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Bilingual
By Choice
Raising Kids in Two
(or more!) Languages
Bilingual
By Choice
Raising Kids in Two
(or more!) Languages
Virginie Raguenaud
First published by Nicholas Brealey Publishing in 2009.
www.nicholasbrealey.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of
brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
13 12 11 10 09 1 2 3 4 5
ISBN: 978-1-85788-526-2
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS xi
FOREWORD xiii
INTRODUCTION xv
CHAPTER 1 Getting Past the Misconceptions
About Bilingualism 1
A Conscious Choice 1
Language Delay 4
Semilingualism 8
Language Overload 11
Special Needs 13
Taking Charge 16
vii
Bilingual By Choice
viii
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
ix
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
xi
Bilingual By Choice
xii
FOREWORD
xiii
Bilingual By Choice
gain intercultural awareness and learn early on that the world is not
defined in the same way by other cultural groups. By teaching our
children to speak another language and to understand another cul-
ture, we are creating a more cooperative generation.
Bilingual By Choice offers crucial information to help parents
overcome today’s challenges in raising and educating bilingual chil-
dren. Together, we need to cultivate a multilingual, multicultural soci-
ety by supporting and promoting policies, programs, pedagogy, and
research that yield academic success, value native language, lead to
English proficiency, and respect cultural and linguistic diversity.
This practical book offers important strategies that can be imple-
mented right away by parents to make sure that their children become
active and contributing participants in this world. It explains the ben-
efits of bilingualism, shows parents how to raise and keep their children
bilingual, addresses the cultural challenges at home, and helps parents
commit to bi-literacy to ensure their children’s academic success.
As former NABE parent representative and Vice-President, I
encourage parents and educators to read Bilingual By Choice and to
experience all the positive effects bilingualism offers to our world
today.
xiv
INTRODUCTION
xv
Bilingual By Choice
But I also realized that this valuable information rarely leaves aca-
demic circles and rarely reaches the people who, like me, desperately
need it to make sense of their uprooted childhoods.
This book is my attempt to share the knowledge. As you follow
the text, you will see that my bicultural identity shows up regularly.
The French side of me likes to listen to the experts and quietly take
notes. I get inspired by their efforts to advance the cause of bilingual
children. The American side of me likes to engage in a more spirited
form of learning: honest insights from parents, who can expose all the
complexities—and sometimes frustrations—of raising bilingual chil-
dren. In the mix, I have also added my own narrative of my relocation
to the U.S. and how my mother—born and raised in Belgium—and
my father—born and raised in Madagascar—succeeded in raising
three “late” bilingual and multicultural daughters.
When I decided to raise my twin daughters, Natasha and Sofiya,
bilingually, I came across several books that focused on the logistics of
creating a bilingual environment at home: Who will speak what lan-
guage? How much exposure will the children get? But my conversa-
tions with other parents made me realize that we had to take it a step
further, looking deeply at the obstacles and finding out why certain
families were successful at raising bilingual children and why many
failed.
I also wanted to explore the cultural issues in our lives that can-
not be ignored. For most of us, bilingualism is not just about raising
children to speak two languages. It’s also about raising bicultural chil-
dren who learn early on that there are different ways to see the world
and different perspectives about what’s right and wrong; children who
come to know that our truths are just that—ours. Bicultural children
gain intercultural awareness and learn early on that the world as they
know it is not being defined in the same ways by other cultural groups.
By teaching our children to speak another language and to under-
stand another culture, we’re creating a smarter and more cooperative
generation.
xvi
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
xvii
CHAPTER 1
A Conscious Choice
As a bilingual mom-to-be, I was curious to see which language would
feel most natural when I first met my twin girls. Although I associate
French with family and nurturing, English has been my community
language for the last twenty-seven years. I’ve spoken English in my
graduate studies, my work, and my twelve-year marriage. For some
bilingual parents, the language choice is not always obvious and
1
Bilingual By Choice
sometimes only reveals itself the first time we hold our children. On our
first day together in the hospital, the girls and I found ourselves bond-
ing in French, and we’ve continued to do so ever since. I have to say,
speaking French in the delivery room felt especially sweet and intimate
with a nine-member crew of doctors, nurses, and an anesthesiologist
working around us! (Twin deliveries create quite a commotion!)
Raising a bilingual child—either from birth or after relocation—
is a necessity for many parents. We want to keep family ties intact
and share our cultural selves with our children. However, as parents
we have to make a conscious choice to keep our children bilingual. It’s
a common misconception that children will simply pick up languages
if they’re exposed to them. It takes commitment and creativity at
home and in our communities for children to learn and, more impor-
tantly, maintain two languages. Which is probably why we all know at
least one adult who’s expressed regret at having lost a parent’s native
language. I believe we can succeed if we pay attention to the research,
if we listen to the insights of successful bilingual adults, and if we
learn as a family to mindfully integrate our native language and our
cultural traditions in our daily lives.
EARLY SKILLS
2
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
3
Bilingual By Choice
Language Delay
Not all children develop language at the same rate—a fact that some-
times confuses parents who relate language delay to their bilingual
choice. In our personal experience there was a wide gap between
Natasha’s and Sofiya’s language development. Natasha spoke two-
and three-word combinations well before her second birthday, while
Sofiya developed other skills and began two- and three-word combi-
nations at around two-and-a-half years old. At first, we wondered
why Sofiya wasn’t speaking as much as her sister. But we noticed that
she was making progress nonetheless, adding new words to her vocab-
4
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
5
Bilingual By Choice
can use two-word phrases (e.g., “my ball” or “no juice”). These are the
same language developmental milestones seen in children who learn
only one language.” (7) Most speech pathologists and pediatricians
agree that parents should watch for the more serious symptoms to
keep things in perspective. They include:
• not babbling by 12 to 15 months
• not understanding simple commands by 18 months
• not talking by the age of two
• not using sentences by the age of three
• not being able to tell a simple story by the age of four or five (8)
6
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
and speaks that language enough with other adults and peers to reach
the desired level of fluency. If parents worry about how much exposure
their children are getting in the home language, the first step, accord-
ing to researchers, is to get a detailed picture of how much daily input
they receive in and outside the home. It’s like figuring out how much
you spend a month—until you write it all down, you don’t realize that
daily café latte is costing you $800 a year!
Although researchers have not agreed on the minimum amount
of exposure needed for a child to master a language, they agree that
parents will be more successful if they monitor the situation care-
fully. According to Professor Genesee, “Children are capable of
learning two languages at the same time at the same rate as mono-
lingual children provided they get continuous and rich exposure to
both over an extended period of time.” (11) Parents need to provide
their children with daily opportunities to learn and repeat a rich and
varied vocabulary. It’s clear that if a child has sparse or sporadic
exposure to one of his languages, he will not meet the expected mile-
stones in language acquisition and is less likely to become bilingual.
CONSISTENCY
7
Bilingual By Choice
Semilingualism
When well-meaning people find out that you’re planning to raise
your children in two languages, they may express concern that your
strategy could lead to semilingualism—a lack of proficiency in either
language as compared to monolingual children. Semilingualism
means your children may have a smaller vocabulary, poor grammar,
or trouble expressing complex thoughts and creativity. (14) It’s easy
8
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
9
Bilingual By Choice
BALANCED BILINGUALISM?
10
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
Language Overload
Even those of us who understand the benefits of bilingualism and
whole-heartedly wish to pass on our native language to our children
sometimes suffer a lingering fear that we’re overloading our young
children’s brains. We worry because we’re looking at the situation
from an adult’s perspective. We inadvertently underestimate our chil-
dren’s ability to learn. But if we approach language learning in the
same loving and gentle way in which we encouraged their first steps
and their first drawings, we don’t need to worry. Every piece of
empirical evidence I have found on the subject—U.S.-based and
international—shows that, under normal circumstances, children can
learn two (or more) languages, naturally and effortlessly, if they need
them to communicate.
The brain of a child is remarkably malleable, according to scien-
tists, and it provides significant clues to the development of a second
or third language. A group of neurologists who studied the brains of
children who experienced a stroke around the ages of six and seven
found that, surprisingly, language development was not affected but
was actually rerouted to a different part of the brain. For an adult, on
the other hand, the same kind of injury will often cause a permanent
loss of language. (16) This startling evidence of the brain’s plasticity
in early childhood helps explain why, under normal circumstances,
young children are capable of handling a second or third language
without being burdened by it. As bilingual speech-language patholo-
gist Grace Libardo Alvarez concludes, “Infants have a biological
capacity for multilingualism.” (17)
There are a few things parents can keep in mind when they feel
anxious about language overload:
11
Bilingual By Choice
12
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
Special Needs
New parents often have a lingering fear that exposing our children to
two or more languages will somehow lead to unnecessary stress and
potentially cause language disorders. A Science Daily article from Sep-
tember 2008 was headlined “Bilingual children more likely to stutter.”
In fact, the research in the article doesn’t show that bilingualism
causes stuttering, but the authors conclude that children would ben-
efit from waiting to learn a second language because “. . . this reduces
the chance of starting to stutter and aids the chances of recovery later
in childhood.” (20)
The problem with this kind of research is that it often overlooks the
social, emotional, and cultural factors surrounding each child, and thus
creates misleading information. For me, reading this article was like
being told that it’s not prudent to have twins because there are risks
involved. My reality is that the benefits far outweigh the risks. When it
comes to languages (and children!), I can’t live with just one. Natasha
and Sofiya also need two languages in order to communicate with their
two families.
It’s true that there are bilinguals who stutter, but the research does
not prove that learning two languages from birth is the cause. Among
many research findings, an extensive survey done at the world-
renowned University College London concluded that “There is no dif-
ference between monolingual and bilingual speakers in terms of their
likelihood of having stuttering in their life.” (21)
13
Bilingual By Choice
UNDERSTANDING STUTTERING
14
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
EARLY DETECTION
15
Bilingual By Choice
had insisted we were hurting our children with “healthy food!” Well,
it turns out my son was autistic, and it had nothing to do with the
languages . . . or whole-grain bread. . . . I will say, though, that our
efforts were not in vain. . . . My son, when he started talking at 6, was
able to remember all of the different languages and music I had
taught him! He was the youngest American invited to study at Inter-
lochen (Center for the Arts), at 8 years old; this is something that we
would never have imagined. It was all there in his head—tucked
away. It was a little jewel for me. (27)
Taking Charge
Bilingualism in the U.S. is a tough sell. There are widespread miscon-
ceptions—unnecessary distractions—that too often mislead parents
who have the ability and the language resources to give their children
the gift of bilingualism but who hesitate, or, worse, turn their backs on
their home language. The first time I saw Dr. Tove Skutnabb-Kangas’s
book Linguistic Genocide in Education—or Worldwide Diversity and
Human Rights? I was taken aback by the blunt title. But as I talked to
parents, and as I read U.S.-based and international literature on bilin-
gualism, I realized that we are truly robbing families if we take away
their language and cultural rights. Sometimes it’s done at the federal
level, through language policies and cutbacks on bilingual programs.
Sometimes it’s at the local level; for instance, school administra-
tors may tell a parent that if she continues to speak Arabic at home,
her child will be placed in special education classes. I also realized
16
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
that parents should not underestimate the power they have to success-
fully raise bilingual and multicultural children, even if their commu-
nities are not in sync yet.
Ultimately it’s up to us as parents to make it happen. When a
potential problem or worry creeps up, trust your instincts. You know
what’s best for your child. You know when your child is hungry. You
know when she needs a hug. You know what she needs to be happy
before anyone else around her does. Every day, when you choose to
speak and read to her in your native language, you strengthen an inti-
mate bond with her, you expose her to more and more vocabulary, you
pique her curiosity with fun and creative activities, and you open her
eyes to meaningful cultural traditions and values that are important to
your family. You create a treasure chest in your own home. Through
it all, remember that her knowledge of languages and her rich cultural
heritage mean that the world will soon open up to her.
17
CHAPTER 2
19
Bilingual By Choice
Can I make the time to read to them every day? What resources—
books, music, language schools, immersion programs, and cultural
events—are available to us in the community or on the Internet?
My family’s personal goal is for our girls to one day be able to
speak, read, and write fluently in French and English. We need all the
support we can get to help the children maintain and progress in
French. It sometimes means reminding visiting relatives and friends
to speak French around the children, even if it’s tempting for them to
practice their English when they come to the U.S.!
According to Francois Grosjean, author of Life with Two Lan-
guages, “Children do not acquire (or only partly acquire) the minor-
ity language if there isn’t community or educational support, or other
motivational factors that make using the language a natural thing.”
During an interview about his personal family situation, Professor
Grosjean alluded to the dilemma we all face. “Although we wanted
our children to be bilingual,” he writes, “living in an English environ-
ment like the United States made this very difficult.” (1) His family
lived here decades ago, but his comment still holds true today.
Global migration is working in our favor, however. The 2007
American Community Survey states that one in five people living in
the U.S. speaks a language other than English at home; that’s more
than 54,000,000 people. (2) We should be able to create abundant
speaking opportunities just by getting together with our neighbors!
And the numbers are growing every year. The goal is to build a strong
support network that includes family and friends, to speak up about
our goals for our children’s future, and to explain why it’s important
to expand their minds by passing on our native language and culture.
20
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
Language Strategies
ONE LANGUAGE—ONE ENVIRONMENT
21
Bilingual By Choice
22
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
23
Bilingual By Choice
24
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
CORRECTING
When children are still at home and just learning to identify their two
language systems, mixing languages is usually temporary. I think every
parent has to decide what feels most natural in their daily interac-
tions, but it’s clear that if we correct a young child every time she says
a word in the “wrong” language, we risk taking the spontaneity out of
learning and giving her a serious complex. If Sofiya shows me, with
great excitement, her new Play-Doh creation and says, “Regarde,
Maman, octopus!” (“Look, Mom, octopus!”) I simply reply, “Bravo!
Quelle belle pieuvre!” (“What a beautiful octopus!”) I give her the
French word in my reply, but I don’t correct her. I can tell she likes to
say the word octopus. But later, when I ask her to show me “la pieuvre”
in a French book, she points at it without hesitation. The objective is
to make sure the word is not missing from her vocabulary, or, if it is,
to find a fun way to teach it to her.
Mixing languages often happens when young children are still figur-
ing out who’s bilingual and who’s not. When Natasha and Sofiya were
just learning to speak, they assumed that both sets of grandparents
could read French books with them. That assumption was usually
followed with a puzzled look and a head tilt that said, “What do you
mean you can’t read this baby book, Nanny?” When children develop
a solid understanding of their two language systems—which can hap-
pen as early as age two or three—they start to develop a keen sense of
25
Bilingual By Choice
who is bilingual and who isn’t, and most of the time they will use the
appropriate language in their interactions. Madalena Cruz-Ferreira,
author of Three Is A Crowd? Acquiring Portuguese in a Trilingual Envi-
ronment, has seen this in her research and with her own trilingual
children. She shares this insight: “The bottom line is that [a child] will
sort out both languages and their users in time. I’ll give you a preview:
the next stage will be that once she associates a language with a per-
son, say, when meeting new people, she will vigorously refuse to use
any other language with that person.” (7)
HOW TO HELP
Learning to Read
A common question for parents raising toddlers with two languages
is: Which language should our children learn to read first? Research
26
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
shows that it is best for children to learn to read in their stronger lan-
guage, whether it’s the language spoken at home or the community
language. If children learn to read in English first, that doesn’t mean
that parents shouldn’t be reading to them in their native language as
well. As York University Professor of Psychology Ellen Bialystok
explains, “There’s a lot of worry out there about other languages con-
flicting with a child’s ability to learn to read in English, but that’s
absolutely not the case. Parents should not hesitate to share their
native language with their children—it’s a gift.” (8)
Sometimes unexpected circumstances determine which language
our children will read in first. When I was three years old, my family
moved to Jeffersonville, Indiana, for one year. My two sisters, at four
and five years old, started school and were suddenly learning to speak
and read in English, a language they had never heard before. My mom
was concerned about my oldest sister Brigitte’s literacy development
in French, since she would be starting first grade upon our return to
France the following school year. She attempted to read to Brigitte in
French in the evenings, but after several tries she dropped the project
because Brigitte was not responding well. My mom decided to try
again when Brigitte’s kindergarten year in English was over.
Because of this unexpected one-year relocation, my sister did
learn to read in her weaker language. But after she learned to read in
English, she was able to transfer those skills to French. My parents
spent the summer helping Brigitte to read in French. By the time she
started school in France that September, Brigitte read on par with her
classmates. Unknowingly, my parents followed the advice researchers
give out today. They didn’t push Brigitte; they paid attention to her
own particular needs and let her lead the way; they stayed flexible and
held back their expectations; and, most importantly, they committed
to reading every day to put her back on track once she was able to
focus on French again.
According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, “Pushing your
child to read before she is ready can get in the way of your child’s
27
Bilingual By Choice
28
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
29
Bilingual By Choice
30
Raising Kids in Two (or more!) Languages
Strategies in Public
What about our conversations in public? At some point we all have to
figure out what feels most natural. Some parents simply choose to
speak their native language at all times, regardless of how their chil-
dren or other people around them react. It sends a strong message of
language pride to the children. Even if the community is not receptive,
parents are expressing their personal enthusiasm for the language and
its importance in the context of their family. In cities like New York,
Miami, and Chicago, bilingual families might not question whether to
use their native language in the company of others, mostly because of
the large mix of ethnic and linguistic groups who have made a home
there. In smaller towns, however, it is still uncommon to hear a for-
eign language spoken on the streets. In New Hampshire, where I live,
English clearly dominates. I have to say, though, now that I pay more
attention to the issue, I’m amazed at how often I meet someone in a
store, or at an amusement park, or restaurant who speaks another
language fluently with his or her family. When I was pregnant, I sud-
denly saw babies and strollers everywhere I went; now that I speak a
foreign language out in public, I suddenly hear other languages every-
where I go!
31
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step and dared the Union messengers to go an inch farther.
Midshipman Read stepped smilingly ahead of his captain and gently
pushed with either hand two of the cursing young desperadoes far
enough to one side to allow for a passageway between them. Both
of them actually placed the muzzles of their cocked revolvers against
his neck as a last threat, but even the touch of cold steel did not
drive away Read's amused smile. The mob gave up. Evidently these
men had resources about which they knew nothing.
"They were so sure that we wouldn't kill them that we couldn't," said
one of the Thugs afterward in explaining why the hated messengers
had been allowed to march up the steps.
They sauntered into the mayor's room where they met a group of
white-faced, trembling men who were the mayor and his council.
Captain Bailey delivered the admiral's summons for the surrender of
the city to the mayor. The mob, which at first had stayed back, at
this point surged up to the windows and shouted curses and threats
into the very mayor's room, threatening him and the council if they
dared to surrender the city. Captain Bailey and his companion gave
the trembling city officials a few minutes in which to make up their
minds. Suddenly there was heard a roar outside louder than any
which had come before. The mob had torn down the Union flag
which had been hoisted over the custom house and rushing to the
mayor's office, tore it to pieces outside the open windows and threw
the fragments in at the seated envoys. This insult to their flag
aroused Captain Bailey and young Read as no threats against them
personally had been able to do. Turning to the mayor and the
shrinking council, Bailey said, "As there is a God in heaven, the man
who tore down that Union flag shall hang for it." Later on this
promise was carried out by the inflexible General Butler when he
took over the city from Admiral Farragut and hanged Mumford, the
man who tore down the flag in the city square, before the very mob
which had so violently applauded his action. This incident was the
last straw for the mayor and his associates. They neither dared to
refuse to surrender the city lest it should be bombarded by Farragut
nor did they dare to surrender it for fear of the mob which had
gathered around them with significant coils of rope over their arms.
In a half-whisper they hurriedly notified Captain Bailey that they
could not surrender the city, but that they would make no resistance
if the Union forces occupied it. Looking at them contemptuously,
Captain Bailey turned away, picked up the fragments of the torn flag
and faced the mob outside threateningly. The man who had torn the
flag slunk back and his example was contagious. One by one men
commenced to sneak away and in a minute the City Hall was
deserted and Captain Bailey and Midshipman Read were able to
leave the building and drive back to the vessels in a carriage
obtained for them by the mayor's secretary.
In the great war between slavery and freedom which swept like fire
over the country, boys learned the ideals for which their fathers
fought. They learned to believe so entirely in freedom that there was
no room left for fear. Many of them went to the war as drummer
boys, the only way in which boys could enlist. One of these was
Johnny McLaughlin of the Tenth Indiana. Johnny lived at a place
called Lafayette and was not quite eleven years old. From the
minute that the war broke out he thought of nothing but what he
could do for his country and for freedom. Other boys played at
drilling and marching, but this was not enough for him. He made
inquiries and found that if he could learn to drum, there was a
chance that he might be allowed to enlist. He said nothing at first to
his father and mother about his plans, but saved all his spending-
money and worked every holiday in order to get enough to buy a
drum. Times were hard, however. There was little money for men,
much less for boys, and after Johnny had worked for over two
months, he had saved exactly two dollars. In the village was a
drummer who had been sent home to recover from his wounds and
to him Johnny went one day to ask how much more he would have
to save before he could buy a drum. The man told him that a good
drum would cost him at least ten dollars. Johnny sighed and turned
away very much discouraged.
"Why don't you play something else?" said the man. "You can get
more fun out of ten dollars than buying a drum with it."
"I don't want it to play with," said Johnny. "I want to learn to drum
so that I can enlist."
At first the man laughed at the boy—he seemed so little, but when
he found that Johnny had made up his mind to do his share for his
country in the great fight, Donaldson, as he was named, became
serious.
"I tell you what I'll do," he said at last. "If you are really in earnest
about learning to drum, I'll give you lessons myself, for," said he
modestly, "I was the best drummer in my regiment. If you can learn
and they will take you, I'll give you the old drum. I'll send it to the
front even if I can't go myself."
This was enough for Johnny. Morning, noon and night he was with
his friend Donaldson and it was a wonder that the drum-head was
not worn out long before he learned. Learn he did, however, and in
a few months there was not a roll or a call which he could not play.
One morning as the school-bell was ringing, Johnny presented
himself to his parents with the big drum around his neck looking
nearly as large as he was.
At first his father and mother, like Donaldson, were inclined to laugh
at him, he was such a little boy, but Johnny was in earnest and a
boy who is in earnest always gets what he wants. A few days later
found him a drummer for the Tenth Indiana and as he led the
regiment, beating the long roll, Johnny was the proudest boy that
had ever come out of Indiana. He had his first taste of fire at Fort
Donelson and afterward at the bloody battle of Shiloh. Johnny
drummed until the terrible drumming of the muskets drowned out
even his loud notes. Then he laid down his sticks, carefully hid his
drum, took a musket and cartridge box from off one of the dead
soldiers and ran on with his regiment and fought in the front with
the bravest of them all. He had a quick eye and it was not long
before he could shoot as accurately as any man there.
It was just after Shiloh that Johnny had a narrow escape from being
captured. Wanting to try everything, he obtained permission to do
picket duty at night although this work was not required of drummer
boys. As he had shown himself such a cool and ready fighter, his
colonel felt that he was entirely able to do this duty and one dark
night put him on picket. His post was some distance away from the
camp. Just at dawn he was suddenly rushed by a party of rebel
cavalry. As they burst out of the bushes Johnny fired his carbine at
the first one, dropping him, and ran across an open field about fifty
yards wide. At the other side was an old, rotten, log fence and
beyond that a mass of briers and underbrush where he was sure the
horses could not follow. Fortunately for him the rains had made the
field a mass of mud. There his lightness gave him the advantage, for
the horses slumped through at every step. The rebels fired
constantly at him as they rode with their pistols. One ball went
through his hat, another clear through his cartridge box and lodged
in his coat, fortunately without exploding any of the cartridges.
Beyond the middle of the field the ground was drier and the
horsemen commenced to gain on him, but he reached the fence well
ahead and with one jump landed on the top. The rotten rails gave
way underneath him and he plunged headlong over into the brush,
right on the back of a big sleeping wild pig who had rooted out a lair
at this place. The pig jumped up grunting and crashed through the
underbrush and Johnny heard his pursuers smashing through the
broken fence not a rod away. He curled up into the round hole which
the pig had left, drew down the bushes over his head and lay
perfectly quiet. The horsemen, hearing the rustling of leaves and the
smashing of branches as the pig dashed off down a pathway,
followed after at full gallop and were out of sight in a minute. As
soon as the sound of their galloping had died away, Johnny crawled
cautiously out of his hole and made the best of his way back to
camp. The next day some of the rebel cavalry were taken prisoners
and Johnny recognized one of them as the leader of the squad
which had so nearly caught him. The prisoner recognized the boy at
the same time and they both grinned cheerfully at each other.
"We did that," retorted the prisoner, "but it wasn't the one we were
after."
Johnny had always been able to ride the most spirited horses on the
farm and after Shiloh he asked to be transferred from the infantry to
Colonel Jacob's Kentucky Cavalry. There he attracted the attention of
the colonel so that the latter gave him one of the best horses in the
regiment and a place in the Fighting First, as the best-mounted
company was called, which the colonel always led personally in
every charge. In this company Johnny was taught how to handle a
sabre. The regular sabre was too heavy for him, but Colonel Jacob
had one light, short one specially made which Johnny learned to
handle like a flash. A German sergeant, who had been a great fencer
on the Continent, taught him all that he knew and before long
Johnny was an expert in tricks of fence which stood him in good
stead later on. One in special he so perfected that it was never
parried. Instead of striking down with the sabre as is generally done,
Johnny learned a whirling, flashing upper-cut which came so rapidly
that generally an opponent could not even see much less parry it.
He was also armed with the regulation revolver and a light carbine
instead of the heavy revolving rifle used by the rest of the troop. At
Perryville he fought his first battle with his new regiment. In the
charge he stuck close to Colonel Jacob and received a ball through
his left leg above the knee. Fortunately it did not break any bone
and Johnny tore a strip off his shirt, bandaged the hole and went on
with the fight. While he was doing this, the greater part of the
regiment passed on and when Johnny started to join his colonel, he
could not find him. He rode like the wind over the field and soon
behind a little patch of woods saw Colonel Jacobs with only six or
seven men, the rest having been scattered in the fight. Johnny
spurred his horse over to him and the colonel was delighted to be
joined by his little body-guard. As they were riding along to rejoin
the rest of the regiment, from out a clump of bushes a squad of fifty
men led by a Confederate major dashed out calling on them to
surrender. Colonel Jacob hesitated, for some of his men were
wounded and the odds seemed too great for a fight. Before he had
time to answer, Johnny slipped in front of him, drew out his revolver
and fired directly into the Confederate officer's face, killing him
instantly and then drawing his sabre dashed into the ranks of the
enemy. The first man he met was a big fellow whose bare, brawny
arm and blood-stained sabre proved him a master with his weapon.
Johnny never gave him a chance to strike. At the whirl of his light
sabre his opponent instinctively raised his weapon in the ordinary
parry of a down-blow and the point of Johnny's sabre caught him
under the chin and toppled him off his horse. The Union men gave a
cheer, followed their little leader, breaking clear through the
demoralized Confederates and joined their command at the other
side of the field.
A few weeks later they had a skirmish with the troop of John
Morgan, the most dreaded cavalry leader and fighter in all the
South. Johnny, as usual, was in the front of the charge and had just
cut at one man when another aimed a tremendous blow at his head
in passing. There was just time for Johnny to raise the pommel of
his sabre to save his head, but the deflected blow caught him on the
leg and he fell from the horse with blood spurting out of his other
leg this time. He lay perfectly quiet, but another rebel had seen him
fall and spurring forward, caught him by the collar, saying:
Johnny did not approve of this cage-idea and although there was no
room to use the sabre, managed to work his left hand back into his
belt, draw his revolver and shoot his captor dead. In another minute
his company came riding back and he was whirled up behind his
colonel and rode back of him to safety. This last wound proved to be
a serious one and he was sent back to Indiana on a furlough to give
it time to heal. On the way back he was stopped by a provost guard
and asked for his pass.
"My colonel forgot to give me any passes," said Johnny, "but here
are two that the rebels gave me," showing his bandaged legs, and
the guard agreed with him that this was pass enough for any one.
As his wound refused to heal, against his wishes he was discharged
and once more returned home. He then tried to enlist again, but
each time he was turned down because of the unhealed wound.
Finally, Johnny traveled clear to Washington and had a personal talk
with President Lincoln and explained to him that his wound would
never heal except in active service. His arguments had such force
with the President that a special order was made for his enlistment
and he fought through the whole war and afterward joined the
regular army.
The littlest hero of the war was Eddie Lee. Shortly before the battle
of Wilson's Creek, one of the Iowa regiments was ordered to join
General Lyon in his march to the creek. The drummer of one of the
companies was taken sick and had to go to the hospital. The day
before the regiment was to march a negro came to the camp and
told the captain that he knew of a drummer who would like to enlist.
The captain told him to bring the boy in the next morning and if he
could drum well he would give him a chance. The next day during
the beating of the reveille, a woman in deep mourning came in
leading by the hand a little chap about as big as a penny and
apparently not more than five or six years old. She inquired for the
captain and when the latter came out, told him that she had brought
him a drummer boy.
"Drummer boy," said the captain; "why, madam, we don't take them
as small as this. That boy hasn't been out of the cradle many
months."
"He has been out long enough," spoke up the boy, "to play any tune
you want."
His mother then told the captain that she was from East Tennessee
where her husband had been killed by the rebels and all her
property destroyed and she must find a place for the boy.
"Well, well," said the captain, impatiently, "Sergeant, bring the drum
and order our fifer to come forward."
In a few moments the drum was produced and the fifer, a tall, good-
natured fellow over six feet in height, made his appearance.
"Why, captain," said he, "he ain't much taller than the drum."
"Yes, sir," said the boy. "I used to drum for Captain Hill in Tennessee.
I am nearly ten years old and I want the place."
The fifer straightened himself up slowly, placed his fife at his mouth
and commenced to play "The Flowers of the Forest," one of the
most difficult pieces to follow on the drum. The little chap
accompanied him without a mistake and when he had finished
began a perfect fusillade of rolls and calls and rallies which came so
fast that they sounded like a volley of musketry. When the noise had
finally died out, the captain turned to his mother and said:
"Madam, I'll take that boy. He isn't much bigger than a minute but
he certainly can drum."
"Sure," said the captain; "we'll all be discharged in about six weeks."
An hour later Eddie was marching at the head of the Iowa First
playing "The Girl I Left Behind Me" as it had never been played
before. He and Bill, the fifer, became great chums and Eddie was the
favorite of the whole regiment. Whenever anything especially nice
was brought back by the foraging parties, Eddie always had his
share and the captain said that he was in far more danger from
watermelons than he was from bullets. On heavy marches the fifer
would carry him on his back, drum and all, and this was always
Eddie's position in fording the numerous streams.
At the Battle of Wilson's Creek the Iowa regiment and a part of an
Illinois regiment were ordered to clear out a flanking party concealed
in a ravine upon the left of the Union forces. The ravine was a deep,
long one with high trees and heavy underbrush and dark even at
noontime. The Union regiments marched down and there was a
dreadful hand-to-hand fight in the brush in the semi-twilight. Men
became separated from each other and as in the great battle
between David and Absalom, the wood devoured more people that
day than the sword devoured. The fight was going against the Union
men when suddenly a Union battery wheeled into line on a near-by
hill and poured a rain of grape and canister into the Confederates
which drove them out in short order. Later on the word was passed
through the Union Army that General Lyon had been killed and soon
after came the order to fall back upon Springfield. The Iowa
regiment and two companies of a Missouri regiment were ordered to
camp on the battle-field and act as a rear guard to cover a retreat.
When the men came together that night there was no drummer boy.
In the hurry and rush of hand-to-hand fighting, Eddie had become
separated from Bill and although the latter raged back and forth
through the brush like an angry bull, never a trace of his little
comrade could he find. That night the sentries stood guard over the
abandoned field and along the edge of the dark ravine now filled
with the dead of both sides. It was a wild, desolate country and as
the men passed back and forth over the stricken field, they could
hear the long, mournful, wailing howl of the wolves which were
brought by the smell of blood from the wilderness to the battle-field
from miles around. That night poor Bill was unable to sleep and
moaned and tossed on his blanket and said for the thousandth time:
Suddenly he sprang to his feet and roused the sleeping men all
around him.
"Lie down, Bill," said one of them. "Eddie's gone. We all did the best
we could."
"He's down there in the dark," cried poor Bill, "drumming for help,
and I must go to him."
The others tried to hold him back for it was impossible to see a foot
through the tangled ravine at night and moreover the orders were
strict against any one leaving camp. Bill went to the sentry who
guarded the captain's tent and finally persuaded the man to wake up
the captain. The latter lay exhausted with fatigue and sorrow, but
came out and listened as did all the rest for the drum, but nothing
could be heard.
Bill paced restlessly up and down all through that dark night and just
as the dawn-light came in the sky, he heard again faint and far away
a drum beating the morning call from out of the silence of the deep
ravine. Again he went to the captain.
"Of course you can go," said the latter, kindly, "but you must be back
as soon as possible for we march at daybreak. Look out for yourself
as the place is full of bushwhackers and rebel scouts."
Bill started down the hill through the thick underbrush and wandered
around for a time trying to locate the drum-beats which were thrown
back by the trees so that it was difficult to determine from what
point they came. As he crept along through the underbrush, they
sounded louder and louder and finally in the darkest, deepest part of
the ravine, he came out from behind a great pin-oak and saw his
little comrade sitting on the ground leaning against the trunk of a
fallen tree and beating his drum which was hung on a bush in front
of him.
"Eddie, Eddie, dear old Eddie," shouted Bill, bursting through the
thicket. At the sound the little chap dropped his drumsticks and
exclaimed:
"Oh, Bill, I am so glad to see you. I knew you would come. Do get
me a drink."
Bill started to take his canteen down to a little near-by brook when
Eddie called him back.
"You'll come back, Bill, won't you," he said, "for I can't walk."
Bill looked down and saw that both of his feet had been shot away
by a cannon-ball and that the little fellow was sitting in a pool of his
own blood. Choking back his sobs, the big fifer crawled down to the
brook and soon came back with his canteen full of cold water which
Eddie emptied again and again.
"You don't think I am going to die, do you, Bill?" said the little boy at
last. "I do so want to finish out my time and go back to mother. This
man said I would not and that the surgeon would be able to cure
me."
For the first time Bill noticed that just at Eddie's feet lay a dead
Confederate. He had been shot through the stomach and had fallen
near where Eddie lay. Realizing that he could not live and seeing the
condition of the boy, he had crawled up to him and taking off his
buckskin suspenders had bandaged with them the little fellow's legs
so that he would not bleed to death and on tying the last knot had
fallen back dead himself. Eddie had just finished telling Bill all about
it in a whisper, for his strength was going fast, when there was a
trampling of horses through the ravine and in a minute a
Confederate scouting party broke through the brush, calling upon Bill
to surrender.
"I'll do anything you want," said Bill, "if you will only take my little
pal here safe back to camp and get him into the hands of a
surgeon."
The Confederate captain stooped down and spoke gently to the boy
and in a minute took him up and mounted him in front of him on his
own horse and they rode carefully back to the Confederate camp,
but when they reached the tents of the nearest Confederate
company they found that little Eddie had served out his time and
had given his life for his country.
On June 30, 1862, was fought the stubborn battle of Glendale, one
of the Seven Days' Battles between McClellan, the general of the
Union forces, and Lee, the Confederate commander. This battle was
part of McClellan's campaign against Richmond, the capital of the
Confederacy which he had within his grasp when he was out-
generaled by Lee, who that month for the first time had been placed
in supreme command of the Confederate Army. With him were his
two great generals, Stonewall Jackson and Longstreet. McClellan
was within sight of the promised land. The spires of Richmond
showed against the sky. Instead of fighting he hesitated and
procrastinated away every chance of victory. Lee was even then
planning that wonderful strategy which was to halt a victorious army,
turn it away from the beleaguered capital of the Confederacy and
send it stumbling back North in a series of defeats. It was necessary
for him to have a conference with Stonewall Jackson, his great
fighting right-hand in military matters. Jackson rode almost alone
fifty miles and attended a conference with Lee, Longstreet and
Generals D. H. and A. P. Hill. To each of them General Lee assigned
the part that he was to play. In the meantime, knowing that
McClellan always read and pondered the Richmond papers, he
arranged that simultaneously every paper should publish as news
the pretended facts that strong reinforcements had been sent to the
Shenandoah Valley. McClellan fell into the trap and instead of
pressing forward to attack Richmond, which was now only guarded
by a small force, he, as usual, waited for reinforcements and allowed
his antagonists to march around him and start flanking battles which
threatened to cut off his line of communications. The battle of
Gaines Mill was fought in which battle General Fitz John Porter with
thirty-one thousand men stubbornly faced Lee and Jackson's forces
of fifty-five thousand and with sullen obstinacy only retreated when
it was absolutely impossible longer to hold his ground. This defeat,
which occurred simply because McClellan could not bring himself to
send Porter the necessary reinforcements, made General McClellan
resolve to withdraw, although even then, with a superior army, he
could have fought his way to Richmond. From June 25th to July 1,
1862, occurred the Seven Days' Battles fought by the retreating
Union Army. By one of the few mistakes which General Lee made in
that campaign, the Union Army was allowed a respite of twenty-four
hours to organize its retreat and were well on their way before
pursuit was given. On June 29th there was a battle between the rear
guard of the Union force and the Confederate's under General
Magruder in which the Confederates were defeated. The next day
came the battle of Glendale. Generals Longstreet and A. P. Hill
commanded the Confederate Army while the rear guard of the
retreating Union forces was made up of General McCall's division and
that of General Heintzelman and a part of the corps under General
Sumner which had done such gallant fighting the day before. It was
a stern and stubborn battle. If the Confederates could cut through
the rear guard, they would have the retreating army at their mercy.
On the other hand, if they could be held back, the main army would
have time to occupy a favorable position and entrench and could be
saved. For a time it seemed as if the Confederate attack could not
be checked. Every available man was called into action. Back at the
rear were posted the hospital corps where the sick and wounded lay.
With them were stationed the band and the drum-corps made up of
drummer boys who were supposed to keep out of actual fighting as
much as possible. Among them was a little Jewish boy named
Benjamin Levy, who was only sixteen years old and small for his age.
Benjamin stayed back with the hospital while the roar of the battle
grew louder and louder. Finally there was a tremendous chorus of
yells and groans and shouts mingled with the rattle of rifle-shots and
the heavy thudding sounds which sabres and bayonets make as they
slash and pierce living flesh. Little groups of wounded men came
straggling back or were carried back to the hospital and each one
told a fresh story of the fierce fight which was going on at the near-
by front. Benjamin could stand it no longer. The last wounded man
that came in hobbled along with a broken leg, using his rifle for a
crutch. The boy helped him to a near-by cot and made him as
comfortable as he could.
"Now you lie quiet," he said, "until the doctor comes and I'll just
borrow this rifle of yours and do a little fighting in your place," and
Benjamin picked up the gun and slipped on the other's cartridge
belt.
"Hi there, you come back with my gun," yelled the wounded man
after him. "That front's no place for kids like you."
Benjamin, however, was well on his way before the man had finished
speaking and slipping past an indignant doctor who was trying to
stop him, he ran forward, keeping as much as possible in the shelter
of the trees among which the bullets and grape-shot were whining
and humming. He passed many wounded limping to the rear and
rows of prostrate men, some still, some writhing in the agony of
their wounds. These were the men who had fallen on their way back
to the hospital. A minute later Benjamin found himself in the thick of
the fight. There had been a Confederate charge which the Union
soldiers had just barely been able to drive back. The men were still
panting and shouting and firing volleys at the gray forces who were
reluctantly withdrawing to rally for another attack. The boy lay down
with the rest and loaded and fired his borrowed rifle as rapidly as he
could. No one seemed to notice him except the color-bearer who
happened to be the man next to him. He had stopped firing to wipe
his face and saw the little fellow close by his arm.
"Why don't you get back to the rear where you belong?" he said,
pretending to talk very fiercely. "This is no place for little boys. When
those gray-backs come back, you'll scamper quick enough, so you
had better be on your way now."
"No I won't," said Benjamin positively. "I guess boys have got as
much right to fight in this war as men have. Anyway, you won't see
me do much running."
Benjamin was mistaken in that last statement, for a minute later the
colonel of this particular regiment decided that instead of waiting for
a Confederate attack, he would do a little charging on his own
account. The signal came. The men sprang over the earthworks and
Benjamin found himself running neck and neck with the color-bearer
at the head of them all. It was a glorious charge. The ground ahead
was smooth, the fierce flag of the regiment streamed just in front
and all around were men panting and cheering as they ran. It was
almost like a race on the old school-green at home. They came
nearer and nearer to the masses of gray-clothed men who were
hurriedly arranging themselves in regular ranks out of the hurry and
confusion of their retreat. When they were only a short hundred
yards distant, suddenly a wavering line of fire and smoke ran all up
and down the straggling line in front of them. Men plunged headlong
here and there and Benjamin noticed that he and the color-bearer
seemed to have drawn away from the rest and were racing almost
alone. Suddenly his friend with the colors stopped in full stride,
swung the flag over his head once with a shout and dropped
backward with a bullet through his heart. As he fell the colors slowly
dropped down through the air and were about to settle on the
blood-stained grass when the boy, hardly knowing what he did,
shifted his rifle to his left hand, caught the staff of the flag and once
more the colors of the regiment were leading the men on. Right up
to the gray line he carried them, followed by the whole regiment.
Firing, cutting and stabbing with their bayonets they broke straight
through the Confederates and after a hand-to-hand fight, drove
them out of their position. They carried the boy, still clinging to the
colors, on their shoulders to their colonel and to the end of his life
Benjamin remembered the moment when the colonel shook hands
with him before the cheering regiment as the climax of the greatest
day of his life.
CHAPTER V
THE CHARGE OF ZAGONYI
There have been three charges in modern battles which have been
celebrated over and over again. The first of these was the last
desperate charge of the Old Guard at Waterloo. A thin red line of
English held a hill which Napoleon, the greatest of modern generals,
saw was the keystone of the battle. If that could be taken, the whole
arch of the English and Belgium forces would crumble away into
defeat. Again and again the French stormed at this hill and each
time were driven back by the coolly-waiting deadly ranks of the
English. Toward nightfall Napoleon made one last desperate effort.
The Old Guard was to him what the great Tenth Legion had been to
Julius Cæsar, the best and bravest veterans of his army who boasted
that they had never yet been defeated. Calling them up with every
last one of his reserves, he ordered a final desperate charge to break
the battle center. To the grim drumming of what guns the little
general had left, they rushed again up that blood-stained slope in
desperate dark masses of unbeaten men. With a storm of cheers,
the columns surged up in a vast blue battle-wave which seemed as if
it must dash off by its weight the little group of silent, grim
defenders. The Englishmen waited and waited and waited until the
rushing ranks were almost on them. Then they poured in a volley at
such close range that every bullet did the work of two and with a
deep English cheer sprang on the broken ranks with their favorite
weapon, the bayonet. That great battle-wave broke in a foam of
shattered, dying and defeated men and the sunset of that day was
the sunset of Napoleon's glory.
Fifty years later in the great war which England with her allies was
waging to keep the vast, fierce hordes of Russia from ruling Europe,
happened another glorious, useless charge. Owing to a
misunderstanding of orders, a little squad of six hundred cavalrymen
charged down a mile-long valley flanked on all sides by Russian
artillery against a battery of guns whose fire faced them all the way.
Every schoolboy who has ever spoken a piece on Friday afternoon
knows what comes next. How the gallant Six Hundred, stormed at
with shot and shell, made the charge to the wonder and admiration
of three watching armies and how they forced their way into the
jaws of death and into the mouth of hell and sabred the gunners
and then rode back—all that was left of them.
In our own Civil War occurred the most famous charge of modern
days, Pickett's charge at the battle of Gettysburg. For three days
raged the first battle which the Confederates had been able to fight
on Northern soil. If their great General Lee, with his seventy
thousand veterans, won this battle, Washington, Philadelphia and
even New York were at his mercy. On the afternoon of the third day
he made one last desperate effort to break the center of the Union
forces. Pickett's division of the Virginia infantry was the center of the
attacking forces and the column numbered altogether over fifteen
thousand men. For two hours Lee cannonaded the Union center with
one hundred and fifteen guns. He was answered by the Union
artillery although they could only muster eighty guns. Finally the
Union fire was stopped in order that the guns might cool for Hunt,
the Union chief of artillery, realized that the cannonade was started
to mask some last great attack. Suddenly three lines, each over a
mile long, of Virginia, North Carolina, Alabama, Georgia and
Tennessee regiments started to cover the mile and a half which
separated them from the Union center. The Union crest was held by
the Pennsylvania regiments who were posted back of the stone wall
on the very summit. As the gray lines rushed over the distance with
a score of fierce battle flags flaming and fluttering over their ranks,
the eighty guns which had cooled so that they could now be used
with good effect opened up on them first with solid shot and then
with the tremendous explosive shells. As they charged, the Virginia
regiments moved away to the left leaving a gap between them and
the men from Alabama on the right. The Union leaders took
advantage of this gap and forced in there the Vermont brigade and a
half brigade of New York men. By suddenly changing front these
men were enabled to attack the charging thousands on their flank.
The Union guns did terrible execution, opening up great gaps
through the running, leaping, shouting men. As the charge came
nearer and nearer the batteries changed to the more terrible grape
and canister which cut the men down like grass before a reaper. Still
they came on until they were face to face with the waiting Union
soldiers who poured in a volley at short range. For a moment the
battle flags of the foremost Confederate regiments stood on the
crest. The effort had been too much. Over half of the men had been
killed or wounded and many others had turned to meet the flank
attack of the Vermont and New York regiments so that when the
Pennsylvania troops met them at last with the bayonet, the gray line
wavered, broke, and the North was saved.
All three of these great charges were brave, glorious failures. This is
the story of a charge, an almost forgotten charge, just as brave, just
as glorious, which succeeded, a charge in which one hundred and
sixty men and boys broke and routed a force of over two thousand
entrenched infantry and cavalry.
At the breaking out of the war, one of the most popular of the Union
commanders was John C. Fremont, the Pathfinder. He had opened
up the far West and had made known to the people the true
greatness of the country beyond the Mississippi. At the birth of the
Republican or Free-Soil Party, he was the first candidate. The
country rang with a campaign song sung to the tune of the
Marseillaise, the chorus of which was:
He was one of the first generals appointed. Among those whom the
fascination of his romantic and adventurous life had attracted to his
side was a Hungarian refugee named Zagonyi. In his boyhood he
had fought in the desperate but unsuccessful war which Hungary
made to free herself from the Austrian yoke. He served in the
Hungarian cavalry; and in a desperate charge upon the Austrians, in
which half the force were killed, Zagonyi was wounded and captured
and for two years was a prisoner. He was finally released on
condition that he leave his country forever. As an experienced
soldier, he was welcomed by General Fremont and was authorized to
raise a company to be known as Fremont's Body-Guard. In a few
days two full companies, composed mostly of very young men, had
been enrolled. A little later another company composed entirely of
Kentucky boys was included in the guards. They were all
magnificently mounted on picked horses and very handsomely
uniformed. Because of their outfit and name they soon excited the
envy of the other parts of the army who used to call them the "kid-
glove brigade." Although well-trained and enthusiastic, they had no
active service until October, 1861, when Zagonyi, who had been
appointed their major, was ordered to take one hundred and sixty of
his men and explore the country around Springfield, Missouri,
through which the main army was intending to advance. There were
rumors that a Confederate force was approaching to take possession
of the city of Springfield and the body-guard marched seventeen
hours without stopping in order to occupy this town before the
enemy should arrive. As they came within two miles of Springfield,
however, they were met by a farmer who informed them that the
Confederates had beaten them in the race to Springfield and were
already in camp on a hill about half a mile west of the town. Their
rear was protected by a grove of trees and there was a deep brook
at the foot of the hill. The only way to approach them was through a
blind lane which ran into fences and ploughed fields. This was
covered by sharpshooters and infantry while four hundred
Confederate horsemen were posted on the flank of the main body of
infantry which guarded the top of the hill. Altogether the force
numbered over two thousand men. It seemed an absolutely
hopeless undertaking for a little body of tired boys to attack twenty
times their own number. Zagonyi, however, had been used to
fighting against odds in his battles with the Austrians. He hurriedly
called his men together and announced to them that he did not
intend to go back without a fight after riding so far.
"If any of you men," he said, "are too tired or too weak, or too
afraid, go back now before it is too late. There is one thing about it,"
he added grimly, "if there are any of us left when we are through we
won't hear much more about kid gloves."
They had time for only one volley when the young horsemen were
among them, cutting, thrusting, hacking and shooting with their
revolvers. In a minute the main body followed the example of the
cavalry and broke and scattered everywhere. Some of them,
however, were real fighters; they retreated into the woods and kept
up a murderous fire from behind trees. One young Union soldier
dashed in after them to drive them out, but was caught under the
shoulders by a grape-vine and swept off his horse and hung
struggling in the air until rescued by his comrades. Down into the
village swarmed the fugitives with the guards close at their heels. At
a great barn just outside of the village a number of them rallied and
drove back the Kentucky squad which had been pursuing them. This
time Zagonyi himself dashed up, and shouting, "Come on, old
Kentuck, I'm with you," rushed at the group which stood in the
doorway. As he came on, a man sprang out from behind the door
and leveled his rifle at Zagonyi's head. The latter spurred his horse
until he reared, and swinging him around on his hind legs, cut his
opponent clear through the neck and shoulders with such
tremendous force that the blood spurted clear up to the top of the
door.
"Always parry in secant," said he, suiting his action to the word,
"because," he went on, slashing his opponent across the thigh, "a
regular fencer like this Confed is liable to leave himself open. It is
easy then to ride on two paces and catch him with a back-hand
sweep," and at the words he dealt his opponent a last fatal blow
across the side of the head which toppled him out of his saddle.
Holding his dripping sabre in his hand, the major shouted an order
to his men to come together in the middle of the town. One of the
first to come back was his bugler, whom Zagonyi had ordered to
sound a signal in the fiercest part of the fight. The bugler had
apparently paid no attention to him, but darted off with Lieutenant
Mathenyi's squad and was seen pursuing the flying horsemen
vigorously. When his men were gathered together, Major Zagonyi
ordered him to step out and said:
"In the middle of the battle you disobeyed my order to sound the
recall. It might have meant the loss of our whole company. You are
not worthy to be a member of this guard and I dismiss you."
"No," he said, "me, you shall not dismiss," and he showed his bugle
to his major with the mouthpiece carried away by a stray bullet.
"The mouth was shoot off," he said. "I could not bugle wiz my bugle
and so I bugle wiz my pistol and sabre."
So ended one of the most desperate charges of the Civil War. One
hundred and forty-eight men had defeated twenty-two hundred,
with the loss of fifty-three killed and more than thirty wounded.
CHAPTER VI
THE LOCOMOTIVE CHASE
At the beginning of the Civil War, the eastern part of Tennessee was
held by the Confederates although the mountaineers were for the
most part Union men. The city of Chattanooga was the key to that
part of the state and was held by the Confederates. A railroad line
into that city ran through Georgia and was occupied by the Southern
army. If that could be destroyed, Chattanooga could be cut off from
reënforcements and captured by the small body of Union troops
which could be risked for that purpose. This road was guarded by
detachments of Confederate troops and extended for two hundred
miles through Confederate territory and it seemed as if it could not
be destroyed by any force less than an army. There was no army
that could be spared.
"Tell the general," said the man quietly, "that James J. Andrews
wants to speak to him on a matter of great importance."
The sentry stared at him for there were few in the army who had
not heard of Andrews, the scout, but fewer still who had ever seen
him. No man had passed through the enemy's lines so many times,
knew the country better or had been sent more often on dangerous
errands. In a minute he was ushered in to where General Mitchel sat
writing in the inner tent. With his deep-set gray eyes and waving
hair brushed back from his broad, smooth forehead, he looked more
like a poet than a fighter. The general noticed, however, that his
eyes never flickered and that although he spoke in a very low voice,
there was something about him that at once commanded attention.
Andrews wasted no time.
"General Mitchel," he said, "if you will let me have twenty-four men,
I will capture a train, burn the bridges on the Georgia railroad and
cut off Chattanooga."
"Well, general," answered Andrews slowly, "don't you think it's worth
trying? You know I generally make good on what I set out to do. In
this matter if we lose, we lose only twenty-five men. If we win, we
take Chattanooga and all Tennessee without a battle."
There was a long pause while the general studied the scout.
Andrews saluted and left the tent. That night twenty-four men from
three regiments were told that they were to have the first chance to
volunteer for secret and dangerous service. Not a man chosen
refused to serve. The next evening they were told to meet at a great
boulder at sunset about a mile below the camp and wait until joined
by their captain. Each man was furnished with the camp countersign
as well as a special watchword by which they could know each other.
One by one the men gathered at dusk, recognized each other by the
watchword and sat down in the brush back of the boulder to wait.
Just at dark there was a rustling in the underbrush at the other side
of the road and the scout stepped out, joined them and gave the
countersign. Without a word, he moved to the thick bushes at one
corner of the boulder and pushing them aside showed a tiny hidden
path which wound through the brush. Into this he stepped and
beckoned them to follow. The path twisted back and forth among
the great stones and trees and through patches of underbrush and
the men in single file followed Andrews. Finally nearly a mile from
the road, he led them down into a dense thicket in a little ravine.
There the brush had been cut out so as to make a kind of room in
the thicket about ten feet square. When they were all inside, the
scout motioned them to sit down and then circled around through
the underbrush and doubled back on his track so as to make sure
that they had not been followed by any spy. Then he returned and
lighted a small lantern which hung to one of the saplings and for the
first time his men had a good look at their captain. As usual,
Andrews wasted no time.
"Boys," he said simply, "I have chosen you to come with me and
capture a train from an army and then run it two hundred miles
through the enemy's country. We will have to pass every train we
meet and while we are doing this we must tear up a lot of track and
burn down two bridges. There is every chance of being wrecked or
shot and if we are captured, we will be hung for spies. It is a
desperate chance and I picked you fellows out as the best men in
the whole army to take such a chance. If any of you think it is too
dangerous, now is the time to stand up and draw out."
There was a long pause. Each man tried to see what his companions
were thinking of in the dim light.
"Well, captain," at last drawled a long, lank chap with a comical face,
who had the reputation of being the worst daredevil in his regiment,
"I would like to stand up for you've got me kind of scared, but my
foot's asleep and I guess I'll have to go with you."
"That's the way I feel," said the man next to him, as every one
laughed, and the same answer went all around the circle.
In a whisper the scout then outlined his plan. The men were to
change their uniforms and put on the butternut-colored clothes of
the South and to carry no arms except a revolver and bowie-knife.
Then they were to cross the country on foot until they got to
Chattanooga and were then to go back on their tracks by train and
meet at a little town called Marietta in the middle of Georgia. No one
would, of course, suspect men coming out of a Confederate city to
be Union soldiers. If questioned they were to say that they were
Kentuckians on their way to join the Southern army. At Marietta they
were to take rooms at the Marietta Hotel and meet at the scout's
room on the following Saturday morning at two o'clock.
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