On the War Path. A journey over the historic grounds of the late Civil War

Preface

. I do not write books for a living. This statement will be no less gratifying to the reading public than it is to myself. For some years, I have been a Washington news-gath erer, trained to telegraph special facts to the press in the feAvest possible words. Recently becoming one of the grand army of office seekers, I have availed myself of some of the abundant leisure always afforded these gentlemen, to jot down, in the form of personal reminiscences, some of the actual experiences and incidents coming under my observation, which have never been printed in the news papers, and which are herewith submitted without any pre tense to literary embellishment. The only motive that prompts me to this work springs from an honest and sincere desire to put in permanent form, for the master-builder or future historian, some straws that may be used in the mortar that cements the coming monumental history of this period.

It Avill be apparent to the most casual reader that, in telling so many things that are sure to displease, the writer must at least be trying to be truthful, even at the sacrifice or at the expense of judgment or'discretion. Nor has there been any feeling of bitterness or resent fulness; not even the slightest disposition to "get even" with anybody. I confess, however, to an inborn inability to obey the scriptural injunction to turn the other cheek. And, though enjoying the reputation of an inoffensive cit. izen, it is my nature, without much regard to consequences, to strike back at any one Avho may attack.

PREFACE.

. Mr. Blaine, with whom I have had the distinguished honor of a long personal acquaintance, when I applied to him for a United States consulate, very kindly said to me that he intended to do something in that direction, his only difficulty being in finding a suitable place, or, as he put it: "We have more pegs than holes to put them in; but I'll find a hole some place in which to stick you." I had faith in the promise, and waited some time for my turn. He religiously kept his word and found a hole. I was nominated by the President as United States Consul to an important port at the mouth of the Amazon River, in the new Republic of Brazil, the object, as the Secretary said, being to afford me facilities for writing up for a press syndicate the possibilities of business for Amer ican manufacturers in Central and South America.

Dur ing my absence from the city, the newspaper-row ring of Washington insidiously attempted to defeat my confirma tion, by resorting to some of their usual underhand tactics. Their animus will become apparent to the reader of these pages, and needs no further comment. However, the Senate, after hearing their false statements, fully endorsed me by confirmation, and then, for the first time since my enlistment as a soldier, I subscribed to the oath, received a parchment, and again became a servant of the Govern ment. The Authob. Washington, D. C, July 23, 1890. THIS is not a War Story— I succeeded in publishing one* in which I told every thing that I knew about the war — and more too — and have, in consequence, a double-edged appreciation of that proverbial aphorism of Job's, "My desire is * * * that mine adversary had written a book."

That venture in book-making on the war question induced the belief that war Avriters find their principal adversaries in the ranks of comrades, where they expected friends. Probably any statement of minor army experience, however well fortified by official record and the testimony of surviving witnesses, is liable to be disputed, or at least provoke controversy. Instead of "fighting them over" in a spirit of fraternity and charity, we fight over them, too often Avith a feeling of bitterness and resentment. This substantially true narrative of some of the actual experiences of a boy during the rebellion served to bring forth hundreds of pleasant testimonials from influential sources, establishing every important statement of fact, as Avell as some positiA'e denials and numerous corrections.

The singular fact Avas demonstrated that the fiction Avas almost universally accepted as truth, while the actual experiences were disputed. In some instances voluntary * "The Boy Spy," by J. 0. Kerbey. corroboration was tendered for minor events that did not occur at all. Through this source, attention was directed to numerous disputed historical events, and much valuable infor mation furnished which tended to throw new light on old subjects. With a view of further developments, the author of "The Boy Spy" recently undertook another scout in Dixie, visiting all the important points on the war trail from Fortress Monroe via the Peninsula to Richmond and Fredericksburg, interviewing, as a newspaper scout, a great number of ex-Confederates, who unconsciously gave some interesting testimony from the "other side" that has not heretofore been made public.

Our own side has been somewhat overdone. From Fredericksburg the writer drove, in a buggy, over the exact ground coA-ered oy the Army of the Potomac in its historic march to Gettysburg, in 1863, accompanied by an artist and a photograph outfit. We traveled for days via the upper fords of the Rap pahannock to Manassas and Ball's Bluff, thence over the Potomac at Point of Rocks to Frederick, Antietam, South Mountain, Gettysburg, etc. It is of this recent scout, through the enemy's country for later information, that we propose to tell in this bro chure, and perhaps relate some interesting stories gathered en route from all residents as to their experiences and remembrances of those "unforgotten days." That the reader who may accompany us on this trip should have a better understanding of its purport, it seems necessary to briefly make a resume of the preceding publication.

Fully conscious of the appropriateness of the comment of Disraeli, that the author who speaks of his own book is almost as bad as the mother who talks of her own baby, I venture to offer the review of the official journal of the Military Service Institution, New York, January, 1890, so ably conducted by a gallant cavalry officer, who has, in these days of peace, wielded his pen, as a military author, with as much honor and credit to himself and his country as he did his sword in times of war. I beg to present my army father and captain, under whom the Boy Spy served at the front in the famous 2d United States Cavalry, Gen. T. F. Rodenbaugh, now a retired general, well known in military as well as in literary circles, and who is probably better qualified in every way to speak a word for me than any of the other many kind friends who have tendered their good words and wishes.

I have not had the pleasure of meeting my dear old captain since the war, but his kindly letters, bearing the 2d Cavalry motto, " Toujours Pret," are always most wel come. " The war for the Union is remarkable above all human conflicts for the number of pens that have sought to pre serve its history. Realizing, as it seems, that the materi als — the bricks and the mortar — must be gathered together before the master-builder can begin his work upon the great historical edifice, each soldier has brought forward his 'own story' of skirmish, or battle, or campaign, and in imagination lays it at the feet of the coming Homer who shall immortalize American valor. One of the latest and most important of these ' literary bricks ' is ' The Boy Spy ' — a title hardly worthy of the mass of valuable information contained in its 500 pages; for it is not a juvenile work, nor does it consist of the lurid trash too often, under sim ilar caption, unloaded upon an indiscriminating commu nity.

Between its lines, descriptive of the author's personal experience, first as a wild youth rushing into the enemy's country from pure love of adventure, and afterward taking his own life in his hands as an experienced soldier and scout, may be read the shaping of the policy of a great government; the slow aAvakening of a great people to the public danger; the rude methods at first resorted to in organizing masses of armed men, and the intrigues attend ing the appointment of their leaders; glimpses of the per sonality of Presidents Lincoln and Davis, cabinet minis ters, commanding generals of both armies, flag officers and legislators, in moments of perplexity or triumph, as words fell from their lips in the confidential atmosphere of the army telegraph offices, or under the strong excitement of the battle-field.

" Commencing his adventures with the first mutterings of the storm in 1861, and Avith the aim of winning his spurs by some deed of daring and special service to the Government, we find the ' Boy ' at the Confederate Capital, Montgomery, watching the gatherings and groAvth of the secession flame. Immediately after the fall of Sumpter, slipping through the lines in front of Fort Pickens with important information which undoubtedly prevented its capture; detained on board Admiral Porter's war vessel as a suspicious character, but eventually sent North as a friend of the Union; at once re-entering the enemy's country in Virginia. Imprisoned in the Old Cap itol — as he says — for no other offense than having fallen in love with a pretty little girl Avho Avore short skirts, low neck dresses, played the guitar sweetly and sang Dixie; Avho lived between the two armies at Fredericksburg.

Escaped, and Avas enlisted in the regular cavalry; detailed on special service before Fredericksburg, at Burnside's headquarters, and taking part in the Stoneman raid as a scout and expert telegrapher and signalist. "In Tennessee and Cumberland Gap. — A thrilling experience at Gettysburg. Mingling with leading Con federates at Richmond, and anon with senators at Wash ington. Unconsciously treading the tortuous, dangerous path of Andre and Nathan Hale, with the possibility of a long rope aud short shift at the end. "In the action of this true tale, the reader is reminded now of Defoe, then of Verne, and again of Charlie King, although it lacks the literary smoothness of those writers. " The author writes as he acted in war times — quickly and intuitively, as well as fearlessly, without much attention to grace of diction.

As he expresses it, he fires Ioav to hit the masses, and he calls a spade a spade. He builded better than he knew. Through the coarse web of priva tion, wounds and war, runs the silken thread of the tender passion, giving the story a touch of romance so often omitted, when our battles are fought o'er again in our dignified, grandsire moments. " Besides its historical data, this book contains interesting biographical material, especially regarding Abraham Lincoln, Jefferson Davis, Andrew Johnson, John Covode, Simon Cameron, Edwin M. Stanton, Ben Wade, Parson Brownlow, Generals Hancock, Howard, Fitz-John Porter, Doubleday, Burnside, Hooker, and the cavalry service of the1 Army of the Potomac." We tip our fatigue cap with grateful thanks; our old uniform bulges out with pride, as we request the General to please stand to one side 'till we fling another "literary brick " at the master-builder and " t'other fellows " who have been throwing mud and mortar.

Chapter II. Jf

the readers for the time being will individually consider themselves members of a " Travel Club," corresponding to the recent social gatherings organized for mutual entertainment, and, in imagination, accompany a congenial excursion party over this most historic ground in America — permitting me to act as guide — I shall esteem it a pleasant privilege, and endeavor to point out and de scribe the many interesting features, as we go along. The professional guide of Washington, who tenders tourists his valuable companionship at fifty cents per hour is usually fortified by a large brass breast-plate as a badge of his authority, in addition to the brass he carries in his face. My only license will be that granted by your kind indulgence, while I attempt to act as lecturer, for this personally-conducted tour.

We will swing our club around Washington one day, before carrying it to the front. As every tourist desires to see the White House first, we shall make that a starting point. The home of all the Presidents since Adams' day, has been pictured even in the school-books, so that it will be recognized by all, and a description is unnecessary. It is probably the only building remaining, that Avill be at all familiar to the old soldier. The magic hand that has so wonderfully transformed the city, has not yet soiled its white walls by the touch of modern improvement. 'Its tall, white pillars that seem to stand as ghostly sentries over the portals of the white sepulchered tomb of a long line of dead Presidents and buried ambitions, remind me of the early morning long ago, when I, as a solitary horseman, with uncovered head, was one of a feAV who witnessed the body of the assassinated Lincoln being borne through the gates.

The night previous, I had been roused from sleep by an order to take charge of a scouting party on the Ten nellytown, or Rockville Road, and arrest every person whatever might have been his representations, who should be found attempting to leave the city in that direction. I was then a Cavalry officer, detailed on special signal duty, and the order addressed to me was supplemented with the startling intelligence that an attempt had been made an hour previous to assassinate the President at Ford's Theater. The messenger did not understand that the shot had been fatal. After a night of restless anxiety in the saddle, scouring the country in the vicinity of Fort Reno — which is in the neighborhood of ex-President Cleveland's summer house, Oak View — being anxious as to the result, and with a nervous desire for later intelligence, in the early morn ing I galloped my horse across the northwest section, now occupied by the palatial residences of the ultra fashionable people, reaching this part of the avenue, just as the hearse turned into the west gate, followed only by those who had been at his bed-side, perhaps less than a dozen persons on foot, with heads uncovered.

Standing near the gate may be seen, perhaps, a greater ON THE WrAR-PATH. 15 number of points of historic memories than any where else in the city. In that plain-looking old-fashioned brick, well known as the Sickles-Key house, the wounded Secretary of State Seward, then resided. It is now the home of Secretary Blaine. His next door neighbor being Senator Don Cam eron. The corner house, for a long time the home of the famous Commodore Stephen Decatur, is now a club; diagonally opposite was Senator Sumner's bachelor home, now an annex of the Arlington. Close by is Zack Chand ler's, where, perhaps, the political campaigns were planned dining reconstruction days. The little adobe structure around the corner that looks so like a Spanish mission chapel, i3 the celebrated St. John's church, where it is said some of our Presidents were attendants because the rectors did not bother much about politics or religion, but are quite exacting as to the respect ability and endorsements of those seeking fellowship in that fold.

John Hay, the private secretary to Lincoln, built that elegant house on the next corner. Sandwiched between him and the philanthrophist banker, Corcoran, is one of the descendants of the Adams family. On the opposite of this little park in front of the White House, Avhich is said to contain a greater variety of shade trees than any other like area in America, is the plain-looking home of General Beale, where, it is said. Gen eral Grant walked over from the White House every morn ing to see his intimate friend. Near by was the home of Colfax. In fact the Avails of every house on all sides' of this square might tell some interesting stories. In the great review of 1865, it was my good fortune to be located on the east side directly under the window of the second house from the avenue at which the venerable General Winfield Scott was privately seated, with glass in hand, reviewing in retirement, the grand parade of a victorious army he once commanded.

It so happened that General Sherman, after refusing to shake hands Avith Sec retary Stanton in the grand stand, angrily mounted his horse Avith flushed face, dashed by us, and in attempting to force his way out of the crowd, created something of a sensation to the intense amusement of General Scott. iVhen the handsome Ouster at the head of his gallant cavalry men approached the reviewing stand, the salute of the drum corps frightened his wild horse, and becoming unmanageable, dashed past the assembled dignitaries at a run-away gait, his long hair streaming behind — Custer, notwithstanding the scare, saluted with his sword as they passed. But I might go on in a reminiscent strain adinfinitum. We Avill go around the corner and pay our respects to one of the last of the living heroes of the war, Admiral David D. Porter.

The gallant old Salt is always at home to a veteran and many needy shipmates leave his presence with substantial remembrances from the "old man," as "tars" will persist in terming their captain. He is quite well preserved, physically; and, perhaps, mentally, has done more work toward preserving the Naval history of the Avar, than all the other officers combined. He has a room fitted up in his house resembling a captain's ON THE AYAR-PATH. quarters aboard ship — the walls covered with books and charts, and the tables, around which are seated secretaries busy writing, are piled Avith papers. The Admiral recog nizes me as the " boy " aboard his ship at Pensacola, and in a jolly way expresses his regret that he had not thrown me overboard because I described my first impressions of his appearance as resembling a "model pirate with black whiskers and a devilish uncertain eye."

Though his black beard is now white, and his wicked eye somewhat dimmed, the Admiral preserves, in a remarkable degree, his old-time vigor. During my visit, desiring to show me a book of reference, he climbed upon a chair to reach a top shelf and jumped doAvn as lightly as a boy. Admiral Queen, who also remembers the boy very well, lives on the ultra fashionable avenue on which reside the Ambassadors of the Russian and British governments, as well as lesser foreign representatives, and here are located the two Naval statues to Farragut and Dupont. The one thing that will probably impress the old soldier of the Army of the Potomac, on revisiting the city, is a feeling of neglect and ingratitude toward the residents of the National Capital and especially of Congress, at the entire absence of any statue commemorating the valor and gallantry of the commanders of the Army of the Potomac.

The most available locations are now occupied by fitting tributes to Generals Thomas and McPherson and others of the Western armies. Perhaps the societies of the Army of the Potomac are responsible for the neglect. At Arlington, which may be seen from the rear of the White House, there sleep in their last sleep, an army of twenty thousand who died in defense of this Capitol. The only monument to these dead heroes being the stone erected to the memory of the 1,300 un known dead, whose bones were gathered from the battle fields in the surrounding country as ter the close of the war. Admission to the White House is accorded visitors at certain hours, though only to the East Room, which, in general appearance, somewhat resembles one of the large carpeted halls devoted to ice-cream parlors. In this his toric room have been gathered, in past years, perhaps a greater number of distinguished people than in any like area in the country.

It is probably safe to estimate that everybody, great or small, known to American history, as well as their families and friends, have, since the Adams administration, been in the East Room, as also distinguished visitors from other lands. It was my privilege, as a boy, to have attended Buchanan's last levee as well as Lincoln's first, and those of every President since. I may, perhaps, venture the opinion, from close observation, that the two Democratic ladies, Harriet Lane, of Pennsylvania, and Mrs. Cleveland, have been the most popular first ladies. Taking advantage of the license accorded a newspaper scout, Ave slip up-stairs and present to the pleasant Private Secretary Halford a card bearing this inscription and name, asking its presentation to the President, to secure an open sesame: ' ' A Federal and a Confederate soldier desire to pay respects to the President."

The courteous Secretary looks sharply at my companion, but takes the card in, returning with a smile, inviting us to the Library. This is the semi-circular room on the south side, directly in the center of the building, overlooking the Potomac, which the Presidents occupy as the offices where public business is transacted. We found probably a half-dozen persons seated in the room. Presi dent Harrison is standing by the window, his arm raised and fingers playing a tatoo on the glass, as he talks vigor ously to a certain Western senator, Avhose ignorance and arrogance are only exceeded by his money. With the pro verbial big ears, I overheard the President say, in tones so decided that I, as a newspaper man, should have felt rebuffed: " I tell you I Avon't do that, Senator, and I told Mr. the same."

When the senator attempted to discuss the subject further, the President deliberately turned his back and walked over toAvard " the next," which hap pened to be the Rebel and the Yankee. I had reported for a Western paper the President's debates on Dakota when in the Senate, and in this Avay became personally known to him. He shook hands and cordially greeted my Rebel friend, who Avas made to feel quite comfortable in the White House. The President Avas probably glad to see us, because we did not stay long. But Ave shall have to hurry along. As our time in Wash ington is so limited we will next go to the top of the monu ment. It takes but nine minutes for the elevator to travel the 500 feet, and upon that elevation we shall be able to see more in the ten minutes than in a day down below. ToAvard the north is the White House that resembles a tiny toy.

Beyond are the hills, Avhich Avere fortified during the war. With a glass the remains of Fort Stevens may be discerned. This is the point Early directed his raid on the city, when the 6th corps came up the river and dis couraged any further attempts in that direction. Lincoln stood on the parapet of the fort when the skirmish was going on. To the west is the Arlington National Ceme tery ; beyond may be seen, on a clear day, the heights of Centreville, with probably a distant view of Bull Run Mountains. To the south lies the beautiful Potomac, wind ing like a ribbon to the sea. Right below us one may get a proper idea of the magnitude of the importance of the reclaiming of the river flats. Close by is the Bureau of Printing and Engraving, where the paper money is manu factured. In the east lies the beautiful park, known as the Mall, extending in a broad expanse of luxuriant verdure to the Capitol Grounds a mile distant.

In this park are located the Agricultural Department and its experimental gardens, the Smithsonian Institute building, which is said to be the most graceful bit of architecture in the city. It looks quite ancient and foreign with its towers and gables, being covered Avith clinging ivy, adds very much to its attractiveness. In the rear of Smithsonian is the nucleus of the projected National Zoo Gardens, which are intended to preserve specimens of all American species. Close by is the National Museum. This is a centennial exposition someAvhat condensed. I am not considered a competent guide here. In fact I have been charged Avith purposely losing visiting friends in this place. It's simply immense and must be seen to be appreciated. The Medical Museum which adjoins is another inter esting place for those who like to see horrible things pre served in alcohol — bones, skeletons, plaster casts of war wounds, etc.

The Botanic Gardens contain everything in the Avay of flowers, and under its glass roof one may, in the depth of winter, imagine one's self in a tropical land. Hurrying along up Capitol Hill through this grand park we encounter a solitary tree on the South side groAV ing in the middle of the broad walk. This is known as the Henry Clay tree, and the Avoodman's ax spared it because old Simon Cameron, then a senator, threatened to shoot any one that would destroy the tree that Avas Clay's special admiration. On the east side of the Capitol, directly opposite the Senate, may be seen one of the old landmarks, the Old Capitol Prison once used as the Capitol and during the Avar famous as a prison for "suspects" — or disloyal sub jects. What wonderful stories these old Avails might reveal if they could but tell one-half of the sorrows and troubles that have been buried in their depths.

I never pass it without looking up to " My WindoAv " expecting to see the ghost of my former self looking out. I recently took a photograph of this building, and to those who may be curious as to the place, I shall be glad to supply copies to the club. It is soon to be torn down to make room for the new Supreme Court building which is to occupy this cite, corresponding to that of the new Congressional Library on the opposite square. The old building was remodeled into a block of fine residences, in one of which Senator Spooner, of Wisconsin, is now living. It is of course luxuriantly furnished, but I recently told the laughing Senator that I wouldn't sleep inside of his house. Nothing could ever efface from my mind the feelings that the very walls are permeated with the army " bug " that I know once infested its walls as numerously as grains of sand in the plaster on its Avails.

Belle Boyd whom I kneAv in Old Capitol Prison, recently wrote me in regard to identification. She is noAV lectur ing before G. A. R. Posts throughout the country on her experience as a Rebel Spy. Enclosing a photograph of herself disguised in the costume of a Confederate Cavalry officer. She wrote beneath it : " You see I pants for fame." There is no doubt of her identity, or of the fact that she did good service for the Confederates. The following is a copy of an autograph letter from Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy: " Libby, Penn., Feb. 25, 1889. " Dear Bny Spy. -Your letter was received amid the tumult of battle is my heart and head ever right— over my identification being mixed with Bell Starr's death, hence apology for delay in writing. I remember you in the old Capitol, as I recall you having rather curly hair, a slight mustache and dark blue eyes, rather a handsome fellow.

Am I right? And I remember Buxton, Frank Lacy Buxton, of Buxton Hall, England, our English friend. I will write you a letter at earliest leisure. "BELLE BOYD, REBEL SPY." A description of the Capitol building need not be attempted. Its magnificent proportions are familiar to every American through the illustrations in school books and histories. ON THE AA'AR-PATH. The grand stairway approaches to the Grecian portals of the Senate and House rotunda, on the eastern or real front, are seldom used. Instead of entering through the massive bronze doors, we will follow the crowd into the dungeon like passage beneath the grand steps, and grope our way in the dimly-lighted interior through the crypt to the rotunda. Here we will find seated in an arm-chair, on the south side, a fine-looking old gentleman, Avith gray hair but erect military bearing, in blue uniform, whose genial counte nance invites the tourist to propound questions.

This is my old friend, General P. H. Allabach, for a long time chief of the Capitol police force, Avho in his courteous way will detail you a suitable guide to the building, and relieve me of that tiresome duty. Because of a striking resemblance in personal appearance to Capt. Bassett, the familiar Sergeant-at-Arms of the Senate, these two officials are known as the Capitol Dromios. It would be difficult to find, however, any two persons wliOAvere more unlike in other respects. General Allabaugh is the veteran of two wars, and enjoys the distinguished honor of haviug personally led the last desperate onslaught of Burnside's army on Marye's Heights, during which he lost 700 men and had his horse killed. While quite undemonstrative and modest, the old hero has quite decided convictions on the war question as well as of matters of current events, and is not afraid to express an opinion when called upon.

When disorderly visitors or innumerable cranks, that are daily attracted to the building ON THE AVAR-PATH. under his charge, give his force too much trouble and annoy members, he does not hesitate in obeying orders, and fires them out unceremoniously. If he does not talk much, perhaps he thinks in a profane language sometimes. On the other hand, Sergeant-at-Arms Bassett, who en joys the same military title of Captain, has been an em ploye of the Senate for fifty-nine consecutive years, and in that time three wars have come and gone, which did not disturb for a day the serenity and repose' of this faithful government employe. He has also passed safely through all the administrations from the days of Polk. He has knoAvn by personal contact all the senators from Webster to the present, and been a witness on the Senate floor and in Executive Session to all the stirring events that have occurred in these years.