FIELD SERVICE IN VIRGINIA

It was toward the last of February, 1863, that the first order to move came. I had been down to the city and, returning about ten o'clock in the evening, not dreaming of any change from the usual order of things, was surprised to find all bustle and confusion, where a few hours before it had been quiet and serene. The regiment was to march at two o'clock in the morning, and preparations for departure were well under way. Three days' cooked rations and forty rounds of ammunition to the man were to be taken, the sick men and unserviceable horses to remain in camp, and the tents to remain standing as they were until our return. By this it appeared that it was to be a raid or reconnoissance, not a permanent change of station. Everyone was busy getting ready for the march. Rations were issued, cooked and put in the haversacks; ammunition was distributed and placed in the cartridge boxes; a small bag of oats was strapped to each saddle; horses were fed and the men took a midnight lunch. As for myself, I had the foresight to have a tin cup tied to the cantle of my saddle and, in addition to the cooked meat and hard bread, put into the saddle-bags some sugar, and a sack of coffee that my good mother had sent from home and which was received only a few days before. It was about as large as a medium-sized shot bag, and the coffee was browned and ground ready for use. I also took a supply of matches. These things were of inestimable value during the next few days.

Promptly at the appointed hour, two o'clock a.m., "boots and saddles" and "to horse" were sounded; twelve troops led their horses into line; twelve first sergeants called the roll, to which every man not excused from duty responded; and twelve troop commanders gave the order to mount; when the regiment, responsive to the bugle call, "forward," broke into column of fours, moved out into Fourteenth street and headed for Long Bridge. The night was dark and dismal. The rain began to fall. It was cold and raw, the air surcharged with moisture, chilling one to the marrow. But as the troopers wore gum coats or "poncho" blankets and top boots, they were measurably sheltered from the storm at the same time that they were exposed to it.

Down through the silent, slumbering city the multitudinous tread of the iron-shod horses awoke strange echoes, while the splashing rain-drops and lowering clouds did not serve to raise the spirits. It was an inauspicious beginning of active service, and typical of the many long and weary weeks of wet discomfort that the Sixth of Michigan was destined to experience before the summer solstice had fairly passed. The points of interest,—the public buildings, the white house, the massive Greek architecture of the Treasury building, the monument, all these as they glided like phantoms, through the mist, attracted scarcely a casual glance. Indeed, it is probable that few in that long column took note that these had passed at all, so deeply were they absorbed in the reflections that the time and circumstances produced.

Thus on to the Long Bridge that spans the great water highway between the Nation's Capital and the "Old Dominion." The tread of a thousand cavalry horses did not serve to shake its mile of solid superstructure. It seemed a long journey from one end to the other. Above, the scurrying clouds, below, the angry river, all around, the drizzling storm, it was a sorry scene; and a sullen welcome to the soil of Virginia, that was then as often before and afterwards, a slippery, sticky mud.

Halting at daylight, the column was reinforced a few miles out, by the Fifth Michigan cavalry. Resuming the march, the two regiments passed through Alexandria, looking with interest, of course, at the spot where the chivalric Ellsworth was shot the year before. What a dilapidated town, its whole face marred and scarred by the ravages of war!

It took till dusk to reach Centerville, and the rain never stopped long enough to catch its breath, but kept at it, all day long. Such a first night out as that was! The men slept, or rather stood in the rain all night for sleep was out of the question. No wood could be procured, so no fires were built and there was no hot coffee. It was a unique experience for cavalrymen and they had not yet learned how to forage. I wandered around in the rain and finally stumbled upon the quarters of some infantry officers who were stationed near and had a tent and a fire. They kindly permitted me to stay with them till morning. But for this, it seemed to me that I should have perished, though the sequel proved that it was possible to get through a worse night without food or shelter.

In the morning at six o'clock, three more regiments, the Fifth New York, the First Virginia, and the Eighteenth Pennsylvania, joined, and the force, thus augmented to about two thousand men, pushed on towards Warrenton, Sir Percy Wyndham in command. This officer was an Englishman, an alleged lord. But lord or son of a lord, his capacity as a cavalry officer was not great. He had been entrusted with one or two independent commands and was regarded as a dashing officer. He had no sooner assumed command of our force than he started off at a rapid pace through that part of Virginia that was between Washington and Falmouth—that is, in rear of Hooker's army, and where there was no enemy, unless it might have been small bands of guerrillas. During the day he charged through the town of Warrenton and a few confederate scouts coolly watched the column from the neighboring hills. They were well mounted and evidently did not fear capture. Indeed, no attempt was made to capture them, but away rode Wyndham, as if riding for a wager, or to beat the record of John Gilpin. He seemed bent on killing as many horses as possible, not to mention the men. The fact was the newspapers were in the habit of reporting that Colonel or General so-and-so had made a forced march of so many miles in so many hours, and it is probable that "Sir Percy" was in search of some more of that kind of cheap renown. It was a safe pastime, harmless to the enemy and not dangerous to himself, though hurtful to horse-flesh.

That night we camped beyond Warrenton and had the first taste of picket duty. My troop was sent out about a mile beyond the camp and kept on picket until morning. A line of videttes was posted along the front, and so keenly did the officers feel the responsibility, that they made no attempt to sleep but were in the saddle constantly. It would have been a smart confederate who could have surprised the Michiganders that night. Every faculty was on the alert. Often we fancied that an enemy was approaching the line; a foe lurked behind every tree and bush; each sound had an ominous meaning and the videttes were visited at frequent intervals to see if they had discovered anything. In that way the night passed. In the morning everybody was exhausted and, to make matters worse, many of the men ran short of provisions. Some of them had neglected to bring the amount ordered; others had been improvident and wasted their rations. So to the discomforts of cold and wet, were added the pangs of hunger. The little bag of coffee had proven a precious boon. Whenever the column would halt for a few minutes, and it was possible to find anything that would burn, a handful of the coffee was put into a tin cup of water and boiled. It was surprising how quickly this could be done, and the beverage thus brewed was "nectar fit for the gods." When the flavor of that coffee, as it tasted on that trip more than forty years ago, is recalled, it is with a smack of the lips. The bare remembrance is more grateful to the palate than is the actual enjoyment of the most delicate product of the culinary art today.

There were times early in the war when spirits were issued to the soldiers as an army ration. Though personally I never took a drop of liquor when on duty during the entire of my army service, yet I am confident that there were times when a reasonable amount of stimulant was a good thing. Indeed, there were times when a man was a fool if he did not take it, assuming that he could get it. Coffee was, however, a very good substitute, and to the credit of the government be it said the coffee issued to the Union troops was almost invariably of excellent quality. They always had it and plenty of it. Such a solace as it was! There was nothing like it. On the march, when there was a temporary halt, a thousand fires would quickly blaze alongside the weary column, and a thousand tin cups would soon be steaming with the fragrant and delicious beverage. Veterans could build a fire and make a cup of coffee almost as quickly, and under as discouraging environments, as the traditional Irishman can light his pipe. It seemed to be done by magic, and there was no time and no place where the cup of coffee was not welcome and appreciated.

There is a song, much affected by members of the Grand Army of the Republic. It is styled "The Army Bean." I could never quite make out whether it was not intended as a burlesque. There may be enough of sentiment attached to the army bean to entitle it to the honor of being immortalized in song, but to me it was an abomination, less poetic in name and association than the proverbial "sow-belly" bacon, so dear to the heart of the soldier.

Why does not some poet, filled with the divine afflatus, sing the praise of the army tin cup and its precious contents—the fragrant coffee of the camp, and march, and bivouac? Ambrosial nectar fit for the gods. The everyday and grateful beverage of heroes. Here is a theme for some modern Horace, as inspiring as the fruity and fragrant wine of which his ancient namesake so eloquently sang. I doubt if the red wine of the Horatian odes was more exhilarating to the Roman legionary than the aroma from his tin cup to the soldier of the Union.

Oh, brimming, steaming, fragrant cup! Never-failing friend of the volunteer! His solace in fatigue, and his strength in battle. To thee, I sing.

To resume the story at the point at which this digression left it: On the day following the night tour of picket duty, after having ridden from one o'clock in the morning till after eight o'clock in the evening, and the march not yet ended, I became so famished that a piece of raw fat pork was devoured with more relish than ever before I had eaten an orange. Our valiant commander, finding that morning that rations and forage were both exhausted, started for Falmouth, the nearest point at which supplies could be obtained. Late that Saturday night we bivouaced with the camp fires of Hooker's army all around. But no forethought had been taken; no rations were drawn or issued; no wood was supplied; and after three days' ride through the rain, many not having had a morsel of food for twenty-four hours, the entire command was forced to lie on the ground, in pools of water, in the midst of a drenching rain without food, or fire, or shelter of any kind whatever. It was dreadful, and the experiences of that night are recalled even now with a shudder. It was like lying down in the middle of a river. There was no place big enough to spread a blanket, where there was not a puddle of water, and, all the time, the rain fell pitilessly, in torrents. The solace of hot coffee was denied, for there was no fuel. Food was gone. The minutes were hours. While hunger gnawed at the vitals, a clammy chilliness seized upon one, making him feel as if every vital organ was in a state of congestion. How daylight was longed for, and soon after the first streaks of dawn began to appear, I deserted my watery couch and made straight across the country toward some infantry camps, and actually hugged every fragment of an ember that could be found. After a while I found some soldiers cooking coffee. One of them was taking a cup off the fire for his breakfast. I asked him for a drink which he surlily refused.

"How much will you take for all there is in the cup?" said I.

He did not want to sell it, but when I took out a half dollar and offered it to him, he took it and gave up the coffee, looking on with astonishment, while I swallowed it almost boiling hot and without taking breath. This revived me, and soon after, I found a place where a meal consisting of ham, eggs, bread and coffee, was served for a big price and took about a dollar's worth for breakfast.

By eight o'clock, rations and forage were drawn and issued and men and horses were supplied with the much needed food. All of Sunday was spent in Falmouth and the "fresh" cavalrymen took a good many observations as to how real soldiers conducted and took care of themselves.

Monday morning Sir Percy started by the nearest route, via Acquia Creek, Stafford Court House and Fairfax, for Washington, arriving there at eight o'clock Tuesday evening, having been absent just six days, accomplishing nothing. It was a big raid on government horses, ruining a large number. Beside that, it made many men ill. It was a good thing though, after all. The men had learned what campaigning meant and, thereafter, knew how to provide themselves for a march, and how important to husband their rations so as to prevent waste at first and make them last as long as possible.

Some idea of the damage done to horses by such raids as that of Sir Percy Wyndham, may be gained from the morning reports of officers on the day after the return to camp in Washington. I find that out of eighty horses in my troop only twenty were fit for duty, part of which had been left in camp and did not accompany the expedition. However, they quickly recuperated, and on the eleventh of March following, we were off into Virginia once more, this time bringing up at Fairfax Court House, where we remained a week, encamping by the side of the First Michigan, Fifth New York, and several other veteran regiments, from whom by observation and personal contact, much information was gained that proved of great value during the following months.

In the meantime, the camps in Washington were broken up and all the regiments were sent across the Potomac. A division of cavalry was organized, consisting of two brigades. Wyndham was sent to Hooker and Julius Stahel, a brigadier general who had been serving in Blenker's division, of Sigel's corps, in the army of the Potomac, was assigned to command of all the cavalry in the Department of Washington, with headquarters at Fairfax Court House.

Stahel was a Hungarian, and it was said had been on the staff of Kossuth in the Hungarian army. He was a "dapper little Dutchman," as everybody called him. His appearance was that of a natty staff officer, and did not fill one's ideal of a major general, or even a brigadier general by brevet. He affected the foreign style of seat on horseback, and it was "as good as a show" to see him dash along the flank of the column at a rattling pace, rising in his stirrups as he rode. I have always believed that had he remained with the Third Cavalry division long enough to get into a real charge, like the one at Gettysburg, he would have been glad enough to put aside all those "frills" and use his thighs to retain his seat in the saddle while he handled his arms. He took great pride in his messing arrangements and gave elegant "spreads" to invited guests at his headquarters. I was privileged to be present at one of these dinners and must say that he entertained in princely style. His staff were all foreigners, and would have been "dudes," only there were no "dudes" in those days. Dudes were types of the genus homo evolved at a later period. They were dandies and no mistake, but in that respect had no advantage over him, for he could vie in style with the best of them. One member of his staff was a Hungarian who answered to the name of Figglemezzy, and only the other day I read a notice of his death recently in New York. Stahel is still living—one of the very few surviving major generals of the civil war.[7]

It is a pity we did not have a chance to see Stahel in a fight, for I have an idea he was brave, and it takes away in an instant any feeling of prejudice you may have against a man on account of his being fussy in dress, when you see him face death or danger without flinching. Fine clothes seem to fit such a man, but upon one who cannot stand fire they become a proper subject for ridicule. Custer with flashing eye and flowing hair, charging at the head of his men, was a grand and picturesque figure, the more so by reason of his fantastic uniform, which made him a conspicuous mark for the enemy's bullets, but a coward in Custer's uniform would have become the laughing stock of the army. So Stahel might, perhaps, have won his way to confidence, had he remained with the cavalry division which afterwards achieved fame under Kilpatrick and Custer but, at the first moment when there was serious work ahead for his command, he was relieved, and another wore the spurs and received the laurels that might have been his.

Leaving Washington at daylight, we went into camp about five miles out, expecting to remain there for a time, but had just time to prepare breakfast when an order came to report to Lieutenant Colonel Alger who, with the four largest troops in the regiment, was going off on an independent expedition. That evening we reached Vienna, a little town on the Loudoun railroad, where we found a small force, including two troops of the First Vermont cavalry, already on duty. This was our first acquaintance with the Green Mountain boys, and the friendship thus begun was destined to last as long as there was an enemy in arms against the Union. The First Vermont was sometimes referred to as the "Eighth Michigan," so close were the ties which bound it to the Michigan brigade. And they always seemed to be rather proud of the designation.

Assuming command of all the forces there, Colonel Alger informed us that General Stahel had information that the place was to be attacked that night and that we were there to defend it. Selecting a strong position on a hill, a camp was started, but no fires were allowed after dark. Vigilance was not relaxed, but no enemy appeared, and on the following day we went on a scout through all the region roundabout without encountering a single armed confederate. The air was full of rumors. Nobody could tell their origin. Fitzhugh Lee was a few miles away, coming with a big force. "Stonewall" Jackson had started on another raid, and any moment might see his gray "foot-cavalry" swarming into the vicinity. Such stories were poured into our ears at Vienna, but a couple of days' duty there demonstrated their falsity and we were hurried back to Fairfax Court House and sent off on a day and night march through the Loudoun Valley to Aldie, Middleburg and Ashby's Gap in the Blue Ridge mountains. Two entire regiments, the Fifth Michigan under Colonel Alger and the Sixth under Colonel Gray, went on this expedition, reaching Aldie at midnight, in a blinding snow-storm. Remaining out in it all night without shelter or fire, the next day we made a gallant "charge" through Middleburg, finding no enemy there but a few of Mosby's men who fled at our approach. During the day some of them were captured and one man of troop "C," Sixth was killed. It was evident that Lee's army, no portion of it, had begun a movement northward, and the two regiments returned to Fairfax, making a night march while the snow continued to fall and mud and slush made the going as bad as it could be. At two o'clock in the morning the column halted and an attempt was made to build camp-fires, but the logs and rails were so wet that they would not burn, and all hands stood around in the snow, stamping their feet and swinging their arms, in a futile effort to keep warm. The march was resumed at daylight. We were more comfortable when in the saddle, on the march, than during that early morning bivouac. It was possible to sleep, when snugly settled in the capacious McClellan saddles, but when dismounted, sleep was out of the question. There was no place to lie down and to stand in the snow only aggravated the discomfort. But when mounted, the men would pull the capes of their overcoats over their heads, drop their chins upon their breasts and sleep. The horses plodded along and doubtless were asleep too, doing their work as a somnambulist might, walking while they slept.

Soon thereafter, Colonel Alger with five troops (troop "B," commanded by Captain Peter A. Weber, having been added to the four that were with him at Vienna) was sent to a place called "Camp Meeting Hill," where a camp was established that proved to be a permanent one. At least, we remained there until Hooker's army moved northward. This was a delightful place. The tents were pitched in a grove of large timber on a piece of ground that was high and dry, sloping off in every direction. It was by the side of the pike running south from Vienna, two miles from that place, close to the Leesburg pike and the Loudoun railroad. A semi-circular line of pickets was established in front of Washington, the right and left resting on the Potomac, above and below the city respectively. Our detachment guarded the extreme right of the line. Colonel Gray was five miles to the left, with the remainder of the Sixth, and the Fifth still farther away in that direction. About two miles in front of our camp ran the "Difficult" Creek, a small, deep stream with difficult banks, that rises somewhere in the Bull Run country, and empties into the Potomac near the Great Falls above Washington. A line of videttes was posted along this creek. An enemy could not easily surprise them, as the stream was in their front. Well out toward this line from the main camp, two reserves were established, commanded by captains, and still farther out smaller reserves, under charge of the lieutenants and sergeants. Each troop had a tour of this duty, twenty-four hours on and forty-eight off. The "off" days were given to reading, writing and exploring the country on horseback.

It was a charming region, not much desolated by the war, being rather out of the beaten track of the armies. Parties of officers often used to take a run across country to Gray's camp, clearing fences and ditches as they went. In these expeditions, Colonel Alger was always the leader with Captain Weber a close second. On one of these gallopades, he and Weber, who were riding in advance, cleared a stream full of water and about eight or nine feet wide, but when I tried to follow, my horse jumped into instead of across the ditch, the water coming up to the saddle-girths. The two lucky horsemen on the other side halted and had a good laugh at my expense while steed and I were scrambling out the best way we could. My horse was a noble fellow and jumped with all his might when called upon, but lacked judgment, and would leap twice as high as was necessary, while falling short of making his distance. He rarely failed at a fence, but ditches were a source of dread to horse and man.

The Difficult Creek duty was a sort of romantic episode in our military experience—a delightful green oasis in the dry desert of hard work, exposure, danger and privation. Many pleasant acquaintances were made and time passed merrily. Just across the pike was a spacious farm house, occupied by a family who were staunch unionists, and who had been made to pay well for their loyalty when the confederates were in the neighborhood. It was said that Lord Fairfax, the friend of Washington, had at one time lived there. The place had about it an air of generous hospitality that would have become Colonial days. The officers were always welcomed, and it was a favorite resort for them when off duty, partly because the people were unionists, and partly for the reason that there were several very agreeable young ladies there. One of these, who lived in Connecticut, was the fiancee of a captain in the First Vermont cavalry, whose command was stationed there. Another was at home and it may be surmised that these ladies received the assiduous attentions of half a score, more or less, of the young fellows, who proved themselves thorough cavaliers in gallantry as well as in arms. There was no day when the two ladies might not be seen under the escort of half a dozen cavalrymen, exploring the country on horseback. On all these excursions Weber, handsome as he was brave, was a leading spirit, and succeeded in captivating the ladies with the charm of his manners, his good looks, his splendid horsemanship and his pleasing address. It was enough to make one forget the mission that brought him into the South to see him with two or more ladies by his side galloping gaily over the magnificent roads for which that part of Virginia was remarkable. Then there were picnics, lunches, dancing parties and other diversions to fill in the time. Once one of these parties ventured across the Difficult Creek and rode "between the lines," going as far as Drainesville—eight miles distant—in Mosby's own territory. When the lieutenant colonel commanding learned of this, he reprimanded the officers concerned for what he was pleased to term an act of "foolhardiness."

While stationed at this place one of the young officers was taken ill with fever, and our friends across the way had him brought to the house, where everything that good nursing and kind attention could suggest was done for him. He was reported very ill and the surgeon said that he was threatened with typhoid fever. A day or two after his removal to the house, I called upon him expecting to find him very low. What was my surprise, on being ushered into a spacious, well-furnished apartment, to find him propped up on a bed, with a wealth of snowy pillows and an unmistakable look of convalescence, while two good-looking ladies sat, one on either side of his couch, each holding one of his hands in hers, while he was submitting to the "treatment" with an air of undisguised resignation. It may be noted that this was before the days of "Christian Science." I felt no anxiety about him after that, and returning immediately to camp, wrote to his father stating that if he should hear any rumors that his son was not doing well, to place no reliance upon them, for he was doing very well indeed. This young officer had the good fortune to survive the war, and is still living.

During the sojourn at Difficult Creek Governor Blair visited the camp. He rode over in the morning on horseback and made an odd-looking appearance in his citizen's suit and well-worn silk hat. He remained all day, made a speech to the soldiers and after supper took an ambulance and was escorted by Colonel Alger and myself back to Washington, fourteen miles away. It was a very enjoyable and memorable ride. The war governor was full of anecdote and a good talker and his companions listened with the liveliest interest to what he had to say about Michigan, her people and her soldiers. He was very solicitous about the welfare of the troops, and impressed one as an able, patriotic man, who was doing all he possibly could to hold up the hands of the government and to provide for the Michigan men in the field. We left him at the National hotel and early the next morning returned to our posts of duty.

About this time, rumors were rife of a projected movement of Lee's army northward. Washington and Alexandria alternated in spasms of fear. Twice, what seemed like well-authenticated reports came from the former place that Stuart had passed through our lines. Chain Bridge was torn up and all the negroes in Alexandria were out digging rifle-pits. Our force was captured repeatedly (without our knowledge) and awful dangers threatened us, according to Washington authority. These, and many other equally false reports filled the air. They were probably the result of logical inferences from the actual situation. The time had arrived when active hostilities must soon begin, and what more natural than to suppose that Lee would inaugurate the fray by another invasion of the North? Among the letters that I wrote to my parents about that time one or two were preserved, and under date of June 1, 1863, I wrote to my mother a note, the following extract from which will serve to show that there was in our minds a sort of prophetic intuition of what was going to happen. Referring to the false rumors that were not only coming to our ears from these various sources, but even appearing in the Northern papers, I said:

Three weeks after the date of that letter, Hooker's army was in motion to head off Lee, who had started to do the very thing thus hinted at, and there was not a soldier in the federal army of Virginia who did not feel, if he gave the matter any thought, that the confederate chief had made a fatal mistake, and rejoice at the opportunity to meet him, since meet him we must, outside his intrenchments and the jungles of Virginia. That Stahel's men were willing to do their part was proven by their conduct in the campaign that followed.

Early in June a thing happened that brought a feeling of gloom into the little camp. Colonel Norvell of the Fifth having resigned, the officers of that regiment united in a petition to the governor to appoint an outsider to the vacancy. Governor Blair selected Lieutenant Colonel Alger. Indeed, that was probably part of his business on the occasion of his recent visit. Colonel Alger was ordered to report immediately for duty with his new command, and left, taking with him the hearty congratulations and good wishes of all his comrades of the Sixth. But their regret at losing him was profound. They did not know how to spare him. It gave him more rank and a larger field of usefulness. Major Thaddeus Foote assumed command of the detachment.

This reference to the Fifth reminds me of Noah H. Ferry and a night ride in his company, about the time of Colonel Alger's promotion. I had been over to Colonel Gray's camp with some message to him from Colonel Alger, and meeting Major Ferry, who was field officer of the day, he said he was to start that night and inspect the entire picket line of the brigade, about fourteen or fifteen miles long and invited me to accompany him. He would reach the Difficult outpost in the morning, making an all night ride. I gladly accepted the invitation, both for the ride and to see the country. Major Ferry then in his prime, was a strong, vigorous, wholesome-looking man, with a ruddy complexion and bright eye, a man of excellent habits and correct principles. He told me that night what sacrifices he had made to go into the army. His business had cleared that year, $70,000, and with the right sort of management ought to go on prosperously. His leaving it had thrown the entire burden, his work as well as their own, upon the shoulders of his brothers. He had everything to make life desirable,—wealth, social position, youth, health,—there was nothing to be desired, yet he felt it to be his duty to give it all up to enter the service of his country. He talked very freely of his affairs, and seemed to be weighing in the balances his duty to himself and family. His patriotic feelings gained the mastery, however, every time, and he talked earnestly of the matter,—protesting that our duty to the government in its sore strait ought to outweigh all other considerations. It was clear that a struggle had been going on in his mind, and that he had resolutely determined to go on and meet his fate, whatever it might be, and when he was killed a few weeks afterwards at Gettysburg, I recalled the conversation of that night and wondered if he had not a presentiment of his coming fate, for he seemed so grave and preoccupied, and profoundly impressed with a sense of the great sacrifice he was making. A soldier neither by profession nor from choice, he wore the uniform of the Union because he could not conscientiously shirk the duty he felt that he owed the government, and relinquished fortune, home, ambition, life itself, for the cause of the Union.

Some time about the middle of June, the picket line was taken up. Major Foote's detachment was ordered to report to Colonel Gray, and Stahel's division was concentrated at Fairfax Court House. The rumors of the movements of armies had become realities. Lee was in motion. The army of Northern Virginia was trying to steal a march on its great adversary. Long columns of gray were stealthily passing through the Shenandoah Valley to invade the North, and to be on hand to help the farmers of Pennsylvania and Maryland reap their golden harvests.

But the alert federal commander, gallant "Fighting 'Joe' Hooker," was not caught napping. Lee did not escape from Fredericksburg unobserved. The army of the Potomac cavalry was sent to guard the passes in the mountains and see to it that Jackson's and Longstreet's maneuvers of the previous summer were not repeated, while six corps of infantry marched leisurely toward the fords of the Potomac, ready to cross into Maryland as soon as it should appear that Lee was actually bent on invasion of Northern soil. Hooker's opportunity had come and he saw it. For Lee to venture into Pennsylvania, was to court destruction. All felt that, and it was with elastic step and buoyant spirits, that the veterans of Williamsburg and Fair Oaks, of Antietam and Chancellorsville, kept step to the music of the Union, as they moved toward the land where the flag was still honored, and where they would be among friends. All the troops in the Department of Washington were set in motion by Hooker as soon as he arrived where they were. His plan was to concentrate everything in front of Lee, believing that the best way to protect Washington was to destroy the confederate army. Stahel was ordered to report to General Reynolds, who commanded the left grand division of Hooker's army, and who was to have the post of honor, the advance, and to lose his life while leading the vanguard of the federal army in the very beginning of the battle of Gettysburg. Thus it happened that we were at last, part and parcel of that historic army whose fame will last as long as the history of heroic deeds and patriotic endeavor.

Hooker's policy did not coincide with the views of the slow and cautious Halleck, and so the former resigned, thus cutting short a career of extraordinary brilliancy just on the eve of his greatest success. It was a fatal mistake for Hooker. I have always believed that, had he remained in command, the battle of Gettysburg would have been the Appomattox of the Civil War. Such an opportunity as was there presented, he had never had before. Even in the wilderness around Chancellorsville, where his well laid plans miscarried through no fault of his own, he was stopped only by a series of accidents from crushing his formidable adversary. The dense woods prevented the cooperation of the various corps; the audacity of Jackson turned defeat for Lee into temporary victory; and to crown this chapter of accidents, Hooker himself was injured so as to be incapacitated for command, at the very moment when quick action was indispensable.

Now the conditions were changed. Jackson, the ablest of all the confederate generals, was dead, and the army of the Potomac, greatly reinforced, was to meet the army of Northern Virginia, materially weakened, where they could have an open field and a fair fight. Every step that Hooker had taken, from the time when he broke camp in Falmouth until he, in a fit of disgust at Halleck's obstinacy, tendered his resignation at Frederick, Maryland, had shown a comprehensive grasp of the situation that inspired the whole army with confidence. The moment that Lee decided to fight the army of the Potomac on grounds of its own choosing, and to fight an offensive battle, he was foredoomed to defeat, no matter who commanded the federal army. Hooker possessed the very qualifications that Meade lacked—the same fierce energy that characterized Sheridan—the ability to follow up and take advantage of a beaten enemy. With Hooker in command, Gettysburg would have been Lee's Waterloo.

Sunday, June 21, heavy cannonading in the direction of the passes in the Blue Ridge mountains, proclaimed that the battle was raging. Pleasanton's cavalry had encountered Stuart and Fitzhugh Lee at Middleburg and a fierce engagement resulted. Our division left Fairfax at an early hour, and all supposed that it would go towards the sound of battle. Not so, however. Stahel, with as fine a body of horse as was ever brought together, marched to Warrenton, thence to Fredericksburg, scouting over the entire intermediate country, encountering no enemy, and all the time the boom of cannon was heard, showing plainly where the enemy was. We were out three days on this scout, going to Kelly's Ford, Gainesville, Bealton Station, and traversing the ground where Pope's battle of the Second Bull Run was fought, returning by the most direct route to the right of Warrenton. The march was so rapid that the trains were left behind and a good portion of the time we were without forage or food. The horses were fed but once on the trip. Rains had fallen, laying the dust, the weather was charming and it was very enjoyable. One road over which we passed was lined with old cherry trees of the "Black Tartarian" and "Morello" varieties, and they were bowing beneath their loads of ripe and luscious fruit with which the men supplied themselves by breaking off the limbs. We passed over much historic ground and were greatly interested in the points where the armies had contended at different times.

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Route of the Michigan Cavalry Brigade in the Gettysburg Campaign