The Close of the American Civil War 1864

CLOSE OF THE CIVIL WAR.

    As the year 1864 wore towards its close, military events manifestly approached a climax. In 1861 the two armies were comparatively green. For obvious reasons, the advantage was on the side of the South. The South had so long been in substantial control at Washington that they had the majority of the generals, they had nearly all the arms and ammunition, and, since they had planned the coming conflict, their militia were in the main in better condition. But matters were different after three years. The armies on both sides were now composed of veterans, the generals had been tried and their value was known. Not least of all, Washington, while by no means free from spies, was not so completely overrun with them as at the first. At the beginning, the departments were simply full of spies, and every movement of the government was promptly reported to the authorities at Richmond. Three and a half years had sufficed to weed out most of these.

     In that period a splendid navy had been constructed. The Mississippi River was open from Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico. Every southern port was more or less successfully blockaded, and the power of the government in this was every month growing stronger.

    Strange as it may seem, the available population of the North had increased. The figures which Lincoln gave prove this. The loyal states of the North gave in 1860 a sum total of 3,870,222 votes. The same states in 1864 gave a total of 3,982,011. That gave an excess of voters to the number of 111,789. To this should be added the number of all the soldiers in the field from Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey, Delaware, Indiana, Illinois, and California, who by the laws of those states could not vote away from their homes, and which number could not have been less than 90,000. Then there were two new states, Kansas and Nevada, that had cast 33,762 votes. This leaves an increase for the North of 234,551 votes. It is plain that the North was not becoming exhausted of men.

     Nor had the manufactures of the North decreased. The manufacture of arms and all the munitions of war was continually improving, and other industrial interests were flourishing. There was indeed much poverty and great suffering. The financial problem was one of the most serious of all, but in all these the South was suffering more than the North. On the southern side matters were growing desperate. The factor of time now counted against them, for, except in military discipline, they were not improving with the passing years. There was little hope of foreign intervention, there was not much hope of a counter uprising in the North. It is now generally accepted as a certainty that, if the Confederate government had published the truth concerning the progress of the war, especially of such battles as Chattanooga, the southern people would have recognized the hopelessness of their cause and the wickedness of additional slaughter, and the war would have terminated sooner.

    In the eighth volume of the History by Nicolay and Hay there is a succession of chapters of which the headings alone tell the glad story of progress. These headings are: "Arkansas Free," "Louisiana Free," "Tennessee Free," "Maryland Free," and "Missouri Free."

In August Admiral Farragut had captured Mobile. General Grant with his veterans was face to face with General Lee and his veterans in Virginia. General Sherman with his splendid army had in the early fall struck through the territory of the Southern Confederacy and on Christmas day had captured Savannah. The following letter from the President again shows his friendliness towards his generals:

   "EXECUTIVE MANSION,
  WASHINGTON, December 26, 1864.

MY DEAR GENERAL SHERMAN:

    Many, many thanks for your Christmas gift, the capture of Savannah.

When you were about leaving Atlanta for the Atlantic, I was anxious, if not fearful; but feeling that you were the better judge, and remembering that 'nothing risked, nothing gained,' I did not interfere. Now, the undertaking being a success, the honor is all yours; for I believe none of us went further than to acquiesce.

    And taking the work of General Thomas into the count, as it should be taken, it is indeed a great success. Not only does it afford the obvious and immediate military advantages; but in showing to the world that your army could be divided, putting the stronger part to an important new service, and yet leaving enough to vanquish the old opposing force of the whole,—Hood's army,—it brings those who sat in darkness to see a great light. But what next?

I suppose it will be safe if I leave General Grant and yourself to decide.

Please make my grateful acknowledgment to your whole army—officers and men.

  Yours very truly,
   A. LINCOLN."

    The principal thing now to be done was the destruction of the Confederate army or armies in Virginia. That and that only could end the war. The sooner it should be done the better. Grant's spirit cannot in a hundred pages be better expressed than in his own epigram,—"I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." It did take all summer and all winter too, for the Confederates as well as the Federals had grown to be good fighters, and they were no cowards. They, too, were now acting on the defensive and were able to take advantage of swamp, hill, and river. This was an important factor. Grant had indeed captured two armies and destroyed one, but this was different.

    It needed not an experienced eye or a military training to see that this could only be done at a costly sacrifice of life. But let it be remembered that the three years of no progress had also been at a costly sacrifice of life. The deadly malaria of Virginia swamps was quite as dangerous as a bullet or bayonet. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers were taken to hospital cursing in their wrath: "If I could only have been shot on the field of battle, there would have been some glory in it. But to die of drinking the swamp water—this is awful!" The sacrifice of life under Grant was appalling, but it was not greater than the other sort of sacrifice had been. What is more, it accomplished its purpose. Inch by inch he fought his way through many bloody months to the evacuation of Richmond and the surrender of Lee's army at Appomattox, April 9, 1865. Then the war was over.

[Illustration: Grant's Campaign around Richmond.]

    The sympathies of the President were not limited to his own friends or his own army. The author is permitted to narrate the following incident—doubtless there were many others like it—which is given by an eye-witness, the Reverend Lysander Dickerman, D.D., of New York City:

     It was at Hatcher's Run on the last Sunday before the close of the war. A detachment of Confederate prisoners, possibly two thousand in all, had just been brought in. They were in rags, starved, sick, and altogether as wretched a sight as one would be willing to see in a lifetime. A train of cars was standing on the siding. The President came out of a car and stood on the platform. As he gazed at the pitiable sufferers, he said not a word, but his breast heaved with emotion, his frame quivered. The tears streamed down his cheeks and he raised his arm ("I don't suppose," commented the Doctor, "he had a handkerchief") and with his sleeve wiped away the tears. Then he silently turned, reentered the car which but for him was empty, sat down on the further side, buried his face in his hands, and wept. That is the picture of the man Lincoln. Little did the Southerners suspect, as they in turn cursed and maligned that great and tender man, what a noble friend they really had in him.

As the end came in sight an awkward question arose, What shall we do with Jeff Davis—if we catch him? This reminded the President of a little story. "I told Grant," he said, "the story of an Irishman who had taken Father Matthew's pledge. Soon thereafter, becoming very thirsty, he slipped into a saloon and applied for a lemonade, and whilst it was being mixed he whispered to the bartender, 'Av ye could drap a bit o' brandy in it, all unbeknown to myself, I'd make no fuss about it.' My notion was that if Grant could let Jeff Davis escape all unbeknown to himself, he was to let him go. I didn't want him." Subsequent events proved the sterling wisdom of this suggestion, for the country had no use for Jeff Davis when he was caught.

    Late in March, 1865, the President decided to take a short vacation, said to be the first he had had since entering the White House in 1861. With a few friends he went to City Point on the James River, where Grant had his headquarters. General Sherman came up for a conference. The two generals were confident that the end of the war was near, but they were also certain that there must be at least one more great battle. "Avoid this if possible," said the President. "No more bloodshed, no more bloodshed."

    On the second day of April both Richmond and Petersburg were evacuated. The President was determined to see Richmond and started under the care of Admiral Porter. The river was tortuous and all knew that the channel was full of obstructions so that they had the sensation of being in suspense as to the danger of torpedoes and other devices. Admiral Farragut who was in Richmond came down the river on the same day, April 4th, to meet the presidential party. An accident happened to his boat and it swung across the channel and there stuck fast, completely obstructing the channel, and rendering progress in either direction impossible. The members of the presidential party were impatient and decided to proceed as best they could. They were transferred to the Admiral's barge and towed up the river to their destination.

     The grandeur of that triumphal entry into Richmond was entirely moral, not in the least spectacular. There were no triumphal arches, no martial music, no applauding multitudes, no vast cohorts with flying banners and glittering arms. Only a few American citizens, in plain clothes, on foot, escorted by ten marines. The central figure was that of a man remarkably tall, homely, ill-dressed, but with a countenance radiating joy and good-will. It was only thirty-six hours since Jefferson Davis had fled, having set fire to the city, and the fire was still burning. There was no magnificent civic welcome to the modest party, but there was a spectacle more significant. It was the large number of negroes, crowding, kneeling, praying, shouting "Bress de Lawd!" Their emancipator, their Moses, their Messiah, had come in person. To them it was the beginning of the millennium. A few poor whites added their welcome, such as it was, and that was all. But all knew that "Babylon had fallen," and they realized the import of that fact.

     Johnston did not surrender to Sherman until April 26th, but Lee had surrendered on the 9th, and it was conceded that it was a matter of but a few days when the rest also would surrender. On Good Friday, April 14th,—a day glorious in its beginning, tragic at its close,—the newspapers throughout the North published an order of the Secretary of War stopping the draft and the purchase of arms and munitions of war. The government had decreed that at twelve o'clock noon of that day the stars and stripes should be raised above Fort Sumter. The chaplain was the Reverend Matthias Harris who had officiated at the raising of the flag over that fort in 1860. The reading of the psalter was conducted by the Reverend Dr. Storrs of Brooklyn. The orator of the occasion was the eloquent Henry Ward Beecher. And the flag was raised by Major (now General) Anderson, whose staunch loyalty and heroic defense has linked his name inseparably with Sumter.

T    he war was over and Lincoln at once turned his attention to the duties of reconstruction.

Abraham Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamtion

EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION.

Whereas, on the twenty-second day of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, a proclamation was issued by the President of the United States, containing, among other things, the following, to wit:—

That on the first day of January in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any state, or designated part of a state, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward and forever free, and the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.

That the Executive will, on the first day of January aforesaid by proclamation, designate the states and part of states, if any, in which the people thereof respectively shall then be in rebellion against the United States; and the fact that any state, or the people thereof, shall on that day be in good faith represented in the congress of the United States by members chosen thereto at elections wherein a majority of the qualified voters of such state shall have participated, shall, in the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such state and the people thereof are not then in rebellion against the United States:—

Now, therefore, I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, by virtue of the power in me vested as commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the United States, in time of actual armed rebellion against the authority of, and government of, the United States, and as a fit and necessary war measure for suppressing said rebellion, do, on this first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and in accordance with my purpose so to do, publicly proclaimed for the full period of one hundred days from the day first above mentioned, order, and designate, as the states and parts of states wherein the people thereof respectively are this day in rebellion against the United States [here follows the list].

And by virtue of the power and for the purpose aforesaid, I do order and declare that all persons held as slaves within said designated states and parts of states, are and henceforward shall be free; and that the executive government of the United States, including the military and naval authorities thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of said persons.

And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free, to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defense, and I recommend to them, that in all cases, when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages.

And I further declare and make known that such persons of suitable condition will be received into the armed service of the United States to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service.

And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of almighty God.

In Testimony whereof, I have hereunto set my name and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the city of Washington, this first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the Independence of the United States of America the eighty-seventh.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN.

By the President:
  WILLIAM H. SEWARD, Secretary of State.

So he fulfilled his youthful vow. He had hit that thing, and he had hit it hard! From that blow the cursed institution of slavery will not recover in a thousand years.

Union Soldiers Killed at Gettysburg

Union Soldiers Killed at Gettysburg

Union soldiers killed at Gettysburg from canister canon shot. The exact location on the battlefield is unknown.

Civil war Battle of Manassas or Bull Run

BATTLE OF MANASSAS, OR BULL RUN

                             Map of the Battle of Bull Run or Manassas

                                               Painting of the First Battle of Bull Run

       Before treating of future operations, I should note the situation of the Confederate contingents in the Shenandoah Valley and at Acquia Creek. The latter was ordered up to reinforce Beauregard as soon as the advance from Washington took definite shape, and arrived as a supporting brigade to his right on the 19th of July. At the same time orders were sent authorizing Johnston’s withdrawal from the Valley, to join with Beauregard for the approaching conflict. The use of these contingents was duly considered by both sides some days before the campaign was put on foot.

Opposing Johnston in the Valley was General Robert Patterson, of Philadelphia, a veteran of the war of 1812 and of the Mexican War, especially distinguished in the latter by the prestige of the former service. Johnston was a veteran of the Mexican War, who had won distinction by progressive service and was well equipped in the science of war. Beauregard and McDowell were also veterans of the Mexican War, of staff service, and distinguished for intelligent action and attainments, both remarkable for physical as well as mental power.

Between Johnston and Beauregard the Blue Ridge stretched out from the Potomac southwest far below the southern line of Virginia, cut occasionally by narrow passes, quite defensible by small bodies of infantry and artillery. Patterson was ordered to hold Johnston in the Valley, while McDowell should direct his strength against Beauregard. McDowell seems to have accepted that order as not only possible, but sure of success, while the Confederates viewed the question from the other side, in a reverse light, and, as will presently appear, with better judgment.

So far as it is possible to project a battle before reaching the field, it seems that McDowell had concluded upon the move finally made before setting out on his march from Washington. It was to give him an open field, with superior numbers and appointments, and when successful was to give him the approach to the base line of his adversary with fine prospects of cutting off retreat. His ride to view the approaches of the Confederate right on the morning of the 18th was made to confirm his preconceived plan. The reconnoissance made by Tyler on the same morning reinforced his judgment, so that the strategic part of the campaign was concluded on that morning, except as to the means to be adopted to secrete or mislead in his movement as long as possible, leaving, we may say, the result to tactical operations. But tactics is time, and more decisive of results than strategy when wisely adjusted.

Johnston was sixty miles away from Beauregard, but the delay of three days, for McDowell’s march via Sudley Springs, so reduced the distance in time and space as to make the consolidation easy under well-organized transportation facilities. Holmes’s brigade and six-gun battery were posted in rear of Ewell’s brigade.

General McDowell’s order for battle on the 21st of July was issued on the afternoon of the 20th, directing his First Division to march by the Warrenton Turnpike, and make a diversion against the crossing of Bull Run at the[ Stone Bridge, while the Second and Third Divisions, following on the turnpike, were to file to the right, along the farm road, about half-way between Centreville and the bridge, cross Bull Run at Sudley Springs, and bear down against the Confederate rear and left; the First Division, under Tyler, to march at two o’clock in the morning, to be closely followed by the others under Hunter and Heintzelman; the turning divisions, after crossing, to march down, clear the bridge, and lift Tyler over the Run, bringing the three into compact battle order.

General Johnston came in from the Shenandoah Valley on the 20th with the brigades of Bee, Bartow, and Jackson. The brigades were assigned by Beauregard, the former two in reserve near the right of Blackburn’s Ford, the latter near its left.

Beauregard’s order for battle, approved by General Johnston, was issued at five a.m. on the 21st,—the brigades at Union Mills Ford to cross and march by the road leading towards Centreville, and in rear of the Federal reserve at that point; the brigades at McLean’s Ford to follow the move of those on their right, and march on a converging road towards Centreville; those at and near Blackburn’s to march in co-operative action with the brigades on the right; the reserve brigades and troops at Mitchell’s Ford to be used as emergency called, but in the absence of special orders to seek the most active point of battle.

This order was only preliminary, coupled with the condition that the troops were to be held ready to move, but to wait for the special order for action. The brigade at Blackburn’s Ford had been reinforced by the Fifth North Carolina and Twenty-fourth Virginia Regiments, under Lieutenant-Colonel Jones and Colonel Kemper. I crossed the Run under the five o’clock order, adjusted the regiments to position for favorable action, and gave instructions for their movements on the opening of the battle.

While waiting for the order to attack, a clever reconnoissance was made by Colonels Terry and Lubbock, Texans, on the brigade staff, which disclosed the march of the heavy columns of the Federals towards our left. Their report was sent promptly to head-quarters, and after a short delay the brigade was ordered back to its position behind the Run.

Tyler’s division moved early on the 21st towards the Stone Bridge. The march was not rapid, but timely. His first shells went tearing through the elements over the heads of the Confederates before six o’clock. The Second and Third Divisions followed his column till its rear cleared the road leading up to the ford at Sudley Springs, when they filed off on that route. McDowell was with them, and saw them file off on their course, and followed their march. His Fifth Division and Richardson’s brigade of the First were left in reserve at Centreville, and the Fourth Division was left in a position rearward of them. The march of the columns over the single track of the farm road leading up to Sudley Springs was not only fatiguing, but so prolonged the diversion of Tyler’s division at the bridge as to expose its real intent, and cause his adversary to look elsewhere for the important work. Viewing the zone of operations as far as covered by the eye, Evans discovered a column of dust rising above the forest in the vicinity of Sudley Springs. This, with the busy delay of Tyler in front of the bridge, exposed the plans, and told of another quarter for the approaching battle; when Evans, leaving four companies of infantry and two pieces of artillery to defend the bridge, moved with the rest of his command to meet the approaching columns off his left. Bearing in mind his care of the bridge, it was necessary to occupy grounds north of the pike. The position chosen was the plateau near the Matthews House, about a thousand yards north of the pike, and about the same distance from Bull Run, commanding the road by which the turning divisions of the enemy were to approach. His artillery (two six-pound guns) was posted to his right and left, somewhat retired. Meanwhile, Tyler’s batteries maintained their position at and below the Stone Bridge, as did those near the lower fords. McDowell’s column crossed at Sudley’s Ford at nine o’clock, and approached Evans a few minutes before ten. The leading division under Hunter, finding Evans’s command across its route, advanced the Second Rhode Island Regiment and battery of six guns of Burnside’s brigade to open the way. Evans’s infantry and artillery met the advance, and after a severe fight drove it back[5] to the line of woodland, when Burnside, reinforced by his other three regiments, with them advanced eight guns. This attack was much more formidable, and pressed an hour or more before our forces retired to the woodland. The fight, though slackened, continued, while the brigade under Porter advanced to Burnside’s support.

Waiting some time to witness the opening of his aggressive fight towards Centreville, Beauregard found at last that his battle order had miscarried. While yet in doubt as to the cause of delay, his attention was drawn to the fight opened by McDowell against Evans. This affair, increasing in volume, drew him away from his original point and object of observation. He reconsidered the order to attack at Centreville, and rode for the field just opening to severe work. The brigades of Bee and Bartow,—commanded by Bee,—and Jackson’s, had been drawn towards the left, the former two near Cocke’s position, and Jackson from the right to the left of Mitchell’s Ford. They were to await orders, but were instructed, and intrusted, in the absence of orders, to seek the place where the fight was thickest. About twelve o’clock that splendid soldier, Bernard E. Bee, under orders to find the point of danger, construed it as calling him to Evans’s support, and marched, without other notice than the noise of increasing battle, with his own and Bartow’s brigades and Imboden’s battery. The move against the enemy’s reserve at Centreville suspended, Colonels Terry and Lubbock, volunteer aides, crossed the Run to make another reconnoissance of the positions about Centreville. Captain Goree, of Texas, and Captain Sorrel, of Georgia, had also joined the brigade staff. As Bee approached Evans he formed line upon the plateau at the Henry House, suggesting to Evans to withdraw to that as a better field than the advance ground held by the latter; but in deference to Evans’s care for the bridge, which involved care for the turnpike, Bee yielded, and ordered his troops to join Evans’s advance. Imboden’s artillery, however, failed to respond, remaining on the Henry plateau; leaving Bee and Evans with two six-pounder smoothbore guns to combat the enemy’s formidable batteries of eight to twelve guns of superior metal, as well as the accumulating superior infantry forces, Imboden’s battery making a show of practice with six-pounders at great range. The infantry crossed Young’s Branch under severe fire, and were posted on the line of Evans’s battle

     Burnside was reinforced by Porter’s brigade, and afterwards by a part of Heintzelman’s division. Ricketts’s battery, and subsequently the battery under Griffin, pressed their fight with renewed vigor. The batteries, particularly active and aggressive, poured incessant fire upon the Confederate ranks, ewho had no artillery to engage against them except Imboden’s, far off to the rear, and the section of Latham’s howitzers. The efforts of the Federal infantry were cleverly met and resisted, but the havoc of those splendid batteries was too severe, particularly Griffin’s, that had an oblique fire upon the Confederates. It was the fire of this battery that first disturbed our ranks on their left, and the increasing pounding of that and Ricketts’s eventually unsettled the line. At this juncture two brigades of Tyler’s division, with General W. T. Sherman and General Keyes, crossed the Run at a ford some distance above the bridge and approached the Confederate right, making more unsettled their position. At the same time the attacking artillery and infantry followed up their opportunity in admirable style, pushed the Confederates back, and pursued down to the valley of Young’s Branch.

At one p.m., Colonels Terry and Lubbock returned from their reconnoissance of the ground in front of Centreville, with a diagram showing points of the Union lines and troops there posted. I sent it up to head-quarters, suggesting that the brigades at the lower fords be put across the Run, and advance against the reserves as designed by the order of the morning. Colonel Terry returned with the suggestion approved, and we communicated the same to the brigades at McLean’s and Union Mills Fords, commanded by officers of senior dates to myself. The brigades were prepared, however, for concert of action. Bee, Bartow, and Evans made valorous efforts, while withdrawing from their struggle on the Matthews plateau, to maintain the integrity of their lines, and with some success, when General Wade Hampton came with his brigade to their aid, checked the progress of pursuit, and helped to lift their broken ranks to the plateau at the Henry House. The fight assumed proportions which called for the care of both General Johnston and General Beauregard, who, with the movements of their right too late to relieve the pressure of the left, found it necessary to draw their forces to the point at which the battle had been forced by the enemy. At the same time the reserve brigades of their right were called to the left. General Thomas J. Jackson also moved to that quarter, and reached the rear crest of the plateau at the Henry House while yet Bee, Bartow, Evans, and Hampton were climbing to the forward crest. Quick to note a proper ground, Jackson deployed on the crest at the height, leaving the open of the plateau in front. He was in time to secure the Imboden battery before it got off the field, and put it into action. Stanard’s battery, Pendleton’s, and Pelham’s, and part of the Washington Artillery were up in time to aid Jackson in his new formation and relieve our discomfited troops rallying on his flank. As they rose on the forward crest, Bee saw, on the farther side, Jackson’s line, serene as if in repose, affording a haven so promising of cover that he gave the christening of “Stonewall” for the immortal Jackson.

“There,” said he, “is Jackson, standing like a stone wall.”

General Johnston and General Beauregard reached the field, and busied themselves in getting the troops together and in lines of defence. Other reinforcements were ordered from the right, including the reserve brigades at McLean’s and Union Mills Fords, and a number of batteries. Bee and Evans reformed their lines upon Jackson’s. After permitting Burnside’s brigade to retire for rest, McDowell pushed his battle by his strong artillery arm, advancing against and turning the Confederate left, only giving some little time to select positions for his batteries to plunge more effective fire into the Confederate ranks. This time, so necessary for McDowell’s renewal, was as important to the Confederates in getting their reinforcements of infantry and artillery in position, and proved of even greater value in lengthening out the fight, so as to give Kirby Smith and Elzey, just off the train from the Shenandoah Valley, time to appear at the last moment.

After arranging the new position of the troops about Jackson, General Johnston rode back to the Lewis House, where he could better comprehend the entire field, leaving Beauregard in charge of the troops engaged on his left. McDowell gave especial care to preparing his batteries for renewal against the Confederate left. He massed Ricketts’s and Griffin’s batteries, and made their practice grand. So well executed was it that the Confederate left was again in peril, and, seeing reinforcements approaching towards their rear, General Johnston sent orders to the brigades at the lower fords revoking authority given them to advance against Centreville, and ordering their return to the south side, and the brigade at Union Mills was ordered to reinforce the Confederate left. The brigade at Blackburn’s Ford received the recall order in ample time, but that at McLean’s,—Jones’s,—being a little farther away, became partially engaged before the recall reached it. The brigades resumed their former position, however, without serious trouble.

With this order came a message to me, saying that the Federals were pressing severely on our left, and to the limit of its tension, that reinforcements were in sight, approaching their right, which might prove too heavy for our brave men, and force us back, for which emergency our brigades should be held ready to cover retreat. These anxious moments were soon relieved by the approach of General Kirby Smith’s command, that had been mistaken as reinforcements for the enemy. General Smith was wounded, but was succeeded in command by the gallant Elzey, who by a well-timed attack approached the rear of the massed batteries. At the same time a brave charge on the part of Beauregard, in co-operation with this fortunate attack of Smith and Elzey, captured the greater part of the batteries and turned some of the guns upon the brave men who had handled them so well.

McDowell made a gallant effort to recover his lost power, riding with his troops and urging them to brave efforts, but our convex line, that he was just now pressing back upon itself, was changed. Though attenuated, it had become concave by reinforcement, and in elliptical curve was delivering a concentrated fire upon its adversary. Before the loss of his artillery he was the Samson of the field; now he was not only shorn of his power, but some of his mighty strength was transferred to his adversary, leaving him in desperate plight and exposed to blows increasing in force and effectiveness. Although his renewed efforts were brave, his men seemed to have given confidence over to despair. Still a show of battle was made until General Johnston directed the brigades of Holmes and Early to good positions for attack, when fight was abandoned and flight ensued.

The regulars under Sykes maintained order, and with the regular cavalry covered the confused retreat. The Confederates in the field and approaching at the moment were ordered in pursuit. At the same time another order was sent the brigades at the lower fords, explaining that the reinforcements, supposed to be Federals, proved to be Confederates, and that the former were not only forced back, but were then in full retreat, directing our brigades to cross again and strike the retreating line on the turnpike. All of D. R. Jones’s brigade that had crossed at McLean’s Ford under the former order had not yet returned to its position under the order to that effect, and Ewell had gone from Union Mills Ford to the battle on the extreme left, so that neither of them came in position ready to take part in the pursuit. Those at Mitchell’s and Blackburn’s Fords advanced, the former, under General Bonham, with orders to strike at Cub Run, the latter at Centreville. Finding some obstruction to his march, General Bonham kept the Centreville road, and joined the brigade from Blackburn’s, taking the lead as the ranking officer.

Through the abandoned camps of the Federals we found their pots and kettles over the fire, with food cooking; quarters of beef hanging on the trees, and wagons by the roadside loaded, some with bread and general provisions,[ others with ammunition. When within artillery range of the retreating column passing through Centreville, the infantry was deployed on the sides of the road, under cover of the forest, so as to give room for the batteries ordered into action in the open, Bonham’s brigade on the left, the other on the right.

As the guns were about to open, there came a message that the enemy, instead of being in precipitate retreat, was marching around to attack the Confederate right. With this report came orders, or reports of orders, for the brigades to return to their positions behind the Run. I denounced the report as absurd, claimed to know a retreat, such as was before me, and ordered that the batteries open fire, when Major Whiting, of General Johnston’s staff, rising in his stirrups, said,—

“In the name of General Johnston, I order that the batteries shall not open.”

I inquired, “Did General Johnston send you to communicate that order?”

Whiting replied, “No; but I take the responsibility to give it.”

I claimed the privilege of responsibility under the circumstances, and when in the act of renewing the order to fire, General Bonham rode to my side and asked that the batteries should not open. As the ranking officer present, this settled the question. By that time, too, it was near night. Colonel G. W. Lay, of Johnston’s staff, supported my views, notwithstanding the protest of Major Whiting.

Soon there came an order for the brigades to withdraw and return to their positions behind the Run. General Bonham marched his brigade back, but, thinking that there was a mistake somewhere, I remained in position until the order was renewed, about ten o’clock. My brigade crossed and recrossed the Run six times during the day and night.

It was afterwards found that some excitable person, seeing] Jones’s brigade recrossing the Run, from its advance, under previous orders, took them for Federal troops crossing at McLean’s Ford, and, rushing to head-quarters at the Junction, reported that the Federals were crossing below and preparing for attack against our right. And upon this report one of the staff-officers sent orders, in the names of the Confederate chiefs, revoking the orders for pursuit.

From the effective service of the two guns of Latham’s battery, at short range, against the odds brought against them, the inference seems fair that the Imboden battery, had it moved under Bee’s orders, could have so strengthened the position on the Matthews plateau as to hold it and give time for them to retire and meet General Jackson on the Henry plateau. Glorious Victory spread her generous wings alike over heroes and delinquents.

The losses of the Confederates in all arms were 1982. Federal losses in all arms, 3333[6] officers and soldiers, twenty-five cannon.[7]

On the 22d the cavalry troop of Captain Whitehead was sent forward with Colonel Terry, volunteer aide, on a ride of observation. They picked up a number of prisoners, and Colonel Terry cut the lanyards of the Federal flag over the court-house at Fairfax by a shot from his six-shooter, and sent the bunting to head-quarters.

The plan of the Union campaign was that their army in the Valley of the Shenandoah, under General Patterson, should stand so surely against the Confederates in that field, under General Johnston, as to prevent the withdrawal of the latter through the Blue Ridge, which goes to show that the concentration was considered, and thought possible, and that McDowell was, therefore, under some pressure to act in time to gain his battle before Johnston could have time for his swoop from the mountains. At[ Centreville on the 18th, McDowell was within five miles of his immediate objective,—Manassas Junction,—by the route of Tyler’s reconnoissance. The Sudley Ford route involved a march of twenty miles and drew him nearer the reach of Johnston’s forces. So, if Tyler’s reconnoissance proved the route by Blackburn’s Ford practicable, it was imperative on McDowell to adopt it. If it was proved impracticable, the route by Sudley’s Ford was necessary and justified the delay. But it has been claimed that the Union commander did not intend to have the reconnoissance, and that he could have made his move a success by that route if he had adopted it; which, if true, would put him in a more awkward position than his defeat. He was right in his conclusion that the Confederates were prepared for him on that route, but it would have been a grave error to leave the shorter, more direct line for the circuitous route without first so testing the former as to know if it were practicable, knowing as he did that the Confederate left was in the air, because of leaven looked for from over the Blue Ridge. After the trial of General Tyler on the 18th, and finding the route closed against him, he should have given credit to the division commander and his troops for their courageous work, but instead he disparaged their efforts and put them under criticism. The experiment and subsequent events go to show that the route was not practicable except for seasoned troops.

McDowell’s first mistake was his display, and march for a grand military picnic. The leading proverb impressed upon the minds of young soldiers of the line by old commanders is, “Never despise your enemy.” So important a part of the soldier’s creed is it, that it is enjoined upon subalterns pursuing marauding parties of half a dozen of the aborigines. His over-confidence led him to treat with levity the reconnoissance of General Tyler on the 18th, as not called for under his orders, nor necessary to justify his plans, although they involved a[ delay of three days, and a circuitous march around the Confederate left. Then, he put upon his division commander the odium of error and uncalled-for exposure of the troops. This broke the confidence between them, and worked more or less evil through the ranks in the after-part of the campaign. Had he recognized the importance of the service, and encouraged the conduct of the division commander, he would have drawn the hearts of his officers and soldiers towards him, and toned up the war spirit and morale of his men. Tyler was right in principle, in the construction of duty, under the orders, and in his more comprehensive view of the military zodiac. In no other way than by testing the strength along the direct route could McDowell justify delay, when time was power, and a long march with raw troops in July weather was pending.

The delay gave Beauregard greater confidence in his preconceived plan, and brought out his order of the 21st for advance towards McDowell’s reserve at Centreville, but this miscarried, and turned to advantage for the plans of the latter.

Had a prompt, energetic general been in command when, on the 20th, his order of battle was settled upon, the division under Tyler would have been deployed in front of Stone Bridge, as soon after nightfall as darkness could veil the march, and the divisions under Hunter and Heintzelman following would have been stretched along the lateral road in bivouac, so as to be prepared to cross Sudley’s Ford and put in a good day’s work on the morrow. Had General Tyler’s action of the 18th received proper recognition, he would have been confident instead of doubting in his service. McDowell’s army posted as it should have been, a march at daylight would have brought the columns to the Henry House before seven o’clock, dislodged Evans, busied by Tyler’s display at the bridge, without a chance to fight, and brought the three
 divisions, reunited in gallant style, along the turnpike with little burning of powder. Thus prepared and organized, the compact battle-order of twenty thousand men would have been a fearful array against Beauregard’s fragmentary left, and by the events as they passed, would have assured McDowell of victory hours before Kirby Smith and Elzey, of the Army of the Shenandoah, came upon the field.

Beauregard’s mistake was in failing to ride promptly after his five-o’clock order, and handling his columns while in action. As events actually occurred, he would have been in overwhelming numbers against McDowell’s reserve and supply depot. His adversary so taken by surprise, his raw troops would not have been difficult to conquer.

As the experience of both commanders was limited to staff service, it is not surprising that they failed to appreciate the importance of prompt and vigorous manœuvre in the hour of battle. Beauregard gave indications of a comprehensive military mind and reserve powers that might, with experience and thorough encouragement from the superior authorities, have developed him into eminence as a field-marshal. His adversary seemed untoward, not adapted to military organization or combinations. Most of his men got back to Washington under the sheltering wings of the small bands of regulars.

The mistake of supposing Kirby Smith’s and Elzey’s approaching troops to be Union reinforcements for McDowell’s right was caused by the resemblance, at a distance, of the original Confederate flag to the colors of Federal regiments. This mishap caused the Confederates to cast about for a new ensign, brought out our battle-flag, led to its adoption by General Beauregard, and afterwards by higher authority as the union shield of the Confederate national flag.

The supplies of subsistence, ammunition, and forage
 passed as we marched through the enemy’s camps towards Centreville seemed ample to carry the Confederate army on to Washington. Had the fight been continued to that point, the troops, in their high hopes, would have marched in terrible effectiveness against the demoralized Federals. Gaining confidence and vigor in their march, they could well have reached the capital with the ranks of McDowell’s men. The brigade at Blackburn’s Ford (five regiments), those at McLean’s and Mitchell’s Fords, all quite fresh, could have been reinforced by all the cavalry and most of the artillery, comparatively fresh, and later by the brigades of Holmes, Ewell, and Early. This favorable aspect for fruitful results was all sacrificed through the assumed authority of staff-officers who, upon false reports, gave countermand to the orders of their chiefs.

On the 21st a regiment and battery were discharged from the Union army, reducing its aggregate to about 34,000. The Confederates had 31,860. McDowell crossed Bull Run with 18,500 of his men, and engaged in battle 18,053 Confederates.

There seem to be no data from which the precise figures can be had. These estimates, though not strictly accurate, are justified by returns so far as they have been officially rendered.

The Confederate Army in this battle was organized as follows:

Army of the Potomac (afterwards First Corps), under Brig.-Gen. G. T. Beauregard:—Infantry: First Brigade, under Brig.-Gen. M. S. Bonham, 11th N. C., 2d, 3d, 7th, and 8th S. C.; Second Brigade, Brig.-Gen. R. S. Ewell, 5th and 6th Ala., 6th La.; Third Brigade, Brig.-Gen. D. R. Jones, 17th and 18th Miss., 5th S. C.; Fourth Brigade, Brig.-Gen. James Longstreet, 5th N. C., 1st, 11th, and 17th Va.; Fifth Brigade, Col. P. St. George Cocke, 1st La. Battn., 8th Va. (seven companies), 18th, 19th, 28th, and 49th Va. (latter, three companies); Sixth Brigade, Col. J. A. Early, 13th Miss., 4th S. C., 7th and 24th Va.; Troops not brigaded: 7th and 8th La., Hampton Legion, S. C., 30th Va. (cav.), Harrison’s Battn. (cav.); Independent companies: 10th Cav., Washington (La.) Cav.; Artillery: Kemper’s, Latham’s, Loudoun, and Shield’s batteries, Camp Pickens companies.

Army of the Shenandoah (Johnston’s division), Brig.-Gen. Joseph E. Johnston:—First Brigade, Col. T. J. Jackson, 2d, 4th, 5th, and 27th Va., Pendleton’s Batt.; Second Brigade, Col. F. S. Bartow, 7th, 8th, and 9th Ga., Duncan’s and Pope’s Ky. Battns., Alburti’s Batt.; Third Brigade, Brig.-Gen. Barnard E. Bee, 4th Ala., 2d and 11th Miss., 1st Tenn., Imboden’s Batt.; Fourth Brigade, Col. A. Elzey, 1st Md. Battn., 3d Tenn., 10th and 13th Va., Grane’s Batt.; Not brigaded: 1st Va. Cav., 33d Va. Inf.

The Federal Army, commanded by Brigadier-General Irvin McDowell, was organized as follows:

First Division, Brig.-Gen. Daniel Tyler:—First Brigade, Col. E. D. Keyes, 2d Me., 1st, 2d, and 3d Conn.; Second Brigade, Brig.-Gen. R. C. Schenck, 2d N. Y., 1st and 2d Ohio, Batt. E, 2d U. S. Art.; Third Brigade, Col. W. T. Sherman, 13th, 69th, and 79th N. Y., 2d Wis., Batt. E, 3d U. S. Art.; Fourth Brigade, Col. I. B. Richardson, 1st Mass., 12th N. Y., 2d and 3d Mich., Batt. G, 1st U. S. Art., Batt. M, 2d U. S. Art.

Second Division, (1) Col. David Hunter (wounded); (2) Col. Andrew Porter:—First Brigade, Col. Andrew Porter, 8th (militia), 14th, and 27th N. Y., Battn. U. S. Inf., Battn. U. S. Marines, Battn. U. S. Cav., Batt. D, 5th U. S. Art.; Second Brigade, Col. A. E. Burnside, 2d N. H., 1st and 2d R. I., 71st N. Y.

Third Division, Col. S. P. Heintzelman (wounded):—First Brigade, Col. W. B. Franklin, 5th and 11th Mass., 1st Minn., Batt. I, 1st U. S. Art.;Second Brigade, Col. O. B. Wilcox (wounded and captured), 11th N. Y. (Fire Zouaves), 38th N. Y., 1st and 4th Mich., Batt. D, 2d U. S. Art.;Third Brigade, Col. O. O. Howard, 3d, 4th, and 5th Me., 2d Vt.

Fourth (Reserve) Division,[8] Brig.-Gen. Theodore Runyon, 1st, 2d, 3d, and 4th N. J. (three months), 1st, 2d, and 3d N. J., 41st N. Y. (three years).

Fifth Division, Col. Dixon S. Miles:—First Brigade,[9] Col. Louis Blenker, 8th N. Y. (Vols.), 29th and 39th N. Y., 27th Penn., Batt. A, 2d U. S. Art., Rookwood’s N. Y. Batt.; Second Brigade, Col. Thomas A. Davies, 16th, 18th, 31st, and 32d N. Y., Batt. G, 2d U. S. Art.

   

Union Dead From Confederate Cannon Canister on July 3, 1863

Union Dead From Confederate Cannon Canister on July 3, 1863

Bloated bodies of Union dead after all being killed at once from a Confederate cannon canister shot.

The camera was taken into the wheat-field near the extreme left of the Union line. The heroes had been dead about nineteen hours. It will be observed that their bodies are already much bloated by exposure to the sun. These men were killed on July 3, 1863, by one discharge of "canister" from a Confederate cannon which they were attempting to capture. Tin cans were filled with small balls about the size of marbles and when the cannon was fired the force of the discharge burst open the can, and the shower of canister balls swept everything before it. When this photograph was taken a detail had already passed over the field, and gathered the guns and accoutrements of the dead and wounded. Shoes, cartridge belts and canteens have been removed from these dead heroes as it was frequently necessary to appropriate them to relieve the needs of the living soldiers. From diamond at extreme right of picture these men are identified as belonging to the second division of third army corps.

Union Army Supply Wagons Being Parked and Guarded Against a Raid by the Enemy Cavalry.

Union Army's supply wagon train being "parked" and guarded from a raid by the enemy's cavalry.

The Union Army's supply wagon train being "parked" and guarded against a raid by the enemy's cavalry.

THE lens here perpetuates the interesting spectacle of an army wagon train being "parked" and guarded from a raid by the enemy's cavalry. With a million of the nation's strongest men abandoning production to wage devastation and destruction the problem of providing them with food barely sufficient to sustain life was an almost incalculable enigma. The able-bodied men of the North and the South had turned from the fields and factories to maintain what both conscientiously believed to be their rights. Harvests were left to the elements and the wheels of industry fell into silence. The good women and children at home, aided by men willing but unable to meet the hardships and exposures of warfare, worked heroically to hold their families together and to send to their dear ones at the battle-front whatever comforts came within their humble power. The supply trains of the great armies numbered thousands of six-mule teams and when on the march they would stretch out for many miles. It was in May, in 1863, that one of these wagon trains safely reached Brandy Station, Virginia. Its journey had been one of imminent danger as both armies were in dire need of provisions and the capture of a wagon train was as good fortune as victory in a skirmish. To protect this train from a desperate dash of the Confederate cavalry it was "parked" on the outskirts of a forest that protected it from envious eyes and guarded by the Union lines. One of Mr. Brady's cameras took this photograph during this critical moment. It shows but one division of one corps. As there were three divisions in each corps, and there were many corps in the army, some idea of the immense size of the trains may be gained by this view. The train succeeded in reaching its destination at a time of much need.

Rare Photo of the Union Army of 100,000 Men & Camp Along the Pamunky River in 1862

Rare Photo of the Union Army of 100,000 Men's Camp Along the Pamunky River in 1862

The rare photograph was taken on a day in the middle of May in 1862 when the Army of the Potomac was encamped at Cumberland Landing on the Pamunky River. A hundred thousand men rested in this city of tents, 


   THIS photograph is selected from the seven thousand negatives left by Mathew B. Brady, the celebrated government photographer, as one of the most valuable in existence. It seems to be the first instance on the Western Continent, and possibly in the world, in which a camera successfully imprinted on glass the actual vision of a great army in camp. While scenes such as this are engraved on the memories of the venerable warriors who participated in the terrific struggle this remarkable negative preserves for all ages the magnificent pageant of men, who have offered their lives in defense of their country, waiting for the call to the battle-line. The photograph was taken on a day in the middle of May in 1862 when the Army of the Potomac was encamped at Cumberland Landing on the Pamunky River. A hundred thousand men rested in this city of tents, in the seclusion of the hills, eager to strike a blow for the flag they loved, yet such was the tragic stillness that one who recalls it says that absolute quiet reigned throughout the vast concourse like the peace of the Sabbath-day. On every side were immense fields of wheat, promising an abundant harvest, but trammeled under the feet of the encroaching armies. Occasionally the silence was broken by the strains of a national song that swept from tent to tent as the men smoked and drowsed, fearless of the morrow. The encampment covered many square miles and this picture represents but one brigade on the old Custis place, near White House, which became the estate of General Fitzhugh Lee, the indomitable cavalry leader of the Confederacy and an American patriot during the later war with Spain. The original negative, although now forty-five years old, has required but slight retouching in the background.

The Pursuit, Capture and Death of John Wilkes Booth

The Pursuit, Capture and Death of John Wilkes Booth

Washington, April 28—8 P. M.

A hard and grizzly face overlooks me as I write. Its inconsiderable forehead is crowned with turning sandy hair, and the deep concave of its long insatiate jaws is almost hidden by a dense red beard, which can not still abate the terrible decision of the large mouth, so well sustained by searching eyes of spotted gray, which roll and rivet one. This is the face of Lafayette Baker, colonel and chief of the secret service. He has played the most perilous parts of the war, and is the capturer of the late President's murderer. The story that I am to tell you, as he and his trusty dependents told it to me, will be aptly commenced here, where the net was woven which took the dying life of Wilkes Booth.

When the murder occured, Colonel Baker was absent from Washington, He returned on the third morning, and was at once besought by Secretary Stanton to join the hue and cry against the escaped Booth. The sagacious detective found that nearly ten thousand cavalry, and one-fourth as many policemen, had been meantime scouring, without plan or compass, the whole territory of Southern Maryland. They were treading on each other's heels, and mixing up the thing so confoundedly, that the best place for the culprits to have gone would have been in the very midst of their pursuers. Baker at once possessed himself of the little the War Department had learned, and started immediately to take the usual detective measures, till then neglected, of offering a reward and getting out photographs of the suspected ones. He then dispatched a few chosen detectives to certain vital points, and awaited results.

The first of these was the capture of Atzeroth. Others, like the taking of Dr. Mudge, simultaneously occured. But the district supected being remote from the railway routes, and broken by no telegraph station, the colonel, to place himself nearer the theater of events, ordered an operator, with the necessary instrument, to tap the wire running to Point Lookout, near Chappells Point, and send him prompt messages.

The same steamer which took down the operator and two detectives. brought back one of the same detectives and a negro. This negro, taken to Colonel Baker's office, stated so positively that he had seen Booth and another man cross the Potomac in a fishing boat, while he was looking down upon them from a bank, that the colonel, was at first skeptical; but when examined the negro answered so readily and intelligently, recognizing the men from the photographs, that Baker knew at last that he had the true scent.

Straightway he sent to General Hancock for twenty-five men, and while the order was going, drew down his coast survey-maps. With that quick detective intuition amounting almost to inspiration, he cast upon the probable route and destination of the refugees, as well as the point where he would soonest strike them. Booth, he knew, would not keep along the coast, with frequent deep rivers to cross, nor, indeed, in any direction east of Richmond, where he was liable at any time to cross our lines of occupation; nor, being lame, could he ride on; horseback, so as to place himself very far westward of his point of debarkation in Virginia. But he would travel in a direct course from Bluff point, where he crossed to Eastern Tennessee, and this would take him through Port Royal on the Rappahannock river, in time to be intercepted there by the outgoing cavalry men.

When, therefore, twenty-five men, under one Lieutenant Dougherty, arrived at his office door, Baker placed the whole under control of his former lieutenant-colonel, E. J. Conger, and of his cousin, Lieutenant L. B. Baker—the first of Ohio, the last of New-York—and bade them go with all dispatch to Belle Plain on the Lower Potomac, there to disembark, and scour the country faithfully around Port Royal, but not to return unless they captured their men.

Conger is a short, decided, indomitable, courageous fellow, provincial in his manners, but fully understanding his business, and collected as a housewife on Sunday.

Young Baker is large and fine-looking—a soldier, but no policeman—and he deferred to Conger, very properly, during most of the events succeeding.

Quitting Washington at 2 o'clock P. M. on Monday, the detectives and cavalrymen disembarked at Belle Plain, on the border of Stafford county, at 10 o'clock, in the darkness. Belle Plain is simply the nearest landing to Fredericksburg, seventy miles from Washington city, and located upon Potomac creek. It is a wharf and warehouse merely, and here the steamer John S. Ide stopped and made fast, while the party galloped off in the darkness. Conger and Baker kept ahead, riding up to farm-houses and questioning the inmates, pretending to be in search of the Maryland gentlemen belonging to the party. But nobody had seen the parties described, and, after a futile ride on the Fredericksburg road, they turned shortly to the east, and kept up their baffled inquiries all the way to Port Conway, on the Rappahannock.

On Tuesday morning they presented themselves at the Port Royal ferry, and inquired of the ferry-man, while he was taking them over in squads of seven at a time, if he had seen any two such men. Continuing their inquiries at Port Royal, they found one Rollins a fisherman, who referred them to a negro named Lucas, as having driven two men a short distance toward Bowling Green in a wagon. It was found that these men answered to the description, Booth having a crutch as previously ascertained.

The day before Booth and Harold had applied at Port Conway for the general ferry-boat, but the ferryman was then fishing and would not desist for the inconsiderable fare of only two persons, but to their supposed good fortune a lot of confederate cavalrymen just then came along, who threatened the ferryman with a shot in the head if he did not instantly bring across his craft and transport the entire party. These cavalrymen were of Moseby's disbanded command, returning from Fairfax Court House to their homes in Caroline county. Their captain was on his way to visit a sweetheart at Bowling Green, and he had so far taken Booth under his patronage, that when the latter was haggling with Lucas for a team, he offered both Booth and Harold the use of his horse, to ride and walk alternately.

In this way Lucas was providentially done out of the job, and Booth rode off toward Bowling Green behind the confederate captain on one and the same horse.

So much learned, the detectives, with Rollins for a guide, dashed off in the bright daylight of Tuesday, moving southwestward through the level plains of Caroline, seldom stopping to ask questions, save at a certain halfway house, where a woman told them that the cavalry party of yesterday had returned minus one man. As this was far from circumstantial, the party rode along in the twilight, and reached Bowling Green at eleven o'clock in the night.

This is the court-house town of Caroline county—a small and scattered place, having within it an Ancient tavern, no longer used for other than lodging purposes; but here they hauled from his bed the captain aforesaid, and bade him dress himself. As soon as he comprehended the matter he became pallid and eagerly narrated all the facts in his possession. Booth, to his knowledge, was then lying at the house of one Garrett, which they had passed, and Harold had departed the existing day with the intention of rejoining him.

                                                                            Garrett House

Taking this captain along for a guide, the worn out horsemen retraced, though some of the men were so haggard and wasted with travel that they had to be kicked into intelligence before they could climb to their saddles. The objects of the chase thus at hand, the detectives, full of sanguine purpose; hurried the cortege so well along that by 2 o'clock early morning, all halted at Garrett's gate. In the pale moonlight three hundred yards from the main road, to the left, a plain old farmhouse looked grayly through its environing locusts. It was worn and whitewashed, and two-storied, and its half-human windows glowered down upon the silent cavalrymen like watching owls, which stood as sentries over some horrible secret asleep within. The front of this house looked up the road toward the Rappahannock, but did not face it, and on that side a long Virginia porch protruded, where, in the summer, among the honeysuckles, the humming bird flew like a visible odor. Nearest the main road, against the pallid gable, a single-storied kitchen stood, and there were three other doors, one opening upon the porch, one in the kitchen gable, and one in the rear of the farmhouse.

Dimly seen behind, an old barn, high and weather-beaten, faced the roadside gate, for the house itself lay to the left of its own lane; and nestling beneath the barn, a few long corn-cribs lay with a cattle shed at hand. There was not a swell of the landscape anywhere in sight. A plain dead level contained all the tenements and structures. A worm fence stretched along the road broken by two battered gate posts, and between the road and the house, the lane was crossed by a second fence and gate. The farm-house lane, passing the house front, kept straight on to the barn, though a second carriage track ran up to the porch.

    It was a homely and primitive scene enough, pastoral as any farm boy's birth-place, and had been the seat of many toils and endearments. Young wives had been brought to it, and around its hearth the earliest cries of infants, gladdening mothers' hearts, had made the household jubilant till the stars came out, and were its only sentries, save the bright lights at its window-panes as of a camp-fire, and the suppressed chorusses of the domestic bivouac within, where apple toasting and nut cracking and country games shortened the winter shadows. Yet in this house, so peaceful by moonlight, murder had washed its spotted hands, and ministered to its satiated appetite. History—present in every nook in the broad young world—had stopped, to make a landmark of Garrett's farm.

In the dead stillness, Baker dismounted and forced the outer gate; Conger kept close behind him, and the horsemen followed cautiously. They made no noise in the soft clay, nor broke the all-foreboding silence anywhere, till the second gate swung open gratingly, yet even then nor hoarse nor shrill response came back, save distant croaking, as of frogs or owls, or the whizz of some passing night-hawk. So they surrounded the pleasant old homestead, each horseman, carbine in poise, adjusted under the grove of locusts, so as to inclose the dwelling with a circle of fire. After a pause, Baker rode to the kitchen door on the side, and dismounting, rapped and halloed lustily. An old man, in drawers and night-shirt, hastily undrew the bolts, and stood on the threshold, peering shiveringly into the darkness.

Baker seized him by the throat at once, and held a pistol to his ear. "Who—who is it that calls me?" cried the old man. "Where are the men who stay with you?" challenged Baker. "If you prevaricate you are a dead man!" The old fellow, who proved to be the head of the family, was so overawed and paralysed that he stammered, and shook, and said not a word. "Go light a candle," cried Baker, sternly, "and be quick about it." The trembling old man obeyed, and in a moment the imperfect rays flared upon his whitening hairs and bluishly pallid face. Then the question was repeated, backed up by the glimmering pistol, "where are those men?" The old man held to the wall, and his knees smote each other. "They are gone," he said. "We hav'n't got them in the house, I assure you that they are gone." Here there were sounds and whisperings in the main building adjoining, and the lieutenant strode to the door. A ludicrous instant intervened, the old man's modesty outran his terror. "Don't go in there," he said, feebly; "there are women undressed in there." "Damn the women," cried Baker; "what if they are undressed? We shall go in if they haven't a rag." Leaving the old man in mute astonishment, Baker bolted through the door, and stood in an assemblage of bare arms and night robes. His loaded pistol disarmed modesty of its delicacy and substituted therefor a seasonable terror. Here he repeated his summons, and the half light of the candle gave to his face a more than bandit ferocity. They all denied knowledge of the strangers' whereabouts.

In the interim Conger had also entered, and while the household and its invaders were thus in weird tableaux, a young man appeared, as if he had risen from the ground. The muzzles of everybody turned upon him in a second; but, while he blanched, he did not lose loquacity. "Father," he said, "we had better tell the truth about the matter. Those men whom you seek, gentlemen, are in the barn, I know. They went there to sleep." Leaving one soldier to guard the old man—and the soldier was very glad of the job, as it relieved him of personal hazard in the approaching combat—all the rest, with cocked pistols at the young man's head, followed on to the barn. It lay a hundred yards from the house, the front barndoor facing the west gable, and was an old and spacious structure, with floors only a trifle above the ground level.

The troops dismounted, were stationed at regular intervals around it, and ten yards distant at every point, four special guards placed to command the door and all with weapons in supple preparation, while Baker and Conger went direct to the portal. It had a padlock upon it, and the key of this Baker secured at once. In the interval of silence that ensued, the rustling of planks and straw was heard inside, as of persons rising from sleep.

At the same moment Baker hailed:

"To the persons in this barn. I have a proposal to make; we are about to send in to you the son of the man in whose custody you are found. Either surrender to him your arms and then give yourselves up, or we'll set fire to the place. We mean to take you both, or to have a bonfire and a shooting match."

No answer came to this of any kind. The lad, John M. Garrett, who was in deadly fear, was here pushed through the door by a sudden opening of it, and immediately Lieutenant Baker locked the door on the outside. The boy was heard to state his appeal in under tone. Booth replied:

"Damn you. Get out of here. You have betrayed me."

At the same time he placed his hand in his pocket as for a pistol. A remonstrance followed, but the boy slipped quickly over the reopened portal, reporting that his errand had failed, and that he dared not enter again. All this time the candle brought from the house to the barn was burning close beside the two detectives, rendering it easy for any one within to have shot them dead. This observed, the light was cautiously removed, and everybody took care to keep out of its reflection. By this time the crisis of the position was at hand, the cavalry exhibited very variable inclinations, some to run away, others to shoot Booth without a summons, but all excited and fitfully silent. At the house near by the female folks were seen collected in the doorway, and the necessities of the case provoked prompt conclusions. The boy was placed at a remote point, and the summons repeated by Baker:

"You must surrender inside there. Give up your arms and appear. There is no chance for escape. We give you five minutes to make up your mind."

A bold, clarion reply came from within, so strong as to be heard at the house door:

"Who are you, and what do you want with us?"

Baker again urged: "We want you to deliver up your arms and become our prisoners."

"But who are you?" hallooed the same strong voice.

Baker.—"That makes no difference. We know who you are, and we want you. We have here fifty men, armed with carbines and pistols. You cannot escape."

There was a long pause, and then Booth said:

"Captain, this is a hard case, I swear. Perhaps I am being taken by my own friends." No reply from the detectives.

Booth—"Well, give us a little time to consider."

Baker—"Very well. Take time."

Here ensued a long and eventful pause. What thronging memories it brought to Booth, we can only guess. In this little interval he made the resolve to die. But he was cool and steady to the end. Baker, after a lapse, hailed for the last time.

"Well, we have waited long enough; surrender your arms and come out, or we'll fire the barn."

Booth answered thus: "I am but a cripple, a one-legged man. Withdraw your forces one hundred yard from the door, and I will come. Give me a chance for my life, captain. I will never be taken alive."

Baker—"We did not come here to fight, but to capture you. I say again, appear, or the barn shall be fired."

Then with a long breath, which could be heard outside, Booth cried in sudden calmness, still invisible, as were to him his enemies:

"Well, then, my brave boys, prepare a stretcher for me."

There was a pause repeated, broken by low discussions within between Booth and his associate, the former saying, as if in answer to some remonstrance or appeal, "Get away from me. You are a damned coward, and mean to leave me in my distress; but go, go. I don't want you to stay. I won't have you stay." Then he shouted aloud:

"There's a man inside who wants to surrender."

Baker—"Let him come, if he will bring his arms."

Here Harold, rattling at the door, said: "Let me out; open the door; I want to surrender."

Baker—"Hand out your arms, then."

Harold—"I have not got any."

Baker—"You are the man that carried the carbine yesterday; bring it out."

Harold—"I haven't got any."

This was said in a whining tone, and with an almost visible shiver. Booth cried aloud, at this hesitation: "He hasn't got any arms; they are mine, and I have kept them."

Baker—"Well, he carried the carbine, and must bring it out."

Booth—"On the word and honor of a gentleman, he has no arms with him.
They are mine, and I have got them."

At this time Harold was quite up to the door, within whispering distance of Baker. The latter told him to put out his hands to be handcuffed, at the same time drawing open the door a little distance. Harold thrust forth his hands, when Baker, seizing him, jerked him into the night, and straightway delivered him over to a deputation of cavalrymen. The fellow began to talk of his innocence and plead so noisily that Conger threatened to gag him unless he ceased. Then Booth made his last appeal, in the same clear unbroken voice:

"Captain, give me a chance. Draw off your men and I will fight them singly. I could have killed you six times to-night, but I believe you to be a brave man, and would not murder you. Give a lame man a show."

It was too late for parley. All this time Booth's voice had sounded from the middle of the barn.

Ere he ceased speaking, Colonel Conger, slipping around to the rear, drew some loose straws through a crack, and lit a match upon them. They were dry and blazed up in an instant, carrying a sheet of smoke and flame through the parted planks, and heaving in a twinkling a world of light and heat upon the magazine within. The blaze lit up the black recesses of the great barn till every wasp's nest and cobweb in the roof was luminous, flinging streaks of red and violet across the tumbled farm gear in the corner, plows, harrows, hoes, rakes, sugar mills, and making every separate grain in the high bin adjacent, gleam like a mote of precious gold. They tinged the beams, the upright columns, the barricades, where clover and timothy, piled high, held toward the hot incendiary their separate straws for the funeral pile. They bathed the murderer's retreat in beautiful illumination, and while in bold outline his figure stood revealed, they rose like an impenetrable wall to guard from sight the hated enemy who lit them. Behind the blaze, with his eye to a crack, Conger saw Wilkes Booth standing upright upon a crutch. He likens him at this instant to his brother Edwin, whom he says he so much resembled that he half believed, for the moment the whole pursuit to have been a mistake. At the gleam of the fire Wilkes dropped his crutch, and, carbine in both hands, crept up to the spot to espy the incendiary and shoot him dead. His eyes were lustrous like fever, and swelled and rolled in terrible beauty, while his teeth were fixed, and he wore the expression of one in the calmness before frenzy. In vain he peered with vengeance in his look; the blaze that made him visible concealed his enemy. A second he turned glaring at the fire, as if to leap upon it and extinguish it, but it had made such headway that this was a futile impulse and he dismissed it. As calmly as upon the battlefield a veteran stands amidst the hail of ball and shell, and plunging iron, Booth turned at a man's stride, and pushed for the door, carbine in poise, and the last resolve of death, which we name despair, set on his high, bloodless forehead.

As so he dashed, intent to expire not unaccompanied, a disobedient sergeant at an eye-hole drew upon him the fatal bead. The barn was all glorious with conflagration and in the beautiful ruin this outlawed man strode like all that, we know of wicked valor, stern in the face of death. A shock, a shout, a gathering up of his splendid figure as if to overtip the stature God gave him, and John Wilkes Booth fell headlong to the floor, lying there in a heap, a little life remaining.

"He has shot himself!" cried Baker, unaware of the source of the report, and rushing in, he grasped his arms to guard against any feint or strategy. A moment convinced him that further struggle with the prone flesh was useless. Booth did not move, nor breathe, nor gasp. Conger and two sergeants now entered, and taking up the body, they bore it in haste from the advancing flame, and laid it without upon the grass, all fresh with heavenly dew.

"Water," cried Conger, "bring water."

When this was dashed into his face, he revived a moment and stirred his lips. Baker put his ear close down, and heard him say:

"Tell mother—and die—for my country."

They lifted him again, the fire encroaching in hotness upon them and placed him on the porch before the dwelling.

A mattrass was brought down, on which they placed him and propped his head, and gave him water and brandy. The women of the household, joined meantime by another son, who had been found in one of the corn cribs, watching as he said, to see that Booth and Harold did not steal the horses, were nervous, but prompt to do the dying man all kindnesses, although waived sternly back by the detectives. They dipped a rag in brandy and water, and this being put between Booth's teeth he sucked it greedily. When he was able to articulate again, he muttered to Mr. Baker the same words, with an addenda. "Tell mother I died for my country. I thought I did for the best." Baker repeated this, saying at the same time "Booth, do I repeat it correctly." Booth nodded his head. By this time the grayness of dawn was approaching; moving figures inquisitively coming near were to be seen distinctly, and the cocks began to crow gutturally, though the barn was a hulk of blaze and ashes, sending toward the zenith a spiral line of dense smoke. The women became importunate that the troops might be ordered to extinguish the fire, which was spreading toward their precious corn-cribs. Not even death could banish the call of interest. Soldiers were sent to put out the fire, and Booth, relieved of the bustle around him, drew near to death apace. Twice he was heard to say, "kill me, kill me." His lips often moved but could complete no appreciable sound. He made once a motion which the quick eye of Conger understood to mean that his throat pained him. Conger put his finger there, when the dying man attempted to cough, but only caused the blood at his perforated neck to flow more, lively. He bled very little, although shot quite through, beneath and behind the ears, his collar being severed on both sides.

A soldier had been meanwhile despatched for a doctor, but the route and return were quite six miles, and the sinner was sinking fast. Still the women made efforts to get to see him, but were always rebuffed, and all the brandy they could find was demanded by the assassin, who motioned for strong drink every two minutes. He made frequent desires to be turned over, not by speech, but by gesture, and was alternately placed upon his back, belly and side. His tremendous vitality evidenced itself almost miraculously. Now and then, his heart would cease to throb, and his pulses would be as cold as a dead man's. Directly life would begin anew, the face would flush up effulgently, the eyes open and brighten, and soon relapsing, stillness re-asserted, would again be dispossessed by the same magnificent triumph of man over mortality. Finally the fussy little doctor arrived, in time to be useless. He probed the wound to see if the ball were not in it, and shook his head sagely, and talked learnedly.

Just at his coming Booth had asked to have his hands raised and shown him. They were so paralyzed that he did not know their location. When they were displayed he muttered, with a sad lethargy, "Useless, useless." These were the last words he ever uttered. As he began to die the sun rose and threw beams into all the tree-tops. It was of a man's height when the struggle of death twitched and fingered in the fading bravo's face. His jaw drew spasmodically and obliquely downward; his eyeballs rolled to-ward his feet, and began to swell; lividness, like a horrible shadow, fastened upon him, and, with a sort of gurgle and sudden check, he stretched his feet and threw his head back and gave up the ghost.

They sewed him up in a saddle blanket. This was his shroud; too like a soldier's. Harold, meantime, had been tied to a tree, but was now released for the march. Colonel Conger pushed on immediately for Washington; the cortege was to follow. Booth's only arms were his carbine knife, and two revolvers. They found about him bills of exchange, Canada money, and a diary. A venerable old negro living in the vicinity had the misfortune to possess a horse. This horse was a relic of former generations, and showed by his protruding ribs the general leanness of the land. He moved in an eccentric amble, and when put upon his speed was generally run backward. To this old negro's horse was harnessed a very shaky and absurd wagon, which rattled like approaching dissolution, and each part of it ran without any connection or correspondence with any other part. It had no tail-board, and its shafts were sharp as famine; and into this mimicry of a vehicle the murderer was to be sent to the Potomac river, while the man he had murdered was moving in state across the mourning continent. The old negro geared up his wagon by means of a set of fossil harness, and when it was backed to Garrett's porch, they laid within it the discolored corpse. The corpse was tied with ropes around the legs and made fast to the wagon sides. Harold's legs were tied to stirrups, and he was placed in the centre of four murderous looking cavalrymen. The two sons of Garrett were also taken along, despite the sobs and petitions of the old folks and women, but the rebel captain who had given Booth a lift, got off amidst the night's agitations, and was not rearrested. So moved the cavalcade of retribution, with death in its midst, along the road to Port Royal. When the wagon started, Booth's wound till now scarcely dribbling, began to run anew. It fell through the crack of the wagon, dripping upon the axle, and spotting the road with terrible wafers. It stained the planks, and soaked the blankets; and the old negro, at a stoppage, dabbled his hands in it by mistake; he drew back instantly, with a shudder and stifled expletive, "Gor-r-r, dat'll never come off in de world; it's murderer's blood." He wrung his hands, and looked imploringly at the officers, and shuddered again: "Gor-r-r, I wouldn't have dat on me fur tousand, tousand dollars." The progress of the team was slow, with frequent danger of shipwreck altogether, but toward noon the cortege filed through Port Royal, where the citizens came out to ask the matter, and why a man's body, covered with sombre blankets, was going by with so great escort. They were told that it was a wounded confederate, and so held their tongues. The little ferry, again in requisition, took them over by squads, and they pushed from Port Conway to Bell Plain, which they reached in the middle of the afternoon. All the way the blood dribbled from the corpse in a slow, incessant, sanguine exudation. The old negro was niggardly dismissed with two paper dollars. The dead man untied and cast upon the vessel's dock, steam gotten up in a little while, and the broad Potomac shores saw this skeleton ship flit by, as the bloody sun threw gashes and blots of unhealthy light along the silver surface.

All the way associate with the carcass, went Harold, shuddering in so grim companionship, and in the awakened fears of his own approaching. ordeal, beyond which it loomed already, the gossamer fabric of a scaffold. He tried to talk for his own exoneration, saying he had ridden, as was his wont, beyond the East Branch, and returning, found Booth wounded, who begged him to be his companion. Of his crime he knew nothing, so help him God, &c. But nobody listened to him. All interest of crime, courage, and retribution centered in the dead flesh at his feet. At Washington, high and low turned out to look on Booth. Only a few were permitted to see his corpse for purposes of recognition. It was fairly preserved, though on one side of the face distorted, and looking blue like death, and wildly bandit-like, as if beaten by avenging winds.

Yesterday the Secretary of War, without instructions of any kind, committed to Colonel Lafayette C. Baker, of the secret service, the stark corpse of J. Wilkes Booth. The secret service never fulfilled its volition more secretively. "What have you done with the body?" said I to Baker. "That is known" he answered, "to only one man living besides myself. It is gone. I will not tell you where. The only man who knows is sworn to silence. Never till the great trumpeter comes shall the grave of Booth be discovered." And this is true. Last night, the 27th of April, a small row boat received the carcass of the murderer; two men were in it they carried the body off into the darkness, and out of that darkness it will never return. In the darkness, like his great crime, may it remain forever, impalpable, invisible, nondescript, condemned to that worse than damnation,—annihilation. The river-bottom may ooze about it laden with great shot and drowning manacles. The earth may have opened to give it that silence and forgiveness which man will never give its memory. The fishes may swim around it, or the daisies grow white above it; but we shall never know. Mysterious, incomprehensible, unattainable, like the dim times through which we live and think upon as if we only dreamed them in perturbed fever, the assassin of a nation's head rests somewhere in the elements, and that is all; but if the indignant seas or the profaned turf shall ever vomit his corpse from their recesses, and it receive humane or Christian burial from some who do not recognize it, let the last words those decaying lips ever uttered be carved above them with a dagger, to tell the history of a young and once promising life—useless! useless!