A ©EO DDD QOa BY VIC REINHARDT PRICE 25 CENTS TERRELL, TEXAS, 1010 Glass_LAlLl Book 1^3C \ 03 Ig DDD ELOH DDD BY VIC REINHARDT PRICE 25 CENTS TERRELL. TEXAS 1910 2 A Druvimir Boy of Shikili PREFACE The battle of Shiloh was such a vivid picture upon the boyish mind of the author that about twenty years ag-o he wrote "A Drummer Boy of Shiloh/' which at that time was favorably commented on. Later it was reduced to about half its former length, and has been read and recit- ed in this form. It received such favorable commendation as to induce its publication. It is therefore presented to the reading public, and especially to the soldiers of the Civil war, South and North, as the vivid impression of a youth of the South who took part in those two memorable days, believing it will find a responsive chord in every heart. The Autiiok. ©C(.A261409 A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. A Druinnier Boy of Shiloh. In representing the drummer boy of this subject we beg to remind you that he was a mere boy in reality, both in age and size, for, on the day he left his humble home in Alabama, in 1861, he weighed seventy-two pounds, scant. Be it especially remembered also, that the incidents of four years of civil war passed before him more as a youth or child than a mature man; that he saw the realities of strife and carnage rather in a transient light. The gen- eralities of war, the minutea and detail of marching col- umns he cared little for, but what claimed his attention was the immediate and personal experiences and observa- tions of one of his age. He knew and saw enough of this, however, to fill a large volume with interesting reading. The eloquent appeals of such men as William L. Yancey was followed by the piercing notes of the fife and the martial beat of the drum ; then the enlistment, the drill, the uniform, the sad, sad hour of home leaving; when the train pulled out slowly, the waving of flags and handker- chiefs ceased and the parental roof, the church spires, familiar scenes, all fade from view. The boy stands on the rear platform of the last coach, the Captain's hand resting on his shoulder, looking back, as tears chased each other down the cheek in quick succession, and the heart sighs as memory repeats the scene of fond embraces, flowing tears, and endearing words of cheer and comfort from those loved ones, some of them to see no more. The dear old home and its hallowed surroundings ri^ up again and again, until weary and worn, eyes are dried and thoughts turn to the present and future, though ever and anon a re- creant tear drop is seen trickling down the cheek. Seventy-two miles ride and the train transfers its bouyant life freight to a packet on the Alabama river, then down the river via Mobile and out on Dauphin Island in the great Gulf, Vv^here the company goes into camp, and after due process, the company was declared in every re- A Drummer Boy of SJiiloh. spect ready for active service. How well the boy remem- bers the inspiration of the moment when he first looked out upon the broad expanse of waters, which seemed lim- itless as eternity, beautiful, wonderful, grand and inspiring. How he with strained eyes from day to day counted and watched the men-of-war, as those on board of them watched with eagerness for opportunities of advantage that would enable them to quench the fire that burned in the heart of each Southern patriot. While here no event of military importance occurred, but many incidents, ludi- crous and otherwise, were stored in memory's sacred keep- ing, to be called up many times and many days hence. Then to Camp Memminger, near Mobile, perfecting regi- mental and brigade organization, and from there to Corinth, Miss., just prior to the memorable battle of Shiloh, the first general engagement witnessed by this stripling of a lad. S H I L O H The rush and confusion incident to the breaking of camp previous to a great battle is best appreciated by those who have been there, and of course cannot be satisfactorily pictured to those who have not been eye witnesses to such exciting scenes. Camps are cleared and all is now ready. While restlessly waiting for a place in the marching col- umn the lad quietly approaches a tent near by, and press- ing his way through the crowd of surgeons and nurses, who quickly gave way for him, beands over a prostrate form there and kisses the fevered lips and brow of an older brother, a minister of the gospel, whom he must leave be- hind. His last words burned the lads heart, for those words and those eyes told him that the river crossing was near at hand, and so it proved to be, for within a few hours his sweet spirit passed into the realities of his bliss- ful eternal inheritance, and his ashes sleep we know not where, for his grave could never be found. Marching columns of infantry, cavalry and artillery spoke loudly of the coming conflict. Saturday night on arms with strict orders to be quiet and still, ready to move A Drummer Boy of Shiloh at a moments warning', and with almost breathless silence most of the night was spent. Before the dawning of the Sabbath day the line was moving — moving with a rush that spoke volumes, and yet with a kind of restless still- ness, comparatively, that angered the dreadful realities unveiling" just ahead. Marching with unbroken front and steady step through the forest of trees, through brush, briars, vines, over fences with a tread that almost shook the earth beneath. Just after daylight Generals Johnston, Polk and Withers rode in front of the line, and the men were almost wild with excitement and enthusiasm, though outbursts were forbidden. Then all was hushed, except the officers giving command here, there, everywhere it seemed. The line moves on grandly, with a majestic step, eyes directly in front, every man doing his best. But, look; there are the pickets, and they are firing- at apparent close range. Over there are two m.en lifting a third, who appears almost lifeless. See; another falls. A badly wounded horse is passed ; a limping soldier sustained by a comrade, each stained with blood. There are General Gladden and Colonel Loomis moving on with the command. The boy is tapping" his drum and the step is perfect. A little rill is crossed and a few paces beyond, and, look on the rise of that gently sloping hill directly in front. What? A long blue line with bristling steel, like a Texas norther rising from the horizon with streaks of lightning for ornaments. There is a motion inthatline, and, ''down'' came the command from. Loomis, at which every man dropped to the ground as if dead, when a volley of lead from that blue line passed over their heads, a noise like the flight of a thousand birds and hissing serpents. " LV came the com^mand from the panther voice of Loomis, and then in quick succession, ''fonvard, frail arms, double qicick, charge baynucis.'' Then, yes, then. Language cowers like a beaten foe at the task, for to me no mortal can pen in prose or verse, or paint on canvas the picture, the feelings, the thoughts, the awful realities of those moments. Let the eye turn away from the scene while we attempt to tell the drummer boy's story, language lame and inadequate. 6 A Drummer Boy of ShiJoh. Listen at those minnie balls as they come faster and faster, nearer and nearer, harder and harder. The drum's tap, tap, tap, tap, keeps the time. Then there is a change to the strains of Dixie, but the notes are lost in the sound of strife, and those men now realize that they are squarely in it. Minnie balls as they "siz,'' "zip," "spat,'' "cut- chew," "cuzziz" along or plow their way into the trees or the flesh of men, and the volley became more deafening, dead- ening, dazing. We recount one of th(3 thousand incidents that occur, and see them now in all their fearful realities. There, a gun drops from the hand of a comrade almost touching him, his eyes turn to the boy with a staring look, while a strange, unnatural, pleading smile plays upon his face; a drooping head and that is all. An officer's sword drops from his right hand, his left hand grasped his right side, he staggered, plunged forward, fell to his knees, with upturned face and quivering white lips. Men reel, stagger and fall as vitals are pierced, while many others gasping, limping, bleeding, keep in line, moving on with steady nerve. Then this advancing column becomes slow, as if some mighty ocean wave had suddenly broken in upon it, caused by the storm of leaden hail that emptied its fury against the line, as those men leaned forward against the awful, awful pressure. It was a critical moment, and at this juncture the boy threw the drum over his shoulder, grasped his little rifle, or carbine, pulled his cartridge box around a little in front as he lisped to himself: "I may help a little, if only by one shot," and he looked down the line, and oh, such a sight. Memory can never prove recreant to that sight. That line, pulling hard against the tide, wavered, wavered as if laboring under some heavy, depressing burden, so well known by the soldiers of those days. The Colonel saw it, and with a sternness that pierced every heart, cried, ''steady, steady, my men,"*' The words had electric force, and they steadied with nerves of steel and defiant expression. ''F-o-r-w-a-r-d'' cammanded Loomis with a shrill voice that seemed to cut the cool morning atmosphere with its nervy, sharp accent, glancing back in the faces of those A Drummer Boy of ShiloJi, Alabamians, whose eyes met his and flashed back a ready, approving response. Then, that line; those faces, as he saw them then, and come forth now in nervous haste at memory's command. There, look; but for the moving life one might mistake the line for a column of statuary, but the life in the scene changes the entire aspect. Look, eyes firmly fixed and flashing with a demonlike glare. Lips apart and compressed to whiteness. Teeth in most instan- ces, clinched as if fastened v/ith hinges of steel; hat or cap slightly set back, revealing wrinkled forehead, brow drawn down— leaning hard against the surging, beating torrents, which seemed would last forever, while solid shot, grape, cannister and minnie balls all ply their horrid work of death. At this awfully trying and eventful moment, a voice rang out above the din of battle for Dixie. The drum and gun quickly changed places, the fife notes pierced the air and the drum rattled away with furious energy, and those men seemed transformed into new characters direct- ly adverse to every impulse of preceding life, with faces that depicted a set stare of aggrivated frenzy, a despera- tion born of goaded fury, fretted and tantalized madness, reckless, fearless, devil daring. Their tongues are loosed as by electric touch, and there comes forth a voluntary fury of sound; a rumbling, consuming, discordant, demon- iacal, stupendous volume of unheard of, unpunctured, in- describable, avv^e inspiring noise, that increases in volume each flying moment, sways back and forth, back and forth as a mighty chaos of leaping, flying, rolling thunder. The earth seems to tremble beneath the feet of tiiose infuriated sons of men. It was the awful "rebel yell," which fixed itself in the minds and hearts of all whoever heard it, and holds a life membership in the temple of memory. It pos- sessed an inspiration that stopped the notes of the fife and the beat of the drum, and quick as muscle and nerve could act the drum again took place on the back of the boy, and the gun began to play its part from the drummer's right hand, as that fire born body of men sped on with a mad rush; on, on to the jaws of death without a tremor of fear, to that line that stood bravely defiant and met them with 8 A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. a look of disdain, like that of Goliath when he looked down upon David, forgetting that that advancing column was made of timber as true and patriotic as themselves. But on, on to that bulwark that seemed impregnable; on with that awful sound, leaving their dead and wounded, which fall like leaves of autumn when the limbs are shaken with a twirling wind, with ranks trimmed by the brother in blue, bayonets fixed and ready to use, closing in steadily. But look. Ah, look — a waver. That blue line sways right and left and displays gleams of light through that line of blue as they look into the faces of those infuriated Southern soldiers. Disorder possesses them and they retreat rapid- ly, followed by the conquering hosts of the Southern army. Similar experiences are repeated several times during the day, a detailed account of which would consume days m telling. During a charge that Sabbath afternoon a shell that burst overhead sent a piece into a tree near by, a fragment falling from the tree to the boy's head. He remembered only a flash, and as he reeled, was caught by a sergeant of his regiment, who held to the boy as he aimlessly and un- consciously kept along with the line. This lasted only a short time, and when he realized his condition he found his faithful friend by his side, sustaining his every step, while all around him lay the dead and wounded, and the roar of the cannon and small arms greeted his ears as ho moved along with those men, he hardly knew how or where. The line halted a moment. In brushing his hand over his face and forehead he saw that it was crimson with blood, and this, with the additional testimony of an aching head convinced him that he was wounded. Comrades gathered about the boy, and with words of cheer, from their ready canteens they soon bathed his head and then dressed his wounds. At this juncture an Irishman of the First Louisiana Infantry, who had always thought much of the lad, came and patted him on the cheek like he would have done a new born babe, and expressed deep sympathy, although this son of Erin had a hole in his own arm made by a minnie ball. Then pulling a letter from his pocket A Drummer Boy of Shi (oh. that showed a hole in the letter made by a ball, holding it up before the boy with tears in his eyes he said: **Ah, me lad; it's from me own mither, and if I foind the varmint that dade it, I'll kill him or the divil's a hog." From this he sped away to join his regiment that was forming, to do battle again for the land he loved. Brave man. God bless their Irish hearts', for no truer metal ever faced burning powder and flying lead than those men of the First Louis- iana Infantry. The drum was all to pieces and the little rifle had drop- ped from his hand somewhere, but a good rifle and a good Yankee drum was soon picked up and the boy was again splendidly equipped. The drum was strung up and he rattled away at '*The Old Gray Horse Came Tearing Out of the ^/ilderness," which under the circumstances created considerable merriment and a little enthusiasm. But when the fife and drum began playing "The Girl I Left Behind Me," why, a new sph'it possessed the men; they were wild with enthusiasm, and under its strains the regiment moved forward to contend with the brother in blue for a few more feet of Tennessee soil, though ranks were badly depleted by previous engagements. Thus, with aching head and weary limbs the day was spent, and during the exciting scenes of that Sunday night was much danger, suffering and anxiety, for the sore head had company with a badly bruised shoulder. Rest ? Ah, why should we call it rest When aches, and pain so sure attest No rest ? The messengers of death Burst overhead and leave a wreath Of lurid light; but fragments fly Past, my comrades pierced and they die. The groans of wounded, dying, make A scene weird, lonely, with heartache, Dark and dismal at the best. And call this rest? Ah, No; not rest. 10 A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. Second Day — Monday Monday morning came to the boy with body and mind in great agony, and yet ready for the events of the day, willing to do or die, a feeling well known to those old boys who have been ground in the same mill, or one similar. Just as the regiment was moving forward some one handed the boy a note that read as follows, which he read as the line advanced: "Your brother was buried to-day. God bless you, my boy." The note was unsigned, but he knew it was true. *^ Forward,'' was the command that had just been given, and the line moved on as that note flitted from his fingers away and out on that battle field. The heart was crushed and bleeding at the sad message, but ' 'forwanV ' was the command, and onward it was, without complaint, indifferent as to what the day might bring forth. Bruised, sore, suffering in the flesh and heart sick. Among the terrible events of this day one presents itself for first place, and while the recital of the incident is pathetic, it can hardly approach the burning facts. After hard fighting and the capture of a goodly num- ber of the enemy, the line seemed to come in contact with new and gallant troops, and was repulsed, although every foot was yielded with dogged sullenness. As the line braced for a life struggle, amid the fury that seemed to master the line of the blue and the line of the gray, from sheer exhaustion, the boy fell upon the field just as the blue line pushed back the gray. His head lay in a pool of water and mud. As the conquering hosts passed on, his body was beaten, mashed and bruised until what little of life remained was apparently fast passing away. On that damp earth he lay with a spark of life, that seemed flick- ering, flickering, the last rays fast vanishing, vision fading, fading, as the sun's last rays on the sky above when even- ing shadows are silently approaching, or the dim light from the quivering lamp when the oil is spent. The voice could only lisp, hardly lisp; the powder burned lips were like coals of fire and the hand was too heavy to be raised but slightly. The shots from his own guns plowed the A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. 11 earth all about him, while the commingled sounds of shell, grape, cannister, small arms and general commotion was indescribable, for the ears were numb. Oh, those awful moments of suffering, suspense and anxiety, when thoughts came faster than the mind could grasp them, when the panoramma of a lifetime, incidents small and great, pass swiftly in view, and the earth seemed reeling, as he lay on his horrid bed of earth, shaking, quivering, and he said in his heart, "surely this is death, and I shall soon be at rest.'' But hark! It was the "huzzah." But, listen again, dull ear. The ear is so dull, and it may be that the brain is playing mad and lashing the senses with vanishing hope. But, can it be! Hark! Listen again. Away down in the depths of the earth it seemed, there was a rolling, rumbling, sound, like muffled small arms, interspersed with booming, belching artillery. Then; oh, then; he could not now be deceived, and as his senses began to rally under the in- spiration of the moment, he heard and recognized it, the yell of the Southern Army, while his heart beat stronger, and he made an ineffectual effort to move from his wretch- ed bed of water and mud. That awful, but welcome sound comes nearer and nearer, rolling up and down the line, as if by some mighty inward convulsions, while Yankee horses, artillery, caisons, men, fly by like wild and fright- ened devils. Troops are moving right and left, officers are appealing to their men, new troops are taking position, and everything seems in indescribable commotion, and yet that terrifying yell comes on and on, the artillery com- mingled like the gathering of a cyclone, a combination of bursting thunders, leaping, clashing with chaotic fury, coming on, nearer, stronger, louder. Possibly the fingers of the left hand were slightly extended upward, and a strenuous effort was made to join in the grand chorus of swelling sound, and yet without the slightest noise from those parched and burning lips, but from his heart went up into the presence of the God of battles an earnest peti- tion for himself and that army of Southern soldiers. The effort was too great. Reason almost quit her throne. All was darkness, and yet he seemed to be sailing around in 12 A Drummer Boy of Shiloh. the air, 'mid clouds of rolling, boiling smoke and ponder- ous pillows of fire. The regiment regained its position for a moment, and some seeing the boy on the ground welter- ing in his own blood, a comrade rushed torward, grasped his limp form amid the storm of battle, and pressing it to his own beating heart, retired as the regiment dropped back to a place of protection. After washing his head he was placed an a blanket that was spread on the ground, and heroic efforts were made to bring back again the fire of life. A large company of soldiers gathered around and watched eagerly for some sign of returning life as they whispered sad words to one another. He was only a little boy, couldn't do much, but they loved him as if they had a life claim on him. His lips began to quiver and strong men bent forward to hear the first word, while their eyes were wet from the inner fountain. His eyes could see, and he saw those men hovering about him and staring him in the face. A strong man with long whiskers leaned forward and said, *'God bless our boy," and his voice trembled and broke all to pieces. **He does," lisped the weak whisper of the boy as he smiled on the speaker and those about him, and then looked upward, and those strong men by common consent quickly dropped their faces in their hands and sobbed aloud like children, and poured forth their tears of thankfulness and joy, without a shadow of shame for their apparent weakness. Joy played over the drum- mer's face as he pointed to the drum that had been rescued with him, and he put his arms around the neck of Sergeant Scofield, his rescuer, and spoke his gratitude. After awhile he stood up, he walked, and was fast becoming himself again, though weak, sore, heartsick. Though ordered to the rear, he remained with those who risked their lives to save his, and many a time afterwards did he minister to their wants while sick, wounded or dying. ;ig 002 628 613 P^