Chapter I: Front Matter

Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 2, 1897. FIVE CENTS A COPY.

VOL. XVIII.--NO. 905. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.

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THE BATTLE OF OPEQUAN CREEK.

BY RICHARD BARRY.

General Sheridan, despite the reputation he had gained for dashing, reckless bravery, was withal a cautious commander. He did not believe in making long forced marches and hurling tired troops at an intrenched enemy. The success of a charge, in his mind, was due entirely to the freshness of the men, the fierceness of the onslaught, and the surprise occasioned to the enemy by sudden and unexpected movement.

Early in the month of September, 1864, Sheridan's army was encamped in the hills looking down into the little valley of the Opequan, a small, crooked stream about four miles from the town of Winchester. On the opposite side of the creek the Confederate army under General Early was intrenched in a strong position. The banks of the stream were steep and the crossings deep, requiring much care in fording.

For more than ten days the two armies fronted each other without sign of an advance on either part. But Early was on the defensive, and Sheridan was preparing a plan of attack that it was hoped would rout him completely; and if everything had worked to his entire satisfaction, it might have resulted in the capture of the whole Confederate army before the forces had time to fall back upon Winchester. By the afternoon of the 18th these plans had been perfected; the commanders of divisions and the cavalry leaders had received their orders. The privates knew from the hurrying of orderlies and the sending of despatches that they would soon be on the move. There was little sleep that night for the blue-clad men. Ammunition was dealt out, tents were struck, and troopers and infantry lay down with their arms beside them. At 2 A.M. word was passed for the regiment to fall in line, and the great advance was begun. General Merritt's cavalry was ordered to proceed to the Opequan and cross at the fords near the bridge of the Winchester and Potomac Railroad. Merritt was ordered to cross at daylight, to turn to the left and attack the Confederate flank.

General Wilson's division, followed by the infantry, was to clear the crossings of the Opequan on the road leading from Berryville to Winchester. South of the town was Abraham's Creek; it emptied into the Opequan and flanked the line of the Confederate intrenchments. On the north was a similar creek, named the Red Bud, which served the same purpose. Along these natural fortifications, and spreading across the rise of ground on the farther side of the Opequan, lay the whole force of Early's army. It was Sheridan's intention to take the centre first and overthrow it before the rest of the Confederate army, which was somewhat scattered, could come up to its assistance.

As it is of the cavalry's work in this fight that this short paper treats, it is best to move at once to the right of the Union line, where the mounted forces were expected to ford the creek.

It was almost pitch dark, and a few minutes after two in the morning, when the Second United States Cavalry, under the command of Captain T. F. Rodenbough, moved with the reserve brigade of the First Cavalry Division down the sloping ground toward the valley of the stream. Early's outposts and pickets were met some time before the ford was reached. There were a few hasty shots exchanged in the darkness, without any damage being done, and then the mounted pickets crossed to the safety of their own lines on the farther side.

A small force of the Union cavalry was dismounted on the road, and the outbuildings of a farm-house were occupied by a reserve force; while the regiment was deployed, mounted, in the fields to the right and left of the ruins of the old railroad bridge. Nothing was standing of this structure but the stone abutments. The bridge that crossed the creek diagonally to the roadway had been destroyed, but the water was fordable on either side. Now the forces waited for daylight. Long before the sun rose, as the dim light spread and widened, the enemy's infantry pickets could be seen hurriedly making preparations to resist any attempt at crossing on the part of the waiting cavalry.

The bank of the creek was very steep and thickly wooded. The leaves were yet on the trees, and the dark masses of armed men could be seen distinctly here and there in the few clearings. The railroad entered the hill-side through a deep cut, forming a ready-made intrenchment for the enemy's infantry and riflemen. One of the stone abutments and the adjoining pier were close to the entrance of the cut, and formed an angle with a wooded bluff directly in line with it.

Despite the fact that the men had been in the saddle almost the whole night, they were keen to move; and before sunrise General Merritt, in command of the First Division, ordered Colonel Lowell, who led the reserve brigade, to carry the ford and effect a lodgement on the farther bank. At once Colonel Lowell dismounted a portion of his command, and with a cheer the men dashed into the water, and holding their carbines high above their heads, plashed through the stream, many standing waist-deep and replying to the fire that was poured into them. The Fifth United States Cavalry and a portion of the Second Massachusetts infantry followed at once.

Rodenbough, who had been waiting with his men in one of the fields on the hill-side, received his orders to move. With a loud shout the regiment charged down the side of the hill to one side of the slowly advancing men on foot, dashed pell-mell through the ford, and, in the face of a terrible fire from the enemy's infantry, swept up the opposite incline on a dead run, making for the railway cut, where the Confederates were completely hidden from the Union fire.

The Second had by this time made the solid ground, and charged also, without firing a shot until it gained the crest of the cut. The Confederates, who had not expected such an onslaught, threw down their arms as the mounted men poured over the sides of the embankment down upon them. Many started to run, but were taken prisoners, and it was a joyful sight for the commander of the cavalry to notice, as he reformed his line, that there were but few saddles empty. But in the early advance, before Rodenbough's cavalry had reached the crossing, the musket fire concentrated upon the ford was simply terrific.

Colonel W. H. Harrison, late Captain of the Second Cavalry, describes an experience through which no man would like to pass a second time.

"Lieutenant Wells, myself, and two orderlies, mounted, were unfortunately imprisoned in the archway between the abutment and adjacent pier on the enemy's side, the bullets, hot from the muzzles of their guns, striking the abutment, pier, and water like leaden hail. We were face to face with the enemy, yet powerless to harm him. Our only salvation was to hug the abutment until that portion of the regiment immediately on our left had gained the crest of the cut. Minutes were long drawn out, and in a fit of impatience Lieutenant Wells rashly attempted to take a peep beyond the corner of the abutment, thus exposing his horse, which instantly received a serious wound in the shoulder. The writer, with equal rashness, attempted to recross the creek, and when in the middle of it heartily wished himself under the protection of his good friend the abutment, the bullets being so neighborly and so fresh from the musket as to have that peculiar sound incident to dropping water on a very hot stove. Suddenly the cheers of our men apprised us that the crest of the cut had been gained and a portion of the enemy's infantry captured."

By the time the sun was up above the trees, the reserve brigade had gained the coveted position across the Opequan, connecting with Custer's forces on the left, which had gallantly carried the ford three-quarters of a mile below.

And now the roll of musketry and the thunder of cannon let every one know that the main infantry line under General Sheridan had commenced action. It was a cheerful sound to those on the flank, who had no inkling of how matters were going on either side of them. The advance was made at an eager pace, and confidence and determination were evident from the looks and actions of the officers and men. But the enemy fell back a few miles toward Winchester, and it was not until almost noon that any resistance was met with, except for the occasional shots of the pickets and rear-guard.

It was about this hour that Sheridan's forces were ready to advance along the entire line. Early had gathered all his strength and met them with a terrific fire. The battle raged with the greatest fury. Both sides were now fighting in open sight of each other, and the slaughter was dreadful, especially at the centre. General Merritt, whose cavalry had been following the Confederate General Breckenridge, charged again, and drove their broken cavalry through the infantry line, which he struck first in the rear, and afterwards face to face as it charged front to meet him. General Devin charged with his brigade, and turning, sought the shelter of the main force, bringing with him three battle flags and more than three hundred prisoners.

A line of the enemy's infantry was perceived at the edge of the heavy belt of timber, protected by rail barricades which they had hastily constructed on their front. Here they had evidently determined upon making a stand, for they waved their battle flags and showed in such considerable numbers that the cavalry line halted before them. As a critic of this battle has said, it seemed almost foolhardy to charge a line of infantry so well posted and protected, but the First Brigade and the Second United States Cavalry, at the word "Forward! Charge!" dashed across an open field and through a tangle of underbrush, and in the face of a fearful fire poured into them, rode straight up to the barricade. But, alas! it was but a brilliant display of courage and determination. None of the flaunting battle flags was captured, and the broken remnant was obliged to retire hastily and in some disorder to their comrades who had watched their gallant effort.

A thrilling little incident happened in this charge, although it had lasted but a few minutes. When within a few yards of the barricades, Captain Rodenbough, who was well in advance, had his horse shot under him, killed almost in his tracks. His men swept by him full tilt to the line of wooden breastworks, and as they turned to ride back over the same ground, Orderly Sergeant Schmidt of Company K, mounted on a powerful gray horse, noticed his commander disentangling himself from his fallen mount. The sergeant rode up, reining in with difficulty, helped Captain Rodenbough to clamber up behind him, and, carrying double, the good charger crossed the open space in safety. But let an eye-witness tell the story of the last charge of the day, when the entire division was formed, and rode together knee to knee at the well-intrenched barrier and the double line of the enemy, who certainly had the advantage of position.

"It was well towards four o'clock, and though the sun was warm, the air was cool and bracing. The ground to our front was open and level, in some places as smooth as a well-cut lawn. Not an obstacle intervened between us and the enemy's line, which was distinctly seen nervously awaiting our attack. The brigade was in column of squadrons, the Second United States Cavalry in front.

"At the sound of the bugle we took the trot, the gallop, and then the charge. As we neared their line we were welcomed by a fearful musketry fire, which temporarily confused the leading squadron, and caused the entire brigade to oblique slightly to the right. Instantly officers cried out, 'Forward! Forward!' The men raised their sabres, and responded to the command with deafening cheers. Within a hundred yards of the enemy's line we struck a blind ditch, but crossed it without breaking our front. In a moment we were face to face with the enemy. They stood as if awed by the heroism of the brigade, and in an instant broke in complete rout, our men sabring them as they vainly sought safety in flight. In this charge the battery and many prisoners were captured. Our own loss was severe, and of the officers of the Second, Captain Rodenbough lost an arm and Lieutenant Harrison wag taken prisoner.

"It was the writer's misfortune to be captured, but not until six hundred yards beyond where the enemy was first struck, and when dismounted in front of their second line by his horse falling. Nor did he suffer the humiliation of a surrender of his sabre, for as he fell to the ground with stunning force its point entered the sod several inches, wellnigh doubling the blade, which, in its recoil, tore the knot from his wrist, flying many feet through the air.

"Instantly a crowd of cavalry and infantry officers and men surrounded him, vindictive and threatening in their actions, but unable to repress such expressions as these: 'Great heavens! what a fearful charge!' 'How grandly you sailed in!' 'What brigade?' 'What regiment?' As the reply proudly came, 'Reserve Brigade, Second United States Cavalry,' they fairly tore his clothing off, taking his gold watch and chain, pocket-book, cap, and even spurs, and then turned him over to four infantrymen. What a translation--yea, transformation! The confusion, disorder, and actual rout produced by the successive charges of Merritt's First Cavalry Division would appear incredible did not the writer actually witness them. To the right, a battery, with guns disabled and caissons shattered, was trying to make to the rear, the men and horses impeded by broken regiments of cavalry and infantry. To the left, the dead and wounded in confused masses around their field hospitals--many of the wounded, in great excitement, seeking shelter in Winchester. Directly in front an ambulance, the driver nervously clutching the reins, while six men, in great alarm, were carrying to it the body of General Rhodes. Not being able to account for the bullets which kept whizzing past, the writer turned and faced our own lines to discover the cause and, if possible, to catch a last sight of the stars and stripes.

"The sun was well down in the west, mellowing everything with that peculiar golden hue which is the charm of our autumn days. To the left, our cavalry were forming for another and final charge. To the right front, our infantry, in unbroken line, in the face of the enemy's deadly musketry, with banners unfurled, now enveloped in smoke, now bathed in the golden glory of the setting sun, were seen slowly but steadily pressing forward. Suddenly, above the almost deafening din and tumult of the conflict, an exultant shout broke forth, and simultaneously our cavalry and infantry line charged. As he stood on tiptoe to see the lines crash together, himself and guards were suddenly caught in the confused tide of a thoroughly beaten army--cavalry, artillery, and infantry--broken, demoralized, and routed, hurrying through Winchester."

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RING AROUND THE ROSY.

Jack was sitting quietly by the fire the other day, doing no harm to anybody, when a young person who thought well of himself rushed in and attacked him with the assertion, "You can't do that!"

The boy held out a card, upon which was drawn a dot in the centre of a circle, and repeated his challenge:

"You can't draw that figure without taking your pencil off the paper!"

Jack looked up and smiled. He bent one end of the card over, made a dot with his pencil on the face of it just at the margin of the part folded over, after which he moved the pencil across the overlying paper to the point where he wished to begin his circle; then he let the line slip off on to the face of the card, allowed the bent-over portion to fly back, and finished the "ring around the rosy" without once taking his pencil off the paper. This done, he handed the card to his friend, and went on studying the fire, without a word. It is great to be great!

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HE TOOK ONE LOAD.

It is reported of the late William H. Vanderbilt that his father, the Commodore, did not give his son, when a young man, much credit for business ability. Absolute verification of this is doubtful, but a good story is told of an incident wherein the son proved that he too carried in his head some of the astuteness in commercial intercourse that his father possessed. The Commodore presented him with a farm on Staten Island, informing him that he might live there, and to make the land pay, as that was all he cared to contribute towards the lad's support. A short time later the Commodore inquired of his son how he was getting along.

"Not very good, father," the young man replied. "What I need badly is some means of improving the earth."

"Well, suppose you go up to my stables and get a load of refuse; but mind, I shall only give you one load."

"All right," replied the son, and he took one load; but, to the astonishment of the Commodore, when he went to the stables they had been entirely cleaned.

"How many loads did that boy of mine cart away from here?" he inquired of the stableman.

"One, sir," replied that functionary; "but he carried the stuff away in a _barge_, sir."

LIFE IN THE WHITE HOUSE.

BY LUCY C. LILLIE.

Once in every four years one lady in the land is called upon to undertake the most onerous of its social duties--those of mistress of the White House--duties which, though attended by fewer formalities, are scarcely less exacting than those of crowned Queen or Princess Royal in a foreign court. Indeed, one may safely affirm that they are far more fatiguing, since the lady of the White House must be equally courteous, attentive, and considerate to all with whom she comes in contact, her doorway excluding only the ragged or disorderly, Betsey Brown, from the remotest village in Maine, enjoying the same right to call upon the President's wife which belongs to the leading society belle of the day, the male members of the two families having shared in electing their President to his office of ruler of the nation. Simple, however, as the etiquette of the White House may be, it is governed by certain rules and customs handed down from one ruler to the next--modified or changed according to the times, but in the main suggested by a spirit of republican simplicity and cosmopolitan good-breeding.

The President's family occupy a suite of rooms as secluded as possible from public view. They have their own staff of servants under a trained steward and housekeeper; their own personal friends are received and entertained with as much privacy as though the dwelling were not, in part, an official residence. The "state apartments," open to the public at fixed days and hours, include the Red Room, Blue Room, the galleries, etc., about which is a romantic as well as historic interest; and in turn various people are entertained therein as a matter of prescribed formality. All Senators, Congressmen, and their wives and families, foreign diplomats, visitors of any distinction, above and beyond all, the "army and navy," are not only to be received, but during the short winter season specially entertained, a series of dinners and receptions being planned for this purpose.

And meanwhile, is there time, one asks, for much home life in the White House? As a matter of fact, few home circles are more comfortably and agreeably managed than that of the President's family, provided, of course, the "all-ruling spirit"--the _mother_--has within herself that gracious gift which makes the fireside of home a radiant centre. "Mrs. President's" day can be very closely outlined, excepting, of course, such incidents as may occur at any time to alter the programme or such plans as result from her own personality, and unless she elects to add to her domestic cares, she need have nothing whatever to do with housekeeping matters.

Breakfast in the White House from time immemorial has been a social family gathering, and generally takes place about nine o'clock. After this the President's wife usually goes for a drive, during which she attends to any personal shopping, either visiting the shops herself or sending in her maid with orders, and it is one of the unwritten laws, closely adhered to, that every item purchased shall be scrupulously and promptly paid for--the system of "patronage" so extensively adopted in many foreign countries not holding good, thank fortune, in our republican government. Unless she especially desires to do so, the President's wife makes no calls, one rule of the administration being the blessed one which prohibits her returning any visits. She is therefore free from the terrible social bore and strain--a round of formal calls. Returning from her morning drive, she may be called upon to receive some guest who is invited to luncheon.

The methods of approaching the mistress of the White House or its ladies are pre-eminently simple. If the visitor has a special introduction, he or she can send this by messenger, receiving an answer through one of the President's secretaries. Generally a day and hour will be fixed for the guest to call at the White House, when he or she will be received as in any other mansion, the degree of formality being regulated by that of the introduction. An invitation to luncheon or dinner may follow--possibly to some afternoon drive or theatre party. On levee days some of the ladies of the cabinet, or it may be wives of special members of the Senate or Congress, the army or navy, etc., receive with the President's wife, relieving her in part of the fatigue of these weekly ceremonials. However, it is all so smoothly and agreeably managed that in the course of many administrations the complaints of lack of courtesy have been very few.

As I have said, the White House is replete with historic and romantic interest. On October 13, 1792, its cornerstone was laid with Masonic ceremonies, and seven years passed before its completion. The original plan called for three stories, but the public raised the cry of economy, and it was cut down to two stories and basement. The entire expense of building the White House, including furnishings, repairs, etc., up to the year 1814, amounted to the small sum of $334,000.

It was first occupied just ninety-six years ago by President John Adams, and various were the struggles to keep it in even ordinary repair. Mrs. Adams, its first mistress, was dissatisfied with the place, and her complaints were varied and numerous. She wrote that "the rooms were large and barren, and that it took a great deal of money to keep them in proper order. Everything is on too grand a scale." It is amusing to know that this lady used what is now called the great state drawing-room to dry the family linen in, stretching the clothes-lines from one wall to another.

After the decisive battle fought at Bladensburg, Maryland, in the war of 1812, the British advanced upon Washington. President Madison was in the rear of the American lines, and seeing that the city was lost, he sent word to his wife to escape. That noble lady's first thought was to save Stuart's celebrated oil portrait of George Washington, which hung in the White House. Hastening to the room, she had it taken from the wall and carried to the retreating ranks of the American army, thus saving for the republic one of its greatest art treasures. It was during this invasion that the White House obtained its name from the coat of white paint applied to its surface after the burning of its main building. Numberless suggestions have been made to enlarge the official residence, but the public objected. Its present occupation, doubtless, will end with the close of the century and its hundred years of life, since the needs and demands of the President's family and the public have outgrown its proportions and capacity. But it will forever be associated with all that has made our nation important. Tragedy has gone hand in hand with festivity within its walls more than once. The great men of the country have sat in its rooms in grimmest council, when the fate of the nation hung in the balance of a decision that sent a messenger at daybreak flying from the White House gates. Twice its doors have opened to receive a murdered President, and again the joy bells have rung to honor a bride, and a child born in its "purple," yet who lived to toil for her daily bread far from friends and home. It cannot be parted with or even altered carelessly, yet unquestionably its fate is sealed. With the close of the century its story of a hundred years will be told.

THE PAINTED DESERT.

A STORY OF NORTHERN ARIZONA.

BY KIRK MUNROE,

AUTHOR OF "RICK DALE," "THE FUR-SEAL'S TOOTH," "SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES," "THE MATE SERIES," ETC.