CHAPTER XI.

McKINLEY AS A SOLDIER IN THE CIVIL WAR.

William McKinley was but eighteen years old when the war of the rebellion began.

His enlistment was in every way typical of the man, and representative of the motive and action of the American volunteer. With his cousin, William McKinley Osborne, now United States Consul General at London, he drove to Youngstown, Ohio, in the early summer of 1861, to watch a recently enlisted company of infantrymen at their drill, preparatory to marching away for the field of battle. William McKinley, Sr., was a union man, a Republican, and had been a supporter of both Fremont and Lincoln at the polls. Of course the son had voted for neither, as he still lacked several years of that age at which American youth may exercise the elective franchise. But no man, of any age, had taken a more intense interest in the progress of affairs. He felt the need of supporting the President, and the necessity of preserving the integrity of the nation in all its borders. Nothing could exceed the avidity with which he watched the swiftly accumulating clouds of war and disaster. The love of human freedom, of personal liberty and loyalty to his country were cardinal virtues in the young man’s composition. And when war really began he felt a strong desire to give his labor and even his life, if necessary, in the cause which he was certain was the right.

The streets of Youngstown were filled with people, who had gathered to watch the soldiers at their drill, nearly the entire company had been recruited at Poland, and young McKinley personally knew every one of them. After the little band of recruits had gone through their evolutions, and had marched away from Youngstown to the state rendezvous, young William and his cousin Osborne returned to Poland, sobered and inspired to a heroic deed.

The former stated, calmly but firmly, that he felt his duty was to enlist.

“It seems to me the country needs every man who can go,” he said, “and I can.”

He laid the matter before his mother, and she did not oppose him. That wise woman understood the nature of her son too well to thwart in this day of his greatest experience that advance which she herself had so notably assisted him in making.

So that he, with his cousin Osborne, went to Columbus, as soon as they could set their little affairs in order, and at Camp Chase—named in honor of a man whose genius had already made him famous and powerful—they enlisted in Company E, of the Twenty-third Ohio Volunteer Infantry. When one reflects how promptly Ohio sprang to arms in response to President Lincoln’s call for troops, it will be observed that William McKinley embraced a very early opportunity to serve his country. For he enlisted July 30, 1861.

W. S. Rosecrans was the first Colonel of that Twenty-third Ohio, and it had such men as Rutherford B. Hayes and Stanley Matthews on its roster.

Here in the camp, on the march, and in battle young William found the value of his earlier training. His splendid strength, his calm self-control—which made him capable of controlling other men; his better education, and his manly, honorable bearing were all elements in the guaranty of his advancement. At the very first he was chosen a corporal. And at the time of the battle of Antietam, Sept. 17, 1862, he had been promoted to the position of sergeant, and had received the added honor of selection to have charge of the commissary stores. So high an authority as General Rutherford B. Hayes, later Governor of Ohio, and still later President of the United States, has left the following tribute upon record:

“Young as he was, we soon found that in business, in executive ability, young McKinley was a man of rare capacity, of unusual and unsurpassed capacity, especially for a boy of his age. When battles were fought or service was to be performed in warlike things he always took his place. The night was never too dark; the weather was never too cold; there was no sleet, or storm, or hail, or snow, or rain that was in the way of his prompt and efficient performance of every duty.”

The bloodiest day of the war, the day on which more men were killed or wounded than on any other one day—was Sept. 17, 1862, in the battle of Antietam.

The battle began at daylight. Before daylight men were in the ranks and preparing for it. Without breakfast, without coffee, they went into the fight, and it continued until after the sun had set. The commissary department of that brigade was under Sergeant McKinley’s administration and personal supervision. From his hands every man in the regiment was served with hot coffee and warm meats, a thing that had never occurred under similar circumstances in any other army in the world. He passed under fire and delivered, with his own hands, these things, so essential for the men for whom he was laboring. General Hayes, then a Lieutenant Colonel, was himself wounded at Antietam, and went home on sick leave to recover. While there he related to Governor Tod that circumstance illustrating the cool courage and genuine heroism, and said to the Governor: “Let McKinley be promoted from Sergeant to Lieutenant.” And it was done without a moment’s delay. When Colonel Hayes returned to the field he assigned Lieutenant McKinley to duty on his staff, and the young man looked back at eighteen months of active service in the ranks as of the greatest possible value to him.

McKinley was still on General Hayes’ staff when the battle of Kernstown, July 24, 1864, was fought. Crook’s corps had been expecting an easy time when it appeared that the enemy was in force at Kernstown, about four miles from Winchester, where Crook’s troops were. There had been some misinformation regarding the Confederate General Early’s movements, and the force about to be met was that of Early, which outnumbered Crook’s corps three to one. When the battle began one of the regiments was not in position, and Lieutenant McKinley was ordered to bring it in. The road to the regiment needed was through open fields and right in the enemy’s line of fire. Shells were bursting on his right and left, but the boy soldier rode on. He reached the regiment, gave the orders to them, and at his suggestion the regiment fired on the enemy and slowly withdrew to take the position where they were assigned. It was a gallant act of the boy soldier, and General Hayes had not expected him to come back alive.

He distinguished himself for gallantry, for good judgment, and military skill at the battle of Opequan. He had been ordered to bring General Duval’s troops to join the first division, which was getting into the battle. There was a question of which route to take, and upon the choice depended the very existence of General Duval and his brave men. Lieutenant McKinley weighed the chances swiftly, decided instantly, and on his own responsibility pointed out the direction as he gave his superior officer’s command to move. The troops followed his instructions, and came up gallantly and in excellent style, with the smallest possible loss or injury. His own regiment, the Twenty-third Ohio, was less skillfully directed, and suffered the very severe loss of 150 men and officers.

The work accomplished on that day marked young Lieutenant McKinley as both modest and brave.

Early in 1863, William McKinley, Jr., was promoted to the rank of first lieutenant, but was retained on staff duty, as his superior ability, coolness and rare judgment made him invaluable to the regimental commander. That year the regiment saw service almost exclusively in West Virginia, engaged in the scouting duty which alone preserved that territory from falling into the possession of the enemy. It was a wearying year, trying on the men without giving them opportunity to share the glory that more active soldiering would have brought. They were marched east and west, north and south. It was a year of inaction, so far as achieving results were concerned. And in this severer test Lieutenant McKinley proved himself a soldier of the best ability. He kept up that esprit du corps throughout the regiment, without which it would have been ill prepared for service when the time for action came.

This hour—this opportunity—came in late midsummer, when Morgan’s raiders swept that terrifying march to the north of the Ohio river—that raid which struck the great North with the shock of a war experience which they had so happily escaped. The Twenty-third was just near enough to hear the summons and fly to the confronting of Morgan and his men. And it was his engagement with McKinley’s regiment at Buffington’s Island, Ohio, which so crippled the raiders as to completely disarrange their entire plan of campaign, and pave the way for that hopeless march from which they never returned. In that engagement the young Ohio officer bore himself with all bravery, and won a generous share in the honor of crushing the advance of a force which was seriously affecting the moral tone of the whole loyal North.

In the spring of 1864 the Twenty-third marched to Brownstown, on the Kanawha river, where it became a part of the force of General Crook, who was then preparing for his celebrated raid on the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad. The expedition differed little in experience, in danger and in hardship from the everyday service in West Virginia through the previous year. On June 20 the rear of the Union forces, consisting of Hayes’ brigade, held Buford Gap against the enemy’s advance, and then made a hasty night retreat for the van, supposed to be at Salem. But Hunter was not at Salem. The enemy had attacked and cut off his trains, and had forced him beyond the city. Crook’s rear guard was in a manner surrounded, and it was only by rare strategy and brave fighting that he extricated his command from the dilemma. There can be no question the service of Lieutenant William McKinley that day saved the little army, and prevented, in a time when reverses were costly, the recurrence of a Confederate victory.

The retreat before a superior force was kept up without opportunity for rest, and with an insufficient supply of food and ammunition till June 27th, when a safe spot was reached on Big Sewell Mountain. It had been a continuous fight and march for nearly 180 miles. It need not be recited here how General Early’s success in the Shenandoah Valley at this time emboldened him to carry his invasion to the very front of Washington, and to challenge a fight for the national capital. It was all too plain that the Union forces under command of Hunter in the valley were unable to cope with the augmented forces of Early. So General —— sent two corps from the James River country to the rescue of the capital. And it was on that trip that William McKinley, Jr., got his first glimpse of the city of Washington, the capital of the country for which he hoped and prayed, for which he cheerfully imperiled his life.

But Lee had withdrawn from Early’s support a body of reinforcements, and the dashing commander of the threatening force was compelled to retreat southward into farther Virginia. It was Lee’s one mistake, for he had the capital captured, and might have watched the stars and bars in temporarily triumphal progress down Pennsylvania avenue had he backed up the advance on the Potomac. And the glance which Lieutenant McKinley had of the capitol dome that morning in 1864 would have been the last; for an army of invasion, checked and forced to retire, finds fighting from cover and the consequent burning of buildings one of the inescapable incidents of war.

After the battle of Kernstown—less accurately known as the battle of Winchester—the young soldier from Poland, Ohio, was again promoted, this time to the rank of captain. The document dates his advance from July 25, the day after his wise and heroic conduct in delivering orders under fire, and in piloting the imperiled regiment to its place in the battle formation.

His last battle of importance, and one in which he fittingly crowned a career of gallantry and devotion to duty, was that of Cedar Creek, October 19, 1864. Toward the close of that month the regiment was ordered to Martinsburg. On its march to that point the men voted at the Presidential election. The votes were collected by the judges of election as the column was in march, from among the wagons. It was there McKinley cast his first vote. An ambulance was used as an election booth, and an empty candle-box did duty as a ballot-box. At the same time and place Generals Sheridan, Crook and Hayes cast their ballots, and it was the first vote ever cast by Sheridan or Crook.

Early the following spring the Twenty-third returned to Camp Cumberland and on July 26, 1865, a little more than four years from the time of enlistment, the regiment was mustered out and the scarred veterans who had experienced four years of dangers and hardships returned to their homes.

The records show that William McKinley, Jr., enlisted as a private in Company E of the Twenty-third Ohio Volunteer Infantry on June 11, 1861; that he was promoted to commissary sergeant on April 15, 1862; that he was promoted to Second Lieutenant of Company D on September 23, 1862; that he was promoted to First Lieutenant of Company E on February 7, 1863; that he was promoted to Captain of Company G on July 25, 1864; that he was detailed as Acting Assistant Adjutant General of the First Division, First Army Corps, on the staff of General Carroll; that he was brevetted Major on March 13, 1865, and that he was mustered out of service on July 26, 1865.

“For gallant and meritorious services at the battles of Opequan, Cedar Creek and Fisher’s Hill,” reads the document commissioning young McKinley as Brevet Major, signed “A. Lincoln.”

This is the brief statement of four years of such activity as are hardly comprehensible by the sedate citizen in these “piping times of peace;” but they were years which tried and tested the material of which William McKinley was formed, and years in which that symmetrical development of his whole being went majestically on. As it ripened and quickened his judgment, teaching him self-confidence and the power of rallying resources; as it planted deep in his nature the love of country and the sense of sacrifice which proves all patriotism; as it brought him into closer communion with his fellow men in camp and battle, on the march or in the agonies of the field hospital—so it developed the physical powers of the vigorous young man. He has since said, looking at some photographs of himself, taken at the time of his enlistment: “I was, indeed, a raw recruit.”

And he was. The portrait shows him rather slender, and with features which indicate a certain delicacy and refinement which were far from the appearance of the ideal soldier of books—the powerful frame, the flashing eye, the weather-beaten cheeks “bearded like a pard.” And yet he stood that day of his enlistment, a raw recruit, as the type of millions of his countrymen, as the expression of the best that was in the nation either for peace or war. And the four years of his slow advance to a major’s commission was the most necessary and the most valuable process of development that could possibly have come.

And whether for peace or war, it was the work his nature needed for the service of his nation, for the labors of most value to his people. The beardless boy, delicate in physique, grew to be a rugged, powerful man. The outdoor life, the exposure and hardship, the struggles and suffering and self-control, the planning, the quick decisions, the control of other men had all worked together for the development of a splendid citizen. So that he was mustered out of the service at the end of the war with beard on the lips that had been smooth when he took up the musket of a private soldier, and called back to President Lincoln, in the chorus of marching Americans: “We are coming, Father Abraham—three hundred thousand strong!” And his shoulders were broader, and his muscles were harder, and his view of the whole world was essentially that of a man who had been tried by fire and not found wanting.

It is fair and proper in this connection to present the testimony of those who occupied position above him, and who related in after years the impressions which young McKinley made upon them in his army days. For one thing, he was is no sense an ambitious man. Had he been stung with the asp of ambition he might easily have passed those who commanded at the beginning. His was the education, the training of the brain and the body, the judgment and the patriotic zeal out of which great leaders are made. But he was not a self-seeker. He simply accepted his duty when it presented, and discharged it perfectly. Nothing was illy done. Nothing was half accomplished. His task was fully discharged in every instance, and he was never the man to thirst for power, to maneuver for promotion. The advances which marked his soldier life came to him unsought, the well-earned rewards of a merit which none could deny, coupled with a modesty which all could admire.

General Russell Hastings watched him through a number of battles, and at Cedar Creek saw him tried beyond all ordinary measure. General Hastings, then with the rank of captain, was on the same staff with young Lieutenant McKinley, a member of the same regiment, the Twenty-third Ohio. They were close friends through the war, and remained so throughout their later life. They ate at the same mess, slept under the same blanket, and—when they had a tent—occupied the same tent together. It was in 1892, when William McKinley loomed large because of his loyalty to a friend in political life, that General Hastings placed upon record his recollections—forever stamped upon the pages of his memory—of an incident from the soldier life of his friend in that battle which began with “Sheridan twenty miles away.”

On the Union side was only Crook’s corps, some 6,000 strong, while opposed to it was the full force of Early’s army. The odds were too great; so, after some severe fighting, Hayes’ brigade, which was engaged, drew back in the direction of Winchester. “Just at that moment,” says General Hastings, “it was discovered that one of the regiments was still in an orchard where it had been posted at the beginning of the battle. General Hayes, turning to Lieutenant McKinley, directed him to go forward and bring away that regiment, if it had not already fallen. McKinley turned his horse and, keenly spurring it, pushed it at a fierce gallop obliquely toward the advancing enemy.

“A sad look came over Hayes’ face as he saw the young, gallant boy riding rapidly forward to almost certain death. * * * None of us expected to see him again, as we watched him push his horse through the open fields, over fences, through ditches, while a well-directed fire from the enemy was poured upon him, with shells exploding around, about, and over him.

“Once he was completely enveloped in the smoke of an exploding shell, and we thought he had gone down. But no, he was saved for better work for his country in his future years. Out of this smoke emerged his wiry little brown horse, with McKinley still firmly seated, and as erect as a hussar.

“McKinley gave the Colonel the orders from Hayes to fall back, saying, in addition, ‘He supposed you would have gone to the rear without orders.’ The Colonel’s reply was, ‘I was about concluding I would retire without waiting any longer for orders. I am now ready to go wherever you shall lead, but, Lieutenant, I “pintedly” believe I ought to give those fellows a volley or two before I go.’ McKinley’s reply was, ‘Then up and at them as quickly as possible,’ and as the regiment arose to its feet the enemy came on into full view. Colonel Brown’s boys gave the enemy a crushing volley, following it up with a rattling fire, and then slowly retreated toward some woods directly in their rear. At this time the enemy halted all along Brown’s immediate front and for some distance to his right and left, no doubt feeling he was touching a secondary line, which should be approached with all due caution. During this hesitancy of the enemy McKinley led the regiment through these woods on toward Winchester.

“As Hayes and Crook saw this regiment safely off, they turned, and, following the column, with it moved slowly to the rear, down the Winchester pike. At a point near Winchester, McKinley brought the regiment to the column and to its place in the brigade. McKinley greeted us all with a happy, contented smile—no effusion, no gushing palaver of words, though all of us felt and knew one of the most gallant acts of the war had been performed.

“As McKinley drew up by the side of Hayes to make his verbal report, I heard Hayes say to him, ‘I never expected to see you in life again.’”

And when Sheridan galloped along the “good broad highway leading down” from Winchester, shouting his jubilant order: “Face the other way, boys. We’re going back!” the whole of Hayes’ brigade, thanks to young Lieutenant William McKinley, was in position, and ready for that advance which ended in another splendid Union victory.

Rutherford B. Hayes, once his colonel, then his general and later his President, has declared of William McKinley: “At once it was found that he had unusual character for the mere business of war. There is a quartermaster’s department, which is a very necessary and important department in every regiment, in every brigade, in every division, in every army. Young as he was, we soon found that in business, in executive ability, young McKinley was a man of rare capacity, of unusual and unsurpassed capacity, especially for a boy of his age. When battles were fought or service was to be performed in warlike things, he always took his place. The night was never too dark; the weather was never too cold; there was no sleet or storm, or hail or snow, or rain that was in the way of his prompt and efficient performance of every duty.”

In an old note book of the war-time period, kept by General Hayes, is another interesting entry which was given to the world in the course of an address at a political meeting in Ohio in 1891. By way of premise it should be stated that General George Crook in 1862 called Lieutenant McKinley to service on his staff, where he remained through the activities of the summer campaign, and until the Union army went into winter quarters. In the last month of the year General Hayes made that entry which seemed like a prophecy. Here it is:

“Saturday, December 13, 1862.—Our new Second Lieutenant, McKinley, returned to-day—an exceedingly bright, intelligent, and gentlemanly young officer. He promises to be one of the best.”

And he added, while the thousands broke forth in tumultuous applause:

“He has kept the promise in every sense of the word.”

That famous battle of Cedar Creek virtually ended the active military career of Captain McKinley. On March 13, 1865, he was brevetted major. In the spring of 1865 the Twenty-third Ohio was ordered to Camp Cumberland, where it was mustered out of service, July 26, 1865, closing a four-year career of war with honor, leaving a host of brave comrades beneath the turf of the battlefields, returning home to receive the congratulations of loyal friends and to enter once more the occupations of peace. The soldier boy of eighteen years was now a man of twenty-two. The private of 1861 was now a major. The education and aspirations of youth had been supplemented by such an experience in the cause of country as few could claim at his age, and such as would meet the most exalted purposes of after life.