XI. — NIGHTHAWK.
It was the night of the 20th of June, 1863. Stuart’s head-quarters had been established in a house on the roadside above Middleburg.
We had been fighting all day; had returned only at nightfall: and I was exchanging a few words with Stuart, before following the staff to rest, when all at once a third personage, who seemed to have arisen from the floor, stood before us.
His presence was so sudden and unexpected that I started. Then I looked at him, curiously.
He was a man of about forty, thin, wiry, and with a nose resembling the beak of a bird of prey. His eyes, half buried under bushy eyebrows, twinkled like two stars. His mouth was large and smiling; his expression exceedingly benignant. From the face I passed to the costume. The worthy was clad in severe black, with a clerical white cravat: wore a black beaver hat of the “stove-pipe” order; and presented the appearance of a pious and peaceable civilian—almost that of a clergyman, smiling benignantly upon all around him.
Stuart uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
“Ah! Nighthawk, here you are!” he said.
And turning to me he introduced the new comer as “Mr. Nighthawk, one of my ‘private friends,’ and true as steel.”
Mr. Nighthawk bowed with an air of smiling respect—of benignant sweetness.
“I am glad to know you, colonel, and hope I may have an opportunity of being of service to you some day,” he said.
The voice was low, soft, and accorded with the mild expression of the countenance.
“Well, what news, Nighthawk?” asked Stuart; “experience tells me that you have something of importance to communicate?”
“Ah, general!”
“Yes. You pass in the cavalry by the name of the ‘man before the battle,’ for you always turn up then.”
Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
“I try to give you information, general; and perhaps I have some news. But first of my visits to Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington, where I saw many of our friends.”
And in his low, quiet voice Mr. Nighthawk, who had taken a seat and smoothed down his white cravat, proceeded to speak of his travels and what he had seen.
The narrative astounded me. He spoke without reserve, for General Stuart had informed him that he might do so before me; and I was startled to find the number of private friends the South had in the North. Mr. Nighthawk was evidently au fait at his trade. He had a perfect understanding plainly with persons of the highest political position; and Stuart listened with the greatest interest to the speaker, whose low voice never rose above the half-whisper by which I had been impressed on his first opening his lips.
“So the summing up of all this,” said Stuart, “that our friends are not too hopeful?”
“They are not, general.”
“They say Lee must win a great victory on the soil of Pennsylvania?”
“Yes, general. Without it there is no hope of peace, they declare.”
“Well, I think they are right; and that we shall gain the victory.”
Mr. Nighthawk made no reply; and Stuart reflected for some moments without speaking. Then rousing himself:—
“I forgot,” he said. “You have not given me your special information, Nighthawk.”
The worthy smiled.
“You know I am the ‘man before the battle,’ general?”
“Yes, go on, Nighthawk.”
“I have just left General Hooker’s head-quarters.”
“Where are they?”
“Beyond Centreville.”
“You saw him?”
“I conversed with him.”
“Ah!”
“An hour, general, as the Rev. Mr. Ward, from Massachusett, of the ‘Grand Union Sanitary Commission’.”
And Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
“Of course I urged active movements, and General Hooker became quite animated.”
“He agreed with your views then?” said Stuart, laughing.
“Perfectly, general.”
“And he intends—”
“There is the important thing. While we were conversing, General Hooker was called for a moment out of his tent, and by accident, my eyes fell upon an order which lay upon his desk.”
“An order?”
“For two divisions of cavalry, one of infantry, and a full complement of artillery, to advance and drive you back to the mountain.”
“Ah! you saw that order?”
“I did, general; it was just ready to be sent.”
“What day did it fix?”
“To-morrow, general.”
“Ah, indeed! Two divisions of infantry and one of cavalry?”
Mr. Nighthawk inclined in assent.
“When did you leave Hooker’s head-quarters?”
“This afternoon.”
“And you came through the lines to-night?”
“Yes, general, in the usual way, by passing through the pickets. I was on foot and nothing was easier.”
Stuart knit his brows and reflected. Then he called to the orderly.
“Wake the adjutant-general, and have three couriers ready at once!”
Mr. Nighthawk arose.
“By-the-by, general,” he said, “I saw Swartz, whom I have mentioned to you.”
“Yes; the best spy, you say, in the Federal army.”
“I think he is, general. He is a wonderful man. He recently played a trick upon you.”
“Upon me?”
“At least he bore off a prisoner from you. It was a lady, captured by Colonel Mohun, one night on the Rappahannock.”
“Ah! Is it possible! So Swartz was the old countryman, driving the wagon that morning.”
“So he informed me, general.”
“You are friends, then?”
“Close friends.”
And Mr. Nighthawk smiled.
“We have an agreement—but that would not interest you, general. That was really Swartz, and the old woman was the prisoner.”
“Well,” said Stuart, “that was a bold stroke, but the lady was handsome enough to make friends. There is something between herself and Colonel Mohun, is there not?”
Mr. Nighthawk glanced quickly at the face of the general. His eyes resembled steel points, but the piercing glance at once sank.
“Something between them, general? What could have made you think that? But here is Major McClellan. I will not detain you, general; I will come back at daylight to receive your orders.”
With these words, Mr. Nighthawk distributed a benignant smile, bowed in a friendly manner, and disappeared, it was difficult to say how, from the apartment. I had turned my eyes from him but an instant; when I again looked he was gone.
“And now to work!” exclaimed Stuart. “We are going to fight tomorrow, Surry, since the ‘man before the battle’ has made his appearance!”