Chapter VIII: Andy on the Breastworks

At home Andy had never experienced any difficulty with his father’s slaves, for the colored people were well cared for and were too happy to create any disturbances. To be sure, minor difficulties arose from time to time, but these had been readily adjusted, and there was not a man or woman on the Arlington plantation who would not have been willing to lay down his or her life for any member of the family. These slaves were true to the Arlingtons all through the war, and when liberated by President Lincoln’s proclamation, made no effort to take advantage of their liberty. As attachés of that plantation and dairy, they felt they were being better taken care of than they would be if they tried to do for themselves.

To come in contact, then, with such rascals as Pomp and Cuffy was to the youth much of a surprise, and having seen the slaves dash away, he stood still, not knowing what to do, until Mr. Rockleigh caught him by the arm.

“Come, we must stop them. They have my gold and they will try to reach the North if they can,” burst from the plantation owner.

Out he sped, and Andy came upon his heels. The report of the pistol and the smashing of the glass had aroused a number of inhabitants living on the other side of the main road upon which the house stood, and now windows were thrown up and anxious faces appeared, and voices demanded to know what was the trouble. Matters were quickly explained, and soon a dozen men were in the saddle and on foot in pursuit of the runaway thieves.

One man living a distance up the road had seen Pomp and Cuffy taking a side path leading due northward, and it was in this direction the pursuing party headed, spreading out over several open fields, that the negroes might not double on their trail and escape in that manner. Mr. Rockleigh wanted to follow them with bloodhounds, but not a dog of that breed was handy.

“Just let me catch them,” he cried, in a fearful rage. “I’ll skin them both alive. I’ll cut out their black hearts with my whip.” He was naturally a passionate man, and this was one reason why his slaves had revolted.

The pursuit was kept up until six o’clock in the morning. It was then discovered that the two runaways had separated. One party, including Andy, continued after Pomp, while the second followed up the trail of Cuffy. By ten o’clock Andy dropped out of the search to ride post-haste back to his command. Sometime later he learned that Pomp had not been captured.

Cuffy was taken while in hiding in a brook in a patch of woods. He was dragged out of the water by his heels and at once searched. A hundred dollars in gold was found in his shirt bosom. The remainder of the money he insisted was in Pomp’s possession. He was marched back to the Rockleigh plantation, where he was chained up in one of the barns and flogged until he dropped like one dead, from exhaustion and loss of blood.

This was the only incident of note which occurred on the trip from Lee Run to Manassas Junction. Arriving at the Junction the Montgomery Grays selected a camping spot in the vicinity of a number of other Virginia troops, and immediately went into quarters in true military style.

Their camp was in an orchard of trees which had borne their best fruit years before, and which were consequently good for little else than firewood. The Montgomery Grays occupied one “street” about a hundred and fifty feet long. At the upper end of the “street” were the officers’ tents, at the center the horses’ quarters, and at the lower end the cook’s quarters. The cook was a fat darky known as Mungo, a jolly fellow who sang from morning to night, and who could play a banjo to perfection. Mungo had brought his banjo with him, a home-made instrument, the head of which was almost as black as his own, and this banjo he declared must go along whenever they moved, no matter what else had to be left behind.

“I would jess mope away an’ die ef I didn’t hab dat dere instrument, cap’n,” he explained to Captain Montgomery. “It’s been my pet fo’ ten yahs an’ mo’. Ef I’se killed in dis yere wah, bury de banjo wid me.”

“All right, Mungo, I’ll remember that,” answered the captain. “But don’t forget, if you get the chance, to smash that banjo over some Yankee’s head. Do that, and I’ll buy you the best instrument to be found in Richmond.”

“De Yankee ain’t born whose head am good enuf to hab dis yere banjo smashed ober it,” murmured Mungo; and there the subject was dropped.

The main body of the Confederate army was stationed in and about Manassas Junction and along a little stream known as Bull Run; but there were also bodies of troops at Centerville and Fairfax Court House, situated between Manassas and Washington, and also detachments at Alexandria on the Potomac and at Arlington Heights, just across the river from the Capitol.

Andy had been in camp less than a week when he received his first real taste of war life, if not of war itself. In order to strengthen the position of the army at Bull Run, it was decided to throw up breastworks, and this was done under the orders of General Beauregard, who now had under him a force of nearly twenty thousand men.

Bull Run is a sluggish stream of water, flowing between steep banks and through a well-timbered country. Its winding course contained many fords and several bridges. The Confederate army occupied about eight miles of the southern bank of this stream, and at once began the work of defending seven of the fords and one of the bridges by throwing up breastworks of dirt and brushwood.

With the others in his company, Andy was given first a pick and then a shovel and set to work like any common day laborer. The youth was not used to this, and when night came his back ached as it never had before. The work took the best part of a week, and then Andy found his hands blistered.

“Call this fighting?” he grumbled. “It wouldn’t be so bad if a fellow was out in California digging gold, but to work like a nigger on the streets of a town--” He did not finish but heaved a big sigh. That night it rained “pitchforks;” the tent Andy occupied with Leroy was blown down, and he felt utterly discouraged.

“Never mind, Andy,” said Leroy, trying to cheer him. “We’ll be fighting before long, and then you can show your mettle to better advantage. I heard some of the officers saying that the soldiers over in Washington would be out this way before the month was up. If they come we ought to give it to ’em red hot.”

“They can’t come any too quick for me,” growled Andy.

Even with the work on the defenses the drilling went on daily without interruption. First they would drill in company, then with other detached cavalry troops, and finally would come the grand drill of the division. The drilling was not always done in an open field, but among the trees and on rough ground, and often fences had to be jumped and streams forded. It was not play but hard work; yet Andy liked it a good deal better than handling a pick and a shovel, something he thought altogether beneath him.

“It’s life to be on horseback, dashing here and there,” he observed to Leroy Wellington. “If only the Yankees would appear and give us a little more of this sort to do. I wonder if they are going to wait for us to attack them?”

The breastworks along Bull Run completed, advance guards were sent out along the Potomac just above Washington. Then the Confederates sent their engineers along Arlington Heights to survey the territory and report on the advisability of planting a battery there. Some of the Southern leaders were certain that such a battery could successfully shell Washington and compel President Lincoln and the members of Congress to flee for their lives. The only trouble was, could they hold such a position? Might not the Union forces come down upon them from the upper Potomac and cut them off from their base of supplies and from Richmond?

The question was answered before the Southern generals had time to act upon their idea. One day a Union officer, while in a boat near the foot of Arlington Heights, discovered a number of men walking about among the rocks and brush. The officer happened to have a powerful spy-glass with him, and using this, discovered that one of the men was Robert E. Lee, who was then the military adviser of President Davis of the Confederacy, and who afterwards became the general-in-chief of the Southern army. Lee was laying out fortifications, and the Union officer lost no time in reporting to General Scott to that effect.

General Scott saw at once that this work must be stopped instantly, or Washington would be at the enemy’s mercy. Orders were accordingly given for certain detachments of the Union troops to cross the river without delay, and take possession of the opposite shore.

The advance from Washington was made at two o’clock at night. Two bridges crossed the Potomac at this point, and a column of the army passed over by each, while a third division embarked on vessels for Alexandria, a short distance below Arlington Heights. As soon as the Confederates heard of the approach of the Union men they retreated, and the shore of the Potomac opposite Washington was occupied without great difficulty.

Louis was just about to retire for the night when the sudden roll of the drum made him leap to his feet. In a few seconds Harry Bingham came rushing into the tent.

“We are off, Louis!” he ejaculated. “The war has begun.”

“Off! Where to?” burst from Louis’s lips.

“I don’t know. Across the river to somewhere I believe. Come on!” and off Harry ran, with Louis at his heels. The parade ground was filled with men, on foot and on horseback, scurrying in all directions.

From their captain the youths soon learned that the Union army, or a portion of it, was to take possession of the other shore of the river. The various commands had been divided into three parts and the Goreville Volunteers were to be attached to the Ellsworth Zouaves and some other companies, bound by boat for Alexandria. In less than two hours all was ready for embarkation.

The trip down the stream to one of the main docks in Alexandria did not take long. Company after company came ashore unmolested, although mutterings could be heard on every side. Having landed all of his troops, Colonel Ellsworth marched up the main street, called upon the city authorities to surrender the town, and then started for the telegraph office, with the intention of cutting off all communications with the South--certainly a very clever movement.

The Goreville Volunteers soon found themselves not far from the telegraph office for which Colonel Ellsworth was bound. They had become detached from the main body of the soldiers and now, without warning, were surrounded by a mob of two hundred people, armed with pistols, clubs, and stones.

“Down with the Yankees! Down with the Northern mud-sills!” was the cry, and in a moment the air became thick with flying stones and lumps of dirt. Captain Paulding at once halted his men in two lines, and gave the rear line the order to “about face.” Next came the order to take aim, but by this time the mob saw that the soldiers “meant business,” and it melted away as quickly as it had gathered.

“A bloodless victory,” said Harry, who stood next to Louis.

Louis smiled and then he nodded his head in the direction where Jerry Rowe stood. Poor Jerry was shaking so that he could scarcely hold his gun.

“He’ll collapse when he gets into a regular battle,” said Harry, and then the command came for silence in the ranks and nothing further was said.

A little later the command marched past the Marshall House, one of the leading hotels of Alexandria. From the top waved a Confederate flag--a flag which President Lincoln and others had often seen from a window in the White House.

“That flag ought to come down,” whispered Louis. He had scarcely spoken when down the street came Colonel Ellsworth, accompanied by only two or three of his command. Ellsworth had noted the flag and now he ran into the hotel to tear it down with his own hands.

“Whose flag is that?” he demanded of the first man he met.

“I don’t know,” was the surly reply.

“I want it lowered at once.”

“Do you? All right, go take it down yourself.”

“I will,” answered the Union officer, and ran up one pair of stairs after another to the roof of the hotel. Here the halliards of the flag-staff were cut and the flag brought down on a run. With the colors wound over his arm, Ellsworth began to descend to the street. He had just reached the second floor of the building when the proprietor of the hotel, a man named Jackson, appeared in the hallway armed with a double-barrel shotgun.

“Will haul it down, will you?” he muttered and pointing his weapon at Ellsworth’s breast, fired. The gallant leader of the Ellsworth Zouaves was killed instantly, and sank down without a moan.

“Ellsworth is shot! Help!” came the cry from the Union officer’s companions, and then one fired at Jackson with fatal effect. As the hotel man went down in a pool of blood the others leaped upon his body and thrust it through with their sabers.

“Spare him!” came in a woman’s voice, and the secessionist’s wife came rushing forth from a bedroom. Thinking her husband might still breathe, she threw herself on his corpse, while the Union men, knowing he was dead, picked up their lifeless leader and carried him away.