Rebels at the Gate: Lee and McClellan on the Front Line of a Nation Divided

by W Hunter Lesser

  The mountains were soon infested with guerrillas. Hardy mountaineers, long accustomed to unfettered freedom, cursed the intrusion of armies. Protected by a conspiracy of silence among those who gave them food and shelter, angry natives struck back. Soldiers were an easy mark for these cold-blooded killers—known derisively as “bushwhackers.”

  Adjutant Charles Ross of the Thirteenth Indiana described them as “bloodthirsty, moccasin-wearing cut throats (expert woodsmen and mountaineers), crack shots with the rifle…too cowardly to fight in the open.” Bushwhackers concealed themselves behind rocks or laurel thickets and picked off soldiers at will. Recalled Ross, “It was no uncommon thing to find a dead picket, or a soldier lying by the roadside, shot through the back, his pockets turned inside out, and invariably some part of his clothing gone.”

  Regular troops looked upon the bushwhackers with unbridled horror. “Imagine a stolid, vicious-looking countenance, an ungainly figure, and an awkward if not ungraceful, spinal curve in the dorsal region, acquired by laziness and indifference to posture,” wrote one Federal, “a garb of the coarsest texture of homespun linen or linsey-woolsey, tattered and torn, and so covered with dirt as not to enable one to guess its original color; dilapidated, rimless hat or cap of some wild animal covering his head, which had not been combed for months; his feet covered with moccasins, and a rifle by his side, a powder-horn and shot-pouch slung around his neck, and you have the beau ideal of a Western Virginia bushwhacker.”

  Thus equipped, the bushwhacker sallied forth with the stealth of a panther to lay in wait for his victim. He killed “for the sake of killing,” and plundered “for the sake of gain.” Avowed Charles Ross, “Bushwhackers and rattlesnakes! Of the two I prefer the latter for they at least give notice of attack.”349

  Guerrilla bands inaugurated a rein of terror. “Every man's hand was raised against his neighbor,” recalled one observer, “until a spirit of armed resistance to all law largely prevailed.” It was a time to settle old scores, often more personal than political. “Persecutions are common, killings not rare, robberies an everyday occurrence,” reported Major Rutherford B. Hayes of the Twenty-third Ohio Infantry from the mountains of Western Virginia.

  Homes were sacked and burned. Citizens dangled limply from ropes in the woods. John Beatty wrote of a man found “with his head cut off and entrails ripped out, probably a Union man who had been hounded down and killed.” One ferocious guerrilla leader stuck the head of a Federal soldier on a pole by the roadside as fair warning to all. “Some bloody deeds are done in these hills,” observed Major Hayes, “but not all on one side.”350

  The soldiers adapted to this strange mode of warfare with a reckless, devil-may-care contempt of danger. “Went out a Skouting yesterday,” wrote one Hoosier lad to his father. “We got To one House where there was Five Secessionest And they broke and Run and Arch…holoed out to Shoot the ornery Suns of Bitches…[and we] all let go…at them.…Thay may Say what they please, but godamit pa It is Fun.”351

  When guerrillas gunned down Federal scouts near Cheat Mountain on consecutive days in early August, Colonel Nathan Kimball garnered reinforcements and rushed to the scene. Two prisoners were taken into custody, a sulky, dull-looking pair who called themselves “Mountain Rangers.” The angry colonel questioned them, demanding the number and whereabouts of their gang. But they said nothing, a right given to all prisoners of war except bushwhackers. These men were looked upon as outlaws—assassins caught in the act of murder.

  Colonel Kimball became increasingly animated as he tried to loosen their tongues. Finally—exasperated beyond control—Kimball drew his pistol and shot one of the bushwhackers. The horrified prisoner began to speak freely, after which his wound was attended to. Such captives were routinely sent to Ohio prisons to await trial until the Virginia courts were reorganized.352

  Guerrilla warfare hardened regular soldiers to the plight of civilians. Despite rules to the contrary, Federal troops routinely looted farms. Many a mess on Cheat Mountain had veal, new potatoes, and maple syrup after a scouting foray. Entire harvests were stolen or destroyed. A sympathetic Confederate wrote of dwellings “that had Bin Rob & plunderd Killing hogs Cattle sheep poltery of all Kinds [besides] Taking out the huney & Busting them all to peaces [and] Tearing Down fences.” The Confederates were no less active. “We foraged rather extensively,” admitted a Tennessean near Huntersville, “and fat mountain pigs, young chickens, and potatoes and green corn, all made up a pretty good living for soldiers, as long as they lasted.”353

  There was little compassion for the natives. An Indiana soldier declared, “The people out here are very ignorant and the farther we go the more ignorant they are. You scarcely ever find one that was ever out of the state.…They are ignorant beyond…imagination.” A mountaineer who had lived thirty years on one farm was asked the name of his county by some scouts. “Virginny!” he answered, positively unaware of any subdivisions of the state. He seemed as informed as his neighbors, one of whom admonished that her family was neither Unionists nor Secessionists—they were Baptists.

  As viewed through the eyes of civilized soldiers, these isolated mountain folk lived in log dwellings that more resembled woodpiles. Newspapers were a curiosity to them, books a sealed mystery, the locomotive an “unimaginable monster.” Fair-minded observers noted a “sprinkling of loyal, intelligent people,” but adventures like that of a Federal scout near Elkwater were more amusing to relate.

  Spying a little log hut tucked in a dark ravine, the scout rode to the front door—no doubt anticipating a hearty meal. Greeting an old woman “with a face like a pig's,” he dismounted and asked for some dinner. “What! Wittles?” exclaimed the horrible-looking creature. “Whar did you come from, and what be a sojer doin’ here?”

  “Well, I came from Indianapolis, and be after something to eat,” he replied. “Are there any secesh in these parts?”

  “Any what?”

  “Secesh.”

  “Why, gracious, what's them?”

  “Are you and your folks for the Union?”

  Scouts, Spies, and Bushwhackers ? 153

  “Why sartin. That's the old man, neow.”

  Just then appeared a “gaunt-eyed, slim-livered, carnivorous, yellow-skinned, mountain Virginian—no doubt one of the first families.”

  “Look heah,” the old woman said, “This ‘ere sojer wants to know if you be Union.”

  The old fellow looked more astonished than the woman. As their parley continued, the soldier inquired what the old man thought of the war.

  “What war?” exclaimed the mountaineer. “The Revolution?”

  “Yes, the rebellion, we call it.”

  “Oh, why, we gin the Britishers fits, didn't we?”

  That old couple knew nothing of the conflict in their mountains.354

  During one scouting foray, Federals halted a wagon bearing a lone Confederate under flag of truce. He proved to be Lt. James Dorset of the Twentieth Virginia Infantry, captured during the Battle of Rich Mountain. Dorset had escorted the body of Captain William Skipwith home to Richmond for burial, pledging to return as a prisoner of war. The chivalrous lieutenant made the long journey back to honor his word. Adjutant Charles Ross claimed this incident was the only one of its kind during the war.355

  Another remarkable figure was nabbed by Federal pickets in the woods near Elkwater on August 14. His clothing was badly ripped by briers; his hands and face were bleeding. Toting a shoulder bag and walking staff, he professed to be a farmhand out looking for a strayed steer. He had removed his boots to relieve swollen feet and was carrying them when apprehended.

  Imitating the rough language and manner of a mountaineer, he asked if the sentinel “had seed anything of a red steer.”

  The sentinel had not.

  “Well, I must be a goin',” the herder said. “It is a gettin’ late, and I am durned feared I won't git back to the farm afore night. Good day.”

  “Hold on,” barked the sentinel. “Better go and
see the Captain.”

  “Oh, no, don't want to trouble him, it is not likely he has seed the steer, and it's a gettin’ late.”

  “Come right along,” replied the guard as he leveled his musket. “The Captain will not mind being troubled; in fact, I am instructed to take men such as you to him.”

  Captain Henry Cunard of the Third Ohio Infantry questioned the herder closely about his work. Pointing to the pair of long-legged military boots in his hand, Cunard asked how much they cost.

  “Fifteen dollars,” replied the herder.

  “Fifteen dollars!” the captain exclaimed. “Is that rather more than a farmhand who gets but twelve dollars a month can afford to pay for boots?”

  “Well, the fact is, boots is a gettin’ high since the war, as well as every thing else.”

  This herder was not up to the character he played. Cunard informed him he would be sent to headquarters. Betrayed by his footgear, the herder confessed his true identity—he was Confederate Captain Julius DeLagnel, thought to have been killed at Rich Mountain.

  DeLagnel related how, wounded and bleeding, he had crawled from the battlefield to a farmhouse near Beverly. Secreted there, he had been nursed back to health. DeLagnel's hosts had dressed him in herder's garb in order to sneak through the Federal lines. He had been in the mountains for five days, presumably beyond danger, when caught at the last Union outpost. General Reynolds, an old army friend, received him warmly at Camp Elkwater, but as a former U.S. Army officer in Confederate service, DeLagnel would go to prison.356

  Spies roamed the countryside. Citizens swept dusty roads to count the number of passing horsemen. Deserters and paroled prisoners offered details of enemy troop strength. Elderly gentlemen were caught with sketches of the Federal camps hidden inside their shoes. “A spy is on every hill top, at every cabin,” complained one general in Western Virginia.357

  Two Pinkerton operatives, Pryce Lewis and Samuel Bridgeman, managed to infiltrate Confederate camps on the Kanawha River near Charleston. Lewis posed as an English tourist, dapper in a tall silk hat and new suit of baggy tweeds. Bridgeman played his servant, driving a carriage stocked with fine cigars, port, and champagne. The pair even duped Captain George S. Patton (grandfather of the famous World War II general) into dinner and an offer to tour the Southern defenses.358

  Slaves also took a turn. Spying for the Confederates was a Randolph County slave named Richard Green. When the soldiers needed a guide, he piloted them through the mountains; when food was sought, he brought it through the lines. He was known to recover horses and cows stolen by the Yankees and bring them back to the rightful owners. The citizens near Huttonsville long remembered the goodwill of “Old Dick” Green.359

  Women proved to be the most formidable spies. The daring duo Abbie Kerr and Mollie McLeod continued to aide the Southern cause after their exploit at Philippi. Far less subtle was Mary Jane Green, an illiterate and perfectly fearless Braxton County teen. She was an unabashed Confederate partisan, fond of cutting the telegraph wires. Her hatred of the “Yankee vagabonds” knew no limits.

  When Federal troops arrested Mary Jane for carrying Rebel correspondence, she cursed them like a teamster. The brazen creature declared she would have the “heart's blood of every ‘Lincoln pup’ in Western Virginia.” Upon learning that her brother had taken the loyalty oath, Mary Jane denounced him as a coward, swearing that they could not “make a d___d Abolitionist of her.” Packed off to the Clarksburg jail, she dreadfully abused passers by. Mary Jane shouted lustily for “Jeff. Davis and the Southern Confederacy;” she pledged to “have the heart of General Rosecrans” himself. A move to Wheeling's Atheneum Prison only increased her tantrums. In short order, she had the entire prison roiled. Guards delighted in teasing her, and Mary Jane retaliated with unprintable language about their ancestors.

  Federal authorities called her a “perfect she-devil,” the meanest Rebel in Wheeling. They bound her with rope to protect the guards; when a sympathetic bailiff foolishly cut those bonds, she clobbered him with a brick. General Rosecrans finally ordered that Mary Jane be taken home—fervently praying that an exasperated soldier would shoot her along the way!360

  If any woman could rival Mary Jane Green, it was Nancy Hart, a Rebel spy and bushwhacker of legendary proportions. Deadly as a rattlesnake, this mountain spitfire rode with a guerrilla band known as the Moccasin Rangers. Nancy was a pert, vivacious lass in her early twenties—not prone to give quarter as she terrorized Virginia counties west of the Alleghenies. When not marauding, Nancy posed as an innocent mountain girl, traveling the countryside with two adorable pet fawns. Who would have guessed she was a Confederate spy?361

  The Hoosier fife major Dr. William Fletcher also sleuthed. On July 30, Fletcher was called to General Reynolds's tent and given orders to search out Confederates lines on the Huntersville road. Fletcher's companion on this two-day mission was Leonard Clark, a native of Western Virginia. Clark was a spy of repute, cool and sharp-witted, but quieter than the debonair doctor. Wearing a mixture of civilian and Confederate clothing for their assignment, the two agents procured horses and stuffed revolvers into their belts. Riding to the outer picket line about fourteen miles south of Huttonsville, they continued on foot.

  Lighthearted banter gave way to silence. Only a few dwellings, mostly vacant, were observed as Fletcher and Clark followed the Huntersville road to Mingo Flats. Some women there informed them that lodging could be had at a place called Big Spring, four miles south. A sinking sun cast long shadows as the roadway climbed mountain spurs. Although the citizens had claimed no soldiers were about, fresh horse tracks were observed. The route began a gentle descent. Each man squinted into the growing darkness. A death-like stillness pervaded the scene. Only the plaintive call of a whippoorwill could be heard.

  Clark froze. “I saw a man move behind that tree,” he warned, pointing toward a large oak about a hundred yards ahead. “Let us take to the woods and go around.”

  “No, I think you are mistaken,” Fletcher replied, “I can make out any form I wish on dark and shadowy evenings. I think it's imagination.”

  Clark trailed Fletcher at a cautious pace. “Halt! Halt! Halt!” rang out from every direction—the two had blundered into a trap.

  Fighting the urge to run, Fletcher put on a bold face. “What are you stopping citizens here for, in the public highway?”

  “Surrender!” barked a tall soldier as he leveled a deer rifle on Fletcher's chest.

  “Run, Clark, run!” Fletcher hissed to his companion, a few paces behind.

  “Just you stand still,” commanded the Rebel, “If your friend moves, I'll blow you to h__l!”

  Fletcher threw down his revolver as bayonets closed around. Clark was still outside the circle of pickets and might have escaped, but surrendered to preserve his friend's life.

  “What shall we tell them?” whispered Clark.

  “Truth only, and as little as possible,” Fletcher muttered.

  The pair was taken to Confederate headquarters, a log house at Big Spring. Fletcher gave his real name and rank to the commanding officer, adding that they were scouting under orders and had walked into the ambuscade. Clark identified himself as a native Virginian serving in the Union army. At that, a crimson-faced officer drew his sword and lunged forward. “Don't you know, sir,” he yelled at Clark, “you are guilty of the most damnable treason, taking up arms against your native State.…I'll cut your damned heart out!”

  Fletcher and Clark had been captured under “very suspicious circumstances.” Their future looked grim—the penalty for spying was death.362

  CHAPTER 14

  MUD, MEASLES,

  AND MUTINY

  “Since the days of the deluge, I do not think it has stormed so hard and long.”

  —William B. Fletcher

  On July 29, 1861, a small party of Confederates rode west into the mountains from Staunton, Virginia. At the head of that party was General Robert E. Lee. The general had no bodyguard. Only staff m
embers John A. Washington and Walter Taylor, a cook named Meredith, and a servant named Perry accompanied him. All of the headquarters baggage was in a single wagon.363

  If the procession was plain, the general himself commanded attention. Only days before he took leave for Western Virginia, Lee had encountered three prominent ladies on a Richmond street.

  “He sat his horse gracefully,” Mary Chesnut recalled, “and he was so distinguished at all points that I very much regretted not catching the name…. We chatted lightly and I enjoyed it, since the man and horse and everything about them was perfection.”

  As Lee rode off, Mrs. Chesnut asked eagerly, “Who is he?”

  “You did not know?” one of her companions exclaimed. “Why that was Robert E. Lee, the first gentleman of Virginia.”

  “He looks so cold, quiet, and grand,” concluded Mrs. Chesnut.364

  The gentleman who had impressed those ladies was anxious to reach the Alleghenies. As military advisor to President Jefferson Davis, Lee had been “mortified” by his absence from the field of battle at Manassas. Now he hoped to make amends.