Writers prone to treat of the instability of Republics, will find serious matter to combat in the array of events that culminated at Warrenton. Without the blood that has usually characterized similar events in the history of Monarchies, in fact with scarcely a ripple upon the surface of our national affairs, a great military chieftain, or to speak truly, a commander who had endeavored, and who had the grandest of opportunities to become such, passed from his proud position as the leader of the chief army of the Republic, to the obscurity of private life. Proffered to a public, pliant, because anxious that its representatives in the field should have a worthy Commander, by an Administration eager to repair the disaster of Bull Run,—puffed into favor by almost the entire press of the country, the day had been when the loyalty of the citizen was measured by his admiration of General McClellan.

Never did a military leader assume command so auspiciously. The resources of a mighty nation were lavishly contributed to the materiel of his army. Its best blood stood in his ranks. Indulged to an almost criminal extent by an Administration that in accordance with the wishes of the masses it represented, bowed at his beck and was overly solicitous to do his bidding, no wonder that this ordinary mind became unduly inflated. He could model his army upon the precedents set by the great Napoleon; he could surround himself by an immense Staff—the talent of which, however, but poorly represented the vigor of his army,—for nepotism and favoritism interfered to prevent that, as they will with common men; drill and discipline could make his army efficient,—for his subordinates were thorough and competent, and his men were apt pupils; but he himself could not add to all these the crowning glories of the field. Every thing was there but genius, that God-given gift; and that he did not prove to be a Napoleon resulted alone from a lack of brains.

Now that the glare of the rocket has passed from our sky, and its stick has fallen quietly enough among the pines of New Jersey, citizens have opportunity for calm reflection. We are not justified, perhaps, in attributing to McClellan all the evils and errors that disfigure his tenure of office. Intellect equal to the position he could not create for himself, and ninety-nine out of one hundred men of average ability would not have descended from his balloon-like elevation with any better grace. It is in the last degree unjust to brand with disloyalty, conduct that seems to be a result natural enough to incompetency. That upon certain occasions he may have been used for disloyal purposes by designing men, may be the consequence of lack of discrimination rather than of patriotism.

Whatever might have induced his conduct of the war, the nation has learned a lesson for all time. Generals who had grown grey in honorable service were rudely set aside for a Commander whose principal merit consisted in his having published moderately well compiled military books. Their acquiescence redounds to their credit; but their continued and comparatively calm submission in after times, when that General, regardless of soldierly merit, placed in high and honorable positions relatives and intimate friends, who could be but mere place-men, dependent entirely upon him for their honors, and committed to his interests, is strong proof of devoted patriotism. Slight hold had these neophytes upon the stern matter-of-fact fighting Generals, or the equally devoted and patriotic masses in ranks. In their vain glory they murmured and muttered during and subsequent to this week at Warrenton, as they had threatened previously, in regard to the removal of McClellan. They knew not the Power that backed the Bayonet. In the eye of the unreserved and determined loyalty of the masses, success was the test of popularity with any Commander. Not the shadow of an excuse existed for any other issue. Our resources of the materiel of war were well nigh infinite. Men could be had almost without number, at least equal to the Rebels in courage. There was, then, no excuse for inaction, and none knew it better than our reflecting rank and file.

The effort to inspire popularity for McClellan had been untiring by his devotees in position in the army. In the outset it was successful. Like their friends at home, the men in ranks, during the dark days that succeeded Bull Run, eagerly caught at a name that received such honorable mention. That this flush of popularity did not increase until it became a steady flame like that which burned within the breasts of the veterans of the old French Empire, is because its subject lacked the commanding ability, decision of character, and fiery energy, that made statesmen do reverence, turned the tide of battle to advantage, and swept with resistless force over the plains of Italy and the mountains of Tyrol.

It was with mingled feelings of pleasure and uncertainty, caused by the change, that the Regiment broke to the front in column of company, and encamped on a beautifully wooded ridge about two miles north of Warrenton. Pleasure upon account of the change—as any change must be for the better,—uncertainty, as to its character and extent. In their doubtful future, Generals shifted position, and succeeded each other, very much as dark specks appear and pass before unsteady vision. Who would be the successor? Would the change be radical? were questions that were discussed in all possible bearings around cheerful camp-fires.

Whatever the satisfaction among subordinate officers and the ranks, Division Head-quarters was a house of mourning. To the General removed solely it owed its existence. Connected with his choice Corps, it had basked in the sunshine of his favor. With the removal already ordered, "the dread of something worse"—a removal nearer home was apprehended. As a Field Commander, the officer upon whose shoulders rested the responsibilities of the Division, was entirely unknown previously to his assuming command. His life hitherto had been of such a nature as not to add to his capacity as a Commander. Years of quiet clerkly duty in the Topographical Department may, and doubtless did in his case, make an excellent engineer or draughtsman, but they afford few men opportunities for improvement in generalship. During the McClellan regime this source furnished a heavy proportion of our superior officers. Why, would be difficult to say on any other hypothesis than that of favoritism. Their educational influences tend to a defensive policy, which history proves Generals of ability to have indulged in only upon the severest necessity. To inability to rise above these strictures of the school, may be traced the policy which has portrayed upon the historic page, to our lasting disgrace as a nation, the humiliating spectacle of a mighty and brave people, with resources almost unlimited, compelled for nearly two years to defend their Capital against armies greatly inferior to their own in men and means.

Independently of these educational defects, as they must be called, there was nothing in either the character or person of the Division Commander to command respect or inspire fear. Eccentric to a most whimsical degree, his oddities were the jest of the Division, while they were not in the least relieved by his extreme nervousness and fidgety habits of body. That there was nothing to inspire fear is, however, subject to exception, as his whims kept subordinates in a continual fever. The art of being practical—adapting himself to circumstances—he had never learned. It belongs to the department of Common Sense, in which, unfortunately, there has never been a professor at West Point. His after life does not seem to have been favorable to its acquirement. Withal, the hauteur characteristic to Cadets clung to him, and on many occasions rendered him unfortunate in his intercourse with volunteer officers. Politeness with him, assumed the airs and grimaces of a French dancing-master, which personage he was not unfrequently and not inaptly said to resemble. Displeasure he would manifest by the oddest of gestures and volleys of the latest oaths, uttered in a nervous, half stuttering manner. Socially, his extensive educational acquirements made him a pleasant companion, and with a friend it was said he would drink as deep and long as any man in the Army of the Potomac. Once crossed, however, his malignity would be manifested by the most intolerable and petty persecution.

"He has no judgment," said a Field-Officer of a Regiment of his command; a remark which, by the way, was a good summary of his character.

"Why?" replied the officer to whom he was speaking.

"I was out on picket duty," rejoined the other, "yesterday. We had an unnecessarily heavy Reserve, and one half of the men in it were allowed to rest without their belts and boxes. The General in the afternoon paid us a visit, and seeing this found fault, that the men were not kept equipped; observing at the same time that they could rest equally well with their cartridge boxes on; that when he was a Cadet at West Point he had ascertained by actual practice that it could be done."

"Do you recollect, General," I remarked, "whether you had forty rounds of ball cartridge in your box then?"

"He said he did not know that that made any difference."

"Now considering that the fact of the boxes being filled makes all the difference, I say," continued the officer, "that the man who makes a remark such a the General made, is devoid of judgment."

But he was connected both by ties of friendship and consanguinity with the hitherto Commander of the Army of the Potomac. His Adjutant-General was related to the same personage. The position of the latter, for which he was totally unfitted by his habits, was perhaps a condition precedent to the appointment of the General of Division.

The fifth of November, a day destined to become celebrated hereafter in American as in English history, dawned not less inauspiciously upon the Head-quarters of the Corps. They too could not appreciate the dry humor of the order that commanded Little Mac to report at Trenton. They thought alone of the unwelcome reality—that it was but an American way of sending him to Coventry. The Commander of the Corps had been a great favorite at the Head-quarters of the army—perhaps because in this old West Point instructor the haughty dignity and prejudice against volunteers which characterized too many Regular officers, had its fullest personification. His Corps embraced the largest number of Regular officers. In some Regiments they were ridiculously, and for Uncle Sam expensively, plentiful,—some Companies having two or three Captains, two or three First or Second Lieutenants,—while perhaps the enlisted men in the Regiment did not number two hundred. But these supernumeraries were Fitz John's favorites, and whether they performed any other labor than sporting shoulder straps, regularly visiting the Paymasters, adjusting paper collars and cultivating moustaches, was a matter of seemingly small consequence, though during depressed national finances.

The little patriotism that animated many of the officers attached to both of these Head-quarters, did not restrain curses deep if not loud. Pay and position kept them in the army at the outbreak of the Rebellion; and pay and position alone prevented their taking the same train from Warrenton that carried away their favorite Commander. A telegram of the Associated Press stated a few days later that a list of eighty had been prepared for dismissal. What evil genius averted this benefit to the country, the War Department best knows. It required no vision of the night, nor gift of soothsaying, to foretell the trouble that would result from allowing officers in important positions to remain in the army, who were under the strongest obligations to the General removed, devotedly attached to him, and completely identified with, and subservient to, his interests. It might at least be supposed that his policy would be persevered in, and that his interests would not suffer. So far the reform was not radical.

"Colonel," said one of these martinets who occupied a prominent position upon the Staff of Prince Fitz John, as with a look of mingled contempt and astonishment he pointed to a Lieutenant who stood a few rods distant engaged in conversation with two privates of his command, "do you allow commissioned officers to converse with privates?"

"Why not, sir? Those three men were intimate acquaintances at home. In fact, the Lieutenant was a clerk in a dry-goods establishment in which one of the privates was a junior partner."

"All wrong, sir," replied the martinet. "They should approach a commissioned officer through a Sergeant. The Inspecting Officer will report you for laxity of discipline in case it continues, and place you under arrest."

The Brigadier, when he heard of this conversation, intimated that should the Inspecting Officer attempt it, he would leave the Brigade limits under guard; and it was not attempted.

Nonsense such as this is not only contemptible but criminal, when contrasted with the kind fellowship of Washington for his men,—his solicitude for their sufferings at Valley Forge,—Putnam sharing his scanty meals with privates of his command,—Napoleon learning the wants of his veterans from their own lips, and tapping a Grenadier familiarly upon the shoulder to ask the favor of a pinch from his snuff-box. Those worthies may rest assured that marquees pitched at Regulation distance, and access through non-commissioned officers, will not, if natural dignity be wanting, create respect. How greatly would the efficiency of the army have been increased, had the true gentility that characterized the noble soul of Colonel Simmons, who fell at Gaines' Mills, and that will always command reverence, been more general among his brother officers of the Regular Army.

These evil results should not, however, lead to a wholesome condemnation of West Point. The advantages of the Institution have been abused, or rather neglected, by the great masses of the Loyal States. In our moral matter-of-fact business communities it has been too generally the case, that cadets have been the appointees of political favoritism, regardless of merit; and that the wild and often worthless son of influential and wealthy parents, who had grown beyond home restraint, and who gave little indication of a life of honor or usefulness, would be turned into the public inclosure at West Point to square his morals and his toes at the same time at public expense, and the act rejoiced at as a good family riddance. Thus in the Loyal States, the profession of arms had fallen greatly into disrepute previously to the outbreak of the Rebellion, and instead of being known as a respectable vocation, was considered as none at all. Had military training to some extent been connected with the common school education of the land, we would have gained in health, and would have been provided with an able array of officers for our noble army of Volunteers. Among other preparations for their infamous revolt, the Rebels did not fail to give this especial prominence. The Northern States have been great in peace; the material is being rapidly educated that will make them correspondingly great in war.

"November's surly blasts" were baring the forests of foliage, when the order for the last Review by McClellan was read to the Troops. Mutinies and rumors of mutinies "from the most reliable sources" had been suspended above the Administration, like the threatening sword of Damocles; but Abraham's foot was down at last, and beyond murmurings and mutterings at disaffected Head-Quarters no unsoldierly conduct marked the reception of the order. So far from the "heavens being hung with black," as a few man-worshippers in their mad devotion would have wished, nature smiled beautifully fair. Such a sight could only be realized in Republican America. A military Commander of the greatest army upon the Continent, elevated in the vain-glory of dependent subordinates into a quasi-Dictatorship, was suddenly lowered from his high position, and his late Troops march to this last Review with the quiet formality of a dress parade. What cared those stern, self-sacrificing men in ranks, from whose bayonets that brilliant sun glistened in diamond splendor, for the magic of a name—the majesty of a Staff, gorgeous, although not clothed in the uniform desired by its late Chief. The measure of payment for toil and sacrifice with them, was progress in the prosecution of their holy cause. The thunders of the artillery that welcomed him with the honor due to his rank, reminded them to how little purpose, through shortcomings upon his part, those same pieces had thundered upon the Peninsula and at Antietam.

Massed in close columns by division along the main road leading to Warrenton, the troops awaited the last of the grand pageants that had made the Army of the Potomac famous for reviews. Its late Commander, as he gracefully sat his bay, had not the nonchalance of manner that he manifested while reading a note and accompanying our earnest President in a former review at Sharpsburg; nor was the quiet dignity that he usually exhibited when at the head of his Staff, apparent. His manner seemed nervous, his look doubly anxious; troubled in the present, and solicitous as to the future. Conscious, too, doubtless, as he faced a nation's Representatives in arms, how he had "kept the word of promise to the ear," and how "he had broken it to the hope;" how while his reviews had revealed a mighty army of undoubted ability and eagerness for the fight, his indecision or proneness to delay had made its campaigns the laughing-stock of the world. His brilliant Staff clattered at his heels; but glittering surroundings were powerless to avert the memories of a winter's inactivity at Manassas, the delay at Yorktown, the blunders on the Chickahominy, or the disgrace of the day after Antietam. How closely such memories thronged upon this thinking soldiery, and how little men who leave families and business for the field, from the necessity of the case, care for men if their measures are unsuccessful, may be imagined, when the fact is known that this same Little Mac, once so great a favorite through efforts of the Press and officers with whom he had peopled the places in his gift, received his last cheers from some Divisions of that same Army by word of command.

"A long farewell to all his greatness."

Imbecile in politics as in war, he cannot retrieve it by cringing to party purposes. The desire that actuates our masses and demands able and earnest leaders has long since dissolved party lines.

This leave-taking was followed a few days later by that of the Corps Commander. Troubled looks, shadows that preceded his dark future, were plainly visible as the Prince passed up and down the lines of his late command.

Another day passed, and with light hearts the men brightened their muskets for a Review by their new Commander, Major-General Burnside, or "Burney," as they popularly called the Hero of Carolina celebrity.

But the day did not seem to be at hand that should have completed the reform by sweeping and garnishing disaffected, not to say disloyal Head-Quarters—removing from command men who were merely martinets, and who were in addition committed body and soul to the interests of their late Commander, and who, had they been in receipt of compensation from Richmond, could not have more completely labored by their half-hearted, inefficient, and tyrannizing course, to crush the spirit of our soldiery.

"What's the matter with Old Pigey?" inquired a Sergeant, detailed on guard duty at Division Head-Quarters, as he saluted his Captain, on one of these evenings at Warrenton.

"Why?" rejoined the Captain.

"The General," continued the Sergeant, "was walking up and down in front of his marquee almost all of last night, talking to himself, muttering, and at almost every other step stamping and swearing. He had a bully old mad on, I tell you, Captain. He went it in something of this style."

And the sergeant himself strode up and down, muttering and stamping and swearing, to the great amusement of the Captain and some bystanders.

The unwillingness to bow to the dictation of the President as Commander-in-Chief in his most righteous removal of their favorite, caused much heart-burning, and gave rise to much disloyal conduct. That it was tolerated at all was owing to the unappreciated indulgence or hesitation of the Administration, lest it should undertake too much. The operation, to have been skilful and complete, required nerve. That article so necessary for this crisis is in the ranks, and let us trust that for the future it will be found in greater abundance at Washington.

The Southern Saratoga, as Warrenton has been styled among the fashionables of the South, has much to commend it in situation and scenery, as a place of residence. The town itself is an odd jumble of old and new buildings, and is badly laid out, or rather not laid out at all, as the streets make all possible angles with each other. Yankee enterprise appears to have had something to do with the erection of the later buildings. Like other towns of that neighborhood its cemetery is heavily peopled with Rebel dead. At the time of our occupancy many of its larger buildings were still occupied as hospitals.

On the day of McClellan's departure the streets were crowded with officers and men, and the sympathies of the Rebel residents seemed strangely in unison with those of the chieftain's favorites. The representatives of the clannish attachments which made McClellanism a species of Masonry in the army, were there in force. In these banded interests brotherly love took the place of patriotism. Little wonder! looking at the record of the McClellan campaigns, that the Rebels present fraternized with these devotees in their grief.

"You have thrown away your ablest commander," said an elderly man, of intelligent and gentlemanly appearance, clad in the uniform of a surgeon of the Rebel army, who stood conversing with one of our own surgeons, on the sidewalk of the main street of the place, while the crowd gathered to witness the departure of the General.

"Do you really think so?" rejoined the Union Surgeon, as he earnestly eyed the speaker.

"Yes, sir," said the Rebel, emphatically. "It is not only my opinion but the opinion of our Generals of ability, that in parting with McClellan you lose the only General you have who has shown any strategic ability."

"If that be your opinion, sir," was the decided reply, "the sooner we are rid of him the better."

And to this reply the country says, Amen!

"But what a shame it is that military genius is so little appreciated by the Administration, and that he is removed just at this time! Why, I heard our Colonel say that he had heard the General say, that in a few days more, he would have won a decisive victory," remarked a young officer, in a jaunty blue jacket, to a companion, gesticulating as he spoke, with a cigar between the first and second fingers of his right hand.

An older officer, who overheard the remark, observed, drily:—"He was not removed for what he would do, but for what he had done."

"And for what he had not done," truthfully added another.

Never had General, burdened with so many sins of omission and commission, as the conversation indicated, been so leniently dealt with, now that the Rebels in their favorite, and with him successful game of hide and seek, had again given him the slip, and were only in his front to annoy. As they had it completely in their power to prevent a general engagement at that point, his remark as to what would have been done was a very rotten twig, caught at in the vain hope of breaking his fall.



CHAPTER XIV.

A Skulker and the Dutch Doctor—A Review of the Corps by Old Joe—A Change of Base; what it means to the Soldier, and what to the Public—Our Quarter-Master and General Hooker—The Movement by the Left Flank—A Division General and Dog-driving—The Desolation of Virginia—A Rebel Land-Owner and the Quarter-Master—"No Hoss, Sir!"—The Poetical Lieutenant unappreciated—Mutton or Dog?—Desk Drudgery and Senseless Routine.

"It's about time, Bill, for you to have another sick on," said a lively lad, somewhat jocosely, as he rubbed away at his musket-barrel, on one of our last mornings at the Camp, near Warrenton. "Fighting old Joe has the Corps now, and he will review us to-day, the Captain says, and after that look out for a move."

"Don't say," drawled out the man addressed; a big, lubberly fellow, famous in the Regiment for shirking duty—who, when picket details were expected, or a march in prospect, would set a good example of punctuality in promptly reporting at Surgeon's call, or as the Camp phrase had it, "stepping up for his quinine." "Well," continued he, "Lord knows what I'll do. I've had the rheumatics awful bad," clapping at the same time one hand on his hip, and the other on his right shoulder, "the last day or two, and then the chronical diarrhoear."

"You had better go in on rheumatism, Bill," broke in the first speaker. "The Doctor will let you off best on that."

"That's played out, isn't it, Bill," chimed in another; and to Bill's disgust, as he continued, "It don't go with the little Dutch Doctor since Sharpsburg. Every time his Company's turn would come for picket, while we were at that Camp, Bill would be a front-rank man at the Hospital, with a face as long as a rail, and twisted as if he had just had all his back teeth pulled. The little Dutchman would yell out whenever he would see him—'What for you come? Eh? You tam shneak. Rheumatism, eh? In hip?' And the Doctor would punch his shoulder and hip, and pinch his arms and legs until Bill would squirm like an eel under a gig. 'Here, Shteward,' said the Doctor the last time, as he scribbled a few words on a small piece of paper, 'Take this; make application under left ear, and see if dis tam rheumatism come not out.' Bill followed the Steward, and in a few minutes came back to quarters ornamented with a fly-blister as big as a dollar under his left ear. Next morning Bill didn't report, but he's been going it since on diarrhoea."

"He wasn't smart, there," observed another. "He ought to have done as little Burky of our mess did. He'd hurry to quarters, take the blister off, clap it on again next morning when he'd report, and he'd have the little Dutchman swearing at the blister for not being 'wors a tam.'"

Bill took the sallies of the crowd with the quiet remark that their turn for the sick list would come some day.

The Review on that day was a grand affair. The fine-looking manly form of Old Joe, as, in spite of a bandaged left ancle not yet recovered from the wound at Antietam, and that kept the foot out of the stirrup, he rode down the line at a gait that tested the horsemanship of his followers, was the admiration of the men. In his honest and independent looking countenance they read, or thought they could, character too purely republican to allow of invidious distinctions between men, who, in their country's hour of need, had left civil pursuits at heavy sacrifices, and those who served simply because the service was to them the business of life. With hearts that kept lively beat with the regimental music as they marched past their new Commander, they rejoiced at this mark of attention to the necessities of the country, which removed an Officer, notorious as a leader of reserves, and placed them under the care of a man high on the list of fighting Generals. "Waterloo," says the historic or rather philosophic novelist of France, "was a change of front of the universe." The results of that contest are matter of record, and justify the remark. At Warrenton a great Republic changed front, and henceforth the milk and water policy of conciliating "our Southern Brethren" ranked as they are behind bristling bayonets, or of intimidating them by a mere show of force, must give way to active campaigning and heavy blows.

A rainy, misty morning a day or two after the review, saw the Corps pass through Warrenton, en route for the Railroad Junction, commencing the change of direction by the left flank, ordered by the new Commander of the Army. The halt for the night was made in a low piece of woodland lying south of the railroad. In column of Regiments the Division encamped, and in a space of time incredible to those not familiar with such scenes, knapsacks were unslung and the smoke of a thousand camp-fires slowly struggled upwards through the falling rain. Its pelting was not needed to lull the soldiers, weary from the wet march and slippery roads, to slumber.

At early dawn they left the Junction and its busy scenes—its lengthy freight-trains, and almost acres of baggage-wagons, to the rear, and struck the route assigned the Grand Division, of which they were part, for Fredericksburg. "A change of base" our friends will read in the leaded headings of the dailies, and pass it by as if it were a transfer of an article of furniture from one side of the room to the other. Little know they how much individual suffering from heavy knapsacks and blistered feet, confusion of wagon-trains, wrangling and swearing of teamsters, and vexation in almost infinite variety, are comprised in these few words. It is the army that moves, however, and the host of perplexities move with it, all unknown to the great public, and transient with the actors themselves as bubbles made by falling rain upon the lake. The delays incident to a wagon-train are legion. Occurring among the foremost wagons, they increase so rapidly that notwithstanding proper precaution and slowness in front, a rear-guard will often be kept running. The profanity produced by a single chuck hole in a narrow road appears to increase in arithmetical proportion as the wagons successively approach, and teamsters in the rear find their ingenuity taxed to preserve their reputation for the vice with their fellows.

Why negroes are not more generally employed as teamsters is a mystery. They are proverbially patient and enduring. Both the interests of humanity and horseflesh would be best subserved by such employment, and the ranks would not be reduced by the constant and heavy details of able-bodied men for that duty. Capital and careful horsemen are to be found among the contrabands of Virginia, and many a poor beast, bad in harness because badly treated, would rejoice at the change.

Quarter-masters, Wagon-masters, Commissaries, et id genus omne, have their peculiar troubles. Our Regiment was particularly favored in a Quarter-Master of accomplished business tact, whose personal supervision over the teams during a march was untiring, and whose tongue was equally tireless in rehearsing to camp crowds, after the march was over, the troubles of the day, and how gloriously he surmounted them. In his department he held no divided command.

"Get out of my train with that ambulance. You can't cut me off in that style," he roared in an authoritative manner to an ambulance driver, who had slipped in between two of his wagons on the second day of our march.

"My ambulance was ordered here, sir! I have General ——" The driver's reply was here interrupted by the abrupt exclamation of the Quarter-Master—

"I don't care a d—n if you have Old Joe himself inside. I command this train and you must get out." And get out the driver did, at the intimation of his passenger, who, to the surprise of the Quarter-Master, notwithstanding his assertion, turned out to be no less a personage than General Hooker himself.

"It is the law of the road," said the General, good-humoredly—candid to his own inconvenience—"and we must obey it."

This ready obedience upon the part of the General was better in effect than any order couched in the strongest terms for the enforcement of discipline. The incident was long a frequent subject of conversation, and added greatly to his popularity as a commander. The men were fond of contrasting it with the conduct of the General of Division, who but a few days later cursed a poor teamster with all manner of profanely qualifying adjectives because he could not give to the General and his Staff the best part of a difficult road.

But perhaps the men held their General of Division to too strict an accountability. He was still laboring under the spell of Warrenton. His nervous system had doubtless been deranged by the removal of his favorite Chief, or rather Dictator, as he had hoped he might be. "No one could command the army but McClellan," the General had said in his disgust—a disgust that would have driven him from the service, but that, fortunately for himself and unfortunately for his country, it was balanced by the pay and emoluments of a Brigadiership. Reluctant to allow Burnside quietly, a Caesar's opportunity to "cover his baldness with laurels," his whimsical movements, now galloping furiously and purposeless from front to rear, and from rear to front of his command, cursing the officers,—and that for fancied neglect of duty,—poorly concealed the workings of his mind.

In one of these rapid rides, his eye caught sight of a brace of young hounds following one of the Sergeants.

"Where did those dogs come from?"

"They have followed me from the last wood, sir."

"Let them go, sir, this instant. Send them back, sir. D—n you, sir, I'll teach you to respect private property," replied the General, deploying his staff at the same time to assist in driving the dogs back, as notwithstanding the efforts of the Sergeant to send them to the rear, they crouched at a respectful distance and eyed him wistfully. "D—n you, sir, I am the General commanding the Division, sir, and by G—d, sir, I command you, as such, to send those dogs back, sir!" nervously stammered the General as he rode excitedly from one side of the road to the other in front of the Sergeant.

The affair speedily became ridiculous. Driving dogs was evidently with the General a more congenial employment than manoeuvring men. But his efforts in the one proved as unsuccessful as in the other, as notwithstanding the aid afforded by his followers, the dogs would turn tail but for a short distance. After swearing most dogmatically, as an officer remarked, he turned to resume his ride to the head of the column, but had not gone ten yards before there was a whistle for the dogs. Squab was sent back to ferret out the offender. The whistling increased, and shortly the whole Staff and the Regimental officers were engaged in an attempt at its suppression. But in vain. Whistling in Company A, found echoes in Company B; and after some minutes of fruitless riding hither and thither the General was forced to retire under a storm of all kinds of dog-calls, swelled in volume by the adjacent Regiments.

That authority should be thus abused by the General in endeavoring to enforce his ridiculous order, and set at naught by the men in thus mocking at obedience, is to be deprecated. The men took that method of rebuking the inconsistency, which would permit Regular and many Volunteer Regiments to be followed by all manner of dogs,

"Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, And cur of low degree,"

and yet refuse them the accidental company of but a brace of canines. A simple report of the offender, supposing the Sergeant to have been one, would have been the proper course, and would have saved a General of Division the disgrace of being made a laughing-stock for his command.

"Talent is something: but tact is everything," said an eminent man, and nowhere has the remark a more truthful application than in the army.

A favorite employment after the evening halt, during this three days' march, was the gathering of mushrooms. The old fields frequent along the route abounded with them, and many a royal meal they furnished. To farmers' sons accustomed to the sight of close cultivation, these old fields, half covered with stunted pines, sassafras, varieties of spice wood, and the never-failing persimmon tree, were objects of curiosity. It was hard to realize that we were marching through a country once considered the Garden of America, whose bountiful supplies and large plantations had become classic through the pen of an Irving and other famous writers. Fields princely in size, but barren as Sahara; buildings, once comfortable residences, but now tottering into ruin, are still there, but "all else how changed." The country is desolation itself. Game abounds, but whatever required the industry of man for its continuance has disappeared.

Civilization, which in younger States has felled forests, erected school-houses, given the fertility of a garden to the barren coast of the northern Atlantic and the wild-wood of the West, could not coalesce with the curse of slavery, and Virginia has been passed by in her onward march. This field of pines that you see on our right, whose tops are so dense and even as to resemble at a distance growing grain, may have been an open spot over which Washington followed his hounds in ante-revolutionary days. The land abounds in memories. The very names of the degenerate families who eke out a scanty subsistence on some corner of what was once an extensive family seat, remind one of the old Colonial aristocracy. Reclamation of the soil, as well as deliverance of the enslaved, must result from this civil war. Both worth fighting for. So "Forward, men," "Guide right," as in very truth we are in Divine Providence guided.

The long-haired, furtive-looking fathers and sons, representatives of all this ancient nobility, after having given over their old homesteads to their female or helpless male slaves, and massed their daughters and wives apparently in every tenth house, were keeping parallel pace with us on the lower bank of the Rappahannock. It was the inevitable logic of the law of human progress, declaring America to be in reality the land of the free, that compelled these misguided, miserable remnants of an aristocracy, to shiver in rags around November camp-fires. "They are joined to their idols"—but now that after years of legislative encroachment upon the rights of suffering humanity, they engage in a rebellious outbreak against a God-given Government, we will not let them alone in an idolatry that desolates the fair face of nature and causes such shameful degeneracy of the human race. Justice! slow, but still sure and retributive justice! How sublimely grand in her manifestations! After years of patient endurance of the proud contumely of South Carolina, New England granite blocks up the harbor of Charleston—Massachusetts volunteers cook their coffee in the fireplaces of the aristocratic homesteads of Beaufort, and negroes rally to a roll-call at Bunker Hill, but as volunteers in a war which insures them liberty, and not as slaves, as was once vainly prophesied.

* * * * *

"Who commands you?" inquired a long, lean, slightly stooped, sallow-faced man of about fifty, with eyes that rolled in all directions but towards the officer he addressed, and long hair thrown back of his ears in such a way as to make up an appearance that would readily attract the attention of a police officer.

"I command this Regiment, sir," replied the Colonel, who, at the end of the day's march, was busied in directing a detail where to pitch the Head-quarter tents.

"Goin' to stay yer—right in this meadow?" continued the man, in the half negro dialect common with the whites of the South.

"That is what we purpose doing, sir. Are you the owner?"

"Y-a-a-s," drawled out the man, pulling his slouch felt still further over his eyes. "This meadow is the best part of my hull farm."

"Great country, this," broke in the Quarter-Master. "Why a kill-deer couldn't fly over it without carrying a knapsack. You don't think that camping upon this meadow will injure it any, do you?"

"Right smart it will, I reckon," rejoined the man, his eyes kindling somewhat, "right smart, it will. $1500 at least."

"What! What did the land cost you?"

"Wall, I paid at the rate of $15 the acre for 118 acres, and the buildings and 12 acres on it are in this meadow, and the best bit of it, too."

"Then you want to make us pay nearly what the whole farm cost you for using the meadow a single night?"

"Wall, I reckon as how the rails will all be gone, and the sod all cut up, and——"

"Well, I reckon," interrupted the Quarter-Master, "that you ought to prove your loyalty before you talk about claiming damages from Uncle Sam."

"Oh! I'm on nary side, on nary side;" and he looked half suspiciously about the crowd, now somewhat increased. "I'm too old; besides, my left knee is crippled up bad," limping as he said so, to sustain his assertion.

"Where are your children?"

"My two boys and son-in-law are off with the South, but I'm not 'countable for them."

"Well, sir, you'll have to prove your loyalty before you get a receipt from me for any amount."

"Prove my loyalty?" he muttered, at the same time looking blank. "What sort of swearin' have you for that?"

"Don't swear him at all, at all," broke in the little Irish Corporal. "Swearing is no substitute for swinging. Faith! he's up to that business. It's mate and drink to him. Make him whistle Yankee Doodle or sing Hail Columbia. Be jabers, it is not in his looks to do it without choking."

Terence's suggestion met with a general laugh of approval. The old fellow, finding himself in a crowd slow to appreciate his claim for damages when his loyalty was at a discount, made off towards his house, a dingy, two-story frame near by, reminded by the Colonel as he left that he would be expected to keep closely within doors while the troops were in that vicinity.

This sovereign of the soil was a fair specimen of the landed gentry of Virginia. "On nary side," as he expressed it, when the Federal troops were in his neighborhood, and yet malignant and dastardly enough to maltreat any sick or wounded Union soldier that chance might throw into his hands. The less reserved tongues of his daughters told plainly enough where the family stood on the great question of the day. But while they recounted to some of the junior officers who were always on the alert in making female acquaintances, their long lists of famous relatives, they had all the eagerness of the Yankee, so much despised in the Richmond prints, in disposing of half-starved chickens and heavy hoe-cakes at extortionate prices. With their dickering propensities there was an amount of dirt on their persons and about the premises, and roughness in their manners, that did great discredit to the memory of Pocahontas.

"You have the old horse tied up close," casually remarked a spruce young Sergeant who, in obedience to orders from Division Head-quarters, had just stationed a guard in the yard of the premises, alluding to an old, worn-out specimen of horseflesh tied up so closely to the house that his head and neck were almost a straight line.

"Yon's no hoss, sir. It's a mare," quickly retorted one of those black-eyed beauties.

The polite Sergeant, who had dressed himself with more than usual care, in the expectation of meeting the ladies, colored somewhat, but the young lady, in a matter-of-course strain, went on to say,

"She's the only one left us, too. Preston and Moncure took the rest with them, and they say they've nearly used 'em up chasing you Yanks."

Her unlady-like demeanor and exulting allusion to the Rebel cavalry tested to the utmost the Sergeant's qualities as a gentleman. A dicker for a pair of chickens, accomplished by his substituting a little ground coffee for a great sum in greenbacks, soon brought about a better understanding, however, on the part of the damsel.

A few hours later saw the Adjutant and our poetical Lieutenant snugly seated on split-bottomed chairs in a dirty kitchen. Random conversation, in which the women let slip no opportunity of reminding their visitors of the soldierly qualities of the Rebels, interrupted by the occasional bleating of sheep and bawling of calves in the cellar, made the evening's entertainment novel and interesting. So much so that at a late hour the Lieutenant, who had invested closely the younger of the two, said, half sighing, as he gave her a fond look,

"With thee conversing, I forget all time, All——"

"Wall, I reckon I don't," broke in the matter-of-fact young lady. "Sal, just kick yon door around." As Sal did her bidding, and the full moon on the face of an old fashioned corner clock was disclosed, she continued, "It's just ten minutes after eleven, and you Yanks had better be off."

Although the Adjutant was

"Like steel amid the din of arms; Like wax when with the fair,"

this lack of appreciation of poetic sentiment so abruptly shown, brought him out in a roar, and completely disconcerted the Lieutenant. They both retired speedily, and long after, the circumstance was one of the standing jokes of the camp.

One of the most prominent and eagerly wished-for occurrences in camp, is the arrival of the mail. The well filled bag, looking much like one of the bags of documents forwarded by Congressmen for private purposes at Uncle Sam's expense, was emptied out on the sod that evening in front of the Colonel's marquee, and bundles containing boots, tobacco, bread, clothing of all kinds, eatables, and what-not,—for at that time Uncle Sam's army mails did a heavy express business,—were eyed curiously, by the crowd impatient for distribution. Most singular of all in shape and feeling was a package, heavily postmarked, and addressed to the Colonel. It contained what was a God-send to the larder of the mess,—a quarter of fine tender meat. But what kind of animal, was the query. The Major, who was a Nimrod in his own locality, after the most thorough inspection, and the discovery of a short straight hair upon it, pronounced it venison, or young kid, and confirmed the Colonel in the belief that he had been remembered by one of his Western friends. But deer or dog was a matter of indifference to hungry campaigners. A hearty meal was made of it, and speculation continued until the Brigadier, who had perpetrated the joke upon the Colonel, saw fit, long after, to reveal that it was mutton that had been taken from some marauders during the day's march.

During the first and second days of the march, cannonading had been heard at intervals on the right flank. This day, however, the silence was ominous; and now at its close, with our army in close proximity to Fredericksburg, it indicated peaceable, unopposed possession, or delay of our own forces. But of the delay and its cause, provoking as it was, and costly as it has proved, enough has probably been written. An Investigating Committee has given the public full records. If we do not learn that delinquents have been punished, let us hope that the warning has been sufficient to avoid like difficulties in the future.

Our army quietly turned into camp among the wooded heights of Stafford, opposite the town of Fredericksburg. The Rebels as quietly collected their forces and encamped on the heights upon the opposite side of the river. Day by day we could see them busily at work upon their fortifications. Each morning fresh mounds of earth appeared at different points in the semi-circular range of hills bounding Fredericksburg upon the South and West. This valuable time was made use of by the pontoon train at the rate of four miles per day.

The three Grand Divisions, now that their stately march by the flank was over, had settled comfortably down among the hills of Stafford. Wood and water, essentials for camp comfort, were to be found in abundance. While the little parleying between the Commander of the Right Grand Division and the civil authorities of Fredericksburg continued, matters were somewhat in suspense. But a gradual quiet crept over the army, and in a few short weeks that heavily timbered country was one vast field of stumps, with here and there clusters of pine trees left standing for the comfort of different Head-quarters. As the timber disappeared, the tents and huts of the army before concealed in the forests were disclosed, and the whole country in the vicinity of the railroad was a continuous camp. The few open fields or barrens afforded fine review and drill grounds, and the toils of the march were scarcely over before in all directions could be heard the steady tramp of solid columns engaged in the evolutions of the field.

Those who think that duties are light in camp, know nothing of the legions of reports, statements in duplicate and triplicate, required by the too often senseless formalities of red tape. These duties vary greatly in different divisions. With a place-man, mechanical in his movements, and withal not disposed to lighten labor, they multiply to a surprising extent, and subs intrusted with their execution often find that the most laborious part of the service is drudgery at the desk. Night after night would repose at Regimental Head-quarters be interrupted by repetitious and in many cases inconsistent orders, the only purpose of which appeared to be, to remind drowsy Adjutants and swearing Sergeant-Majors that the Commanding General of Division still ruled at Division Head-quarters, and that he was most alive between the hours of nine and twelve at night. Independently of the fact that in most cases in ordinary camp-life there was no reason why these orders should not have issued in business hours, their multiplicity was a nuisance. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but in all conscience when the pen has been through necessity ignored, and the sword is uplifted for rapid and earnest blows, and the heart of a nation hangs in heavy suspense upon its movements, these travelling Bureaux had better be abolished. Superadded to all this, was the labor resulting from the mania for Court-Martialing that raged at Division Head-quarters. Mechanical in its movements, not unfrequently malignant in its designs, officer after officer, earnest in purpose, but in some instances perhaps deficient in detail, had been sacrificed to an absolutism that could order the charges, detail the Court, play the part of principal witness for the prosecution, and confirm the proceedings.

"Our volunteer force will never amount to much, until we attain the exact discipline of the French service," was the frequent remark of a General of Division. Probably not. But how much would its efficiency be increased, had the policy of the great Napoleon, from whose genius the French arms derive their lustre, prevailed, in detailing for desk duty in quiet departments the mechanical minds of paper Generals. His master tact in assigning to commanders legitimate spheres of work, and with it the untiring zeal of a Cromwell that would run like a purifying fire through the army, imparting to it its own impetuosity, and ridding it of jealousy and disaffection, were greatly needed in this Grand Army of the Potomac. Nobler men never stood in ranks! Holier banners never flaunted in the sunlight of Heaven! God grant its directing minds corresponding energy and wisdom.



CHAPTER XV.

Red Tape and the Soldier's Widow—Pigeon-holing at Head-Quarters and Weeping at the Family Fireside—A Pigeon-hole General Outwitted—Fishing for a Discharge—The Little Irish Corporal on Topographical Engineers—Guard Duty over a Whiskey Barrel.

——, Penna., Nov.—, 1862.

MY DEAR GEORGE:—This is the first spare time that I have been able to get during the last week for a letter to my dear husband. And now that there is quiet in the house, and our dear little boys are sound asleep, and the covers nicely tucked about them in their little trundle, I feel that I can scarcely write. There is such a heaviness upon my heart. When I saw the crowd at the telegraph office this morning while on my way to church, and heard that they were expecting news of a great battle on the Rappahannock, such a feeling of helplessness, sinking of the heart, and dizziness came over me, that I almost fell upon the pavement. The great battle that all expect so eagerly, may mean our dear little children fatherless and myself a widow. Oh, George, I feel so sad and lonely, and then every footstep I hear at the door I am afraid some one is coming with bad news. Your last letter, too, I do not like. I am afraid that more is the matter with you than you are willing to admit. You promised me, too, that you would apply for a furlough. Lieut. H—— has been twice at home since he went out. You know he is in Sickles' Division.

Our precious little boys keep asking continually when papa will come home. Little Georgie says he is a "du-du," you know that is what he calls a soldier, and he gets the old sword you had in the three months' service, and struts up and down at a great rate. They can both say the Lord's prayer now, and every night when they get through with it, they ask God to bless papa and mamma, and all the Union "du-dus." I do wish that you could see them in their little "Gadibaldis," as Harry calls them. When I see Mr. B——and others take their evening walks with their children, just as you used to do with Georgie, it takes all the grace and all the patriotism I can muster to keep from murmuring.

Mr. G—— says that we need not trouble about the rent this quarter, that he will wait until you are paid. The neighbors, too, are very kind to me, and I have been kept so busy with work from the shops, that I have made enough to pay all our little expenses. But for all, George, I cannot help wishing every minute of the day that "this cruel war was over" and you safe back. At a little sewing party that we had the other day, Em D—— sang that old song "When wild war's deadly blast was blown," that you used to read to me so often, and when I heard of "sweet babes being fatherless," and "widows mourning," I burst into tears. I do not know why it is, but I feel as if expecting bad news continually. Our little boys say "don't cry, mamma," in such a way when I put them to bed at night, and tell them that I kiss them for you too, that it makes me feel all the worse. I know it is wrong. I know our Heavenly Father knows what is best for us. I hope by this time you have learned to put your trust in him. That is the best preparation for the battle-field.

Do not fail to come home if you can. God bless you, George, and protect you, is the prayer of

Your loving wife, MARY.

On a low cot in the corner of a hospital tent, near Potomac Creek, propped up by some extra blankets kindly loaned him by his comrades, toward the close of a December afternoon, lay a slightly-built, rather handsome man of about thirty, holding with trembling hand the above letter, and hurriedly gathering its contents with an eager but unsteady eye. The Surgeon noticing the growing flush upon his already fevered cheek, suggested that he had better have the letter read to him. So intent was the reader, that the suggestion was twice repeated before heeded, and then only drew the remark "Mary and the boys." A sudden fit of coughing that appeared to tear the very life strings came upon him, and at its close he fell back exhausted upon his pillow.

"What luck, Adjutant?" inquired the Surgeon in a low tone, as he went forward, cautiously treading among the sick, to admit that officer into the tent.

The Adjutant with a shake of the head remarked that the application had gone up two weeks previously from Brigade Head-quarters, and that nothing had been heard of it since. "As usual," he added, "pigeon-holed at Division Head-quarters."

"Poor Wilson has been inquiring about it all day, and I very much fear that should it come now, it will be too late. He has failed rapidly to-day."

"So bad as that? I will send up to Division Head-quarters immediately."

The Lieutenant, a week previously, had been brought into the hospital suffering from a heavy cold and fever in connexion with it. For some weeks he had been in delicate health; so much so, in fact, that the Surgeon had urged him to apply for a furlough, and had stated in his certificate to the same, that it was absolutely necessary for the preservation of his life. As the Surgeon stated, a furlough, that might then have been beneficial, promised now to be of little avail. The disease had assumed the form of congestion of the lungs, and the Lieutenant seemed rapidly sinking.

When the Adjutant left the hospital tent he sought out a Captain, an intimate acquaintance of the Lieutenant's, and charged him with a special inquiry at Head-quarters, as to the success of the application for a furlough. Thither the Captain repaired, through the well trodden mud and slush of the camp ground. The party of young officers within the tent of the Adjutant-General appeared to be in a high state of enjoyment, and that functionary himself retained just presence of mind sufficient to assure the Captain, after hearing his statement and urgent inquiry—"that there was no time now to look—that there were so d—n many papers he could not keep the run of them. These things must take their regular course, Captain,—regular course, you know. That's the difficulty with the volunteer officers," continued he, turning half to the crowd, "to understand regular military channels,—channels." As he continued stammering and stuttering, the crowd inside suspended the pipe to ejaculate assent, while the Captain, understanding red-tape to his sorrow, and too much disgusted to make further effort to understand the Captain, retraced his steps. Finding the Adjutant he told him of his lack of success, and together they repaired to the hospital tent to break the unwelcome news.

At the time of his entry into the Hospital the Lieutenant was impressed with the belief that the illness would be his last, and he daily grew more solicitous as to the success of his application for a furlough. Another coughing fit had, during their absence, intervened, and as the two cautiously untied the flaps and entered the stifling atmosphere of the crowded tent, the Surgeon and a friend or two were bending anxiously about the cot. Their entry attracted the attention of the dying Lieutenant; for that condition his faint hurried breathing, interrupted by occasional gasps, and the rolling, fast glazing eye, too plainly denoted. A look of anxious inquiry,—a faint shake of the head from the Captain—for strong-voiced as he was, his tongue refused the duty of informing the dying man of what had become daily, unwelcome news.

"Oh, my God! must I,—must I die without again seeing Mary and the babies!" with clasped hands he gasped, half rising, and casting at the same time an imploring look at the Surgeon.

But the effort was too much. His head fell back upon the blankets. A gurgling sound was heard in his throat. With bowed heads to catch the latest whisper, his friends raised him up; and muttering indistinctly amid his efforts to hold the rapidly failing breath, "Mary and the babies. The babies,—Ma——" the Lieutenant left the Grand Army of the Potomac on an everlasting furlough.

Mary was busily engaged with the duties of her little household a week later, enjoying, as best she might, the lively prattle of the boys, when there was the noise of a wagon at the door, and closely following it a knock. "Papa! papa!" exclaimed the children, as with eager haste they preceded the mother. With scarcely less eagerness, Mary opened the door. Merciful God! "Temper the wind to the shorn lambs." Earthly consolation is of little avail at a time like this. It was "Papa;"—but Mary was a widow, and the babies fatherless.

By some unfortunate accident the telegram had been delayed, and the sight of the black pine coffin was Mary's first intimation of her loss. Her worst anticipations thus roughly realized, she sank at the door, a worthy subject for the kind offices of her neighbors.

A fortnight passed, and the Adjutant was disturbed in his slumbers, almost at the solemn hour of midnight, to receive from an Orderly some papers from Division Head-Quarters. Among them, was the application of the Lieutenant, returned "approved."

Measured by poor Mary's loss, how insignificant the sigh of the monied man over increased taxes! how beggarly the boast of patriotic investments! how contemptibly cruel, in her by no means unusual case, the workings of Red Tape!

* * * * *

Occurrences such as these, may sadden for the moment the soldier, but they produce no lasting depression.

"Don't you think I had oughter Be a going down to Washington To fight for Abraham's Daughter?"

sang our ex-news-boy Birdy, on one of those cold damp evenings in early December, when the smoke of the fires hung like a pall over the camp ground, and the eyes suffered terribly if their owner made any attempt at standing erect.

"And who is Abraham's Daughter?" queried one of a prostrate group around a camp fire.

"Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean," continued Birdy, to another popular air, until he was joined by a manly swell of voices in the closing line—

"Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue!"

"Not much life here," continued Birdy, seating himself. "I have just left the 2—th. There is a high old time over there. They have got the dead wood on old Pigey nice."

"In what way?" inquired the crowd.

"You know that long, slim fellow of Co. E, in that Regiment, who is always lounging about the Hospital, and never on duty."

"What! The fellow that has been going along nearly double, with both hands over the pit of his stomach, for a week past?"

"The same," resumed Birdy. "He has been going it on diarrhoea lately; before that he was running on rheumatism. Well, you know he has been figuring for a discharge ever since he heard the cannonading at the second Bull Run, but couldn't make it before yesterday."

"How did he make it?" inquired several, earnestly.

"Fished for it," quietly remarked Birdy.

"Come, Birdy, this is too old a crowd for any jokes of yours. Whose canteen have you been sucking Commissary out of?" broke in one of his hearers.

"Nary time; I'm honest, fellows. He fished for it, and I'll tell you how," resumed Birdy, adjusting the rubber blanket upon which he had seated himself.

"You see old Pigey was riding along the path that winds around the hill to Corps Head-Quarters, when he spied this fellow, Long Tom, as they call him, sitting on a stump, and alongside of the big sink, that some of our mess helped to dig when on police duty last. Tom held in both hands a long pole, over the sink, with a twine string hanging from it—for all the world as if he was fishing. On came old Pigey; but Tom never budged.

"'What are you doing there, sir?' said the General.

"'Fishing,' said Tom, without turning his head.

"'Fishing! h—l and d—n! Must be crazy; no fish there.'

"'I've caught them in smaller streams than this,' drawled out Tom, turning at the same time his eyes upon the General, with a vacant stare. 'But then I had better bait. The ground about here is too mean for good red worms. Just look,' and Tom lifted up an old sardine box, half full of grubs, for the General to look at.

"'Crazy, by G—d, sir,' said the General, turning to his Aid, 'Demented! Demented! Might be a dangerous man in camp; must be attended to,' continued the General; striking, as he spoke, vigorous blows across his saddle-bow, with his gauntlet; Tom all the while waiting for a bite, with the patience of an old fisherman.

"It was after three in the afternoon, and the General took the bait.

"'Must be attended to. Dangerous man! dangerous man!' said he, adjusting his spectacles.

"'Your name and Regiment, sir?'

"Tom drawled them out, and the General directed his Aid to take them down.

"'Go to your Quarters, sir,' said the General.

"'Havn't caught anything yet, and hard tack is played out,' replied Tom.

"At this the General put spurs to his horse, and left. Half an hour afterward, a Corporal's Guard came after Tom. They took him up to the marquee of the Surgeon of the Division. Tom played it just as well there, and yesterday his discharge came down, all O.K., and they've got the Commissary on the strength of it, and are having a high old time generally."

"Bully boy with a glass eye! How are you, discharge!" and like slang exclamations broke rapidly and rapturously from the crowd.

"But," said one of the more thoughtful of the crowd, as the condition of a brother then lying hopelessly ill, with no prospect of a discharge,—although it had been promised repeatedly for months past,—pressed itself upon his attention, "how shameful that this able-bodied coward and idler should get off in this way, when so many better men are dying by inches in the hospitals. A General who understood his command and had more knowledge of human nature, could not be deceived in that way."

"Tom had lounged about Divisions Head-Quarters so much, that he knew old Pigey thoroughly, and just when to take him," said a comrade.

"All the greater shame that our Generals can be taken off their guard at any time," retorted the other.

"Oh, well," continued he, "about what might be expected of one educated exclusively as a Topographical Engineer, and having no acquaintance with active field service, and with no talent for command; for it is a talent that West Point may educate, but cannot create."

"And what is a Tippo, Typo, or Toppographical Engineer, Sergeant?" broke in the little Irish Corporal, who chanced to be one of the group, rather seriously. "Isn't it something like a land surveyor; and be Jabers, wasn't the great Washington himself a land surveyor? Eh? Maybe that's the rayson these Tippos, Typos, or Toppographical Engineers ride such high horses."

"Not badly thought of, Corporal," replied the Sergeant, amid laughter at Terence's discovery, and his attempt at pronunciation; "but Washington was a man of earnestness and ability, and not a guzzler of whiskey, and a mouther of indecent profanity. There are good officers in that Corps. There is Meade, the fighter of the noble Pennsylvania Reserves; Warren, a gentleman as well as a soldier. Others might be named. Meritorious men, but kept in the background while the place-men, cumberers of the service, refused by Jeff. Davis when making his selections from among our regular officers, as too cheap an article, are kept in position at such enormous sacrifices of men, money, and time. I have heard it said, upon good authority, that there is a nest of these old place-men in Washington, who keep their heads above water in the service, through the studied intimacy of their families with families of Members of the Cabinet—a toadyism that often elevates them to the depression of more meritorious men, and always at the expense of the country,—but—

'Dark shall be light.'

Keep up your spirits, boys."

"Keep up your spirits," echoed Birdy; "that is what they are doing all the time at Division Head-Quarters,—by pouring spirits down, Jim," continued he, turning suddenly to a comrade, who lounged lazily alongside of him, holding, at the same time at the end of a stick, a tin cup with a wire handle, over the fire, "tell the crowd about that whisky barrel."

Some of the crowd had heard the story, from the manner in which they welcomed the suggestion, and insisted upon its reproduction.

"Can't, till I cook my coffee," retorted Jim, pointing to the black, greasy liquid in the cup, simmering slowly over the half-smothered fire. Jim's cup had evidently been upon duty but a short time previously as a soup-kettle. "But it is about done," said he, lifting it carefully off, "and I might as well tell it while it cools."

"About one week ago I happened to be detailed as a Head-Quarter guard, and about four o'clock in the afternoon was pacing up and down the beat in front of the General's Head-Quarters. It was a pleasant sun-shiny spring day,—when gadflies like to try their wings, and the ground seems to smoke in all directions,—and the General sat back composedly in the corner of his tent on a camp stool, with his elbow on his knee and his head hanging rather heavily upon his hand. The flaps were tied aside to the fly-ropes. I had a fair view of him as I walked up and down, and I came to the conclusion from his looks that Pigey had either a good load on, or was in a brown study. While I was thinking about it up comes a fellow of the 2—th, that I used to meet often while we were upon picket. He is usually trim, tidy-looking, and is an intelligent fellow, but on that day everything about him appeared out of gear. His old grey slouch hat had only half a rim, and that hung over his eyes—hair uncombed, face unwashed, hands looking as if he had been scratching gravel with them, his blouse dirty and stuffed out above the belt, making him as full-breasted as a Hottentot woman, pantaloons greasy, torn, and unevenly suspended; and to foot up his appearance shoes innocent of blacking, and out at the toes. When I saw him, I laughed outright. He winked, and asked in an undertone if the General was in, stating at the same time that he was there in obedience to an order detailing one man for special duty at the General's Head Quarters, 'and you know,' said he, 'that the order always is for intelligent soldierly-looking men. Well, all our men that have been sent up of that stripe have been detained as orderlies, to keep his darkies in wood and water, and hold his horses, and we are getting tired of it. I don't intend running any risk.'

"'Don't think you will,' said I, laughing at his make-up.

"Just then I noticed a movement of the General's head, and resumed the step. A moment after, the General's eye caught sight of the Detail. He eyed him a moment in a doubtful way, and then rubbing his eyes, as if to confirm the sight, and straightening up, shouted—

"'Sergeant of the guard! Sergeant of the guard!'

"The sergeant was forthcoming at something more than a double-quick; and with a salute, and 'Here, sir,' stood before the General.

"Old Pigey's right hand extended slowly, pointing towards the Detail, who stood with his piece at a rest, wondering what was to come next.

"'Take away that musket, sergeant! and that G—d d—n looking thing alongside of it. What is it, anyhow?' said the General, with a significant emphasis on the word 'thing.'

"And off the sergeant went, followed by the man, who gave a sly look as he left."

"Pretty well played," said one of the crowd; "but what has that to do with a whisky barrel?"

"Hold on, and you will see; I am not through yet.

"About half an hour afterward another man from the same regiment presented himself, and asked permission to cross my beat, saying that he had been detailed on special duty, and was to report to the General in person. This one looked trim enough to pass muster. He presented himself at the door of the tent and saluted; but the General had taken two or three plugs in the interim, and was slightly oblivious. Anxious to see some sport, I suggested that he should call the General.

"'General,' said he, lowly, then louder, all the while saluting, until the General awoke with a start.

"'Who the h—l are you, sir?'

"'I was ordered to report to you in person, sir, for special duty.'

"'Special duty, sir! Has it come to this? Must I assign the duty to be performed by each individual man, sir, in the Division, sir!'

"The disheveled hair, flashing eyes, and fierce look of the General, startled this new Detail, and he commenced explaining. The General broke in abruptly, however, as if suddenly recollecting; and rubbing his hands, while his countenance assumed a bland smile:

"'Oh, yes; you are right, sir, right; special duty, sir; yes, sir; follow me, sir.'

"And the General arose and with somewhat uncertain strides left his marquee, and, followed by the man, entered a Sibley partly in its rear.

"'There, sir,' said the General, pointing, with rather a pleased countenance; 'do you see that barrel, sir?'

"'Yes, sir,' replied the Detail, saluting.

"'That barrel holds whisky, sir—whisky;'—rising upon his toes and emphasizing the word; 'and I want you to guard it G—d d——d well. Don't let a d—n man have a drop, sir. Do you understand, sir?'

"'Yes, sir,' rejoined the Detail, saluting, and commencing his beat around the barrel.

"The General was about leaving the Sibley, when he turned suddenly;

"'Do you drink, sir?'

"'Once and a while, sir,' replied the Detail, saluting.

"'Have you had any lately?'

"'No, sir.'

"'By G—d, sir, I'll give you some, sir;' and he strides into his marquee and returns with a tin cup full of liquor, which he placed upon the barrel, and told the man to help himself. After the General had gone, the Detail did help himself, until his musket lay on one side of the Sibley and himself on the other."

"The General knows how to sympathize with a big dry," said one, as the crowd laughed over the story.

Pen cannot do justice to the stories abounding in wit and humor wherewith soldiers relieve the tedium of the camp. To an old campaigner, their appearance in print must seem like a faded photograph, in the sight of one who has seen the living original. Characters sparkling with humor, such as was never attributed to any storied Joe Miller, abound in every camp. The brave Wolfe, previously to the victory which cost him his life, is reported to have sung, while floating down the St. Lawrence:

"Why, soldiers, why, Should we be melancholy, Whose business 'tis to die?"

Whether induced in his case by an effort to bolster up the courage of his comrades or not, the sentiment has at all times been largely practised upon in the army of the Potomac.



CHAPTER XVI.

The Battle of Fredericksburg—Screwing Courage up to the Sticking Point—Consolations of a Flask—Pigeon-hole Nervousness—Abandonment of Knapsacks—Incidents before, during, and after the Fight.

In this wintry weather, striking tents meant stripping the log huts of the bits of canvas that ordinarily served as the shelter-tents of the soldiers. The long rows of huts thus dismantled,—soldiers at rest in ranks, with full knapsacks and haversacks,—groups of horses saddled and bridled, ready for the rider,—on one of these clear, cold December mornings, indicated that the army was again upon the move. Civilians had been sent back freighted with letters from those soon to see the serious struggle of the field; the sick had been gathered to hospitals nearer home; the musicians had reported to the surgeons, and the men were left, to the sharp notes of sixty rounds of ball cartridge carried in their boxes and knapsacks,—in the plight of the Massachusetts regiment that marched through the mobs of Baltimore, to the music of the cartridge-box, in the first April of the Rebellion.

The time intervening between the removal of McClellan and the battle of Fredericksburg, was a period of uneasy suspense to the nation at large and its representatives in the field. Dear as the devoted patriotism, the earnest conduct of the Rhode Island Colonel—the hero of the Carolinas and now the leader of the Grand Army of the Potomac—were to the patriotic masses of the nation, the fact of his being an untried man, gave room for gloom and foreboding. With the army at large, the suspense was accompanied by no lack of confidence. The devotion of the Ninth Army Corps for its old commander appeared to have spread throughout the army; and his open, manly countenance, bald head, and unmistakable whiskers, were always greeted with rounds for "Burny." The jealousy of a few ambitious wearers of stars may have been ill concealed upon that morning, only to be disclosed shortly to his detriment; but the earnest citizen-soldiery were eager, under his guidance, to do battle for their country. Time has shown, how much of the misfortune of the subsequent week was attributable to imperfect weeding of McClellanism at Warrenton.

Like a lion at bay, restless in easy view of the hosts of the Rebellious, the army had remained in its camp upon the heights of Stafford until the arrival of the pontoons. For miles along the Rappahannock, the picket of blue had his counterpart in the picket of grey upon the opposite shore. Unremitting labor upon fortifications and earthworks, had greatly increased the natural strength of the amphitheatre of hills in the rear of Fredericksburg. Countless surmises spread in the ranks as to the character and direction of the attack; though the whims of those who uttered them were variant as the reflections of a kaleidoscope. But the sun, that through the pines that morning, shone upon burnished barrels, polished breast-plates, and countenances of brave men, radiant, as if reflecting their holy purpose, has never, since the shining hosts of Heaven were marshalled for the suppression of the great prototype of this Rebellion, seen more earnest ranks, or a holier cause.

The bugles call "Attention," then "Forward." Horses are rapidly mounted; and speedily coming to the shoulder, and facing to the right, the army is in motion by the flank towards the river. Far as the eye could see, in all directions, there were moving masses of troops. Cowardly beneath contempt is the craven, who in such a cause, and at such a time, would not feel inspirited by the firm tread of the martial columns.

"Hear 'em! Oh, Hear 'em!" exclaimed an earnest-looking country boy, hastily closing a daguerreotype case, into which he had been intently gazing, and replacing it in his pocket, as the booming of a heavy siege gun upon the Washington Farm, followed instantly by the reports of several batteries to the right, broke upon the ear like volleyed thunder. A clap of thunder from a clear sky could not have startled him more, had he been at work upon his father's farm. His earnest simplicity afforded great amusement to his comrades, and for a while made him the butt of a New York Regiment that then chanced to be marching abreast. Raw recruit as he was, cowardice was no part of his nature, and he indignantly repelled the taunts of his comrades. Gloom deep settled was visible upon his countenance, however, although firm his step and compressed his lip.

"Terence," said he, to the little Irish Corporal who marched by his side, as another suggestive artillery fire that appeared to move along the entire front, made itself heard, "may I ask a favor of you?"

"Indade ye may, John, and a thousand ov them if ye plaze, to the last dhrop in my canteen."

One of those jams so constant and annoying in the movements of large masses of men, here gave the opportunity for John to unbosom himself, which he did, while both leaned upon the muzzles of their pieces.

"Terence, I do not believe that I will be alongside of you many days," said John, with an effort.

"Why, what's the matter wid ye, boy? if I didn't know ye iver since you thrashed that bully in the Zouaves, I wud think ye cowardly."

"It is not fear, Corporal," continued John, more determinedly. "I'm looking the danger squarely in the face, and am ready to meet it, and I want to be prepared for it."

"Be jabers, John," retorted Terence, "ye should have prepared for it before you left home. I saw Father Mahan just before I left, and he tould me to do my duty like a thrue Irishman; and that if I was kilt in such a cause I wud go straight through, and be hardly asked to stay over night in Purgatory. There's my poor brother, peace to his soul;—and did ye hear——"

"But, Terence," interrupted John, "I am not afraid of death; and for the judgment after death I have made all the preparation I could in my poor way, and I can trust that to my Maker; but"——and here John clapped his hand over his left breast.

"Oh, I see," said Terence. "It's a case of disease of the heart."

"I want you, in case I fall, to take the daguerreotype that you will find in the inside pocket on the left side of my blouse, and a sealed letter, and see that both are sent to the address upon the letter," continued John.

"Faith, will I, John. But who tould you that you wud be kilt, and meself that's alone and friendless escape? Well, I'll take them, John, if I have to go meself; and it's Terence McCarty that will not see her suffer; and maybe—but it's hard seeing how a girl could take a fancy to a short curly-headed Irishman, like meself, after having loved a sthrapping, straight-haired man like you."

How John relished the winding-up of the corporal's offer could not well be seen, as an order to resume the step interrupted the conversation.

Progress was slow, necessarily, from the caution required in the approach to the river. Over the rolling ground, to an artillery accompaniment unequalled in grandeur, the troops trudged slowly along. Here and there was a countenance of serious determination, but the great mass were gay and reckless, as soldiers proverbially are, of the risks the future might hold in reserve.

After a succession of short marches and halts, the forward movement appeared to cease about four o'clock in the afternoon, and the men quietly rested on their arms, as well as the damp, and in many places muddy ground would allow. Towards evening countless fires, fed by the dry bushes found in abundance upon the old fields of Virginia, showed that amidst war's alarms the men were not unmindful of coffee.

Throughout the day, with but brief cessation, artillery firing had continued. The booming of the siege guns, mingled with the sharp rattle of the light, and the louder roar of the heavy batteries, all causing countless echoes among the neighboring hills, completed the carnival of sound.

Night crept gradually on, the fires were extinguished, the cannonading slackened gradually, then ceased, and the vast army, save those whom duty kept awake, silently slept under frosted blankets.

Cannonading was resumed at early dawn of the next day, and the slow progress of the troops towards the river continued. Before night our advance had crossed upon the pontoon bridges, notwithstanding a galling fire of the Rebel sharpshooters under cover of the buildings along the river, and was firmly established in the town. Late in the day our Division turned into a grove of young pines, a short distance in the rear of the Phillips House. Upon beds of the dead foliage, soft as carpets of velvet, after the fatigues of the day, slumber was sound.

The reveille sounded at early morn of the next day,—Saturday, the memorable thirteenth of December,—by over three hundred pieces of artillery, again aroused the sleeping camps to arms, and in the grey fog, the groves and valleys for some miles along the river appeared alive with moving masses. As soon as the fog lifted sufficiently, a large balloon between us and the river arose, upon a tour of observation. It was a fine mark for a rifled battery of the Rebels, and some shells passed close to it, and exploded in dangerous proximity to our camp.

Under an incessant artillery fire the main movement of the troops across the river commenced. Leaving our camp and passing to the right of the Phillips mansion, we found our Division, one of a number of columns moving in almost parallel lines to the river. On the western slope of the hill or ridge upon which the house stood, we came to another halt, until our turn to cross should come.

Whatever modern armies may have lost in dazzling appearance, when contrasted with the armies of old that moved in glittering armor and under "banner, shield, and spear," they certainly have lost nothing in the enginery of death, and in the sights and sounds of the fight itself. A twelve-pound battery under stern old Cato's control, would have sent Caesar and his legions howling from the gates of Rome, and have saved the dignity of her Senate. The shock of battle was then a medley of human voices, confused with the rattle of the spear upon the shield; now a hell of thunder volumed from successive batteries,—and relieved by screaming and bursting shell and rattling musketry. The proper use of a single shell would have cleared the plains of Marathon. More appropriately can we come down to later times, when

"The old Continentals, In their ragged regimentals, Faltered not,"

for the ground upon which our army stood had repeatedly been used as a rallying point for troops, and a depot for military stores in Continental and Revolutionary times. How great the contrast between the armies now upon either side of the Rappahannock, and the numbers, arms, and equipage then raised with difficulty from the country at large. Our forefathers in some measure foresaw our greatness; but they did not foresee the magnitude of the sin of slavery, tolerated by them against their better judgment, and now crowding these banks with immense and hostile armies. Since that day the country has grown, and with it as part of its growth, the iniquity, but the purposes of the God of battles prevail nevertheless. The explosion that rends the rock and releases the toad confined and dormant for centuries, may not have been intended for that end by the unwitting miner, nor the civil convulsion that shatters a mighty nation to relieve an oppressed people and bestow upon it the blessings of civilization, may not have been started with that view by foul conspirators.

But while we are digressing, a cavalcade of mounted men have left the area in front of the Phillips mansion, and are approaching us upon the road at a full gallop. The boys recognize the foremost figure, clad in a black pilot frock, his head covered with a regulation felt, the brim of which is over his eyes and the top rounded to its utmost capacity, and cheer upon cheer for "Burney" run along the column. With a firm seat, as his horse clears the railroad track and dashes through the small stream near by, he directs his course to the Lacy House on the bank of the river.

It was near noon when we passed over the same ground, and taking a road to the right of the once tasteful grounds of that mansion, debouched by a narrow pass cut through the bank to the water's edge. As we did so, some shells thrown at the mounted officers of the Regiment passed close to their heads and exploded with a dull sound in the soft ground of the bank. With a steady tramp the troops crossed, scarcely the slightest motion being perceptible upon the firm double pontoon bridge. Another column was moving across upon the bridge below. Gaining the opposite bank, the column filed to the left, in what appeared to be a principal street of the town. Here knapsacks were unslung and piled in the store rooms upon either side.

The few citizens who remained had sought protection from the shells in the cellars, and not an inhabitant of the place was to be seen. Notwithstanding the heavy concentrated artillery fire,—beyond some few buildings burned down,—nothing like the destruction was visible that would be imagined. Deserted by its proper inhabitants, the place had, however, a heavy population in the troops that crowded the streets parallel with the river. The day previous the Rebels had opened fire upon the town. It was continued at intervals, but with little effect. Z-i-i-s-s! a round shot sings above your head, and with a sharp thud strikes the second story of the brick house opposite, marking its passage by a tolerably neat hole through the wall. P-i-i-n-g! screams a shell, exploding in a room with noise sufficient to justify the total destruction of a block of buildings. The smoke clears away, ceilings may be torn, floors and windows shattered, but the building, to an outside observer, little damaged.

From an early hour in the morning the musketry had been incessant,—now in volleys, and now of the sharp rattling nature that denotes severe skirmishing. On the left, where more open ground permitted extended offensive movements, the firing was particularly heavy. But above it all was the continuous roar of artillery, and the screaming and explosion of shells. To this music the troops in light order and ready for the fray, marched up a cross street, and in the shelter of the buildings of another street on the outer edge of the place and parallel with the river, stood at arms,—passing on their way out hundreds of wounded men of different regiments, on stretchers and on foot, some with ghastly wounds, and a few taking the advantage of the slightest scratch to pass from front to rear. Legs and arms carelessly heaped together alongside of one of the amputating tents in the rear of the Phillips House, and passed in the march of the day before, had prepared the nerves of the men somewhat for this most terrible ordeal for fresh troops. Many of the wounded men cheered lustily as the men marched by, and were loudly cheered in return, while here and there an occasional skulker would tell how his regiment was cut to pieces, and like Job's servant he alone left.

From this point a fine view could be had of the encircling hills, with their crowning earthworks, commanding the narrow plateau in our immediate front. On the right and centre the Rebel line was not to be assailed, but by advancing over ground that could be swept by hundreds of pieces of artillery, while to protect an advancing column our batteries from their position must be powerless for good. A stone wall following somewhat the shape of the ridge ran along its base. Properly banked in its rear, it afforded an admirable protection for their troops. As there was no chance for success in storming these works, the object in making the attempt was doubtless to divert the Rebel attention from their right.

Column after column of the flower of the army, had during the day charged successively in mad desperation upon that wall; but not to reach it. Living men could not stand before that heavy and direct musketry, and the deadly enfilading cannonade from batteries upon the right and left. The thickly strewn plain attested at once the heroic courage of the men, and the hopelessness of the contest.

"Boys, we're in for it," said a Lieutenant on his way from the right. "Old Pigey has just had three staving swigs from his flask, and they are all getting ready. There goes 'Tommy Totten,'" as the bugle call for "forward" is familiarly called in the army.

Our course was continued to the left—two regiments marching abreast—until we neared a main road leading westward from the town. In the meantime the movement had attracted the Rebel fire, and at the last cross street a poor fellow of the 2—th Regiment was almost cut in two by a shell which passed through the ranks of our Regiment and exploded upon the other side of the street, but without doing further damage. At the main road we filed to the right, and amid dashing Staff officers and orderlies, wounded men and fragments of regiments broken and disorganized, proceeded on our way to the front. There was a slight depression in the road, enough to save the troops, and shot and shell sang harmlessly above our heads. When the head of the column—really its rear—as we were left in front, was abreast of a swampy strip of meadow land, at the further end of which was a tannery, our Brigade filed again to the right. The occupation of this meadow appeared to be criminally purposeless, as our line of attack was upon the left of the road; while it was in full view and at the easy range of a few hundred yards from a three-gun Rebel battery. The men were ordered to lie down, which they did as best they could from the nature of the ground, while the mounted officers of the Division and Brigade gathered under the shelter of the brick tannery building.

The movement was scarcely over, before one head and then another appeared peering through the embrasures of the earthwork, then a mounted officer upon a lively sorrel cantered as if for observation a short distance to the left of the work. Some sharpshooters in our front, protected slightly by the ground which rose gently towards the west, tried their breech-loaders upon him. At 450 yards there was certainty enough in the aim to make the music of their bullets unpleasant, and he again sought the cover of the work. An upright puff of smoke,—then a large volumed puff horizontally,—shrill music in its short flight,—a dull, heavy sound as the shell explodes in the soft earth under our ranks,—and one man thrown ten feet into the air, fell upon his back in the ranks behind him, while his two comrades on his left were killed outright, his Lieutenant near by mortally wounded, a leg of his comrade on the right cut in two, and a dozen in the neighborhood bespattered with the soft ground and severely contused. Shells that exploded in the air above us, or screamed over our heads; rifle balls that whizzed spitefully near, were now out of consideration. The motions of loading and firing, and as we were in the line of direction, the shell itself, could be seen with terrible distinctness. There was the dread certainty of death at every discharge. All eyes were turned toward the battery, and at each puff, the "bravest held his breath" until the smothered explosion announced that the danger was over. From our front ranks, who had gradually crept up the side of the hill, an incessant fire was kept up; but the pieces could be worked with but little exposure, and it was harmless. Fortunately the shells buried themselves deeply before exploding, and were mainly destructive in their direct passage. Again the horseman cantered gaily to his former place of observation on the left; but our sharpshooters had the range, and his fine sorrel was turned to the work limping very discreditably. This trifling injury was all that we could inflict in return for the large loss of life and limb.

"Well, Lieutenant, poor John is gone!" said the little Irish Corporal, coming to the side of that officer.

"What, killed?"

"Ivery bit of it. I have just turned him over, and shure he is as dead as he was before he was born. That last shot murthered the boy. It is Terence McCarthy that will do his duty by him, and may be——"

"Corporal! to your post," broke in the Lieutenant. "Old Pigey is taking another pull at the flask, and we will move in a minute."

The surmise of the Lieutenant was correct. "Tommy Totten" again called the men to ranks, and right in front, the head of the column took the pike on another advance. The Rebels seeing the movement, handled their battery with great rapidity and dexterity, and shells in rapid succession were thrown into the closed ranks, but without creating confusion. Among others, a Major of the last Regiment upon the road, an old Mexican campaigner, and a most valuable officer, fell mortally wounded just as he was about leaving the field, and met the fate, that by one of those singular premonitions before noticed in this chapter,—so indicative by their frequency of a connexion in life between man's mortal and immortal part,—he had already anticipated.