Alas! all that was planned. The orders were captured, and exist still.

Was that war? I repeat. Answer, friends of the North. Or, did you think us mere wild beasts?

I omit all that, pa.s.sing on to the real fighting.

General Ulysses S. Grant had been appointed commander-in-chief of the armies of the United States, and had taken command in person of the army of the Potomac, confronting Lee on the Rapidan.

Before the curtain rises, and the cannon begin to roar, let us glance at the relative numbers, and the programme of the Federal leader.

Grant's "available force present for duty, May 1, 1864," was, according to the report of the Federal Secretary of War, 141,166 men.

Lee's force, "present for duty," as his army rolls will show, was 52,626 men. That is to say, rather more than one-third of his adversary's.

Lee afterward received about 10,000 re-enforcements from Beauregard's columns. Grant received about 50,000.

With about 62,000 men Lee repulsed the attacks of Grant with about 200,000 men, from the Rapidan to Petersburg--inflicting a loss on his adversary, by the Federal statement of more than 60,000 men.

These numbers may be denied, but the proof is on record.

The programme of General Grant in the approaching campaign was one of very great simplicity. He intended to "hammer continuously" as he wrote to President Lincoln, and crush his adversary at whatever expense of money and blood. From 1861 to 1864, war had been war, such as the world understands it. Pitched battles had been fought--defeats sustained--or victories gained.

Then the adversaries rested before new pitched battles: more defeats or victories. General Grant had determined to change all that. It had been tried, and had failed. He possessed a gigantic weapon, the army of the United States. In his grasp was a huge sledge-hammer--the army of the Potomac. He was going to clutch that tremendous weapon, whirl it aloft like a new Vulcan, and strike straight at Lee's crest, and try to end him. If one blow did not suffice, he was going to try another. If that failed, in its turn, he would strike another and another. All the year was before him; there were new men to fill the places of those who fell; blood might gush in torrents, but the end was worth the cost.

Would it hurl a hundred thousand men into b.l.o.o.d.y graves? That was unfortunate, but unavoidable. Would the struggle frighten and horrify the world? It was possible. But these things were unimportant. The rebellion must be crushed. The sledge-hammer must strike until Lee's keen rapier was shattered. Hammer and rapier were matched against each other--the combat was _a l'outrance_--the hammer must beat down the rapier, or fall from the grasp of him who wielded it.

Such was the programme of General Grant. It was not war exactly, in the old acceptation of the term. It was not taught by Jomini, or practised by Napoleon. You would have said, indeed, at the first glance, that it rejected the idea of generalship _in toto_. Let us give General Grant his just dues, however. He was not a great commander, but he _was_ a man of clear brain. He saw that brute force could alone shatter the army of Northern Virginia; that to wear it away by attrition, exhaust its blood drop by drop, was the only thing left--and he had the courage to adopt that programme.

To come back to events on the Rapidan in the month of May, 1864.

Lee is ready for the great collision, now seen to be inevitable. His right, under Ewell, occupies the works on the southern bank of the Rapidan, above Chancellorsville. His centre, under A.P. Hill, lies near Orange Court-House. His left, under Longstreet, is in reserve near Gordonsville.

The army of Northern Virginia is thus posted in echelon of corps, extending from Gordonsville, by Orange, toward the fords of the Rapidan.

When the enemy cross on their great advance, Ewell is ready to face east; Hill will close in on his right; and Longstreet in the same manner on Hill's right. Then the army will be in line, ready to strike at Grant's flank as he moves through the Wilderness.

For Lee is going to strike at him. The fifty thousand are going to order the one hundred and forty thousand to halt.

Stuart's cavalry is watching. It extends from Madison Court-House, along Robertson River, on the left of the army; and on the right, from Ewell's camps, past Chancellorsville, to Fredericksburg.

Such was the situation on the first of May. The two tigers were watching each other--and one was about to spring.

XVII.

FORT DELAWARE.

To descend now from the heights of generalization to the plains of incident and personal observation.

For this volume is not a history of the war in Virginia, but the memoirs of a staff officer belonging to Stuart's cavalry.

May, 1864, had come; we were soon to be in the saddle; the thundering hammer of General Grant was about to commence its performances.

One night--it was the night of the first of May--I was sitting in General Stuart's tent, looking into his blazing log fire, and musing.

In this luxury I was not interrupted. It was nearly midnight, and the rest of the staff had retired. Stuart was writing at his desk, by the light of a candle in a captured "camp candlestick," and from time to time, without turning his head, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed some brief words upon any subject which came into his head.

After writing ten minutes, he now said briefly:--

"Surry."

"General," was my as brief response."

"I think Mohun was a friend of yours?"

"Yes, general, we became intimate on the march to Gettysburg."

"Well, I have just received his commission--"

"You mean as--"

"Brigadier-general. You know I long ago applied for it."

"I knew that--pity he has not been exchanged."

"A great pity,--and you miss a pleasure I promised myself I would give you."

"What pleasure, general?"

"To take Mohun his commission with your own hands."

"I am truly sorry I can not. You know he was terribly wounded, and we had to leave him in Warrenton; then the enemy advanced; for a long time we thought him dead. Thus I am sorry I am debarred the pleasure you offer. Some day I hope to accept your offer."

"Accept it now, colonel," said a benignant voice at the door. I turned suddenly, as did the general. At the opening of the tent, a head was seen--the head pa.s.sed through--was followed by a body,--and Mr.

Nighthawk, private and confidential emissary, glided in with the stealthy step of a wild-cat.

He was unchanged. His small eyes were as piercing, his smile as benignant, his costume--black coat, white cravat, and "stove-pipe"

hat--as clerical as before.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said Mr. Nighthawk, smiling sweetly; "I bring news of Colonel Mohun."

"And fly in like an owl, or your namesake!" laughed Stuart.

"An owl? I am told that is the bird of wisdom, gentlemen!"

"You hit the nail on the head, when you said 'gentlemen!'"[1] replied Stuart, laughing; "but how about Mohun? Is he exchanged, Nighthawk?"

[Footnote 1: A favorite phrase of Stuart's.]