INVASION OF MARYLAND.
"We are going to liberate Maryland," said a Rebel officer to a friend of mine who was taken prisoner at Catlett's Station. Throughout the South it was believed that the people of Maryland were down-trodden and oppressed, that the soldiers of President Lincoln prevented them from expressing their sympathy with the rebellion. In every Southern home and in the Rebel army, there was one song more popular than all others, entitled "Maryland."
"The despot's heel is on thy shore,
Maryland!
His touch is at the temple door,
Maryland!
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore,
And be the battle queen of yore,
Maryland! My Maryland!
Dear mother! burst the tyrant's chain,
Maryland!
Virginia should not call in vain,
Maryland!
She meets her sisters on the plain;
"Sic semper!" 'tis the fond refrain
That baffles millions back amain,
Maryland! My Maryland!
I hear the distant thunder hum,
Maryland!
The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum.
Maryland!
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb.
Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum.
She
breathes,—she burns,—she'll come! she'll come!
Maryland! My Maryland!"
General Lee had no intention of attacking Washington. It was his plan to raise the standard of revolt in Maryland, bring about a second uprising of the people of Baltimore, and transfer the war to the North. He issued strict orders that all private property in Maryland should be respected, that everything should be paid for.
On the 5th of September, he crossed the Potomac at Noland's Ford, near Point of Rocks. Jackson led the column. When he reached the middle of the stream he halted his men, pulled off his cap, while the bands struck up "My Maryland," which was sung by the whole army with great enthusiasm.[57]
Lee moved towards Frederick, a quiet old town, between the mountains and the Monocacy. It was the harvest season. The orchards were loaded with fruit; the barns were filled with hay; the granaries with wheat; and there were thousands of acres of corn rustling in the autumn winds.
At ten o'clock on the morning of the 6th, General Stuart's cavalry entered the city. There were some Marylanders in the Rebel army, who were warmly welcomed by their friends. A few ladies waved their handkerchiefs, but the majority of the people of the city had made up their minds to stand by the old flag, and manifested no demonstrations of joy. Many of them, however, took down the stars and stripes, when they saw the Rebels advancing; but over one house it waved proudly in the morning breeze, as General Jackson rode into town. His soldiers dashed forward to tear it down.
What followed has been beautifully told by Whittier.
BARBARA FRIETCHIE.
"Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand,
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach-tree fruited deep,
Fair as the garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished Rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall,
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall.
Over the mountain winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.
Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her four score years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down;
In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.
Up the street came the Rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.
Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced, the Old Flag met his sight.
'Halt!' the dust brown ranks stood fast.
'Fire!' out blazed the rifle blast.
It shivered the window, pane, and sash.
It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick as it fell from the broken staff,
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf.
She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will.
'Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country's flag,' she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came.
The nobler nature within him stirred
To life, at that woman's deed and word.
'Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!' he said.
All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet.
All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the Rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well,
And through the hill-gap sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good night.
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er;
And the Rebel rides on his raids no more.
Honor to her! And let a tear
Fall for her sake on Stonewall's bier,
Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,
Flag of freedom and union wave!
Peace, and order, and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law.
And ever the stars above look down
On the stars below in Frederick town."
General Lee had a plan to execute other than the liberation of Maryland,—the invasion of Pennsylvania.
"We treat the people of Maryland well, for they are our brothers, but we intend to make the North howl," one of the officers said.
"Lee will cut his way to Philadelphia, and dictate terms of peace in Independence Square. He will stand with torch in hand and demand Maryland, Virginia, Kentucky, and Missouri, and peace, or he will lay that city in ashes," said another.
But before he could venture on an invasion of Pennsylvania he must have an open communication with Richmond. There were eleven thousand men under Colonel Mills at Harper's Ferry, who were strongly fortified. It would not do to leave them in his rear. If that place were captured he could move north.
The geographical features of the country were favorable to the execution of his plans.
Ten miles west of Frederick the South Mountain rises above the surrounding country, dark, steep, rocky, and clothed with forests. Its most northern spur is near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. There are two gaps in the range west of Frederick. If Lee could hold these with a portion of his force, he could surround Harper's Ferry, situated on the Potomac, where that winding and impetuous river leaps through the rocky gorge.
If successful in capturing it, he could still hold the mountain gates, and pour the great bulk of his army north through the rich Cumberland valley. If McClellan was held at bay in his efforts to take the passes, and should move north, and come down the valley, then, pointing his guns in the passes westward upon McClellan, Lee could spring like a tiger on Baltimore and Washington.
The first thing to be done after resting his army was to seize Harper's Ferry.
The people of Frederick and the farmers round the city had a chance to sell all their goods,—their boots, shoes, clothes, flour, bacon, pigs, cattle, and horses, but they were paid in Confederate money, which was worth so many rags.
Lee's army was very dirty and filthy. It had made hard marches. The men had no tents. They had slept on the ground, had lived some of the time on green corn and apples, had fought battles, had been for weeks exposed to storms, sunshine, rain, mud, and dust, with no change of clothing. They had thrown all their strength into this one grand invasion of the North, and had shown a wonderful vigor. The rest and repose, the good living which they found, were very acceptable. They obeyed General Lee's orders, and behaved well.
General Lee issued an address to the people of Maryland.
"The people of the South have seen with profound indignation their sister State deprived of every right and reduced to the condition of a conquered province.
"Believing that the people of Maryland possessed a spirit too lofty to submit to such a government, the people of the South have long wished to aid you in throwing off this foreign yoke, to enable you again to enjoy the inalienable rights of freemen," read the address.
But the people were not conscious of living under a foreign yoke, neither that they were a conquered province, and therefore did not respond to the call to rise in rebellion against the old flag.
It was time for Lee to proceed to the execution of his plans. The Army of the Potomac was approaching Frederick. Lee directed Jackson to move on the 10th of September directly west, cross South Mountain at Boonsboro' Gap, move through the town of Sharpsburg, cross the Potomac, and fall upon Martinsburg, where Colonel White, with a brigade of Union troops, was guarding a large amount of stores. General McLaw's and Anderson's divisions were to occupy Maryland Heights—the termination of the South Mountain range in Maryland—while General Walker was sent across the river into Virginia to occupy Loudon Heights. Thus approaching from the north, east, south, and west, Colonel Miles would have no chance to escape. Longstreet was to move to Hagerstown to be ready for a sudden spring into Pennsylvania. Howell Cobb was to hold Crampton's Pass, and D. H. Hill the Boonsboro' Gap.
"The commands of General Jackson, McLaw, and Walker, after having accomplished the objects for which they have been detached, will join the main body of the army at Boonsboro' or Hagerstown," read the order.
On the 11th, the last regiment of Rebels departed from Frederick, and soon after the advance of the Army of the Potomac entered the place. The inhabitants shouted, waved their flags once more, and hailed McClellan as their deliverer.
BATTLE OF SOUTH MOUNTAIN.
Early in the forenoon of Sunday, the 14th of September, General Burnside, leading the Union army, ascended a high hill, a few miles west of Frederick, and looked down upon one of the loveliest valleys in the world. At his feet was the village of Middletown; beyond it, in the bottom of the valley, the Catoctin Creek winds through ever verdant meadows, past old mansions, surrounded with well-filled barns. North and south, far as the eye can reach, are wheat and clover fields, and acres of corn putting on its russet hues. Beyond the creek, the road winds along the mountain side, past the little hamlet called Bolivar. There are ledges, loose stones, groves of oak, and thickets of mountain shrubs. There is a house on the summit,—once a tavern, where the teamsters and stagemen of former days watered their tired horses, and drank their ale, and ate a lunch. It is old and dilapidated now. But standing there and looking east, it seems as if a strong armed man might cast a stone upon Middletown, hundreds of feet below. Twelve miles away to the east are the spires of Frederick, gleaming in the sun. Westward from this mountain gate we many behold at our feet Boonsboro' and Keedysville, and the crooked Antietam; and still farther westward, the Potomac, making its great northern sweep to Williamsport. In the northwest, twelve miles distant, is Hagerstown, at the head of the Cumberland valley. Longstreet is there on this Sunday morning, sending his cavalry up to the Pennsylvania lines, gathering cattle, horses, and pigs.
General D. H. Hill beholds the Union army spread out upon the plains before him, reaching all the way to Frederick city,—dark-blue masses moving towards him along the road, through the fields, with banners waving, their bright arms reflecting the morning sunshine.
He is confident that he can hold the place,—so narrow,—the mountain sides so steep, and one Southerner equal to five Yankees. He hates the men of the north. He is a native of South Carolina, and was educated by the government at West Point. He was teacher of the North Carolina Military School. Before the war, he did what he could to stir up the people of the South to rebel. He told them that the South won nearly all the battles of the Revolution, but that the Northern historians had given the credit to the North, which was a "Yankee trick." He published an Algebra in 1857, which Stonewall Jackson pronounced superior to all others, in which his inveterate hatred appears. His problems are expressive of hatred and contempt.
"A Yankee," he states, "mixes a certain number of wooden nutmegs, which cost him one fourth of a cent apiece, with real nutmegs worth four cents apiece, and sells the whole assortment for $44, and gains $3.75 by the fraud. How many wooden nutmegs are there?"
"At the Woman's Rights Convention, held at Syracuse, New York, composed of one hundred and fifty delegates, the old maids, childless wives, and bedlamites were to each other as the numbers 5, 7, and 3. How many were there of each class?"
"The field of Buena Vista is six and a half miles from Saltillo. Two Indiana volunteers ran away from the field of battle at the same time; one ran half a mile per hour faster than the other, and reached Saltillo five minutes and fifty four and six elevenths seconds sooner than the other. Required their respective rates of travel."[58]
On this bright morning, the men of the Nineteenth Indiana, troops from Ohio, Wisconsin, Michigan, Maine,—from nearly all the loyal States,—are preparing to climb the mountain to meet the man who has violated his oath, and who hates the government that gave him an education.
The line of battle is formed by General Burnside along the Catoctin Creek. The Ninth corps, with General Cox's division in advance, is thrown south of the turnpike, and directed to move along a narrow road which unites with the turnpike in the gap.
It is seven o'clock in the morning when Scammon's brigade of Ohio troops moves into position. Robertson's battery is south of the turnpike in a field, throwing shells up the mountain into the woods where Hill's men are lying sheltered from sight by the foliage.
There is a reply from the gap. Solid shot and shells fly from the mountain to the valley. Hayne's battery joins with Robertson's, Simmons opens with his twenty-pounders, and McMullin with four heavy guns, and while church-bells far away are tolling the hour of worship, these cannon in the valley and on the mountain side wake the slumbering echoes, and play the prelude to the approaching strife.
Scammon's brigade leads the way by the old Sharpsburg road, the men toiling slowly up the hill,—through the fields and pastures, over fences and walls, sometimes losing foothold, and falling headlong, or sliding downward.
The brigade was preceded by a line of skirmishers, and was followed by Crook's brigade.
The woods were full of Rebels, but the men moved on, driving back Hill's skirmishers, working up step by step, pushing them and the line supporting them toward the gap. A battery opened with canister, but the shot flew wild and high over their heads, and they pressed on. McMullin sent up two guns, but the gunners were picked off by the Rebel sharpshooters. The Twelfth Ohio charged up the hill, through a pasture, with a hurrah. Louder, deeper, longer was the cheer which rose from the valley far below, where Sturgis, and Wilcox, and Rodman were forming into line. On,—into the fire,—close up to the stonewall, where the Rebels were lying,—they charged, routing them from their shelter, and holding the ground. There were places on the hillside, where the green grass became crimson,—where brave men had stood a moment before full of life and vigor and devotion to their country, but motionless and silent now,—their part in the great struggle faithfully performed, their work done.
Hill rallied his men. They dashed down the mountain to regain the ground. But having obtained it through costly sacrifice, the men from Ohio were not willing to yield it.
There was a lull in the battle at noon. Hill, finding that the chances were against him, sent to Hagerstown for Longstreet.
Burnside, on the other hand, waited for Hooker to arrive, who was next in the column. He commanded the First corps, composed of Ricketts's and King's divisions, and the Pennsylvania Reserves. He filed north of the turnpike, threw Ricketts's upon the extreme right, with the Reserves in the center, and King on the left. King was on the turnpike. There is a deep gorge between the turnpike and the old road south of it, which made a gap between Reno and Hooker.
The afternoon wore away before the troops were ready. Longstreet's men were panting up the mountain on the western side, Hood's division in advance. They were thrown upon the hillside south of the old tavern in the gap. It was past four o'clock when the order to advance was given. Wilcox's division led upon the extreme left.
It is a movement which will be decisive, for victory or defeat. The artillery—all the batteries which can be brought into position—send their shells up the mountain. Steadily onward moves the long line across the fields at the foot, up the pasture lands of the slope into the woods.
There is a rattling of musketry,—then heavy rolls, peal on peal, wave on wave, and a steady, constant roar; giving not an inch, but advancing slowly, or holding their ground, the veterans of the Peninsula continue their fire. The mountain is white with the rising battle-cloud. The line of fire goes up the mountain. The Rebels are falling back, fighting bravely, but yielding. There are shouts, yells, outcries, mingling with the thunder of the artillery, echoing and reverberating along the valleys.
Right and left and center are pushing on. Thousands on the plains below behold it, and wish that they were there to aid their brothers in arms. The day wanes, the shadows begin to deepen, revealing the flashes from cannon and musket. There is no giving back of Burnside's men, neither of Hooker's, but nearer to the crest, nearer the clouds, moves the starry banner.
"Please open upon that house with your battery," was the order of Colonel Meredith, of the Nineteenth Indiana, commanding a brigade in King's division, to Lieutenant Stewart of the Fourth United States Artillery. The house was filled with sharpshooters. Lieutenant Stewart sights his guns. The second shell crashes through the side as if it were paper, tears through the rooms. The Rebels swarm out from doors and windows in hasty flight. The men from Indiana give a lusty cheer, and move nearer the enemy.
In vain the efforts of Hill and Longstreet and Hood to stop the fiery tide, rising higher, rolling nearer, overflowing the mountain, threatening to sweep them into the western valley. The lines surge on. It is like the sweep of a great tidal wave. There is a rush, a short, desperate, decisive struggle. The Rebel line gives way. The men from Indiana, Ohio, Wisconsin, New York, Pennsylvania, Maine, and Massachusetts, pour into the gap, shouting their victorious hurrahs.
General Hill has lost the battle. He has despised those men. He tried to injure their fair fame before the world in time of peace; he intimated that Northern men were arrant cowards; but after this battle at South Mountain he can issue an Algebra with a new statement of the wooden nutmeg and Buena Vista problems.
SURRENDER OF HARPER'S FERRY.
Lee was successful in what he had undertaken at Harper's Ferry. While Burnside was winning this victory, Colonel Miles was yielding that important post. He abandoned the strong position on Maryland Heights, tumbled the cannon down the mountain, when he might have kept McLaw and Anderson from gaining possession of the place. Jackson kept up a furious bombardment. Miles hung out the white flag, and was killed immediately after by a shell.
His troops were indignant at the surrender. Some shed tears.
"We have no country now," said one officer, wiping the tears from his face. If Miles had held out a little longer, he would have been relieved, for Franklin was driving General Cobb from Crampton's Pass, and would have been upon the rear of McLaw and Anderson.
The cavalry made their escape under cover of the night. They followed winding forest-paths through the woods, at dead of night, avoiding the roads till they were north of Sharpsburg. While crossing the Williamsport and Hagerstown road they came upon Longstreet's ammunition train.
"Hold!" said the officer commanding the cavalry to the forward driver, "you are on the wrong road. That is the way."
The driver turned towards the north as directed, not knowing that the officer was a Yankee.
"Hold on there! you are on the wrong road. Who told you to turn off here, I should like to know?" shouted the Rebel officer in charge of the train, dashing up on his horse.
"I gave the order, sir."
"Who are you, and what right have you to interfere with my train, sir," said the officer, coming up in the darkness.
"I am colonel of the Eighth New York cavalry, and you are my prisoner," said the Union officer, presenting his pistol.
The Rebel officer was astounded. He swore bad words, and said it was a mean Yankee trick.
One hundred wagons and seventy-four men were thus quietly cut out from the Rebel trains.
I saw the prisoners as they entered Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. There were several negroes among them.
"As soon as I heard dat we was in de hands of de Yankees, I was mighty glad, sir, 'cause we darkees want to get to de Norf," he said.
"Why do you want to get to the North?"
"'Cause we be free up here. We don't get much to eat in the Souf," he said.
At the head of this company of prisoners marched a man with downcast eyes, sunburned, dusty, dressed in gray, with a black feather in his hat. His name was Fitz Hugh Miller. He was a Pennsylvanian. It was he who arrested Cook, one of John Brown's accomplices, and delivered him over to Governor Wise. Cook was tried, found guilty, and hung. When the war broke out, Miller went South, and was a captain in Lee's army. The people of Chambersburg knew him. He was a traitor.
"Hang him!" they shouted. "A rope!" "Get a rope!" There was a rush of men and women towards him. They were greatly excited. Some picked up stones to hurl at him, some shook their fists in his face, but the guards closed round him, and hurried the pale and trembling wretch off to prison as quickly as possible, and saved him from a violent death.
General Lee had been successful in taking Harper's Ferry, but he was not in position to spring upon the North. The eastern gates were wide open. Burnside had pushed D. H. Hill and Longstreet down the Mountain, and the whole Yankee army which he intended to keep out of the Antietam and Cumberland valleys was pouring upon him. He had been successful in most of his battles. He had driven McClellan from Richmond to the gunboats, had defeated Pope at Groveton, had taken eleven thousand prisoners and immense supplies at Harper's Ferry. All that he had to do now was to defeat the new Army of the Potomac in a great pitched battle; then he could move on to Philadelphia and dictate terms of peace.
He resolved to concentrate his army, choose his ground, and give battle to McClellan. He must do that before he could move on. The advance of the Rebel army towards Pennsylvania roused the citizens of that Commonwealth to take active measures for its defense.
There were glorious exhibitions of pure patriotism. Governor Curtin called upon the people to organize at once; and fifty thousand men hastened to the various places of rendezvous. The old Revolutionary flame was rekindled. Disaster had not dispirited the people. The ministers from their pulpits urged their congregations to go, and themselves set the example. Judges, members of Congress, presidents of colleges, and professors took place in the ranks, and became soldiers. In every town the pulses of the people beat to the exigencies of the hour. Telegrams and letters poured in upon the Governor. "We are ready," "We shall march to-morrow," "Give us guns," they said.
Mothers, wives, and daughters said, "Go!"
There were tearful eyes and swelling bosoms, but brave hearts. Old men, gray-haired, weak, weary with the weight of years, encouraged the young and strong, and bestowed their blessings on those departing for the battle-field.