AFTER MANASSAS.

After the action at Manassas, the summer and winter of 1861 wore away without movements of special note in our quarter, excepting the defeat of the Federals at Ball’s Bluff, on the Potomac, by a detached brigade of Confederates, commanded by General Evans of South Carolina, a West-Pointer enjoying the sobriquet of Shanks from the thinness of his legs.

In the organization of our army, my regiment was brigaded with the 6th, 7th, and 8th regiments of the Louisiana infantry, and placed under General William H.T.  Walker of Georgia.  Graduated from West Point in the summer of 1837, this officer joined the 6th United States infantry operating against the Seminoles in Florida.  On Christmas day following was fought the battle of Okeechobee, the severest fight of that Indian war.  The savages were posted on a thickly jungled island in the lake, through the waters of which, breast-high, the troops advanced several hundred yards to the attack.  The loss on our side was heavy, but the Indians were so completely routed as to break their spirit.  Colonel Zachary Taylor commanded, and there won his yellow sash and grade.  Walker was desperately wounded, and the medical people gave him up; but he laughed at their predictions and recovered.  In the war with Mexico, assaulting Molino del Rey, he received several wounds, all pronounced fatal, and science thought itself avenged.  Again he got well, as he said, to spite the doctors.  Always a martyr to asthma, he rarely enjoyed sleep but in a sitting posture; yet he was as cheerful and full of restless activity as the celebrated Earl of Peterborough.  Peace with Mexico established, Walker became commandant of cadets at West Point.  His ability as an instructor, and his lofty, martial bearing, deeply impressed his new brigade and prepared it for stern work.  Subsequently Walker died on the field near Atlanta, defending the soil of his native State a death of all others he would have chosen.  I have dwelt somewhat on his character, because it was one of the strangest I have met.  No enterprise was too rash to awaken his ardor, if it necessitated daring courage and self-devotion.  Truly, he might have come forth from the pages of old Froissart.  It is with unaffected feeling that I recall his memory and hang before it my humble wreath of immortelles.

In camp our army experienced much suffering and loss of strength.  Drawn almost exclusively from rural districts, where families lived isolated, the men were scourged with mumps, whooping-cough, and measles, diseases readily overcome by childhood in urban populations.  Measles proved as virulent as smallpox or cholera.  Sudden changes of temperature drove the eruption from the surface to the internal organs, and fevers, lung and typhoid, and dysenteries followed.  My regiment was fearfully smitten, and I passed days in hospital, nursing the sick and trying to comfort the last moments of many poor lads, dying so far from home and friends.  Time and frequent changes of camp brought improvement, but my own health gave way.  A persistent low fever sapped my strength and impaired the use of my limbs.  General Johnston kindly ordered me off to the Fauquier springs, sulphur waters, some twenty miles to the south.  There I was joined and carefully nursed by a devoted sister, and after some weeks slowly regained health.

On the eve of returning to the army, I learned of my promotion to brigadier, to relieve General Walker, transferred to a brigade of Georgians.  This promotion seriously embarrassed me.  Of the four colonels whose regiments constituted the brigade, I was the junior in commission, and the other three had been present and “won their spurs” at the recent battle, so far the only important one of the war.  Besides, my known friendship for President Davis, with whom I was connected by his first marriage with my elder sister, would justify the opinion that my promotion was due to favoritism.  Arrived at headquarters, I obtained leave to go to Richmond, where, after an affectionate reception, the President listened to the story of my feelings, the reasons on which they were based, and the request that the promotion should be revoked.  He replied that he would take a day for reflection before deciding the matter.  The following day I was told that the answer to my appeal would be forwarded to the army, to which I immediately returned.  The President had employed the delay in writing a letter to the senior officers of the brigade, in which he began by stating that promotions to the grade of general officer were by law intrusted to him, and were made for considerations of public good, of which he alone was judge.  He then, out of abundant kindness for me, went on to soothe the feelings of these officers with a tenderness and delicacy of touch worthy a woman’s hand, and so effectually as to secure me their hearty support.  No wonder that all who enjoy the friendship of Jefferson Davis love him as Jonathan did David.

Several weeks without notable incident were devoted to instruction, especially in marching, the only military quality for which Southern troops had no aptitude.  Owing to the good traditions left by my predecessor, Walker, and the zeal of officers and men, the brigade made great progress.

With the army at this time was a battalion of three companies from Louisiana, commanded by Major Wheat.  These detached companies had been thrown together previous to the fight at Manassas, where Wheat was severely wounded.  The strongest of the three, and giving character to all, was called the “Tigers.”  Recruited on the levee and in the alleys of New Orleans, the men might have come out of “Alsatia,” where they would have been worthy subjects of that illustrious potentate, “Duke Hildebrod.”  The captain, who had succeeded to the immediate command of these worthies on the advancement of Wheat, enjoying the luxury of many aliases, called himself White, perhaps out of respect for the purity of the patriotic garb lately assumed.  So villainous was the reputation of this battalion that every commander desired to be rid of it; and General Johnston assigned it to me, despite my efforts to decline the honor of such society.  He promised, however, to sustain me in any measures to enforce discipline, and but a few hours elapsed before the fulfillment of the promise was exacted.  For some disorder after tattoo, several “Tigers” were arrested and placed in charge of the brigade guard.  Their comrades attempted to force the guard and release them.  The attempt failed, and two ringleaders were captured and put in irons for the night.  On the ensuing morning an order for a general court-martial was obtained from army headquarters, and the court met at 10 A.M.  The prisoners were found guilty, and sentenced to be shot at sunset.  I ordered the “firing party” to be detailed from their own company; but Wheat and his officers begged to be spared this hard duty, fearing that the “Tigers” would refuse to fire on their comrades.  I insisted for the sake of the example, and pointed out the serious consequences of disobedience by their men.  The brigade, under arms, was marched out; and as the news had spread, many thousands from other commands flocked to witness the scene.  The firing party, ten “Tigers,” was drawn up fifteen paces from the prisoners, the brigade provost gave the command to fire, and the unhappy men fell dead without a struggle.  This account is given because it was the first military execution in the Army of Northern Virginia; and punishment, so closely following offense, produced a marked effect.  But Major “Bob” Wheat deserves an extended notice.

In the early summer of 1846, after the victories of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, the United States Army under General Zachary Taylor lay near the town of Matamoros.  Visiting the hospital of a recently joined volunteer corps from the States, I remarked a bright-eyed youth of some nineteen years, wan with disease, but cheery withal.  The interest he inspired led to his removal to army headquarters, where he soon recovered health and became a pet.  This was Bob Wheat, son of an Episcopal clergyman, who had left school to come to the war.  He next went to Cuba with Lopez, was wounded and captured, but escaped the garrote to follow Walker to Nicaragua.  Exhausting the capacities of South American patriots to pronounce, he quitted their society in disgust, and joined Garibaldi in Italy, whence his keen scent of combat summoned him home in convenient time to receive a bullet at Manassas.  The most complete Dugald Dalgetty possible, he had “all the defects of the good qualities” of that doughty warrior.

Some months after the time of which I am writing, a body of Federal horse was captured in the valley of Virginia.  The colonel commanding, who had been dismounted in the fray, approached me.  A stalwart man, with huge mustaches, cavalry boots adorned with spurs worthy of a caballero, slouched hat, and plume, he strode along with the nonchalant air of one who had wooed Dame Fortune too long to be cast down by her frowns.  Suddenly Major Wheat, near by, sprang from his horse with a cry of “Percy! old boy!” “Why, Bob!” was echoed back, and a warm embrace was exchanged.  Colonel Percy Wyndham, an Englishman in the Federal service, had last parted from Wheat in Italy, or some other country where the pleasant business of killing was going on, and now fraternized with his friend in the manner described.

Poor Wheat!  A month later, and he slept his last sleep on the bloody field of Cold Harbor.  He lies there in a soldier’s grave.  Gallant spirit! let us hope that his readiness to die for his cause has made “the scarlet of his sins like unto wool.”

As the autumn of the year 1861 passed away, the question of army organization pressed for solution, while divergent opinions were held by the Government at Richmond and General Johnston.  The latter sent me to President Davis to explain his views and urge their adoption.  My mission met with no success; but in discharging it, I was made aware of the estrangement growing up between these eminent persons, which subsequently became “the spring of woes unnumbered.”  An earnest effort made by me to remove the cloud, then “no greater than a man’s hand,” failed; though the elevation of character of the two men, which made them listen patiently to my appeals, justified hope.  Time but served to widen the breach.  Without the knowledge and despite the wishes of General Johnston, the descendants of the ancient dwellers in the cave of Adullam gathered themselves behind his shield, and shot their arrows at President Davis and his advisers, weakening the influence of the head of the cause for which all were struggling.

Immediately after the birth of the Confederacy, a resolution was adopted by the “Provisional Congress” declaring that military and naval officers, resigning the service of the United States Government to enter that of the Confederate, would preserve their relative rank.  Later on, the President was authorized to make five appointments to the grade of general.  These appointments were announced after the battle of Manassas, and in the following order of seniority:  Samuel Cooper, Albert Sidney Johnston, Robert E. Lee, Joseph E. Johnston, and G.T.  Beauregard.

Near the close of President Buchanan’s administration, in 1860, died General Jesup, Quartermaster-General of the United States army; and Joseph E. Johnston, then lieutenant-colonel of cavalry, was appointed to the vacancy.  Now the Quartermaster-General had the rank, pay, and emoluments of a brigadier-general; but the rank was staff, and by law this officer could not exercise command over troops unless by special assignment.  When, in the spring of 1861, the officers in question entered the service of the Confederacy, Cooper had been Adjutant-General of the United States Army, with the rank of colonel; Albert Sidney Johnston, colonel and brigadier-general by brevet, and on duty as such; Lee, lieutenant-colonel of cavalry, senior to Joseph E. Johnston in the line before the latter’s appointment above mentioned; Beauregard, major of engineers.  In arranging the order of seniority of generals, President Davis held to the superiority of line to staff rank, while Joseph E. Johnston took the opposite view, and sincerely believed that injustice was done him.

After the grave and wondrous scenes through which we have passed, all this seems like “a tempest in a tea-pot;” but it had much influence and deserves attention.

General Beauregard, who about this time was transferred to the army in the West, commanded by Albert Sidney Johnston, was also known to have grievances.  Whatever their source, it could not have been rank; but it is due to this General a gentleman of taste to say that no utterances came from him.  Indiscreet persons at Richmond, claiming the privilege and discharging the duty of friendship, gave tongue to loud and frequent plaints, and increased the confusion of the hour.

As the year 1862 opened, and the time for active movements drew near, weighty cares attended the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia.  The folly of accepting regiments for the short period of twelve months, to which allusion has been made, was now apparent.  Having taken service in the spring of 1861, the time of many of the troops would expire just as the Federal host in their front might be expected to advance.  A large majority of the men were willing to reenlist, provided that they could first go home to arrange private affairs; and fortunately, the fearful condition of the country permitted the granting of furloughs on a large scale.  Except on a few pikes, movements were impossible, and an army could no more have marched across country than across Chesapeake bay.  Closet warriors in cozy studies, with smooth macadamized roadways before their doors, sneer at the idea of military movements being arrested by mud.  I apprehend that these gentlemen have never served in a bad country during the rainy season, and are ignorant of the fact that, in his Russian campaign, the elements proved too strong for the genius of Napoleon.

General Johnston met the difficulties of his position with great coolness, tact, and judgment; but his burden was by no means lightened by the interference of certain politicians at Richmond.  These were perhaps inflamed by the success that had attended the tactical efforts of their Washington peers.  At all events, they now threw themselves upon military questions with much ardor.  Their leader was Alexander H. Stephens of Georgia, Vice-President of the Confederacy, who is entitled to a place by himself.

Like the celebrated John Randolph of Roanoke, Mr. Stephens has an acute intellect attached to a frail and meagre body.  As was said by the witty Canon of St. Paul’s of Francis Jeffrey, his mind is in a state of indecent exposure.  A trained and skillful politician, he was for many years before the war returned to the United States House of Representatives from the district in which he resides, and his “device” seems always to have been, “Fiat justitia, ruat coelum.”  When, in December, 1849, the Congress assembled, there was a Whig administration, and the same party had a small majority in the lower House, of which Mr. Stephens, an ardent Whig, was a member; but he could not see his way to support his party’s candidate for Speaker, and this inability to find a road, plain mayhap to weaker organs, secured the control of the House to his political adversaries.  During the exciting period preceding “secession” Mr. Stephens held and avowed moderate opinions; but, swept along by the resistless torrent surrounding him, he discovered and proclaimed that “slavery was the corner-stone of the confederacy.”  In the strong vernacular of the West, this was “rather piling the agony” on the humanitarians, whose sympathies were not much quickened toward us thereby.  As the struggle progressed, Mr. Stephens, with all the impartiality of an equity judge, marked many of the virtues of the Government north of the Potomac, and all the vices of that on his own side of the river.  Regarding the military questions in hand he entertained and publicly expressed original opinions, which I will attempt to convey as accurately as possible.  The war was for principles and rights, and it was in defense of these, as well as of their property, that the people had taken up arms.  They could always be relied on when a battle was imminent; but, when no fighting was to be done, they had best be at home attending to their families and interests.  As their intelligence was equal to their patriotism, they were as capable of judging of the necessity of their presence with the colors as the commanders of armies, who were but professional soldiers fighting for rank and pay, and most of them without property in the South.  It may be observed that such opinions are more comfortably cherished by political gentlemen, two hundred miles away, than by commanders immediately in front of the enemy.

In July, 1865, two months after the close of the great war, I visited Washington in the hope of effecting some change in the condition of Jefferson Davis, then ill and a prisoner at Fortress Monroe; and this visit was protracted to November before its object was accomplished.  In the latter part of October of the same year Mr. Stephens came to Washington, where he was the object of much attention on the part of people controlling the Congress and the country.  Desiring his cooeperation in behalf of Mr. Davis, I sought and found him sitting near a fire (for he is of a chilly nature), smoking his pipe.  He heard me in severe politeness, and, without unnecessary expenditure of enthusiasm, promised his assistance.  Since the war Mr. Stephens has again found a seat in the Congress, where, unlike the rebel brigadiers, his presence is not a rock of offense to the loyal mind.