly, to get them filled. We never saw him again, and many times when thinking of the circumstances, I wondered if he was a confederate spy. He was a good soldier and did not leave to shirk danger, for he had been under fire and demonstrated his courage. He could hardly have disappeared so completely unless he went into the enemy's lines, and, if he did that, must have done it purposely.[6]

There is no doubt that in the early years of the war the enemy's means of getting information were far superior to ours and there is still less doubt that not only the army, but Washington, and even the War Department were filled with spies. Probably no union general ever succeeded in outwitting these confederate emissaries so completely as did General Sheridan. He told me in Petersburg, after the fall of Richmond, that he had Early's spies at his headquarters in Winchester all through the winter of 1864-65—they having come to him under the pretense of being deserters—knowing them to be such, but pretending that he did not distrust them, and in the spring, before the grand forward movement, he sent them off on a false scent, with wrong information for their chief—Early. With two of these, in order to keep up the deception, he was obliged to send one genuine union scout, who was arrested as a spy, in Lynchburg, and would have been hung, if the sudden closing of hostilities had not suspended sentence. This man's name was M.B. Medes, a trooper of the Sixth Michigan cavalry, then on detached service as a scout at Sheridan's headquarters, and never, since his miraculous escape, has he been able to talk about the experiences of that last scout without a fit of nervous prostration. In a letter written to me several years ago, he said:

"I don't know why it is, but I can never talk of my adventures and narrow escapes while acting as scout and spy, that I do not break down completely and shake as though I had a hard chill."



CHAPTER X

FIELD SERVICE IN VIRGINIA

It was toward the last of February, 1863, that the first order to move came. I had been down to the city and, returning about ten o'clock in the evening, not dreaming of any change from the usual order of things, was surprised to find all bustle and confusion, where a few hours before it had been quiet and serene. The regiment was to march at two o'clock in the morning, and preparations for departure were well under way. Three days' cooked rations and forty rounds of ammunition to the man were to be taken, the sick men and unserviceable horses to remain in camp, and the tents to remain standing as they were until our return. By this it appeared that it was to be a raid or reconnoissance, not a permanent change of station. Everyone was busy getting ready for the march. Rations were issued, cooked and put in the haversacks; ammunition was distributed and placed in the cartridge boxes; a small bag of oats was strapped to each saddle; horses were fed and the men took a midnight lunch. As for myself, I had the foresight to have a tin cup tied to the cantle of my saddle and, in addition to the cooked meat and hard bread, put into the saddle-bags some sugar, and a sack of coffee that my good mother had sent from home and which was received only a few days before. It was about as large as a medium-sized shot bag, and the coffee was browned and ground ready for use. I also took a supply of matches. These things were of inestimable value during the next few days.

Promptly at the appointed hour, two o'clock a.m., "boots and saddles" and "to horse" were sounded; twelve troops led their horses into line; twelve first sergeants called the roll, to which every man not excused from duty responded; and twelve troop commanders gave the order to mount; when the regiment, responsive to the bugle call, "forward," broke into column of fours, moved out into Fourteenth street and headed for Long Bridge. The night was dark and dismal. The rain began to fall. It was cold and raw, the air surcharged with moisture, chilling one to the marrow. But as the troopers wore gum coats or "poncho" blankets and top boots, they were measurably sheltered from the storm at the same time that they were exposed to it.

Down through the silent, slumbering city the multitudinous tread of the iron-shod horses awoke strange echoes, while the splashing rain-drops and lowering clouds did not serve to raise the spirits. It was an inauspicious beginning of active service, and typical of the many long and weary weeks of wet discomfort that the Sixth of Michigan was destined to experience before the summer solstice had fairly passed. The points of interest,—the public buildings, the white house, the massive Greek architecture of the Treasury building, the monument, all these as they glided like phantoms, through the mist, attracted scarcely a casual glance. Indeed, it is probable that few in that long column took note that these had passed at all, so deeply were they absorbed in the reflections that the time and circumstances produced.

Thus on to the Long Bridge that spans the great water highway between the Nation's Capital and the "Old Dominion." The tread of a thousand cavalry horses did not serve to shake its mile of solid superstructure. It seemed a long journey from one end to the other. Above, the scurrying clouds, below, the angry river, all around, the drizzling storm, it was a sorry scene; and a sullen welcome to the soil of Virginia, that was then as often before and afterwards, a slippery, sticky mud.

Halting at daylight, the column was reinforced a few miles out, by the Fifth Michigan cavalry. Resuming the march, the two regiments passed through Alexandria, looking with interest, of course, at the spot where the chivalric Ellsworth was shot the year before. What a dilapidated town, its whole face marred and scarred by the ravages of war!

It took till dusk to reach Centerville, and the rain never stopped long enough to catch its breath, but kept at it, all day long. Such a first night out as that was! The men slept, or rather stood in the rain all night for sleep was out of the question. No wood could be procured, so no fires were built and there was no hot coffee. It was a unique experience for cavalrymen and they had not yet learned how to forage. I wandered around in the rain and finally stumbled upon the quarters of some infantry officers who were stationed near and had a tent and a fire. They kindly permitted me to stay with them till morning. But for this, it seemed to me that I should have perished, though the sequel proved that it was possible to get through a worse night without food or shelter.

In the morning at six o'clock, three more regiments, the Fifth New York, the First Virginia, and the Eighteenth Pennsylvania, joined, and the force, thus augmented to about two thousand men, pushed on towards Warrenton, Sir Percy Wyndham in command. This officer was an Englishman, an alleged lord. But lord or son of a lord, his capacity as a cavalry officer was not great. He had been entrusted with one or two independent commands and was regarded as a dashing officer. He had no sooner assumed command of our force than he started off at a rapid pace through that part of Virginia that was between Washington and Falmouth—that is, in rear of Hooker's army, and where there was no enemy, unless it might have been small bands of guerrillas. During the day he charged through the town of Warrenton and a few confederate scouts coolly watched the column from the neighboring hills. They were well mounted and evidently did not fear capture. Indeed, no attempt was made to capture them, but away rode Wyndham, as if riding for a wager, or to beat the record of John Gilpin. He seemed bent on killing as many horses as possible, not to mention the men. The fact was the newspapers were in the habit of reporting that Colonel or General so-and-so had made a forced march of so many miles in so many hours, and it is probable that "Sir Percy" was in search of some more of that kind of cheap renown. It was a safe pastime, harmless to the enemy and not dangerous to himself, though hurtful to horse-flesh.

That night we camped beyond Warrenton and had the first taste of picket duty. My troop was sent out about a mile beyond the camp and kept on picket until morning. A line of videttes was posted along the front, and so keenly did the officers feel the responsibility, that they made no attempt to sleep but were in the saddle constantly. It would have been a smart confederate who could have surprised the Michiganders that night. Every faculty was on the alert. Often we fancied that an enemy was approaching the line; a foe lurked behind every tree and bush; each sound had an ominous meaning and the videttes were visited at frequent intervals to see if they had discovered anything. In that way the night passed. In the morning everybody was exhausted and, to make matters worse, many of the men ran short of provisions. Some of them had neglected to bring the amount ordered; others had been improvident and wasted their rations. So to the discomforts of cold and wet, were added the pangs of hunger. The little bag of coffee had proven a precious boon. Whenever the column would halt for a few minutes, and it was possible to find anything that would burn, a handful of the coffee was put into a tin cup of water and boiled. It was surprising how quickly this could be done, and the beverage thus brewed was "nectar fit for the gods." When the flavor of that coffee, as it tasted on that trip more than forty years ago, is recalled, it is with a smack of the lips. The bare remembrance is more grateful to the palate than is the actual enjoyment of the most delicate product of the culinary art today.

There were times early in the war when spirits were issued to the soldiers as an army ration. Though personally I never took a drop of liquor when on duty during the entire of my army service, yet I am confident that there were times when a reasonable amount of stimulant was a good thing. Indeed, there were times when a man was a fool if he did not take it, assuming that he could get it. Coffee was, however, a very good substitute, and to the credit of the government be it said the coffee issued to the Union troops was almost invariably of excellent quality. They always had it and plenty of it. Such a solace as it was! There was nothing like it. On the march, when there was a temporary halt, a thousand fires would quickly blaze alongside the weary column, and a thousand tin cups would soon be steaming with the fragrant and delicious beverage. Veterans could build a fire and make a cup of coffee almost as quickly, and under as discouraging environments, as the traditional Irishman can light his pipe. It seemed to be done by magic, and there was no time and no place where the cup of coffee was not welcome and appreciated.

There is a song, much affected by members of the Grand Army of the Republic. It is styled "The Army Bean." I could never quite make out whether it was not intended as a burlesque. There may be enough of sentiment attached to the army bean to entitle it to the honor of being immortalized in song, but to me it was an abomination, less poetic in name and association than the proverbial "sow-belly" bacon, so dear to the heart of the soldier.

Why does not some poet, filled with the divine afflatus, sing the praise of the army tin cup and its precious contents—the fragrant coffee of the camp, and march, and bivouac? Ambrosial nectar fit for the gods. The everyday and grateful beverage of heroes. Here is a theme for some modern Horace, as inspiring as the fruity and fragrant wine of which his ancient namesake so eloquently sang. I doubt if the red wine of the Horatian odes was more exhilarating to the Roman legionary than the aroma from his tin cup to the soldier of the Union.

Oh, brimming, steaming, fragrant cup! Never-failing friend of the volunteer! His solace in fatigue, and his strength in battle. To thee, I sing.

To resume the story at the point at which this digression left it: On the day following the night tour of picket duty, after having ridden from one o'clock in the morning till after eight o'clock in the evening, and the march not yet ended, I became so famished that a piece of raw fat pork was devoured with more relish than ever before I had eaten an orange. Our valiant commander, finding that morning that rations and forage were both exhausted, started for Falmouth, the nearest point at which supplies could be obtained. Late that Saturday night we bivouaced with the camp fires of Hooker's army all around. But no forethought had been taken; no rations were drawn or issued; no wood was supplied; and after three days' ride through the rain, many not having had a morsel of food for twenty-four hours, the entire command was forced to lie on the ground, in pools of water, in the midst of a drenching rain without food, or fire, or shelter of any kind whatever. It was dreadful, and the experiences of that night are recalled even now with a shudder. It was like lying down in the middle of a river. There was no place big enough to spread a blanket, where there was not a puddle of water, and, all the time, the rain fell pitilessly, in torrents. The solace of hot coffee was denied, for there was no fuel. Food was gone. The minutes were hours. While hunger gnawed at the vitals, a clammy chilliness seized upon one, making him feel as if every vital organ was in a state of congestion. How daylight was longed for, and soon after the first streaks of dawn began to appear, I deserted my watery couch and made straight across the country toward some infantry camps, and actually hugged every fragment of an ember that could be found. After a while I found some soldiers cooking coffee. One of them was taking a cup off the fire for his breakfast. I asked him for a drink which he surlily refused.

"How much will you take for all there is in the cup?" said I.

He did not want to sell it, but when I took out a half dollar and offered it to him, he took it and gave up the coffee, looking on with astonishment, while I swallowed it almost boiling hot and without taking breath. This revived me, and soon after, I found a place where a meal consisting of ham, eggs, bread and coffee, was served for a big price and took about a dollar's worth for breakfast.

By eight o'clock, rations and forage were drawn and issued and men and horses were supplied with the much needed food. All of Sunday was spent in Falmouth and the "fresh" cavalrymen took a good many observations as to how real soldiers conducted and took care of themselves.

Monday morning Sir Percy started by the nearest route, via Acquia Creek, Stafford Court House and Fairfax, for Washington, arriving there at eight o'clock Tuesday evening, having been absent just six days, accomplishing nothing. It was a big raid on government horses, ruining a large number. Beside that, it made many men ill. It was a good thing though, after all. The men had learned what campaigning meant and, thereafter, knew how to provide themselves for a march, and how important to husband their rations so as to prevent waste at first and make them last as long as possible.

Some idea of the damage done to horses by such raids as that of Sir Percy Wyndham, may be gained from the morning reports of officers on the day after the return to camp in Washington. I find that out of eighty horses in my troop only twenty were fit for duty, part of which had been left in camp and did not accompany the expedition. However, they quickly recuperated, and on the eleventh of March following, we were off into Virginia once more, this time bringing up at Fairfax Court House, where we remained a week, encamping by the side of the First Michigan, Fifth New York, and several other veteran regiments, from whom by observation and personal contact, much information was gained that proved of great value during the following months.

In the meantime, the camps in Washington were broken up and all the regiments were sent across the Potomac. A division of cavalry was organized, consisting of two brigades. Wyndham was sent to Hooker and Julius Stahel, a brigadier general who had been serving in Blenker's division, of Sigel's corps, in the army of the Potomac, was assigned to command of all the cavalry in the Department of Washington, with headquarters at Fairfax Court House.

Stahel was a Hungarian, and it was said had been on the staff of Kossuth in the Hungarian army. He was a "dapper little Dutchman," as everybody called him. His appearance was that of a natty staff officer, and did not fill one's ideal of a major general, or even a brigadier general by brevet. He affected the foreign style of seat on horseback, and it was "as good as a show" to see him dash along the flank of the column at a rattling pace, rising in his stirrups as he rode. I have always believed that had he remained with the Third Cavalry division long enough to get into a real charge, like the one at Gettysburg, he would have been glad enough to put aside all those "frills" and use his thighs to retain his seat in the saddle while he handled his arms. He took great pride in his messing arrangements and gave elegant "spreads" to invited guests at his headquarters. I was privileged to be present at one of these dinners and must say that he entertained in princely style. His staff were all foreigners, and would have been "dudes," only there were no "dudes" in those days. Dudes were types of the genus homo evolved at a later period. They were dandies and no mistake, but in that respect had no advantage over him, for he could vie in style with the best of them. One member of his staff was a Hungarian who answered to the name of Figglemezzy, and only the other day I read a notice of his death recently in New York. Stahel is still living—one of the very few surviving major generals of the civil war.[7]

It is a pity we did not have a chance to see Stahel in a fight, for I have an idea he was brave, and it takes away in an instant any feeling of prejudice you may have against a man on account of his being fussy in dress, when you see him face death or danger without flinching. Fine clothes seem to fit such a man, but upon one who cannot stand fire they become a proper subject for ridicule. Custer with flashing eye and flowing hair, charging at the head of his men, was a grand and picturesque figure, the more so by reason of his fantastic uniform, which made him a conspicuous mark for the enemy's bullets, but a coward in Custer's uniform would have become the laughing stock of the army. So Stahel might, perhaps, have won his way to confidence, had he remained with the cavalry division which afterwards achieved fame under Kilpatrick and Custer but, at the first moment when there was serious work ahead for his command, he was relieved, and another wore the spurs and received the laurels that might have been his.

Leaving Washington at daylight, we went into camp about five miles out, expecting to remain there for a time, but had just time to prepare breakfast when an order came to report to Lieutenant Colonel Alger who, with the four largest troops in the regiment, was going off on an independent expedition. That evening we reached Vienna, a little town on the Loudoun railroad, where we found a small force, including two troops of the First Vermont cavalry, already on duty. This was our first acquaintance with the Green Mountain boys, and the friendship thus begun was destined to last as long as there was an enemy in arms against the Union. The First Vermont was sometimes referred to as the "Eighth Michigan," so close were the ties which bound it to the Michigan brigade. And they always seemed to be rather proud of the designation.

Assuming command of all the forces there, Colonel Alger informed us that General Stahel had information that the place was to be attacked that night and that we were there to defend it. Selecting a strong position on a hill, a camp was started, but no fires were allowed after dark. Vigilance was not relaxed, but no enemy appeared, and on the following day we went on a scout through all the region roundabout without encountering a single armed confederate. The air was full of rumors. Nobody could tell their origin. Fitzhugh Lee was a few miles away, coming with a big force. "Stonewall" Jackson had started on another raid, and any moment might see his gray "foot-cavalry" swarming into the vicinity. Such stories were poured into our ears at Vienna, but a couple of days' duty there demonstrated their falsity and we were hurried back to Fairfax Court House and sent off on a day and night march through the Loudoun Valley to Aldie, Middleburg and Ashby's Gap in the Blue Ridge mountains. Two entire regiments, the Fifth Michigan under Colonel Alger and the Sixth under Colonel Gray, went on this expedition, reaching Aldie at midnight, in a blinding snow-storm. Remaining out in it all night without shelter or fire, the next day we made a gallant "charge" through Middleburg, finding no enemy there but a few of Mosby's men who fled at our approach. During the day some of them were captured and one man of troop "C," Sixth was killed. It was evident that Lee's army, no portion of it, had begun a movement northward, and the two regiments returned to Fairfax, making a night march while the snow continued to fall and mud and slush made the going as bad as it could be. At two o'clock in the morning the column halted and an attempt was made to build camp-fires, but the logs and rails were so wet that they would not burn, and all hands stood around in the snow, stamping their feet and swinging their arms, in a futile effort to keep warm. The march was resumed at daylight. We were more comfortable when in the saddle, on the march, than during that early morning bivouac. It was possible to sleep, when snugly settled in the capacious McClellan saddles, but when dismounted, sleep was out of the question. There was no place to lie down and to stand in the snow only aggravated the discomfort. But when mounted, the men would pull the capes of their overcoats over their heads, drop their chins upon their breasts and sleep. The horses plodded along and doubtless were asleep too, doing their work as a somnambulist might, walking while they slept.

Soon thereafter, Colonel Alger with five troops (troop "B," commanded by Captain Peter A. Weber, having been added to the four that were with him at Vienna) was sent to a place called "Camp Meeting Hill," where a camp was established that proved to be a permanent one. At least, we remained there until Hooker's army moved northward. This was a delightful place. The tents were pitched in a grove of large timber on a piece of ground that was high and dry, sloping off in every direction. It was by the side of the pike running south from Vienna, two miles from that place, close to the Leesburg pike and the Loudoun railroad. A semi-circular line of pickets was established in front of Washington, the right and left resting on the Potomac, above and below the city respectively. Our detachment guarded the extreme right of the line. Colonel Gray was five miles to the left, with the remainder of the Sixth, and the Fifth still farther away in that direction. About two miles in front of our camp ran the "Difficult" Creek, a small, deep stream with difficult banks, that rises somewhere in the Bull Run country, and empties into the Potomac near the Great Falls above Washington. A line of videttes was posted along this creek. An enemy could not easily surprise them, as the stream was in their front. Well out toward this line from the main camp, two reserves were established, commanded by captains, and still farther out smaller reserves, under charge of the lieutenants and sergeants. Each troop had a tour of this duty, twenty-four hours on and forty-eight off. The "off" days were given to reading, writing and exploring the country on horseback.

It was a charming region, not much desolated by the war, being rather out of the beaten track of the armies. Parties of officers often used to take a run across country to Gray's camp, clearing fences and ditches as they went. In these expeditions, Colonel Alger was always the leader with Captain Weber a close second. On one of these gallopades, he and Weber, who were riding in advance, cleared a stream full of water and about eight or nine feet wide, but when I tried to follow, my horse jumped into instead of across the ditch, the water coming up to the saddle-girths. The two lucky horsemen on the other side halted and had a good laugh at my expense while steed and I were scrambling out the best way we could. My horse was a noble fellow and jumped with all his might when called upon, but lacked judgment, and would leap twice as high as was necessary, while falling short of making his distance. He rarely failed at a fence, but ditches were a source of dread to horse and man.

The Difficult Creek duty was a sort of romantic episode in our military experience—a delightful green oasis in the dry desert of hard work, exposure, danger and privation. Many pleasant acquaintances were made and time passed merrily. Just across the pike was a spacious farm house, occupied by a family who were staunch unionists, and who had been made to pay well for their loyalty when the confederates were in the neighborhood. It was said that Lord Fairfax, the friend of Washington, had at one time lived there. The place had about it an air of generous hospitality that would have become Colonial days. The officers were always welcomed, and it was a favorite resort for them when off duty, partly because the people were unionists, and partly for the reason that there were several very agreeable young ladies there. One of these, who lived in Connecticut, was the fiancee of a captain in the First Vermont cavalry, whose command was stationed there. Another was at home and it may be surmised that these ladies received the assiduous attentions of half a score, more or less, of the young fellows, who proved themselves thorough cavaliers in gallantry as well as in arms. There was no day when the two ladies might not be seen under the escort of half a dozen cavalrymen, exploring the country on horseback. On all these excursions Weber, handsome as he was brave, was a leading spirit, and succeeded in captivating the ladies with the charm of his manners, his good looks, his splendid horsemanship and his pleasing address. It was enough to make one forget the mission that brought him into the South to see him with two or more ladies by his side galloping gaily over the magnificent roads for which that part of Virginia was remarkable. Then there were picnics, lunches, dancing parties and other diversions to fill in the time. Once one of these parties ventured across the Difficult Creek and rode "between the lines," going as far as Drainesville—eight miles distant—in Mosby's own territory. When the lieutenant colonel commanding learned of this, he reprimanded the officers concerned for what he was pleased to term an act of "foolhardiness."

While stationed at this place one of the young officers was taken ill with fever, and our friends across the way had him brought to the house, where everything that good nursing and kind attention could suggest was done for him. He was reported very ill and the surgeon said that he was threatened with typhoid fever. A day or two after his removal to the house, I called upon him expecting to find him very low. What was my surprise, on being ushered into a spacious, well-furnished apartment, to find him propped up on a bed, with a wealth of snowy pillows and an unmistakable look of convalescence, while two good-looking ladies sat, one on either side of his couch, each holding one of his hands in hers, while he was submitting to the "treatment" with an air of undisguised resignation. It may be noted that this was before the days of "Christian Science." I felt no anxiety about him after that, and returning immediately to camp, wrote to his father stating that if he should hear any rumors that his son was not doing well, to place no reliance upon them, for he was doing very well indeed. This young officer had the good fortune to survive the war, and is still living.

During the sojourn at Difficult Creek Governor Blair visited the camp. He rode over in the morning on horseback and made an odd-looking appearance in his citizen's suit and well-worn silk hat. He remained all day, made a speech to the soldiers and after supper took an ambulance and was escorted by Colonel Alger and myself back to Washington, fourteen miles away. It was a very enjoyable and memorable ride. The war governor was full of anecdote and a good talker and his companions listened with the liveliest interest to what he had to say about Michigan, her people and her soldiers. He was very solicitous about the welfare of the troops, and impressed one as an able, patriotic man, who was doing all he possibly could to hold up the hands of the government and to provide for the Michigan men in the field. We left him at the National hotel and early the next morning returned to our posts of duty.

About this time, rumors were rife of a projected movement of Lee's army northward. Washington and Alexandria alternated in spasms of fear. Twice, what seemed like well-authenticated reports came from the former place that Stuart had passed through our lines. Chain Bridge was torn up and all the negroes in Alexandria were out digging rifle-pits. Our force was captured repeatedly (without our knowledge) and awful dangers threatened us, according to Washington authority. These, and many other equally false reports filled the air. They were probably the result of logical inferences from the actual situation. The time had arrived when active hostilities must soon begin, and what more natural than to suppose that Lee would inaugurate the fray by another invasion of the North? Among the letters that I wrote to my parents about that time one or two were preserved, and under date of June 1, 1863, I wrote to my mother a note, the following extract from which will serve to show that there was in our minds a sort of prophetic intuition of what was going to happen. Referring to the false rumors that were not only coming to our ears from these various sources, but even appearing in the Northern papers, I said:

"That Lee will attempt to raid into the North, after the manner of 'Stonewall' Jackson, is possible, perhaps probable, but when he comes we shall hear of it before he wakes up President Lincoln to demand that the keys to the White House be turned over to 'Jeff' Davis. Besides having an efficient and perfect line of pickets, scouts are out daily in our front, so that the idea of the rebel army reaching Washington without our knowledge is preposterous. Lee may make a rapid march through the Shenandoah Valley, and thence into Pennsylvania and Maryland, but nothing would please the Union army more than to have him make the attempt."

Three weeks after the date of that letter, Hooker's army was in motion to head off Lee, who had started to do the very thing thus hinted at, and there was not a soldier in the federal army of Virginia who did not feel, if he gave the matter any thought, that the confederate chief had made a fatal mistake, and rejoice at the opportunity to meet him, since meet him we must, outside his intrenchments and the jungles of Virginia. That Stahel's men were willing to do their part was proven by their conduct in the campaign that followed.

Early in June a thing happened that brought a feeling of gloom into the little camp. Colonel Norvell of the Fifth having resigned, the officers of that regiment united in a petition to the governor to appoint an outsider to the vacancy. Governor Blair selected Lieutenant Colonel Alger. Indeed, that was probably part of his business on the occasion of his recent visit. Colonel Alger was ordered to report immediately for duty with his new command, and left, taking with him the hearty congratulations and good wishes of all his comrades of the Sixth. But their regret at losing him was profound. They did not know how to spare him. It gave him more rank and a larger field of usefulness. Major Thaddeus Foote assumed command of the detachment.

This reference to the Fifth reminds me of Noah H. Ferry and a night ride in his company, about the time of Colonel Alger's promotion. I had been over to Colonel Gray's camp with some message to him from Colonel Alger, and meeting Major Ferry, who was field officer of the day, he said he was to start that night and inspect the entire picket line of the brigade, about fourteen or fifteen miles long and invited me to accompany him. He would reach the Difficult outpost in the morning, making an all night ride. I gladly accepted the invitation, both for the ride and to see the country. Major Ferry then in his prime, was a strong, vigorous, wholesome-looking man, with a ruddy complexion and bright eye, a man of excellent habits and correct principles. He told me that night what sacrifices he had made to go into the army. His business had cleared that year, $70,000, and with the right sort of management ought to go on prosperously. His leaving it had thrown the entire burden, his work as well as their own, upon the shoulders of his brothers. He had everything to make life desirable,—wealth, social position, youth, health,—there was nothing to be desired, yet he felt it to be his duty to give it all up to enter the service of his country. He talked very freely of his affairs, and seemed to be weighing in the balances his duty to himself and family. His patriotic feelings gained the mastery, however, every time, and he talked earnestly of the matter,—protesting that our duty to the government in its sore strait ought to outweigh all other considerations. It was clear that a struggle had been going on in his mind, and that he had resolutely determined to go on and meet his fate, whatever it might be, and when he was killed a few weeks afterwards at Gettysburg, I recalled the conversation of that night and wondered if he had not a presentiment of his coming fate, for he seemed so grave and preoccupied, and profoundly impressed with a sense of the great sacrifice he was making. A soldier neither by profession nor from choice, he wore the uniform of the Union because he could not conscientiously shirk the duty he felt that he owed the government, and relinquished fortune, home, ambition, life itself, for the cause of the Union.

Some time about the middle of June, the picket line was taken up. Major Foote's detachment was ordered to report to Colonel Gray, and Stahel's division was concentrated at Fairfax Court House. The rumors of the movements of armies had become realities. Lee was in motion. The army of Northern Virginia was trying to steal a march on its great adversary. Long columns of gray were stealthily passing through the Shenandoah Valley to invade the North, and to be on hand to help the farmers of Pennsylvania and Maryland reap their golden harvests.

But the alert federal commander, gallant "Fighting 'Joe' Hooker," was not caught napping. Lee did not escape from Fredericksburg unobserved. The army of the Potomac cavalry was sent to guard the passes in the mountains and see to it that Jackson's and Longstreet's maneuvers of the previous summer were not repeated, while six corps of infantry marched leisurely toward the fords of the Potomac, ready to cross into Maryland as soon as it should appear that Lee was actually bent on invasion of Northern soil. Hooker's opportunity had come and he saw it. For Lee to venture into Pennsylvania, was to court destruction. All felt that, and it was with elastic step and buoyant spirits, that the veterans of Williamsburg and Fair Oaks, of Antietam and Chancellorsville, kept step to the music of the Union, as they moved toward the land where the flag was still honored, and where they would be among friends. All the troops in the Department of Washington were set in motion by Hooker as soon as he arrived where they were. His plan was to concentrate everything in front of Lee, believing that the best way to protect Washington was to destroy the confederate army. Stahel was ordered to report to General Reynolds, who commanded the left grand division of Hooker's army, and who was to have the post of honor, the advance, and to lose his life while leading the vanguard of the federal army in the very beginning of the battle of Gettysburg. Thus it happened that we were at last, part and parcel of that historic army whose fame will last as long as the history of heroic deeds and patriotic endeavor.

Hooker's policy did not coincide with the views of the slow and cautious Halleck, and so the former resigned, thus cutting short a career of extraordinary brilliancy just on the eve of his greatest success. It was a fatal mistake for Hooker. I have always believed that, had he remained in command, the battle of Gettysburg would have been the Appomattox of the Civil War. Such an opportunity as was there presented, he had never had before. Even in the wilderness around Chancellorsville, where his well laid plans miscarried through no fault of his own, he was stopped only by a series of accidents from crushing his formidable adversary. The dense woods prevented the cooperation of the various corps; the audacity of Jackson turned defeat for Lee into temporary victory; and to crown this chapter of accidents, Hooker himself was injured so as to be incapacitated for command, at the very moment when quick action was indispensable.

Now the conditions were changed. Jackson, the ablest of all the confederate generals, was dead, and the army of the Potomac, greatly reinforced, was to meet the army of Northern Virginia, materially weakened, where they could have an open field and a fair fight. Every step that Hooker had taken, from the time when he broke camp in Falmouth until he, in a fit of disgust at Halleck's obstinacy, tendered his resignation at Frederick, Maryland, had shown a comprehensive grasp of the situation that inspired the whole army with confidence. The moment that Lee decided to fight the army of the Potomac on grounds of its own choosing, and to fight an offensive battle, he was foredoomed to defeat, no matter who commanded the federal army. Hooker possessed the very qualifications that Meade lacked—the same fierce energy that characterized Sheridan—the ability to follow up and take advantage of a beaten enemy. With Hooker in command, Gettysburg would have been Lee's Waterloo.

Sunday, June 21, heavy cannonading in the direction of the passes in the Blue Ridge mountains, proclaimed that the battle was raging. Pleasanton's cavalry had encountered Stuart and Fitzhugh Lee at Middleburg and a fierce engagement resulted. Our division left Fairfax at an early hour, and all supposed that it would go towards the sound of battle. Not so, however. Stahel, with as fine a body of horse as was ever brought together, marched to Warrenton, thence to Fredericksburg, scouting over the entire intermediate country, encountering no enemy, and all the time the boom of cannon was heard, showing plainly where the enemy was. We were out three days on this scout, going to Kelly's Ford, Gainesville, Bealton Station, and traversing the ground where Pope's battle of the Second Bull Run was fought, returning by the most direct route to the right of Warrenton. The march was so rapid that the trains were left behind and a good portion of the time we were without forage or food. The horses were fed but once on the trip. Rains had fallen, laying the dust, the weather was charming and it was very enjoyable. One road over which we passed was lined with old cherry trees of the "Black Tartarian" and "Morello" varieties, and they were bowing beneath their loads of ripe and luscious fruit with which the men supplied themselves by breaking off the limbs. We passed over much historic ground and were greatly interested in the points where the armies had contended at different times.



CHAPTER XI

IN THE GETTYSBURG CAMPAIGN

After one day of rest from the fatigues of the reconnoissance referred to in the previous chapter, at two o'clock Thursday morning, June 25, the bugles sounded "To Horse," and we bade a final adieu to the places which had known us in that part of the theater of war. The division moved out at daylight. The head of column turned toward Edwards Ferry, on the Potomac river, where Baker fell in 1861. The Sixth was detailed as rear guard. The march was slow, the roads being blocked with wagons, artillery, ambulances, and the other usual impedimenta of a body of troops in actual service, for it was then apparent that the whole army was moving swiftly into Maryland.

At Vienna the regiment stopped to feed, not being able to move while "waiting for the wagon;" in other words, until all other troops had cleared the way for the rear guard. Vienna was not far from Camp-meeting Hill, so Captain Weber and I obtained permission to ride over and call on our friends in that neighborhood, intending to overtake the regiment at noon. This ride took us two or three miles off the road on which the various commands were marching.

Camp-meeting Hill looked like a deserted village, with no soldiers near and no sign of war. We found our friends rather blue at the thought of being abandoned and, as good-by was said, it was with a feeling that we might never meet again. Weber, gallant as ever, waved his hand to the ladies as he rode away, calling back in a cheery voice that he would come again, "when this cruel war is over." Resuming our journey, a little apprehensive of encountering some of Mosby's men, we were fortunate enough to meet ten troopers of the First Michigan going across the country to join the division. Hurrying on through Dranesville, at a little before noon we overtook the Fifth Michigan cavalry, from whom we learned that we were up with the advance and that our own regiment was far in rear. Selecting a comfortable place, we unsaddled our horses and lighting our pipes, threw ourselves down on the green grass, and for hours sat waiting while mile after mile of army wagons and artillery passed. Most of the infantry had gone on the day before, but I remember distinctly seeing a portion of the Twelfth corps, en route. I recall especially General A.S. ("Pap") Williams and General Geary, both of whom commanded divisions in that corps. At six o'clock in the evening we went to a farm house and had a supper prepared but had not had time to pay our respects to it when by the aid of my field glass I saw the advance of the regiment coming. It was the rear guard of a column that was seven hours passing a given point.

It was after dark when the regiment reached the ford at Edwards Ferry. The night was cloudy and there was no moon. The river was nearly, if not quite, a mile wide, the water deep and the current strong. The only guide to the proper course was to follow those in advance; but, as horse succeeded horse, they were gradually borne farther and farther down the stream, away from the ford and into deeper water. By the time the Sixth reached the river the water was nearly to the tops of the saddles. Marching thus through the inky darkness, guided mostly by the sound of plashing hoofs in front, there was imminent danger of being swept away and few, except the most reckless, drew a long breath until the distance had been traversed and our steeds were straining up the slippery bank upon the opposite shore.

Safely across the river, the column did not halt for rest or food, but pushed on into Maryland. To add to the discomfort, a drizzling rain set in. The guide lost his way, and it was two o'clock in the morning when the rear guard halted for a brief bivouac in a piece of woods, near Poolesville. Wet, weary, hungry and chilled, as they were, it was enough to dispirit the bravest men. But there was no murmuring, and at daylight, the march was resumed.

That day (26) we passed the First army corps, commanded by the lamented Reynolds, and reached the village of Frederick as the sun was setting. The clouds had cleared away, and a more enchanting vision never met human eye than that which appeared before us as we debouched from the narrow defile up which the road from lower Maryland ran, on the commanding heights that overlooked the valley. The town was in the center of a most charming and fertile country, and around it thousands of acres of golden grain were waving in the sunlight. The rain of the early morning had left in the atmosphere a mellow haze of vapor which reflected the sun's rays in tints that softly blended with the summer colorings of the landscape. An exclamation of surprise ran along the column as each succeeding trooper came in sight of this picture of Nature's own painting.

But more pleasing still, were the evidences of loyalty which greeted us on every hand, as we entered the village. The stars and stripes floated above many buildings, while from porch and window, from old and young, came manifestations of welcome. The men received us with cheers, the women with smiles and waving of handkerchiefs. That night we were permitted to go into camp and enjoy a good rest, in the midst of plenty and among friends.

On Saturday morning (27) much refreshed, with horses well fed and groomed and haversacks replenished, the Fifth and Sixth moved on toward Emmittsburg, the Seventh having gone through the Catoctin Valley by another road. The march was through the camps of thousands of infantry just starting in the same direction. Among the distinguished generals who were leading the advance, I remember, particularly, Reynolds and Doubleday. During the day it was a constant succession of fertile fields and leafy woods. Commodious farm-houses on every hand and evidences of plenty everywhere, we reveled in the richness and overflowing abundance of the land. There were "oceans" of apple-butter and great loaves of snow-white bread that "took the cake" over anything that came within the range of my experience. These loaves were baked in brick ovens, out of doors, and some of them looked as big as peck measures. A slice cut from one of them and smeared thick with that delicious apple-butter, was a feast fit for gods or men. And then the milk, and the oats for the horses, and everything that hungry man or beast could wish for. Those were fat days and that was a fat country, such as the Iraelitish scouts who went over into the land of Canaan never looked upon or dreamed of.

To be sure we had to pay for what we had. Especially after we crossed over into Pennsylvania among the frugal Dutch was this the case. But their charges were not exorbitant, and so long as we had a dollar, it was cheerfully parted with for their food. But it seemed a little hard for the Michiganders to be there defending the homes of those opulent farmers, while they, so far from taking up the musket to aid in driving out the army that was invading their soil, were seemingly unwilling to contribute a cent, though I may have misjudged them.

It looked odd, too, to see so many able-bodied men at home, pursuing their ordinary avocations, with no thought of enlisting, while a hostile army was at their very doors. It looked so to the soldiers who had been serving in Virginia, and who knew that in the South, every man able to bear arms was compelled to do so, and that within the lines of the confederacy, the cradle and the grave were robbed to fill the ranks. Lee, with a hundred thousand men was somewhere in that region, we knew and they knew. We were searching for him and the time was close at hand when the two armies must come into contact, and oceans of blood would flow, before the confederates could be driven from Northern soil. The government was calling loudly for reinforcements of short time men to serve for the immediate emergency. Yet, these selfish farmers would drive as sharp a bargain, and figure as closely on the weight and price of an article supplied to the federal troops, as though they had never heard of war. Indeed, I believe many of them knew little about what was going on. Their world was the little Eden in which they passed their daily lives—the neighborhood in which they lived. They were a happy and bucolic people, contented to exist and accumulate, with no ambition beyond that; and while loyal to the government, in the sense that they obeyed its laws and would have scorned to enter into a conspiracy to destroy it, yet they possessed little of that patriotism which inspires men to serve and make sacrifices for their country.

On Sunday morning, June 28, 1863, the two regiments, having passed the night in camp near the Pennsylvania line, resumed the march and passed through the town of Emmittsburg. It was a little place, with scarce more than a thousand inhabitants, but with several churches, an academy, an institute for girls, and a little to the northeast Mount St. Mary's college, a Catholic institution, founded in 1808. Like everything else, thereabouts, it had a solid, substantial appearance.

So quiet was it, that it seemed like sacrilege to disturb the serenity of that Sabbath day. The sanctuaries stood invitingly in the way, and one could in fancy, almost hear the peal of the organ, as the choir chanted, "Gloria in excelsis"—Glory be to God on high and on earth peace, good will to men—and the voice of the preacher, as he read: "And they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning-hooks."

But our mission was, if possible, to find out what Lee and Longstreet, Ewell and Stuart were doing on that holy day. It required no prophet to predict that it would not be to them a day of rest, but that they would be more than ever active to carry out the schemes that for the federal army meant great hurt and mischief. Little that was positive was known of Lee's movements, but it was reported that he had pushed on north with his whole army, and was now in dangerous proximity to Harrisburg. His line of march had been to the west of Hooker's and as he was so far north, it was evident that we were making directly for his communications, in rear of his army. A tyro in the art of war could see that much of the strategy that was going on. Would Lee allow that and go on to Baltimore, or turn and meet the army that Hooker was massing against him? That was the question.

Taking the Emmittsburg pike, Copeland with the two regiments pushed on to Gettysburg. Thus it was, that the Fifth and Sixth Michigan regiments of cavalry had the honor of being the first Union troops to enter the place that was destined so soon to give its name to one of the great battles of history. The road from Emmittsburg to Gettysburg ran between Seminary Ridge on the left and Cemetery Ridge and Round Top on the right. It was a turnpike, and as we marched over it one could not help noticing the strategic importance of the commanding heights on either side. I remember well the impression made on my mind at the time by the rough country off to the right. This was Round Top and Little Round Top where such desperate fighting was done three days later. We passed close to the historic "Peach Orchard" and over the fish-hook shaped Cemetery Hill at the bend; then descended into the town which nestled at the foot of these rocky eminences.

Before we reached the town it was apparent that something unusual was going on. It was a gala day. The people were out in force, and in their Sunday attire to welcome the troopers in blue. The church bells rang out a joyous peal, and dense masses of beaming faces filled the streets, as the narrow column of fours threaded its way through their midst. Lines of men stood on either side, with pails of water or apple-butter, and passed a "sandwich" to each soldier as he passed. At intervals of a few feet, were bevies of women and girls, who handed up bouquets and wreaths of flowers. By the time the center of the town was reached, every man had a bunch of flowers in his hand, or a wreath around his neck. Some even had their horses decorated, and the one who did not get a share was a very modest trooper, indeed. The people were overjoyed, and received us with an enthusiasm and a hospitality born of full hearts. They had seen enough of the gray to be anxious to welcome the blue. Their throats grew hoarse with the cheers that they sent up in honor of the coming of the Michigan cavalrymen. The freedom of the city was extended. Every door stood open, or the latch-string hung invitingly out.

Turning to the right, the command went into camp a little outside the town, in a field where the horses were up to their knees in clover, and it made the poor, famished animals fairly laugh. That night a squadron was sent out about two miles to picket on each diverging road. It was my duty with two troops ("E" and "H") to guard the "Cashtown" pike, and a very vivid remembrance is yet retained of the "vigil long" of that July night, during which I did not once leave the saddle, dividing the time between the reserve post and the line of videttes. No enemy appeared, however, and on Monday (June 29) the Michigan regiments returned to Emmittsburg, the first cavalry division coming up to take their place in Gettysburg. In this way it came to pass that heroic John Buford, instead of the Fifth and Sixth Michigan, had the honor of meeting the confederate advance on July first.

Before leaving Gettysburg it was learned that many changes had taken place.[8] Hooker had been succeeded in command of the army by Meade, one of the best and most favorably known of the more prominent generals. It looked like "swapping horses when crossing a stream." Something that touched us more closely, however, was the tidings that Stahel and Copeland had been relieved and that Judson Kilpatrick, colonel of the Second New York (Harris Light) cavalry had been promoted to brigadier general and assigned to command of the Third division, by which designation it was thenceforth to be known. He was a West Pointer, had the reputation of being a hard fighter, and was known as "The hero of Middleburg." Captain Custer of Pleasanton's staff had also received a star and was to command the Michigan brigade, to be designated as the Second brigade, Third division, cavalry corps, army of the Potomac. Of him we knew but little except that he hailed from Monroe, Michigan, was a graduate of West Point, had served with much credit on the staffs of McClellan and Pleasanton, and that he, too, was a "fighter." None of us had ever seen either of them. General Copeland turned the two regiments over to Colonel Gray and went away with his staff. I never saw him afterwards.

The Michigan brigade[9] had been strengthened by adding the First Michigan cavalry, a veteran regiment that had seen much service in the Shenandoah valley under Banks, and the Second Bull Run campaign with Pope. It was organized in 1861, and went out under Colonel T.F. Brodhead, a veteran of the Mexican war, who was brevetted for gallantry at Contreras and Cherubusco, while serving as lieutenant in the Fifteenth United States infantry. He was mortally wounded August 30, 1862, at Bull Run. His successor was C.H. Town, then colonel of the regiment. He also was severely wounded in the same charge wherein Brodhead lost his life. There had also been added to the brigade light battery "M", Second United States artillery, consisting of six rifled pieces, and commanded by Lieutenant A.C.M. Pennington.

The Third division was now ordered to concentrate in the vicinity of Littlestown, to head off Stuart, who, having made a detour around the rear of the army of the Potomac, crossed the river below Edwards Ferry on Sunday night, June 28, and with three brigades under Hampton, Fitzhugh Lee and Chambliss, and a train of captured wagons, was moving northward, looking for the army of Northern Virginia, between which and himself was Meade's entire army. On Monday night he was in camp between Union Mills and Westminster, on the Emmittsburg and Baltimore pike, about equidistant from Emmittsburg and Gettysburg. Kilpatrick at Littlestown would be directly on Stuart's path, the direction of the latter's march indicating that he also was making for Littlestown, which place is on a direct line from Union Mills to Gettysburg.

All day of Monday, June 29, the two regiments (Fifth and Sixth Michigan) were scouting south and east of Gettysburg. Nor did the march end with the day. All night we were plodding our weary way along, sleeping in the saddle or, when the column in front would halt, every trooper dismounting, and thrusting his arm through the bridle rein, would lie down directly in front of his horse, in the road, and fall into a profound slumber. The horses too would stand with drooping heads, noses almost touching their riders' faces, eyes closed, nodding, but otherwise giving no sign, and careful not to step on or injure the motionless figures at their feet. The sound of horses' hoofs moving in front served to arouse the riders when they would successively remount and move on again.

On the morning of June 30, Kilpatrick's command was badly scattered. A part of it, including the First and Seventh Michigan and Pennington's battery, was at Abbottstown a few miles north of Hanover; Farnsworth's brigade at Littlestown, seven miles southwest of Hanover. The Fifth and Sixth Michigan arrived at Littlestown at daylight.

The early morning hours were consumed in scouring the country in all directions, and information soon came in to the effect that Stuart was moving toward Hanover. Farnsworth with the First brigade left Littlestown for that place at about nine or ten o'clock in the forenoon. The portion of the division that was in the vicinity of Abbottstown was also ordered to Hanover. The Fifth and Sixth Michigan were left, for a time, in Littlestown, troop "A" of the Sixth, under Captain Thompson, going on a reconnoissance toward Westminster, and Colonel Alger with the Fifth on a separate road.

The Sixth remained in the town until a citizen came running in, about noon, reporting a large force of the enemy, about five miles out toward Hanover. This was Fitzhugh Lee's brigade, and to understand the situation, it will be necessary briefly to describe how Stuart was marching. When he turned off the Baltimore pike, some seven miles southeast of Littlestown, he had ten miles due north to travel before reaching Hanover. From Littlestown to Hanover is seven miles, the road running northeasterly, making the third side of a right-angled triangle. Thus, Stuart had the longer distance to go, and Kilpatrick had no difficulty in reaching Hanover first. Stuart marched with Chambliss leading, Hampton in rear, the trains sandwiched between the two brigades, and Fitzhugh Lee well out on the left flank to protect them.

Farnsworth marched through Hanover, followed by the pack trains of the two regiments that had been left in Littlestown. The head of Stuart's column arrived just in time to strike the rear of Farnsworth, which was thrown into confusion by a charge of the leading confederate regiment. The pack trains were cut off and captured. Farnsworth, however, dashing back from the head of the column, faced the Fifth New York cavalry to the rear, and by a counter charge, repulsed the North Carolinians and put a stop to Stuart's further progress for that day.

In the meantime, when the citizen came in with the news of Fitzhugh Lee's appearance, "To Horse" was sounded and Colonel Gray led the Sixth Michigan on the Hanover road toward the point indicated. Several citizens, with shot guns in their hands, were seen going on foot on the flank of the column, trying to keep pace with the cavalry, and apparently eager to participate in the expected battle. When within a mile of Hanover, the regiment turned off into a wheatfield and, mounting a crest beyond, came upon Fitzhugh Lee's brigade, with a section of artillery in position, which opened upon the head of the regiment (then moving in column of fours) with shell, wounding several men and horses. Lieutenant Potter, of troop "C" had his horse shot under him. Had Gray attacked vigorously he would have been roughly handled, probably, as Fitzhugh Lee was on the field in person with his choice brigade of Virginians. I have always believed, however, that a larger force with the same opportunity might have made bad work for Lee.

Colonel Gray, seeing that the force in front of him were preparing to charge, and aware that one raw regiment would be no match for a brigade of veteran troops, made a detour to the left, and sought by a rapid movement to unite with the command in Hanover, Major Weber with troops "B" and "F" being entrusted with the important duty of holding the enemy in check while the others effected their retreat. Right gallantly was this duty performed. Three charges upon the little band were as often repulsed by the heroic Weber, and with such determination did he hold to the work, that he was cut off and did not succeed in rejoining the regiment until about three o'clock the next morning. Colonel Alger with the Fifth and troop "A" of the Sixth, under Captain H.E. Thompson, also had a smart encounter with the same force, holding their own against much superior numbers by the use of the Spencer repeating rifles with which they were armed.

By noon, or soon after, the entire division united in the village of Hanover. The First, Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Michigan regiments and Pennington's battery were all on the ground near the railroad station. The confederate line of battle could be distinctly seen on the hills to the south of the town. The command to dismount to fight on foot was given. The number one, two and three men dismounted and formed in line to the right facing the enemy. The number four men remained with the horses which were taken away a short distance to the rear.

It was here that the brigade first saw Custer. As the men of the Sixth, armed with their Spencer rifles, were deploying forward across the railroad into a wheatfield beyond, I heard a voice new to me, directly in rear of the portion of the line where I was, giving directions for the movement, in clear, resonant tones, and in a calm, confident manner, at once resolute and reassuring. Looking back to see whence it came, my eyes were instantly riveted upon a figure only a few feet distant, whose appearance amazed if it did not for the moment amuse me. It was he who was giving the orders. At first, I thought he might be a staff officer, conveying the commands of his chief. But it was at once apparent that he was giving orders, not delivering them, and that he was in command of the line.