Mohun, or, The Last Days of Lee by John Esten Cooke
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John Esten Cooke >> Mohun, or, The Last Days of Lee
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Such was the programme of General Grant. It was not war exactly, in the
old acceptation of the term. It was not taught by Jomini, or practised
by Napoleon. You would have said, indeed, at the first glance, that it
rejected the idea of generalship _in toto_. Let us give General Grant
his just dues, however. He was not a great commander, but he _was_ a
man of clear brain. He saw that brute force could alone shatter the
army of Northern Virginia; that to wear it away by attrition, exhaust
its blood drop by drop, was the only thing left--and he had the courage
to adopt that programme.
To come back to events on the Rapidan in the month of May, 1864.
Lee is ready for the great collision, now seen to be inevitable. His
right, under Ewell, occupies the works on the southern bank of the
Rapidan, above Chancellorsville. His centre, under A.P. Hill, lies near
Orange Court-House. His left, under Longstreet, is in reserve near
Gordonsville.
The army of Northern Virginia is thus posted in echelon of corps,
extending from Gordonsville, by Orange, toward the fords of the
Rapidan.
When the enemy cross on their great advance, Ewell is ready to face
east; Hill will close in on his right; and Longstreet in the same
manner on Hill's right. Then the army will be in line, ready to strike
at Grant's flank as he moves through the Wilderness.
For Lee is going to strike at him. The fifty thousand are going to
order the one hundred and forty thousand to halt.
Stuart's cavalry is watching. It extends from Madison Court-House,
along Robertson River, on the left of the army; and on the right, from
Ewell's camps, past Chancellorsville, to Fredericksburg.
Such was the situation on the first of May. The two tigers were
watching each other--and one was about to spring.
XVII.
FORT DELAWARE.
To descend now from the heights of generalization to the plains of
incident and personal observation.
For this volume is not a history of the war in Virginia, but the
memoirs of a staff officer belonging to Stuart's cavalry.
May, 1864, had come; we were soon to be in the saddle; the thundering
hammer of General Grant was about to commence its performances.
One night--it was the night of the first of May--I was sitting in
General Stuart's tent, looking into his blazing log fire, and musing.
In this luxury I was not interrupted. It was nearly midnight, and the
rest of the staff had retired. Stuart was writing at his desk, by the
light of a candle in a captured "camp candlestick," and from time to
time, without turning his head, ejaculated some brief words upon any
subject which came into his head.
After writing ten minutes, he now said briefly:--
"Surry."
"General," was my as brief response."
"I think Mohun was a friend of yours?"
"Yes, general, we became intimate on the march to Gettysburg."
"Well, I have just received his commission--"
"You mean as--"
"Brigadier-general. You know I long ago applied for it."
"I knew that--pity he has not been exchanged."
"A great pity,--and you miss a pleasure I promised myself I would give
you."
"What pleasure, general?"
"To take Mohun his commission with your own hands."
"I am truly sorry I can not. You know he was terribly wounded, and we
had to leave him in Warrenton; then the enemy advanced; for a long time
we thought him dead. Thus I am sorry I am debarred the pleasure you
offer. Some day I hope to accept your offer."
"Accept it now, colonel," said a benignant voice at the door. I turned
suddenly, as did the general. At the opening of the tent, a head was
seen--the head passed through--was followed by a body,--and Mr.
Nighthawk, private and confidential emissary, glided in with the
stealthy step of a wild-cat.
He was unchanged. His small eyes were as piercing, his smile as
benignant, his costume--black coat, white cravat, and "stove-pipe"
hat--as clerical as before.
"Good evening, gentlemen," said Mr. Nighthawk, smiling sweetly; "I
bring news of Colonel Mohun."
"And fly in like an owl, or your namesake!" laughed Stuart.
"An owl? I am told that is the bird of wisdom, gentlemen!"
"You hit the nail on the head, when you said 'gentlemen!'"[1] replied
Stuart, laughing; "but how about Mohun? Is he exchanged, Nighthawk?"
[Footnote 1: A favorite phrase of Stuart's.]
And Stuart wheeled round and pointed to a chair.
Nighthawk sat down modestly.
"Not exchanged, exactly, general; but safe!" he said.
"He escaped?"
"Exactly, general."
"And you helped him?"
"I believe so."
"Good! You really are a trump, Nighthawk--and you seem to have a
peculiar fancy for Mohun."
"He is the best friend I have in the world, general."
"Well, that accounts for it. But how did he escape?"
"I will tell you in a few words, general. I rather pride myself on the
manner in which I conducted the little affair. You remember, Colonel
Mohun was very badly wounded when you defeated Kilpatrick at Buckland.
It was in a fight with Colonel Darke, of the Federal cavalry, who was
also wounded and left dying, as was erroneously supposed, at a small
house on the roadside, when you fell back. Colonel Mohun was left at
Warrenton, his wound being so severe that he could not be brought
farther in his ambulance, and here he staid until he was convalescent.
His recovery was miraculous, as a bullet had passed through his breast;
but he is a gentleman of vigorous constitution, and he rallied at last,
but, unfortunately, to find himself a prisoner. General Meade had
reoccupied the country, and Colonel Mohun was transferred from hospital
to Fort Delaware, as a prisoner of war.
"I have informed you, general," continued Mr. Nighthawk, smiling, and
turning the rim of his black hat between his fingers, "that Colonel
Mohun was one of my best friends. For that reason, I went to see him at
Warrenton, and had arranged a very good plan for his escape, when,
unfortunately, he was all at once sent away, thereby disappointing all
my schemes. I followed, however, saw that he was taken to Fort
Delaware, and proceeded thither at once. You have probably not visited
this place, general, or you, colonel. It is a fort, and outside is a
pen, or stockade as it is called, covering two or three acres. Inside
are cabins for the prisoners, in the shape of a semicircle, and grounds
to walk in, except in the space marked off by the 'dead line.' If any
prisoner crosses that he is shot by the sentries, whose beat is on a
platform running round upon the top of the stockade.
"Well, I went to the place, and found that Colonel Mohun was confined
with other officers in the pen, where they had the usual Federal ration
of watery soup, bad meat, and musty crackers. For a gentleman, like
himself, accustomed before the war to every luxury that unbounded
wealth could supply, this was naturally disagreeable, and I determined
to omit no exertion to effect his escape.
"Unfortunately, the rules of Fort Delaware are very strict, however. To
cross the 'dead line' is death; to attempt to burrow is confinement in
irons, and other degrading punishments; and to bribe the sentinels
invariably resulted in having the whole affair revealed, after they had
received the money. It really seemed as if Colonel Mohun were doomed to
the living death of a filthy prison until the end of the war, since
exchanges had ceased, and it was only by devising a ruse of very great
risk that I accomplished the end in view."
"What was your plan, Nighthawk?" said Stuart, rising and moving to the
fireplace, where he stood basking in the warmth. "Original, I lay my
life, and--quiet."
"Exactly that, general."
And Nighthawk smiled sweetly.
XVIII.
THE UNIFORM.
"I have always observed, general," said Mr. Nighthawk, raising his eyes
in pious meditation, as it were, "that there is no better rule for a
man's conduct in life than to make friends with the mammon of
unrighteousness--people in power."
"A profound maxim," laughed Stuart; "friends are useful--that was your
principle?"
"Yes, general; and I made one of the quartermaster of the post--a
certain major Woodby--who was exceedingly fond of the 'root of all
evil.' I made that gentleman's acquaintance, applied for the place of
sutler in _the pen_; and this place I acquired by agreeing to pay a
heavy bonus in thirty days.
"This was Saturday night. On Monday morning I presented myself before
the gate, and demanded admittance as the newly appointed sutler of the
pen.
"I was admitted, and taken before the officer of the day, in his
quarters.
"'Who are you?' he asked, gruffly.
"'The new sutler, lieutenant.'
"'Where are your papers?'
"I had them ready, and presented them to him. He read them carefully,
looked at me superciliously, and said:--
"'That is wholly informal.'
"I looked at him. He had a red nose.
"'I have some excellent French brandy, captain,' I said, promoting him.
"At sight of the portly flask which I drew half from my pocket and
exhibited to him, I saw his face relax.
"'You are a keen fellow, and know the world, I perceive,' he said.
"And taking the flask, he poured out nearly a glass full of the brandy,
and drank it.
"'Do you intend to keep that article of brandy?' he said.
"'For my friends, captain,' I replied, with a wink which he evidently
understood.
"'Let me see your papers again.'
"I unfolded them, and he glanced at them.
"'All right--they are in regular form. There is the key of the sutler's
shop, on that nail. Take possession.'
"And my friend the captain emptied a second glass of the brandy, and
made me a sign that I could go.
"I bowed profoundly; took the key; and went and opened the sutler's
shop; after which I strolled out to look at the prisoners in the area.
The sentinel had seen me visit the officer of the day, and go to the
sutler's shop.
"Thus he did not interfere with me when I went into the area, as I was
obviously a good Union man and an employee of the post.
"Such was the manner in which I secured a private interview with
Colonel Mohun: we could talk without the presence of a corporal; and we
soon arranged the plan for his escape.
"I had determined to procure a Federal uniform, to be smuggled in to
him, and an hour afterward, I left him, promising to see him again as
soon as I could visit Wilmington, and return with the intended
disguise.
"A strange piece of good fortune aided me, or rather accomplished my
purpose at once. I had scarcely returned to the sutler's shop, and
spread some blankets to sleep upon, when the officer of the day came
in, and I saw at a glance that he was half intoxicated, in consequence
of the large amount of brandy which he had swallowed. In a thick and
husky voice he cursed the 'stuff' vended at the post, extolled 'the
article' I carried, and demanded another pull at the flask. I looked at
him--saw that a little more would make him dead-drunk--and all at once
resolved on my plan.
"This was," continued Mr. Nighthawk, with modest simplicity, and
smiling as he spoke, "to make my friend, the officer of the day,
dead-drunk, and then borrow his uniform; and I succeeded. In half an
hour he was maudlin. In three-quarters of an hour, drunk. Five minutes
afterward he fell out of his chair, and began to snore, where he lay.
"I secured the door tightly, stripped off his uniform, then my own
clothing; put on his, and then replaced my own citizen's dress over
all, concealed his cap and boots beneath my overcoat, wrapped the
prostrate lieutenant in my blankets for fear he would take cold, and
going out, locked the door and proceeded to the quarters of the
prisoners. Again the sentinel took no notice of me. I found Colonel
Mohun in his 'bunk.' Ten minutes afterward he had replaced his gray
uniform with that of the Federal lieutenant, and, watching the moment
when the back of the sentinel was turned, we walked together toward the
gate of the pen.
"That was the moment of real danger. Outside the narrow gate another
sentinel was posted, and the man might be personally acquainted with
the officer of the day, or have noticed his appearance. Luckily, the
guard had been relieved about an hour before--the new sentinel had not
seen the officer of the day--and when Colonel Mohun put his head
through the little window beside the gate, ordering 'Open!' the gate
flew open, the sentinel presented arms as he passed, and I followed
modestly--the door banging-to behind us."[1]
[Footnote 1: Fact.]
XIX.
THE NOTE.
"Thus the colonel was out of the pen," continued Nighthawk, smiling.
"The rest was not very dangerous, unless the alarm were given. They
might miss the locked-up officer--he might have been seen to go into
the sutler's shop--and I admonished Colonel Mohun, in a low tone, to
proceed as rapidly as possible in a direction which I pointed out.
"The path indicated led to a spot on the island where I had concealed a
small boat among some willows--and, once across on the mainland, I
hoped that the danger would be over.
"In spite of my admonitions, Colonel Mohun took his time. He is a cool
one! He even turned and walked toward the fort, which he carefully
examined--counting the guns, observing the ditches, and the ground
around it.
"'That place could be taken, Nighthawk!' he said, with a laugh. And he
continued to stroll around the place, receiving at every moment
respectful salutes from passing soldiers, which he returned with the
utmost coolness, and an air of authority which I never have seen
surpassed. I declare to you, general, that it made the sweat burst out
on my forehead, and it was fully an hour before we reached the boat. I
sprung in and seized the oars, for I saw a dozen soldiers approaching
us from the direction of the fort.
"'For heaven's sake, sit down, colonel,' I exclaimed; 'in five minutes
we will be lost!'
"He did not reply. He was feeling in the pockets of the lieutenant's
coat; and drew out a note-book with a pencil attached. Then, as the men
came toward us, he began to write. I looked over his shoulder--a bad
habit I acknowledge, general--and I read these words:---
"'Colonel Mohun, C.S.A., presents his compliments to the commanding
officer of Fort Delaware, and recommends the 10-inch Columbiad in place
of the 30-lb. Parrotts on the bastion near the southern angle of the
work.
"'As Colonel M. is _en route_ for Richmond _via_ Wilmington, and the
train will soon pass, he is compelled to refrain from other suggestions
which occur to him.
"'The commandant of the post will pardon the want of ceremony of his
departure. This distressing separation is dictated by necessity.'"
Nighthawk smiled as he repeated the words of _Mohun's note_.
"Did you ever hear of a cooler hand, general? But I must end my long
story. The colonel wrote this note while the soldiers were coming
toward us. When they had come within ten steps, he beckoned to one of
them--the man came up, saluting--and the colonel said, 'Take this note
to the commandant--go at once.'
"My heart had jumped to my throat, general! The next moment I drew a
good long breath of real relief. The Federal soldier touched his cap,
took the note, and went back toward the fort. Without further delay, I
pushed out and rowed across to the mainland, where we soon arrived.
"Then we left the boat, struck into the fields, and pushed for the
nearest station on the railroad. On the way, I could not refrain from
upbraiding the colonel with his imprudence. He only laughed, however,
and we went on without stopping. An hour afterward we reached the
station, and the northern train soon came. We got in, the cars started,
and we were _en route_ for Baltimore. Suddenly the dull sound of a
cannon-shot came from the direction of Fort Delaware. A moment
afterward came another, and then a third.
"'A prisoner has escaped from Fort Delaware,' said one of the
passengers near us, raising his eyes from a newspaper. Colonel Mohun
laughed, and said carelessly, without sinking his voice in the least,
'Ten to one they have found your friend, the lieutenant, Nighthawk!'
Such a man, general! It was enough to make your blood run cold! I
thought _I_ was cool, but I assure you, I never imagined a man could
equal _that_.
"We reached Baltimore, made the connection with the train going west to
Wheeling, and disembarked at Martinsburg. There the colonel procured a
horse--rode to a friend's on the Opequon--changed his blue dress for a
citizen's suit, and proceeded to Staunton, thence to Richmond, and
yesterday rejoined his regiment, near Chancellorsville."
XX.
GENERAL GRANT'S PRIVATE ORDER.
Stuart kicked a log, which had fallen on the hearth, back into the
fire, and said:--
"Well, Nighthawk, your narrative only proves one thing."
"What, general?"
"That the writer who hereafter relates the true stories of this war,
will be set down as a Baron Munchausen."
"No doubt of that, general."
"This escape of Colonel Mohun, for instance, will be discredited."
"No matter, it took place; but I have not told you what brought me
over, general."
"Over?"
"Yes, across the Rapidan. I did not go from Martinsburg to Richmond
with Colonel Mohun. I thought I would come down and see what was going
on in Culpeper. Accordingly I crossed the Blue Ridge at Ashby's Gap,
reached Culpeper--and last night crossed the Rapidan opposite
Chancellorsville, where I saw Colonel Mohun, before whom I was carried
as a spy."
"You bring news, then?" said Stuart, with sudden earnestness and
attention.
"Important news, general. The Federal army is about to move."
"To cross?"
"Yes."
"Where--when!--what force!"
"One hundred and forty thousand of all arms. I answer the last question
first."
"And--"
"The army will advance in two columns. The right--of Sedgwick's and
Warren's corps--will cross at Germanna Ford. The left, consisting of
Hancock's corps, at Ely's ford below. They have pontoon and bridge
trains--and the movement will commence at midnight on the third--two
days from now."
Stuart knit his brows, and buried his hand in his beard. Suddenly he
called out to the orderly:--
"Have two horses saddled in five minutes!" And seizing his hat, he
said:--
"Get ready to ride to General Lee's head-quarters with me, Nighthawk!"
The clerical looking emissary put on his respectable black hat.
"You are certain of this intelligence?" Stuart said, turning with a
piercing glance to him.
"Quite certain, general," said Mr. Nighthawk, serenely.
"You were in the camps?"
"In all, I believe, and at army head-quarters."
"You overheard your intelligence?"
"No, I captured it, general."
"How?"
"A courier was sent in haste--I saw the commander-in-chief speaking to
him. I followed--came up with him in a hollow of the woods--and was
compelled to blow his brains out, as he would not surrender. I then
searched his body, and found what I wanted. There it is general."
And Nighthawk drew forth a paper.
"What is it?" exclaimed Stuart.
"Grant's confidential order to his corps commanders, general, directing
the movements of his army."
Stuart seized it, read it hastily, and uttered an exclamation of
satisfaction. Ten minutes afterward he was going at full speed,
accompanied by Nighthawk, toward General Lee's head-quarters.
XXI.
"VIRGINIA EXPECTS EVERY MAN TO DO HIS DUTY!"
Soon after daylight, on the next morning, Stuart was up, and writing
busily at his desk.
He was perfectly cool, as always, and his manner when I went in
exhibited no sort of flurry. But the couriers going and coming with
dispatches indicated clearly that "something was in the wind."
I was seated by the fireplace when Stuart finished a dispatch and came
toward me. The next moment he threw himself upon a chair, leaned his
head upon my shoulder, and began to caress one of his dogs, who leaped
into his lap.
"Well, Surry, old fellow, we are going to get into the saddle. Look out
for your head!"
"Excellent advice," I replied. "I recommend you to follow it."
"You think I expose myself, do you?"
"In the most reckless manner."
"For instance--come, an instance!" he laughed.
I saw Stuart was talking to rest himself.
"Well, at Mine Run, when you rode up to that fence lined with
sharpshooters--and they fired on us at ten paces, nearly."
"In fact, you might have shot a marble at them--but I am not afraid of
any ball _aimed_ at me."[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
"Then you believe in _chance_, general?"
"There is no chance, Surry," he said, gravely. "God rules over all
things, and not a sparrow, we are told, can fall without his
permission. How can I, or you, then?"
"You are right, general, and I have always been convinced of your
religious faith."
"I believe in God and our Saviour, with all my heart," said Stuart,
solemnly. "I may not show it, but I feel deeply."
"On the contrary, you show it--to me at least--even in trifles," I
said, moved by his earnestness. "Do you remember the other day, when an
officer uttered a sneer at the expense of a friend of his who had
turned _preacher_? You replied that the calling of a minister was the
noblest in which any human being could engage[1]--and I regretted at
that moment, that the people who laugh at you, and charge you with
vicious things, could not hear you."
[Footnote 1: His words.]
Stuart shook his head, smiling with a sadness on his lips which I had
never seen before.
"They would not believe me, my dear Surry; not one would give me credit
for a good sentiment or a pure principle! Am I not a drunkard, because
my face is burned red by the sun and the wind? And yet I never touched
spirit in all my life! I do not know the taste of it![1] Am I not given
to women? And yet, God knows I am innocent,--that I recoil in disgust
from the very thought! Am I not frivolous, trifling,--laughing at all
things, reverencing nothing? And yet my laughter is only from high
health and animal spirits. I am young and robust; it is natural to me
to laugh, as it is to be pleased with bright faces and happy voices,
with colors, and music, and approbation. I am not as religious as I
ought to be, and wish, with all my heart, I had the deep and devout
piety of that good man and great military genius,[2] Stonewall Jackson.
I can lay no claim to it, you see, Surry; I am only a rough soldier, at
my hard work. I am terribly busy, and my command takes every energy I
possess; but I find time to read my Bible and to pray. I pray for
pardon and forgiveness, and try to do my duty, and leave the rest to
God. If God calls me--and He may call me very soon--I hope I will be
ready, and be able to say, 'Thy will be done.' I expect to be killed in
this war;[3]--Heaven knows, I would have my right hand chopped off at
the wrist to stop it![4]--but I do not shrink from the ordeal before
me, and I am ready to lay down my life for my country."[5]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
[Footnote 2: His words.]
[Footnote 3: His words.]
[Footnote 4: His words.]
[Footnote 5: His words.]
Stuart paused, and leaned his arm upon the rude shelf above the
fireplace, passing his hand over his forehead, as was habitual with
him.
"A hard campaign is coming, Surry," he said, at length, more
cheerfully; "I intend to do my duty in it, and deserve the good opinion
of the world, if I do not secure it. I have perilled my life many
times, and shall not shrink from it in future. I am a Virginian, and I
intend to live or die for Old Virginia! The tug is coming; the enemy
are about to come over and 'try again!' But we will meet them, and
fight them like men, Surry! Our army is small, but with strong hands
and brave hearts much can be done. We must be up and doing, and do our
duty to the handle.[1] For myself, I am going to fight whatever is
before me,--to win victory, with God's blessing, or die trying! Once
more, Surry, remember that we are fighting for our old mother, and that
Virginia expects every man to do his duty!"
[Footnote 1: His words.]
His face glowed as he spoke; in his dazzling blue eyes burned the fire
of an unconquerable resolution, a courage that nothing seemed able to
crush.
Years have passed since then, a thousand scenes have swept before me;
but still I see the stalwart cavalier, with his proud forehead raised,
and hear his sonorous voice exclaim:--
"Virginia expects every man to do his duty!"[1]
[Footnote 1: His words.]
XXII.
WHAT OCCURRED AT WARRENTON.
This conversation took place at an early hour of the morning. Two hours
afterward, I was in the saddle and riding toward Chancellorsville, with
the double object of inspecting the pickets and taking Mohun his
commission.
I have described in my former _Memoirs_ that melancholy country of the
Wilderness; its unending thickets; its roads, narrow and deserted,
which seem to wind on forever; the desolate fields, here and there
covered with stunted bushes; the owls flapping their dusky wings; the
whip-poor-will, crying in the jungle; and the moccasin gliding
stealthily amid the ooze, covered with its green scum.
Strange and sombre country! lugubrious shades where death lurked!
Already two great armies had clutched there in May, 1863. Now, in May,
'64, the tangled thicket was again to thunder; men were going to
grapple here in a mad wrestle even more desperate than the former!
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