II.
I am amused as I look back now upon the utter recklessness and daring of this proceeding of mine. I knew not a soul in France; of the language, not a word was familiar; and yet somehow the longing to get away from England and to try my luck on a new soil was irresistible. One place was as good as another to me, and Paris seemed rather more familiar than the other few centres of activity with the names of which I was then acquainted. And so to Paris I went. It was my good fortune to hit upon an hotel kept by an Englishwoman in the Faubourg St. Honoré, and here I tarried for a time while my little stock of money lasted. This was not by any means a long period, and soon I found myself reduced once more to a condition of penury, having in the interval gained little but an acquaintance with the principal thoroughfares and their shops, and a slight knowledge of the language, to which latter I was helped in no inconsiderable degree by a wonderfully retentive memory.
Things were at a very low ebb for me indeed, when help came from an entirely unexpected quarter. Happening one Sunday to pass by the English Church in the Rue d’Aguesseau, of which, by the way, the Rev. Dr. Forbes was at that time chaplain, I was attracted by the music of the service then proceeding, and entered the little unpretentious place of worship. Here I joined heartily in the service, with the order and details of which I was perfectly familiar, having already sung in the choir of my native town. My singing and generally strange appearance attracted the attention of a member of the church, with whom I formed an acquaintance. We left the church together—not however before I had promised my assistance in the choir—and at his request I breakfasted with my English friend at one of the crêmeries in the Faubourg. Now, as then, a respected citizen of Paris, I am happy to number this countryman among the truest and most steadfast of my friends.
We passed the day together, attending the remaining two services at the church, and in the hours we spent in each other’s company I told him my history and my needs. Warm-hearted and impulsive, he immediately suggested that I should vacate my room and share his lodging, even going the length of advancing me money to enable me to do so. Before a week had passed, he had capped his goodness by securing a situation for me; and I found myself at length comfortably installed in the house of Withers, à la Suissesse, 52 Faubourg St. Honoré. Through his influence also I became a paid member of the church choir, and in a very short time I was the recipient of the friendship and confidence of Dr. Forbes and his wife, from both of whom I received very many kindnesses. Thanks to them, I was very soon enabled to better my position, and to change to the house of Arthur & Co., where matters improved for me in every way. There then succeeded some of the happiest days of my life. Freed from care and anxiety, with all the necessaries of life at my control, and a fund of boyish spirits and perfect health, I was without a trouble or a dark hour, happy and contented in my daily task.
So the weeks and months came and went without discovering any change in my position, till an unlooked-for incident once more brought the wild mad thirst for change and excitement back to me, and sounded the death-knell of my quiet life. On the 9th April 1861, the shot was fired at Fort Sumpter which inaugurated the war of the Rebellion of the United States. That shot echoed all over the world, but in no place was the effect more keenly marked than in the American colony in Paris, which even in these early days was a very numerous one.
Arthur’s, the place of business of which I speak, was one of the most favoured of the American resorts, and here the excitement raged at fever heat, as little by little the news came over the sea. Those were not the days of the cable, flashing the news of success or defeat simultaneously with its occurrence, and picturing in vivid phrase and description every incident and climax of warfare, till almost the figures move before us, and our eyes and ears are deadened by the smoke and sound of shot. The tidings came in snatches, and the absence of completeness and detail only served to give the greater impetus to discussion and imagination.
There was no more excited student of the situation than myself; and very soon, of course, I was fired with the idea of playing a part in the scenes which I was following with such enthusiasm and zest. Friends and associates, many of them American, were leaving on every hand for the seat of war; and at last, throwing care and discretion to the winds, I took the plunge and embarked on the Great Eastern on her first voyage to New York.
I reached that city in good time, and without delay enlisted in the Northern Army, in company with several of my American associates from Paris. In connection with my enlistment there occurred a circumstance, trivial in itself at the moment, yet fraught with the most important consequences in regard to my after-life. This was the taking to myself of a new name and a new nationality. I had no thought of remaining in America for any length of time—at the outset, indeed, I only enlisted for three months, the period for which recruits were sought—and, regarding the whole proceeding more in the light of a good joke than anything else, I came to the conclusion that I should not cause anxiety to my parents by disclosing my position, and decided to sustain the joke by playing the part of a Frenchman and calling myself Henri le Caron. So came into existence that name and character which, in after years, proved to be such a marvellous source of protection and success to me personally, and of such continued service to my native country, whose citizenship I had, by my proceeding, to resign.
As subsequent events proved, however, I was not to carry out my original idea of returning. The three months came and went, and many more followed in their wake, till five years had passed and left me still in the United States’ service. The life suited me. I made many friends; soldiering was a pleasant experience; and I was particularly fortunate in escaping its many mishaps. I had no care for the morrow, and, happily for me, I found my morrows to bring little if any care to me. Only on one occasion was I seriously wounded. This was when, during an engagement near Woodbury, Tennessee, I had my horse killed under me by a shell, my companion killed at my side, and myself wounded by a splinter from the explosive, which laid me up for about a month.
Interesting and animated as was my career as a soldier, I must not delay to deal with it too fully in detail, but must hurry on to that subsequent life of mine in America, which possesses the greatest interest for the public at large. I shall, however, before leaving it, run over very shortly the different stages of my soldiering experience. The facts may be interesting to the many people in this country and America who are familiar with the history of the American war of the Rebellion. I enlisted as a private soldier on August 7, 1861, in the 8th Pennsylvanian Reserves, changing therefrom to the Anderson Cavalry, commanded by Colonel William J. Palmer. Here I remained for a year and ten months, serving through the Peninsula campaign of the army of the Potomac, including the battles of Four Oaks, South Mountain, Antietam, and Williamsport, all of which were fought under the command of General George B. MacClellan.
In October 1862, I joined, with my regiment, the Western Army, under General William S. Rosencranz, and participated in the advance from Louisville, Nashville, and Murfreesboro’, including the engagements at Tullahoma and Winchester, and ending with the capture of Chattanooga and Chicamanga in September of the same year. The failure of Rosencranz at Chicamanga closed his career. He was succeeded by General George H. Thomas, who remained in command up to the end of my service in the army. By this time I had obtained a warrant as a noncommissioned officer, and was principally engaged in scouting duty. On the command in which I served being ordered to the relief of General Burnside at Knoxville, I left Chattanooga, then in a state of siege and semi-famine, and reaching Knoxville, I took part during the whole of the winter of 1863 in the East Tennessee campaign against the rebel General Longstreet, my engagements including Strawberry Plain, Mossy Creek, and Dandridge. I was fortunate enough to be recommended for a commission in 1864, and, after my examination before a military board, was gazetted Second Lieutenant in the United States Army in the month of July of that year. For the next twelve months I was exclusively employed in scouting duty, in charge of a mounted company, serving in this capacity under General Lovel L. Rousseau in West Tennessee. In December 1864, being attached to General Stedman’s division of the Army of the Cumberland, I was present at the battle of Nashville, and took part in all the engagements through Tennessee and Alabama, being promoted in the course of them to the rank of First Lieutenant.
During 1865 I was appointed upon detached service of various descriptions, filling amongst other positions those of Acting Assistant-Adjutant-General and Regimental Adjutant. At the close of the war I joined the veteran organisations of the Army of the Cumberland, and the Grand Army of the Republic, and held the appointment therein of Vice-Commander and Post-Surgeon, ranking as Major.
Long ere this I had, of course, given up all idea of returning to France, and had communicated my whereabouts and position to my parents, much to their anxiety and dismay.
Tragedy and comedy blended together in strange fellowship in our experiences of those days; and, as I write, a couple of amusing examples of this occur to me. It was in 1865, when engaged on scouting duty in connection with the guerilla warfare carried on by irregular bands of Southerners, that I received the following order:—
“Head-Quarters, Third Sub-District, Middle Tennessee,
“Acting Assistant-Adjutant-General’s Office,
“Kingston Springs, Tenn., May 17, 1865.
“Sir,—The following despatch has been received:—
“Nashville, May 16, 1865.
“Brig.-Gen. Thompson.
“In accordance with orders heretofore published of the Major-Gen. Commanding Dept. of Cumberland, Champ Fergusson and his gang of cut-throats having refused to surrender, are denounced as outlaws, and the military forces of this district will deal with and treat him accordingly.
“By Command of Major-Gen. Rousseau,
“(Signed) H. C. Whitlemore,
“Capt. and A.A.A.G.”
This, of course, meant sudden death to any of the band who might come within range of our rifles. The men, indeed, were nothing less than murderers and robbers, carrying on their devilish work under the plea of fighting for Southern independence. It was not long before an opportunity was afforded me of coming in contact with a specimen of the class, and it is on this meeting that one of my anecdotes will turn.
A few days after, when riding ahead of my troop, in company with a couple of my men, in order to “prospect” the country, with a view to finding suitable accommodation for our wants, I came to a well-built farmhouse a few miles from the Duck River. As we approached the front, my attention was attracted by an armed man, in the well-known butter-nut grey uniform of the enemy, escaping from the back in a very hasty and suspicious manner. Reading his true character in a moment, I shouted to him to halt, at the same time directing my troopers to “head him off” right and left. Disregarding our cries, he started off in hot haste, while we pursued him in equally hurried fashion. The chase was a hard and a stern one, his flight being only broken for a moment to allow of his discharging his carbine at me. Not desiring to kill him, I saved my powder, and in the end ran him to earth, and stunned him with a blow from the butt-end of my revolver.
When my companions arrived, we proceeded to examine our prisoner, and found, on stripping him of his grey covering, that underneath he wore the unmistakable blue coat of our own regiment, with the plain indication of a corporal’s stripes having been torn therefrom. As we had a few days previously discovered the stripped, bullet-riddled body of a brave corporal of ours, who had been murdered by some of these scoundrels, we at once concluded that this was one of his assassins, and my troop, coming up at this point, dealt him scant mercy, and filled his body with their bullets ere consciousness returned. A search of his pockets revealed his identity, his pocket-book containing some two hundred dollars in bills, and an oath of allegiance to the U.S. Government, which he had doubtless used many times to save his wretched life. The following is a facsimile of the original document, which I have kept through all these years—the stains being those of the man’s blood:—
Making our way back to the house, we discovered two weeping women, and half-a-dozen small children. A single question elicited the fact that the elder of the two was the mother, while subsequent inquiries proved that the dead man was the notorious William M. Guin, a nephew of ex-U.S. Senator Guin, of California, and one of the leaders of as notorious a gang of cut-throats as ever operated in the South-West. Our custom was to burn the houses of any persons found harbouring these guerillas, but the heartrending entreaties of the wretched women and children caused me to leave them unmolested. Some time afterwards, when peace was finally declared, I was quartered at Waverley, in the same vicinity, and often met the unfortunate mother, who knew me as “the man who killed her boy,” though, as she told me, she never blamed me, having often warned her son that he would come to a bad end.
And now for the other side of the picture. During these operations, my men were principally mounted on horses captured from the citizens, who were invariably rebels; and as our habit was to take every available animal when found, the methods adopted to hide them in caves, ravines, and swamps were sometimes very remarkable. Upon one of my expeditions at the time, in the direction of Vernon, on the Duck River, I came across a fine black horse, which I speedily confiscated to the use of “Uncle Sam.” My prize, however, did not long remain in my possession, for in a few days my quarters were invaded by a deputation of the fair sex, who presented me with the following amusing appeal:—
I.
“We write in good spirits to you,
For our glad expectations we hope to find true,
That you’ll act as a gentleman always should do,
And with a request from the ladies comply
Which a fame would attain you that never should die;
While we’ll think of you ever with kindness sincere,
And say of you what it would please you to hear,
And wish for you always a life long and free
From grief and visitation that sometimes will be.
II.
“Now, what must you do these good wishes to gain,
And make us rejoice that we asked not in vain?
Well, a something ’twill be a great boon to obtain
To us who now ask—and a kindness most true
And most earnestly wished for—but to you
It will be what they tell us a victory is—
Quite easy to “Grant,” and we hope you’ll grant this.
III.
“We once (not long since) had a favourite here,
Obedient and gentle, deservedly dear;
He was patient, obeying our will without force,
And he seemed like a friend, though he was but a horse.
How much we esteemed him we never can say,
And Dixie we named him. You took him away!
And sadly and truly we’ve missed him since then—
Oh, captain, do give us poor Dixie again.
If you have conquered one Dixie, be generous here;
Return us the other we all count so dear,
And we’ll say Captain Le Caron (and hold it so too)
Is the very best soldier that ever wore blue.
Your country is famed both in prose and in song;
To its sons truth and justice are said to belong—
Good principle, honour, with bravery too;
Prove now to us, captain, that this is quite true.
Let us have our old friend—you have better by scores,
But to us none so dear can e’er stand at our doors;
None other can seem half so good or so wise,
So worthy our care as he was in our eyes.
You must be enlightened, be generous too;
Give us back our poor Dixie,
Do, captain, please do.
Just say we may have him, that welcome word say,
And your petitioners will evermore pray.
“Mary Barr.
“Cynthia Barr.
“Polly Hassell.
“Mary L. G., a sympathiser.
“Vernon, Tennessee,
“July 1865.
“To Captain Le Caron.”
I naturally pursued the only course which a soldier could, and surrendered the horse. Strange to say, one of my lieutenants afterwards surrendered his affections and future happiness to one of these fair damsels, and still lives with her as his wife, surrounded by a charming family, away out in central Kansas.