The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis

The lightning ceased before the sweep of the rain, but the lantern was well protected by its glass cover, and they still searched. The lantern bearer suddenly uttered a low cry.

“Boys!” he said, “Here’s Sam!”

A thick and uncommonly powerful man lay doubled up against a bush. His face was white. Dick saw that blood had just been washed from it by the rain. But he could see no rising and falling of the chest, and he concluded that he was dead.

“Take the lantern, Jim,” said the leader. Then he knelt down and put his finger on his brother’s wrist.

“He ain’t dead,” he said at last. “His pulse is beatin’ an’ he’ll come to soon. The rain helped him. Whar was he hit? By gum, here it is! A bullet has ploughed all along the side of his head, runnin’ ‘roun’ his skull. Here, you Yank, did you think you could kill Sam by shootin’ him in the head with a bullet? We’ve stood him up in front of our lines, and let you fellows break fifty pound shells on his head. You never done him no harm, ‘cept once when two solid shot struck him at the same time an’ he had a headache nigh until sundown. Besides havin’ natural thickness of the skull Sam trained his head by buttin’ with the black boys when he was young.”

Dick saw that the man really felt deep emotion and was chattering, partly to hide it. He was glad that they had found his brother, and he helped them to lift him. Then they rubbed Sam’s wrists and poured a stimulant down his throat. In a few minutes he stood alone on his feet, yawned mightily, and by the light of the dim lantern gazed at them in a sort of stupid wonder.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“What’s happened?” replied his brother. “You was always late with the news, Sam. Of course you’ve been takin’ a nap, but a lot has happened. We met the Yankees an’ we’ve been fightin’ ‘em for two days. Tremenjous big battle, an’ we’ve whipped ‘em. ‘Scuse me, Yank, I forgot you was with us. Well, nigh onto a million have been killed, which ought to be enough for anybody. I love my country, but I don’t care to love another at such a price. But resumin’ ‘bout you pussonally, Sam, you stopped so many shells an’ solid shot with that thick head of yourn that the concussion at last put you to sleep, an’ we’ve found you so we kin take you in out of the wet an’ let you sleep in a dry place. Kin you walk?”

Sam made an effort, but staggered badly.

“Jim, you an’ Dave take him by each shoulder an’ walk him back to camp,” said the lantern bearer. “You jest keep straight ahead an’ you’ll butt into Marse Bob or old Stonewall, one or the other.”

“You lead the way with the lantern.”

“Never you mind about me or the lantern.”

“What you goin’ to do?”

“Me? I’m goin’ to keep this lantern an’ help Yank here find his friend. Ain’t he done stuck with us till we found Sam, an’ I reckon I’ll stick with him till he gits the boy he’s lookin for, dead or alive. Now, you keep Sam straight, and walk him back to camp. He ain’t hurt. Why, that bullet didn’t dent his skull. It said to itself when it came smack up against the bone: ‘This is too tough for me, I guess I’ll go ‘roun’.’ An’ it did go ‘roun’. You can see whar it come out of the flesh on the other side. Why, by the time Sam was fourteen years old we quit splittin’ old boards with an axe or a hatchet. We jest let Sam set on a log an’ we split ‘em over his head. Everybody was suited. Sam could make himself pow’ful useful without havin’ to work.”

Nevertheless, the lantern bearer gave his brother the tenderest care, and watched him until he and the men on either side of him were lost in the darkness as they walked toward the Southern camp.

“I jest had to come an’ find old Sam, dead or alive,” he said. “Now, which way, Yank, do you think this friend of yours is layin’?”

“But you’re comin’ with us,” repeated Jim.

“No, I’m not. Didn’t Yank here help us find Sam? An’ are we to let the Yanks give us lessons in manners? I reckon not. ‘Sides, he’s only a boy, an’ I’m goin’ to see him through.”

“I thank you,” said Dick, much moved.

“Don’t thank me too much, ‘cause while I’m walkin’ ‘roun’ with you friendly like to-night I may shoot you to-morrow.”

“I thank you, all the same,” said Dick, his gratitude in nowise diminished.

“Them that will stir no more are layin’ mighty thick ‘roun’ here, but we ought to find your friend pretty soon. By gum, how it rains! W’all, it’ll wash away some big stains, that wouldn’t look nice in the mornin’. Say, sonny, what started this rumpus, anyway?”

“I don’t know.”

“An’ I don’t, either, so I guess it’s hoss an’ hoss with you an’ me. But, sonny, I’ll bet you a cracker ag’in a barrel of beef that none of them that did start the rumpus are a-layin’ on this field to-night. What kind of lookin’ feller did you say your young friend was?”

“Very tall, very thin, and about my age or perhaps a year or two older.”

“Take a good look, an’ see if this ain’t him.”

He held up the lantern and the beams fell upon a long figure half raised upon an elbow. The figure was turned toward the light and stared unknowing at Dick and the Southerner. There was a great clot of blood upon his right breast and shoulder, but it was Warner. Dick swallowed hard.

“Yes,” he said, “it’s my comrade, but he’s hurt badly.”

“So bad that he don’t know you or anybody else. He’s clean out of his head.”

They leaned over him, and Dick called:

“George! George! It’s Dick Mason, your comrade, come to help you back to camp!”

But Warner merely stared with feverish, unseeing eyes.

“He’s out of his head, as I told you, an’ he’s like to be for many hours,” said the lantern bearer. “It’s a shore thing that I won’t shoot him to-morrow, nor he won’t shoot me.”

He leaned over Warner and carefully examined the wound.

“He’s lucky, after all,” he said, “the bullet went in just under the right shoulder, but it curved, as bullets have a way of doin’ sometimes, an’ has come out on the side. There ain’t no lead in him now, which is good. He was pow’ful lucky, too, in not bein’ hit in the head, ‘cause he ain’t got no such skull as Sam has, not within a mile of it. His skull wouldn’t have turned no bullet. He has lost a power of blood, but if you kin get him back to camp, an’ use the med’cines which you Yanks have in such lots an’ which we haven’t, he may get well.”

“That’s good advice,” said Dick. “Help me up with him.”

“Take him on your back. That’s the best way to carry a sick man.”

He set down his lantern, took up Warner bodily and put him on Dick’s back.

“I guess you can carry him all right,” he said. “I’d light you with the lantern a piece of the way, but I’ve been out here long enough. Marse Bob an’ old Stonewall will get tired waitin’ fur me to tell ‘em how to end this war in a month.”

Dick, holding Warner in place with one hand, held out the other, and said:

“You’re a white man, through and through, Johnny Reb. Shake!”

“So are you, Yank. There’s nothin’ wrong with you ‘cept that you happened to get on the wrong side, an’ I don’t hold that ag’in you. I guess it was an innercent mistake.”

“Good-bye.”

“Good-bye. Keep straight ahead an’ you’ll strike that camp of yourn that we’re goin’ to take in the mornin’. Gosh, how it rains!”

Dick retained his idea of direction, and he walked straight through the darkness toward the Northern camp. George was a heavy load, but he did not struggle. His head sank down against his comrade’s and Dick felt that it was burning with fever.

“Good old George,” he murmured to himself rather than to his comrade, “I’ll save you.”

Excitement and resolve had given him a strength twice the normal, a strength that would last the fifteen or twenty minutes needed until this task was finished. Despite the darkness and the driving rain, he could now see the lights in his own camp, and bending forward a little to support the dead weight on his back, he walked in a straight course toward them.

“Halt! Who are you?”

The form of a sentinel, rifle raised, rose up before him in the darkness and the rain.

“Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester’s regiment, bringing in Lieutenant George Warner of the same regiment, who is badly wounded.”

The sentinel lowered his rifle and looked at them sympathetically.

“Hangs like he’s dead, but he ain’t,” he said. “You’ll find a sort of hospital over thar in the big tents among them trees.”

Dick found the improvised hospital, and put George down on a rude cot, within the shelter of one of the tents.

“He’s my friend,” he said to a young doctor, “and I wish you’d save him.”

“There are hundreds of others who have friends also, but I’ll do my best. Shot just under the right shoulder, but the bullet, luckily, has turned and gone out. It’s loss of blood that hurt him most. You soldiers kill more men than we doctors can save. I’m bound to say that. But your friend won’t die. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you,” said Dick. He saw that the doctor was kind-hearted, and a marvel of endurance and industry. He could not ask for more at such a time, and he went out of the tent, leaving George to his care.

It was still raining, but the soldiers managed to keep many fires going, despite it, and Dick passed between them as he sought Colonel Winchester, and the fragments of his regiment. He found the colonel wrapped in a greatcoat, leaning against a tree under a few feet of canvas supported on sticks. Pennington, sound asleep, sat on a root of the same tree, also under the canvas, but with the rain beating on his left arm and shoulder.

Colonel Winchester looked inquiringly at Dick, but said nothing.

“I’ve been away without leave, sir,” said Dick, “but I think I have sufficient excuse.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve brought in Warner.”

“Ah! Is he dead?”

“No, sir. He’s had a bullet through him and he’s feverish and unconscious, but the doctor says that with care he’ll get well.”

“Where did you find him?”

“Over there by the edge of the wood, sir, within what is now the Confederate lines.”

“A credit to your courage and to your heart. Sit down here. There’s a little more shelter under the canvas, and go to sleep. You’re too much hardened now to be hurt seriously by wet clothes.”

Dick sat down with his back against the tree, and, despite his soaked condition, slept as soundly as Pennington. When he awoke in the morning the hot sun was shining again, and his clothes soon dried on him. He felt a little stiffness and awkwardness at first, but in a few minutes it passed away. Then breakfast restored his strength, and he looked curiously about him.

Around him was the Northern army, and before him was the vast battlefield, now occupied by the foe. He heard sounds of distant rifle shots, indicating that the skirmishers were still restless, but it was no more now than the buzzing of flies. Pennington, coming back from the hospital, hailed him.

“George has come to,” he said. “Great deed of yours last night, Dick. Wish I’d done it myself. They let old George talk just a little, but he’s his real old Vermont self again. Says chances were ninety-nine and a half per cent that he would die there on the battlefield, but that the half per cent, which was yourself, won. Fancy being only half of one per cent, and doing a thing like that. No, you can’t see him. Only one visitor was allowed, and that’s me. His fever is leaving him, and he swallowed a little soup. Now, he’s going to sleep.”

Dick felt very grateful. Pennington had been up some time, and as they sat down in the sun he gave Dick the news.

“It was a bad night,” he said. “After you staggered in with George, the rebels, in spite of the rain, harassed us. I was waked up after midnight, and the colonel began to believe that we would have to fight again before morning, though the need didn’t come, so far as we were concerned. But we were terribly worried on the flanks. They say it was Stuart and his cavalry who were bothering us.”

“What’s the outlook for to-day?”

“I don’t know. I hear that General Pope has sent a dispatch saying that the enemy is badly whipped, and that we’ll hold our own here. But between you and me, Dick, I don’t believe it. We’ve been driven out of all our positions, so we can hardly call it a victory for our side.”

“But we may hold on where we are and win a victory yet. McClellan and the Army of the Potomac may come. Anyway, we can get big reinforcements.”

Pennington clasped his arms over his knees and sang:

“The race is not to him that’s gotThe longest legs to run,Nor the battle to those peopleThat shoot the biggest gun.”

“Where did you get that song?” asked Dick. “I’ll allow, under the circumstances, that there seems to be some sense in it.”

“A Texan that we captured last night sang it to us. He was a funny kind of fellow. Didn’t seem to be worried a bit because he was taken. Said if his own people didn’t retake him that he’d escape in a week, anyhow. Likely enough he will, too. But he was good company, and he sang us that song. Impudent, wasn’t he?”

“But true so far, at least in the east. I fancy from what you say, Frank, that we’ll be here a day longer anyhow. I hope so, I want to rest.”

“So do I. I won’t fight to-day, unless I’m ordered to do it. But I’m thinking with you, Dick, that we’ll retreat. We were outmaneuvered by Lee and Jackson. That circuit of Jackson’s through Thoroughfare Gap and the attack from the rear undid us. It comes of being kept in the dark by the enemy, instead of your keeping him in the dark. We never knew where the blow was going to fall, and when it fell a lot of us weren’t there. But, Dick, old boy, we’re going to win, in the end, aren’t we, in spite of Lee, in spite of Jackson, and in spite of everybody and everything?”

“As surely as the rising and setting of the sun, Frank.”

Although Dick had little to do that day, events were occurring. It was in the minds of Lee and Jackson that they might yet destroy the army which they had already defeated, and heavy divisions of the Southern army were moving. Dick heard about night that Jackson had marched ten miles, through fields deep in mud, and meant to fall on Pope’s flank or rear again. Stuart and his unresting cavalry were also on their right flank and in the rear, doing damage everywhere. Longstreet had sent a brigade across Bull Run, and at many points the enemy was pressing closer.

The next morning, Pope, alarmed by all the sinister movements on his flanks and in his rear, gathered up his army and retreated. It was full time or the vise would have shut down on him again. Late that day the division under Kearney came into contact with Jackson’s flanking force in the forest. A short but fierce battle ensued, fought in the night and amid new torrents of driving rain. General Kearney was killed by a skirmisher, but the night and the rain grew so dense, and they were in such a tangle of thickets and forests that both sides drew off, and Pope’s army passed on.

Dick was not in this battle, but he heard it’s crash and roar above the sweep of the storm. He and the balance of the regiment were helping to guard the long train of the wounded. Now and then, he leaned from his horse and looked at Warner who lay in one of the covered wagons.

“I’m getting along all right, Dick, old man,” said Warner. “What’s all that firing off toward the woods?”

“A battle, but it won’t stop us. We retreated in time.”

“And we’ve been defeated. Well, we can stand it. It takes a good nation to stand big defeats. You know I taught school once, Dick, and I learned that the biggest nation the world has ever known was the one that suffered the biggest defeats. Look at the terrible knocks the Romans got! Why the Gauls nearly ate ‘em alive two or three times, and for years Hannibal whipped ‘em every time he could get at ‘em. But they ended by whipping everybody who had whipped them. They whipped the whole world, and they kept it whipped until they played out from old age.”

Dick laughed cheerily.

“Now, you shut up, George,” he said. “You’ve talked too much. What’s the use of going back as far as the old Romans for comfort. We can win without having to copy a lot of old timers.”

He dropped the flap of canvas and rode on listening to the sounds of the combat. A powerful figure stepped out of the bushes and stood beside his horse. It was Sergeant Whitley, who had passed through the battle without a scratch.

“What has happened, Sergeant?” asked Dick, as he sat in the rain and listened to the dying fire.

“There has been a fight, and both are quitting because they can’t see enough to carry it on any longer. But General Kearney has been killed.”

The retreat continued until they reached the Potomac and were in the great fortifications before Washington. Then Pope resigned, and the star of McClellan rose again. The command of the armies about Washington was entrusted to him, and the North gathered itself anew for the mighty struggle.

CHAPTER VII. ORDERS NO. 191

When the Union army, defeated at the Second Manassas fell back on Washington, Dick was detached for a few days from the regiment by Colonel Winchester, partly that he might have a day or two of leave, and partly that he might watch over Warner, who was making good progress.

Warner was in a wagon that contained half a dozen other wounded men, or rather boys, and they were all silent like stoics as they passed over the bridge to a hospital in Washington. His side and shoulder pained him, and he had recurrent periods of fever, but he was making fine progress.

Dick found his comrade on a small cot among dozens of others in a great room. But George’s cot was near a window and the pleasant sunshine poured in. It was now the opening of September, and the hot days were passing. There was a new sparkle and crispness in the air, and Warner, wounded as he was, felt it.

“We’re back in the capital to enjoy ourselves a while,” he said lightly to Dick, “and I’m glad to see that the weather will be fine for sight-seeing.”

“Yes, here we are,” said Dick. “The Johnnies beat us this time. They didn’t outfight us, but they had the best generals. As soon as you’re well, George, we’ll start out again and lick ‘em.”

“I’m glad you told ‘em to wait for me, Dick. That’s what you ought to do. I hear that McClellan is at the head of things again.”

“Yes, the Army of the Potomac is to the front once more, and it’s taken over the Army of Virginia. We hear that Pope is going out to the northwest to fight Indians.”

“McClellan is not likely to be trapped as Pope was, but he’s so tremendously cautious that he’ll never trap anything himself. Now, which kind of a general would you choose, Dick?”

“As between those two I’ll take McClellan. The soldiers at least like him and believe in him. And George, our man in the east hasn’t come yet. The generals we’ve had don’t hammer. They don’t concentrate, rush right in and rain blows on the enemy.”

“Do you think you know the right man, Dick?”

“I’m making a guess. It’s Grant. We saw him at Donelson and Shiloh. Surprised at both places, he won anyhow. He wouldn’t be beat. That’s the kind of man we want here in the east.”

“You may be right, Dick, but the politicians in this part of the country all run him down. Halleck has been transferred to Washington as a sort of general commander and adviser to the President, and they say he doesn’t like Grant.”

Further talk was cut short by a young army surgeon, and Dick left George, saying that he would come back the next day. The streets of Washington were full of sunshine, but not of hope and cheerfulness. The most terrible suspense reigned there. Never before or since was Washington in such alarm. A hostile and victorious army was within a day’s march. Pope almost to the last had talked of victory. Then came a telegram, asking if the capital could be defended in case his army was destroyed. Next came the army preceded by thousands of stragglers and heralds of disaster.

The people were dropped from the golden clouds of hope to the hard earth of despair. They strained their eyes toward Manassas, where the flag of the Union had twice gone down in disaster. It was said, and there was ample cause for the saying of it, that Lee and Jackson with their victorious veterans would appear any moment before the capital. There were rumors that the government was packing up in order to flee northward to Philadelphia or even New York.

But Dick believed none of these rumors. In fact, he was not greatly alarmed by any of them. He was sure that McClellan, although without genius, would restore the stamina of the troops, if indeed it were ever lost, which he doubted very much. He had seen how splendidly they fought at the Second Manassas, and he knew that there was no panic among them. Moreover, the North was an inexhaustible storehouse of men and material, and whenever one soldier fell two grew in his place.

So he strode through the crowded streets, calm of face and manner, and took his way once more to the hotel, where he had sat and listened to the talk before the Second Manassas. The lobby was packed with men, and there was but one topic, the military situation. Would Lee and Jackson advance, hot upon the heels of their victory? Would Washington fall? Would McClellan be able to save them? Why weren’t the generals of the North as good as those of the South?

Dick listened to the talk which was for all who might choose to hear. He did not assume any superior frame of mind, merely because he had fought in many battles and these men had fought in none. He retained the natural modesty of youth, and knowing that one who looked on might sometimes be a better judge of what was happening than the one who took part, he weighed carefully what they said.

He was in a comfortable chair by the wall, and while he sat there a heavy man of middle age, whom he remembered well, approached and stood before him, regarding him with a keen and measuring eye.

“Good morning, Mr. Watson,” said Dick politely.

“Ah, it is you, Lieutenant Mason!” said the contractor. “I thought so, but I was not sure, as you are thinner than you were when I last saw you. I’ll just take this seat beside you.”

A man in the next chair had moved and the contractor dropped into it. Then he crossed his legs, and smoothed the upper knee with a strong, fat hand.

“You’ve had quite a trip since I last saw you, Mr. Mason,” he said.

“We didn’t go so terribly far.”

“It’s not length that makes a trip. It’s what you see and what happens.”

“I saw a lot, and a hundred times more than what I saw happened.”

The contractor took two fine cigars from his vest pocket and handed one to Dick.

“No, thank you,” said the boy, “I’ve never learned to smoke.”

“I suppose that’s because you come from Kentucky, where they raise so much tobacco. When you see a thing so thick around you, you don’t care for it. Well, we’ll talk while I light mine and puff it. And so, young man, you ran against Lee and Jackson!”

“We did, or they ran against us, which comes to the same thing.”

“And got well thrashed. There’s no denying it.”

“I’m not trying to do so.”

“That’s right. I thought from the first that you were a young man of sense. I’m glad to see that you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“A great many good men did.”

“That’s so, and a great many more will go the same way. You just listen to me. I don’t wear any uniform, but I’ve got eyes to see and ears to hear. I suppose that more monumental foolishness has been hidden under cocked hats and gold lace than under anything else, since the world began. Easy now, I don’t say that fools are not more numerous outside armies than in them—there are more people outside—but the mistakes of generals are more costly.”

“I suppose our generals are doing the best they can. You will let me speak plainly, will you, Mr. Watson?”

“Of course, young man. Go ahead.”

“Perhaps you feel badly over a disaster of your own. I saw the smoking fires at Bristoe Station. The rebels burned there several million dollars worth of stores belonging to us. Maybe a large part of them were your own goods.”

The contractor rubbed his huge knee with one hand, took his cigar out of his mouth with the other hand, blew several rings of fine blue smoke from his nose, and watched them break against the ceiling.

“Young man,” he said, “you’re a good guesser, but you don’t guess all. More than a million dollars worth of material that I supplied was burned or looted at Bristoe Station. But it had all been paid for by a perfectly solvent Union government. So, if I were to consider it from the purely material standpoint, which you imagine to be the only one I have, I should rejoice over the raids of the rebels because they make trade for contractors. I’m a patriot, even if I do not fight at the front. Besides my feelings have been hurt.”