Rebels at the Gate: Lee and McClellan on the Front Line of a Nation Divided (19 page)

“No father, you eat it,” came the reply. “I am younger than you, and stronger, and therefore can hold out longer.” The two looked affectionately at each other as Hermann asked for the candle. “Having my knife in hand,” he recalled, “I cut it lengthwise, following the wick, giving each half, and passing the blade between my lips.” It was Hermann's first taste of nourishment in four days.
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An old trapper, “Tanner Jim” Parsons, discovered the Georgians along the banks of Otter Creek. “Gentlemen,” Parsons declared, “I have been raised in these regions, and there is not a living soul within forty miles in the direction you propose to go, and at the rate you are compelled to advance, you would all perish to death, and your carcasses left for food to the wild beasts of the forest.” He led the starving Confederates east to settlements on Dry Fork, where a large pone of cornbread was served. “I received about an inch square as my share,” Isaac Hermann recalled, “the sweetest morsel that ever passed my lips.” Thus ended a four-day wilderness ordeal.
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Efforts by General Hill and his railroad detachment to snare the fleeing Confederates near Red House fizzled. Confusion and train delays slowed Hill's pursuit. Federal troops did not reach the Northwestern Turnpike in force until July 14—more than two days after the retreat began and two hours after most of the Confederates had safely passed. Only a few dozen stragglers were rounded up. A chagrined George McClellan could only grumble at the news: “If my generals had obeyed my orders, I should…have captured every rebel in this region.”
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General Garnett's body was removed to the Corrick house, laid out in fresh clothing, and placed in a rough, salt-lined coffin. Escorted by Major Gordon and a heavy guard, it was conveyed to the railroad at Rowlesburg in the general's captured ambulance wagon for eventual disposition to his family. A crowd gathered as the morbid procession rolled into Wheeling on July 16. Curious
onlookers jostled to view the fine metal casket that now contained Robert Garnett's remains. They were captivated by the pathos of his life. Born of Virginia aristocracy, educated at the finest schools, and wed in the glamour of New York society, this promising soldier met tragedy in the mountains of his native state. He had fallen strangely, in the rear of a flying army, deserted by his own troops.
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Some believed that Garnett had willed his fate at Corricks Ford. He was deeply humiliated, the story went, and welcomed death to escape dishonor. “I have myself but little doubt,” Captain Benham avowed, that Garnett posted himself at the riverbank “in the expectation or hope of losing his life in mortification at this disastrous rout.”
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“[H]ow bravely he struggled against adverse fortune,” eulogized President Jefferson Davis of the fallen Garnett, “and how gallantly he died in the discharge of his duty…the manner of his death was worthy of the way in which he lived.” The forlorn remnant of Garnett's command limped back across the mountains. “We have suffered awfully,” wrote Colonel Ramsey of the Georgia regiment. “Not many men were killed by the enemy, but there are hundreds missing.…What is left of this army will not be fit for service in a month.”
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“
I have made a very clean sweep of it—never was more complete success gained with smaller sacrifice of life.”

—George B. McClellan

The bustle at headquarters was in sharp contrast to General McClellan's earlier cautious style. Telegraph man T.B.A. David strung wire into the deserted Camp Garnett at a frenetic pace. Within the hour, a fully operational telegraph office was up and running.

McClellan wasted no time in putting that technology to work. He ordered David to make contact with the War Department in Washington. There was no hesitation by the young general now. Many were taken aback by the novelty of his field telegraph and the speed at which it appeared. “My God,” exclaimed a Confederate prisoner as he saw David working the keys, “here's the telegraph!”

Nearly as astonished was General-in-Chief Winfield Scott at Washington. McClellan's wire carried breathtaking news:

Rich Mountain, Va.—9 A.M., 12th. We are in possession of all the enemy's works up to a point in sight of Beverly. Have
taken all his guns, a very large amount of wagons, tents &c.—everything he had.…A large number of prisoners…many killed…Mass of enemy escaped through the woods entirely disorganized.…Our success complete and almost bloodless.

McClellan's army entered the town of Beverly with banners flying. The finely outfitted Ninth Ohio Germans led the advance, while regimental bands played a beautiful march from the opera
Norma
. Rolls of telegraph line uncoiled at their heels.
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In Beverly, McClellan set up a telegraph office hot linked to the War Department. A flurry of messages crackled over the wires: “I have the honor to inform you that the army under my command has gained a decisive victory,” cabled McClellan. “They lost many killed.…Our success complete and almost bloodless.…I shall move on Huttonsville to-morrow morning, and endeavor to seize the Cheat Mountain pass before the enemy can occupy it in strength.…We are constantly picking up more prisoners.”

He wrote again on the morning of July 13. “Success of today is all that I could desire,” McClellan announced. “Their killed and wounded will amount to fully one hundred and fifty…their retreat complete.…Garnett abandoned his camp early this morning, leaving much of his equipage. He came within a few miles of Beverly, but our rapid march turned him back in great confusion.…I may say that we have driven out some ten thousand troops strongly entrenched.”

As McClellan's cables reached General Scott in Washington, tongues wagged. The first great clash of the war at Manassas was more than a week away. This news from Western Virginia was bedazzling. George McClellan was suddenly the talk of the town.

Scott keyed a reply to his young protégé. “The General-in-Chief, and what is more, the Cabinet, including the President, are charmed with your activity, valor, and consequent successes of Rich Mountain the 11th, and of Beverly this morning. We do not doubt that you will in due time sweep the rebels from Western
Virginia, but we do not mean to precipitate you, as you are fast enough.” It might have been the last time a military superior praised General McClellan for speed.
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While cables skipped over the wires on Rich Mountain, Confederate refugees fled for their lives. Parties led by Jed Hotchkiss, Major Nat Tyler, and Colonel Scott reached Beverly ahead of McClellan's troops, filled wagons with quartermaster stores, and took a score of “home-made Yankees” and “Carlile men” from the jail for good measure as they scampered south. One wounded Virginian, however, was left behind. Charles “Lab” Cox grew so weak during the retreat that comrades were forced to abandon him in the forest on Rich Mountain. “He sat himself up against a tree,” recalled a Confederate, “those who had a biscuit, or a piece of meat…or a canteen of water, gave it freely to him. All bade him ‘Goodbye.’ Thus was Charles Cox left alone in the wild mountains of Randolph County.” His fate would remain a mystery.
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The Confederates with Lt. Colonel Pegram fared little better. On the morning of July 12, Pegram trained a telescope on Beverly from the crest of Rich Mountain, observed Confederate soldiers in the town and—like Garnett's scouts—mistook them for the enemy. So he turned the large column north toward Laurel Hill, stumbling across murky swamps and the meandering Tygart Valley River. Riding ahead to Leadsville Church, Pegram learned of Garnett's retreat, the passing of Federal troops, and the impossibility of escape. Returning to the riverbank, he found his frightened troops firing wildly into the darkness.
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Near the river, at the Kittle house, Pegram called a conference of his officers. Captain J.B. Moomau of the Franklin Guards offered to guide them to safety by a route used after the Philippi defeat, but was overruled. Convinced there was no escape, the tired, hungry Confederates voted to surrender. A messenger was sent to find McClellan. On the morning of July 13, nearly six hundred fully
armed Confederates under Pegram surrendered to a party of less than two dozen Federals and marched into Beverly. It would later be discovered that members of the Franklin Guards had slipped away by the route offered to all.
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General McClellan offered gracious terms of surrender. Tents and rations were provided to enlisted men; Confederate officers were lodged in a Beverly hotel and given the liberty of the town. The ailing Pegram convalesced in a private home, under care of the sister of McClellan's West Point classmate Thomas Jackson.
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“I find that the prisoners are beyond measure astonished at my humanity towards them,” McClellan informed Nelly. Taken aghast by the tender ages of Reverend Dr. Atkinson's “Hampden-Sydney Boys,” McClellan sent the youths home to their mothers. “Boys,” he lectured them in a fatherly tone, “secession is dead in this region,—Go back to your college; Take your books and
become wise men.
”

There were few guidelines for handling prisoners of war; therefore, McClellan released the Confederates on parole of honor. Each took a pledge not to “bear arms or serve in any military capacity against the United States until released from this obligation according to the ordinary usages of war.” Only those who had left United States service to join the Confederacy were sent to prison, an exclusive club that included Dr. Archibald Taylor and Lt. Colonel John Pegram.
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The captured slaves of Confederate officers were given a choice—to go north to freedom, remain with the Federal army, or return to their masters. “Nearly all chose the latter alternative,” McClellan noted with interest, for while he was no admirer of slavery, he fancied the abolitionists even less. “While I am determined to play my part in this unhappy contest,” McClellan informed Confederate authorities, “permit me to assure you of my desire to do all in my power to alleviate its miseries.” His benevolent treatment of Confederates at Beverly was in stark contrast to the handling of prisoners there in 1865, when captured Federals were led through mountain snows in bare feet.
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Anxious to clear the pass leading over Cheat Mountain, McClellan proceeded south on the Staunton-Parkersburg Turnpike. Many houses along the route were deserted. The reason, John Beatty surmised, was that citizens were told the Yankees “shot men, ravished women and destroyed property.” As for Rebels on Cheat, McClellan found none. “Our ride today was truly magnificent,” he wrote Nelly on July 14, “some of the most splendid Mt. views I ever beheld.…At the Mt. top was a pretty little farm, neat as neat could be. A very old couple lived there, the old lady as rosy & cheerful as a cricket. It is sad that war should visit even such sequestered spots as that.”

“After closing my letter last night,” he continued, “a courier arrived with the news that the troops I had sent in pursuit of Garnett had caught him, routed his army, captured his baggage…& that Garnett himself lay dead on the field of battle!!! Such is the fate of traitors—one of their comdrs a prisoner, the other killed!” A delighted Nelly urged him to “come home and receive my congratulations.”
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Sweet news it was, and McClellan sent the telegraph wires dancing with another sensational dispatch:

Garnett's forces routed—his baggage & one gun taken, his army demoralized—Garnett killed. We have annihilated the enemy in Western Virginia…. We have in all killed at least 200 of the enemy & their prisoners will amount to at least one thousand—have taken 7 guns in all…. The troops defeated are the crack regiments of Eastern Virginia…. Our success is complete & secession is killed in this country.
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McClellan's magic key tapped out headline-grabbing news. No matter that it was a trifle exaggerated, that he had inflated Confederate strength and casualties, that the “crack regiments” vanquished were a raw gaggle of volunteers, or that mistaken identity—not any “rapid march” by McClellan—had turned back Garnett's column. His florid dispatches created a sensation.