He showed me the wound. It was through the fleshy part of the forearm, and due care had been taken not to break any bones. A more deliberate and less dangerous wound could not be; and yet it did not look trivial.
He was ordered to get away for Canada as promptly as possible, so that he might explain the loss of his despatch before it should become known there by any other means. An advertisement, offering $2,000 for his recapture, was at once inserted in the New York "Herald," the Pittsburg "Journal," and the Chicago "Tribune." No one ever appeared to claim the reward; but in about a week the escaped prisoner returned from Canada with new despatches that had been intrusted to him. They contained nothing of importance, however. The wound in his arm had borne testimony in his favor, and the fact that he had hurried through to St. Catherine's without having it dressed was thought to afford conclusive evidence of his fidelity to the Confederate cause.
The war was ended soon after this adventure, and, as his services had been of very great value, a new place, with the assurance of lasting employment, was found for the young man in one of the bureaus of the War Department. He did not remain there very long, however, and I don't know what became of him. He was one of the cleverest creatures I ever saw. His style of patriotic lying was sublime; it amounted to genius.
A VISIT TO SHERIDAN.
In October, 1864, just after the arrest of the Baltimore merchants, I visited Sheridan at his headquarters in the Shenandoah Valley. He had finished the work of clearing out the valley by the battle of Cedar Creek on October 19th, and the Government wanted to recognize the victory by promoting him to the rank of major-general in the regular army. There were numerous volunteer officers who were also officers in the regular army, and it was regarded as a considerable distinction. The appointment was made, and then, as an additional compliment to General Sheridan, instead of sending him the commission by an ordinary officer from the Department, Mr. Stanton decided that I would better deliver it. I started on October 22d, going by special train to Harper's Ferry, whither I had telegraphed for an escort to be ready for me. I was delayed, so that I did not get away from Harper's Ferry until about five o'clock on the morning of October 23d. It was a distance of about fifty miles to Sheridan, and, by riding all day, I got there about eleven o'clock at night. Sheridan had gone to bed; but, in time of war, one never delays in carrying out orders, whatever their nature. The General was awakened, and soon was out of his tent, and there, by the flare of an army torch, and in the presence of a few sleepy aides-de-camp and of my own tired escort, I presented Sheridan his commission as a major-general in the regular army. He did not say much, nor could he have been expected to under the circumstances, though he showed lively satisfaction in the Government's appreciation of his services, and spoke most heartily, I recall, of the manner in which the Administration had always supported him.
The next morning after this little ceremony, the General asked me if I would not like to ride through the army with him. It was exactly what I did want to do, and we were soon on horseback and off. We rode through the entire army that morning, dismounting now and then to give me an opportunity to pay my respects to officers whom I knew. I was struck, in riding the lines, by the universal demonstration of affection for Sheridan. Everybody seemed to be personally attached to him. He was like the most popular man after an election—the whole force everywhere honored him. Finally I said to the General: "I wish you would explain one thing to me. Here I find all these people, of every rank—generals, sergeants, corporals, and private soldiers, in fact, everybody—manifesting a personal affection for you that I have never seen in any other army, not even in the Army of the Tennessee for Grant. I have never seen anything like it. Tell me what is the reason?"
"Mr. Dana," he said, "I long ago made up my mind that it was not a good plan to fight battles with paper orders; that is, for the commander to stand on a hill in the rear and send his aides-de-camp with written orders to the different commanders. My practice has always been to fight in the front rank."
"But, General," I said, "that is dangerous; in the front rank a man is much more liable to be killed than he is in the rear."
"Well," said he, "I know that there is a certain risk in it; but, in my judgment, the advantage is much greater than the risk, and I have come to the conclusion that this is the right thing to do. That is the reason the men like me. They know that when the
