REPORTING TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR, AT WASHINGTON—ORDERED ON ANOTHER SCOUT TO VIRGINIA—IN PATTERSON'S ARMY, IN VIRGINIA, BEFORE THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN.
I was having such a pleasant time at my home and among my young friends, that I took no thought of reporting to the officials of the War Department, at Washington. One day we were advised by the papers that Senator Andy Johnson, the famous Unionist of Tennessee, would pass through our town on his way to the Capital. This was about the time of the outbreak of the reign of terror in East Tennessee, and the sturdy Senator, with many others of the same fearless build, had been forced to flee for his life. But while he was a hunted fugitive when south of the Ohio River, his progress through the loyal States to Washington was a right royal one.
As will be recalled, Mr. Johnson had been my first friend in Washington, and it was through my association with himself and Mr. Covode that I had entered the service.
When the train rolled up to the station, I was the first to board the car, and, in my rather boyish way, pushed unceremoniously through the crowd to where the Senator was holding an impromptu reception. He greeted me very kindly by a hearty shake, as he bade me sit down by him, and as soon as he found an opportunity, in his half-laughing, fatherly way, began to catechize the boy.
As I have previously said, up to the meeting with the Senator, I had been entirely neglectful of my proper duty of reporting to the War Department a formal account of my movements since leaving Washington. I assumed that, in a general way, the newspaper comments, which were quite flattering in the North, would be sufficient.
This fact, with the frank confession that I really felt myself under greater obligations to a little girl, and was more willing to do her bidding than that of the Secretary of War, explains another of my many mistakes during the war.
When I told Senator Johnson that I had not heard from the War Department since leaving Washington in March—it was early in June now—he said at once:
"Why, you had better come right along with me to Washington. You ought to be there now."
Just then the train began to move off; a friend standing near me who had heard the Senator's suggestion, emphatically seconded it, by saying:
"Go on; now is your chance; you might be too late if you wait here longer."
I had no opportunity to say good-by to my folks, my friends, or my sweetheart; but went off as impulsively as before on a scouting campaign that, in effect, lasted until the close of the war.
During that night's railroad ride over the Alleghany Mountains, as I sat alongside Mr. Johnson, as we sped along the Juniata, I told him my story. The Senator was an attentive listener, and, before going to sleep, directed that I should at once put myself in communication with the War Department, and refer the secretary to himself and Mr. Covode.
In those days I did not consider a berth in a sleeping-car a necessary condition for a night's ride, but found an empty seat, curled my five feet six and-a-half inches of body into three and-a-half feet of space, and slept the sound sleep of youth, while the train rapidly rolled through the darkness toward the sunrise and daylight.
On my arrival in Washington, I went directly to the Seventh Avenue Hotel, located at the northeast corner of Seventh and Pennsylvania avenues and Market space. This was Mr. Covode's quarters when in the city.
The clerk directed me to the parlor, where Mr. Covode was at that moment receiving a delegation.
Recognizing me at once, he collared me as a school-master would a truant boy whom he had caught unexpectedly. I was pleasantly hauled across the room and introduced to Mr. John W. Forney, as a "young man from our own State who had been down amongst the Rebels, and they couldn't catch him; and if they had, he wouldn't be here now.—Ha! ha!"
I found myself quite well known in Washington wherever introduced by Mr. Covode and his friends. It will be remembered that Mr. Forney was then a prominent newspaper man, and no doubt he found in the boy, who had just returned from a trip through Rebel armies, quite an interesting news source for his papers.
I had been compelled to go over my story so much that I really became quite surfeited with the whole business, and was glad enough when evening came, that I could go off alone and have a nice little time around the corner at the "Canterberry." Every old soldier who spent a day or night in Washington will laugh when he reads anything about the "Canterberry." I confess that for a time I became so greatly interested in the famous bouffe singer, Julia Mortimer, that I had nearly forgotten No. 1, and was becoming quite indifferent in regard to my appointment or business with the War Department.
I found that it was about as difficult as before I left the city for Montgomery to obtain a private hearing with the Secretary.
Upon the suggestion of these friends, who had interested themselves in me, I was advised to make my application personally to the Secretary of War for a commission in the regular army; all agreed that this would be about the proper thing to do, it being understood that, in case I should secure this, which would be a permanency, that I could, of course, be detailed in the customary way, on special staff duty, in the field, where there would be opportunity for me to make some use of the information I had obtained of the Southern country and their armies.
With this object in view, I called at the War Department one day in company with Mr. Covode.
Mr. Cameron was, as usual, very busy. There were a great many persons waiting their turn for an audience. Mr. Covode was admitted out of the regular order, because he, being a Congressman, had stated to the attendants, in his positive way, that his business was most urgent, and that he must see the Secretary. Mr. Cameron received us at first rather gruffly, when he learned that the object of this visit was to secure an office; but, upon being reminded of a former appeal and promise, and my recent services being brought to his attention in Mr. Covode's glowing style, the Secretary turned to me laughing, in his quiet way, and said:
"Well, there's no doubt but that you have the pluck necessary for the army."
Then turning to Mr. Covode, abruptly interrupting him, as if to ask a question:
"We would like to find out just now what the Rebel Johnston is doing down in front of Pennsylvania."
Covode was ready to change the subject, and follow the Secretary's lead, and at once spoke for me:
"Well, here's the boy to find out all about it."
He didn't seem to think it necessary to consult me about the matter at all. Mr. Cameron, looking at me quizzically, said:
"I will have you in mind, and get you something as soon as I can find a suitable place."
Then turning about, as the attendant brought in a message from another urgent Congressman, he said, in an authoritative manner:
"Covode, you go to Army Headquarters and tell them I sent you there with this young man. They can use him to advantage, perhaps. I will see you again."
I wasn't exactly satisfied with this outlook. I had thought that I was through with the spy business, and had no desire to undertake any more lonely and isolated trips through the enemy's country.
Since my return I had found that nearly all the young fellows of my acquaintance were either in the army, or about to enter it, and I had naturally imbibed the military fever which prevailed at this time. I reckon every one of us expected, as a matter of course, to become colonels or generals in short order, for gallant service in front of the enemy, so it was not at all to my liking that I was being steered in the direction of the rear of the Rebel lines again.
In my case, it was a doubly-dangerous undertaking, as I had so recently been well advertised all over the South in their papers, and was, of course, liable to be recognized and hung as a spy if I should be captured any place in their lines. As I walked with Mr. Covode from the old War Department Building I said something to him about my misgivings, but in his hearty way he assured me by saying: "Oh, this isn't going to last long." And then in a confidential manner he said: "Old Simon wants to find out something; you just go ahead and do as he wants you to, and it will be all right."
When we reached Army Headquarters we encountered a sentry on duty at the door—a soldier of the regular army, who did not show Mr. Covode any particular attention, not recognizing a Congressman in his rough exterior. After some dilly-dallying we were admitted to the presence of a military-looking fellow whose name I can not recall. Mr. Covode introduced himself, and presented me as being sent by the Secretary of War. This announcement at once seemed to put the officer in a better humor with himself and his callers. Mr. Covode brusquely stated his business; the officer attentively listened and sharply eyed me while Mr. Covode went through with his story about my services at Pensacola.
"Does the Secretary want to procure any information as to General Patterson's movements?"
(It will be remembered that at this time General Patterson was being urged by the War Department to make a demonstration on Johnston, to prevent him reinforcing Beauregard at Manassas.)
Mr. Covode answered: "We want all the information we can get from all quarters, and he can get it too."
The officer said, smilingly: "Oh yes, of course; the young man is in the secret service of the War Department."
Returning to the Secretary's office for some written authority to present to General Patterson, we were directed by Mr. Cameron to one of the clerks, who, after a short private conversation between Mr. Covode and Mr. Cameron, was authorized to prepare a note of introduction. As he handed the official envelope to me, he took occasion to observe, in a very pleasant way:
"I would suggest that this young man should not permit any persons to become acquainted with his business; the department prefers to hear from their special agents in confidence, and not through the newspapers." This hint given in this pleasant manner, I did not forget in following months or years.
To my friend and tutelar saint, Mr. Covode, I again expressed my doubts about any secret service, after returning from our brief interview with Mr. Secretary-of-War Cameron and the official at Army Headquarters. Mr. Covode apparently agreed with my conclusions, saying, as he reached for the official-looking letter which the War Department clerk had given me, and that I hesitatingly held in my hand: "Lets see that letter."
Putting on his old-fashioned round-eyed spectacles, he read half aloud, in his deliberate way, as if studying out some hidden meaning:
"This will introduce to you Mr. O. K., a young man who has gained some personal knowledge of the plans of the Rebels, and who, I hope, may be of service to you in the same direction, etc.
(Signed), "Simon Cameron, Secretary of War."
He read it over a second time, and then looking at me, as if he had suddenly solved a problem said: "Didn't he tell you to report direct to the War Department?"
"Yes," I remembered that I was advised to report to the War Department first and not to the newspapers.
"Well," says Mr. Covode, "that's all right; you go up there and find Patterson and present that letter, and he will give you authority to go wherever you please, and you let us know here what's going on."
When I left the old man, I ventured a word as to my prospects for a commission in the regular army, to which he gave the usual answer: "Oh, that's all right," and added—
"Come and see me to-morrow and I'll give you some more letters to some friends in Patterson's army."
After a restless night, I was early at Mr. Covode's room receiving a pleasant good-morning. He said in a confidential whisper, but which was loud enough for any person to have heard had we not been alone in the room:
"I saw some of those people last night, and it is all right." That wasn't very great encouragement to be sure, but, he added with a significant wink, "You go up there at once and find out all you can, and report to me what's going on, particularly if there are any Rebels going to attack Patterson's army," and he added, again with emphasis, "Report to me here, quick as you can."
"Yes, but this letter is to report to General Patterson."
"That's all right; you are to report direct to the War Department, too."
I began to feel considerably mixed up by these contradictory instructions, but all the satisfaction I could get from Mr. C. was—"That's all right," to which he added, as I was leaving, "You tell me all you can find out, and I'll make it all right at the War Department."
As this letter had been prepared and signed by a clerk in the War Department, the penmanship was, of course, in the regulation copper-plate style, wholly unlike the former endorsement that I had received in Mr. Cameron's own handwriting.
Though Patterson's army was in the neighborhood of Harper's Ferry and Williamsport, Maryland, about fifty miles distant in a direct route from Washington, I concluded that, with such a recommendation in my possession, the furthest way round might be the nearest way home; I would not risk the capture of that note by taking a short cut, so I made a safe detour, going due north to Baltimore and Harrisburg, Pa., distant over a hundred miles; thence I came back southwest through the beautiful Cumberland Valley to Chambersburg and Hagerstown, about seventy-five or eighty miles more ground.
Here I was almost literally dumped from the car into the midst of General Patterson's army—a lively host of the gallant and patriotic boys who had rushed to arms at the first call of President Lincoln for the three-months men.
There have been books upon books published giving the history of this campaign, any one of which probably contains a more satisfactory description of the camp-life of those days than I would be able to give here. This effort is necessarily a personal, and, to some extent a private history only, of the campaigns of an individual scout, but I may be indulged in the hope that some of the old boys, who will take the trouble to follow me in these wanderings, may have been among those who were in camp near Hagerstown along in June and July, 1861. With what tenacity the mind clings to the remembrance of those early days of the great war.
I recall, as if it were but yesterday, this first hunt through the different camps for "Headquarters."
Jolly soldiers were to be found everywhere, either walking about the roads in hilarious squads, or assembled in groups under the shade of trees by the roadside, or perhaps crowding the porches and occupying all the chairs in the neighboring houses. In after years, when provost-marshals and camp-guards were established, the sky-larking was not so common, and the crowds, then, were usually to be seen only around some spring or well of water.
I recall now with amusement how ignorant some of the three-month boys of '61 were about their own army-headquarters. Many to whom I applied for information about the location of headquarters, referred me severally, to their own colonels, while one young officer, I remember, pointed to a mounted officer just riding past as the "General's Assistant."
I tramped through miles of dust that hot afternoon before I could get onto General Patterson's track, and, when I finally discovered headquarters, I learned that the General with some of his aides were attending a dinner-party in the town and could not be seen before the next day.
I did not deliver my letter of introduction to the officer, who I thought at the time rather impudently demanded to know my business with the General, but merely told him that I should call again to see the General.
Having tried to perform a duty, and attended to business first, I set about enjoying the holiday which it seemed to me the boys were having all around. How like a circus it all seemed; some of the scenes then enacted might be compared to that of a country fair, at which there was being held, as an additional attraction to the country people, a militia muster or a prize drill, such as we see now when the State troops assemble one week in summer for their annual camp and drill. There was so much free and easy mixture of civilians and ladies with the soldiers—especially the officers—all were being constantly stirred up by the bands, that seemed to break forth in melody from every grove. There was, of course, the dust on the roads; the processions of thirsty crowds to and from the springs or wells; it all seems now like an immense picnic. Dear me, what bass drums there were in General Patterson's army; wasn't there one to each company? The old-fashioned bass drum, too, as big as a barn door, and noisy in proportion, and to which was usually assigned the biggest fellow in the company the duty of beating on both sides.
A Rebel officer once told me that they were able to estimate the strength of McDowell's army before Manassas by the beating of bass drums at parades each evening.
Along about sundown the usual preparations were made in all the camps for the dress parade—the great feature of the day—which was being witnessed by hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of ladies, old men, and children, who would drive out from the town and surrounding country for miles to witness it, to the delight of the soldiers. What a beautiful sight, in June, 1861, was a full regiment of 1,000 freshly-uniformed, healthy, fresh men in line on dress parade, with their gayly-attired officers (staff and line), going through the "retreat" with fine musical accompaniment. How smart the adjutant was, and what a tremendous fellow the drum-major! On Sunday evenings, at this parade, the chaplain took a hand in the drill, making a prayer, while the long line of the full regiment stood at "parade rest," uncovered, with heads bowed, their little fatigue caps being placed on the muzzle of the gun; the band played "Old Hundred," and perhaps a chorus of a thousand male voices sung the soul-thrilling melody of the grand old tune, which is sung in Heaven. So it was in front of Hagerstown in June or July, 1861.
It was the fortune of war for me to be with the Army of the Potomac again before Hagerstown in July, 1863—a week after the battle of Gettysburg. But—ah, yes—the conditions were sadly changed; scarcely a brigade of that army could muster then as many men as were in each regiment in 1861. There were no visitors in camp; not a lady was to be seen, except, perhaps, the hospital attendants, and the music was confined to the tiresome routine of the "Reveille," "Tattoo" and "Taps."
My first day in General Patterson's army was so full of new and soul-stirring sensations, as compared with the same experiences in the rebel lines, that I was all in a ferment, and forgot about being tired, hungry and worn out, until the evening parades were all over, and the soldiers began to prepare their camp suppers.
While trudging wearily back to the town, some miles distant, to find some supper and a bed, I had the opportunity to reflect seriously in my own mind over the work that I had undertaken.
I wondered to myself if there were not Rebel spies in our army there. It occurred to me at once that there were no obstacles for them to overcome—the entire camp was free; everybody was welcomed indiscriminately to the camp by the good-hearted soldiers; and officers were only too eager to talk with every caller about all they knew of the plans and strength of their own army. This, notwithstanding we were then encamped in Maryland, among a people who, if not openly hostile to our cause, were generally in sympathy with the secessionists, whose army was within fighting distance and communication with their headquarters was only a question of an hour or so.
Our officers and soldiers had certainly taken Hagerstown, Md., as I found to my disgust when I reached the hotel after dark, finding every bed and every corner of the old tavern was literally in possessions of our forces, though, through the kindly interest of a citizen, I was luckily provided with half a bed in a private house. Of course I slept well, except that I was disturbed by a horrid nightmare. I had somehow been transformed into a big brass drum, which a brawny fellow insisted upon pounding upon my stomach, which probably hadn't succeeded in digesting the cold supper.
The first thing next morning was to try and find General Patterson. My experience of the previous day enabled me to steer in a straight course this time, so I was not long in getting to headquarters; but seeing General Patterson was not such an easy matter. His staff officers volunteered to attend to business for their General, but I wouldn't, of course, allow any person to learn the character of my business. It was only after I had written a note, stating that I had a letter from the Secretary of War which I desired to present personally, that I was permitted to approach the Commander.
I need not describe the old Philadelphia militia General. He had, as is well-known, achieved some distinction during the Mexican War, and since that had enjoyed a life of leisure in his native city, where he had, by means of his wealth and accomplishments, become connected with the aristocratic families of the Quaker City. He was, besides, a patron of the military and the clubs; and being so favorably endorsed by prominent people of the State, he was selected to command the troops of Pennsylvania, then operating against General Joe Johnston of the rebel army.
After some further delay, I was admitted to the presence of the old general, who, I imagined, was surprised at my youthful appearance and wondered that I had the temerity to beard such a grim old soldier as himself in his den.
There were several other officers present, and also two gentlemen in civilian's dress, one of whom was quite an elderly-looking gentleman while his companion was a young fellow, whose appearance struck me at once as being that of a Southerner. While General Patterson read my note of introduction from the Secretary of War, I embraced the opportunity to more closely observe the visitors, who were being entertained so pleasantly by the officers.
I quickly gathered from the conversation that the elderly gentleman was applying to our officers for some protection from our own soldiers, for his property. He probably owned some cherry trees in the neighborhood of the camp, or, perhaps, it may have been that the soldiers insisted on using some of the water from an overflowing spring somewhere on his ground. Whatever it was, he was receiving from the staff officers quite emphatic assurances that he should receive all the protection he wanted, and, moreover, the men guilty of trespassing on his ground should be severely punished. The young fellow whom I assumed to be the son had nothing to say.
After General Patterson had finished reading the note, he turned, and, after looking me all over, through his glasses, as if I was some kind of a curiosity who stood meekly and innocently before him, said: "Why, take a seat." Then, turning to one of his aides, he said something in an undertone as he handed him the letter. The aide, after reading it carefully, stepped up to me and pleasantly but coolly invited me outside, when he said: "The General requests that you will come to his quarters this evening."
This wasn't exactly satisfactory to me, but I was glad enough to get from the presence of the General's visitors, because I was apprehensive that something might be said in their hearing that would identify me as a scout.
My visit to General Patterson occurred about the time that General Joe Johnston was manœuvering in his front, with the object of getting away from him to reinforce Beauregard at Manassas, in anticipation of the impending battle there. Our Washington officials were uneasy as to the outcome of this movement, and had been almost daily urging General Patterson to make some demonstration in front of Johnston that would prevent his leaving for Manassas.
Though I did not know it at the time, I have since learned that the War Department, at Washington, while they would not employ scouts themselves over the head of the Commander of the department, yet were willing enough to avail themselves of the information of the scout who could make his reports in an unofficial manner, through Mr. Covode, without compromising the courtesy or etiquette of the War Office.
The whole country seemed to be alive with soldiers, all in a jolly good humor, nicely dressed, well fed. Their camps were models of tent life.
There did not seem to me to be any preparation whatever for marching to meet the enemy.
There was an immense amount of talk about what they intended to do. General Patterson's army did move, of course; but—Well, to go on with my story: I was most anxious to do something great myself, being so filled with military ardor by the bass drums; perhaps the probability of the war being closed before I should have the pleasure of participating in a real fight with guns, was more constantly before my mind than any other danger.
It seemed a long wait until evening, when I could again see General Patterson, and unfold to him a plan I had formulated, to go inside the Rebel lines that very night, and before morning find out, from a visit to General Johnston's army, what he was likely to do. In my youthful ardor I hoped I could return to General Patterson before breakfast time, that he might have the fight that same day before dinner.
These were the wild feelings that were swelling in my breast when I approached headquarters to meet General Patterson's appointment. I walked boldly up to a group of officers who were loafing around headquarters; a sentry challenged me; nothing daunted, I pointed to one of the group—the same officer who had directed me to call—and asked to see him.
My running into the sentry had made some little commotion, which served to call the attention of the officer, who recognized me and ordered the guard to allow me to pass. Meeting me half way, we walked to one side. I believe this officer was Fitz-John Porter, who was then Chief-of-staff—I am not positive; anyway, I was courteously received, and, after being seated, was put through a course of cross-examination as to my recent experience in the South, pretty much—as I now recall it—after the manner of a witness in his own defense.
Being satisfied that General Patterson had referred the whole subject to this officer for his action, I told him briefly and pointedly that I was willing and ready to undertake the service I proposed, and believed that it was possible to ascertain the movements, and perhaps the plans of General Johnston; that I could at least gather from their telegraph communications to Richmond and Manassas the purport of any instructions which were, of course, being sent to Johnston in that way over the wires. I was perfectly willing, for the good of the cause, to undertake the dangerous service of getting back through the lines with the information.
Whatever may have been thought of the feasibility or propriety of this project, Mr. Porter could scarcely have doubted my motive, but he apparently looked upon me as a youthful enthusiast, or, as we term it nowadays, a crank. He said:
"The General is not disposed to make much use of the service of scouts; he thinks it altogether unnecessary in this instance."
If Fitz-John Porter had dashed a bucket of cold water in my face, it would not at the time have had a more chilling effect than his few hard words he uttered in this contemptible manner.
My proposition was not visionary, but entirely practical, and I venture now the opinion that had the service been accepted in the proper spirit it is possible that the despised spy might have brought to his shiftless headquarters some reliable information of Johnston's proposed movement to Manassas, which might have prevented his escape, and thus have turned the tide of battle at Bull Run, which followed soon after the interview.
It is likely that the headquarters of the army were a little over-sensitive on account of the well-known or the imagined interference or meddling of the Washington authorities with their military prerogatives. It has been fully explained in the "Century" history, (since this story was first told) that General Scott, through the proper channels, had been for days urging General Patterson to look carefully after Johnston, and to prevent at all hazards his junction with Beauregard.
The urgency of the Washington officials, taken in connection with the letter I brought from the Secretary and Mr. Covode, may perhaps have caused them to infer that they were considered neglectful and needed some prompting and investigation; perhaps it may have been thought that I had been sent out as a spy in their own camps. Any way, I was not a willing party to any such schemes; my only object and desire was to accomplish something for the benefit of the cause, and in this I had not a thought of myself.
Returning sorrowfully and with my heart laden with disappointment to my bed, I pondered long before sleeping as to my proper course. The longer I considered all the circumstances connected with my being sent up there, I realized more clearly the real meaning of Covode's words:
"Old Simon wants to find out something; you go ahead," and the repeated hints to report "direct," came back to me with a greater significance than when uttered by Mr. Covode in Washington.
My humiliating reception at headquarters had deeply affected my rather sensitive feelings on the spy question. I had decided in my own mind to return to Washington at once; but after reflection, while on my bed, there was a revulsion of feeling from humiliation to anger; and, after taking all things into consideration, I decided for myself, without consulting any one, that I should, on my own responsibility and without aid from our own officers, pass through our lines, enter the rebel lines, ascertain their plans, and go direct via Manassas to Washington, and report personally to the Secretary of War.