The Long Roll
"This stone mill is upon your land?"
"Yes, sir. My mother owns it."
"You have been about the dam as a boy?"
"Yes, sir. In the water above it and in the water below it. I know every
log, I reckon. It works the mill."
"If we break it, it will work the mill no longer. In addition, if the
enemy cross, they will probably destroy the property."
"Yes, sir. My mother and I would not let that weigh with us. As I know
the construction I should esteem it an honour, sir, if I might lead the
party. I think I may say that I know where the cribs could be most
easily cut."
"Very good then, sir. You will report for duty at nine to-night. Captain
Holliday of the 33d and Captain Robinson of the 27th, with a number of
their men, have volunteered for this service. It is not without danger,
as you know. That is all."
Captain Colston departed. "Now, Captain Cleave," said the general.
A few minutes later, the report ended, Jackson refolded General Banks's
letter to General Kelly and put it into his pocket-book. "Good! good!"
he said, and turned slightly on the camp-stool so as to face the river
and the north. "It's all right, captain, it's all right!"
"I wish, sir," said Cleave, "that with ten times the numbers you have,
you were leading us across the river. We might force a peace, I think,
and that right quickly."
Jackson nodded. "Yes, sir, I ought to have every soldier in Virginia--if
they could be gotten here in time every soldier in the Carolinas. There
would then be but a streamlet of blood where now there is going to be a
great river. The streamlet should run through the land of them with whom
we are righteously at war. As it is, the great river will run through
ours." He rose. "You have done your mission well, sir. The 65th will be
up presently."
* * * * *
It took three days to cut Dam No. 5. On the fourth the brigade went back
to Winchester. A week later came Loring with the Army of the Kanawha,
and on the third of January the whole force found itself again upon the
road.
In the afternoon the weather changed. The New Year had come in smiling,
mild as April, dust in the roads, a blue sky overhead. The withered
goldenrod and gaunt mullein stalks and dead asters by the wayside almost
seemed to bloom again, while the winter wheat gave an actual vernal
touch. The long column, winding somewhere--no one knew where, but anyhow
on the Pugh Town Road and in a northwesterly direction (even Old Jack
couldn't keep them from knowing that they were going northwest!)--was in
high spirits. At least, the Stonewall Brigade was in spirits. It was
said that Loring's men didn't want to come, anyhow. The men whistled and
sang, laughed, joked, were lavish of opinions as to all the world in
general and the Confederate service in particular. They were sarcastic.
The Confederate private was always sarcastic, but throughout the morning
there had been small sting in their remarks. Breakfast--"at early
dawn"--was good and plentiful. Three days' rations had been served and
cooked, and stowed in haversacks. But, so lovely was the weather, so
oppressive in the sunshine would be a heavy weight to carry, so obliging
were the wagon drivers, so easy in many regiments the Confederate
discipline, that overcoats, blankets, and, in very many instances
haversacks, had been consigned before starting to the friendly care of
the wagons in the rear. The troops marched light, and in a good humour.
True, Old Jack seemed bent on getting there--wherever "there" was--in a
tremendous hurry. Over every smooth stretch the men were double-timed,
and there was an unusual animus against stragglers. There grew, too, a
moral certitude that from the ten minutes' lawful rest in each hour at
least five minutes was being filched. Another and still more certain
conclusion was that the wagon train was getting very far behind.
However, the morning was still sweet, and the column, as a whole,
cheerful. It was a long column--the Stonewall Brigade, three brigades of
Loring's, five batteries, and a few cavalry companies; eight thousand,
five hundred men in all.
Mid-day arrived, and the halt for dinner. Alas for the men without
haversacks! They looked as though they had borne all the burdens of the
march. There was hunger within and scant sympathy without. "Didn't the
damned fools know that Old Jack always keeps five miles ahead of wagon
trains and hell fire?" "Here, Saunders! take these corn pones over to
those damned idiots with the compliments of Mess No. 4. We know that
they have Cherrystone oysters, canvas-back ducks, terrapin, and peach
brandy in their haversacks, and that they meant to ask us to join them.
So unfortunate!"
The cavalry marched on, the artillery marched on, the infantry marched
on. The bright skies subtly changed. The blue grew fainter; a haze,
white, harsh, and cold, formed gradually, and a slight wind began to
blow. The aster and goldenrod, the dried ironweed and sumach, the red
rose hips and magenta pokeberry stalks looked dead enough now, dead and
dreary upon the weary, weary road. The men sang no more; the more weakly
shivered. Before long the sky was an even greyish-white, and the wind
had much increased. Coming from the northwest, it struck the column in
the face; moreover, it grew colder and colder. All types shivered now,
the strong and the weak, the mounted officer and the leg-weary private,
the men with overcoats, and the men without. The column moved slower and
slower, all heads bent before the wind, which now blew with violence. It
raised, too, a blinding dust. A curt order ran down the lines for less
delay. The regiments changed gait, tried quick time along a level
stretch, and left behind a large number of stragglers. The burst of
speed was for naught, they went the slower thereafter, and coming to a
long, bleak hill, crept up it like tortoises--but without protecting
shells. By sunset the cold was intense. Word came back that the head of
the column was going into camp, and a sigh of approbation arose from
all. But when brigade by brigade halted, deployed, and broke ranks, it
appeared that "going into camp" was rather a barren phrase. The wagons
had not come up; there were no tents, no blankets, no provisions. A
northwester was blowing, and the weather-wise said that there would be
snow ere morning. The regiments spread over bare fields, enclosed by
rail fences. There were a small, rapidly freezing stream and thick
woods, skirting the fields. In the woods were fallen boughs and pine
cones enough to make the axes in the company wagons not greatly missed,
and detachments were sent to gather fagots. The men, cold and exhausted,
went, but they looked wistfully at the rail fences all around them, so
easy to demolish, so splendid to burn! Orders on the subject were
stringent. _Officers will be held responsible for any destruction of
property. We are here to protect and defend, not to destroy._ The men
gathered dead branches and broke down others, heaped them together in
the open fields, and made their camp-fires. The Rockbridge Artillery
occupied a fallow field covered with fox grass, dead Michaelmas daisy,
and drifted leaves. It was a good place for the poor horses, the battery
thought. But the high wind blew sparks from the fires and lighted the
grass. The flames spread and the horses neighed with terror. The battery
was forced to move, taking up position at last in a ploughed field where
the frozen furrows cut the feet, and the wind had the sweep of an
unchained demon. An infantry regiment fared better. It was in a stretch
of fenced field between the road and the freezing brook. A captain,
native of that region, spoke to the lieutenant-colonel, and the latter
spoke to the men. "Captain ---- says that we are camping upon his land,
and he's sorry he can't give us a better welcome! But we can have his
fence rails. Give him a cheer, and build your fires!" The men cheered
lustily, and tore the rails apart, and had rousing fires and were
comfortable; but the next morning Stonewall Jackson suspended from duty
the donor of his own fences. The brigades of Loring undoubtedly suffered
the most. They had seen, upon the Monterey line, on the Kanawha, the
Gauley, and the Greenbriar, rough and exhausting service. And then, just
when they were happy at last in winter quarters, they must pull up
stakes and hurry down the Valley to join "Fool Tom Jackson" of the
Virginia Military Institute and one brief day of glory at Manassas!
Loring, a gallant and dashing officer, was popular with them. "Fool Tom
Jackson" was not. They complained, and they very honestly thought that
they had upon their side justice, common sense, and common humanity--to
say nothing of military insight! The bitter night was bitterer to them
for their discontent. Many were from eastern Virginia or from the states
to the south, not yet inured to the winter heights and Stonewall
Jackson's way. They slept on frozen ground, surrounded by grim
mountains, and they dreamed uneasily of the milder lowlands, of the yet
green tangles of bay and myrtle, of quiet marshes and wide, unfreezing
waters. In the night-time the clouds thickened, and there came down a
fine rain, mixed with snow. In the morning, fields, hillsides, and road
appeared glazed with ice--and the wagons were not up!
The country grew rougher, lonelier, a series of low mountains and partly
cleared levels. To a few in the creeping column it may have occurred
that Jackson chose unfrequented roads, therefore narrow, therefore worse
than other roads, to the end that his policy of utter secrecy might be
the better served; but to the majority his course seemed sprung from a
certain cold wilfulness, a harshness without object, unless his object
were to wear out flesh and bone. The road, such as it was, was sheeted
with ice. The wind blew steadily from the northwest, striking the face
like a whip, and the fine rain and snow continued to fall and to freeze
as it fell. What, the evening before, had been hardship, now grew to
actual misery. The column faltered, delayed, halted, and still the order
came back, "The general commanding wishes the army to press on." The
army stumbled to its now bleeding feet, and did its best with a hill
like Calvary. Up and down the column was heard the report of muskets,
men falling and accidentally discharging their pieces. The company
officers lifted monotonous voices, weary and harsh as reeds by a winter
pond. _Close up, men--close up--close up!_
In the afternoon Loring, riding at the head of his brigades, sent a
staff officer forward with representations. The latter spurred his
horse, but rapid travelling was impossible upon that ice-sheathed road.
It was long before he overtook the rear of the Stonewall Brigade.
Buffeted by the wind, the grey uniforms pale under a glaze of sleet, the
red of the colours the only gleam of cheer, the line crawled over a long
hill, icy, unwooded, swept by the shrieking wind. Stafford in passing
exchanged greetings with several of the mounted officers. These were in
as bad case as their men, nigh frozen themselves, distressed for the
horses beneath them, and for the staggering ranks, striving for anger
with the many stragglers and finding only compunction, in blank
ignorance as to where they were going and for what, knowing only that
whereas they had made seventeen miles the day before, they were not
likely to make seven to-day. He passed the infantry and came up with the
artillery. The steep road was ice, the horses were smooth shod. The poor
brutes slipped and fell, cutting themselves cruelly. The men were down
in the road, lifting the horses, dragging with them at gun and caisson.
The crest of the hill reached, the carriages must be held back, kept
from sliding sideways in the descent. Going down was worse than coming