 25. A Christmas Day on the Plantation Shall we not break for a time from our record of special tales and let fall on our pages a bit of winter sunshine from the south? The story of a Christmas festival in the land of the rose and the magnolia. It is a story which has been repeated so many successive seasons in the life of the south that it has grown to be a part of its being, the joyous festival period in the workday world of the year. The writer once spent Christmas as a guest in the manor house of old Major Delmar, a way down south, and feels like halting to tell the tale of genial merry-making and free-hearted enjoyment on that gladsome occasion. On the Plantation, Christmas is the beginning and end of the calendar. Time is measured by the days before Christmas or the days since Christmas. There are other seasons of holiday and enjoyment alike for black and white, but the holidays has one meaning only. It is the merry-Christmas time when the work of the year past is ended and that of the year to come not begun, and when pleasure and jollity rule supreme. A hearty, full-soul, genial host and kindly-considerate master was the old Major in the days of his reign before the war, and fortunate was he who received an invitation to spend the midwinter festival season under his hospitable roof. It was always crowded with well-chosen guests. The members of the family came in from near and far, friends were invited in wholesome numbers, an atmosphere of good will spread all around, from master and mistress downward through the young fry and to the dusky-faced house servants and plantation hands. Everybody great and small, old and young, black and white, was glad at heart when the merry-Christmas time came round. As the yuletide season approached, the work of the plantation was rounded up and everything got ready for the festival. The corn was all in the cribs, the hog-killing was at an end, the meat salted or cured, the lard tried out, the sausage meat made. The mincemeat was ready for the Christmas pies, the turkeys were fattened, especially the majestic old gobbler, whose generous weight was to grace the great dish on the manor house table. The presents were all ready, new shoes, winter clothes and other useful gifts for the slaves, less useful but more artistic and ornamental remembrances for the household and guests. All this took no small thought and labour, but it was a labour of love, for was it not all meant to make the coming holiday a merry, happy time? I well remember the jolly stir of it all, for my visit spread over the days of busy preparation. In the woods the axe was busy at work, cutting through the tough hickory trunks. Other wood might serve for other seasons, but nothing but good old hickory would do to kindle the Christmas fires. All day long the laden wagons creaked and rumbled along the roads, bringing in the solid logs and in the wood yards the shining axes rang, making the white chips fly as the great logs were chopped down to the requisite length. From the distant station came the groaning ox cart laden with boxes from the far off city, boxes full of mysterious wares, the black driver seeking to look as if curiosity did not rend his soul, while he stolidly drove with his precious goods to the storeroom. Here they were unloaded with mirthful haste, jokes passing among the laughing workers as to what Massa or Mistis was going to give them out of those heavy crates. The opening of these boxes added fuel to the growing excitement as the well-wrapped up parcels were taken out, in some cases openly, in other cases, with a mysterious secrecy that doubled the curiosity and added to the season's charm. There was another feature of the work of preparation in which all were glad to take part, the gathering of the evergreens, red-buried holly, mistletoe with its glistening pearls, ground pine, moss and other wood treasures for the decoration of the parlor, hall and dining-room, and above all, of the old village church, a gleeful labour in which the whole neighbourhood took part, and helpers came from miles away. Young men and blooming maidens alike joined in, some as artists in decorations, others as busy workers, and all as merry aides. Days rolled on while all this was being done, the wood chopped and heaped away in the woodsheds and under the back portico, the church and house made as green as spring tied with their abundant decorations, tastefully arranged in reeds and folds and circles, with the great green merry Christmas welcoming all corners from over the high parlor mantel. All was finished in ample time before the day of Christmas eve arrived, though there were dozens of final touches still to be made, last happy thoughts that had to be worked out in green, red or white. On that same day came the finish which all had wished but scarcely dared hope for, a fleecy fall of snow that drifted in feathery particles down through the still atmosphere, and covered the ground with an inch deep carpet of white. I well remember old Delmar with his wrinkled kindly face and abundant white hair, and his, by Jove isn't this just the thing, as he stood on the porch and looked with boyish glee at the fast-falling flakes. And I remember as well his sweet-faced wife, small, delicate, yet still pretty in her old age, and placidly sharing his enjoyment of the spectacle, rare enough in that climate, in spite of the tradition that a freeze and a snowfall always came with the Christmas season. Christmas eve that was a time indeed! Parlor and Hall, porch and woodshed all were well enough in their way, but out in the kitchen busy things were going on without which the whole festival would have been sadly incomplete. The stoves were heaped with hickory and glowing with ardent heat, their ovens crammed full of toothsome preparations, while about the tables and shelves clustered the mistress of the place and her regiment of special assistants, many of them famous for their skill in some branch of culinary art, their glistening faces and shining teeth testifying to their pride in their one special talent. Pies and puddings, cakes and tarts, everything that could be got ready in advance, were being drawn from the ovens and heaped on awaiting shelves, while a dozen hands busied themselves in getting ready the turkey and game and the other essentials of the coming feast that had to wait till the next day for their turn at the heated ovens. As the day moved on the excitement grew, visitors were expected, the boys from college with their invited chums, sons and grandsons, aunts and cousins, and invited guests from near and far. Not only these but hired out servants from neighboring towns whose terms were fixed from New Year to Christmas so that they could spend the holiday week at home, made their appearance and were greeted with as much hilarious welcome in the cabins as were the white guests in the mansion. In the manor house itself they were welcomed like homecoming members of the family, as already wearing their presence of new winter clothes they came to pay their respects to Massa and Mistis. As the day went on the carriages were sent to the railroad station for the expected visitors, old and young, and a growing impatience testified to the warmth of welcome with which their arrival would be greeted. They are late. To be late seems a fixed feature of the situation, especially when the roads are heavy with unwanted snow. Night has fallen, the stars are out in the skies, before the listening ears on the porch first catch the distant creek of wheels and axles. The glow of the wood fires on the hearths and of candles on table and mantel is shining out far over the snow, when at length the carriages come in sight, laden outside and in with trunks and passengers whose cheery voices and gay calls have already heralded their approach. What a time there is when they arrive, the boys and girls tumbling and leaping out and flying up the steps to be met with warm embraces or genial welcomes, the elders coming more sedately to be received with earnest hand clasps and cordial greetings. Never was there a happier man than the old major when he saw his house filled with guests, and bad the strangers welcome with a dignified but earnest courtesy. But when the younger corners stormed him with their glad shouts of Uncle or Grandpa or other titles of relationship and their jovial echo of Merry Christmas, the warm-hearted old fellows seemed fairly transformed into a boy again. Guest as I was I felt quite taken off my feet by the flood of greetings and was swept into the general overflow of high spirits and joyful welcomes. The frosty pole of the major and the silvery hair of his good wife were significant of venerable age, but there were younger people in the family and with them a fair sprinkling of children. Of these the diminutive stockings were duly hung in a row over the big fireplace, waiting for the expected coming of Santa Claus, while their late wearers were soon huddled in bed, though with little hope of sleep in the excitement and sense of enchantment that surrounded them. Their disappearance made little void in the crowd that filled the parlor, a gay and merry throng full of the spirit of fun and hearty enjoyment and thoroughly genuine in their mirth, not a grain of airiness or ostentation marring their pleasure, though in its way was as refined as in more showy circles. Morning dawned, Christmas morning. Little chance was there for sleepyheads to indulge themselves that sunny yule-tide morn. The stir began long before the late sun had risen, that of the children first of all, stealing about like tiny white-clad specters with bulging stockings tucked tightly in their arms, craftily opening bedroom doors and shouting, Christmas gift! at drowsy slumbers, then scurrying away and seeking the hearth side, whose embers yielded light enough for a first glance at their treasures. Soon the opening and closing of doors was heard, and one by one the older inmates of the mansion appeared with warm merry Christmas greetings, and all so merry-hearted that the breakfast table was a constant round of quips and jokes, and of stories and pranks played in the night by representatives of Santa Claus. Where all are bent on having a good time, it is wonderful how little will serve to kindle laughter and set joy afloat. Aside from the church going, with the hymns and anthems sung in concert, and the reading of the service, the special event of the day was the distribution of the mysterious contents of the great boxes which had come days before. They were presents for everyone, nobody, guest or member of the family was forgotten, and whether costly or homely but useful, the gifts seemed to give equal joy. It was the season of goodwill in which the kindly thought, not the costliness of the gift, was alone considered, and when all tokens of kindness were accepted in the same spirit of gratefulness and enjoyment. A special feature of a Christmas on the plantation, especially before the war, was the row of shining happy black faces that swarmed up to the great house in the morning light, with their mellow outcry of Merry Christmas Massa, Merry Christmas Mrs., and their hopeful looks and eyes bulging with expectation. Joyful was the time when their gifts were handed out, useful articles of clothing, household goods and the like, all gladly and hilariously received, with a joy as childlike as that of the little ones with their stockings. Off they tripped merrily through the snow with their burdens, laughing and joking to their cabins, where dinners awaited them which were humble copies of that preparing for the guests at the master's table. Turkey was not wanting, varied here and there by that rare dish of raccoon or possum which the southern darky so highly enjoys. The great event of the mansion house was the dinner. All day till the dinner hour the kitchen was full of busy preparation for this crowning culmination of the festival. Cooks there were in plenty, and the din of their busy labour and a perfume of their culinary triumphs seemed to pervade the whole house. When the dinner was served it was a sight to behold. The solid old mahogany table groaned with the weight laid upon it. In the place of honour was the big gobbler, brown as a berry and done to a turn. For those who preferred other meat there was a huge round of venison and an artistically ornamented ham. These formed the backbone of the feast, but with and around them were every vegetable and delicacy that a southern garden could provide, and tasteful dishes which it took all the ingenuity of a trained mistress of the kitchen to prepare. This was the season to test the genius of the dusky southern cooks, and they had exhausted their art and skill for that day's feast. On the ample sideboard shining with glass was the abundant dessert, the cakes, pies, puddings, and other aids to a failing appetite that had been devised the day before. But this dinner was done honour to, need scarcely be said. The journey the day before and the outdoor exercise in that day's frosty air had given everyone an excellent appetite, and the appearance of the table at the end of the feast showed that the skill of Aunt Diana and her assistants had been amply appreciated. After dinner came Appletoddy and Eggnog, and the great ovation to the Christmas good cheer was at an end. But the festival was not over. Games and dances followed the feast. The piano-top was lifted, and light fingers rattled out lively music, to which a hundred flying feet quickly responded. Country dances they were, the lancers and quadrills. Round dances were still looked upon in that rural locality, as an improper innovation. The good old major in his frockcoat and high collar started the ball, seizing the prettiest girl by the hand and leading her to the head of the room, while the others quickly followed in pairs. Thus, with the touch of nimble fingers on the ivory keys and the tap of feet and the whirl of skirts over the unwaxed floor, mingled with jest and mirth, the evening passed gaily on, the old fashion Virginia Reel closing the ball, and bringing the day's busy reign of festivity to an end. But the whites did not have all the fun to themselves. The colored folks had their parties and festivities as well. They were mistresses super-intending the suppers and decorating the tables with their own hands, while ladies and gentlemen from the mansion came to look on, and a tension which was considered a compliment by the ebb and guests. And the Christmas season rarely passed without a colored wedding, the holidays being specially chosen for this interesting ceremony. The dining-room or the hall of the mansion often served for this occasion, the master joining in matrimony the happy couple, or a colored preacher might perform the ceremony in the quarters. But in either case the event went gaily off, the family attending to get what amusement they could out of the occasion, while the mistress arranged the true so for the dusky bride. But it is with the one Christmas only that we are here concerned, and that ended as happily and merrily as it had begun, midnight passing before the festivities came to an end. How many happy dreams followed the day of joy, and how many nightmares the heavy feast is more than we are prepared to put on record. CHAPTER XXVI The outbreak of the Civil War, the most momentous conflict of recent times, was marked by a wave of fervent enthusiasm in the states of the south which swept with the swiftness of a prairie fire over the land. Pouring in multitudes into the centres of enlistment, thousands and tens of thousands of stalwart men offered their services in defence of their cause, gathering into companies and regiments far more rapidly than they could be absorbed. This state of affairs indeed existed in the north as well as in the south, but it is with the extraordinary fervour of patriotism in the latter that we are here concerned, and especially with the very interesting experience of General John B. Gordon as related by him in his reminiscence of the Civil War. When the war began, Gordon, as he tells us, was practically living in three states. His house was in Alabama, his post office in Tennessee, and he was engaged in coal mining enterprises in the mountains of Georgia, the locality being where these three states meet in a point. No sooner was the coming conflict in the air than the stalwart mountaineers of the mining district became wild with eagerness to fight for the Confederacy, and Gordon, in whom the war spirit burned as hotly as in any of them, needed but a word to gather about him a company of volunteers. They unanimously elected him their captain and organised themselves at once into a cavalry company, most of them, like so many sons of the south, much preferring to travel on horseback than on foot. As yet, the war was only a probability and no volunteers had been called for, but with the ardour that had brought them together, Gordon's company hastened to offer their services, only to be met with the laconic and disappointing reply, no cavalry now needed. What was to be done? They did not relish the idea of giving up their horses, yet they wanted to fight still more than to ride. And the fear came upon them that if they waited till cavalry was needed, they might be quite lost sight of in that mountain corner and the war end before they could take a hand in it. This notion of a quick end to the war was common enough at that early day, very few foreseeing the vastness of the impending conflict. And dreading that they might be left out in the cold, the ardent mountaineers took a vote on the question, shall we dismount and go as infantry? The motion was carried with a shout of approval, and a way went the stalwart recruits without arms, without uniform, without military training, with little beyond the thirst to fight, the captain knowing hardly more of military tactics than his men. They had courage and enthusiasm and felt that all things besides would come to them. As for arms suitable for modern warfare, the south at that time was sadly lacking in them. Men looked up their old double-barreled shotguns and squirrel rifles, and Governor Brown of Georgia set men at work making what were called Joe Brown's pikes, being a sort of steel-pointed lances or bayonets on poles, like those used by pikemen in medieval warfare. In modern war they were about as useful as knitting needles would have been. Governor Brown knew this well enough, but the volunteers were coming in such numbers and were so eager to fight that the pikes were made more to satisfy them than with the hope of there being any service in actual war. Gordon's company was among the earliest of these volunteers. Reluctantly leaving their horses and not waiting for orders, they bade a quick adieu to all they had held dear, and set off cheerily for Millageville, then the capital of Georgia. They were destined to a sad disappointment. Upon reaching Atlanta they were met by a telegram from the Governor, who had been advised of their coming, telling them to go back home and wait until advised that they were wanted. This was like a shower of cold water poured on the ardor of the volunteers. Go home? After they had cut loose from their homes and started for the war? They would do nothing of the kind. They were on foot to fight and would not consent to be turned back by Governor Brown or anyone else. The captain felt very much like his men. He too was an eager Confederate patriot, but his position was one demanding obedience to the constituted authorities, and by dint of much persuasion and a cautious exercise of his new authority he induced his men to board the train heading back for their homes. But the repressed anger of the rebellious mountaineers broke forth again when the engine bell rang and the whistle gave its shrill starting signal. Some of the men rushed forward and tore out the coupling of the foremost car, and the engine was left in condition to make its journey alone. While the trainmen looked on in astonishment, the mountaineers sprang from the train, gathered round their captain, and told him that they had made up their minds on the matter and were not going back. They had enlisted for the war and intended to go to it. If Governor Brown would not take them, some other Governor would. There was nothing left for the young captain but to lead his undisciplined and rebellious company through Atlanta in search of a suitable camping-place. Their disregard of discipline did not trouble him greatly, for in his heart he sympathized with them, and he knew well that in their rude earnestness was the stuff of which good soldiers are made. Gordon gives an interesting and amusing description of the appearances men made and the interests they excited in Atlanta streets. These were filled with citizens, who looked upon the motley crew with a feeling in which approval was tempered by mirth. The spectacle of the march, or rather the straggle, of the mountaineers was one not soon to be forgotten. After the untrained and marching they walked at will, no two keeping step, while no two were dressed alike. There were almost as many different hues and cuts in their raiment as there were men in their ranks. The nearest approach to a uniform was in their rough fur caps made of raccoon skins, and with the streaked and bushy tail of the raccoon hanging down behind. The amusement of the people was mingled with curiosity. Are you the captain of this company? Some of them asked Gordon, who was rather proud of his men and saw nothing of the grotesque in their appearance. I am, sir, he replied, in a satisfied tone. What company is it, captain? As yet the company had no name other than the one which he had chosen as fine sounding and suitable, but had not yet mentioned to the men. This company is the mountain rifles, said the captain proudly. His pride was destined to a fall. From a tall mountaineer in the ranks came, in words not intended for his ears, but plainly audible, the disconcerting words. Mountain, hell! Where no mountain rifles were the raccoon ruffs! And raccoon ruffs they continued through all the war, Gordon's fine spun name being never heard of again. The feeble remnant of the war-scarred company which was mustered out at Appomattox was still known as raccoon ruffs. Who would have them, since Governor Brown would not, was now the question. Telegrams sped out right and left to the governors of other states, begging a chance for the upland patriots. An answer came at length from Governor Moore of Alabama who consented to incorporate the raccoon ruffs and their captain in one of the new regiments he was organizing. Gordon gladly read the telegram to his eager company, and from their hundred throats came the first example of the rebel yell he had ever heard, a wild and thrilling roar that was to form the inspiration to many a mad charge in later years. No time was lost by the gallant fellows in setting out on their journey to Montgomery. As they went on they found the whole country in a blaze of enthusiasm. No one who saw the scene would have doubted for a moment that the south was an ardent unit in support of its cause. By day the troop trains were wildly cheered as they passed. At night bonfires blazed on the hills and torchlight processions paraded the streets of the towns. As no cannon were at hand to salute the incoming volunteers, blacksmith anvils took their place, ringing with the blows of hammers swung by muscular arms. Every station was a throng of welcoming people, filling the air with shouts and the lively sound of fife and drum, and bearing banners of all sizes and shapes, on which southern independence was proclaimed, and the last dollar and man pledged to the cause. The women were out as enthusiastically as the men, staid matrons and ardent maids springing up on the cars, pinning blue cockades on the lapels of the new soldier's coats, and singing the war songs already in vogue. The favorite Dixie and the Bonnie Blue Flag, in whose chorus the harsh voices of the raccoon rafts mingled with the musical tones of their fair admirers. Montgomery was at length reached to find it thronged with shouting volunteers every man of them burning with enthusiasm. Mingled with them were visiting statesmen and patriotic citizens, for that city was the cradle of the newborn Confederacy and the center of southern enthusiasm. Every heart was full of hope. Every face marked with energy, a prayer for the success of the cause on every lip. Never had more fervent and universal enthusiasm been seen. On the hills and around the capital, cannon boomed welcome to the inflowing volunteers, wagons rumbled by carrying arms and ammunition to the camps. On every street marched untrained but courageous recruits. As for the raccoon rafts, Governor Moore kept his word assigning them to a place in the Sixth Alabama Regiment, of which Captain Gordon, unexpectedly and against his wishes, was unanimously elected major. Such were the scenes which the coming war excited in the far south, such the fervent enthusiasm with which the coming conflict for southern independence was hailed. So vast was the number of volunteers, in companies and in regiments, each eager to be accepted, that the honourable Leroy P. Walker, the First Secretary of War of the Confederacy, was fairly overwhelmed by the flood of applicants that poured in on him day and night. Their captains and colonels waylaid him on the streets to urge the immediate acceptance of their services, and he was obliged to seek his office by roundabout ways to avoid the flood of importunities. It is said that before the Confederate government left Montgomery for Richmond, about 360,000 volunteers, very many of them from the best element of the southern population, had offered to devote their lives and fortunes to their country's cause. Many striking examples of this outburst of enthusiasm and patriotic devotion might be adduced, but we must consent ourselves with one, cited as an instance in point by General Gordon. This was the case of Mr. W. C. Hayward of South Carolina, a West Point graduate and a man of fortune and position. The Confederate government was no sooner organised than Mr. Hayward sought Montgomery, tendering his service and those of a full regiment enlisted by him for the war. Such was the pressure upon the authorities, and so far beyond the power of absorption at that time, the office of volunteers, that Mr. Hayward sought long in vain for an interview with the Secretary of War. When this was at last obtained, he found the ranks so filled that it was impossible to accept his regiment. Returning home in deep disappointment, but with his patriotism unquenched, this wealthy and trained soldier joined the home guards and died in the war as a private in the ranks. Such was the unanimity with which the sons of the South, hosts of them armed with no better weapons than the old-fashioned flint and steel muskets, double-barreled shotguns and long-barreled squirrel rifles, rushed to the defence of their states, with a spontaneous and burning enthusiasm that has never been surpassed. The impulse of self-defence was uppermost in their hearts. It was not the question of the preservation of slavery that sustained them in the terrible conflict for four years of desolating war. It was far more that of the sovereignty of the states. The South maintained that the Union formed under the Constitution was one of consent and not of force, that each state retained the right to resume its independence on sufficient cause, and that the Constitution gave no warrant for the attempt to invade and coerce a sovereign state. It was for this, not to preserve slavery, that the people sprang as one man to arms and fought as men had rarely fought before. CHAPTER XXVII. Of all the minor operations of the Civil War, the one most marked at once by daring and success was the pioneer invasion of the northern states, the notable Chambersburg raid of the most famous cavalry leader of the Confederacy, General J. E. B. Stewart. This story of bold venture and phenomenal good fortune, though often told, is worth giving again in its interesting details. The interim after the Battle of Sharpsburg or Antietam was one of rest and recuperation in both the armies engaged. During this period, the cavalry of Lee's army was encamped in the vicinity of Charlestown, some ten miles to the southward of Harpers Ferry. Stewart's headquarters were located under the splendid oaks which graced the lawn of the Bower, whose proprietor, Mr. A. S. Standridge, entertained the officers with an open-hearted and genial hospitality which made their stay one of great pleasure and enjoyment. There were warriors in plenty who would not have been hazy to break up that agreeable period of rest and social intercourse, but Stewart was not of that class. He felt that he must be up and doing, demonstrating that the army of northern Virginia had not gone to sleep, and the early days of October, 1862, saw a stir about headquarters which indicated that something out of the ordinary was afoot. During the evening of the eighth, the officers were engaged in a lively social intercourse with the ladies of the Bower, the entertainment ending in a serenade in which the banjo and fiddle took chief part. War-like affairs seemed absent from the thoughts of all, with the exception that the general devoted more time than usual to his papers. With the morning of the ninth, a new state of affairs came on. The road suddenly appeared full of well-mounted and well-appointed troopers, riding northward with jingling rains and genial calls, while the cheery sound of the bugle rang through the fresh morning air. There were eighteen hundred of these horsemen selected from the best-mounted and most trustworthy men in the corps, for they were chosen for an expedition that would need all their resources of alertness, activity, and self-control, no less a one than an invasion of Pennsylvania, a perilous enterprise in which the least error might expose them all to capture or death. On reaching the appointed place of rendezvous, at Darksville, Stuart issued an address in which he advised his followers that the enterprise in which they were to engage demanded the greatest coolness, decision, and courage, implicit obedience to orders, and the strictest order and sobriety. While the full purpose of the expedition must still be kept secret, he said, it was one in which success would reflect the highest credit on their arms. The seizure of private property in the state of Maryland was strictly prohibited, and it was to be done in Pennsylvania only under orders from the brigade commanders, individual plundering being strongly forbidden. These preliminaries adjusted. The march northward began, the command being divided into three detachments of six hundred men each, under the direction of General Wade Hampton, Colonel W. H. F. Lee, and Colonel W. E. Jones. A battery of four guns accompanied the expedition. It was with high expectations that the men rode forward. The secrecy of the enterprise giving in an added zest. Most of them had followed Stuart in daring rides in the earlier months of the year, and all were ready to follow wherever he chose to lead. Darkness had fallen when they reached Hedgesville. The point on the Potomac where it was designed to cross. Here they bivouacked for the night, a select party of some thirty men being sent across the river, their purpose being to capture the federal picket on the Maryland side. In this they failed, but the picket was cut off from its reserve, so that the fugitives were not able to report the attack. Day had not dawned when all the men were in their saddles, and as soon as word of the result of the night's enterprise was received the foremost troops plunged into the river and the crossing began. It was completed without difficulty, and Colonel Butler, leading the advance, rode briskly forward to the national turnpike which joins Hancock and Hagerstown. Along this road a few hours before, General Cox's division of federal infantry had passed, Butler coming so close to his rear that the stragglers were captured. But a heavy fog covered the valley and hid all things from sight, so that Cox continued his march in ignorance that a strong body of Confederate cavalry was so close upon his track. On Fairview Heights near the road was a federal signal station which a squad was sent to capture. The two officers in charge of it escaped, but two privates and all its equipment were taken. Yet despite all efforts at secrecy the march had not gone on unseen. A citizen had observed the crossing and reported it to Captain Logan of the 12th Illinois Cavalry, and the news spread with much rapidity. But there was no strong force of cavalry available to check the movement, and Stuart's braves passed steadily forward unopposed. Their line of march was remote from Telegraph or Railroad, and the Pennsylvania farmers, who did not dream of the war invading their fields, were stricken with consternation when Stuart's bold riders crossed Mason and Dixon's line and appeared on their soil. It was hard for them to believe it. One old gentleman, whose sorrel mare was taken from his cart, stressed it bitterly, saying that orders from Washington had forbidden the impressment of horses, and threatening the vengeance of the government on the supposed federal raiders. A shoe merchant at Mercer's Burr completely equipped butler's advance guard with footwear, and was sadly surprised when paid with a receipt calling on the federal government to pay for damages. While nothing was disturbed in Maryland, horses were diligently seized in Pennsylvania, the country on both sides of the line of march being swept clean of its farm animals. Cities on the road however were not molested, and the men were strictly prohibited from seizing private property, even from taking provisions for themselves. Chambersburg, the goal of the expedition, was reached on the evening of the tenth after a day's hard ride. So rapid and well conducted had been the journey that as yet scarce one enemy had been seen, and when the town was called on to surrender within thirty minutes under penalty of a bombardment, resistance was out of the question. There was no one capable of resisting, and the troops were immediately marched into the town where they were drawn up in the public square. The bank was the first place visited. Colonel Butler, under orders from his chief, entered the building and demanded its funds. But the cashier assured him that it was empty of money, all its cash having been sent away that morning, and convinced him of this by opening the safe and drawers for his inspection. Telegraphic warning had evidently reached the town. Butler had acted with such courtesy that the cashier now called the ladies of his family and bade them to prepare food for the men who had made the search. That the captors of the town behaved with like courtesy throughout, we have the evidence of Colonel A. K. McClure, subsequently editor of the Philadelphia Times, who then dwelt in the near vicinity of Chambersburg. Though a United States officer and subject to arrest or parole, and though he had good opportunity to escape, he resolved to stay and share the fate of his fellow townsmen. We quote from his description of the incidents of that night. After speaking of an interview he had, as one of the committee of three citizens to surrender the town, with General Hampton, and the courteous manner of the latter, he proceeds, With sixty acres of corn and shock, and three barns full of grain, excellent farm and saddle horses, and a number of best-blooded cattle, the question of property was worthy of a thought. I resolved to stay as I felt so bound by the terms of surrender, and take my chances of discovery and parole. I started in advance of them for my house, but not in time to save the horses. I confidently expected to be overrun by them, and to find the place one scene of desolation in the morning. I resolved, however, that things should be done soberly, if possible, and I had just time to destroy all the liquors about the house. As their pickets were all around me I could not get it off. I finished just in time, for they were soon upon me in force, and every horse in the barn, ten in all, was promptly equipped and mounted by a rebel cavalrymen. They passed on towards Shippensburg leaving a picket force on the road. In an hour they returned with all the horses they could find, and dismounted to spend the night on the turnpike in front of my door. It was now midnight, and I sat on the porch observing their movements. They had my best cornfield beside them, and their horses fared well. In a little while one entered the yard, came up to me, and after a profound bow, politely asked for a few coals to start a fire. I supplied him, and informed him as blandly as possible where he would find wood conveniently, as I had dim visions of campfires made from my palings. I was thanked in return, and the mild-mannered villain proceeded at once to strip the fence and kindle fires. Soon after, a squad came and asked permission to get some water. I piloted them to the pump, and again received a profusion of thanks. About one o'clock, half a dozen officers came to the door and asked to have some coffee made for them, offering to pay liberally for it in Confederate script. After concluding a treaty with them on behalf of the colored servants, coffee was promised them, and they then asked for a little bread with it. They were wet and shivering, and seeing a bright open wood fire in the library, they asked permission to enter and warm themselves until their coffee should be ready, assuring me that under no circumstances should anything in the house be disturbed by their men. I had no alternative but to accept them as my guests, until it might please them to depart, and I did so with as good grace as possible. Once seated round the fire, all reserves seemed to be forgotten on their part, and they opened a general conversation on politics, the war, the different battles, the merits of generals of both armies. They spoke with entire freedom upon every subject but their movement into Chambersburg. Most of them were men of more than ordinary intelligence and culture, and their demeanor was in all respects eminently courteous. I took a cup of coffee with them and had never seen anything more keenly relished. They said that they had not tasted coffee for weeks before, and that then they had paid from six to ten dollars per pound for it. When they were through, they asked whether there was any coffee left, and finding that there was some, they proposed to bring some more officers and a few privates, who were prostrated by exposure to get what was left. They were, of course, as welcome as those present, and on they came in squads of five or more until every grain of brown coffee was exhausted. Then they asked for tea, and that was served to some twenty more. In the meantime, a subordinate officer had begged of me a little bread for himself and a few men, and he was supplied in the kitchen. He was followed by others in turn, until nearly a hundred had been supplied with something to eat or drink. All, however, politely asked permission to enter the house and behaved with entire propriety. They did not make a single rude or profane remark even to the servants. In the meantime, the officers who had first entered the house had filled their pipes from the box of kilokinik on the mantel, after being assured that smoking was not offensive, and we had another hour of free talk on matters generally. At four o'clock in the morning the welcome blast of the bugle was heard, and they rose hurriedly to depart. Thanking me for the hospitality they had received, we parted, mutually expressing the hope that should we ever meet again it would be under more pleasant circumstances. In a few minutes they were mounted and moved into Chambersburg. About seven o'clock I went into town. General Stewart sat on his horse in the centre of the town surrounded by his staff, and his command was coming in from the country in large squads, leading their old horses and riding the new ones they had found in the stables hereabouts. General Stewart is of medium size, has a keen eye, and wears immense sandy whiskers and a mustache. His demeanour to our people was that of a humane soldier. In several instances his men commenced to take private property from stores but they were arrested by General Stewart's provost guard. In a single instance only that I heard of, did they enter a store by intimidating the proprietor. All of our stores and shops were closed, and with a very few exceptions were not disturbed. This was certainly not like the usual behaviour of soldiers on foreign soil, and the incident at once illustrates the strict control which General Stewart held over his men, and the character of the men themselves, largely recruited as they were from the higher class of Southern society. Though Colonel McClure evidently felt that the lion's claws lay concealed under the silken glove, he certainly saw no evidence of it in the manners of his unbidden guests. Return was now the vital question before General Stewart of his band. Every hour of delay added to the dangers surrounding them. Troops were hastily marching to cut off their retreat. Cavalry was gathering to intercept them. Scouts were watching every road and every movement. Worst of all was the rain which had grown heavy in the night, and was now falling steadily, with a threat of swelling the Potomac and making its fords impassable. The ride northward had been like a holiday excursion. What would the ride southward prove? With the dawn of the day, the head of the column set out on the road toward Gettysburg, no damage being done in the town except to railroad property and the Ordnance Storehouse, which contained a large quantity of ammunition and other army supplies. This was set on fire, and the sound of the explosion after the flames reached the powder, came to the ears of the vanguard when already at a considerable distance on the return route. At Cashtown the line turned from the road to Gettysburg and moved southward, horses being still diligently collected till the Maryland line was crossed, when all gathering of spoils ceased. Emmitsburg was reached about sunset, the hungry Cavaliers there receiving a warm welcome, and being supplied with food as bountifully as the means of the inhabitants permitted. Meanwhile, the Federal military authorities were busy with efforts to cut off the venturesome band. The difficulty was to know at what point on the Potomac a crossing would be sought, and the troops were held in suspense until Stuart's movements should unmask his purpose. General Pleasanton and his cavalry force were kept in uncertain movement, now riding to Hagerstown, then on false information, going four miles westward, then, halted by fresh orders turning east and riding to Mechanicstown, twenty miles from Hagerstown. They had marched fifty miles that day, eight of which were wasted, and when they halted, Stuart was passing within four miles of them without their knowledge. Midnight brought Pleasanton word of Stuart's movements, and the weary men and horses were put on the road again, reaching the mouth of the monarchy about eight o'clock the next morning. But most of his command had dropped behind in that exhausting ride of seventy-eight miles within twenty-eight hours, only some four hundred of them being still with him. While the Federals were thus making every effort to cut off the bold raiders, and to garrison the fords through a long stretch of the Potomac, Stuart was riding south from Emmitsburg, after a brief stop at that place, seeking to convey the impression by his movements that he proposed to try some of the upper and nearer fords. His real purpose was to seek a crossing lower down, so near to the main body of the Federals that they would not look for him there. Yet the dangers were growing with every moment. Three brigades of infantry guarded the lower fords. Pleasanton was approaching the monarchy, and it looked as if the bold raider was in a net from which there could be no escape. Stuart reached Hyattstown at daylight on the twelfth, having marched sixty-five miles in twenty hours. The abundance of captured horses enabled him to make rapid changes for the guns and casins, and to continue the march without delay. Two miles from Hyattstown, the road entered a large piece of woodland which served to conceal his movements from observation from any signal tower. Here a disused road was found, and turning abruptly to the west, a rapid ride was made under cover. Soon after the open country was reached again a Federal squadron was encountered, but it was dispersed by a charge, and from this point a rapid ride was made for White's Ford, the nearest available crossing. All now seemed to depend upon whether this Ford was occupied in force by the enemy. As Colonel Lee approached it this question was settled. What appeared a large body of Federal infantry was in possession. It seemed impossible to dislodge it, but foes were closing up rapidly from behind, and if all was not to be lost, something must be done, and done at once. To attack the men on the bluff seemed hopeless, and before doing so, Lee tried the effect of putting a bold face on the matter. He sent a messenger under a flag of truce, telling the Federal commander that Stuart's whole force was before him, that resistance was useless, and calling on him to surrender. If this was not done in fifteen minutes, a charge in force would be made. The fifteen minutes passed. No sign of yielding appeared. Lee, with less than a forlorn hope of success, opened fire with his guns and ordered his men to advance. He listened for the roar of the Federal guns in reply, when a wild shout rang along the line. They are retreating! Hurrah! They are retreating! Such was indeed the case. The infantry on the bluff were marching away with flying flags and beating drums, abandoning their position without a shot. A loud Confederate cheer followed them as they marched. No shot was fired to hinder them. Their movement was the salvation of Stuart's corps, for it left an open passage to the Ford, and safety was now assured. But there was no time to lose. Pleasanton and his men might be on them at any minute. Other forces of the enemy were rapidly closing in. Haste was the key to success. One piece of artillery was hurried over the drybed of the canal, across the river Ford and up the Virginia bluff, where it was posted to command the passage. Another gun was placed so as to sweep the approaches on the Maryland side, and soon a stream of horsemen were rapidly riding through the shallow water to Virginia and safety. With them went a long train of horses captured from Pennsylvania farms. Up came the others and took rapidly to the water, Pellum, meanwhile, facing Pleasanton with a single gun which was served with all possible rapidity. But there was one serious complication. Butler, with the rearguard, had not yet arrived, and no one knew just where he was. Stuart, in deep concern for his safety, sent courier after courier to hasten his steps, but no tidings came back. I fear it is all up with Butler, he said despondently. I cannot get word of him, and the enemy is fast closing in on his path. Let me try to reach him, said Captain Blackford, to whom the general had spoken. After a moment's hesitation, Stuart replied, All right. If we don't meet again, good-bye, old fellow, you run a desperate chance of being raked in. Away went Blackford at full speed, passing the lagging couriers one by one, and at length, reaching Butler, whom he found halted and facing the enemy in complete ignorance of what was going on at the front. He had his own and a North Carolina regiment and one gun. We are crossing the ford, and Stuart orders you up at once, shouted Blackford, Withdraw at a gallop, or you will be cut off. Very good, said Butler coolly, but how about that gun? I fear the horses can't get it off in time. Let the gun go, save yourself and your men. Butler did not see it in that light. Whip and spur were applied to the weary artillery horses, and away they went down the road, whirling the gun behind them, and followed at a gallop by Butler and his men. As they turned towards the ford, they were saluted by the fire of a federal battery. Further on, the distant fire of infantry from down the river reached them with spent balls. Ten minutes later and the rear guard would have been lost. As it was, a wild dash was made across the stream, and soon the last man stood on Virginia soil. The expedition was at an end, and the gallant band was on its native heath once more. Thus ended Stuart's famous two days ride. The first crossing of the Potomac had been on the morning of the tenth. The final crossing was on the morning of the twelfth. Within twenty-seven hours he had ridden eighty miles from Chambersburg to Whitesford, with his artillery and captured horses, and had crossed the Potomac under the eyes of much superior numbers, his only losses being the wounding of one man, and the capture of two who had dropped out of the line of March, a remarkable record of success considering the great peril of the expedition. The gains of the enterprise were about twelve hundred horses, and the great strain of the ride forced the men to abandon many of their own. Stuart lost two of his most valued animals, Suffolk and Lady Margrave, through the carelessness of his servant Bob, who, overcome by two free indulgence in ardent spirits, fell out of the line to take a nap, and ended by finding himself and his horses in hostile hands. The value of the property destroyed at Chambersburg, public and railroad, was estimated at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A few hundred sick and wounded soldiers were paroled, and about thirty officials and prominent citizens were brought off as prisoners, to be held as hostages for imprisoned citizens of the Confederacy. On the whole it was eminently a daredevil enterprise of the type of the nightly forays of old. Its results far less in importance than the risk of loss to the Confederacy had that fine body of cavalry been captured. Yet it was of the kind of ventures calculated to improve the morale of an army, and inspire its men to similar deeds of daring and success. Doubtless, it gave the cue to Morgan's later and much less fortunate invasion of the North. CHAPTER XXVIII. FOREST'S JACE OF THE RAIDERS. Foremost, in dash and daring among the cavalry leaders of the Confederacy, was Lieutenant General Nathan B. Forrest, a hero in the saddle, some of whose exploits were like the marvels of romance. There is one of his doings in particular, which General Lord Wolsey says, reads like romance. This was his relentless pursuit and final capture of the expedition under Colonel Abel D. Strite, one of the most brilliant deeds in the cavalry history of the war. Accepting Wolsey's opinion, we give the story of this exploit. In General Rosencrantz's campaign against General Bragg, it was a matter of importance to him to cut the railroad lines and destroy bridges, arsenals, etc., in Bragg's rear. He wished particularly to cut the railroads leading from Chattanooga to Atlanta and Nashville, and thus prevent the free movement of troops. The celebrated Andrew's expedition of scouts, described in a previous volume of this series, failed in an effort to do this work. Colonel Strite, a stalwart, daring cavalry leader, made a second effort to accomplish it, and would doubtless have succeeded, but for the bulldog-like persistence with which that devil forest clung to his heels. Colonel Strite's expedition was made up of four regiments of mounted infantry and two companies of cavalry, about 2,000 men in all. Rome, Georgia, an important point on the railroad from Chattanooga to Atlanta, was its objective point. The route to be traversed included a barren, mountainous track of country, chosen from the fact that its sparse population was largely composed of Union sympathizers. But the road was likely to be so steep and rocky, and forage so scarce, that mules were chosen instead of horses for the mounts, on account of their being more sure-footed and needing less food. The expedition was sent by steamboat from Nashville, Tennessee to Eastport, Alabama, which place was reached on the 19th of April, 1863. This movement was conducted with all possible secrecy, and was masked by an expedition under general dodge at the head of a force of some 10,000 men. The unfortunate feature about the affair was the mules. On their arrival at Eastport, these animals, glad to get on solid land again, set up a bray that trumpeted the story of their arrival for miles around, and warned the cavalry of General Rodney, who had been skirmishing with general dodge, that new foes were in the field. When night fell, some of Rodney's cavalry lads crept into the corral, and there, with yells and hoots and firing of guns and pistols, they stampeded nearly 400 of the mules. This caused a serious delay, only 200 of the mules being found after two days' search, while more time was lost in getting others. From Eastport, the expedition proceeded to Tuscumbia, General Rodney stubbornly resistingly advance. Here, a careful inspection was made, and all unfit men left out, so that about 1,500 picked men, splendidly armed and equipped, constituted the final raiding force. But the delay gave time for the news that some mysterious movement was afoot to spread far and wide, and Forrest led his corps of hard riders at top speed from Tennessee to the aid of Rodney in checking it. On the 27th he was in dodge's front, helping Rodney to give him what trouble he could, though obliged to fall back before his much greater force. Straight was already on his way. He had set out at midnight of the 26th in pouring rain and over muddy roads. At sunset of the next day he was 38 miles from the starting point. On the afternoon of the 28th the village of Moulton was reached without trace of an enemy in front or rear. The affair began to look promising. Next morning the mule brigade resumed its march, heading East towards Bluntsville. Not until the evening of the 28th did Forrest hear of this movement. Word was brought him that a large body of Union troops had passed Mount Hope, riding eastward towards Moulton. The quick-witted leader guessed in a moment what all this meant, and with his native energy prepared for a sharp pursuit. In all haste he picked out a suitable force, had several days rations cooked for the men and corn gathered for the horses, and shortly after midnight was on the road, leaving what many could spare to keep Dodge busy and prevent pursuit. His command was twelve hundred strong, the most of them veterans whose metal had been tried on many a hard-fought field, and who were ready to follow their daring leader to the death, reckless and hardy irregulars brought up from childhood to the use of horses and arms, the sturdy sons of the back country. Straight was now in the ugly mountain country through which his root lay, and was advancing up Sand Mountain by a narrow stony winding road. He had two days the start of his pursuer, but with such headlong speed did Forrest ride that it dawned on the thirtieth when the Federals were well up the mountain. The boom of a cannon gave them the startling notice that an enemy was in pursuit. Forrest had pushed onward at his usual killing pace, barely drawing rain until straight's campfires came in sight, when his men laid down by their horses for a night's rest. Captain William Forrest, a brother of the general, had been sent ahead to reconnoiter, and in the early morning was advised of the near presence of the enemy by as awful a noise as human ears could well bear, the concentrated breakfast bray of fifteen hundred hungry mules. The cannon-shot which had warned Colonel Straight that an enemy was near, was followed by the yell of Captain Forrest's wild troopers as they charged hotly up the road. Their recklessness was to be severely punished, for as they came headlong onward a volley was poured into them from a ridge beside the road. Their shrewd opponent had formed an ambuscade into which they blindly rode. With the result the Captain Forrest fell from his horse with a crushed thigh-bone, and many of his men and horses were killed and wounded before they could get out of the trap into which they had ridden. The attack was followed up by Forrest's whole force. Edmunds's men, dismounted, advanced within a hundred yards of the federal line. Roddy and Julian rode recklessly forward in advance, and Forrest's escort and scouts occupied the left. It was a precipitous movement which encountered a sudden and sharp reverse, nearly the whole line being met with a murderous fire and driven back. Then the Federal sprang forward in a fierce charge, driving the Confederates back in confusion over their own guns, two of which were captured with their caissons and ammunition. The loss of his guns threw Forrest into a violent rage, in which he made the air blue with his forcible opinions. Those guns must be taken back, he swore, at the risk of all their lives. He bade every man to dismount and tie their horses to saplings. There were to be no horse-holders in this emergency. Onward swept the Avengers, but to their surprise and chagrin only a small rearguard was found, who fled on their mules after a few shots. Straight, with the captured guns, was well on the road again, and Forrest's men were obliged to go back, untie their horses, and getting marching order, losing nearly an hour of precious time. From this period onward the chase was largely a running fight. Forrest's orders to his men were to shoot at everything blue and keep up the scare. Straight's purpose was to make all haste forward to Rome, outriding his pursuers, and do what damage he could. But he had to deal with the rough riders of the Confederate army, men sure to keep on his track day and night, and give him no rest while a man on muleback remained. Forrest's persistence was soon shown. His advance troopers came up with the enemy again at Hogsback Ridge an hour before dark, and at once charged right and left. They had their own guns to face, straight keeping up a hot fire with the captured pieces till the ammunition was exhausted, when, being short of horses, he spiked and abandoned the guns. The fight thus begun was kept up vigorously until ten o'clock, and was as gallant and stubbornly contested as any of the minor engagements of the war, the echoes of that mountain desert repeating most unwanted sounds. Colonel Forrest seemed everywhere, and so fearlessly exposed himself that one horse was killed and two were wounded under him, though he escaped unhurt. In the end Colonel Straight was taught that he could not drive off his persistent foe, and took to the road again, but twice more during the night he was attacked, each time repelling his foes by an ambush guard. About ten o'clock the next morning Blunt's fill was reached. The Federals were now clear of the mountains, and in an open and fertile country where food and horses were to be had. Both were needed. Many of the mules had given out leaving their riders on foot, while mules and men alike were short of food. It was the first of May, and the village was well filled with country people, who saw with dismay the Yankee troopers riding in, and confiscating all the horses on which they could lay hands. Straight now decided to get on with pack mules, and the wagons were bunched and set on fire. The command leaving them burning as it moved on. They did not burn long. Its advance came on with a yell, swept the Federal Greer Guard from the village, and made all haste to extinguish the flames, the wagons furnishing them with a rich and much needed supply. Few horses or mules however were to be had, as straightsmen had swept the country as far as they could reach on both sides of the road. On went the raiders and on came their pursuers, heading east, keeping in close touch, and skirmishing briskly as they went for ten miles more. This brought them to a branch of the Black Warrior River. The foeward reached by the Federals was rocky, and they had their foe close in the rear. But by an active use of skirmishers and of his two howitzers, straight managed to get his command across and to hold the foeward until a brief rest was taken. The Yankee troopers were not long on the road again before forest was over the stream, and the hot chase was on once more. The night that followed was the fourth night of the chase, which had been kept up with only brief snatches of rest and with an almost incessant contest. On the morning of the second the skirmishing briskly began again, forest with an advanced troop attacking the Federal rear-guard, and fighting almost without intermission during the fifteen miles ride to Black Creek. Here was a deep and sluggish stream walled in with very high banks. It was spanned at the road by a wooden bridge, over which Colonel Straight rushed his force at top speed, and had once set the bridge on fire, facing about with his howitzers to check pursuit. One man was left on the wrong side of the stream, and was captured by forest himself, as he dashed up to the blazing bridge at the head of his men. Colonel Straight might now reasonably believe that he had baffled his foe for a time, and might safely take the repose so greatly needed. The stream was said to be too deep to ford, and the nearest bridge, two miles away, was a mere wreck, impassable for horses. Forest was in a quandary as to how he should get over that sluggish but deep ditch, and stood looking at it in dismay. He was obliged to wait in any event, for his artillery and the bulk of his command had been far outridden. In this dilemma the problem was solved for him by a country girl who lived nearby, Emma Sanson by name. Near the burning bridge was a little one-storied four-roomed house in which dwelt the widow Sanson and her two daughters. She had two sons in the service, and the three women, like many in similar circumstances in the Confederacy, were living as best they could. The girl Emma watched with deep interest the rapid flight, the burning of the bridge, and the headlong pursuit of the Confederate troop. Seeing Forest looking with a dubious countenance at the dark stream, she came up and accosted him. "'You are after those Yankees?' she asked. "'I should think so,' said Forest, and would give my best hat to get across this ugly ditch. "'I think you can do it,' she replied. "'Aha, my good girl, that is news worth more than my old hat. How is it to be done? Let me know at once.' "'I know a place near our farm, where I have often seen cows wade across when the water was low. If you will lend me a horse to put my saddle on, I will show you the place. "'There's no time for that. Get up behind me,' cried Forest. In a second's time the alert girl was on the horse behind. As they were about to ride off her mother came out and asked, in a frightened tone, where she was going. Forest explained and promised to bring her back safe, and in a moment more was off. The ride was not a long one. The place sought being soon reached. Here the general and his guide quickly dismounted, the girl leading down a ravine to the water's edge, where Forest examined the depth and satisfied himself that the place might prove affordable. Mounting again they rode back, now under fire, for a sharp engagement was going on across the creek between the Confederates and the Federal Rear Guard. Forest was profuse in his thanks as he left the quick-witted girl at her home. He gave her as a reward, a horse, and also wrote her a note of thanks and asked her to send him a lock of her hair, which he would be glad to have and cherish in memory of her service to the cause. The lost Ford, as the place has since been called, proved available, the horse's finding foothold, while the ammunition was taken from the casins and carried across by the horsemen. This done, the guns and empty casins were pulled across by ropes and soon all was in readiness to take up the chase again. Colonel Strait had reached Gadston, four miles away, going to his surprise in dismay he heard once more the shots of his indefatigable foemen as they rode up at full speed. It seemed as if nothing could stop the sleuthhounds on his track. For the succeeding fifteen miles there was a continual skirmish, and when Strait halted to rest the fight became so sharp that his weary men were forced to take to the road again. Rest was not for them, with forest in their rear. Strait here tried for the last time his plan of ambuscating his army, but the wide-awake forest was not to be taken in as before, and by a flank movement compelled the weary Federals to resume their march. All that night they rode despondently on, crossing the Chattanooga River on a bridge which they burned behind them, and by sunrise reaching Cedar Bluff, twenty-eight miles from Gadston. At nine o'clock they stopped to feed, and the worn-out men had no sooner touched the ground than they were dead asleep. Forrest had taken the opportunity to give his men a night's rest, reaching two hundred of them to follow the Federals and devil them all night. Strait had also detached two hundred of his best-mounted men, bidding them to march to Rome and hold the bridge at that place. But Forrest had shrewdly sent a fast rider to the same place, and when Russell got up he found the bridge strongly held, and his enterprise hopeless. When May Third dawn the hot chase was near its end. Forrest had given his men ten hours' sleep while Strait's worn-out men were plodding desperately on. This all-night's ride was a fatal error for the Federals, and was a main cause of their final defeat. The short distance they had made was covered by Forrest's men fresh from their night's sleep in a few hours, and at half-past nine while the Federals were at breakfast the old teasing rattle of small arms called them into line again. About the same time word came from Russell that he could not take the bridge at Rome, and news was received that a flanking movement of Confederates had cut in between Rome and the Yankee troopers. The affair now looked utterly desperate, but the brave, Strait rallied his men on a ridge in a field, and skirmishing began. So utterly exhausted, however, were the Federals, that many of them went to sleep as they lay in line of battle behind the ridge, while looking along their gun-barrels with finger-on-trigger. The game was fairly up. Forrest sent in a flag of truce with a demand for surrender. Strait asked for an interview which was readily granted. What terms do you offer, asked Strait? Immediate surrender. Your men to be treated as prisoners of war, officers to retain their side-arms and personal property. During the conversation, Strait asked, how many men have you? Enough here to run over you, and a column of fresh troops between you and Rome. In reality Forrest had only five hundred men left him, the remainder having been dropped from point to point as their horses gave out, and no new mounts were to be had. But the five hundred made noise enough for a brigade, it being Forrest's purpose to conceal the weakness of his force. As they talked, a section of the artillery of the pursuers came in sight within a short range. Colonel Strait objected to this, and Forrest gave orders that the guns must come no nearer. But the artillerymen moved around a neighbouring hill as if putting several small batteries into position. Have you many guns, General? Asked Strait. I have to blow you all to pieces before an hour, was the grand eloquent reply. Colonel Strait looked doubtfully at the situation, not knowing how much to believe of what he saw and heard. After some more words he said, I cannot decide without consulting my officers. As you please, said Forrest, with a sublime air of indifference, it will soon be over, one way or another. Strait had not all the fight taken out of him yet, but he found all his officers in favour of a surrender and felt obliged to consent. The men accordingly were bidden to stack their arms and were marched back into a field, Forrest managing as soon as he conveniently could to get his men between them and their guns. The officers were started without delay and under a strong escort for Rome, twenty miles away. On their route thither they met Captain Russell, returning, and told him of what had taken place. With tears in his eyes he surrendered his two hundred men. Forrest ended one of the most striking achievements of the Civil War. Forrest's relentless and indefatigable pursuit, his prompt overcoming of the difficulties of the way, and his final capture of Strait's men with less than half their force, have been commended by military critics as his most brilliant achievement and one of the most remarkable exploits in the annals of warfare. The outcome of Colonel Strait's raid to the south was singularly like that of General Morgan's famous raid to the north. Captain's capture, imprisonment, and escape were paralleled in Strait's career. Sent to Richmond and immured in Libby prison, he and four of his officers took part in the memorable escape by a tunnel route in February, 1864. In his report published after his escape, he blames his defeat largely on the poor mules, and claims that Forrest's force outnumbered him three to one. It is not unlikely that he believed this, judging from the incessant trouble they had given him, but the truth seems established that at the surrender Forrest had less than half the available force of his foe. CHAPTER XXIX CHAPTER XXIX exploits of a blockade-runner. There were no more daring adventures and hair-bred escapes during the Civil War than those encountered in running the blockade, carrying sadly needed supplies into the ports of the Confederacy and returning with cargos of cotton and other valuable products of the south. There was money in it for the successful, much money, but on the other hand there was danger of loss of vessel and cargo, long imprisonment, perhaps death, and only men of unusual boldness and daredevil recklessness were ready to engage in it. The stories told by blockade-runners are full of instances of desperate risk and thrilling adventure. As an example of their more ordinary experience, we shall give, from Thomas E. Taylor's Running the Blockade, the interesting account of his first run to Wilmington Harbour. This town, it must be premised, lies some sixteen miles up Cape Fear River, at whose principal entrance the formidable Fort Fisher obliged the blockading fleet to lie out of the range of its guns, and thus gave some opportunity for alert blockade-runners to slip in. Yet this was far from safe and easy. Each entrance to the river was surrounded by an inshore squadron of federal vessels, anchored in close order during the day, and at night weighing anchor and patrolling from shore to shore. Farther out was a second cordon of cruisers, similarly alert, and beyond these again gun-boats were stationed at intervals, far enough out to sight by daybreak any vessels that crossed Wilmington Bar at high tide in the night. Then again there were free cruisers patrolling the Gulfstream so that to enter the river unseen was about as difficult as any naval operation could well be. With this preliminary statement of the situation let us permit Mr. Taylor to tell his story. The Banshee's engines proved so unsatisfactory that under ordinary conditions nine or ten knots was all we could get out of her. She was therefore not permitted to run any avoidable risks, and to this I attribute her extraordinary success where better boats failed. As long as daylight lasted a man was never out of the cross-trees, and the moment a sail was seen the Banshee's stern was turned to it till it was dropped below the horizon. The look-out man, to quicken his eyes, had a dollar for every sail he sighted, and if it were seen from the deck first he was fined five. This may appear excessive, but the importance in blockade-running of seeing before you are seen is too great for any chance to be neglected, and it must be remembered that the pay of ordinary seamen for each round trip in and out was from fifty to sixty pounds. Following these tactics we crept noiselessly along the shores of the Bahamas, invisible in the darkness, and ran on unmolested for the first two days out from the port of Nassau, though our course was often interfered with by the necessity of avoiding hostile vessels. Then came the anxious moment on the third, when, her position having been taken at noon to see if she was near enough to run under the guns of Fort Fisher before the following daybreak, it was found there was just time but none to spare for accidents or delay. Still the danger of lying out another day so close to the blockaded port was very great, and rather than risk it we resolved to keep straight on our course and chance being overtaken by daylight before we were under the fort. Now the real excitement began, and nothing I have ever experienced can compare with it. Hunting, pig sticking, steeple chasing, big game shooting, polo, I have done a little of each, all have their thrilling moments, but none can approach running a blockade, and perhaps my readers may sympathize with my enthusiasm when they consider the dangers to be encountered, after three days of constant anxiety and little sleep, in threading our way through a swarm of blockaders, and the accuracy required to hit in the nick of time the mouth of a river only a half mile wide, without lights and with a coastline so low and featureless that as a rule the first intimation we had of its nearness was the dim white line of the surf. There were of course many different plans of getting in, but at this time the favorite dodge was to run up some fifteen or twenty miles to the north of Cape Fear so as to round the northern most of the blockaders, instead of dashing right through the inner squadron, then to creep down close to the surf till the river was reached, and this was the course the Banshee intended to adopt. We steamed cautiously on until nightfall. The night proved dark but dangerously clear and calm. No lights were allowed, not even a cigar. The engine room hatchways were covered with tarpaulins at the risk of suffocating the unfortunate engineers and stokers in the almost insufferable atmosphere below, but it was absolutely imperative that not a glimmer of light should appear. Even the binocle was covered, and the Steersman had to see as much of the compass as he could through a conical aperture carried almost up to his eyes. With everything thus in readiness we steamed on in silence except for the stroke of the engines and the beat of the paddle floats, which in the calm of the night seemed distressingly loud. All hands were on deck and crouching behind the bulwarks, and we on the bridge, namely the captain, the pilot and I, were straining our eyes into the darkness. Presently burrows made an uneasy movement. Better get a cast of the lead, captain, I heard him whisper. A muttered order down the engine room tube was Steel's reply, and the Banshee slowed and then stopped. It was an anxious moment while a dim figure stole into the four chains, for there is always a danger of steam blowing off when engines are unexpectedly stopped, and that would have been enough to betray our presence for miles around. In a minute or two came back the report, sixteen fathoms, sandy bottom with black specks. We are not in as far as I thought, captain, said burrows, and we are too far to the southward. Port two points, and go a little faster. As he explained we must be well to the north at the speckled bottom before it was safe to head for the shore, and away we went again. In about an hour burrows quietly asked for another sounding. Again she was gently stopped and this time he was satisfied. Starboard and go ahead easy was the order now, and as we crept in not a sound was heard but that of the regular beat of the paddle floats still dangerously loud in spite of our snail's pace. Suddenly burrows gripped my arm. There's one of them Mr. Taylor he whispered on the starboard bow. In vain I strained my eyes to where he pointed, not a thing could I see, but presently I heard steel say beneath his breath, all right burrows I see her, starboard a little steady, was the order passed aft. A moment afterward I could make out a long low black object on our starboard side lying perfectly still. Would she see us? That was the question. But no, though we passed within a hundred yards of her we were not discovered and I breathed again. Not very long after we had dropped her, burrows whispered, steamer on the port bow. And another cruiser was made out close to us. Hard a port said steel, and round she swung, bringing our friend upon our beam. Still unobserved we crept quietly on, when all at once a third cruiser shaped itself out of the gloom right ahead and steaming slowly across our bows. Stoppers said steel in a moment, and as we lay like dead our enemy went on and disappeared in the darkness. It was clear there was a false reckoning somewhere and that instead of rounding the head of the blockading line we were passing through the very centre of it. However burrows was now of opinion that we must be inside the squadron and advocated making the land. So slow ahead we went, until the low lying coast and the surf line became dimly visible. Still we could not tell where we were, and as time was getting on alarmingly near dawn the only thing to do was to creep down along the surface close in and as fast as we dared. It was a great relief when we suddenly heard burrows say, It's all right, I see the big hill. The big hill was a hillock about as high as a full-grown oak, but it was the most prominent feature for miles on that dreary coast, and surfed to tell us exactly how far we were from Fort Fisher. And fortunate it was for us we were so near. The front was already breaking and before we were opposite the fort we could make out six or seven gun-boats, which steamed rapidly toward us and angrily opened fire. Their shots were soon dropping close around us and unpleasant sensation when you know you have several tons of gunpowder under your feet. To make matters worse the Northbreaker Shoal now compelled us to haul off the shore and steam farther out. It began to look ugly for us when all at once there was a flash from the shore, followed by a sound that came like music to our ears, that of a shell whirring over our heads. It was Fort Fisher wide awake and warning the gun-boats to keep their distance. With a parting broadside they steamed subtly out of range and in half an hour we were safely over the bar. A boat put off from the fort and then, well, it was the days of champagne cocktails not whiskey and sodas, and one did not run a blockade every day. For my part I was mightily proud of my first attempt and my baptism of fire. Blockade running seemed the pleasantest and most exhilarating of pastimes. I did not know then what a very serious business it could be. On the return trip the Banshee was ballasted with tobacco and laden with cotton, three tiers of it even on deck. She ran impudently straight through the center of the cordon, close by the flagship and got through the second cordon in safety, though chased by a gun-boat. When Nassau was reached and profits summed up they proved to amount to fifty pounds a ton on the war material carried in, while the tobacco carried out netted seventy pounds a ton for a hundred tons and the cotton fifty pounds a bale for five hundred bales. It may be seen that successful blockade running paid. It may be of interest to our readers to give some other adventures in which the Banshee figured. On one of her trips, when she was creeping down the land about twelve miles above Fort Fisher, a cruiser appeared moving along about two hundred yards from shore. An effort was made to pass her inside, hoping to be hidden by the dark background of the land. But there were eyes open on the cruiser and there came the ominous hail. Stop that steamer or I will sink you. We haven't time to stop, growled steel, and shouted down the engine-room tube to pile on the coals. There was nothing now but to run and hope for luck. The cruiser at once opened fire and as the Banshee began to draw ahead a shot carried away her formast and a shell exploded in her bunkers. Grape and canister followed, the crew escaping death by flinging themselves flat on the deck. Even the steersmen stricken by panic did the same, and the boat swerved round and headed straight for the surf. A close shave it was as Taylor rushed aft, clutched the wheel, and just in time got her head off the land. Before they got in two other cruisers brought them under fire, but they ran under Fort Fisher in safety. One more adventure of the Banshee and we shall close. It was on her sixth trip out. She had got safely through the fleet and day had dawned. All was joy and relaxation when Erskine, the engineer, suddenly exclaimed, Mr. Taylor, look a stern! And there, not four miles away, and coming down under sail and steam, was a large side-wheel steamer, left unseen by gross carelessness on the part of the lookout. Erskine rushed below and soon volumes of smoke were pouring from the funnels, but it was almost too late, for the chaser was coming up so fast that the uniformed officers on her bridge could be distinctly seen. This will never do, said Steele, and ordered the helm to be altered so as to bring the ship up to the wind. It took them off the course to Nassau, but it forced their pursuer to take in her sails, and an exciting chase under steam right into the wind's eye began. Matters at length became so critical that no hope remained but to lighten the boat by throwing overboard her deckload of cotton, a sore necessity in view of the fact that the bales which went bobbing about on the waves were worth to them fifty or sixty pounds apiece. In clearing out the bales they cleared out something more, a runaway slave, who had been standing wedged between two bales for at least forty-eight hours. He received an ovation on landing at Nassau, but they were obliged to pay four thousand dollars to his owner on their return to Wilmington. The loss of the cotton lightened the boat and it began to gain in the race, both craft plunging into the great seas that had arisen, yet neither slackening speed. A fresh danger arose when the bearings of the engine became overheated from the enormous strain put upon them. It was necessary to stop, despite the imminence of the chase, and to loosen the bearings and feed them liberally with salad oil mixed with gunpowder before they were in working order again. Thus fifteen weary hours passed away and nightfall was at hand when the chaser, then only five miles astern, turned and gave up the pursuit. It was learned afterward that her stokers were deadbeat. But port was still far away, they having been chased one hundred and fifty miles out of their course, and fuel was getting perilously low. At the end of the third day the last coal was used and then everything that would burn was shoved into the furnaces, mainmast, bulwarks, deck cabin with cotton and turpentine to aid, and these only suffice to carry them into a Bahama island, still sixty miles from Nassau. They were not there two hours before they saw a federal steamer glide slowly past, eyeing them as the fox eyed the grapes. The adventure was still not at its end. Mr. Taylor hired a schooner in the harbour to go to Nassau and bring back a cargo of coal, he and Murray Ainsley a passenger going in it. But the night proved a terrible one, a hurricane rising, and the crew growing so terrified by the fury of the gale and the vividness of the lightning that they nearly wrecked the schooner on the rocks. When the weather moderated the men refused to proceed, and it was only by a dint of show of revolvers and promise of reward that Taylor and his passenger induced them to go on. On reaching Nassau they were utterly worn out, having been almost without sleep for a week, while Taylor's feet were so swollen that his boots had to be cut off. Nassau ended one of the most notable chases in the history of blockade running, it having lasted fifteen hours and covered nearly two hundred miles. Fortunate was it for the banshee that the James Adger, her pursuer, had no bow chasers, and that the weather was too ugly for her to venture to yaw and use her broadside guns, or the banshee might have there and then ended her career. CHAPTER XXXVIII FONTANE, THE SCOUT, AND THE BESIEGERS OF VIXBURG. The Civil War was not lacking in its daring and interesting adventures of scouts, spies, dispatch-bearers, and others of that interesting tribe whose field of operations lies between the armies in the field, and whose game is played with life as the stake, this being fair pray for the bullet if pursued, and often for the rope if captured. We have the story of one of these heroes of hazard to tell, a story the more interesting from the fact that he was a cripple who seemed fit only to hobble about his home. It is the remarkable feat of Lamar Fontane, a confederate dispatch-bearer which the record of the war has nothing to surpass. Fontane's disability came from a broken leg, which had left him so disabled that he could not take a step without a crutch, and in mounting a horse he was obliged to lift the useless leg over the saddle with his right hand. But once in the saddle he was as good a man as his fellow, and his dexterity with the pistol rendered him a dangerous fellow to face when it became a question of life or death. We must seek him at that period in 1863, when the strong hold of Vicksburg, on which depended the Confederacy's control of the Mississippi, was closely invested by the Army of General Grant, the siege lines so continuous alike in the rear of the town and on the Mississippi and its opposite shore, that it seemed as if hardly a bird could enter or leave its streets. General Johnston kept the field in the rear, but Grant was much too strong for him, and he was obliged to trust the chapter of chances for the hope of setting Pemberton free from the net by which he was surrounded. Using the daring and usual success of Lamar Fontaine in very hazardous enterprises, Johnston engaged him to endeavor to carry a verbal message to General Pemberton, sending him out on the perilous and seemingly impossible venture of making his way into the closely beleaguered city. In addition to his message he took with him a supply of some forty pounds of percussion caps for the use of the besieged garrison. On the twenty-fourth of May, 1863, Fontaine set out from his father's home at a considerable distance in the rear of the federal lines. He was well-mounted and armed with an excellent revolver and a good sabre, which he carried in a wooden scabbard to prevent its rattling. His other burdens were his packet of percussion caps, his blanket, and his crutches. That night he crossed Big Black River and before dawn of the next day was well within the lines of the enemy. Travel by day was now out of the question so he hid his horse in a ravine and found a place of shelter for himself in a fallen tree that overlooked the road. From his hiding place he saw a confused and hasty movement of the enemy, seemingly in retreat from too hot a brush with the garrison. Waiting till their columns had passed and the nightfall made it safe for him to move, he mounted again and continued his journey in the direction of Snyder's bluff on the Yazoo. Entering the telegraphic road from the Yazoo city to Vicksburg, he had not gone far before he was confronted and hailed by a picket of the enemy. Spurring his spirited steed he dashed past at full speed. A volley followed him, one of the balls striking his horse, though none of them touched him. The good steed had received a mortal wound, but by a final and desperate effort it carried its rider to the banks of the Yazoo river. Here it fell dead, leaving its late rider afoot and lacking one of his crutches which had been caught and jerked away by the limb of a tree as he dashed headlong past. With the aid of his remaining crutch and carrying his baggage, Fontaine groped his way along the river side, keenly looking for some means of conveyance on its waters. He soon found what he wanted in the shape of a small log canoe, tied to a tree on the river bank. Pressing this into his service and disposing himself and his burden safely within, he paddled down the stream hoping to reach the Mississippi and drift down to the city front before break of day. Press was not to come so easily. A sound of puffing steam came from down the river and soon a trio of gunboats loomed through the gloom heading towards Yazoo City. These were avoided by taking shelter among a bunch of willows that overhung the bank and served to hide the boat from view. The gunboats well passed, Fontaine took to the current again soon reaching Snyder's bluff which was lighted up and a scene of animation. Whites and blacks mingled on the bank and it looked like a midnight ball between the Yankee soldiers and bells of sable hue. Gunboats and barges lined the shore and the light was thrown far out over the stream. But those present were too hilarious to be watchful, and lying flat in his canoe the scout glided safely past, the dugout not distinguishable from a piece of driftwood. Before the new day dawned he reached the backwater of the Mississippi, but in the darkness he missed the outlet of the Yazoo and paddled into what is called Old River. The new day reddened in the east while he was still vainly searching for an opening into the broad parent's stream. Then his familiarity with the locality showed him his mistake, and he was forced to seek a hiding-place for himself and his boat. He had now been out two days and nights. The little food he brought had long been devoured and hunger was assailing him. Sleep had also scarcely visited his eyes and the strain was growing severe. Getting some slumber that day in his covert he set out again as soon as night fell, paddling back into the Yazoo from which he soon reached the Mississippi. He was here on a well-peopled stream, boats and lights being abundant. As he glided on through the gloom he passed forty or fifty transports, but had the good fortune to be seen by only one man, who hailed him from the stern of a steamer and asked him where he was going. To look after my fishing-lines, he replied. All right, hope you'll have a good catch! And he floated on. Further down in the bend of the stream above Vicksburg he came upon a more animated scene. Here were the mortar-boats in full blast, bombarding the city, every shot lighting up the stream for a wide space around. But the gun-cruise were too busy to pay any attention to the seeming drift-log that glided silently by the fleet, or to notice the man that lay at full length within it. On he went, trusting to the current and keeping his recumbent position. The next day's dawn found him in the midst of the Confederate picket-boats in front of the city. Here, tying a white handkerchief to his paddle, he lifted it as a flag of truce, and sat up with a loud hurrah for Jeff Davis and the Confederacy. As may well be imagined his cheers were echoed by the boatmen when they learned his mission, and he was born in triumph for shore and taken to General Pemberton's headquarters. He received a warm welcome from the General, a like for the message he brought and the very desirable supply of percussion caps. It was with no little admiration that Pemberton heard the story of a daring feat that seemed utterly impossible for a cripple on crutches. During the next day the scout wandered about the beleaguered city, viewing the animated and in many respects terrible scene of warfare which it presented, the fierce bombardment from the Federal works extending in a long curve from the river above to the river below the city, the hot return fire of the defendants, the equally fierce exchange of fire between the gun-boats and mortars and the entrenchments on the bluffs, the bursting of shells in the city streets, the ruined habitations, and the cave-like refuges in which the citizens sought safety from the death-dealing missiles. It was a scene never to be forgotten, a spectacle of ruin, suffering, and death. And the suffering was not alone from the terrible enginery of war, but from lack of food as well, for that dread specter of famine that in a few weeks more was to force the surrender of the valiantly defended city was already showing its gaunt form in the desolated streets and the foodless homes. Fontaine was glad enough after his day and night among the besieged to seek again the more open field of operations outside. Receiving a dispatch from General Pemberton to his colleague in the field and a suitable reward for his service he but took himself again to the canoe which had stood him in such good stead and resumed his task of danger. He was on a well-guarded river and had to pass through a country full of foes, and the peril of his enterprise was by no means at an end. The gloom of evening lay on the stream when he once more trusted himself to the swift current, which quickly brought him among the craft of the enemy below the city. Avoiding their picket-boats on both sides of the river he floated near the gun-boats as safer, passing so near one of them that through an open porthole he could see a group of men playing cards and hear their conversation. He made a landing at length at Diamond Place, bidding Adieu to his faithful dugout and gladly setting foot on land again. Hobbling with the aid of his crutch through the bottom lands the scout soon reached higher ground and here made his way to the house of an acquaintance hoping to find a mount. But all the useful horses and mules on the place had been confiscated by the foe. There remained only a worthless old gilding and a half-broken colt of which he was offered the choice. He took the colt, but found it to travel so badly that he wished he had chosen the gilding. In this dilemma Fortune favored him, for in the bottom he came upon a fine horse, tied by a blind bridle and without a saddle. A basket and an old bag were lying close by, and he inferred from this that a negro had left the horse and that a camp of the enemy was near at hand. Here was an opportunity for confiscation of which he did not hesitate to avail himself, and in all haste he exchanged bridles, saddled the horse, turned loose the colt, mounted and was off. He took a course so as to avoid the supposed camp, but had not gone far before he came face to face with a Federal soldier, who was evidently returning from a successful foray for plunder, for he was well laden with chickens and carrying a bucket of honey. He began questioning Fontaine with a curiosity that threatened unpleasant consequences, and the alert scout ended the colloquy with a pistol belt which struck the plunderer squarely in the forehead. Leaving him stretched on the path with his poultry and honey beside him, Fontaine made all haste from that dangerous locality. Reaching a settlement at a distance from the stream, he hired a guide to lead him to Hankerson's Ferry on the Big Black River, promising him fifty dollars if he would take him there without following any road. They proceeded till near the ferry when Fontaine sent his guide ahead to learn if any of the enemy were in that vicinity. But there was something about the manner and talk of the man that excited his suspicion, and as soon as the fellow was gone he sought a hiding-place from which he could watch his return. The man was gone much longer than appeared necessary. At length he came back alone and reported that the track was clear, there being no Yankees near the ferry. Paying and dismissing the guide without showing his suspicions, Fontaine took good care not to obey his directions, but selected his course so as to approach the river at a point above the ferry. By doing so he escaped a squad of soldiers that seemed posted to intercept him, for as he entered the road near the river bank, a sentinel rose not more than ten feet away and bad him to halt. He seemed to form the right flank of a line of sentinels posted to command the ferry. It was a time for quick and decisive action. Fontaine had approached Pistol in hand, and as the man hailed he felled him with a bullet, then wheeled his horse and set out at full gallop up the stream. A shower of balls followed him, one of them striking his right hand and wounding all four of its fingers. Another graced his right leg and a third cut a hole through his sword scabbard. The horse fared worse, for no fewer than seven bullets struck it. Reeling from its wounds it still had strength to bear up for a mile when it fell and died. He had outridden his foes who were all on foot, and dividing his arms and clothes into two packages he trusted himself to the waters of the big black which he swam in safety. On the other side he was in friendly territory and did not walk far before he came to the house of a patriotic southern woman who loaned him the only horse she had. It was a stray one which had come to her place after the Yankee foragers had carried off all the horses she owned. Fontaine was now in a safe region. His borrowed horse carried him to Raymond by two o'clock the next morning and was here changed for a fresh one which enabled him to reach Jackson during the forenoon. Here he delivered his dispatch to General Johnson having successfully performed a feat which in view of its difficulties and his physical disability may well be classed as phenomenal. CHAPTER XXXVII GARDEN and the bayonet charge at Antietam. In the opening chapter of General John B. Gordon's interesting reminiscences of the Civil War he tells us that the bayonet, so far as he knew, was very rarely used in that war and never effectively. The bayonet, the lineal descendant of the lance and spear of far past warfare, had done remarkable service in its day, but with the advent of the modern rifle its day ended, except as a weapon useful in repelling cavalry charges or defending hollow squares. Fearful as their glittering and bristling points appeared when leveled in front of a charging line, bayonets were rarely reddened with the blood of an enemy in the Civil War and the soldiers of that desperate conflict found them more useful as tools in the rapid throwing up of light earthworks than as weapons for use against their foes. Later in his work Gordon gives a case in point in his vivid description of a bayonet charge upon the line under his command on the bloody field of Antietam. This is well worth repeating as an illustration of the modern ineffectiveness of the bayonet and also as a story of thrilling interest in itself. As related by Gordon there are few incidents in the war which surpassed in picturesqueness and vitality. The Battle of Antietam was a struggle unsurpassed for its desperate and deadly fierceness in the whole war, the losses in comparison with the numbers engaged being the greatest of any battlefield of the conflict, the plane in which it was fought was literally bathed in blood. It is not our purpose to describe this battle but simply that portion of it in which general Gordon's troops were engaged. For hour after hour a desperate struggle continued on the left of Lee's lines in which charge and counter-charge succeeded each other until the green corn which had waved there looked as if it had been showered upon by a rain of blood. But during those hours of death not a shot had been fired upon the center. Here general Gordon's men held the most advanced position and were without a supporting line, their post being one of imminent danger in case of an assault in force. As the day passed onward the battle on the left at length lulled both sides glad of an interval of rest. That McClellan's next attempt would be made upon the center general Lee felt confident and he rode thither to caution the leaders and bid them to hold their ground at any sacrifice. A break at that point he told them might prove ruinous to the army. He especially charged Gordon to stand stiffly with his men as his small force would feel the first brunt of the expected assault. Gordon, alike to give hope to Lee and to inspire his own men, said in reply. These men are going to stay here general till the sun goes down or victory is won. Lee's military judgment as usual was correct. He had hardly got back to the left of his line when the assault predicted by him came. It was a beautiful and brilliant day, scarcely a cloud mantling the sky. Down the slope opposite marched through the clear sunlight a powerful column of federal troops. During the little ante-atom creek they formed in column of assault four lines deep. Their commander nobly mounted placed himself at their right while the front line came to a charged bayonets and the other lines to a right-shoulder shift. In the rear front the band blared out martial music to give inspiration to the men. To the Confederates looking silently and expectantly on the coming corps the scene was one of thrilling interest. It might have been one of terror but for their long training in such sights. Who were these men so spic and span in their fresh blue uniforms in strange contrast to the ragged and soiled Confederate gray? Every man of them wore white gaiters and neat attire while the dust and smoke of battle had surely never touched the banners that floated above their heads. Were they new recruits from some military camp now first to test their training in actual war? In the sunlight the long line of bayonets gleamed like burnished silver as if fresh from the parade ground they advanced with perfect alignment, their steps keeping martial time to the steady beat of the drum. It was a magnificent spectacle as the line advanced, a show of martial beauty which it seemed a shame to destroy by the rude hand of war. One thing was evident to General Gordon. His opponent proposed a trust to the bayonet, an attempt to break through Lee's center by the sheer weight of his deep charging column. It might be done. Here were four lines of blue marching on the one in gray. How should the charge be met? By immediate and steady fire? Or by withholding his fire till the lines were face to face and then pouring upon the Federals a blighting storm of lead? Gordon decided on the latter, believing that a sudden and withering burst of deadly hail in the faces of men with empty guns would be more than any troops could stand. All the horses were sent to the rear and the men were ordered to lie down in the grass. They being told by their officers that the Federals were coming with unloaded guns trusting to the bayonet and that not a shot must be heard until the word fire was given. This would not be until the Federals were close at hand. In the old revolutionary phrase they must wait till they saw the whites of their eyes. On came the long lines still as steady and precise in movement as if upon holiday drill. Not a rifle shot was heard. Neither side had artillery at this point and no roar of cannon broke the strange silence. The awaiting boys in gray grew eager and impatient and had to be kept in restraint by their officers. Wait! Wait for the word! was the admonition. Yet it was hard to lie there while that line of bayonets came closer and closer until the eagles on the buttons of the blue coats could be seen and at length the front rank was not twenty yards away. The time had come. With all the power of his lungs Gordon shouted out the word fire! In an instant their burst from the prostrate line a blinding blaze of light and a frightful hail of bullets rent through the Federal ranks. Terrible was the effect of that consuming volley. Almost the whole front rank of the foe seemed to go down in a mass. The brave commander and his horse fell in a heap together. In a moment he was on his feet it was the horse not the man that the deadly bullet had found. In an instant more the recumbent Confederates were on their feet and a pawling yell bursting from their throats as they poured new volleys upon the Federal lines. No troops on earth could have faced that fire without a chance to reply. Their foes bore unloaded guns. Not a bayonet had reached the breast for which it was aimed. The lines were coiled, though in good order, for men swept by such a blast of death. Large numbers of them had fallen, yet not a drop of blood had been lost by one of Gordon's men. The gallant man who led the Federals was not yet satisfied that the bayonet could not break the ranks of his foes. Reforming his men, now in three lines, he led them again with empty guns to the charge. Again they were driven back with heavy loss. With extraordinary persistence he clung to his plan of winning with the bayonet, coming on again and again until four fruitless charges had been made on Gordon's lines, not a man in which had fallen, while the Federal loss had been very heavy. Not until convinced by this sanguinary evidence that the day of the bayonet was passed did he order his men to load and open fire on the hostile lines. It was an experiment in an obsolete method of warfare which had proved disastrous to those engaged in it. In the remaining hours of that desperate conflict Gordon and his men had another experience to face. The fire from both sides grew furious and deadly, and at nightfall when the carnage ceased so many of the soldiers in gray had fallen that as one of the officers afterwards said he could have walked on the dead bodies of the men from end to end of the line. How true this was Gordon was unable to say for by this time he was himself a wreck, fairly riddled with bullets. As he tells us his previous record was remarkably reversed in this fight and we cannot better close our story than with a description of his new experience. He had hitherto seemed almost to bear a charmed life. While numbers had fallen by his side in battle and his own clothing had often been pierced and torn by balls and fragments of shells he had not lost a drop of blood, and his men looked upon him as one destined by fate not to be killed in battle. They can't hit him. He's as safe in one place as another, form a type of the expressions used by them, and Gordon grew to have much the same faith in his destiny as he passed through battle after battle unharmed. At Antietam the record was decidedly broken. The first volley from the Federal troops sent a bullet whirling through the calf of his right leg. Soon after another ball went through the same leg at a higher point. As no bone was broken he was still able to walk along the line and encourage his men to bear the deadly fire which was sweeping their lines. Later in the day a third ball came, this passing through his arm, rending flesh and tendons, but still breaking no bone. Through his shoulder soon came a fourth ball, carrying a wad of clothing into the wound. The men begged their bleeding commander to leave the field, but he would not flinch, though fast growing faint from loss of blood. Finally came the fifth ball, this time striking him in the face and passing out, just missing the jugular vein. Falling he lay unconscious with his face in his cap, into which poured the blood from his wound until it threatened to smother him. It might have done so, but for still another ball which pierced the cap and let out the blood. When Gordon was born to the rear he had been so seriously wounded and lost so much blood that his case seemed hopeless. Fortunately for him his faithful wife had followed him to the war and now became his nurse. As she entered the room with a look of dismay on seeing him, Gordon, who could scarcely speak from the condition of his face, sought to reassure her with the faintly articulated words. Here is your handsome husband, Ben, to an Irish wedding. It was providential for him that he had this faithful and devoted nurse by his side. Only her earnest and incessant care saved him to join the war again. Day and night she was beside him, and when Erysipolis attacked his wounded arm and the doctors told her to paint the arm above the wound three or four times a day with iodine, she obeyed by painting it, as he thought, three or four hundred times a day. Under God's providence he says I owe my life to her incessant watchfulness night and day, and to her tender nursing through weary weeks and anxious months.