CHAPTER XIV.

CAMP LIFE AND NEWS-GATHERING.

The story of the Wilderness campaign, during which were fought the greatest musketry battles in the history of the world, with their awful slaughter, has been told by hundreds of witnesses, and by Carleton himself in his books; but the life of the camp and how the great army was handled, how the news was forwarded, and how Carleton beat the government couriers and all his fellow historians of the hour, getting the true report of the awful struggle before the country, has not been told, or at least, only in part. Let us try to recall some of the incidents.

In the first place, this was the time of the year when the flies and manifold sort of vermin, flying, crawling, hopping, hungry, and ever biting, were in the full rampancy of their young vigor. It was not only spiteful enemies in human form, that sent crashing shells and piercing bullets, but every kind of nipping, boring, sucking, and stinging creatures in the air and on the earth, that our brave soldiers, and especially our wounded, had to face. Even to the swallowing of a mouthful of coffee, or the biting of a piece of hard tack, it was a battle. Flies, above, around, and everywhere, made it difficult to eat without taking in vermin also. Even upon the most careful man, the growth of parasites in the clothing or upon the person was a certainty. Within twenty-four hours the carcass of a horse, left on the field of battle, seemed to move with new and multitudinous life suddenly generated. The stench of the great battle-fields was unspeakable, and the sudden creation of incalculable hosts of insects to do nature's scavenger work was a phenomenon necessary, but to human nerves horrible. The turkey-buzzards gathered in clouds for their hideous banquet.

All this made the work of the surgeons greater, and the sufferings of the wounded more intense; yet, redeeming the awful sight of torn and mangled humanity, was the splendid discipline and order of the medical staff. Upon the first indications of a battle, the regimental wagons of each corps would be driven up to some real or supposed safe place. It was the work of but a few moments for the tables to be spread with all their terrible array of steel instruments, while close at hand would be the stores of lint, bandages, towels, basins, and all the paraphernalia which science and long experience had devised. These diminished, in some measure, the horrors of the battle for at least the wounded. It was a sublime and beautiful sight, as compared with the wars of even a century ago, when the surgeon had scarcely a recognized position in the army. In the very midst of the hell of fire and flame and noise, the relief parties, with their stretchers, would go out and return with their burdens. Soon the neighborhood of the surgeon's wagon looked like a harvest-field with the windrows of cut grain upon it. Strange as it may seem, there was often more real danger in this going and coming from rear to front, and from front to rear, than on the very battle line itself. Many a man preferred to stand in the fighting files with the excitement and glory, than to get out into the uncertain regions of wandering balls and bursting shells. The Carletons, both uncle and nephew, had often, while out collecting news, to scud from cover to cover, and amid the "zip, zip" of bullets. Dangerous as the service was, there was little reward to the eyesight, for the Confederate army, like the Japanese dragon of art, was to be seen only in bits, here and there.

How easy for us now, in the leisure of abundant time and with all the fresh light that science has shed upon surgery, and focussed upon the subject of gunshot wounds, to criticise the surgeons of that day, who, with hundreds of men each awaiting in agony his turn, were obliged to decide within minutes, yea, even seconds, upon a serious operation, without previous preparation or reinforcement of the patient. The amputation, the incision, the probing had to be done then and there, on the instant. It is even wonderful that the surgeons did as well as they did. Often it was a matter of quick decision as to whether anything should be attempted. One look at many a case was enough to decide that death was too near. Often the man died in the stretcher; sometimes, when marked for the operating-table, he was asleep in his last sleep before his turn came. Surgeons, hospital stewards, nurses, detailed men, had to concentrate into moments what in ordinary hospital routine may require hours.

Human nature was reduced to its lowest terms when hunger made the possessors of a stomach forget whether they were men or wolves. The heat was so intense, the marching so severe, that many of the men would throw away blankets, rations, and equipments, and then make up in camp by stealing. Severe punishment was meted out when ammunition was thrown away. The debris on the line of march, and the waste, was tremendous. Only strict military discipline made property respected. Even then, the new conscript had to look out for his bright and serviceable musket when the old veteran's arms were lost or out of order. The newspaper correspondent owning a good horse had to keep watch and ward, while so many dismounted cavalrymen whose horses had been shot were as restless as fish out of water. It was hard enough even for the soldiers to get rations during the Wilderness campaign, harder often for the men of letters. Had it not been for kind quartermasters, and the ability of the correspondents to find the soft side of their hearts, they must have starved. Yet the rapidity with which soldiers on their forced marches could turn fences into fires and coffee into a blood-warmer was amazing. The whole process from cold rails to hot coffee inside the stomach often occupied less than twenty minutes. In these "ramrod days," "pork roasts"--slices of bacon warmed in the flame or toasted over the red coals--made, with hard tack, a delicious breakfast.

Once when the Second Corps had captured several thousand Confederate prisoners, who were corralled in an open field in order to be safely guarded, and their commander brought into the presence of General Grant, the former remarked that his men had had nothing to eat for the past twenty-four hours. Instantly Grant gave the order for several wagon-loads of crackers to be brought up and distributed to the hungry. Thereupon appeared a spectacle that powerfully impressed young Carleton. The six-muled teams appeared in a few moments and were whipped up alongside of the Virginia rail fence. Then the stalwart teamsters, aided by some of the boys in blue, stood beside the wagons to distribute boxes. Two men, taking each the end of a box in hand, after two or three preparatory swings, heaved the box full of biscuit up in the air and off into the field. Within the observation of young Carleton, no box, while full, ever reached the ground, but was seized while yet in the air, gripped and ripped open by the men that waited like hungry wolves. They tore open the packed rows of crackers and fairly jammed them down their famished mouths, breaking up the hard pieces in their hands while waiting for their teeth to do its hasty work. Humanity at its noblest, in Grant's instantly ordering food, and in its most animal phase of necessity, in the hungry rebels devouring sustenance, were illustrated on that day.

After work with the pen concerning the great battles in the Wilderness, Carleton's great question was how to get his letters to Boston. The first bundle was carried by Mr. Wing, of the New York _Tribune_, the second by Mr. Coffin's nephew, Edmund Carleton. The nearest point occupied by the Union army, which had communication with the North by either boat, mail or telegraph, was Fredericksburg, more than forty miles to the eastward. To reach this place one must ride through a region liable at any moment to be crossed by regular Confederate cavalry, Mosby's troops, or rebel partisans. There were here and there outposts of the Union cavalry, but the danger, to a small armed party, and much more to a single civilian rider, was very great. Nevertheless, young Carleton was given his uncle's letters, with the injunction to ride his horse so as not to kill it before reaching Fredericksburg. "The horse's life is of no importance, compared with the relief of our friends' anxiety; and, if necessary to secure your purpose of prompt delivery, let the horse die, but preserve its life if you can."

To make success as near to certainty as possible, young Carleton took counsel with the oldest and wisest cavalrymen. He then concluded to take the advice of one, who told him to give his horse a pint of corn for breakfast and allow the animal plenty of time to eat and chew the fodder well. Then, during the day, let the beast have all the water he wanted, but no food till he reached his destination. Fortunately, his horse, being "lean," was the one foreordained in the proverb for the "long race." The young messenger lay down at night with his despatches within his bosom, his saddle under his head, and his horse near him. The bridle was fastened around his person, and all his property so secured that the only thing that could be stolen from him without his being awakened was his hat and haversack,--though this last was under his saddle-pillow. Nothing else was loose.

The young man rose early. Alas! he had been bereaved indeed. Not only his hat, but his haversack, with all toilet articles, his uncle's historic spy-glass, and his personal notes of the campaign, were gone. While his horse chewed its corn he found a soldier's cap, vastly too small, but by ripping up the back seam he was able to keep it on his head and save himself from sunstroke. Mounting his horse, he set out eastward at sunrise. When some miles beyond the Federal lines, he was challenged by horsemen whom he found to be of the 13th Pennsylvania cavalry on outpost duty and just in from a foraging trip. They hesitated to release him even after examining his passes, but "that from Butler fetched them." Even then, they did not like him to proceed, assuring him that it was too dangerous for anybody to cross such unprotected territory. He would be "a dead man inside of an hour." However, they examined his horse's shoes, and gave him a strip of raw pork, the first food he had tasted for many an hour. Finally they bade him good-by, promising him that he was going "immediately to the devil." Some miles further on, he saw near him two riders. Mutually suspicious of each other, the distance was shortened between the two parties until the character of each was made known. Then it was discovered that all three were on the same errand, the solitary horseman for Boston private enterprise, and the two cavalrymen in blue for General Grant to the Government, were conveying news.

They rode pleasantly together for a few minutes, but when Carleton noticed that their horses were fat and too well-fed to go very fast, he bade his companions good-by. He put spurs to his horse. Though it was the hottest day of the year, he reached Fredericksburg about the middle of the forenoon, thirsty and hungry, having eaten only the generous cavalryman's slice of raw pork on the way. He found there a train loading with the wounded of several days' battle. He at once began helping to carry the men on the cars. Volunteering as a nurse, where nurses were most needed, though at first refused by the surgeons, he got on board the train. From the Sanitary Commission officers, he received the first "square meal" eaten for many days. At Acquia Creek, he took the steamboat, and after helping to transfer the wounded from cars to boat, he remained on board, sleeping on a railing seat. Next morning he was in Washington, before the newspaper bureaus were open.

He sent by wire a brief account of the Wilderness battles. At first the operator was very reluctant to transmit the message, since he was sure that none had been received by the Government, and he feared reprimand or discharge for sending false reports. Indeed, this information sent by Carleton was the first news which either President Lincoln or Secretary Stanton had of Grant's latest movements.

From the telegraph office, young Carleton went to the Boston _Journal_ Bureau, on 14th Street. There he had to wait some time, since Mr. Coffin's successor in Washington, not expecting any tidings, was leisurely in appearing. By the first mail going out, however, a "great wad of manuscript," put in envelopes as letters, was posted. Again the _Journal_ beat even the official messengers and the other newspapers in giving the truthful reports of an eye-witness. Thus, Charles Carleton Coffin scored another triumph.

How to get back to the army was now a question for young Carleton. The orders of the Secretary of War were peremptory that no one should leave Washington for the front. The correspondents who were there might stay, but no fresh accessions could be made to the ranks of the news-gatherers. How, then, could young Carleton pierce through the hedge of authority?

But the man diligent in business shall stand before kings. Young Carleton, securing a commission as nurse from Surgeon-General Hammond, went down to the riverside, and, going on board a steamer arriving with wounded, he helped to unload its human freight. When the last man had been carried over the gunwales, young Carleton stayed on board. When far down the river, on the returning boat, he ceased being something like a stowaway, and became visible. No one challenged or disturbed him. At Acquia Creek, he found that General Augur, having sent all his wounded North, was just abandoning the communication. Young Carleton then went to Belle Plain, and thence marched three days with three companies of the Veteran Invalid Corps, and rejoined the army on its forced march, when Grant moved by the left flank down towards Petersburg.

Meanwhile, the pride of Mr. Coffin, the journalist, and the conscience of Mr. Coffin, the man, the uncle, and the Christian, had been at civil war. He was berating himself for having let his nephew go on so dangerous an errand. When the news flew round the camp that "young Carleton's back," Mr. Coffin rushed up to his nephew, wrung his hand, and cried out, with beaming face, "Ed, you're a brick."