Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are marked with underlines: _italics_. The Song of the Rappahannock _Sketches of the Civil War_ By Ira Seymour Dodd New York Dodd, Mead and Company 1898 _Copyright, 1897, 1898,_ BY THE S. S. MCCLURE COMPANY. _Copyright, 1898,_ BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY. University Press: JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. TO MY COMRADES _The Living and the Dead_ THESE MEMORIES OF OUR DAYS OF WARFARE ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED Preface What is herein written was begun and for the most part completed before the Spanish War Cloud was more than a distant and doubtful threat. But out of its passing storm a rainbow arch has risen, fairer and sweeter than even the sunshine of victory to the eyes of those who stood in opposing ranks as foemen thirty years ago. We learned, not hatred, but profound respect for each other on those grimly fought fields of Civil Strife. During these years of retrospect and reflection the respect has been ripening into a warmer feeling; and now our hearts swell with deep and solemn thankfulness for the open evidence of our perfect welding into One Mighty Nation under whose Old Flag men of the South stand joined with men of the North in invincible brotherhood. Henceforth memories of that older crisis can no longer be dividing or exclusive possessions, but each fragment of its story becomes part of the common heritage of American manhood. To the kindness of the Editors of "McClure's Magazine," in which several of the sketches composing this little book first appeared, the author desires to express his obligations. I. S. D. RIVERDALE ON THE HUDSON October 1, 1898. Contents Page THE SONG OF THE RAPPAHANNOCK 1 THE MAKING OF A REGIMENT 39 THE HOUSEHOLD OF THE HUNDRED THOUSAND 99 A LITTLE BATTLE 143 ONE YOUNG SOLDIER 165 SACRIFICE 202 The Song of the Rappahannock The Song has been silent for more than thirty years. In another thirty years it will cease to be a living memory save to a handful of very old men. But those who once heard can never forget its weird, fantastic, sinister tones. Sometimes it was a fearful yet persuasive whisper addressed to you personally; again it would burst in uncontrolled passion into a chorus of awful and discordant screams mingled with thunderous and reverberating roar. With marvellous range of tone and expression it was, however, always one Song with one fateful burden.