Secret Service

<h3><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</SPAN></h3> <div class="chapquot"> <div> <p>They are the abstract and brief chronicles of the time.</p> <p class="citation">Hamlet.</p> </div> </div> <div class="sidenote">An Interview with General Sherman.</div> <p>General Sherman was very violent toward the Press. Some newspapers had treated him unjustly early in the war. While he commanded in Kentucky, his eccentricities were very remarkable, and a journalist started the report that Sherman was crazy, which obtained wide credence. There was, at least, method in his madness; for his supposed insanity which declared that the Government required two hundred thousand troops in the West, though hooted at the time, proved wisdom and prophecy.</p> <p>Nevertheless, he was very erratic. When I first saw him in Missouri, during Fremont's administration, his eye had a half-wild expression, probably the result of excessive smoking. From morning till night he was never without his cigar. To the nervous-sanguine temperament, indicated by his blonde hair, light eyes, and fair complexion, tobacco is peculiarly injurious.</p> <p>While many insisted that no correspondent could meet Sherman without being insulted, I sought him at his tent in the field; he was absent with a scouting party, but soon returned, with one hand bandaged from his Shiloh wound. A staff-officer introduced me:</p> <p>"General, this is Mr. ----."</p> <p>"How do you do, Mr. ----?" inquired Sherman, with great suavity, offering me his uninjured hand.</p> <p>"Correspondent of <cite>The New York Tribune</cite>," added the lieutenant. </p> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</SPAN></span></p> <div class="sidenote">His Complaints about the Press.</div> <p>The general's manner changed from Indian summer to a Texas norther, and he asked, in freezing tones:</p> <p>"Have you not come to the wrong place, sir?"</p> <p>"I think not. I want to learn some facts about the late battle from your own lips. You complain that journalists misrepresent you. How can they avoid it, when you refuse to give them proper information? Some officers are drunkards and charlatans; but you would think it unjust if we condemned all on that account. Is it not equally absurd to anathematize every man of my profession for the sins of a few unworthy members?"</p> <p>"Perhaps it is. Sit down. Will you have a cigar? The trouble is, that you of the Press have no responsibilities. Some worthless fellow, wielding a quill, may send falsehoods about me to thousands of people who can never hear them refuted. What can I do? His readers do not know that he is without character. It would be useless to prosecute him. If he would even fight there would be some satisfaction in that; but a slanderer is likely to be a coward as well."</p> <p>"True; but when some private citizen slanders you on the street or in a drinking-saloon, you do not find it necessary to pull the nose of every civilian whom you meet. Reputable journalists have just as much pride in their profession as you have in yours. This tendency to treat them superciliously and harshly, which encourages flippant young staff-officers to insult them, tends to drive them home in disgust, and leave their places to be supplied by a less worthy class; so you only aggravate the evil you complain of."</p> <div class="sidenote">Sherman's Personal Appearance.</div> <p>After further conversation on this subject, Sherman gave me a very entertaining account of the battle. Since I first saw him, his eye had grown much calmer, and his nervous system healthier. He is tall, of bony frame, spare <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</SPAN></span> in flesh, with thin, wrinkled face, sandy beard and hair, and bright, restless eyes. His face indicates great vitality and activity; his manner is restless; his discourse rapid and earnest. He looks rather like an anxious man of business than an ideal soldier, suggesting the exchange, and not the camp.</p> <p>He has great capacity for labor&mdash;sometimes working for twenty consecutive hours. He sleeps little, nor do the most powerful opiates relieve his terrible cerebral excitement. Indifferent to dress and to fare, he can live on hard bread and water, and fancies any one else can do so. Often irritable, and sometimes rude, he is a man of great originality and daring, and a most valuable lieutenant for a general of coolness and judgment, like Grant or Thomas. With one of them to plan or modify, he is emphatically the man to execute. His purity and patriotism are beyond all question. He did not enter the army to speculate in cotton, or to secure a seat in the United States Senate, but to serve the country.</p> <p>Military weaknesses are often amusing. A prominent officer on Halleck's staff, who had served with Scott in Mexico, had something to do with fortifying Island Number Ten, after its capture. An obscure country newspaper gave another officer the credit. Seeking the agent of the Associated Press at Halleck's head-quarters, the aggrieved engineer remarked:</p> <p>"By the way, Mr. Weir, I have been carrying a paper in my pocket for several days, but have forgotten to hand it to you. Here it is."</p> <p>And he produced a letter page of denial, upon which the ink was not yet dry, stating that the island had been fortified under the immediate direction of General ----, the well-known officer of the regular army, who served upon the staff of Lieutenant-General Scott during the <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</SPAN></span> Mexican war, and was at present ----, ----, and ---- upon the staff of General Halleck.</p> <p>"I rely upon your sense of justice," said this ornament of the staff, "to give this proper publicity."</p> <div class="sidenote">Humors of the Telegraph.</div> <p>Mr. Weir, with a keen sense of the ridiculous, sent the long dispatch word for word to the Associated Press, adding: "You may rest assured that this is perfectly reliable, because every word of it was written by the old fool himself!" All the newspaper readers in the country had the formal dispatch, and all the telegraph corps had their merriment over this confidential addendum.</p> <p>Halleck's command contained eighty thousand effective men, who were nearly all veterans. His line was ten miles in length, with Grant on the right, Buell in the center, and Pope on the left.</p> <p>The grand army was like a huge serpent, with its head pinned on our left, and its tail sweeping slowly around toward Corinth. Its majestic march was so slow that the Rebels had ample warning. It was large enough to eat up Beauregard at one mouthful; but Halleck crept forward at the rate of about three-quarters of a mile per day. Thousands and thousands of his men died from fevers and diarrh&oelig;a.</p> <p>There was great dissatisfaction at his slow progress. Pope was particularly impatient. One day he had a very sharp skirmish with the enemy. Our position was strong. General Palmer, who commanded on the front, reported that he could hold it against the world, the flesh, and the devil; but Halleck telegraphed to Pope three times within an hour not to be drawn into a general engagement. After the last dispatch, Pope retired, leaving the enemy in possession of the field. How he did storm about it!</p> <p>The little army which Pope had brought from the <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</SPAN></span> capture of Island Number Ten was perfectly drilled and disciplined, and he handled it with rare ability. Much of his subsequent unpopularity arose from his imprudent and violent language. He sometimes indulged in the most unseemly profanity and billingsgate within hearing of a hundred people.</p> <div class="sidenote">Weaknesses of Sundry Generals.</div> <p>But his personal weaknesses were pardonable compared with those of some other prominent officers. During Fremont's Missouri campaign, I knew one general who afterward enjoyed a well-earned national reputation for skill and gallantry. His head-quarters were the scenes of nightly orgies, where whisky punches and draw-poker reigned from dark until dawn. In the morning his tent was a strange museum of bottles, glasses, sugar-bowls, playing-cards, gold, silver, and bank-notes. I knew another western officer, who, during the heat of a Missouri battle, according to the newspaper reports, inspirited his men by shouting:</p> <p>"Go in, boys! Remember Lyon! Remember the old flag!"</p> <p>He did use those words, but no enemy was within half a mile, and he was lying drunk on the ground, flat upon his back. Afterward, repenting in sackcloth and ashes, he did the State some service, and his delinquency was never made public.</p> <p>At Antietam, a general, well known both in Europe and America, was reported disabled by a spent shell, which struck him in the breast. The next morning, he gave me a minute history of it, assuring me that he still breathed with difficulty and suffered greatly from internal soreness. The fact was that he was disabled by a bottle of whisky, having been too hospitable to that seductive friend!</p> <div class="sidenote">"John Pope, Major-General Commanding."</div> <p>After the evacuation of Corinth, Pope's reputation suffered greatly from a false dispatch, asserting <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</SPAN></span> that he had captured ten thousand prisoners. Halleck alone was responsible for the report. Pope was in the rear. One of his subordinates on the front telegraphed him substantially as follows:</p> <div class="blockquot"> <p>"The woods are full of demoralized and flying Rebels. Some of my officers estimate their number as high as ten thousand. Many of them have already come into my lines."</p> </div> <p>Pope forwarded this message, which said nothing about taking prisoners, to Halleck, without erasing or adding a line; and Halleck, smarting under his mortifying failure at Corinth, telegraphed that Pope reported the capture of ten thousand Rebels. Pope's reputation for veracity was fatally wounded, and the newspapers burlesqued him mercilessly.</p> <p>One of my comrades lay sick and wounded at the residence of General Clinton B. Fisk, of St. Louis. On a Sunday afternoon the general was reading to him from the Bible an account of the first contraband. This historic precedent was the servant of an Amalekite, who came into David's camp and proposed, if assured of freedom, to show the King of Israel a route which would enable him to surprise his foes. The promise was given, and the king fell upon the enemy, whom he utterly destroyed. While our host was reading the list of the spoils, the prisoners, slaves, women, flocks and herds captured by David, the sick journalist lifted his attenuated finger, and in his weak, piping voice, said:</p> <p>"Stop, General; just look down to the bottom of that list, and see if it is not signed John Pope, Major-General commanding!"</p> <div class="sidenote">Halleck's Faux Pas at Corinth.</div> <p>At last, Halleck's army reached Corinth, but the bird <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</SPAN></span> had flown. No event of the war reflected so much credit upon the Rebels and so much discredit upon the Unionists as Beauregard's evacuation. He did not disturb himself until Halleck's Parrott guns had thrown shots within fourteen feet of his own head-quarters. Then, keeping up a vigorous show of resistance on his front, he deserted the town, leaving behind not a single gun, or ambulance, or even a sick or wounded man in the hospital.</p> <p>Halleck lost thenceforth the name of "Old Brains," which some imaginative person had given him, and which tickled for a time the ears of his soldiers. The only good thing he ever did, in public, was to make two brief speeches. When he first reached St. Louis, upon being called out by the people, he said:</p> <p>"With your help, I will drive the enemy out of Missouri."</p> <p>Called upon again, on leaving St. Louis for Washington, to assume the duties of general-in-chief, he made an equally brief response:</p> <p>"Gentlemen: I promised to drive the enemy out of Missouri; I have done it!"</p> <div class="quotdate"> <span class="smcap">Halleck's Army, before Corinth</span>, }<br/> <i>April 23, 1862</i>. }</div> <p>Heavy re-enforcements are arriving. The woods, in luxuriant foliage, are spiced with</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"&mdash;&mdash;a dream of forest sweets,<br/></span> <span class="i0">Of odorous blooms and sweet contents,"<br/></span></div> </div> <p class="continued">and the deserted orchards are fragrant with apple and cherry blossoms. </p> <div class="sidenote">Out on the Front.</div> <p class="quotdate"><i>May 11.</i></p> <p>Still we creep slowly along. Pope's head-quarters are <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</SPAN></span> now within the borders of Mississippi. Out on his front you find several hundred acres of cotton-field and sward, ridged with graves from a recent hot skirmish. Carcasses of a hundred horses, killed during the battle, are slowly burning under piles of rails, covered with a layer of earth, that their decay may not taint the atmosphere.</p> <p>Beyond, our infantry pickets present muskets and order you to halt. If you are accompanied by a field-officer, or bear a pass "by order of Major-General Halleck," you can cross this Rubicon. A third of a mile farther are our vedettes, some mounted, others lying in the shade beside their grazing horses, but keeping a sharp look-out in front. In a little rift of the woods, half a mile away, you see through your field-glass a solitary horseman clad in butternut. Two or three more, and sometimes forty or fifty, come out of the woods and join him, but they keep very near their cover, and soon go back. Those are the enemy's pickets. You hear the drum beat in the Rebel lines, and the shrill whistle of the locomotives at Corinth, which is three miles distant.</p> <p class="quotdate"><i>May 19.</i></p> <p>Along our entire front, almost daily, the long roll is sounded, and the ground jarred by the dull rumble of cannonade. The little attention paid to these skirmishes, where we lose from fifty to one hundred men, illustrates the magnitude of the war.</p> <p>We feel the earth vibrate, and look inquiringly into the office of the telegraph which accompanies every corps.</p> <p>"It is on Buell's center, or on Grant's right," the operator replies.</p> <p>If it does not become rapid and prolonged, no further <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</SPAN></span> questions are asked. At night, awakened by the sharp rattle of musketry, we raise our heads, listen for the alarm-drum, and, not hearing it, roll over in our blankets, to court again the drowsy god.</p> <p>Ride out with me to the front, five miles from Halleck's head-quarters. The country is undulating and woody, with a few cotton-fields and planters' houses. The beautiful groves open into delicious vistas of green grass or rolling wheat; luxuriant flowers perfume the vernal air, and the rich foliage already seems to display&mdash;</p> <div class="poem"> <div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">&mdash;&mdash;"The tintings and the fingerings of June,<br/></span> <span class="i0">As she blossoms into beauty and sings her Summer tune!"<br/></span></div> </div> <p>Here is a deserted camp of a division which has moved forward. Three or four adjacent farmers are gathering up the barrels, boxes, provisions, and other <span lang="fr">d&eacute;bris</span>, left behind by the troops.</p> <div class="sidenote">Drilling, Digging, and Skirmishing.</div> <p>Here is a division on drill, advancing in line of battle, the skirmishers thrown out in front, deploying, gathering in groups, or falling on their faces at the word of command.</p> <p>Beyond those white tents our soldiers, in gray shirts and blue pants, are busily plying the spade. They throw up a long rampart notched with embrasures for cannon. We have already built fifty miles of breastworks.</p> <p>A little in the rear are the heavy siege-guns, where they can be brought up quickly; a little in front, the field artillery, with the horses harnessed and tied to trees, ready for use at a moment's notice. Near the workmen, their comrades, who do the more legitimate duty of the soldier, are standing on their arms, to repel any <span lang="fr">sortie</span> from the enemy. Their guns, with the burnished barrels <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</SPAN></span> and bayonets glistening in the sun, are stacked in long rows, while the men stand in little groups, or sit under the trees, playing cards, reading letters or newspapers. More than twenty thousand copies of the daily papers of the western cities and New York are sold in the army at ten cents each. The number of letters which go out from the camps in each day's mail is nearly as large.</p> <p>When this parapet is completed, we shall go forward a few hundred yards, and throw up another; and thus we advance slowly toward Corinth.</p> <p>Ride still farther, and you find the infantry pickets. The vedettes are drawn in, if there is any skirmishing going on. From the extreme front, you catch an occasional glimpse of the Rebels&mdash;"Butternuts," as they are termed in camp, from their cinnamon-hued homespun, dyed with butternut extract. They are dodging among the trees, and, if you are wise, you will get behind a tree yourself, and beware how you show your head.</p> <div class="sidenote">Experiences among the Sharp-shooters.</div> <p>Already one of their sharp-shooters notices you. Puff, comes a cloud of smoke from his rifle; in the same breath you hear the explosion, and the sharp, ringing "ping" of the bullet through the air! Capital shots are many of these long, lank, loose-jointed Mississippians and Texans, whose rifles are sometimes effective at ten and twelve hundred yards. Yesterday, one of them concealed himself in the dense foliage of a tree-branch, and picked off several of our soldiers. At last, one of our own sharp-shooters took him in hand, and, at the sixth discharge, brought him down to the ground. This sharp-shooting is a needless aggravation of the horrors of war; but if the enemy indulges in it, you have no recourse but to do likewise. </p> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</SPAN></span></p> <div class="sidenote">Horses Stolen Every Day.</div> <p>Stealing is the inevitable accompaniment of camp life&mdash;"convey, the wise" call it. I have a steed, cadaverous and bony, but with good locomotive powers. There was profound policy in my selection. For five consecutive nights that horse was stolen, but no thief ever kept him after seeing him by day-light. In the morning, he would always come browsing back. My friend and tent-mate "Carlton," of <cite>The Boston Journal</cite>, had a more vaulting ambition. He procured a showy horse, which proved the most expensive luxury in all his varied experience. The special aptitude of the animal was to be stolen. Regularly, seven mornings in the week, our African factotum would thrust his woolly head into the tent, and awaken us with this salutation:</p> <p>"Breakfast is ready. Mr. Coffin, your horse is gone again."</p> <p>By hard search and liberal rewards, he would be reclaimed during the day from some cavalry soldier, who averred that he had found him running loose. After being impaled and nearly killed upon a rake-handle, the poor brute, hardly able to walk ten paces, was stolen again, and never re-appeared. My friend now remembered his showy steed, and the last five-dollar note which he sent in fruitless pursuit, among blessings which brightened as they took their flight.</p> <p class="quotdate"> <span class="smcap">Cairo, Ill.</span>, <i>May 21</i>.</p> <div class="sidenote">Halleck Expels the War Correspondents.</div> <p>General Halleck has expelled all the correspondents from the army, on the plea that he must exclude "unauthorized hangers-on," to keep spies out of his camps. His refusal to accept <em>any</em> guaranties of their loyalty and prudence, even from the President himself, proves that this plea was a shallow subterfuge. The real trouble is, that Halleck is not willing to have his conduct exhibited <span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</SPAN></span> to the country through any other medium than official reports. "As false as a bulletin," has passed into a proverb.</p> <p>The journalists received invitations to remain, from friends holding commissions in the army, from major-generals down to lieutenants; but, believing their presence just as legitimate and needful as that of any soldier or officer, they determined not to skulk about camps like felons, but all left in a body. Their individual grievances are nothing to the public; but this is a grave issue between the Military Power and the rights of the Press and the People. </p> <hr class="chap" /> <p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</SPAN></span></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />