Continental Monthly Volume 1 Issue 3 by Various

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Bang! bang! bang! they kept on shooting till dark. It is useless to say
we had chickens for supper that night; and I would not be surprised if
the chicken crop of Phillippi and vicinity should be rather small for a
few years to come.

Wild rumors were running through the camp all day that the 'secesh' had
been reinforced, were ten thousand strong, and, with forty pieces of
cannon, would attack us that night. Some said they were commanded by
Gov. Wise, the lunatic, others by Beauregard, and some positively
asserted that Jeff Davis led the rebel forces himself. At all events, it
was pretty well settled that we were to be attacked forthwith. Our men
slept on their arms, but not a secesh appeared.

I, as usual, was on guard that night, and, feeling that a great
responsibility rested on my shoulders, was 'doubly armed.' A well-known
professor, a member of the same company as myself, was on the first
relief; I was on the second. I went on duty at ten o'clock, P.M., and
the professor kindly loaned me his revolver, and, in addition, soon
returned with an extra musket, a secession sabre, and one of the
captured pistols. Thus loaded down with swords, pistols, and muskets,
and guarding a six-pounder, I felt _tolerably_ safe. After walking up
and down my beat a few times, I found the two muskets began to feel
rather heavy, and the two sabres to be rather uncomfortable dangling
about my legs; and thinking that two revolvers and a _secesh_ pistol
would be all that I could use to advantage, I divested myself of the
extra equipments, and passed the residue of my 'two-hours' watch' in
committing to memory 'my last dying words,' for use in case the secesh
put an end to my existence.

Our colonel's name was Barnett; the countersign for the night was Buena
Vista. About eleven o'clock I observed a man coming towards me. 'Halt!'
I exclaimed; 'who goes there?'

'A _friendt_,' was the reply.

'Advance, friend, and give the countersign.'

The man walked towards me, and whispered in my ear 'Barnett's Sister!'
at the same time attempting to pass. Placing my bayonet close against
his breast, I ordered him to 'halt!' and called for the corporal of the
guard. The Dutchman--for such he was--begged and plead, but it was of no
use; I told him he was trying to 'run the guard,' and he must go to the
guard-house.

'Barnett's Sister! Barnett's Sister! Barnett's Sister!' shouted the
Dutchman. 'I know nothing about Barnett's Sister,' said I; 'stop your
noise, or you will rouse the camp.'

Just then, the officer of the guard came round. I stated the case to
him, and the man was taken to the guard-house. The next morning he was
released, and on inquiry at head-quarters it was found that he had the
password, but had confounded 'Buena Vista' with 'Barnett's Sister.' We
all enjoyed a good laugh over it, and ever after 'Barnett's Sister' was
the password for all who attempted to 'run the guard.'

We lay at Phillippi nearly six weeks. Every day or two an alarm would
occur, the long roll would beat, and the men would form in line of
battle. It is needless to say the alarms were all false. There are
always hundreds of rumors in every camp, and ours was not an exception.
But after the first week we paid little attention to the many wild
reports which were in circulation. Although Gov. Wise had said he would
take dinner in Phillippi or in ---- on the fourth of July;
notwithstanding Gov. Letcher had issued a proclamation warning us to
leave the State in twenty-four hours or he would hang every one of us;
although a proclamation dated Staunton, Va., June 7th, 1861, stated to
the people of Western Virginia that their little band of _volunture (?)_
had been forced from Phillippi by the ruthless Northern foe, led on by
traitors and tories, and that Jeff Davis and John Letcher had sent to
their aid a force of cavalry, artillery and rifles; and although the
proclamation wound up by saying To-morrow an ARMY will follow! we felt
tolerably safe at Phillippi. We had determined, if the aforesaid army
did appear, it should have a warm reception.

Every day or two scouting parties went out and captured a few stray
'Bush-Whackers,' to whom the oath was administered, and they were
released. Days and weeks passed, but the army of Davis, Beauregard, and
Co., failed to appear. They had, however, congregated and entrenched
themselves at Laurel Hill, about thirteen miles east of Phillippi.

We were reinforced from time to time, until our force numbered some
forty-five hundred men, when Gen. McClellan determined to rout the enemy
from Laurel Hill and Rich Mountain. How well he succeeded, history will
tell.

On the night of the 6th of July, we left Phillippi for Laurel Hill,
starting at midnight. The road was rather rough, but much better than we
expected to find it. When we were within about five miles of the enemy's
camps; we passed a toll-gate, where an old woman came to the door to
'collect toll.' Some of our boys stopped at the house to get a drink of
water, and asked the old lady how far it was to camp,--meaning the rebel
camp. 'About four miles,' she said, 'but you can't get in without a
pass.'

The artillery was just then passing her door; the boys pointed to that,
and told her 'they thought they had a pass that would take them in.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, as the thought struck her that we were Federals,
'you won't find it as easy work as you did at Phillippi; they're going
to fight this time.'

On our return home this same woman was at the door, but she didn't
demand _toll_ this time. 'Well, old lady,' said one of our fellows,
'what do you think _now_ about the fighting qualities of your men?'

'They who fight and run away,
Will live to fight another day,'

she exclaimed, and, slamming the door, vanished from sight, I trust
forever.

At daylight we drove in the rebel pickets at Laurel Hill. We were within
a mile and a half of their main camp, and halted there to await orders
from Gen. McClellan, before beginning the attack. He was advancing on
the enemy at Rich Mountain and Beverley.

We threw a few shells into the rebel camp, producing great consternation
among their men and horses. For four days we kept up skirmishing, but on
the fifth day it rained, and little was done. All were anxious to
commence the attack, but, as we had heard nothing from Gen. McClellan,
all had to 'wait for orders.' That night the enemy, hearing of the
Federal victory at Rich Mountain, and the occupation of Beverley by
McClellan, and evidently thinking himself in a 'bad fix,' retreated from
Laurel Hill toward St. George. In the morning our forces took possession
of his camp and fortifications, and part of our column pursued the
flying forces, overtaking them at Cornick's Ford, where a sharp
engagement ensued, which resulted in a total rout of the rebels, and the
death of Gen. Garnett. Only a portion of his army escaped over the
mountains to Eastern Virginia.

So hasty was the retreat from Laurel Hill, that the enemy left behind
all the sick and wounded, telling them the Union troops would kill them
as soon as they took possession of their camp. A large number of tents,
a quantity of flour, and a few muskets, fell into our hands. The
fortifications at Laurel Hill were strong, and evidently planned and
constructed by men who understood their business.

Among the numerous letters which we found in the rebel camp, was one
written to one of the Richmond papers, during the _siege_ of Laurel
Hill. In that part of the letter which was intended for publication, the
writer said:--

'The Yankees have at last arrived, about ten thousand strong. For the
past two days we have had some sharp skirmishing, during which time we
have killed one hundred of the Hessians. We have, as yet, lost but one
man.'

In a _private note_ to the editor, the writer adds:--

'I guess the Yankees have got us this time. There is a regiment here who
call themselves the Indiana Ninth, but they lie,--they are regulars.
They have got good rifles, and they take good aim. If it wasn't for
this, we would attack them.'

This little item shows how the masses of the Southern people are
deceived. Through the medium of the press they are made to believe they
are gaining great victories, and repulsing the 'abolitionists' at every
step, killing hundreds of our men, and losing none of their own. Our
total loss at Laurel Hill was six men. The rebel loss, as near as could
be ascertained, was forty. The rebel leaders know they are playing a
game for life or death, and so long as they can keep in power by
deceiving the people, just so long will this rebellion continue. Could
the _truth_ be forced upon the people of the South, the rebellion would
go down as quickly as it rose.

Many laughable incidents occurred while we were skirmishing with the
enemy at Laurel Hill. We received a newspaper containing the message of
President Lincoln. One of the Indiana boys, thinking it might do the
secesh good to hear a few loyal sentiments, mounted a stump, paper in
hand, and exclaimed, 'I say, secesh, don't you want to hear old Abe's
message?' He then commenced reading, but had proceeded only a short way,
before 'ping, ping' came the rifle balls around the stump; down jumped
Indiana, convinced that reading even a President's message amidst a
shower of bullets isn't so agreeable, after all.

We staid at Laurel Hill about two weeks. The enemy had been completely
routed from that part of Virginia, and our term of enlistment having
expired, our thoughts began to turn homeward. That ninety days'
soldiering was the longest three months we ever experienced. It seemed
an age since we had tasted a good meal, and all were anxious to once
more cross the Ohio, and see a civilized country. The long looked-for
order came at last, ''Bout face!' and we were on our homeward march. A
more jovial, ragged, dirty, and hungry set of men, were never mustered
out of service. We reached Camp Chase at Columbus, Ohio, about the last
of July, and as each man delivered up his knapsack and etceteras, he
felt as if a 'great weight' had been taken from his shoulders. We were
once more free men; no one could order us about, tell us where we should
or where we should not go. There was no more touching of hats to upstart
lieutenants and half-witted captains or colonels. We could go where we
liked, and do as we pleased, and not be reported, or sent to the
guard-house. If my memory serves me aright, we _did_ do pretty much as
we pleased; in other words, for two days, 'we made Rome howl!'

What we saw of Western Virginia and its inhabitants left anything but a
favorable impression on our minds. The country is wild and romantic, but
good for little or nothing for farming purposes. The houses are mostly
built of logs, being little more than mere huts, and around each of
these 'mansions' may be seen at least a dozen young 'tow-heads,' who are
brought up in ignorance and filth. The inhabitants are lazy and
ignorant, raising hardly enough to keep starvation from their doors.
School houses are almost unknown; we did not see one in the whole course
of our march; the consequence is, not more than one in ten of the
population can read or write. And the few who 'can just make out to
spell' are worse off than their more ignorant brethren.

'A little learning is a dangerous thing.'

And these people know just enough to make them _dangerous_. They have
read in some of their county newspapers that Vice-President Hamlin is a
negro, and that Lincoln is waging this war for the purpose of liberating
the slaves and killing their masters. This they believe, and any amount
of reasoning cannot convince them to the contrary. It seems to be enough
for them to know that they are _Virginians_; upon this, and this alone,
they live and have their being. They are by far the most wretched and
degraded people in America,--I had almost said in the world. The women,
if possible, are worse than the men; they go dressed in a loose, uncouth
manner, barefooted and bareheaded; their principal occupation is chewing
tobacco and plundering Union troops by getting ten prices for their
eggs, butter, and corn bread. And these are the people our children--and
their fathers before them--have been taught to regard as the true
_chivalry_ of America! The people of the United States are beginning to
see that Virginia and her sons have been greatly over-estimated. That
Virginia has produced true and great men, no one will deny. There are a
few such still within her borders; but, taking her as a whole, the
picture I have drawn is a true one.

By my soldiering experience I learned some things which it would have
been impossible to learn had I never 'gone for a soger.' First, I
ascertained--shall I say from my _personal_ experience?--that a man
dressed in soldier-clothes can stand twice as much bad liquor as one
clothed in the garb of a citizen. Secondly, that to be a good soldier a
man should be able to go at least forty-eight hours without eating,
drinking, or sleeping, and then endure guard-duty all night in a
drenching rain, without grumbling or fault-finding. Thirdly, I _think_ I
have discovered that the martial road to glory '_is a hard road to
travel_.'

* * * * *

A CABINET SESSION.

_The President: Secretaries Seward, Chase, Bates, Smith, Blair and
Welles. Enter Mr. Stanton._

_Mr. Lincoln._ Gentlemen, I officially present Mr. Stanton!

[_Mr. Stanton, bowing with graceful dignity, seats himself at the
table._]

_Mr. Seward (breaking the momentary pause in his jocular way)._
Remember, Mr. Secretary of War, you are now in the old chair of Floyd
and Davis: and sit thee down as if on nettles.

_Mr. Chase._ Aye; but out of the 'nettle danger' pluck thou 'the flower
safety.'

_Mr. Stanton (with emphasis)._ Believe me, I appreciate not so much the
honor as the responsibilities of my new position. I claim a good omen,
for, as I turned just now towards the gate, a little boy, seated upon
one of the granite blocks for the new building hereabout, trolled out as
my salutation the lines of the national air,--

'Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, In God is our trust.'

_Mr. Welles._ Amen!

_Mr. Bates._ I suppose you passed not a few interesting hours in this
room at the twilight of Mr. Buchanan's day, whilst holding _my_
portfolio?

_Mr. Stanton._ Too momentous to be called by _me_ interesting.
Posterity, reading, will say _that_. And those twilight hours, as you
felicitously term them, were followed by anxious vigils. But these
belong to confidences.

_Mr. Lincoln (abruptly and familiarly)._ Talking of confidences, what do
you think of the news about Zollicoffer?

_Mr. Stanton._ It appears reliable, and is a most providential success.
Eastern Tennessee was tending to the position which Lucknow sustained
towards the Indian rebellion. It is now relieved, and a fortnight or so
will bring intelligence that the whole of it has practically joined
forces to Western Virginia. I regard it as of the highest importance to
prove, by industrious acts, that we recognize and reward the sufferings
of these American Albigenses in their Cumberland fastnesses. How grandly
would swell the old Miltonian hymn, properly paraphrased, when a brigade
of the loyal Tennessians may sing

'Avenge, Columbia, thy slaughtered hosts, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Western mountains cold,'

and so forth!

_Mr. Lincoln._ Now, you are stepping into Seward's province. _He_ is the
poet of my cabinet!

_Mr. Seward._ Granted for the argument: but there is more truth than
poetry in what our new brother has just said. Throughout how many weary
months have those brave thousands who voted against secession awaited
the crack of our rifles and our cannon-smoke--true music and sacred
incense to them.

_Mr. Blair (practically)._ Next to the border States we must take care
of the newspapers.

_Mr. Welles._ Ah, those newspapers: bothersome as urchins in a nursery,
and yet as necessary to the perfect development of life's enjoyment.

_Mr. Chase._ Well said for the navy. But what do you say of the
magnificent Neckars, whose monied articles from Boston to Chicago would
swamp the treasury in a week, if they were believed in?

_Mr. Lincoln._ Being born and raised so far from the great metropolitan
centres, I don't seem to take to newspapers so kindly as the rest of you
do.

_Mr. Stanton._ With great respect to your Honor (as we say in court), I
deem it a great mistake to neglect newspaper suggestions, however
provincial. 'Do you hear (as Hamlet says), let them be well used; for
they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time.' And your
metropolitan editor, after all, follows the bent of the public opinion
of the provinces as he scissors it from his thousand and one exchanges.
The village or country editor has time to mix among the people, and
hears them talk to reproduce it artistically. The city editor finds
little time for this. Besides, there _is_ very little of reliable public
opinion amid cities. The American mind is styled fickle; so it may be in
the great marts. From _them_ come your sensations and spasms. The
interior is more stable, and less swayed by impulses. Aggregate a
hundred county editorials all over the North, then strike an average,
and you will find the product in the last big journal. The misfortune of
Washington social life is that we walk in it over a circle. Hither come
'needy knife-grinders,' and axe-sharpeners, and place-hunters, who say
what they think will be agreeable to the ears of power. But the other
kind of mails, presided over by Mr. Blair, bring us wholesome, although
sometimes disagreeable, truths. They are worth attending to, Mr.
President. Let us 'strike,' but let us 'hear.'

_Mr. Seward._ In the matter of newspapers, my son Fred and I divide
reading. He distils the metropolitan gazettes, and I those of England
and France. Then we exchange commodities at breakfast time. Fred, having
been an editor, can boil down the news very rapidly, and so put its
essence into our coffee-pot. The foreign journals, however, have so much
in them that is dissimulative and latent, they require more care and
discernment. Mr. Hunter aids me in dissecting them.

_Mr. Lincoln._ You are the son of an editor, Montgomery; how do you
stand on this subject of Colfax's bill to carry all the papers in your
mails? The rebel postmaster-general, in _his_ report, made, you
remember, an elaborate argument to justify the Jeff Davis law, which
forbids the sending of newspapers and periodicals by expressmen.

_Mr. Blair._ When Colfax will accept as an amendment a prohibition of
telegrams, and the obliging our mails to transmit _all_ intelligence,
then I will consider of his views.

_Mr. Smith._ Well said; as good an extract that from the last edition of
Blair's rhetoric as could be wished for.

_Mr. Chase._ Or in the Tribune satires of Horace! But let me ask Mr.
Blair what he thinks of a newspaper tax.

_Mr. Blair._ Very favorably. I am for a mill stamp on every paper,
obliging every ten readers to pay the government one cent.

_Mr. Stanton._ Mr. Secretary of the Interior, what is the average
circulation of newspapers in the loyal section?

_Mr. Smith._ A thousand million.

_Mr. Chase_ (rapidly computing). Which on Mr. Blair's proposition would
yield a million dollars revenue.

_Mr. Welles._ And support the government at our present rate of
expenditure _for one day!_

_Mr. Seward._ The public would bear half a cent on each paper. The
publisher could make his readers insensibly pay the tax, and improve
both paper and issue by receiving another half cent: and so add one cent
of charge per copy.

_Mr. Chase._ Which would yield a revenue of five millions per year.

_Mr. Lincoln._ Would the people stand such a charge?

_Mr. Stanton (good humoredly)._ Will our friend the Secretary of State
smoke fewer cigars when you come to tax tobacco?

_Mr. Welles (naively)._ But newspaper reading is not a vice.

_Mr. Bates._ Be not so sure of that. The passion for newspapers excites
the minds of the whole republic. Now-a-days your servant reads the news
as he works. The clergy peruse the Sunday extras, and the
crossing-sweeper begs your worn-out copy instead of a cigar-stump.

_Mr. Blair._ Yet Gen. McClellan has not read a newspaper in three
months.

_Mr. Lincoln._ The subject brings to my mind a good old parson in
Springfield who used to complain that the _Weekly Republican_ was as bad
as himself. He was preaching his old sermons over and over again with
new texts. Come to find out, he had a waggish grandson who for three
previous weeks had neatly gummed the fresh date over the old one, and
the dear divine had been perusing the same paper as many times.

_(Omnes laughing heartily.)_

_Mr. Stanton._ Talking of General McClellan,--I had my first engagement
with him last night at one o'clock.

_Mr. Welles (startled)._ One o'clock! No wonder he has had typhoid
fever.

_Mr. Lincoln._ I think he is napping it now. He has a wonderful facility
at the sleep business. Forty winks seem to refresh him as much as four
hours do other people. At my last levee, according to the newspapers, he
and his wife retired early. _He_ went up stairs and napped for two
hours, desiring to see me for half an hour alone afterward. Then he
spent several hours at the topographical bureau, hunting for some old
maps which he insisted had been there since the Creek campaign. He was
rewarded for his industry by finding also an admirable map and survey of
the situation around New Orleans.

_Mr. Seward._ The General is a believer in Robert Bruce's spider. The
American spider's-web didn't reach Richmond in July, nor Columbus in
November, but McClellan has kept on busily spinning.

_Mr. Blair._ Can any one tell me what is the General's platform?

_Mr. Stanton._ I can. Long before I dreamed of being here, he told me.
It is in three words.

_Mr. Lincoln._ That's the shortest I ever heard of next to that of the
English parson--'What _I_ say is orthodox, what I don't believe is
heterodox.'

_Mr. Smith._ But the three words?

_Mr. Seward._ Caesar's was in these words: _Veni, vidi, vici_.

_Mr. Stanton._ It is to be fervently hoped _they_ will become the Latin
translation of his own platform. McClellan's is, 'TO RETRIEVE BULL RUN!'

_Mr. Lincoln (laughing)._ Then, if the General told you that, he is a
plagiarist: for that is _my_ platform. When he was made commander here,
he asked me what I wanted done. Said I, 'Retrieve Bull Run.' He said he
would, and turned to go. I jocularly added, 'But can't you tell us how
you are going to do it?' He mused a moment, and then said, 'I must work
it out algebraically, and from unknown quantities produce the certain
result. "Drill" shall be my "_x_" and "Transportation" my "_y_" and
"Patience" my "_z_." Then _x_ + _y_ + _z_ = success.' And now that Mr.
Stanton is here, I doubt not the slate is ready for the figuring.

_Mr. Stanton._ Thank you, Mr. President, for the compliment. May it
prove a simple equation.

_Mr. Chase (with energy)._ Now we call for your platform, Mr. Secretary
of War.

_Mr. Stanton (gracefully bowing)._ The President's--yours--_ours
(looking all around)_.

_Mr. Seward._ But the allusion is a proper personal one, nevertheless.
Remember court-martial law--the youngest always speaks first!

(_Omnes compose themselves in a listening attitude._)

_Mr. Stanton._ First and foremost, I believe slavery to be the _casus
belli_. To treat the _casus belli_ above and beyond all other
considerations I hold to be the duty of the true commander-in-chief: as
the surgeon disregards secondary symptoms and probes the wound. I would
treat this _casus belli_ as the Constitution allows us to treat it--not
one hair's breadth from the grand old safeguard would I step. Under the
Constitution I believe slavery to be a purely local institution. In
Louisiana and Texas, a slave is an immovable by statute, and is annexed
to the realty as hop-poles are in the law of New York. In Alabama and
Mississippi, the slave is a chattel. In the first-named States he passes
by deed of national act and registration; in the other, by simple
receipt or delivery. Thus even among slave States there is no uniform
system respecting the slave property. To the Northern States the slave
is a person in his ballot relation to congressional quota and
constituency, and also an apprentice to labor, to be delivered up on
demand. The slave escaping from Maryland to Pennsylvania is not to be
delivered up, nor cared about, nor thought about, until he is demanded.
Liberty is the law of nature. Every man is presumed free in choice, and
not even to be trammeled by apprenticeship, until the contrary is made
clearly to appear. One man may be a New York discharged convict, for
instance--an unpardoned convict. He emigrates southward, he obtains
property, according to local law, in a slave. The slave escapes to New
York. The convict--unpardoned--master enters the tribunal there on his
demand. Quoth the escaped apprentice, producing the record of the
conviction, 'Mr. Claimant, you have no standing in court. Your civil
rights are suspended in this State until you are pardoned. You are _not_
pardoned, therefore I will not answer aye or no to your claim, until you
are legitimately in court, and recognized by the judges.' I take it that
plea would avail. And if the crier wanted to employ a person to sweep
the court-room the next moment, he could employ that defendant to do it.
There is not a man in the rebel States (_whom we publicly know of_) who
has a standing under the Constitution regarding this slavery question.
By his own argument he lives in a foreign country; by our own argument
he is not _rectus in curia_. Were I an invading general and wanted
horses, I would decoy them from the rebels with hay and stable
enticements. If I wanted trench-diggers, camp scullions, or
artillerists, or pilots, or oarsmen, or guides, and, being that general,
saw negroes about me, I should press them into my service. Time enough
to talk about the rights of some one to possess the negroes by better
claim of title to service when that somebody, with the Constitution in
one hand and stipulation of allegiance in the other, demands legal
possession. Even the fugitive slave is emancipated practically whilst in
Ohio, and whilst not yet demanded. Rebel soldiers daily leave their
plantations and abandon their negroes. _Pro tem_, at least, the latter
are then emancipated. Let them, when within Our lines, continue
emancipated.

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