Dawn of the following day (Sunday) was ushered in by the sound of Fremont's guns. Our lines had been early drawn out to meet him, and skirmishers pushed up to the front to attack. Much cannonading, with some rattle of small arms, ensued. The country was densely wooded, and little save the smoke from the enemy's guns could be seen. My brigade was in reserve a short distance to the rear and out of the line of fire; and here a ludicrous incident occurred. Many slaves from Louisiana had accompanied their masters to the war, and were a great nuisance on a march, foraging far and wide for "prog" for their owners' messes. To abate this, they had been put under discipline and made to march in rear of the regiments to which they pertained. They were now, some scores, assembled under a large tree, laughing, chattering, and cooking breakfast. On a sudden, a shell burst in the tree-top, rattling down leaves and branches in fine style, and the rapid decampment of the servitors was most amusing. But I must pause to give an account of my own servant, Tom Strother, who deserves honorable and affectionate mention at my hands, and serves to illustrate a phase of Southern life now passed away.
As under feudal institutions the arms of heiresses were quartered with those of the families into which they married, in the South their slaves adopted the surname of the mistress; and one curious in genealogy could trace the descent and alliances of an old family by finding out the names used by different slaves on the estate. Those of the same name were a little clannish, preserving traditions of the family from which their fathers had come, and magnifying its importance. In childhood I often listened with credulous ears to wondrous tales of the magnificence of my forefathers in Virginia and Maryland, who, these imaginative Africans insisted, dwelt in palaces, surrounded by brave, handsome sons, lovely, virtuous daughters, and countless devoted servants. The characters of many Southern children were doubtless influenced by such tales, impressive from the good faith of the narrators. My paternal grandmother was Miss Sarah Strother of Virginia, and from her estate came these Strother negroes. Tom, three years my senior, was my foster brother and early playmate. His uncle, Charles Porter Strother (to give him his full name), had been body servant to my grandfather, Colonel Richard Taylor, whom he attended in his last illness. He then filled the same office to my father, following him through his Indian and Mexican campaigns, and dying at Washington a year before his master. Tom served in Florida and Mexico as "aide-de-camp" to his uncle, after which he married and became father of a large family. On this account I hesitated to bring him to Virginia, but he would come, and was a model servant. Tall, powerful, black as ebony, he was a mirror of truth and honesty. Always cheerful, I never heard him laugh or knew of his speaking unless spoken to. He could light a fire in a minute under the most unfavorable conditions and with the most unpromising material, made the best coffee to be tasted outside of a creole kitchen, was a "dab" at camp stews and roasts, groomed my horses (one of which he rode near me), washed my linen, and was never behind time. Occasionally, when camped near a house, he would obtain starch and flat-irons, and get up my extra shirt in a way to excite the envy of a professional clear-starcher; but such red-letter days were few.
I used to fancy that there was a mute sympathy between General Jackson and Tom, as they sat silent by a camp fire, the latter respectfully withdrawn; and an incident here at Strasburg cemented this friendship. When my command was called into action, I left Tom on a hill where all was quiet. Thereafter, from a change in the enemy's dispositions, the place became rather hot, and Jackson, passing by, advised Tom to move; but he replied, if the General pleased, his master told him to stay there and would know where to find him, and he did not believe shells would trouble him. Two or three nights later, Jackson was at my fire when Tom came to give me some coffee; where upon Jackson rose and gravely shook him by the hand, and then told me the above.
After the war was closed, Tom returned with me to New Orleans, found his wife and children all right, and is now prosperous. My readers have had so much fighting lately, and are about to have so much more, as to render unnecessary an apology for introducing Tom's history.
To return. Cannonading continued without much effect, and Ewell summoned me to his presence, directing the brigade to remain in position till further orders. Jackson, busy with his trains, was not at the moment on the field, which he visited several times during the day, though I did not happen to see him. To reach Ewell, it was necessary to pass under some heavy shelling, and I found myself open to the reproach visited previously on my men. Whether from fatigue, loss of sleep, or what, there I was, nervous as a lady, ducking like a mandarin. It was disgusting, and, hoping that no one saw me, I resolved to take it out of myself the first opportunity. There is a story of Turenne, the greatest soldier of the Bourbons, which, if not true, is ben trovato. Of a nervous temperament, his legs on the eve of an action trembled to such an extent as to make it difficult to mount his horse. Looking at them contemptuously, he said: "If you could foresee the danger into which I am going to take you, you would tremble more." It was with a similar feeling, not only for my legs, but for my entire carcass, that I reached Ewell, and told him I was no more good than a frightened deer. He laughed, and replied: "Nonsense! 'tis Tom's strong coffee. Better give it up. Remain here in charge while I go out to the skirmishers. I can't make out what these people are about, for my skirmish line has stopped them. They won't advance, but stay out there in the wood, making a great fuss with their guns; and I do not wish to commit myself to much advance while Jackson is absent." With this, he put spurs to his horse and was off, and soon a brisk fusillade was heard, which seemed gradually to recede. During Ewell's absence, surrounded by his staff, I contrived to sit my horse quietly. Returning, he said: "I am completely puzzled. I have just driven everything back to the main body, which is large. Dense wood everywhere. Jackson told me not to commit myself too far. At this rate my attentions are not likely to become serious enough to commit any one. I wish Jackson was here himself." I suggested that my brigade might be moved to the extreme right, near the Capon road, by which Fremont had marched, and attempt to strike that road, as this would enable us to find out something. He replied: "Do so; that may stir them up, and I am sick of this fiddling about." Had Ewell been in command, he would have "pitched in" long before; but he was controlled by instructions not to be drawn too far from the pike.
We found the right of our line held by a Mississippi regiment, the colonel of which told me that he had advanced just before and driven the enemy. Several of his men were wounded, and he was bleeding profusely from a hit in his leg, which he was engaged in binding with a handkerchief, remarking that "it did not pester him much." Learning our purpose, he was eager to go in with us, and was not at all pleased to hear that I declined to change General Ewell's dispositions. A plucky fellow, this colonel, whose name, if ever known, I cannot recall. The brigade moved forward until the enemy was reached, when, wheeling to the left, it walked down his line. The expression is used advisedly, for it was nothing but a "walk-over." Sheep would have made as much resistance as we met. Men decamped without firing, or threw down their arms and surrendered, and it was so easy that I began to think of traps. At length we got under fire from our own skirmishers, and suffered some casualties, the only ones received in the movement.
Our whole skirmish line was advancing briskly as the Federals retired. I sought Ewell, and reported. We had a fine game before us, and the temptation to play it was great; but Jackson's orders were imperative and wise. He had his stores to save, Shields to guard against, Lee's grand strategy to promote; and all this he accomplished, alarming Washington, fastening McDowell's strong corps at Fredericksburg and preventing its junction with McClellan, on whose right flank he subsequently threw himself at Cold Harbor. He could not waste time chasing Fremont, but we, who looked from a lower standpoint, grumbled and shared the men's opinion about the lemon wagons.
The prisoners taken in our promenade were Germans, speaking no English; and we had a similar experience a few days later. In the Federal Army was a German corps, the 11th, commanded by General O.O. Howard, and called by both sides "the Flying Dutchmen." Since the time of Arminius the Germans have been a brave people; to-day, in military renown, they lead the van of the nations; but they require a cause and leaders. In our Revolutionary struggle the Hessians were unfortunate at Bennington, Saratoga, and Trenton. We have millions of German citizens, and excellent citizens they are. Let us hope that the foregoing facts may be commended to them, so their ways may be ways of peace in their adopted land.
Although the movement along the enemy's line was successful, as described, it was rash and foolish. Fremont had troops which, had they been in the place of these Germans, would have made us pass one of Rabelais's unpleasant quarters of an hour. Alarm and disgust at my own nervousness occasioned it, proving weak nerves to be the source of rash acts.
Fremont made no further sign, and as the day declined the army was recalled to the pike and marched south. Jackson, in person, gave me instructions to draw up my brigade facing west, on some hills above the pike, and distant from it several hundred yards, where I was to remain. He said that the road was crowded, and he wanted time to clear it, that Fremont was safe for the night, and our cavalry toward Winchester reported Banks returned to that place from the Potomac, but not likely to move south before the following day; then rode off, and so rapidly as to give me no time to inquire how long I was to remain, or if the cavalry would advise me in the event that Banks changed his purpose. This was near sunset, and by the time the command was in position darkness fell upon us. No fires were allowed, and, stacking arms, the men rested, munching cold rations from their haversacks. It was their first opportunity for a bite since early morning.