War, like everything else, is always a one-man job. It was the one man Hannibal that took a tropical army of sunburned Arabs, Carthaginians, Abyssinians, Berbers and soldiers from half a score of other southern nations and cut and built and tunneled his way through the ice and snow and cold of the Alps. Not only did his indomitable will carry his men through an impossible and unknown region, but it was this one man who for the first time in the history of the world marched elephants up over the Alps. Over two thousand years later it was one man again who took a ragged, battered, beaten army and marched over the same route and through the avalanches and snow-covered peaks and blinding snow-storms of the Great Bernard Pa.s.s. When the men turned trembling back from the brink of immeasurable precipices and before cliffs which seemed as if they could be climbed only by the chamois, Napoleon would order the drums and bugles to strike up the signal for a charge and up and over his soldiers went. It was this one short, frail, little man that fused this army into a great fighting machine, marched it over impossible mountains and swept down into Italy to win as great victories as did his fierce predecessor twenty centuries before.
The records of the War Department are full of instances where men singly did seemingly impossible things. There was Patrick Ginley, a private in a New York regiment. At Reams Station, Virginia, the command in which he fought deserted important works which they occupied and retreated under the tremendous fire of the advancing enemy. Patrick remained. It seemed impossible that only one man could do anything except throw away his life, but Patrick made up his mind that he would accomplish everything that one man could. Accordingly as the enemy surged up to occupy the works with cheers and laughter at the sight of the retreating bluecoats, they were suddenly staggered by receiving a tremendous cannonade of grape-shot which cut down the entire first two ranks of the approaching company. It was Private Ginley who, single-handed, had loaded and sighted the gun and coolly waited until the enemy were within pointblank range. The Confederates were thrown into confusion. They suspected a Yankee trick and thought that the retreat had been made simply to lure them into close range. In the confusion they fell back, although they could have marched in without any further opposition, for as soon as Ginley had fired the gun, he escaped out of the rear of the earthworks and hastened to another Union regiment which was holding its ground near by. Waving his arms over his head and shouting like a mad-man, he rushed up to the astonished men and grabbed the colors out of the hands of the bewildered color-sergeant.
"Come on, boys!" he shouted. "I"ve got some good guns and a nice bit of fortification just waitin" for you. Look at the way I drove them back all by myself."
And he waved the colors toward the shattered Confederates who were slowly forming into line again preparatory to an a.s.sault, and started back for the works as fast as his legs could carry him.
"Come on, you fellows," he yelled over his shoulder; "do you want me to drive them back twice?"
His example was all that was needed. There was a cheer from officers and men alike and close behind him thundered the charge of the regiment. With a rush they swept up over the earthworks, drove the Confederates, who had just entered from the other side, out headlong, manned the whole works and in a minute were pouring charges of grape and canister from the retaken guns which completed their victory. A defeat had been changed into a victory, eleven guns and important works had been retaken from the enemy and a regiment of Confederates disorganized and driven from the field. One man did it.
The deeds that most appeal to our imagination are single combats--one man against a mult.i.tude when daring and dash and coolness and skill take the place of numbers. History is full of such stories. We love to read of that great death-fight of Hereward the Wake, the Last of the English, when with st.u.r.dy little Winter at his back, he fought his last fight ringed around with hateful, treacherous foes. At his feet the pile of dead and wounded men grew high and higher until no one dared step within the sweep of that fatal sword. At last when Winter had fallen, some treacherous coward thrust a spear into Hereward"s defenseless back. As he lay fallen on his face, apparently dead, one of his foemen stepped over to rob him of his sword when Hereward struggled to his knees and struck forward with his shield so fiercely, the last blow of the last Englishman, that he laid his man dead on the field.
Then there was the death-fight of Grettir the Outlaw which Andrew Lang calls one of the four great fights in literature of one man against a mult.i.tude. No boy should ever grow up without reading the Grettir Saga which tells how after being unjustly driven into outlawry Grettir finally took refuge on a rocky island which could only be climbed by a rope-ladder. There with his brother and a cowardly, lazy servant he lived in safety until his enemies hired a witch-wife to do him harm. At midnight she cut grim runes into a great log of driftwood and burned strange signs thereon and stained it with her blood and then after laying upon it many a wicked spell, had it cast into the sea by four strong men. Against wind and tide it sailed to Drangy, Grettir"s island of refuge. There he found it on the beach, but recognized it as ill-fated and warned the servant not to use it for fire-wood. In spite of this the lazy thrall brought it up the next day and when Grettir, not recognizing it, started to split the accursed log, his axe glanced and cut a deep gash in his leg. The wound festered and the leg swelled and turned blue so that Grettir could not even stand on it. When he was at last disabled, the witch-wife raised a storm and under her direction a band of his bitterest enemies went out to the island and found that his servant had left the rope-ladder down. One by one they climbed the sheer cliff and made a ring around the little hut where Grettir and his young brother slept. They dashed in the door. Grettir seized his sword and shield and fought on one knee so fiercely that they dared not approach him. Some of the attackers tried to slip behind his watchful sword.
"Bare is the back of the brotherless," panted Grettir and his boy-brother stood behind him and fought over him until they were both overborne by the sheer weight of heavy shields, and Grettir killed, although not until six men lay dead in front of the great chieftain.
Illugi, the brother, was offered his life if he would promise to take no vengeance on the murderers of his brother. He refused to do this because they had killed Grettir by witchcraft and treachery and not in fair fight. So they slew him, trying in vain to avoid the vengeance which came to them all many years later at the hands of another of Grettir"s kin.
We read also of battles won against what seem to us impossible odds.
The Samurai stories of old j.a.pan have several instances where chieftains defeated whole armies single-handed by their wonderful swordsmanship. The Bible contains several such stories. There is the story of Jonathan and his armor-bearer who together captured a fortress. Jonathan said to the young man that bare his armor, "Come and let us go over unto the garrison. It may be that the Lord will work for us." And his armor-bearer said unto him, "Do all that is in thine heart, behold I am with thee." Then they agreed to wait for a sign. If when they came before the garrison the men should invite them to come up, then they would go. If not, they would not make the attempt. The account goes on to say that when they both discovered themselves unto the garrison of the Philistines, the men of the garrison cried out to Jonathan and his armor-bearer and said, "Come up to us and we will show you a thing." And Jonathan said unto his armor-bearer, "Come up after me for the Lord hath delivered them to us." And Jonathan climbed up upon his hands and upon his feet and his armor-bearer after him and they fell before Jonathan and his armor-bearer slew after him. In a half-acre of ground which a yoke of oxen might plough, these two fought and slew and cut their way back and forth until the band that held the fort broke and fled and the stronghold was captured by the two.
Then there was Jashobeam the Hachmonite, one of the first three men of David"s body-guard of heroes who slew with his spear three hundred men at one time. There was Eleazar, who with David fought in that b.l.o.o.d.y barley field when these two warriors single-handed dispersed a company of Philistines. There was Abishai who slew three hundred men. These were the three mighty men who were besieged with David in the cave of Adullam in the midst of a parched and burning desert and David longed and said, "Oh, that one would give me to drink of the water of the well of Bethlehem that is at the gate." The three heard what their captain said and alone they broke through the ranks of the Philistines, drew water out of the well of Bethlehem and brought it back to David. And David did not drink of it, but poured it out to the Lord and said, "Lord forbid that I should drink the blood of these men that have put their lives in jeopardy for me."
When we read these and other hero-stories, we are apt to think that the time for such deeds is past and that the men of to-day can never equal the accomplishments of the fighters of olden time. Yet the Civil War shows stories just as stirring and accomplishments seemingly as impossible. There was George Wilhelm, a captain in the Ohio Infantry.
At Bakers Creek he was badly wounded in the breast and after he had fallen was captured by a Confederate, forced to his feet and though faint from loss of blood marched to the Confederate camp. As he saw himself farther and farther away from his own army a Berserkir rage came over him which made him forget his wound and his weakness. With one tremendous spring he caught his captor around the neck, wrested his drawn sabre from out of his hand, slashed him over the left shoulder and then picking up the loaded revolver which had dropped from the disabled hand faced him around and marched him back to the Union lines a prisoner although, toward the end of that journey, Wilhelm was so weak that he had to lean on the shoulder of his unwilling attendant.
There was William G. Whitney a sergeant in the 11th Michigan Infantry, at the battle of Chickamauga who, just as his men were about to face a fierce charge from the Confederates, found that their ammunition had given out. Outside the Union works was a sh.e.l.l-swept field covered with dead and wounded men. Whitney never hesitated. He leaped over the works and ran back and forth over that field, cutting off and loading himself down with cartridge-boxes, although it did not seem as if a man could live a minute in that hissing storm of bullets and sh.e.l.l. Just in time he brought back the ammunition which enabled his men to beat back the charge and hold their position.
At Rappahannock Station, Virginia, J. Henry White, a private in the 90th Pennsylvania Infantry, like David"s men brought back water to his thirsty comrades at the risk of his own life. The enemy had concentrated their fire on the only spring from which Union men could get water, but White crawled through the gra.s.s like a snake, covered from head to foot with canteens, filled them every one and crawled back under a fire which seemed as if it must be fatal. The Union forces were able to hold out and win the fight through his brave deed.
On May 12, 1864, Christopher W. Wilson, a private in the 73d New York Infantry at the battle of Spottsylvania in a charge on the Confederate works, seized the flag which the wounded color-bearer had dropped, led the charge and then for good measure cut down the color-bearer of the 56th Virginia Regiment, captured the Confederate colors and brought back both flags in safety to the Union lines.
Another color-bearer who won his share of battle-glory was Andrew J.
Tozier, a sergeant in the 20th Maine Infantry at the battle of Gettysburg. Tozier believed that it was the duty of a color-bearer having done all to stand fast. At the very flood-tide of the fight when it was a toss-up which side would be the victor of that crisis-battle of the war, Tozier"s regiment, which was in the forefront, was borne back leaving him standing with the colors in an advanced position.
Tozier stood there like a rock and coolly picked off with his musket every Confederate that attacked him until his ammunition gave out. He then pushed forward a few yards until he reached the body of one of the soldiers of his regiment who had fallen and stooping down, still keeping his colors flying, he managed to loosen some cartridges from the dead man"s belt. With these he recharged his rifle and fought a great fight alone. Again and again he would stoop for a minute to get more cartridges, but the flag never went down. From all over the field the officers from the scattered regiment rallied their men and hurried toward the colors and just as a Confederate troop thundered down on Tozier, intending to ride over him and carry away the precious flag, from every part of the field little squads of fighting men reached him in time to pour in a volley that saved the colors which Tozier for many minutes had been protecting single-handed. That was the turning-point of this part of the battle. The Maine regiment pressed on and never retreated a foot again through all those days of terrible fighting.
Tozier was one of the many men who saved that day for the Union by being brave in the face of tremendous odds.
Freeman C. Thompson of the 116th Ohio Infantry won his medal of honor at Petersburg, Virginia. On April 2, 1865, the Union forces were storming Fort Gregg. Both sides had poured in murderous volleys at short range and then had rushed to close quarters, fighting desperately with bayonet and b.u.t.t. Thompson scrambled up on his hands and knees, but had no more reached the parapet when he was knocked off it headlong by a tremendous blow on the head from a clubbed musket. When he returned to consciousness he found himself lying in the ditch with two dead men on top of him. Thompson made up his mind that this was not the kind of company which he ought to keep and springing to his feet, he started again for the parapet. This time he was more fortunate for he gained a footing and managed to bayonet the first man who attacked him, but before he could withdraw the bayonet, once again he received a tremendous smash full in the face from a clubbed musket and went clear over backward with a broken nose. He struck on the heap of bodies from which he had just emerged and though not unconscious, lay for a few minutes unable to move. Finally he managed to wipe the blood out from his eyes and spit out the blood and broken teeth from his battered mouth. Some men would have felt that they had had enough, but not so with this one. For the third and last time he scrambled up and as he reached the edge of the parapet caught sight of the man who was responsible for his battered face. Thompson rushed at him and there was a battle royal between the two, bayonet to bayonet, but Thompson at last by a trick of fence which he had learned, suddenly reversed his musket and smashed the heavy b.u.t.t down on his opponent"s right forearm, breaking the latter"s grip on his own weapon. Before he could recover, Thompson"s bayonet had pa.s.sed through his throat and Thompson himself had gained a foothold within the works. Shoulder to shoulder he fought with the rest of his comrades in spite of the streaming blood and only stopped when the garrison surrendered.
It is a brave man in civil life that will give up his vacation and it takes a hero to relinquish a furlough, that precious breathing spell away from battles and hardships back at home with his dear ones. Martin Schubert, a private in the 26th New York Infantry, had gained this respite and had paid for it by his wounds. Hearing that his regiment was about to go into battle again at Fredericksburg, he gave up his furlough, hurried back to the front and fought fiercely through all that brave day. Six men of his regiment, one after the other, had been shot down that fatal afternoon while carrying the colors. Schubert, although he already had one half-healed and one open wound, seized the flag when it went down for the last time and carried it to the front until the very end of the battle, although he received an extra wound for doing it. Thirty-one years later he received a medal of honor for that day"s work.
It is easier to save a wounded friend or wounded comrade than a wounded enemy. He who dares death to save one whom he is fighting against shows courage of the highest type. Such a deed occurred during the battle of Chancellorsville. Those four fatal May-days were filled as full of brave deeds as any days of the Civil War. Though General Hooker, the Union general, flinched and lost not only the battle, but forever his name of Fighting Joe Hooker, his men gave up only when they were outflanked and out-fought and unsupported.
Elisha B. Seaman was a private in one of the regiments which was surprised and attacked by the twenty-six thousand infantry of Stonewall Jackson, the best fighters in the Confederate Army. The Union men were not suspecting any danger. Word had been sent a number of times both to Hooker and to General Howard who commanded the eleventh corps under him that Jackson was crossing through the woods to make a flank-attack.
Neither general would believe the message. Both were sure that Jackson was in retreat. When the attack came the Union troops were attacked in front and from the flank and rear at once. They held their ground for a time, but they were new troops and even veterans could not have long sustained such an a.s.sault. At first they attempted to make an orderly retreat, but the Confederates pressed on them so close and fought so fiercely that the retreat became a run and the corps of which Seaman"s regiment was a part was not rallied until they met reinforcements far over in the wilderness and gradually came to a halt and threw up defenses. There they were too strong to be driven back further by the Confederates and managed to hold their ground although attacked again and again. After the last attack the Confederate forces withdrew and took up a strong position on the Union front, brought up artillery and opened up a tremendous rifle-fire mingled with the cannonade from all their available batteries, hoping to throw the Union forces into disorder so that they would not stand another charge. During the fiercest of the fire while every man was keeping close under cover, Seaman"s attention was caught by the sight of a Confederate officer who lay writhing in terrible agony not a hundred yards outside of the Union lines. He had been shot through the body in the last charge and had been left on the field by the retreating Confederates. The pain was unbearable. Seaman could see his face all distorted and although not a sound came through the clenched teeth, the poor fellow could not control the agonized twitching and jerking of his tortured muscles.
Seaman tried to turn his face away from the sight, but each time his eyes came back to that brave man in torment out in front of him. At last he could stand it no longer. He slipped back to the rear and got hold of a surgeon.
"Doctor," he said, "there"s a fellow out in front pretty badly wounded.
If I get him to you, do you think you can ease his pain?"
"I certainly can," said the surgeon, "but judging from the noise out there in front, you"ll lie out there with him if you go beyond the breastworks."
"You get your chloroform ready," said Seaman, "and I"ll get the man."
A few minutes later Elisha was seen by his astonished comrades crawling along the bullet-torn turf on his way to the wounded man.
"Hi there, come back, you lump-head!" yelled his bunkie. "Don"t you see the fellow is a Reb? You"ll get killed."
"I wouldn"t let a dog suffer the way that fellow"s suffering," yelled back Elisha, waddling along on his hands and knees like a woodchuck. He finally reached the officer, forced a little whiskey into his mouth and prepared to lift him up on his back.
"Cheer up, old man," he said. "I"ve got a good surgeon back there who says he can fix you up. If I can only get you on my back, we"ll be safe in a minute."
"You"ll be safe enough," gasped the other somewhat ungratefully, Seaman thought, "but there will be a dozen bullets through me."
There seemed to be something in that statement. Elisha decided that it would be a cruel kindness to turn this man into a target for the bullets which were coming across the field and make him act as his involuntary shield.
"I"ll tell you what I"ll do, General," Seaman said finally; "I"ll get you up and then I"ll back down to our lines. If any one gets. .h.i.t, it"ll be me.
He was as good as his word. Although the wounded officer was a large man, Seaman got a fireman"s-lift on him, swung him over his shoulders and then facing the Confederate lines, slowly backed his way toward safety. At first the Confederate fire redoubled as the men in gray thought that he was simply effecting the capture of one of their men.
When, however, they realized that he was protecting one of their own officers from their fire with his own body, all along the line the fusillade of musketry died down and there came down the wind in its place the sound of a storm of cheers which swept from one end of the Confederate position to the other. Seaman covered the last fifty yards of his dangerous journey without a shot being fired at him except the shot and sh.e.l.l from the batteries which were being worked too far back for the gunners to know what was going on. The surgeon with whom he had spoken had been attracted to the front by the shouts and cheers both from the Confederate lines and from Seaman"s own comrades and was the first to help him over the breastworks.
"You"re a great fool," he said. "I thought you were talking about one of our men, but so long as you brought this poor Reb in at the risk of your life, I"ll certainly cure him."
And he did.
Another man whose courage flared up superior to wounds and mutilation and who was brave enough to do his duty in spite of the agony he was suffering, was Corporal Miles James, who on September 30, 1864, at Chapins Farm, Virginia, with the rest of his company was attacking the enemy"s works. They had charged up to within thirty yards of the fortifications when they were met by a murderous storm of grape and canister, the enemy having held their fire until the very last moment.
A grape-shot cut through Corporal James" left arm just above the elbow, smashing right through the middle of the bone and cutting the arm half off so that it dangled by the severed muscles. The force of the blow whirled James around like a top and he fell over to the ground, but was on his feet again in an instant and started for the Confederate line like the bulldog that he was.
"Go back, Corporal," shouted one of his men. "Your arm"s half off and you"ll bleed to death."
"No I won"t," yelled James; "my right arm is my fighting-arm anyway."
"Let me tie you up then," said the man, pulling him to the ground where the rest of the regiment lay flat on their faces waiting for the storm to pa.s.s so that they might charge again. "There"s plenty of time."
An examination of the arm showed that it was past saving.
"Corporal," said the other, "you had better let me take this arm right off. I can make a quick job with my bowie-knife and bandage it. If I don"t you"ll bleed to death."
"All right," said Miles; "go ahead."
A minute later the amateur surgeon tied the last knot in the bandage which he had made out of a couple of bandanna handkerchiefs which had been contributed by others of the file.
"Now, Corporal," he said, coaxingly, "let me get you back where you can lie down and rest."
"No," said Corporal James, "the only resting I"m going to do will be inside those works."
He reached back for the Springfield rifle which he had dropped when first struck and fitting it carefully to his right shoulder, fired a well-aimed shot at a Confederate gunner who was serving one of the cannons on the breastworks. As the man toppled over the corporal smiled grimly and in spite of offers of help from all sides, loaded and fired his gun twice again. By this time the fire had died down and the corporal suddenly sprang to his feet and started for the breastworks.
"Hurry up, fellows," he shouted to his men; "don"t let a one-armed man do all the work."