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■ I
THE UNIVERSITY OF
NORTH CAROLINA
LIBRARY
THE WILMER COLLECTION
OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS
PRESENTED BY
RICHARD H. WILMER, JR.
SMLMERCOU-fcCauN
THE
YOUNG VOLUNTEER
A RECORD OF THE
EXPERIENCES OF A PRIVATE SOLDIER.
BY
JOSEPH E. CROWELL,
Late Private Company K, 13th N.J. Volunteers and Lieutenant
Veteran Reserve Corps,
F. TENNYSON NEELY,
PUBLISHER,
LONDON. NEW YORK.
Copyright, 1S99,
by
F. Tenn'sson Nkuly
in
United States
ami
Great Britain,
All Rights Ueserved.
TO MY LIFE-LONG FRIEND,
CAPTAIN CHARLES CURIE,
(Late of the gth and 178th Regiments, N. Y. Volunteers)
A BRAVE SOLDIER, A GALLANT, A CONSIDERATE OFFICER, A LOYAL VETERAN, A
WORTHY CITIZEN, AN UPRIGHT MAN, AND, ABOVE ALL, A TRUE FRIEND
IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD, THIS BOCK IS HEARTILY AND
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.
602793
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2010 with funding from
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
http://www.archive.org/details/youngvolunteerreOOcrow
PREFACE.
What is army life during the time of war like, as
seen by "the rank and file" — the men who compose the
great majority?
To give an idea of the experiences and everyday ex-
istence of the private soldier was the main object in
writing this story.
The world is full of books written from the standpoint
of the officers, giving the movements of troops and gen-
eral accounts of great battles, and describing the
maneuvers as witnessed from headquarters. They are
histories, it is true, as seen by the writers, but they do
not portray the life, hardships, trials and sufferings of
that portion of the army known as "the men."
There is a great dividing gulf, military and social,
between "officers" and "men," and they see the same
things with vastly different eyes.
There are very few works relating to the actual ex-
periences of the private soldier, giving his troubles and
his joys, and presenting the dark and the bright sides of
his life in the army. Hence this story covers a some-
what unbeaten field, and its novelty will proportionately
add to its interest.
The story is historically correct, so far as it goes. It
is part of the history of the Thirteenth Kegiment, New
Jersey Volunteers, in the War of the Rebellion. But it
is only so in part, for it is merely carried far enough to
give the reader an idea of a private's life in the army.
v { PREFACE.
To extend it further would be largely a repetition o£
the same experiences, for, with topographical and cli-
matic variations, all marches and battles are similar —
to the private soldier. Most of the names used are gen-
uine and a majority of the incidents portrayed are the
actual experiences of the author; hence for the nearly
two years covered it is history.
It may be confidently asserted that nothing has been
exaggerated or overdrawn. Nor is there anything in it
especially remarkable. Practically it relates the experi-
ence of nearly every private soldier who served in the
civil war. Thousands and thousands of others could
refer to it as their own history, for their experiences
were identical with it.
To give the youth of the country a faint idea of real
war and real army life ; to instil in them sentiments of
patriotism ; to impress upon them the magnitude of the
task of preserving the Union ; and to cause them all the
more to appreciate the blessings they now enjoy through
the patriotism, sufferings and privations of their fathers
and grandfathers, were also objects which instigated the
story of "The Young Volunteer."
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER I.
ENLISTING.
"Say, Joe, won't you carry this package of cheese
around to Mr. Pennington's? The boj^s are all out, and
I promised to send it some time ago."
The speaker was Henry B. Crosby, who kept the big
grocery store in Main Street. He was variously known
as "The Grocer King" and "The Cheese Prince" — the
latter appellation resulting from his custom of buying
cheese by the cargo and selling it a lower price than any
one else. If I had known then what I afterward knew,
I would probably have said "Cheese it," and forthwith
"skipped," instead of being a "skipper." If it hadn't
been for that pound of cheese I might never have been
in the army, and the war might have been going on
yet!
Aaron S. Pennington's big stone mansion was a fine
old residence and stood on a high hill. The ground was
then on a level with what is now the second story, and
to this day you can see the former big front door up
there in the air. It was surrounded by spacious
grounds.
Aaron S. Pennington, like all the old gentlemen of
that day, generally did his own marketing. You could
see him walking down among the hucksters on Main
Street every morning, with a big market basket on his
arm. Few of the grocers and butchers had wagons in
those days. People bought their own provisions and
generally carried them home themselves. How Mr.
Pennington came to leave that pound of cheese to be
sent home I never knew.
8 THE TO Vm VOLUNTEER.
I did not work in the grocery store. I was employed
in the Guardian office. In the forenoon I set type. In
the afternoon I wrote down the war news at the only
telegraph office in the city, which was in the old Erie
depot. "Jack" Dunning was telegraph operator.
"Tune" Dougherty, who was then a wee bit of a fel-
low, was the sole messenger boy. In the afternoon
when the paper was out, I carried a route and sold
papers on the street. In the evening I tended office and
helped on the books, for I understood bookkeeping.
Wages one dollar and fifty cents per week.
Still, my hours were not ironclad, and I had time
left to go around a little to pick up local items, and
Crosby's grocery store was one of my "loafing" places.
There was a considerable degree of familiarity between
the boss grocer and myself, and that is how he asked
me, as a favor, to carry around the cheese to Mr. Pen-
nington. This introduction is given, therefore, not only
as an historical fact, but as an example to show by what
insignificant events a man's life is frequently swerved.
Many a time afterward I hurled boundless anathemas
at that pound of cheese, and wondered why Aaron S.
Pennington wanted cheese for supper on that particular
afternoon.
I well remember the day. It was Wednesday, Au-
gust 18, 1862. And right here let me interpolate a little
historical data.
It was, so far as the feelings and apprehensions of the
North were concerned, the most critical period of the
war. The Army of gthe Potomac had retreated from a
position whence they could actually see the seven hills
of Richmond, back to Harrison's Landing, on the
James River. General Lee was marching with the
Confederate army close behind, and even Washington
was threatened. The North was, as a consequence,
precipitated into a genuine ppmic. It looked as if, be-
fore another month, the Confederates would be in pos-
session of the National Capital. President Lincoln
issued a call for three hundred thousand additional vol-
unteers. If enough could not be obtained voluntarily,
a draft was to be ordered.
It should be stated that the first rush to arms, in 1861,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
had been spontaneous. The first term of enlistment
was but for three months. Then it became apparent
that the rebellion was not going to be suppressed in
three months, and three years' men were called. The
ambitious, impulsive j'ouths who are ever on the watch
for adventure, constituted the first spontaneous outpour-
ing of robust young patriots, but in 'G2 it was different.
Things had become serious. The people of the country
had suddenly awakened to a realization of the fact that
they had a real war on hand. And not only a war, but
probably a long and stubborn one, against an enemy
equally brave, almost as strong, and, perhaps, still
more determined.
It would be impossible for the present generation to
form the slightest conception of the excitement that pre-
vailed. Public meetings were held everywhere, and the
most potent orators in every locality, were urging upon
the young men to do their duty by flying to the defense
of their country.
I was one of the "flyers." And it was all through
that pound of cheese. As I came back from Mr. Pen-
nington's, I saw a big crowd of people in front of the
old "bank building in Main Street. There was a big
stone piazza or vestibule on a level with the second
story, which was reached by flights of stone steps on
each side. On that piazza some one was making a
speech.
It was Henry A. Williams, the mayor of the city.
He told of the imperilled country and urged on the
young men to enlist. Socrates Tuttle, a prominent
lawyer, described what a glorious thing it was to fight
for one's native land. Colonel A. B. Woodruff, Gen-
eral Thomas D. Hoxsey and others spoke in a similar
strain. The result of it all was that half the boys in
the crowd couldn't get to the nearest recruiting office
quickly enough.
It is a very singular thing that of all these impas-
sioned orators who said it was such a glorious thing,
but one enlisted himself! But then, perhaps, it was
necessary to have some one remain home to do the talk-
ing! One of them, however, who was subsequently
drafted, nobly fougbt and died — by proxy. He sent a
substitute, at a cost of eight hundred dollars.
10 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
And that reminds me of a thing that has perhaps been
forgotten. So afraid were some of the leading citizens
that they might be drafted, that they formed a "mutual
substitute insurance company." It cost at that time
eight hundred dollars to get a man to take your place.
(Later in the war the price advanced to fifteen hun-
dred and two thousand dollars.) Well, eight men
would chip in one hundred dollars each into a general
fund, and if any one of the eight was drafted the money
would be used to "buy a substitute." If two of them
were drafted, the extra money was raised by an addi-
tional assessment ; but the drafting process was like a
lottery, and as a matter of fact there was seldom more
than one "prize" in an association of eight men. I
might mention the names of quite a number of well-
known citizens still living who belonged to these sub-
stitute insurance companies. At political meetings I
have often heard some of them shouting "how we saved
the Union!"
But we poor chaps, who couldn't raise one hundred
let alone eight hundred dollars escaped the draft by
enlisting. It wasn't fear of the draft, however, that
influenced us. I was just past eighteen years old, and
"liable," but so far as I was concerned I never once
thought anything about being drafted.
Why I, and the other fellows, came to enlist, is some-
thing I never could explain. I think I am safe in say-
ing that, at the moment, genuine patriotism hardly
entered into the question. Of course there were some
who enlisted from patriotic motives; but when one
comes down to the bottom facts, I believe a majority of
the boys were induced to go from other motives. Most
probably it was the general excitement of the times. It
was simply a furore to go to the war. To many it was
a change from the ordinary humdrum of life. To others
it was looked upon as a picnic. And then in every
boy's heart there is an inherent spirit of adventure.
The orators on the steps of the old bank building had
said the reason the war had lasted so long already was
because there were not enough soldiers at the front.
But now all that would be attended to in short order.
With the great army that was about to be organized.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. li
the war couldn't possibly last more than three months
longer By cold weather it would all be over. As said
before, what particular motive I had in enlisting, be-
yond an impulse, I don't know, and many of my com-
panions frequently expressed a similar opinion. But
enlist we did.
Hugh C. Irish was forming a company for the Thir-
teenth New Jersey Volunteers. It is in his memory
that Camp No. 8 of the Sons of Veterans of Paterson is
named. Mr. Irish had been my employer, as one of the
proprietors of the Guardian. For some reason Mr. Irish
sold out his interest in the Guardian and embarked in
the grocery business. He had been there but a few
months when he became convinced that it was his duty
to go to war. Mr. Irish was one of the men who
entered the service out of pure loyalty and patriotism.
In his case the motive was unquestionable.
Mr. Irish had been authorized to raise a company for
the Thirteenth Regiment, then forming at Newark,
under the president's call, and he was to be the captain.
His grocery store was transformed into a recruiting
office. The recruits signed the roll on the bottom of a
soap box. It was to this place I hastened after hearing
the patriotic speeches from the steps of the old bank
building. Whatever hesitation I might have had on
the way thither was completely knocked out by the
tune of "The Girl I Left Behind Me," which was being
played on a cracked drum and wheezy fife by two
"musicians" in baggy clothes who had just enlisted
themselves. They stood in front of the store banging
and blowing away for dear life.
Under ordinary circumstances such music would
have been rotten- egged. As it was, it was but a noisy
echo of the spirit of the times, and filled the heart of the
listener with patriotic emotions that were simply irre-
sistible. No one, hearing such martial strains, could
resist the war influence ! I couldn't. In a very few
moments I had signed an eagle-headed sheet of paper
which bound me, "stronger than ropes and cords could
bind me, " to the service of the United States of America,
"for the term of three years unless sooner discharged."
I had scarcely signed before I began to be sorry. For
12 THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER.
the first time I realized what I had done and began to
be frightened. But the sight of so many of my friends
and companions around me soon dissipated that feeling.
There was "Rats" and "Curt" and "Liv," besides
Captain Irish, ail from our office. "Rats" was David
Harris. "Curt" was Curtis Bowne, whose tragic and
singular death at the battle of Antietarn will be noticed
later on. "Liv" was E. Livingston Allen, now a
Methodist minister. He is the only one of the lot who
went into the ministry. All those mentioned were
printers. Then there were James G. Scott (afterward
captain) and Hank Van Orden, Jim Dougherty, Jack
Stansfield, Heber Wells, "Ginger" Clark, John Butter-
worth, "Lem" Smith, John Snyder (with the big
nose), "Slaughter House Ick," Dan Wannamaker,
John J. Carlough, Sandy Kidd, John Nield, John An-
derson, "Dad" Bush, Reddy Mahar, George Comer,
William Lambert, Archy McCall, ArchyTodd, "Jake"
Engel, "Jake" Berdan, W. J. Campbell, W. J. Car-
lough, John Farlow, Thomas Hardy, Joseph H. Pewt-
ner, Theodore S. Perry, James H. Peterson, and a
whole lot of other fellows I had known, and some of
whom will come in for further reference during the
course of this story.
The immediate association of all these — the fact that
so many old acquaintances had enlisted together and
would go to war together, relieved the event of the
lonesomeness and awfulness of the step. It was simply
impossible to remain lonesome and downhearted in com-
pany with such a crowd — and many others whose
names are now beyond memory's call. And when one
comes to look at them, they must have been physically
a tough set, for many of them are yet alive, and some
of them do not look much older than they did during
the war.
There were a number who felt dubious about enlist-
ing in a regiment which was to bear the unlucky num-
ber "13," but it wasn't a superstitious crowd, and that
was soon forgotten. Nor was it an aristocratic crowd.
Nearly all were poor working boys.
A sort of pride fills the heart of the new recruit. He
imagines that he has already done something brave.
TEE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. 13
and rather looks down on those who have not signed the
roll. When I went to see my girl that night I felt con-
siderably puffed up. As it was a good-by call, I asked
for her picture.
"What,'' exclaimed she, "and have some stranger
take it out of your pocket if you are killed? I guess
not."
That wasn't very pleasant. Getting killed wasn't in
the bargain. I didn't feel a bit comfortable at such a
gloomy possibility.
But when I left the house I had the picture of a very
pretty girl in my pocket. The girls of those days were
patriotic, and he indeed was a poor soldier who had
not in his pocket a picture of "The Girl I Left Behind
me. ' '
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER II.
IN CAMP.
A day or so later a squad of recruits for Company K,
Thirteenth Regiment of New Jersey Volunteers, pro-
ceeded to Camp Frelinghuysen, Newark. The camp
was along the canal, in the higher portion of the city.
There was no railroad then between Paterson and New-
ark, and our contingent went down by Barney Demar-
est's stage, reaching camp shortly after noon. Many
others had preceded us.
When the stage started from Paterson it wasn't a
very jolly crowd. Many an eye bore a redness indica-
tive of recent tears, for the hardest part of enlisting is
the parting with one's dear ones at home. There was
many an affecting scene in many a home the previous
night. Not that parents and sisters and sweethearts
were not patriotic; but it was with copious tears that
mothers and sisters, while admitting that the sacrifice
was loyal and right, bade good-by to the dear foys they
might never see again. The mother's tears that had
dropped on the soldier's coat sleeves were hardly dry
when the boys rode over the Main Street cobblestones
in Barney Demarest's rickety old stagecoach, and the
influence of the last embrace and farewell kiss was
still upon nearly all.
But human nature is buoyant. Perhaps it was to
offset the gloomy farewell that the boys soon became
boisterously merry, and they made the morning air
resound with their shouts and their hurrahs and their
song of
" We're coming Father Abraham
Three hundred thousand more. "
The stage was gayly decked with flags, the crowds in
THE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. 15
the streets shouted a hearty farewell, and all sorrowful
thoughts were soon drowned in the noise and racket that
was too loud to permit any one to think. A similar
noisy demonstration greeted us at "Acquackanonk"
(Passaic), Bloomfield and Newark, and a hurrah arose
from the throats of the already arrived recruits as we
drove past the guards at the entrance to Camp Freling-
huysen. The armed guards and picket line around the
camp was another evidence that we were no longer free
men ; but we did not fully appreciate that fact until
later.
And yet the camp presented a picturesque appear-
ance. The colonel's tent stood at the top of the hill. It
was a large and commodious canvas house. Near by
were similar but smaller tents for the lieutenant-colonel,
major, adjutant and quartermaster. Still further down
was a long row of still smaller tents, occupied by the
captains and lieutenants. Running at right angles
from the latter was a row of large, circular tents, oc-
cupied by the "enlisted men" of each company. These
were known as "Sibley" tents, and resembled an Indian
tepee, with a ventilator at the top. These tents would
accommodate fifteen or twenty men. In our innocence
we supposed that we were to have these tents right
along all through the war. For all that we knew, all
the soldiers in the army had the same commodious and
comfortable quarters. We were undeceived on this
point, however, in the course of a very few days.
Shortly after our arrival we were taken before the
regimental surgeon for examination. The surgeon was
Dr. J. J. II. Lo-ve, one of the most brusque-appearing
and yet most kind-hearted men that ever lived. Until
his recent death he was one of the most respected and
prominent residents of Monte lair.
"Strip," oidered the doctor.
There were five or six examined at a time. "We
boys, who never had a pain or qualm in our lives,
thought it was a needless formality, but were told that
it was '"according to the regulations." Then the doctor
punched us and pinched us, rubbed his hands down our
legs as if we were so many horses, seized us in the groin
and told us to cough, and finally said:
1Q THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"Let's see youi teeth?"
"What do you want to see my teeth for?" I asked.
"Are we to bite the enemy?"
"Something tougher than that," good-naturedly an-
swered Dr. Love. "You will have to bite hard-tack
and chew cartridges, and I guess you will find both
tougher than any rebel meat you ever will see."
I didn't know then that hard-tack was the stuff sol-
diers were mainly fed upon; but I found out before
long. For the information of the reader I will explain
that a hard-tack is the most deceptive-looking thing in
the world. Its general appearance is that of a soda
cracker, but there the resemblance ends. You can bite
a soda cracker. A hard-tack isn't tender. Compared
with it a block of granilite paving stones would be
mush. That is the sort of pastry the government fed
its soldiers upon. Hard -tack must have been referred
to in that part of the Bible where it says "he asked for
bread and they gave him a stone. " A further corrob-
oration of this conclusion lies in the positive fact that
every box of hard -tack that ever arrived in the army
was marked:
"B. C. 348,764,"
the variation being only in the figure. The "B. C."
was on every box. And judging from the antediluvian
toughness of some of the crackers, the prehistoric ancient
who stencilled on the figures either accidentally or wil-
fully post dated the box several thousand years.
What "chewing cartridges" meant, I hadn't the
slightest conception of, but learned that subsequently.
That my teeth were apparently equal to the emergency
of both biting hard-tack and chewing cartridges, how-
ever, must have been a matter satisfactory to Dr. Love,
for I successfully passed the ordeal of a "surgical exami-
nation. ' '
The next thing was to go to the quartermaster's and
get our uniform and equipments. What a lot of things
there were!
There were undershirts and drawers and thick stock-
ings, all supposed to be of wool, but apparently mainly
composed of thistles and sticks — the coarsest things a
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 17
man ever put next to his skin. And it was midsummer
at that ! Then there were a pair of light blue trousers,
a dark blue blouse, a dark blue dress coat, a heavy,
caped light blue overcoat, a knit cardigan jacket, a for-
age cap, a heavy woolen blanket, a thick rubber
blanket, and a pair of heavy brogans. These were the
clothes. Added, to this were a knapsack, a haversack,
a canteen, a cartridge belt, a bayonet belt, and an Enfield
rifle.
As the men were called up, the clothing, etc., were
thrown in front of each one in a pile, and utterly re-
gardless of fit or size. When the recruits repaired to
their tents and donned the uniform, they presented a
ludicrous appearance.
"How do I look, boys?" asked Hank Van Orden, as
he emerged from his corner.
"Hank" was a sight to behold. Nature had been
generous with him as to legs and arms, and as luck
would have it, he had got a small-sized suit. The bot-
tom of his trousers didn't come down to his shoe tops,
while his arms stuck several inches beyond the end of
his blouse sleeves. The shoes were too tight and his
cap was stuck on the back of his head in a comical
fashion.
"Don't laugh at me. Look at Heber," said Hank.
There stood Heber Wells, dressed up in a suit Van
Orden ought to have had. His trousers were turned up
at the bottom like a dude's of the present day, while
the sleeves of his coat fit like a Chinaman's. His cap
came down to his ears.
Kobust Abe Godwin couldn't button his clothes about
him, while slim Johnny Nield had twice as much uni-
form as he wanted. In fact, while there were different-
sized suits, no man had got a suit anywhere near fit-
ting, and a more incongruous lot of noble soldiers could
not be imagined. Falstaff 's army was simply nowhere.
But the difficulty was in a measure overcome by ex-
changing suits, an operation that took nearly all the
afternoon. Still they didn't fit. But nobody but a raw
recruit would spend more than a moment thinking about
the fit of his uniform.
The clothes were awfully uncomfortable. The ab-
58 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
souce of a vest was particularly noticeable. "Enlisted
men" in the army never wear vests. There was a nasty
smell of dye-stuff. The coarse underclothes tickled and
irritated, the heavy brogan, for men who were used to
gaiters and Oxford ties, were disagreeably clumsy.
And, above all, the wearing of woolen stockings a
quarter of an inch thick, in the August dog days, fairly
capped the climax.
"Fall in for your rations."
Such was the cry we heard for the first time, about
6 o'clock. None of us knew what "fall in" meant;
but Heber Wells, who had been selected as orderly ser-
geant, told us it was to get into a line, one after the
other.
"Forward march!" said Heber.
It is the rule in the army to step off first with the left
foot, but we didn't know that. Some started with the
left and some with the right, and the whole line came
near stumbling over each other. After going to the
lower end of the company street, the new orderly cried
out:
"File left."
Heber took hold of the leading man and twirled him
to the left, and the rest of us followed. Otherwise none
of us would have known what to do.
"Where did he learn so much military?" was the
question everybody was asking about Wells. We at
once began to look to him as a marvel of tactical
knowledge. The fact is this was all the tactics Heber
knew, and he had just been told that much !
The "cook hou.se," where we went for our rations,
wasn't a house at all. It was all outdoors. A couple
of forked pieces of wood held a horizontal pole, and on
this were three or four big sheet-iron pails or kettles,
under which a cordwood fire was burning, with much
smoke. There was a similar "cook house" at the lower
end of each company street. As each man filed past he
was given a tin cup, filled with black coffee (no milk)
already sweetened, a tin plate filled with beans and
pork, and a hunk cl bread. We were told to take care
of our "crockery," and bring them to the cook house
whenever "rations" were called.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEPAl. 19
"Where's the knife and fork and spoon?" John But-
terworth wanted to know.
"You're a nice fellow," replied Jake Engle, "to
think soldiers have forks and spoons. Use your fingers
— they were made before forks." Neither were there
any napkins.
The men took their rations and sat down about their
tents to eat their first meal as real soldiers. Coffee
without milk was not very palatable, at the start, but
from that time on, for many, many months, the major-
ity of these soldier boys never saw such a thing as milk.
Milkless coffee isn't so bad when one is once used to it,
and coffee was the mainstay of the army. What a
soldier in active service would do without his pint of
coffee three times a day, is a serious question.
It was also awkward to eat pork and beans without
knife, fork or spoon. But with the aid of pocket knives,
and wooden spoons made out of a sliver from a board, the
recruits soon learned to eat soldier fashion, and thej-
soon found out, also, that beans spread upon bread was
a fair substitute for butter.
What a picnic it was ! What a free, airy life ! Who
wouldn't be a soldier? To tell the truth, the novelty of
the thing was interesting.
After supper we heard some sort of a commotion up
by Captain Irish's tent. There was a crowd of men
standing there, from the midst of which, at frequent
intervals, there was a momentary glimpse of a man
being projected a considerable height into the air. It
was "initiation."
"Come, Joe, you're next," was the salute I got, and
before I could remonstrate I was seized bodily and
thrown headlong upon a big blanket, surrounded by the
men who were holding it. The blanket hung slack in
the middle.
"One! Two! Three! Hip!"
The men pulled the blanket taut, and up I was pro-
jected, ten or fifteen feet into the air. Coming down,
one landed head first or feet first or side\va3 T s, just as it
might happen, and then, up again ! Three times was
the ordeal, and the "candidate" was "initiated."
Every man in the company had to go through it.
20 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"Now for the captain," cried Hank Van Orden, who
seemed to be the ringleader.
"Oh, no," replied Lieutenant Scott, with dignity.
"The officers are exempt."
"Guess not," said Hank, and over went Scott into
the blanket.
Captain Irish good-naturedly offered no resistance,,
and he was tossed also. Poor fellow, he little knew
that in less than a month his dead body would be in
possession of the enemy in one of the bloodiest battle-
fields of the war.
The same "initiation" was being enacted all along
the line, and as there were seven or eight hundred
recruits in camp, it may be imagined that it was a lively
scene.
Then the boys gathered around their tents, or the cook
fire, smoked their pipes, told stories and sang songs,
until 9 o'clock, when the "tattoo" roll was called and
half an hour later a few single strokes on the drum indi-
cated "taps," and lights were ordered out.
My chum that night was John Butterworth, and
when he prepared for "bed" he created a yell of laugh-
ter by saying:
"Say, boys, I forgot to bring my night shirt."
The most of us, however, slept in all our clothes,
except our coats and shoes. With a blanket under us
and a blanket; over us, and knapsacks for pillows we
were quite comfortable as to warmth, but goodness,
how hard the ground was ! It was the first time I had
ever slept on the ground, and there was an uncomfor-
table dampness that came from it that was not pleasant,
even in midsummer. Through the flaps of the tent
and the ventilator at the top one could see the bright
stars, and there was a peculiar outdoor "looseness" to
the sensation that was quite uncanny.
As for sleeping ! Well, with the cat calls and shouts
and yells, the snatches of song, and cries of "Get on
your own side of the bed," and "Give me half of the
sheet, will you?" and such things, the hullabaloo was
kept up until long after midnight. And after that the
snoring began. All sorts of snores. Double bass,
tenor, baritone. Snores like a grandfather bull frog
THE YOUITG VOLUNTEER. 21
and snores like a sick calf's bleat, Snores that would
awaken the dead or make the devil laugh. You never
heard such a miscellaneous job lot of snores in your life.
But all things have an end, and even the outrageous
snoring finally produced such a soporific effect that we
all slept soundly.
22 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER III.
"fall in."
We were aroused at an outlandishly early hour
by an indescribable conglomeration of discords outside
somewhere. All the boys, as they tried to untangle
their stiffened limbs from the blankets, rubbed their
eyes in an uncertain, mystified way that was very
comical.
It was a strange feeling. Where were we? What
noise was that? What makes the bedroom look so mar-
velously unfamiliar this morning? Are we dreaming?
Who are all these men lying and stretching about?
And all in bed with their clothes on — blue clothes.
Is it a dream? Is the dim remembrance of doing
something unusual — of entering into a new life — actual
reality, or have we had the nightmare? Let's see. Did
we enlist into the army yesterday, or didn't we? The
other men are kicking off the blankets, reaching for
their shoes, rubbing their half -opened eyes, and grunting
and groaning from the stiffness caused by the hard bed
and damp earth, and again there is that discordant
racket outside.
It is the first attempt of the new fifer and drummer
to sound the reveille — the "get up bell" we were des-
tined to hear every morning for three years — "unless
sooner discharged." No wonder such an outrageous
musical attempt woke us up. It was enough to awaken
the dead.
"Reveille— Fall in for roll call."
It was the voice of Heber Wells, the orderly sergeant.
"Refillee? Vot'sdot, alretty?" asked John Ick, who
was destined to become the funniest Dutchman, most
awkward recruit, unceasing and chronic kicker in the
company, and yet one of the bravest of soldiers in action.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 23
Poor fellow, he fell early, pierced by a rebel bullet.
But John was as ignorant as the rest of us on military
orders, and "reveille" was something new.
"I tole you vot dot vash," said he. "Dot vas brek-
fasht."
And he got his tin plate and cup, and piled out with
the crowd. A lot of others were similarly equipped, to
the intense astonishment of Captain Irish, who had
turned out to see the first reveille roll call.
"Fall in — fall in according to size," was the order.
This meant that the men should get in a line, with
the tallest man at the head of the class and the shortest
one at the foot. Hank Van Orden thus stood at the
right of the line and Sandy Kidd at the left, and the
captain told us that ever after we were to get ourselves
together in that shape whenever we heard the order to
"Fall in."
The roll was called. It was a sleepy looking crowd
— 'there were about ninety — and as a matter of fact the
soldiers were always a sleepy lot at reveille roll call.
Before dismissing the company, after finding all the
members ■" present or accounted for,'' Orderly Wells
picked out ten men to do "police duty." The rest of us
were for the present dismissed.
A matutinal ablution is naturally one of the first
duties of every man. Soldiers are no exception. Then
we began for the first time to experience the utter inad-
equacy of the toilet accommodations supplied by Uncle
Sam to his brave defenders. There were not many
houses provided with the luxury of a bathroom in those
days ; but the most of us at least had become used to the
accommodations of a washbowl and pitcher and a clean
towel. We hadn't even the towel. The canal at the
foot of the camp, however, afforded an all-sufficient
supply of water, and the tails or sleeves of our coats
served as towels. Johnny Nield had a pocket comb,
and that was passed around.
We went up to see hew the new policemen were get-
ting along — the ten men who had been picked out to do
"police duty." We naturally supposed that meant to
stand guard around the camp and look fierce; but it
wasn't. To "police" a camp means to clean it up.
2-i THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
You've seen the street department gang with their
brooms and hoes cleaning the dirt out of the gutters.
Well, that, in army parlance, is fe' police duty." If a
real policeman were called upon to perform that "duty"
he would kick like a steer. Whoever heard of a police-
man working?
The new recruits "kicked," too, hut it was no use.
There was a bookkeeper from one of the mills, two Main
Street dry goods clerks with soft hands, a printer and a
cotton manufacturer working for dear life in the "chain
gang" as thej* were dubbed, and bossed by a sergeant
who used to sell beer in a Dublin gin mill. Oh, but it
was galling.
That was one of the hardest features of army life — to
fall under the command of an officer who was in every
way — except for his straps or stripes — your inferior.
Such men, feeling for the first time the pleasures of
autocracy, were the most cruel and relentless taskmas-
ters. But they had to be obeyed. Such was discipline.
The first duty of a soldier is obedience — no matter if
your "superior officer" be an ignorant, boorish bully
you wouldn't have recognized in civil life. My old
employer had said it was a good thing for me to go into
the army, because I needed discipline. I would never
recognize a "boss," and was the most independent
young American in the United States. That was some-
thing the army life would cure me of. My old em-
ployer was right. I soon had the independence knocked
out of me. I was soon thoroughly "disciplined." But
in that respect, doubtless, I have since retrograded.
"Fall in for rations," was the next order, and John
Ick made another dive for his_ tin plate and cup. He
was perennially hungry, was John.
"Itsch 'vail in' ail de times," said he, "but I don'd
mind him a little ven dot means some tings to eat, ain't
it?"
The breakfast was like the supper the night before,
with the exception that boiled beef was substituted for
the pork and beans. Somehow it didn't seem very
tasty. We missed the customary muffins and chops
and eggs, and the cream in our coffee. But still it went.
It had to. It was that or nothing. No sooner was
breakfast over than it was again :
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER, 25
"Fall in, Company K!"
This time it was to pick out a detail for guard duty,
and the ten men selected were instructed to be ready to
fall in again a little before 9 o'clock, "fully armed and
equipped." I escaped this "draft," but with the others
anxiously awaited the time to see the first "guard
mount."
A little before 9 o'clock a drum beat called out the
guard detail — and there appeared the ten men "fully
armed and equipped." They had on everything the
government had given them. Although a midsummer
evening, they perspired under their heavy overcoats.
They had their knapsacks, haversacks and canteens,
their belts and ammunition boxes and their muskets — ■
all ready to go to war. It was a funny sight. Some
of the knapsacks were perched upon the shoulders like
the hump of a hunchback, while others hung at the
bottom of the back, like a "Grecian bend.'' Two of
the men carried their haversacks in their left hands, as
if- they were satchels.
Even the captain had to laugh. He explained to
them that they only required their blouses and arms,
and told them to leave their knapsacks, haversacks, and
canteens in the tents. After some coaching they were
finally arranged right and formed into line.
"Now," said Sergeant Wells, "all you have got to
do is to follow your file leader."
"Yot vash dot vile leeder, Mr. Wells?" asked John
Ick.
"Don't talk while in the ranks. Don't you know
better than that?" asked Wells, with a comical as-
sumption of insulted dignity.
"Dot's all ri-et, Mister Wells. Dot's all riet; but
how in du.nderwedder we don't know some tings ven
we don't ask nobotty already?"
Without deigning to reply the orderly gave the order
to "right face,." and twirled Hank Van Orden around
to the right. Then began the command :
' ' Forward, march ! ' '
And taking Hank by the elbow, he led him as he
would a team of oxen, around the head of the company
street and toward the place in the middle of the camp
£G THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
where a fife was tooting and a drum beating, and an
already assembled crowd indicated that something was
going on. The appearance of Company K's guard
detail on that occasion was like a crowd of political
heelers marching toward a barroom on the invitation of
the candidates. There would be just about as much
military precision in the latter as there was in the
former.
Here let me explain. The Thirteenth Regiment was
recruited in Newark, Orange, Belleville, *Montclair,
Bloomfield, Caldwell, Mill burn, Jersey City and Pater-
son. There were two companies from Paterson — Com-
pany C, commanded by Captain Ityerson, and Com-
pany K, by Captain Irish. Not more than two com-
panies were from one place, so that to a great degree
the men were strangers to each other. The extent of
friendship from previous acquaintance was consequently
limited, but nine or ten hundred men who were thus
brought together soon became quite well acquainted
with each other.
Ten men from each of the ten companies, one hun-
dred altogether, had been detailed for guard duty that
day. The other eight hundred or so gathered around
as spectators.
Colonel Carman stood on one side of the field, gor-
geously attired, with a ferocious look on his face. He
had already served some time in an official position in
another regiment, and was regarded as a veteran. Be-
fore the war Colonel Carman was an humble clerk in
some New York store. So he was, I understand, after
the departure of his military glory ; but he has since
then been honored by being made commissioner in
charge of the Antietam battlefield.
But the colonel certainly looked ferocious and brave
enough that morning to whip the whole rebel army
alone. A short distance in front of him was Adjutant
Charles A. Hopkins (now New England agent of the
Mutual Life Insurance Company, and worth half a
million, it is said). Now there is always something
fussy and featherish about an adjutant, and Lieutenant
Hopkins was no exception; but under his showy ex-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 27
terior there was as true and brave and sympathetic a
heart as ever beat against the padded breast of a mili-
tary officer.
The adjutant is usually the boss of a guard mount.
The presence of the colonel, occasionally, is to add im-
pressiveness and dignity. In actual service his place is
usually substituted by the red-sashed officer who has
been detailed as "officer of the day." He is the general
superintendent and high-cock-a-lorum of the camp for
the twenty-four hours for which he is appointed. An
inferior officer, usually a lieutenant, is similarly selected
as "officer of the guard."
But the "guard mount" was about to begin, and we
watched the proceeding with all the eyes we had.
28 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER IV.
GUARD MOUNT AND DRILL.
This chapter does not purpose to be an accurate de-
scription of the details of military tactics. I will only
describe the "guard mount" as I then saw it — as it
would appear to any person for the first time.
The positions of the principal officers were described
in the preceding chapter. Down in the field further,
drawn up in a line, were ten fifers and ten drummers
playing for dear life. It was the first time they had
played together, and the orchestral effects were any-
thing but harmonious. These musicians seemed to be
the central cluster or nucleus around which the others
were to gather, like a lot of bees swarming.
From every company street there marched, or rather
straggled, a squad of ten soldiers, commanded — perhaps
I should say led — by a sergeant. The first gang
marched around until it came to the musicians. Then
another ten would come along until it reached the tail
end of the first, and so on, until the whole ten times ten
were standing in a row or string.
It would have made an old army officer drop dead to
see the way the men were carrying their muskets.
They had had no drill. Half of them had never before
seen, let alone handled, a rifle. Some carried them on
one shoulder and some on the other. Here you would
see a gun held up stiff and straight like a flagstaff, and
the next man would hold it jauntily in the crook of his
elbow. The "line" was about as near being straight as
a horseshoe. Somebody yelled :
"Front!"
One of the boys who had once served in a hotel office
was at the point of rushing forward, but he could see no
counter to run to. No one else stirred.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 29
"Front!" again commanded the adjutant. But still
nobody moved, except to look helplessly at his com-
panion. Many of them thought maybe it was the army
way of saying grace, or something of that sort. No one
had ever heard "Front" before. The adjutant became
excited.
"All turn this way, and look at me," shouted the
adjutant.
"Vy dond you say dod pefore," cried out John Ick.
"Silence in the ranks. When I say 'Front,' you
turn to the front, that's all."
"Dot's all ri-et, Mister Hopkins," replied John Ick.
"I'se a lookin' at you, don't it?"
"Silence!" yelled the officer, "or you'll go to the
guardhouse."
"Can't a man say nottings all the time?" murmured
Ick.
Poor John ! He was marched off to the guardhouse,
whatever that meant. None of us knew. It must be
something awful.
"Dress up!"
Not a man stirred.
"Dress up, I say. Dress to the right!" commanded
the adjutant, and stepping up to the end of the string
he looked along the edge and gave the order again:
"Eight— dress!"
Every man looked carefully over himself. Every-
body seemed to have on his right dress ! They were all
dressed right. They were looking everywhere except
to the right.
"What a lot of idiots," shouted Lieutenant Hopkins.
"Just turn your eyes this way and get into a straight
line." A general shuffle was the result. There was
some sort of a commotion in Company K's detachment.
"What's the matter here?" asked the adjutant, com-
ing over. "Why don't you get in a straight line?"
"Can't," replied Davy Harris. "Just look at John
Snyder's nose!"
"Silence in the ranks!"
"See here," asked Lem Smith, "am I to take my
bearings from Pop Farlow's fat belly, or from that
spindle-shanked Anderson?' '
30 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"Silence in the ranks, or you'll go to the guard-
house," was the only reply.
Silence resulted. One man was already in the guard-
house, and an awful ignorance of what sort of horrible
torture he might at that moment be undergoing made
the warning sufficient.
Finally the adjutant got the men tolerably straight,
and then the drummers and fifers marched down in
front of the line, turned around and marched back
again, playing "When Johnnie Comes Marching Home
Again" the while. Then the adjutant stepped for-
ward, turned on his heel, turned to the left, marched
along to the middle of the parade, turned on his heel to
the right, marched a few paces toward the colonel, and
then turned completely around as if on a pivot. He
gave the order to "Present arms!"
But no pretense was made of obeying it, inasmuch as
no one in the ranks knew the difference between present
arms and a lame leg. But just as if it had all been
done according to Hoyle, or rathor according to
Hardee, the adjutant turned around facing the colonel,
and bringing his sword up to his nose, dropped it with
a curving sweep, like a farmer with a scythe. The
adjutant said something to the colonel and the colonel
said something to the adjutant, and some orders were
given which no one understood.
Then with much confusion and trouble the men in the
line were twisted around into platoons and marched
past the colonel in about the order of a mob coming out
of a circus, and then off to the guardhouse. As a mili-
tary maneuver it was simply atrocious. Had Kaiser
Wilhelm been there he would have thrown himself into
the canal with ineffable disgust. But the spectators
thought it was grand. When the Thirteenth Regiment
got to the front and the enemy saw what they could do,
the rebellion would be speedily ended ! Indeed, had the
Confederates witnessed a guard mount like that they
would have thought it some new sort of tactics they
didn't understand, and would doubtless have immedi-
ately surrendered.
The guards were put on duty around the camp. In
the army the men go on guard duty for two hours and
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Si
have a four-hour rest, and then go on again, and so on
for the twenty -four hours. The duty of the guards was
to let no one out of the camp, without a pass, and no
visitors in — except at the gates.
We fellows who were not on guard were congratula-
ting ourselves with having nothing to do when suddenly
there was another drum beat, followed by the order :
"Fall in, Company K, for drill!"
The men hastily put on their belts, picked up their
guns, and ran out to "get into a string," which we had
learned by this time was the proper thing to do on hear-
ing the order to "fall in." A sergeant who had served
three months already and was therefore supposed to
know all about war, was detailed to instruct us. He
was an arrogant brute, as such men usually are, and
gave his orders as if we were slaves.
Many a man's face flushed at being called "fool,"
"idiot," and worse names, when the sergeant became
angry with our clumsiness and awkwardness. When
we started we thought a "file" was something used by
machinists, a "wheel" was part of the running gear of
a wagon, and that when the order was to "shoulder
arms," it meant to hold our guns on our shoulders, in-
stead of holding them straight up at our sides. It*bad
been "carry" arms, under the "Hardee" tactics, but
Casey's revision was just being introduced, and the
same movement was designated as "shoulder arms."
But how that relentless sergeant did drill us ! He
made us handle the guns in different shapes until they
seemed to weigh half a ton, and our arms ached. And
he marched us up and down and hither and thither
until we were completely tired out with the unwonted
exercise. It was in dog days, too, and the hot clothing
and thick, scratchy shirts made us perspire until we
were soaked. Being a soldier wasn't so much fun after
all. We were glad enough when finally, at noon, we
were dismissed for our dinner.
With the exception of soup for the main dish, dinner
was similar to the other meals. We were beginning to
get it through our heads that the prospects were bad for
any very great variety in the menu. But it "went,"
for we were hungry, and our post prandial briar wood
32 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
pipes were hugely enjoyed. Just as we were thinking
of 'crawling into the tent for a snooze, again came that
everlasting order :
"Fall in for drill!"
This was too much ! What, drill twice a day? We
would speak to the captain about it.
But the afternoon drill was worse yet, for it was a
regimental drill — that is a drill of the entire regiment
together. The colonel, who had seen some service,
bossed this job. Now in a regimental drill a fellow has
to walk about ten times as much as in a company drill,
and we were soon so tired that we couldn't go any more.
The colonel saw this, and gave us some more instruc-
tion in the manual of arms, and for the first time showed
us how to load the guns.
"Load in nine times — load."
Such was the order. We had been served with blank
cartridges, and were told to simply go through the
motion of loading. But Sandy Kidd failed to hear this,
and before he was discovered he had loaded his guns
nine times — that is, put nine cartridges into the barrel.
What the nine "times" meant was the nine different
motions that are necessary in loading a gun according
to the tactics. During the latter part of the drill the
colonel thought he would see how the regiment would
do in an actual shoot. So he marched us around by the
canal and once more went through the process of "load-
ing in nine times."
Then I discovered why Dr. Love had so carefully
examined our teeth. One of the orders was to "tear
cartridges. " Now the cartridges of those days were not
the metallic affairs used at the present time. Breech-
loading guns had hardly been introduced and our old
muskets were loaded at the muzzle, like an old-fashioned
shotgun. The cartridges containing the powder were
made of paper. It was a thick brown paper, as tough
as is used in a hardware store. One had to insert the
end of the cartridge between the teeth and tear it open.
Nothing but the stoutest teeth could stand this ordeal.
And, ugh ! how salt and nasty the powder tasted !
But we are finally loaded, cocked and primed. In
order to make a grander effect for the assembled audi-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 33
ence, we were strung along the towpath of the canal.
Then the colonel gave the order :
"Ready! Aim!— Fire!"
Now I had never shot off a gun in my life. I only
knew you had to hold it up to the shoulder and pull the
trigger. When the colonel said "aim" my hands shook
in a manner that would have made it perfectly safe for
a man to stand directly in front of the muzzle. When
the order came to "fire" I shut my eyes tight and pulled
the trigger !
Bang!
Was I kicked by a mule? A stinging blow on my
right shoulder nearly knocked me off my feet, and I
thought my arm was dislocated. For a moment I
feared I was shot myself. I never knew before that a
gun "kicked." It was simply the "kick" of the
musket on being discharged. But it was a surprise
party for me.
The first man to "fall in an engagement" in the
Thirteenth Regiment was Sandy Kidd. When the
rackety "volley," about as simultaneous as a pack of
exploding firecrackers, had stopped, there lay Sandy
Kidd, sprawling on his back at the bottom of the tow-
path.
He had shot off all the nine cartridges in his gun at
once!
34 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER V,
MUSTERED IN — DESERTED.
Before the regimental drill was dismissed, Colonel
Carman had announced that "dress parade" would be
dispensed with that afternoon. Goodness, was there
anything more? Is a soldier'3 work never done?
No, never. From that time on, during all the years
of service, whenever in camp, there was that same ever-
lasting routine of guard mount, and squad or company
drill in the morning, and a regimental or "battalion"
drill (as it was mora commonly called) in the afternoon,
winding up with the perennial dress parade at 4 or 6
o'clock. A "dress parade" is a guard mount on a
larger scale, and is the formal display of "the pomp and
panoply of war." But so many people are familiar
with "dress parades" that it is unnecessary to describe
them.
We were awfully tired that night; but we were
aroused to interest by the announcement that on that
evening we would "elect our officers."
What a farce! No one in the army ever has a chance
to vote for officers. The "election" simply consisted in
the reading of a pronunciamento or order that Hugh C.
Irish had been elected captain; James G. Scott, first
lieutenant, and so on, and that the captain had selected
"the following sergeants and corporals." And at the
end of it was "Approved — Ezra A. Carman, Colonel
Commanding; Charles A. Hopkins, First Lieutenant
and Adjutant." That is the way we "elected" our
officers.
There was little variation in camp life for several
days. It was the same old routine of guard mount and
drill, and "fall in for rations." We began to get used
to the unwonted exercise and the outdoor air and work
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 35
was hardening the muscles and improving the general
health.
There was a constant stream of visitors, including
many ladies; and the latter came around to the tents
and chatted to "the boys" with an unconventional
familiarity and sisterly affection utterly unknown in
ordinary life. This was a new phase of existence that
was very interesting. They brought us many luxuries,
and some of the boys received big boxes from home,
containing pies and cakes and other toothsome things
that greatly enhanced our bill of fare. And there was
a continuous round of pranks and practical jokes and
song singing and amateur entertainments in the even-
ing, till at last we were constrained to exclaim: "Well,
this is a picnic!"
On August 24, 1862, the announcement was made
that on the following afternoon the Thirteenth Regi-
ment would be "mustered in." This was something
new, and created great excitement.
When a man "enlists ' he, so to speak, gets into his
coffin. When he is "mustered," Undertaker Uncle
Sam has put on the lid and screwed it down. When a
man deserts the service after being "mustered in" he is
shot.
About 3 o'clock the next afternoon the regiment was
drawn up as if in dress parade. While somewhat im-
proved in military movements from the four or five days
drill, yet it was anything but an imposing spectaclo
from a professional point of view. The line was strag-
gling and broken and uncertain, and there was a pain-
ful absence of that self-possessed nonchalance that char-
acterizes the experienced soldier. But there we stood,
037 of us — 38 officers and 899 non-commissioned officers
and privates, at parade rest, with the perspiration
trickling down our faces and we forbidden to wipe it
off!
From the knot of officers gathered at the flank of the
parade stepped forth one more gorgeous, more self-
possessed, more airish than the others. Ah ! he was a
man who understood his business! He must be a
major-general at least !
Bah ! The single strip of bullion at the end of his
36 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
shoulder straps indicated that he was nothing but a first
lieutenant ! And yet he was a First Lieutenant with a
capital *'L" and a still bigger "F."
Maybe you don't understand the awful dignity that
surrounded a "mustering officer," like a dazzling halo!
As the drum-major of a band is more gorgeous in
make-up than the colonel of a regiment, so is a muster-
ing officer more indescribably magnificent in general
bearing than the commander of the whole army. The
chief qualification of a mustering officer seemed to be
his capacity for putting on airs.
The more airs he could put on the better. No soldier
ever heard of a plain, unassuming, courteous mustering
officer. It is his business to be otherwise.
The irridescent specimen of military grandeur that
dazzled our eyes and filled our hearts with apprehension,
as if we were the serfs and he the czar, was, we were
told, ' ' Louis D. Watkins, First Lieutenant, Fifth United
States Cavalry." A regular officer. Phew! A West
Point graduate, perhaps. And a cavalry officer too.
The cavalry officers always considered themselves so
much higher than infantry officers. In reality they
were, in the march — about five feet higher — when
mounted.
Behind him was a private soldier with his rifle and
another carrying the rolls of the regiment, on which
was every man's name, the color of his eyes and hair,
his height, complexion, color, age, and "previous con-
dition of servitude."
"At-ten-shun!" commanded he, with that peculiar
inflexion only attainable after considerable service.
"Hats off!"
"Hands up!"
When, after much confusion, it was arranged that
each man held his hat in his left hand and upheld his
right, the mustering officer began :
"Eepeat after me the following oath: I, Louis D.
Watkins "
"I, Louis D. Watkins," came the grand chorus from
the assembled thousand. I don't know how they ever
came to do it so well in concert. It sounded as if it-
came from one gigantic throat.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 37
"No — no — no," interrupted the mustering officer.
"Each man say his own name. Now, I, John Smith —
or whatever it may be."
A low murmur of many names followed, as each man
pronounced his own, followed by "whatever it may
be." John Ick was slow of comprehension, and he
came out behind all the rest, and it made everybody
laugh to hear his
"May pe!"
Lieutenant Watkins pretended not to notice this un-
necessary addition to the oath, but went on :
"Do solemnly "
"Solemnly," chorused the regiment.
— "Emly," from John Ick.
"Swear that I will bear — " continued the mustering
officer.
The regiment responded, while loud and husky came
John Ick with his
—"Bear."
"True faith and allegiance."
The nine hundred responded on schedule time — all
but John Ick, who nearly upset the whole business with
his ringing :
"Vatty elegance."
"To the United States of America," continued the
mustering officer.
The regiment responded, and so it went on with the
rest of the oath, viz:
— '"Against all her enemies whatsoever: That I will
obey the orders of the President of the United States
and of the officers appointed over me, according to the
rules and articles of war. So help me God."
And John Ick came in at the tail end about three
words behind as usual. But as if that wasn't enough
he added something of his own in the shape of a loud
"Amen." He naturally imagined that anything so
near like a prayer was not quite complete without an
"amen" at the end of it.
The oath, although as ironclad as the whole power
and force of the United States government can make it,
isn't in itself very long, but the slow process of repeti-
tion had necessitated our holding up our hands for what
58 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
seemed an age, and our arms ached. It was with
intense satisfaction and relief therefore that we received
the orders :
' ' Hands down ! Hats on !"
The pompous mustering officer, with a show of dig-
nity that would have done credit to a czar or a kaiser,
then formally and awfully announced, that he, he—
with a big H, Louis D. Watkins, by the authority with
which he was vested (and otherwise clothed), then and
there and here and now did declare that the officers and
men of the Thirteenth Regiment of New Jersey Volun-
teers were duly mustered into the service of the United
States, to serve for the period of three years unless
sooner discharged.
The nail was clinched.
The colonel then stepped forward and ordered the
officers to approach, which they did, and when standing
in front of him in a tolerably straight line, he addressed
them in a few words that the rest of us could not hear.
As the officers came back to lead their companies to
their streets, something on their faces told us all that
there was something unusually important on hand.
There was. Before the companies were dismissed
the captain informed the men that the situation of
affairs at Washington was so precarious that the presi-
dent had ordered the Thirteenth Regiment to come on
at once. Similar orders had been sent to every regi-
ment in the country in process of formation.
"Captain," said one of the men, "we were to have a
furlough before we started ; we wanted to take our citi-
zens' suits back home and bid our families good-by, and
we want to get a few articles to take along with us.
Wasn't this understood?"
"Yes," replied Captain Irish; "but in times of war
any programme may be changed and all that we have
to do is to obey orders. ' '
"Is that fair?" asked John Snyder.
"Don't talk in the ranks," said the captain.
"No, you," said John Ick knowingly, "dond you talk
by the ranks, or you'll go by the garthous; ven you
carry a stick of dot ^ord wood up and down for an hour,
alreaty, you don talk no more by the ranks, by gum."
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 39
"Silence!" shouted the captain.
"Gimntinney," said Ick, sotto voce, "I pelief I vas
talking mine own selluff, and didn't know it."
The recruits broke ranks with much kicking. They
had fully expected a furlough before going to the front.
There were ominous whispers and knowing winks that
night. Something was up.
In the morning there were not a dozen men in camp.
Even the guards had disappeared, leaving their guns
sticking bayonet down, in the ground.
Practically the entire regiment had deserted!
What an inglorious end to our career as soldiers!
And not mustered in half a day yet.
How it all happened the next chapter will relate.
40 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER VI.
THE EVE OF DEPARTURE.
As stated in the preceding chapter, the entire Thir-
teenth Regiment of New Jersey Volunteers had deserted,
almost in a body, at the very first intimation of active
service. Not that they were like that famous character :
"First in peace, last in war."
Nor even like that historical militia organization
whose first by-law read :
"Resolved, that in case of war, riot or other unpleas-
ant disturbance, this company immediately disbands."
No, it wasn't that. It wasn't cowardice. The boys
simply "wanted to go home." (They wanted to go
home many another time before their three years were
up, but didn't have the opportunity.) And we believe
it is an historical fact that this was the only instance
during the war where eight or nine hundred men de-
serted and were not only not punished, but were not
even reprimanded.
It could hardly be called desertion. The boys simply
wanted to go home, and they went. They could hardly
be blamed. All had enlisted and hurried off to camp
with quite a distinct understanding that they should
have a furlough long enough to fix up things at home,
and this idea of being so suddenly and unceremoniously
projected to the very scene of conflict completely upset
them.
The regiment deserted, so to speak, in squads. We
had previously arranged our respective coteries;
"Davy" Harris, "Pop" Snyder and I were one of the
groups arranged in trios, and along toward midnight
we marched out of camp. One of Company C's men
was on guard at the post we had to pass. It did not
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 41
take him long to stick his bayonet in the ground and
join us.
We took the towpath and walked up to Paterson
along the canal bank, arriving there at 4 or 5 o'clock in
the evening. It took about twenty-four hours to
arrange our affairs and say good- by to our friends for
the last time. It didn't take me long to settle up my
affairs. I deposited with a relative the new suit of
clothes I had just bought, and wrote a letter to my
father, who lived in another State, that I had enlisted.
Let me tell you about that suit of clothes. It was in
the latest fashion. The cost was of a Prince Albert
pattern, but it came down to about halfway between
the knees and heels. It was black and white, in
squares, each one of the squares being as big as the
square of a checkerboard. The length of the coat was
something like the dude fashion of the present time.
But during the four years I was away fashions had
changed to plain, dark colors, and the coat tail had been
abbreviated. Had I appeared on the streets in that suit
after the war, I would have been mobbed.
The changes in fashions are so gradual that they are
hardly noticed. But bury .yourself, mentally, for four
years, and the change will be startling. We think
nothing of the absurd wings the ladies wear now, but
had that ridiculous fashion been projected upon us in
all its ugliness without an evolutionary endurance —
like cutting off a dog's tail by inches — we should have
been startled, to say the least. So that stylish suit,
which had cost me twenty-one weeks' wages, was
utterly useless after the war was over.
But this is a digression. I didn't have to save my
money for clothes now. Uncle Sam furnished them.
As the late Tune Van Iderstine used to say, there was
"Plenty for to eat (usually) plenty for to drink (that is,
soft drinks) and nothing for to pay." Besides all this
we were paid the munificent wages of thirteen dollars a
month — which usually went to sutler or poker, of
which more anon.
We straggled back to camp, and in two days every
man was back again. We expected to be at least
scolded, if not actually punished; but not a word was
said to us about our "desertion."
42 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
There was a more serious look on the men's faces this
time than there was the first time they left home. The
farewell had been more sorrowful, for it was known to
be the last time they would meet their loved ones for
many months— perhaps years — perhaps forever. Some-
how it had at first been a sort of picnic— a few days' ,
excursion. Now we began to realize that it really
"meant business."
But a soldier's downheartedness doesn't last long.
We were kept busy with the final arrangements. We
"men" expected to be ordered to start every moment.
We were kept in ignorance, in accordance with "army
discipline." Only the officers knew we were not to
start before Sunda}'.
On Friday we went through that pleasant and delusive
experience that all regiments went through. We were
presented with a flag by the ladies. Flag presentations
were too common in those days to indulge in silk. It
was an ordinary everyday bunting flag. A clergyman
made the speech for the ladies and the colonel responded
for the regiment.
I think I felt then my first thrill of patriotism. The
stars and stripes never before looked as they did then.
As the breeze rippled through the folds it seemed as if a
patriotic luster emanated from the ensign, and a vague
idea that I would some clay see that flag dimly outlined
through the smoke and fire of battle made the blood
jump through my veins.
And the ladies, God bless them! They looked so
pretty and sweet, so loyal and yet so tender, that it
aroused one's manhood to a sense of duty in defending
them. I never was a hero. I was naturally a coward.
But I felt brave just then and mentally resolved that I
would never do aught to be ashamed of.
A similar feeling must have pervaded the entire regi-
ment, for it gave vent to loud and enthusiastic cheers at
the conclusion of the presentation.
"I never saw the flag look so beautiful as it did to-
day," said John Stansfield, as he unbuckled his belt.
"Dott all ri-et, you," said John Ick. "But it dond
look so beautiful one of dese daj T s, I dond tink. I vash
thinking dot plue is like how plue we vill all pe pefore
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 43
ve gits home alretty, and de ret stripes — dot vash plood.
We vas all going to ein schlaughter haus."
Despite this sanguinary prediction, Ick's remarks
created a laugh, and from that time on, forever after-
ward, he was called ' ' Slaughter House Ike. ' '
On Friday it began to look like business; about one
hundred men were yet missing and patrols were sent
out to capture them, wherever found, and bring them
in. The announcement in the Newark Advertiser that
the Thirteenth was about to start brought crowds of
visitors to camp, a large proportion of them being
ladies.
On Saturday evening, August 30, 1862, the boys re-
ceived word that they would start the next (Sunday)
morning for the front !
Immediately the camp became a scene of great ex-
citement and hilariousness.
44 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER VII.
OFF FOR THE FRONT.
When "reveille" sounded in Camp Frelinghuysen on
Sunday morning, August 31, 1862, no one was awak-
ened. Everybody was already up and filled with ex-
citement over the approaching departure for "the
front." A busy scene was enacted. Everybody was
packing up. The men were wondering how to get into
their knapsacks besides the clothing Uncle Sam pro-
vided them, such things as canned preserves, towels,
looking-glasses, shaving outfits and a hundred and one
other things from loving ones at home — even to em-
broidered slippers!
It was no go. The knapsack would scarcely hold the
regular outfit, let alone other things. The parsimony
of the government in providing such limited "trunks"
was vigorously criticized, little knowing that before
long we should be more than convinced that the knap-
sacks were altogether too large and too heavy.
But the problem was solved by packing the superflu-
ous luxuries into barrels and boxes. We had a vague
idea that they would come along with the baggage.
Innocent souls that we were. Somebody must have had
a feast. We never saw those things again.
We filled our haversacks with "grub" from the
"cook house" and our canteens with water from the
canal, and when everything was in readiness we tried
on our "things."
Phew ! Here was another thing we hadn't counted
upon. That we were to be "pack mules" had never
entered our heads. Contemplate the array :
First, our thick clothes (with the scratchy shirt and
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 45
stockings); then a broad leather belt extending from
the right shoulder to the left hip ; then a body belt, upon
which was a leather percussion cap box on the front
and a heavy cartridge box on the right hip — a box con-
taining forty rounds of ball cartridges in a tin case —
the whole weighing several pounds. Then there was
the bulgy haversack, on the right hip, hanging by a
strap from the left shoulder, while on the reverse side was
the canteen, suspended from a strap which ran over the
right shoulder. Then came the knapsack, like the
hump on Pilgrim's back, hanging from straps over both
shoulders and steadied by another strap that extended
over the breast. On the equipments were brass eagles
and brass plates with "U. S," upon them. The knap-
sack was packed as full as it could be, and in straps on
the top were the rubber and woolen blankets tightly
rolled, while the overcoat was strapped to the back.
This was "heavy marching order." Add the rifle,
weighing about nine pounds, and you have the complete
soldier. All you can see is his face and legs, and a lot
of straps and bundles and bags with a gleaming bayonet
sticking up alongside the right shoulder. Thus arrayed
and equipped, the load that a soldier had to carry was
about sixty pounds. Imagine yourself walking thirty
miles a day and carrying sixty pounds of baggage.
A momentary trial of this load was enough. Every
man threw off his knapsack completely discouraged.
We were confronted with a condition utterly unfore-
seen. Had there been an opportunity to test this lay-
out in Captain Irish's recruiting office, the probability
is that not a single man would have enlisted!
Poor John Ick expressed the sentiment of Company K
when he threw his knapsack down on the ground and
exclaimed :
"Mine gott, poys. Dot vash de camel vot proke de
straw's pack. I vash going heim. I don'd vant to be
a soldier sometimes any more, alretty. ' '
But it was too late to go home now. We were going
away from home, and the evidences of our departure
were too painfully apparent all around us.
Solemn-faced men were embracing and kissing crying
women and children all over the camp, and even some
46 THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER.
of the men were crying, not so much, perhaps, on their
own account, as from sympathy with the really be-
reaved wives, mothers and daughters. No man likes to
see a woman cry, but under ordinary conditions it
affects different men in different ways. A woman's
tears, to some men, is a signal for immediate capitula-
tion. To others it has an irresistibly irritating effect.
Bat when a woman cries from pure grief — and not from
petulance, anger or hysteria — then it strikes a sympa-
thetic chord in the male breast, and he whose eyes are
not moist under such circumstances is a brute. In the
economy of nature it is only a brute that cannot laugh
or cry.
So it was not unmanly to see great, strong men weep,
because their wives, their mothers, their sweethearts
wept. No one knew when they should meet again.
Perhaps never. To some, it was never.
But there is no time for long-drawn-out sentiment in
war. The final farewells were terminated by the order
to—
"Fall in!"
In a short time the regiment was formed and the
order was given to march. A wild huzza arose from
several thousand throats as the Thirteenth New Jersey
filed out of the entrance to Camp Frelinghirysen, which
the soldiers were to see for the last time. The regiment
was marched down through Orange Street to Broad,
followed by an immense crowd of people. It was a
Sunday, but it was totally unlike an ordinary Sunday
in Newark, for the whole city was out as if on a holi-
day.
A short halt was made at Washington Park, for a
little rest. And "green" troops that we were, we
greatly needed it. The day was atrociously hot. The
sun poured down its pitiless rays until the backs of our
necks were blistered. The straps from our knapsacks
and accouterments had begun to cut into the uncal-
loused flesh of our shoulders, and the awful load we
carried fatigued us greatly. The cobble stones with
which Broad Street was then paved seemed unnaturally
high, round and uneven.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 47
We were marched to the Chestnut Street depot, where
the train was supposed to be ready. It wasn't. No
one ever knew of an army train being on time. It was
a special, made up of the cheapest, dirtiest, oldest cars
of the road — "The New Jersey Railroad and Transpor-
tation Company" — a part of the "Camden and Amboy"
system. The "Pennsylvania" was as yet unheard of —
at least in New Jersey.
There were more farewells. Venders of knickknacks,
and particularly of cool drinks, did a thriving business.
A milkman came along, and soon his cans were empty.
As my father handed me an overflowing glass of milk,
I loosed upon his face for the last time. Before the
war was ended he had given his life to his country.
It was a solemn crowd. The first boisterousness had
disappeared. The sorrowful, tearful farewells had a
depressing effect. The news from the front was not
cheerful. Even at that moment a great battle was in
progress, and not very many miles from Washington.
And yet there were laughable scenes. I will tell you
one. It relates to James O. Smith, afterward connected
with the New York Commercial Advertiser. Smith
was a Newark boy, a jolly fellow, as he is to this day.
He is one of those men who never grow old. Well,
Smith's mother and his best girl and her mother were
looking around for Jim to bid him a last good-by, and
Jim was watching for their expected appearance. Just
then a beautiful little German girl came up, and in-
tently gazing upon Smith for a moment, stepped up
and asked :
"Vas you going to go avay?"
"Yes," answered Jim, "I am going to the front."
"Yell," answered the little German girl, "I vas so
sorry."
And thereupon she put her hands on Smith's shoul-
ders, and leaning her face down upon them, began to
cry as ifher heart would break.
Now James O. Smith said then, and he says yet, that
he would pledge his word of honor as a man, as a gen-
tleman and as a soldier, that never in the whole course
of his life had he ever laid eyes on that pretty little
German girl before, But imagine his predicament
48 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
when, just at that particular moment, up stepped his
own, his genuine best girl, with her mother!
And before Jim could explain the truth the order
was received to board the the train.
With a yell, a hurrah and a general racket the mem-
bers of the Thirteenth climbed upon the cars. E very-
window was closely shut, and the air was stifling. As
usual, the windows were stuck fast and could not be
budged. Then, as if seized with the inspiration that a
soldier's duty was to destroy, smash went every window
in every one of the fourteen or fifteen cars composing
the "special" train. It was done with the butt ends of
the rifles. There was plenty of air after that. The
officers tried to expostulate, but it was too late.
It took a long time to get on the "baggage" and other
things necessary and in the meanwhile the boys were
chatting through the broken glass windows with their
friends outside. Jim Smith was apparently having
much difficulty in convincing his real girl that his en-
counter with that pretty little German girl was only an
accidental meeting. Whether he succeeded in putting
himself right no one ever knew.
A long blast of the whistle. A last, superfluous cry
of "all aboard.'* A slight movement of the train. We
were off.
"Hurrah for the Thirteenth Regiment!" said some
one in the crowd. A wild hurrah from six thousand
throats arose in the torrid atmosphere of that hot Sun-
day noon of August 31, 1862.
"Hurrah for the ladies of Newark!" shouted a sol-
dier. And the cars quivered with the shout.
The people shouted again in chorus, and the air was
filled with Godsends and "good-by, Johns" and "good-
b} r , Bills," while outside the cars pandemonium reigned
supreme.
And thus it was, with a whoop and a shout, that the
Thirteenth Regiment of New Jersey Volunteers started
off for that mysterious, that awful, that unknown desti-
nation comprehensively termed "The Front."
Alas ! If some of them had known what they had to
go through ere they again saw the city of Newark, they
would have felt disposed to have thrown themselves
under the car wheels and been crushed to jelly.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 49
CHAPTER VIII.
WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN.
Those who have been on a target excursion know
what sort of a scene is enacted on the cars going to and
returning from a day's pleasure. I can liken that
journey of the Thirteenth Regiment from Newark to
Philadelphia, to nothing but a gigantic excursion. Per-
haps there was the more indulgence in boisterousness as
a sort of offset to the gloomy features of the farewell.
All the songs that the boj T s knew, and some that they
didn't know, were sung, and when the supply was ex-
hausted they were sung over again. There were anec-
dotes and stories told, practical jokes perpetrated, and
whenever any one began to look sober and solemn he
was selected as a victim.
It seemed as if we had cut loose from everything, as
it were — from the world, the conventional routine of
life, from restraining influences, from civilization.
And so it was to a greater extent than we knew then,
for the fact must be told that away from the influence
of society, of woman, man becomes a brute. He loses
all the little niceties and amenities of humanity and
quickly deteriorates into a savage. Another proof of
Darwinism. Who knows, were we all turned out into
the woods, how long it would be before tails began to
sprout !
No such philosophical turn, however, entered the minds
of the boisterous crowd that kept up the racket all the
way to the southern boundaries of the State. The train
went through Trenton and Bordentown, and entered
Philadelphia via Camden. It was about dusk when we
crossed the Delaware in ferry boats that sailed between
the two halves of Smith's Island, and were at last in
the city of Brotherly Love.
60 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
' ' Philadelphia. " " Brotherly Love. ' '
How sweet are the memories that hover around these
names to every old soldier. No city loved the soldier
more, or did more for the soldier, than Philadelphia.
Every building large enough was already an hospital.
Every fire engine had its ambulance, in the gorgeous
decoration of which vehicles the different companies
vied with each other until their ingenuity for something
more handsome was exhausted.
One of the institutions of Philadelphia was "The
Soldiers' Rest." It was a large structure, as big as the
train shed at a railroad terminus. When a new regi-
ment passed through the city on the way to the front,
it was provided with a meal little short of a banquet.
The men were seated at tables provided with table
cloths and crockery — real crockery, not tinware. The
soldiers were waited upon by young ladies, pretty ones
too.
"Oh, my jimminey, put I vas glad I come to de
war!" enthusiastically exclaimed John Ick.
John expressed the sentiment of all of us. We began
to think that, if the further south we went the better we
fared, by the time we reached the front we would have
a regular picnic. Alas, we didn't stop to remember
that the last thing done to a Thanksgiving turkey is to
gorge him with chestnuts.
But, seriously, the old soldier will never forget Phila-
delphia hospitality. But it was the jumping off place.
Between the City of Brotherly Love and Baltimore
there was a gap, a chasm. For right there was located
somewhere the dividing line, on one side of which a sol-
dier was considered a patriot, a gentleman, and on the
other side regarded merely as a soulless machine.
We bade adieu to Philadelphia late that night with a
salvo of cheers.
Alas for human consistency. The last man to get
on the cars was Jim Smith. In fact he came near being
left in consequence of his lingering flirtation with a
pretty Philadelphia girl. And so soon after his en-
counter with his own true love — and that beautiful
little German girl.
The ride to Baltimore was through the night, At;
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 51
Havre de Grace the cars in those days crossed on a big
ferryboat. There were no bridges yet. The switches
were choked with troop-laden trains, and we had to
wait three hours for our turn on the ferry-boat. And,
by the way, it was the first time for nearly all of us to
see a locomotive and train cross a wide river on a boat.
It was morning when we reached Baltimore. Here we
had breakfast.
Breakfast? Ugh !
We had passed the "dividing line." We were in a
State only semiloyal. Indeed bloody riots had occurred
in the streets of Baltimore, caused by rebel sympathizers
attacking passing regiments. As we disembarked we
were quietly ordered to load our rifles — with bullets !
It began to look like business.
But that breakfast ! It was in a shed. The coffee
was black and nasty — about as much flavor to it as mud.
We had soft bread that was slack-baked — half -dough.
And the meat! We were formally introduced to "salt
horse!"
"Vot sort of meat you calls that?" asked the irre-
pressible John lck, who wanted to know everything.
The waiter was a soldier who had seen some service.
"Salt junk," replied he.
"Salt yunk. Vot vas dot, alretty?" asked John.
"Dot looks like old dried -up liverworst."
John attempted to take a mouthful. There were no
knives or forks, and he held it in his hand. It was
tougher than sole leather. It was what Rider Haggard
would call "biltong."
"Ugh!" exclaimed John, spitting out the salty stuff
and pushing the unsavory mess away from him. ' ' Take
it avay. Bring me some peefsteaks."
"Eat that or nothing," said the soldier.
"I no eat dot," replied lck angrily. "You vas ein
shysterpoop. You vas a old seseshel, and py gimmeny
I can lick you quicker'n "
John had [got up to fight. Sergeant Wells came to
see what the disturbance was about.
"Dot old schweinigel, Mister Wells, he told me to
eat dot or nothing. I doand like dot, alretty. Look by
dot meat, dot — vot he callem — salt yunk. Und ven I
52 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
ask him to pring me some peefsteaks, he tole me to eat
dot or nothing, ain't it."
"You must keep quiet, John," said Wells. "That's
the regulation army food."
"Idon'd vant no reggellashen grub, I vanfrsome peef-
steaks, dot's vat I vant."
"There's no beefsteak here, John. You keep quiet,
or you'll get in trouble."
"I'll go straight heim, dot's vot I vill."
"Keep still."
"Vait vounce till I get you outside, you old pumper-
nickel," shouted the irate Ick, shaking his fist across
the table. Then he quieted down, rather to everybody's
surprise.
John Ick only expressed the feelings of the others.
Oh, for a good, tender, juicy beefsteak. Salt horse,
muddy coffee and black bread ! What a menu ! The
coffee was served in tin cups. The bread and meat
were laid on the bare board that served as a table and
which had evidently not been washed since it was made.
The "Soldiers' Retreat," as this inhospitable place
was called, was near the depot. We were compelled to
sit or stand around there all day. Armed guards pre-
vented our going out "to see the town." We had to
take our dinner and supper — both of which were similar
to the breakfast — in that miserable place. About dark
we were told that the train was ready.
And what a train ! Hitherto we had traveled in pas-
senger cars, poor though the}' were. Now we were
piled into old freight cars. We were getting to a part
of the country where war was war and a soldier noth-
ing more than an animated piece of the machinery of
war. It was simply "anyway to get there," now.
Rough board seats were built across the cars and we
were huddled in like so many sheep. Auger holes
bored through the sides afforded what little ventilation
there was. As it was, we were nearly stifled.
With a series of stops and jerks as the bumpers of
the old-fashioned coupled freight cars jammed together,
we passed a miserable, restless, sleepless six hours, dur-
ing which the rebels, the army, the government, the
railroad, the officers and everything else were unspar-
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. S3
ingly anathematized, and we kicked ourselves that we
were ever such fools as to enlist. Only for the irresist-
ibly comical vigor of the curses of John Ick, which
somewhat amused us, we would have died.
Washington !
We arrived at last. Our first impressions of the
great capital were anything but pleasant. It was in
the middle of the night. We were marched through
and over a lot of switches and sidings, and finally
entered what seemed to be a large freight house. Here
we spread our blankets and lay down. We were so
tired out that we couldn't help sleeping soundly.
I was awakened early, as were my comrades. We
found that the place was another of those "Soldiers'
Retreats." The breakfast was served a la Baltimore.
After breakfast I obtained permission to be absent from
camp for two hours and with three or four comrades
went to see that Mecca of every true American, the
capitol building.
The capitol was scarcely like what it is now. The
grounds were in a state of chaos. The dome was but
partially completed; on its top was a gigantic derrick,
just as the workmen left it when the government had
other calls for its money than erecting marble buildings
and glass domes.
I climbed up into the rotunda, that was compara-
tively finished — partially in the same shape as now,
except that only a portion of the pictures were painted
— those pictures that subsequently became so familiar
on the back of the national currency.
With opened-mouthed wonder, and mind filled with
historical recollections thus so plainly brought face to
face, I was gazing up toward the unfinished dome,
when I felt a hearty slap on my shoulder.
"Good-morning, my boy!"
I turned to look. I was almost paralyzed. It seemed
as if the dead had come to life. Did the reader ever ex-
perience the sensation of meeting for the first time some
great man whose picture was as familiar as a dining-
room clock? It seems as if you had encountered an
apparition.
Mind you, it was 6 o'clock in the morning. I was
54 THE TOTING VOLUNTEER.
"only a private." But there at that early hour, stand-
ing in front of me, was a tall, gaunt figure whose feat-
ures were familiar to every man and woman, every boy
and girl, in the country.
It was no less a personage than Abraham Lincoln,
the President of the United States !
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 55
CHAPTER IX.
president and private.
President Lincoln!
Now any one who has been in the army knows that it
is a rather extraordinary thing for a mere private soldier
to come face to face with the President of the United
States, the great commander of the whole army and
navy. And it was more extraordinary that such an
encounter should occur almost at the moment the afore-
said private soldier arrived in Washington — and at 6
o'clock in the morning at that.
I had, of course, never seen Lincoln before, but his
face was as familiar through popular portraits as Gen-
eral Grant's subsequently was. Besides hadn't I, in
the fall of '60, fed into the press at the Guardian office
over forty thousand election tickets bearing the picture
of Abraham Lincoln?
There he stood, tall, gaunt, pale, in a somber suit of
black. His face wore an anxious look that accentuated
that familiar wart on his cheek. And he was indeed
anxious. The rebels were, so to speak, almost at the
very gates of the national capital. There wasn't much
sleep for anybody. The president had hurriedly tele-
graphed for every available volunteer. He was on
hand to see how many had come. He was like a
boy who cannot wait for daylight on Christmas
morning, but surreptitiously gets up in his nightshirt
to take a glance at his stocking by the mantelpiece.
This explains why President Lincoln, with one or
two other men — I don't know who they were —
was at the capitol so early that Monday morning, Sep-
tember 1, 1862.
"Good -morning, my boy," said he as I turned to see
who had slapped me so familiarly on the shoulder.
56 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
And as I turned and instantly recognized him, as just
explained, I was almost paralyzed with amazement, I
might say, terror. Who wouldn't be under the cir-
cumstances?
u G-g-good- morning," I stammered, "are — aren't you
the p-p-president?"
''Yes, my hoy," said he, encouragingly, seeing my
embarrassment, and taking me kindly by the hand, as
a grave smile passed over his pale face. "Yes, I am
the president — the president of a distressed country.
We want you now, my lad, and a good many like you.
You are from New Jersey?"
"Y-y-yes, sir."
"The Thirteenth New Jersey?"
"Yes, sir," I answered, the surprise that he should
know the number of my regiment somewhat over-
shadowing my embarrassment.
"Who is your colonel?'' he asked.
"Colonel Carman."
"Oh, yes, I remember," said Mr. Lincoln.
And that he should know or remember the name of
our colonel, when there were so many colonels and regi-
ments gave me another surprise.
"How sti'ong is your regiment?"
"About nine hundred, I believe, sir."
"Are there any more troops on the way?"
"Yes, sir; lots of them; but I don't know how many,
sir."
"You don't know where they are from, I suppose?"
"No, sir," I replied, "but I heard some of them call-
ing each other 'Hoosiers' and 'Suckers,' so that I sup-
pose they are from Indiana and Illinois."
The president laughed, and a quizzical look passed
over his face as he asked :
"So they call the men from Illinois 'suckers, ' do
they?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, proud of my knowledge of
State nomenclature.
"Well, you know I'm from Illinois?"
I thought I would sink through the marble floor of
the rotunda.
"Oh — oh — M-m-mister President," I stammered,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 57
while I felt the hot blood rushing to the roots of my
hair, "I d-d-didn't mean "
"That's all right, my boy," he said, with a reassur-
ing smile. "I was only joking."
I had of course heard a good deal about "Abe" Lin-
coln's jokes; but I never thought he would work one
on me. I didn't laugh at it a little bit — at least not
just then.
Mr. Lincoln then asked my name, residence and oc-
cupation, and seemed to take a remarkable interest in
an obscure stranger — nothing but a common private.
He took my hand for a good- by, when I reminded him
that there were several other Jersey boys standing be-
hind me, who would no doubt feel honored to shake
hands with the President of the United States.
"I did not intend to miss them," said Mr. Lincoln.
"Every soldier is my friend and my brother. We are
all soldiers now, in a common cause. God bless you
all."
Then he shook hands and said a pleasant word to
every blue-coated recruit in the rotunda. A couple of
distinguished-looking officers came in and interrupted
proceedings, and after a word or so with them he started
off in their company. We followed him to the top of
the then unfinished eastern stairway, down which he
went and walked over toward the old Capitol Prison.
The familiar, friendly way in which the President
had greeted us had captivated us entirely. The mag-
nificent, though unfinished capitol building had no
attractions for us after that. We had seen and spoken
to a real, live president, and from that moment every
one of us felt like giving his life, if necessary, in defense
of a country with such a ruler. There is that in every
citizen that enhances his loyalty at the sight of his ruler's
person.
We hurried back to the "Retreat" to tell of our ad-
venture. Every word of that conversation was im-
pressed on my mind and it is there to-day as fresh as it
was on the day it took place. Of course it created a
sensation among my comrades. We told it to Com-
pany K, and then Captain Irish sent for us and we had
to repeat it to him. Then we received a message from
58 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
the colonel, and were required to relate it all over again
for his information.
"The boys who talked with the president" were the
heroes of the day. As for myself I think I grew about
two inches taller. I thought I ought to be promoted
at once, and imagined the colonel would make me a
corporal at least. But he didn't.
I met President Lincoln personally several times after
that. I would have felt sad just then had I known that
the last service I should be called upon to render him
would be to stand guard over Abraham Lincoln's mur-
dered body. I did.
I was soon brought down from my sublime height of
imaginary importance by hearing Sergeant Heber
Wells' order:
"Fall in, boys. We're ordered to go over to Virginia
at once."
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 59
CHAPTER X,
IN OLD YARGINNT.
There was a good deal of humbug and mild decep-
tion in the army, as ever} r where else, and one example
is the way in which the innocent credulity of nearly
every volunteer was played upon. Probably there never
was an Eastern regiment that did not start out with a
sort of understanding, either tacit or expressed, that it
was to be specially favored. It was generall}' to the effect
that the colonel had "a pull" with the powers that were,
and that that particular regiment, instead of long
marches and hard fighting, was to be detailed for guard
duty at Washington or some similar snap, relieving
some other regiment of more experience.
Such an impression prevailed in the Thirteenth Regi-
ment, aad there seemed to be some ground for it, for
surely the government would not send to the front a
lot of men who had had scarcely any drilling and the
most of the members of which hardly knew how to load
aud fire a gun. But all this dreamy, pic-nicky prospect
was scattered to the four winds by the peremptory order
to get ready to march over into Virginia.
'"Dot is a shame," exclaimed the irrepressible John
Ick. "I'll no go. Dose fellers don't get me by no
schlaughter-haus, py hooky."
"Oh, you're always a-croakin' ! ye cranky old Dutch-
man," retorted Reddy Mahar; "shut up wid ye?"
"Whose a granky old Deutschman?" 'answered Ick
angrily, "you are a old Irish red head, dot's vat you
vash, und I don't care, needer."
"Ye're afraid, that's phwat ye are,^ said Reddy.
"You vash anudder, alretty."
"Ye're a coward, ye spalpeen."
"Whose a gowyard, Irish? Don' you gall me dot
py jimminy,"
60 THE TOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"That's phwat ye are," reiterated Reddy, "always
prating about slaughter house and sich. Ye must ha'
been dhrunk when ye 'listed, or ye wouldn't been here."
"You vas von liar."
Reddy dropped his knapsack and went for "Slaughter
House" Ick. The latter had got his arm twisted up
in the strap of his knapsack somehow, and was caught
at a disadvantage. He was helpless and could not
parry the blow that Reddy landed between his eyes.
Ick, handicapped as he was, threw himself bodily upon
Reddy, and the two went down together. In falling
the two belligerents tumbled against Sandy Kidd and
the three went down into a heap. Then the others
gathered around to witness an exceedingly lively
rough-and-tumble fight. Hank Van Orden and some
others jumped in to interfere and for a moment it re-
sembled a riot.
Captain Irish rushed up to the scene, furious. 1 It was
the first case of disorder that had occurred in the regi-
ment, and he regarded it as an ineffable disgrace to
Company K. He was too angry to listen to details,
and ordered under arrest not only Ick and Mahar, but
Van Orden and Kidd as well, in spite of the latter's
protests. The two innocent men were subsequently
released, but Ick and Mahar had to carry two muskets
for the rest of the day as a punishment. And any old
soldier will tell you that it is no fun to carry two heavy
rifles, in addition to all the legitimate baggage of a
private.
When the matter was reported to Colonel Carman
he laconically remarked :
"They'll get over that nonsense. They'll have all
the fighting they want before they are home again, I
guess. ' '
"But you can put down the fact, colonel," replied
Lieutenant Scott, "that Company K was the first in a
fight."
The colonel smiled, shifted his "chew," and strode
away. Soon after w T e were on the march;
Our orders were to proceed to "Fort Ward," wher-
ever that might be. None of us knew, of course, except
that it was over in "Old Varginny." We marched
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 61
through some back streets of the capital city until we
came to the famous "Long Bridge." And let me say
that Washington was not then the magnificent city that
it is now. The streets were paved with cobble stones
or were mere dirt — not with the asphalt of to-day.
What is now the beautiful park back of the White
House was then nothing but a swamp. The Wash-
ington monument was not half completed. Work had
been stopped on it for a great many years. Visitors to
the capital now can tell its height then by the dirty ap-
pearance of the stone on the lower half. The upper and
more recently completed part looks whiter and cleaner.
We crossed the Long Bridge and during the afternoon
made our first foot tracks in the dusty roads of Virginia's
sacred soil. The general color of Virginia soil is brick
red. In summer it is an impalpable dust. In winter
it is mud — and such mud ! The possibilities of its depth
are limitless, while its consistency ranges from paste to
dough. When we arrived the dust season was at its
height.
We didn't go to Fort Ward, but to Fort Richardson.
But it didn't matter. The difference was only in name.
It was simply a row of embankments, hastily thrown
up. It was on Arlington Heights, just across the river
from Washington. These so-called fortifications (still
there) were made for the protection of the capital, the
idea being then that the enemy was close at hand and
that it would be the scene of a battle in a day or so.
It was close enough to the city for visitors and fakirs.
The latter's name was legion. They sold all sorts of
useful and useless things to the soldier, the only one of
which that was any good being a combined pocket knife,
fork and spoon. No soldier ever had cause to regret
buying one of these useful articles. All the other things
were humbugs.
The tintype fiend was also numerously in evidence,
and there were few who didn't have "their pictures
took" in warlike array to send home to admiring and
awestruck friends and relatives.
But where was the baggage? Where were the tents?
Not a sign of them, and night was approaching. Jakey
Engle cooked our beans and made our coffee on time.
62 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER
but there were do signs of sleeping accommodations.
There was a general ''kick." The Thirteenth Eegi-
ment then and there began the kicking that they kept
up till the end of the war. There was an old saying in
the army that a soldier who didn't kick was no good.
In that particular sense there was no regiment in the
army that filled the requirements of good soldiers to a
greater extent than the Thirteenth New Jersey.
For the first time in the lives of the most of us we
went to bed outdoors on the bare ground, with nothing
over us except the stars. It is a singular sensation to
wake up in the night, chilled to the bone, and see the
bright stars overhead.
Many a man wished that night that he was between
the sheets of his comfortable bed at home. Patriotism
was at ebb tide, and at heart there were very few who
were not sorry they had enlisted.
"Wouldn't you rather be_setting type for an extra in
the Guardian office?" asked Davy Harris.
I honestly confessed that I would indeed.
"Don't get downhearted, boys," said John Stansfield.
" We have only 1,087 more days to serve."
"What's that?"
"I say we have only 1,087 more days to serve. You
see we enlisted for three years. That is 1,095 days.
We have been mustered in eight days. That leaves 1,087
yet to serve."
"Oh, but you know," said Harris, "that we enlisted
'for three years unless sooner discharged,' and as the
war won't last three years "
"Don't calculate too much on that," interrupted
Stansfield. ' ' I believe it is going to take more than three
years to settle this thing."
This was a dampening remark. I don't believe a
single one of the men imagined when he enlisted that
the war would last one year, let alone three. Such
language was not calculated to make us very cheerful.
And yet John Stansfield was pretty near right. It
lacked only a few weeks of three years when the Thir-
teenth Regiment was mustered out because their "serv-
ices were no longer required."
As to Stansfield's calculations: I don't believe there
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 63
was a soldier in the army who did not, every night,
mentally count up how many days had elapsed since his
enlistment, and "how many more days he had to serve."
This phase of the case certainly shows that army life
was not as enjoyable as some people think it was.
They counted the days yet remaining before they would
be discharged, the same as a convict does the remaining
days of his imprisonment.
As we lay there on the hard Virginia soil that night,
with the sky for a counterpane and the bright stars for
night lamps, not one appreciated the magnitude of the
struggle. Not one dreamed that the North would re-
quire 1,500,000 soldiers before the rebellion was sup-
pressed; that there would be 300,000 men killed; that
there would be between 400,000 and 500,000 wounded;
that the number who died from disease or exposure or
were included under that] wonderful and mysterious
heading of "missing," would aggregate some 300,000
more!
These are frightful statistics, but they are approxi-
mately true. So sleep on in ignorance of the awful
times to come ! Dream of home, soldier !
And so we slept.
64 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER*
CHAPTER XL
A RETREATING ARMY.
In the morning we were awakened by the mighty
tread of a moving army. And what an army! Thou-
sands upon thousands of men, whose dirty, filthy clothes
made a sorry contrast with our bright new uniforms ;
men with dirty, unkempt hair, worn out and pinched.
None of them carried knapsacks — nothing but a rolled
blanket hanging over one shoulder and tied under the
arms on the other side with a string. They resembled
horse collars. We wondered why this was done — why
they had discarded their knapsacks. We learned that
later.
There were troops and troops of cavalry and mounted
officers. There was an apparently interminable string
of flying artillery. And as for the army wagons, each
drawn by six braying mules, there was simply no end
of them.
But there was something else ! Blood !
Hundreds of two-wheeled ambulances came along;
glancing in we saw the form of a motionless soldier, or
perhaps two of them, and each one wearing a blood
stained bandage somewhere. There were soldiers
minus legs, soldiers minus arms, soldiers whose heads
were so swathed that only the eyes could be seen.
On foot were, seemingly, myriads of soldiers less
severely wounded, with bandages on their heads, with
their arms in slings, and not a white bandage could be
seen without the stain of blood oozing through. John
Ick's remark about a "slaughter house" was verified.
We encountered some Paterson boys in the passing
army — boys who had enlisted in the earlier regiments.
They were already veterans. Many had "smelled
powder." They had seen a battle. In fact they had
THE YOUWG VOLUNTEER. 65
been in a battle, and had been wounded. The privates
didn't know it, but the army was even then on the re-
treat, and falling back on Washington. The very-
capital was threatened.
Soldiers who participate in a battle don't know where
they are or what it is named. Historians give names
to battlefields. The one that had just taken place is
now known as "The Second Bull Run." Twice the
Army of the Potomac had been defeated on the same
ground at Manassas.
This battle was fought on August 29 and 30, 1862.
It was this battle that caused the peremptory tele-
graphic order for us to leave Camp Frelinghuysen at
once.
And on Monday night, September 1st, while we were
on the way the maneuvering of the armies precipitated
a second conflict between Hill's and Ewell's divisions
of Stonewall Jackson's troops on the Confederate side,
and the Union commands of Reno, Hooker and Kearny.
It was what was subsequently called the battle of Chan-
tilly. History tells us that one of Reno's divisions was
forced back in disorder, whereupon the intrepid Kearny
sont Birney's brigade to repair the break. A gap still
remained on Birney's right, and Kearny galloped for-
ward to reconnoiter.
It was here that the gallant Phil Kearny lost his life.
He had already lost an arm in a previous battle, and
more than once the soldiers saw him leading a charge
with his sword between his teeth, and guiding his horse
with his only hand. He was courageous to the degree of
recklessness. Unknowingly he penetrated the enemy's
lines and was killed. In grateful remembrance of his
services the State of New Jersey erected a handsome
bronze monument, which for a time stood in the State
House at Trenton, but which now stands in one of the
parks on Broad Street, Newark.
After the battle of Chantilly the Army of the Potomac
fell back within the fortifications of Washington. It
was this "falling back" that the Thirteenth Regiment
encountered a day or so after they had left their muster-
ing camp in Newark.
It was expected then and there that General Lee and
66 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
his whole army would be upon us in a few hours, and
we raw recruits were told that we would likely have a
battle soon. Was I frightened? Wasn't I? I can't
speak for the others, but as for myself I thought surely
that my days were numbered. When I enlisted I had
a remote idea that I might possibly, some day in the
far-off future, see a real battle; but this suddenness
was too much, and I was completely upset. The sight
of the vast retreating army ; the awful spectacle of the
blood stained wounded ; the prospects of an immediate
battle — well, it scared the whole lot of us.
"Scared," is the correct word. We were thoroughly
scared. And let me say right here that the man who
says he was not scared on the eve of a battle is a liar.
"You'll be sick of it before you're in it long," said
one of the veteran Jerseymen.
"We're sick of it already," was the reply.
And we were. If there had been any back way to
sneak home, I believe the whole lot of us would have
sneaked. Why did we enlist? Why were we such
fools? As for myself, I looked back over the previous
few days and traced it to the pound of cheese I had
carried around to Mr. Pennington's house. I never
looked at a piece of cheese without thinking of it. My
war experience and cheese are indissolubly connected.
But General Lee and his army didn't chase us clear into
Washington. Lee turned his face northward in search
of new fields to conqiier. Day after day passed, and no
enemy appeared, no fighting was done. Doubtless the
"big guns" knew what was going on, but we privates
were in ignorance. Privates never know anything.
They simply do as they are told. From the moment
they enlist they are shackled slaves, and some of the
officers were worse slave-drivers than ever cudgeled a
plantation negro.
The first scare soon wore off. It is always so with an
averted or delayed danger. For several days we had
things easy. Our belated Sibley tents arrived from
somewhere, the weather was fine, and we were comfor-
table, to say the least. We mingled with the old Jersey
soldiers and listened to their stories with interest — and
consternation. They soon convinced us that our enlist'
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 67
ment was not likely to be "a season of pleasure and
victorious conquest," but that we were about to undergo
hardships and sufferings then unknown to all but
veterans.
Congress was in session, then day and night, and some
of us went over on passes and saw the lawmakers at work.
I became acquainted with Senator McDougall,previousl3 r
governor of California. I don't remember exactly how
it was, but somehow he took a notion to me, and after-
ward proved a friend.
It was not all play, however. We were put through
much drilling, and kept at work with the pick and
shovel throwing up earthworks until our soft hands
were blistered. It is a big jump from setting type to
digging trenches.
"Sure'n I didn't 'list for this," said Reddy Mahar, one
afternoon, "I 'listed to fight the Johnny Rebs, and not
to dig holes in the ground. Be jabers, oim going to
sthrike!"
Lem Smith was of similar opinion. John Ick thought
it was a little better than a slaughter house anyway.
Jack Butter worth said it was harder than turning bob-
bins in Daggers & Row's shop. Curt Bowne thought it
a shame. Discontent ruled the whole line.
So an "indignation meeting" was held, and a com-
mittee appointed to "wait on the colonel." The colonel
said he had nothing to do with privates ; all complaints
must come through the captain. That was "according
to regulations." The committee then waited on the
captain.
"Go back to work, or you'll go to the guardhouse,"
said he. "A soldier has nothing to do except obey
orders. Your orders are to dig that trench."
"But," said the spokesman, "we enlisted for soldiers,
not to "
The sentence was interrupted by a peculiar drum
beat. The officers hurried to the colonel's tent. In a
moment Captain Irish returned and ordered Company
K to fall in.
The whole regiment assembled in dress parade.
Looking to the other camps we could see all the regi-
ments doing the same thing. The adjutant read an
68 THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER.
order. It was to the effect that General George B.
McClellan has been reassigned to the command of the
Army of the Potomac.
We all cheered. I didn't know why. Perhaps be-
cause all the other regiments were cheering. A mighty
chorus of hurrahs arose from the assembled army. The
raw recruits were not aware of the fact that McClellan,
no matter how much he might be in disfavor with the
''heavy weights" at the head of the government was
the idol of the older soldiers. His reassignment to com-
mand filled them with enthusiasm, and they cheered;
we cheered to be in fashion, if for nothing else.
But there was another order. It involved dropping
the pick and shovel, and so it ended Company K's
threatened "strike." It was an order to be in readiness
to move at a moment's notice.
That afternoon, Saturday, September 6, 1862, it got
out somehow that Lee with his whole army had skirted
Washington and was over in Maryland making his
way as fast as he could toward Pennsylvania. Unless
stopped the enemy would soon be through Delaware and
in New Jersey, on the way to New York.
Instinctively every man thought of his home and
family.
"Why didn't they keep us at Newark?" asked Jack
Butterworth. ' ' We would have been of more use there. ' '
"Oh, I guess we'll head them off," answered John
Stansfield. "Besides I'd rather be along with the rest
of the army than fighting the whole Southern Confed-
eracy with a single regiment."
So thought I. Besides, I rather liked the idea of Lee
and his army marching up Main street, Paterson. I'd
like to see an attack on the man who ordered that pound
of cheese. And I wondered how those patriotic citizens
who had induced me to enlist would act when they
got a dose of their own medicine.
We talked the matter over that night and speculated
on coming events till we v/ere tired, and finally went to
bed on our blanket mattresses in the comfortable Sibley
tents.
But not to sleep. We had scarcely closed our eyes,
when once more that infernal drum began beating in a
way we'd never heard it beat before.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. r 69
"What is that?" we asked.
"It's the long roll," said Sergeant Heber Wells, as
he stuck his head through the flap of our tent.
^The long roll? what does that mean?"
"It means to pack up, boys," replied the sergeant,
with considerable agitation manifested in his voice.
'Pack up at once, get ready for a long march. And be
quick about it. There's no time to lose."
What could it mean? Was the enemy unexpectedly
upon us, after all?
70 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XII.
A MARCH IN THE DARK.
Like the Arab of old we stole away in the night.
But not "quietly." It was with a noise and a clatter,
with cheer and jest, as if it were a moonlight excursion.
We were loaded like pack mules. Our haversacks were
stuffed with three days' rations. Our canteens were
filled to the brim. In our cartridge boxes were forty
rounds of ammunition, forty ounces of which were
leaden bullets. Our knapsacks were packed like Sara-
toga trunks, and the straps fairly cracked.
All went smoothly enough for a while, and we kept a
pretty good line as Ave crossed the aqueduct bridge into
Georgetown. And by the way Georgetown with its
surroundings looked then pretty much as it does now.
I remember well my last glance at Washington. In
the far distance was the Capitol, all lighted up, for
Congress was holding one of its usual night sessions. In
the rear of the "White House was a camp. I think it
was the Tenth New Jersey, which was detailed for guard
duty. Lucky Tenth ! Unlucky Thirteenth !
When I returned to Washington next, it was also in
the night. But I didn't see much of it. I was only a
wounded soldier, en route for the hospital. Never mind
now. That comes later, and much comes before it.
Unused as we were to marching, loaded down as we
were with superfluous weight, it soon began to tell on us.
One by one the raw and soft recruits began to fall by
the wayside, utterly exhausted. We were beginning
to appreciate the fact which all old soldiers knew by
experience, that if there is any one thing worse than a
battle it is a long march. Indeed for long-continued
suffering, for indescribable agony, both physical and
mental, for everything except the horror, marching is
vastly worse than fighting.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 71
To the veterans it was comparatively easy. They
were hardened, toughened. A thoroughly trained
athlete can run live, ten, or even fifteen miles. An un-
trained man would be fatigued at as many rods. We
were like a bicyclist when he starts to ride in the spring,
after a winter's rest. And the boys dropped from the
ranks like drops from an icicle in the sun.
I was young and wiry and stuck it out. But I was
glad enough when about midnight were: marched into a
big field ; our guns were stacked, and we threw ourselves
down on the ground, just as we were, for a few hours'
needed rest and sleep. Everybody was too tired to jest,
too tired to talk. We needed no rocking to sleep.
"Wake up, Joe, wake up! There's no rest for the
wicked."
It was John Stansfield, who was lying alongside me.
"What in thunder are you doing?" I demanded
angrily; "can't you let a fellow sleep?"
"Get up," he repeated, giving me a punch in the ribs,
"we've got to tramp again."
It was too true. We were ordered to fall in ; and we
hadn't rested an hour. It was a sleepy crowd that
formed the crooked line of men comprising Company K.
But it was dark and no one to see us. Furthermore
the officers were as sleepy as we were.
Now company officers march the same as the "men;"
but they have to carry no baggage. That is carried in
the wagons. All the foot officers have to carry is their
swords — and, generally, a flask! The officers higher
than captains rode horseback.
What we were aroused for unless to make us more
tired, I don't know. But we were marched up the road
and down the road and back again, halted and counter-
marched, until finally we were once more told to " break
ranks" in a field adjoining the first one, and once more
wa threw ourselves on the ground almost dead.
To a private soldier these mysterious movements were
always inexplicable. Every veteran can recall thou-
sands of such experiences which then seemed and seem
now to have been utterly unnecessary, and concocted
for no other purpose than to fatigue and annoy. The
misery, torture and suffering caused by these unexplained
maneuvers could never be described.
72 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
The next day was Sunday.
"I guess they'll give us a rest to-day," said John
Butterworth to me.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because it is Sunday. We haven't heard the chap-
lain yet. You know he's to preach every Sunday, and
of course we can't march and go to church at the same
time."
I had forgotten the chaplain. He was Rev. T.
Romeyn Beck. He is still living, and is pastor of a
church in California. He was a nice sort of a fellow,
but didn't do much preaching, if I remember correctly.
The chaplain wore a uniform of solemn black, even to
the buttons. He rode with the colonel and major and
altogether had quite a soft snap of it.
Chaplains didn't do much fighting. They were sup-
posed to administer spiritual consolation on the battle-
field; but as a usual thing they, like the old war-horse,
"smelled the battle from afar." The rate of mortality
among the chaplains was not high. I don't think the
life insurance companies classed them as "extra haz-
ardous." I don't say our chaplain was never in a bat-
tle ; but I can say I never saw him in one. But then
perhaps I was generally too scared to see anybody in
particular.
But nevertheless Chaplain Beck was a nice man and
kind to us soldier boys. The chaplain was usually
the regimental postmaster. I forget whether Chaplain
Beck or the one who succeeded him was the victim of a
cruel joke late in the campaign, which I might as well
tell here as anywhere.
There had been no mail for several weeks and the
boys were getting impatient to hear from home. They
fairly pestered the life out of the chaplain to know when
the mail would be in. He couldn't go anywhere or at-
tempt to do a thing without meeting some one with the
inquiry about mail. There is a limit to the endurance
even of clergymen. Getting tired of answering questions
the following notice was posted outside the chaplain's
tent:
"The chaplain does not know when the mail will be
in."
THE TO UNO- VOLUNTEER. 73
The boys didn't like this. It was shutting them off
too summarily . Finally a wag got a piece of charcoal
and made an addition to the sign.
All the bo} r s tittered when they saw it, but sneaked
out of sight when they saw Colonel Carman approach-
ing. He gave one glance at the sign in front of the
tent, and then stuck his head in the opening.
"Say, cap," said he, addressing the chaplain, "what
sort of a notice is this you have out here?"
"Oh," replied ho, "the boys are bothering me so
much about the mails that I thought I would post a
general answer, so that they may all read it."
"But isn't the language rather rough?" inquired the
colonel.
"It's all right, isn't it?"
"Just look at it and see how it reads, cap."
The chaplain stepped out, bareheaded, and this is the
sign that met his astonished gaze :
"The chaplain doea not know when the mail will be
in — neither does he care a damn!"
That sign came down, and never again did anything
of the kind appear in front of his tent.
But this is a digression. We will dismiss the chap-
lain by saying that we had no religious services that
day, nor for many a long day.
Neither were we allowed to have a rest. Tired and
stiff as we were, with our legs cramped and sore, with
blood in our shoes from chafed feet, wo were relentlessly
ordered to fall in to resume the pitiless march.
And never shall I forget that day !
74 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XIII.
SUNSTRUCK.
No, never shall I forget that day — that hot Sunday,
September 7, 1862.
The sun rose like a red, burnished copper globe. Not
a breath of air was stirring. The atmosphere was
torrid, stifling, enervating. It was pitilessly hot. And
we were stiff, sore, and filled with strange pains and
aches from the previous night's march.
But what mattered that? What were the personal
suffering of individuals in a vast army! Cruel and re-
lentless it seemed to us, raw recruits that we were, fresh
from the customary considerations of civil life, that we
should be forced to resume the terrible march.
And here let me state a curious fact. Any one would
naturally imagine that the men who best stood the
rigors of an army march would be those who filled the
hardest positions in civil life. An express- wagon driver,
accustomed to lifting heavy boxes; a back wood sman,
inured to hardships and exposure; a blacksmith or a
day laborer — these are the men one would imagine the
best toughened for soldier life. But such was not the
case. The men who stood it out the best were those
who were accustomed to the lightest work at home.
Bookkeepers, dry goods clerks, men who never lifted
anything heavier than a ledger or a roll of calico — these
were the men who could endure the most hardship and
fatigue.
Any old officer of the army will tell you that this is
so. It is a singular fact. It was often discussed and
commented upon, but no explanation was ever given.
It was simply so and that settled it.
And so it was on this hot September morning. The
men who had been regarded, the most hardy seemed to
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 75
suffer the most. Those who had had the hardest phys-
ical labor at home were the stiffest, the sorest, the most
complaining. Although I had never had hard work in
the printing office and was not naturally robust, I prob-
ably suffered as little as anybody, as far as physical
ailment was concerned, except for the intolerably raw
blisters on my feet, caused by the unpliable brogans and
thick coarse stockings, the latter being so much too
large that they were as full of wrinkles as the skin of a
hippopotamus.
There was one thing that worried me that morning,
however. It was the heat, and threatened promise of
what we now call "a scorcher." I never could stand
the fierce rays of the summer sun ; but never dreaded it
so much as I did that morning. Was it a presentiment
of what was to happen? Who knows?
That morning was our first experience with "hard-
tack." Hitherto we had had fresh bread; but that
"soft stuff" had run out, and we were compelled to
draw upon the rations in our haversacks. Now, as ex-
plained in a previous chapter, a hard -tack is an innocent-
and soft-looking thing. But he who tackles one finds
that he is a victim of misplaced confidence. They look
like soda crackers. But they are not soda crackers.
When I struck the first one I thought that I had en-
countered an unusually ancient specimen. I could make
no more impression on it than a missionary could on the
heart of a Fiji cannibal. I turned to my comrade,
Heber Wells, and saw him trying to pull a tooth. At
least so it seemed. He was only trying to get a bite out
of the hard-tack.
"How does it go?" I asked.
"Don't go at all," he replied. "How do you eat these
things, anyhow?"
"I tell you how I did it," said John Stansfield. "I
smashed mine between a couple of stones."
"By jimminey," said John Ick, "I tried that, and by
jimminey I proke dose stones alrettj 7 , and never proke
dot, vat you callem, dot hart-tack. ' '
Jake Engle had, however, got a pointer from^one of
the older soldiers, who had taught him how to made
"lobskouse." Now what bread and butter is to a person
76 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
at home, that is "lobskouse" to the soldier. Here is
the way to make the great army dish.
Take a bit of fat pork and melt it over the fire in a
frying-pan or tin plat9. Break up the hard-tack into
small pieces and drop it into the frying fat. Let the
whole mess sizzle together until the cracker is saturated
with the fat and the result is a product that looks and
tastes like pie crust. It is quite palatable. The crack-
ers are softened and you can eat the stuff, and over a
million men could testify that it would sustain life.
Where all other supplies were unattainable, "lobskouse"
was generally available, and scarcely a day passed but
that it did not form the principal dish for at least one
meal.
Indigestible stuff, you say? Well, who ever heard
of a soldier having dyspepsia? Of all the ailments that
came along to make the soldier's life miserable, indi-
gestion was one of the things he never complained of.
Ye dyspeptics, who swallow nostrums and patent med-
icines by the barrel, consider the ways of the soldiers
and be wise. Go to the war and be shot, and you'll
have no more dyspepsia. Nor will you have any more
even if you are not shot.
As soon as we had gulped down our lobskouse and
black coffee, we fell in and were marched down to the
edge of the field near the highway. There we waited
for an hour or more, watching the passing troops. Was
there no end to them? The line seemed interminable.
Infantry, cavalry, artillery, baggage wagons and am-
bulances, in an endless row — the men and horses four
abreast, the wagons and cannons two abreast. They
were mostly old soldiers, and, of course, dirty soldiers.
They looked like tramps. But few carried knapsacks.
They carried their blankets in a roll over their
shoulders.
Each of the men carried a quart cup or a tomato can,
tied to his haversack. These had wire handles or bales,
making them into little tin pails. Each one was as
black as a stovepipe from smoke. We did not know
then what we learned afterward, that the tin pails con-
stituted the main cooking utensil of the army. On the
march and field every man is his own cook.
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 77
Some carried frying-pans. At each step the tin pails,
canteens and other things rattle together with a "clink-
ety -clink," "clinkety -clink" that sounded like an or-
chestra of cracked cowbells. In the still of the night
you could hear the clatter of the tinware of an army
miles away. All this was new to us raw recruits.
After an apparently interminable wait, we were
finally ordered to fall in the seemingly endless proces-
sion. The trouble began.
Now those who have never marched in an army know
nothing of the most exasperating features. When you
see a company or regiment of militia marching up a
street you are pleased with the regularity of the step
and the nicely maintained distance between the lines.
But suppose a train came along while crossing the
railroad, or a street car gets into the way, there is a
break and delay. When the obstruction is removed,
the rear of the column has to march in quick step to
close up the gap caused by the forward end keeping on
the go while the rear is stopped.
In the army there were such obstructions in the shape
of broken wagons or caissons, narrow bridges, or brooks
to cross. The front men narrowed the width of the
column and marched past, while the rear slowed up.
With a few men this amounted to nothing ; but when
extended down and through a line of thousands or tens
of thousands, those in the rear had frequent halts of
half an hour or so, and then a stiff race of five or ten
minutes to catch up. This was very wearing and fa-
tiguing. Old soldiers knew enough to lie down every
minute they could and reserve their strength and en-
durance. We were ignorant.
As the sun rose in the sky it grew hotter and hotter.
It was a perfect broil. The perspiration fell in streams
from our faces and rolled down our backs. Our thick
underclothing stuck to our skin like wet sheets. Our
backs began to ache. The numerous straps on our
shoulders cut into the very flesh. Whatever way we
carried our guns they seemed heavier than before. It
was torture. Nine out of ten men were limping as if
lame from the constantly increasing size of the raw
blisters on their feet.
•78 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
We Were in Maryland and were to march, it was
said, until we reached Rockville. How far was it? we
asked the first "native' ' we encountered. ' ' Right about
nine mile, I reckon," he said.
After marching an hour or so longer we asked another
Maryland rustic how far it was to Rockville.
"Right about nine mile!"
And so it was. Everybody we asked, no matter how
much further we went, "reckoned it were about nine
mile."
I saw the other fellows lightening their load and fol-
lowed suit. First went an extra suit of underclothes.
"Every little helps." A while later and I discarded by
the wayside a comb and brush, a shaving set, a box of
blacking and brush. "Every pound counts." A mile
further and I pulled out two cakes of soap, a couple of
towels, a pincushion and sewing case. "A little bet-
ter."
But no use. What the others were doing I would do.
It seemed a pity to throw away the nice overcoat and
blouse and dress coat, but they had to go. And finally
the knapsack itself followed, leaving nothing but the
rubber and woolen blankets. The heaviest thing of all,
the cartridge box, we couldn't discard, for soldiers must
fight. The most useful things, the haversack and
canteen, we stuck to, for soldiers must eat and drink.
The road for miles was strewn with things that cost
the government much money. But what odds? Uncle
Sam was rich, and we were only doing what every new
soldier had done before us and what all soldiers will
do hereafter, to the beginning of the millennium when
there will be no more war. By noon we were, that is
the most of us, down to the lightest marching order of
the oldest veterans in the line.
As I intimated, not all of us. Some sturdy fellows
stuck to their loads. Sergeant Heber Wells, for in-
stance, who did not discard a single article from his
stuffed knapsack, nor that comical fellow "Jeff Davis,"
who all through the war persisted in carrying two
knapsacks.
The pitiless sun shortly after noon began to get in its
fine work. One by one the men fell out. Hank Van
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ?9
Orden was the first of Company K to succumb. His
mind suddenly grew flighty, he mumbled a few inar-
ticulate meaningless words, threw up his arms, gave a
yell, and fell like a log, senseless. He was rolled to the
side of the road and left "for the ambulance to pick up. "
A moment later Lem Smith raised his hands, clutched the
air, and fell. John Snyder dropped like a bullock felled
with an axe. Poor John Ick, who had quite appro-
priately been prating about "slaughter nouses" and
"shambles," was the next victim. Soon after fat John
Farlow staggered to the side path and threw himself
down in the miserable shade of a rail fence. Archy
Todd reeled like a top two or three times, and fell for-
ward on his face in the dusty road.
And so it went. By 3 o'clock in the afternoon not
thirty of the ninety members of Company K were in
the line, and it was correspondingly the same in all
the other companies of the regiment. There were per-
haps three times as many members of the Thirteenth
stretched along the roadside than there were in the ranks.
Aside from the suffering from the sun and the torture
from the heavy load and from our bleeding feet, there
was a marked mental depression, consequent upon the
sight of so many of our comrades falling out. It is a
well-known fact that when one or two girls faint in a
mill or in a school, a dozen will do likewise. _ Any old
factory foreman or teacher will tell you this. To a
certain extent the same species of hysteria affects men.
I know it affected me.
And as said before, I never could stand the sun.
What I suffered that day no man can ever know unless
he has been through the same experience.
Along about 3 o'clock I guess it was, I suddenly
noticed that the trees and fences were beginning to
dance. The soldiers in front of me were turning rapid
somersaults. There was a horrible sickness of the
stomach and my head seemed about to split open !
For an instant tho air was full of stars ! Then the sky
turned green ! Then black !
Then — utter oblivion !
J was sunstruck !
80 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XIV.
AT ROCKVILLE.
"No, he isn't going to die. He'll come around all
right."
"It was a close shave, though; wasn't it, doctor?"
"Yes, it was. But the danger is over now. Keep
him right here under the shade of this tree, and keep
the towel on his head wet with cool water. Don't give
him any more of the brandy without letting me know
first."
This is part of a conversation I hear, in a dim, hazy
sort of a way. It seems afar off, or as if in another
room, through partly closed doors. Yet it is distinct,
in a certain way. What does it mean? Oh, how my
head aches !
Where am I? What has happened? What am I
doing here, with my head done up in wet towels, lying
on the grass under a tree? For a moment I think I am
on my old grandfather's farm, lying in the orchard, as
I used to do. But that pain in my head ! What does
it mean? And I feel so sick — oh, so sick !
I open my eyes and dimly see the men moving about.
Ha! There's Liv Allen and Davy Harris. It's the
Guardian office. There's been an accident somehow,
and I've been hurt. I'll ask. But wait. How funny
they look, all dressed in blue. Where are their work-
ing aprons? I can't think. It's too much. My head!
My head ! I cannot rest a bit. Let me think. Where
am I?
"Fall in for your supper, boys."
What's that I hear? "Boys?" "Supper." "Fall
in!" Oh, my head! How bewildered I am ! Oh!
In a minute, as if by magic, a veil seems to roll away
and I recognized the voice I had heard as Jake Engle's,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. SI
Jake ! Oh, yes, Jake, who has been appointed company-
cook, the cook for Company K, when in camp. It's all
coming back now. I remember, I enlisted. Yes, that
march. The men falling around us, like so many ten-
pins. The terrible heat, I remember now. "Was I too
sunstruck?
With an effort I pull myself together and speak.
Who was leaning over me but the captain, the kind-
hearted Captain Irish — who had less than ten days more
to live himself !
"How do you feel, Joe?" he asked, taking my hand.
"Got a terrible headache," I replied. "But what
happened? Was I sunstruck?"
"Yes, but you're all right now, the doctor says."
The captain then told me that I had fallen out, like
the others, a little after 3 o'clock, and that it was now
after 6. I had been picked up and brought along by
one of the ambulances. I had been unconscious for
nearly three hours, and at one time they thought I was
dead.
The captain told me that we were at a place called
Rockville, in the State of Maryland, twenty-two miles
from Washington ; we had only marched fourteen miles
that day, but the sun was so hot and the boys so unused
to marching that when they reached the camping-place,
about 5 o'clock, there were less than two hundred of
the Thirteenth present. Out of nine hundred men, only
two hundred stood it out. Seven hundred men had suc-
cumbed to the fierce heat of that hot September day and
fallen by the wayside !
No man ever fully recovers from the effects of a gen-
uine sunstroke. I have suffered from it in more ways
than one, ever since. A few moments in the hot sun is
sure to bring on symptoms that are danger- singals for
precautionary measures. Perhaps that sunstroke has
been the cause of many subsequent sins of omission and
commission. I trust that my critics will bear this in
mind and make allowance for shortcomings !
Captain Irish had in his hand as he spoke to me a box
of some sort of salve or ointment. Noticing my inquir-
ing look, he said :
82 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
" When they pulled off your shoes, I noticed that your
feet were bleeding from the blisters. I had some oint-
ment that Mrs. Irish made. It is from an old family
receipt. I think your feet won't hurt you so much
now."
"But, captain," I interrupted. "You don't mean to
say you have been rubbing my feet with ointment?
You did not do it yourself, 1 hope:"'
His answer made a lump come into my throat.
"Why certainly, Joe. Why not?"
I turned my head, because I did not want him to see
the tears in my eyes. Just think of it ! A captain bath-
ing the sore feet of a private ! How many soldiers in
the army can recall a case like that? But there was
only one Captain Irish. Do you wonder his men learned
to worship him in the short time he lived to serve his
country? Do you wonder that his old soldiers touch
their hats reverently to this day, when his name is men-
tioned? Not only was he a brave patriot, but a kind,
tender-hearted man, beloved as a father by the men in
his company.
But no matter what the after effect may be, the im-
mediate recuperative powers inherent in a healthy boy
of seventeen or eighteen are wonderful, and with the
exception of a slight headache and general played-
outness, I felt quite well the next day, and went around
pretty much as the others.
The men who had fallen out like myself had returned
to the regiment and we again assumed the appearance
of a camp.
To enhance our comfort our big Sibley tents arrived
from somewhere unknown to us, and we were soon in
as good a shape as at Camp Frelinghuysen in Newark,
with the exception that there were a number who were
still somewhat under the weather from the unaccus-
tomed exposure and the fatigue of the march.
This resulted in the introduction of, to us, a new feat-
ure of army experience, the surgeon. Dr. Love and his
assistant, Dr. Freeman, had put up their medical tent,
and started business. And they were doing quite a
business.
The sick soldiers in the army are divided into three
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 83
classes. One class includes those who are confined to
their tents ; the second those who are confined to the
hospital ; and the third those who are able to go to the
surgical headquarters for their medicine. Those in the
hospital or tents were visited as often as necessity re-
quired — the same as a doctor would do in civil life.
With the others it was as follows :
Every morning at 8 o'clock the drummer and fifer
detailed at the regiment headquarters would sound the
"sick call." The tune played by the fifer was some-
thing like "Johnny, get your gun," but the way the
boys interpreted it was this :
" Come, get your blue pills,
Blue pills, blue pills,
Come, get your blue pills,
Blue pills, blue. "
The point of this was that it was a tradition in the
army that the surgeons had onl} T one kind of medicine,
and that was calomel; or as commonly called, "blue
pills." If a soldier had a headache or a sore toe, the
remedy was a blue pill. If an indiscreet forager had
indulged in too much surreptitious green corn, the proper
remedy was a blue pill. If in the ordinary course of
events the ailment was of a contrary character, what
you wanted was a good dose of blue pills. No matter
what was the matter, the remedy was blue pills.
I am not a doctor. Whether there was any truth in
this story about blue pills being a regulation pan-
acea for all the ills that flesh is heir to, I am unable to
affirm. All that I can say is that it was an army tra-
dition, and I appeal to veterans for verification. Hence
the familiar words that the boys tacked on to "the sick
call."
From the indications surrounding us we privates
naturally imagined that we were going to have a long
stay at Rockville camp. It was a pretty spot and we
were nothing loath. We did not know that it was but
a temporary halt of a pursuing army.
General Lee and the Confederate forces were march-
ing up into Maryland somewhere ahead of us. The
commanders of the Union army were, it seems, a little
84 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
at a loss as to just what point Lee was steering for.
That naturally involved the route we were to take.
There were several roads to select from, but the ques-
tion was which one would best intercept the enemy in
his northward course. The enemy's intentions were
therefore an essential requisite.
Such information was obtained by scouts, or by cav-
alry reconnoisances. To make these investigations and
bring back a non-conflicting report, occupied a day or
so's time. That was what we were waiting for.
The head officers knew all this, of course; but we
privates did not. The rank and file of an army know
no more about what they are doing, why they stop here
and go there, than so many sheep. We naturally sup-
posed just then that we were going to have a good rest
— to "wait till it got a little cooler."
In the light of history we know now that General
McClellan ascertained that the enemy's objective point
was the great strategic position of Harper's Ferry.
Hence McClellan picked out a route that converged
with that of the enemy so that the two armies would
probably intersect near South Mountain. And so they
did! That is just where they "intersected."
While at Rockville we were "brigaded." That
means that we were assigned to a particular section of
the army. We were put in General Gordon's brigade
of General William's division of General Bank's corps.
The other regiments of our brigade were the Second
Massachusetts, the Third Wisconsin, the Twenty-
seventh Indiana, and the One Hundred and Seventh
New York. With the exception of the latter and the
Thirteenth Regiment, they were all veterans, and ranked
with the best fighting troops of the army. Phew ! we
didn't relish that much !
General Gordon, the brigade commander, was a West
Point graduate, and former Colonel of the Second Mas-
sachusetts. Colonel Ruger, of the Third Division, was
also a West Pointer. He is now a major-general in the
regular army.
About noon on Tuesday, September 9, 1862, our hopes
of a long rest were suddenly dispelled by an order to
fall in at once to resume the march.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 85
This order was accompanied by instructions that
seemed to mean business. It was that we would pro-
ceed in ' ' light marching order. ' ' We were told to leave
behind our commodious Sibley tents (which we never
laid eyes on again). We were soon told to leave our
knapsacks. Most of those had been left by the way-
side ; but that was the order to be obeyed by those who
had stuck to their "trunks."
"What does this mean?" I asked one of the Second
Massachusetts veterans.
"It means a fight!" said he.
86 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XV.
A BIVOUAC.
"A FIGHT?"
"Yes."
"A battle?"
"Yes."
"What makes you think so?"
"Oh," calmly replied the Second Massachusetts man,
"we old soldiers know the signs. When you have been
halted a day or so, and then suddenly along comes an
order to get up and git, in light marching order, that
generally means that you are going to get into a
l scrimmage mighty soon, or somewhere pretty near it."
"How does a fellow feel when he gets into a battle?"
I asked, nervously.
"Are you scared?" he asked.
"Well, no; not exactly that. But I don't feel com-
fortable."
"Own up now, like a man, that you're scared."
"Well— a little bit."
To tell the truth my teeth were chattering.
"You'll be scared a darned sight worse, I reckon,"
said the unfeeling bean-eater. ' ' Scared is no name for
it. The man never lived that wasn't scared in a battle.
Put that down. But the worst part of it is just before
you go in — when you're waiting to go in." (A soldier
always referred to entering a battle as "going in.")
"What are your sensations then?"
"Pshaw, pard, I couldn't begin to tell you, except
that you're scared, awfully scared, and that's all there
is about it."
"Were you ever wounded?"
"No; nor I don't want to be, neither. If ever I'm
shot, I want to be plunked dead and be done with it.
I've seen enough men wounded not to care to be
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 8?
wounded myself. But it's no use o' my telling you.
From the looks o' things I guess you'll know all about
it yourself before long. ' '
Now this was interesting talk, wasn't it? It made
the patriotism ooze out of my little toe. What with the
marching ] and the hot weather and the horrible pros-
pects ahead, I was rapidly becoming very sorry that I
had been such a fool as to enlist.
But soldiers are kept too busy to have much time for
reflection, and activity is the best possible antidote for
depression of spirits. The preparations for the start
engrossed our attention. And after the customary pre-
liminary delay we were again on the march. Quite a
number of sick and disabled men were left behind to
catch up with the regiment when they had recovered.
In the Union army, as it started on thai Maryland
campaign, there were about one hundred thousand men.
General Lee's army contained about sixty thousand
men. We were about five to three of the enemy. Per-
haps had we known that then, we would have felt a
little better. And then again, perhaps we wouldn't !
The army moved forward in three columns — that is,
by three roads. History tells us that the right wing,
under General Burnside, comprised the latter's own
corps and that of General Hooker. This was on the
right. The center column was composed of Generals
Sumner and Mansfield's corps, under command of
Sumner. General Franklin's corps and General
Couch's division were on the left, while General Fitz-
John Porter and his troops brought up the rear.
We know all this now. We didn't at the time. All
that we knew, was that we were part and parcel of a
string of soldiers of apparently countless numbers,
marching along toward some fate, we knew not what.
John Ick said it was to "a slaughter house."
After a march that was not so fatiguing as that to
Rockville, for the weather was slightly cooler and we
were getting somewhat used to it, we encamped for the
night at a place called Middlebrook. Here we were
initiated into the art of "every man his own cook."
I don't know where all the tomato cans came from.
Perhaps they were discarded relics of the officers' mess,
88 THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER.
for the officers' provisions were carried in the baggage
wagons and usually comprised a greater variety than
the menu of the "men." Perhaps it will not be gen-
erally remembered that this was before the days of
canned goods. Tomatoes and sardines were about the
only things put up in tin cans in 1862. Fresh vege-
tables were not attainable the year round, as they are
now.
Some of the boys had provided themselves with little
tin pails; I had not, but I was fortunate enough to find
a tomato can and a piece of wire, and making a bale of
the latter I soon had a little pail. These tomato cans
were a good deal better than the "boughten" pails, for,
the tin being thinner, you could boil water quicker, and
when the can gets too much smoked and burned you
could throw it away and pick up another.
Taking some lessons from the older soldiers, we pre-
pared our own suppers. For the edification of house-
wives and cooks I'll tell you how we soldiers made
coffee.
Take a tomato-can pail and fill it with water from
the nearest spring or brook. Take a handful of ground
coffee from your haversack and sprinkle it on top of the
water; the most of it will float. Get a long stick and
put the pail on the end of it and hold it over the fire.
Of course a dozen or fifteen other fellows are scrambling
for the hottest place in the fire with their coffee pails,
and you must fight for your chance. You're lucky if
you don't get a plunk in the nose. After awhile the
water begins to boil, and suddenly the coffee rises to the
top, in a creamy sort of a chocolate color. Then quickly
dash from your canteen a squirt or so of cold water.
Instantly the grounds will settle to the bottom and your
coffee will be quite clear. As the orthodox recipes say,
"serve hot."
That is the way army coffee is made and it isn't bad
either. At least it is as good as coffee can be without
cream. We had sugar and "sweetened to taste," and
generally drank right out of the tin pail, for cups were
a useless bother.
With a bit of fat pork toasted in the fire on the end
of a stick, and the hard-tack somewhat softened by
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 89
soaking in the coffee, it made a tolerably fair meal.
And this was the average meal of the Union soldier on
the march throughout the war. Somehow we got a
knack of cracking the hard-tack with our teeth and they
by no means seemed as hard as at first. A hard-tack is
similar to the Hebrew unleavened bread of Passover
times. In fact it is practically the same. No salt is
used in its manufacture, and if kept dry it will last for
years. Hence that brand of "B. C." wouldn't be so
inappropriate after all.
It must be acknowledged that there could be no more
picturesque sight than an army of soldiers in bivouac
after a day's march. When the order came to halt,
which was generally in the vicinity of some body of
fresh water, say a brook or a spring or lake, there
would be a general scramble for fuel. The choicest
fuel of all was a rail fence. Then the dry twigs that
lay around under the trees. Then the trees themselves.
Then the boards and shingles from every old house and
barn in sight.
An enormous flock of Nebraska grasshoppers could
not create such sudden devastation. In five minutes
not a vestige of a rail fence could be seen. A pretty
strong guard was the only way of preventing the im-
mediate demolishing of a building. In three days'
time, should the army stop, nothing but stumps could
be seen where there had stood a vast forest. In a
friendly section certain restrictions were placed on the
troops. In an enemy's country, unlimited license to
destroy was the unwritten law.
There were generally one or two camp fires to a com-
pany, besides additional ones for the officers, and at the
respective headquarters. In the one hundred thousand
troops encamped that night there were perhaps two
thousand or two thousand five hundred campfires.
The encamping army covered ground twelve or sixteen
miles square.
Just imagine a grand concourse of soldiers scattered
over a tract of land ten or fifteen miles square. Scatter
among these two or three thousand bonfires, each one
producing a big volume of smoke. Around each fire a
crowd of men, cooking their suppers, smoking their
90 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
pipes, singing and laughing. Add the indescribable
braying of the mules, a fife and drum here, a bugle
there and occasionally a brass band (there weren't many
of them) playing. Imagine all this, and you'll have a
vague sort of an idea of the army as it stopped that
night at Middlebrook, Maryland.
And the songs the soldiers used to sing! It mattered
not how little one knew how to sing, he was expected to
join in the chorus. When on the march, and not too
tired, the whole army would suddenty break out with
that famous old song to the tune of "John's Brown's
body:"
" We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
While his soul goes marching on."
When sitting around the campfire a different class
of songs were sung, such as "Dixie" :
" I wish I was in de land of cotton
Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom
Look away, look away, look away to Dixie land."
Or another to which an additional verse was added
for each year the war continued, which ran :
" In eighteen hundred and sixty-one
Free-ball! Free-ball!
In eighteen hundred and sixty-one
Free-ball! Free-ball!
In eighteen hundred and sixty-one
The war had then but just begun
And we'll all drink stone blind,
Johnny, fill up the bowl. "
The latter verse will no doubt cause a smile to appear
on the lips of all soldiers who see it, for it will involun-
tarity recall to their mind the text of some of the others,
which would hardly look well in print !
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. §1
CHAPTER XVI.
A GREEN PICKET.
In the previous chapter I told how the boj T s were sit-
ting around the Middlebrook camp fires, smoking and
singing. But "there were others," as the saying goes,
and these were on picket duty. Every night, whether
in camp or on the march, a certain number of men are
detailed to do picket duty. They are to watch that the
enemy doesn't get in, and that the soldiers don't get out.
One of Company K's picket detail was the irrepressi-
ble John Ick. The officer of the guard had a hard time
instructing John Ick in the duties of a sentry. John's
post, by the way, was under a tree at the edge of a
wood. It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that there
wasn't a "Johnny Reb" within thirty or forty miles.
But John took the assignment with great dignity, with
as much apparent determination to do his duty as if the
woods swarmed with the soldiers of the enemy.
"Now you must be very careful," said Lieutenant
Scott, the officer of the guard. "You must not let any
one pass without the countersign."
"Vot vas the goundersign, Mr. Scott?" asked Ick.
"It is a word that must be whispered 'in your ear like
this — ' Brandy wine. ' That' s the countersign. ' '
"Brandywine. Oh, yes, I'll remember dot; dat is
something to trink, like lager beer. I'll just think by
ein glass lager beer, and don't forget dot what you call
him — dot gountersign."
Lieutenant Scott instructed Ick in the modus oper-
andi of treating approaching friend or foe during the
night, and particularly enjoined upon him not to let his
gun pass out of his hands, no matter who it might be.
Nor must he let any one pass without the countersign.
93 THE TOUNa VOLUNTEER.
"Not even der captain?" asked Ick.
"No, not even the captain."
"Nobotty?"
1 ' Nobody whatever. ' '
"Now I onderstand, dot's all ri-et," said John.
"Iffer everybotty comes by here vot don't des gounter-
sign have, I shoot 'em, eh?"
Later in the night Lieutenant Scott suggested to Cap-
tain Irish that he test John Ick while he was on his
post. He did so.
"Who comes there, alretty?" demanded Ick. This
was the correct salutation, for a wonder, except for the
"alretty."
"It's I — Captain Irish," was the reply.
"Oh, dot's all ri-et. How you was, captain? It was
a nice night, ain't it?"
"Yes, a very nice night. But say, John, you are not
holding your gun right. Let me show you."
Ick handed the captain his rifle.
"You must hold it this way," said the captain, bring-
ing it to a "charge bayonet" and touching John with
the point of it against his stomach.
"Don't do dot captain; by gimminey, you almost
stick it through me alretty."
"Now look here, John," said the captain severely,
"supposing I wasn't Captain Irish. Suppose I was a
rebel."
"But you vasn't no reppel, I know'd you was Cap-
tain Irish."
"Yes, but suppose it was so dark you couldn't see
me, or suppose it was General McClellan?"
"Dot would be all riet, not?"
"But suppose it was some one else who passed him-
self off under a false name, and after getting your gun,
killed you?"
"Mine Gott ! I dont't think py dot. "
"Now, John," said the captain, kindly, "I only did
this to try you. Let it be a lesson. Never let your gun
out of your hands while on picket, not even if it is the
President of the United States."
"By gimminey, I don'd give dot gun to Kaiser Wil-
helm if he comes any more."
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 93
John Ick evidently understood this part of the busi-
ness now. And let me say right here that that identical
test was tried on every new recruit in the army, and in
five cases out of ten with a similar result.
About an hour afterward the "grand rounds" came
along. The "grand rounds" was a regular nocturnal
visit, usually about midnight, to test the vigilance of
the picket lines. Some high officer, but more generally
the officer of the day, accompanied by a small body
guard, performed it. As they approached John Ick
they were met with the regulation salutation :
""Who comes there?"
"The grand rounds."
"The grand rounds," answered Ick, "I don' d know
vat dot grand rounds vas, but you don'd fool me any
more alretty like dot Captain Irish. I vas holdiug dot
gun all ri-et, and don'd you forget it."
"What nonsense is this?" asked the grand officer,
stepping forward.
"No you don'd do dot," exclaimed Ick. "You don'd
got my gun some more, and 3-ou don'd go!; py here ober
you don'd say dot gountersign. Say lager beer!"
"What?" exclaimed the astonished officer.
"Say lager beer."
"What is lager beer? What do you mean by that,
you stupid blockhead?" demanded the officer.
"Dot vas de gountersign alretty. You dond pass by
ober you dond say lager beer."
"Who told you the countersign was lager beer?"
"Mister Scott."
"Who is Mister Scott?"
"Vy, don't you know him? Dot vas Jim, der luff-
tennant by Company K. "
"Did he tell you the countersign was lager beer?"
"Yah."
"Didn't he say Brandywine?"
"Brandywine? Oh, ya! Dot vas it. I forgot him
alretty. I know'd it vas something to drink, and I
thought it was lager boer, py gimminey. You shust
say Brandywine. Dat's all ri-et!"
"How long have you been in the service?" asked
the officer.
94' TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
\ "Vot service?"
"The army. How long have you been a soldier?"
"Oh, about six week, alretty."
"Been on picket before?"
"Nein. Dot vos de first times."
"I thought so," said the grand officer. And then he
proceeded to explain that he must never give away the
countersign ; that it must come from the person who
wanted to get past, and not from the soldier on guard.
Although outwardly severe, the officersmade all allow-
ances for such green recruits. It was the way they in-
structed them in their duties. And it made a more
lasting lesson than any amount of school class tuition.
John Ick learned his lesson well, and was proven to be
a faithful picket on many a subsequent occasion.
The incidents just related were duplicated in a thou-
sand instances. The men, taken from all phases of life,
were utterl} r ignorant of military duty. There was not
time to put them through a regular graduated course of
instruction, and they were taught in this eminently
practical way.
The next morning, September 10th, the Thirteenth,
with its brigade companies, marched off on a line about
parallel to the Baltimore and Ohio railroad. The dis-
tance covered on that day and the next was short, and
the marches were comparatively easy.
Excitement began to be manifested, however, from
the fact that we began to see evidences that the enemy
had passed along that way not many days previous.
There were signs of camps from the ashes where there
had been fires. The rail fences had disappeared. In
fact the trail of the military serpent was everywhere
visible.
It was evident to all that we were getting into close
quarters. There were frequent consultations among the
officers, and an increase in their earnestness and in the
severity of their orders. A peculiar atmosphere of im-
pending disaster surrounded us that was indescribable.
That sensation is a familiar one to old soldiers, but it
was our first experience and there was an uncanny
weirdness about it that was not at all pleasant.
We were not quite so close upon the enemy, however,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 95
as we private soldiers imagined, although, as it subse-
quently transpired, a couple of days more marching
would bring us in sight of the ''Johnnies."
On the 12th of September we suddenly came to quite
a good sized stream. We were told it was the Monoc-
acy River.
There were no bridges nor boats ; but an army doesn't
stop for a little thing like that. We were simply and
coolly ordered to "cross the river," and so we did.
Did you ever "ford a river"?
96 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XVII.
A FREDERICK CITY GIRL.
We were ordered to ford the river.
The Monocacy River isn't a very formidable stream
nor is it in the summer season very deep. On this oc-
casion it came up about to the waist at the place picked
out as a "ford," although it was deeper above and
below. But it was our first experience at fording a
stream, and consequently accompanied with much
interest.
The irrepressible and original John Ick wanted to
take off his clothes and cross in a state of nature ; but
to his infinite disgust that would not be permitted, as
such an operation would take too much time.
The government does not object, when soldiers are
marching, to their discarding any superfluous weight in
the shape of clothing or eatables. But when it comes
to those things that absolutely pertain to war the case is
different. One can't throw away guns or ammunition,
no matter how heavy such things may be — and they
were heavy enough. On all occasions the greatest care
must be taken to keep the rifle in good order and the
cartridges dry.
In fording a river the cartridge and percussion -cap
boxes and belts were unstrapped and fastened at the
bayonet end of the guns. By carrying the rifles on the
shoulder the ammunition was kept above the water and
dry. No matter if the contents of the haversack were
ruined. No matter if the blankets and other wearing
apparel were saturated. The government cared naught
for that, so long as the ammunition was intact.
Even in the summer season it is not pleasant to cross
a stream containing two or three or four feet of water
in one's clothes. In the winter time, as many of us
learned afterward, it is accompanied with little short of
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 97
torture. Id warm weather it is simply a question of
discomfort.
Several pounds of weight seem to be added to the sol-
dier's load. The clothing, uncomfortable at the best of
times, sticks closer than a brother, and clings and pulls
one's legs with a force almost inconceivable. The wet
stockings flop about in the coarse aloes with a "ker-
sock," "ker-sock" that sounds like a suction pump, and
materially assists in the development of additional
painful blisters.
As each man emerges on the other side of the stream,
he sheds his quota of water, until the ground grows
soggy and soft and the mud deeper and deeper until it
is soon, not only ankle-deep, but knee-deep. With one's
wet clothes increasing the weight, the climb through
the sticky mud up the embankment of tho stream was a
tiresome task. It was also a tedious affair, for there is
always considerable delay in fording a river or creek,
and then comes that inevitable, wearisome scamper to
catch up with those who have gone ahead.
A funny thing it was to see the ammunition mules.
Each one of these stubborn but interesting animals had
two large boxes of cartridges slung over his back, one
on each side. The boxes just cleared the water, if
everything was all right. But a mule doesn't like
swiftly running water between his legs. It makes him
discouraged. And when you discourage a mule his
usefulness immediately departs. A discouraged mule
invariably gives up and lies down, no matter where he
may be.
The mules had no respect for the strict orders about
keeping the cartridges dry. One of them lay down in
the water, rolled over, and shed his load. The other
mules saw this, and at once caught on to the scheme.
The practice became epidemic. Mule after mule lay
down in the middle of the stream, tumbled off his two
heavy cases of cartridges, righted himself again and
scrambled up the muddy bank with an expression of
countenance that failed to indicate the least compunc-
tion of conscience. Those mules must have been in
league with the enemy, for I heard one of the officers
say that they had dumped enough cartridges in the
98 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Monocacy River that day to fight a good sized battle.
Every cartridge that got wet was ruined, of course, for
the powder covering was only paper.
Fortunately for us we did not march very far after
fording the river, and when we got into camp all the
new soldiers took off their wet trousers and stockings
and hung them on the bushes to dry. As we cooked
our supper that night we resembled the bouffe soldiers
in a German opera.
Johnny Neild came near getting into a fight with
Reddy Mahar by remarking on the cleanliDess of his
pedal extremities.
"I believe that is the first time you ever had your
feet washed in your life," said Neild.
"You're a liar!" returned Reddy.
Neild was going to take it up; butJHank Van Orden
stepped between them and prevented a continuation of
hostilities.
On the next day we reached Frederick city, and we
found that we were getting closer upon the enemy than
we imagined, that is, closer than we privates imagined.
I suppose the officers knew all about it all along. The
rebels had passed through Frederick only the day be-
fore. Indeed it is said that some of their rear guards
were found in the city still when our advance guard
reached the place, and that a few shots were fired. I
didn't hear anything of that sort, however, or perhaps I
wouldn't have been so unconcerned.
My remembrance of Frederick city is a very pleasant
one. The place consisted in that day, essentially, of
one large street. I remember being struck particularly
with a wonder as to what the people did for a living.
Outside of the stores, there seemed to be no business.
Brought up within the sound of the hum of the busy
mills of Paterson, it struck me that there ought to be
some factories or other evidence of industry. But Frede-
rick was a "market town" only, which was something
that in those days I did not understand.
Frederick is the city made famous by the poet in the
beautiful poem about "Barbara Fritchie. " To be sure
later historians have said that there never was a Bar-
bara Fritchie in Frederick, and that the flag incident
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 99
was a pure romance. But that makes no difference ;
the story of Barbara Fritchie will always remain asso-
ciated with Frederick city.
And by the way they say that "Sheridan's Ride"
was a fake, and lots of other things are false, including
tho "Charge of the Light Brigade," the flood and the
ark, and Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. But
we're here anyway, and we must have had ancestors,
and who can dispute that there was an Adam and an Eve?
I frown upon such, despicable attempts to disprove facts
by new theories. If it keeps on that way, some busy-
body will even throw out a suspicion that there are
romances in this war story. So on general principles I
stand up for all the interesting old traditions, including
Barbara Fritchie!
The alleged incident of Barbara and the flag occurred
the day before we reached Frederick, so that we didn't
see it ourselves. But we saw the house from the upper
window of which she defiantly flaunted the stars and
stripes. At least I saw every house in Frederick, and
so can truthfully testify that I saw the Fritchie place of
residence.
I don't know how the citizens of Frederick treated
the rebel army the day before, but I do know that they
treated us "bang up." I went into a store and bought
a pipe and some tobacco, and the proprietor wouldn't
take a cent. The fact leaking out that cigar dealer's
stock was soon completely disposed of on the same
terms. The bakers gave us bread and cake. The citi-
zens gave us pies and other luxuries, and prett}^ Mary-
laud girls stood in their doorways with pitchers of milk.
There could be no discounting the fact of the hospi-
tality of the people of Frederick city. They knew the
Union army was coming close behind the rebels, and
had made considerable preparation for us. The women
of Frederick served us with sandwiches, cakes, pies,
roasted chickens, hams, and what not.
During a temporary halt in the main street of the
little city the boys were strung along the sidewalks, in
front of the stores and residences, partaking of a lunch
that was to us a regular feast. It was my good fortune
to be served by a very pretty girl of about seventeen or
100 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
eighteen years. As I stood there, leaning against the
fence of the little door-yard in front of the cottage, with
a chicken wing in one hand and a glass of milk in the
other, I ventured into a little conversation with my fair
entertainer.
"Did you do this for the other fellows?" I asked,
feeling my ground.
"You mean the rebels, I suppose," said she.
"Yes; I didn't say 'rebel,' because I didn't know how
you would take it."
"That's all right," said she reassuringly. "That's
what I call them, anyhow. No, we didn't, as a general
thing, treat 'the other fellows,' as you call them, in this
way. Some of the people did, but not many. You see
the most of us are Union folks. Then again, when the
rebels passed through they seemed to be in a big hurry.
Most of the houses and nearly all the stores were closed
up, till it looked like Sunday. We had been told that
they were going to clean out all the stores and then set
fire to the town. We were much frightened, I can
assure you, and we didn't feel safe until we began to see
the blue-coated soldiers."
"So you're a Union girl," I remarked.
"Yes, sir," she replied. "And I have a brother in
the Third Maryland "
"The Third Maryland," I interrupted, "why I be-
lieve that regiment is in our division — General Wil-
liams'?"
"Yes; that's the name," she replied. "Fred wrote
me that General Williams was his commander. Per-
haps you may meet Fred. ' '
"Very likely," I answered. "But what is his last
name?"
"Summers."
"Fred Summers. And what name shall I use when
I say I saw his sister?"
"Mabel" (with a slight blush).
"Is your brother older than you are?"
"No."
"What, younger? He must be a mere boy."
"He is neither older nor younger," was her answer,
and she blushed again as she said: "We are twins —
twin brother and sister."
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 101
"That's nice," said I. "And — and if he is anything
like his twin sister, Fred must be a handsome fellow."
I was getting along pretty well considering I hadn't
known the girl five minutes. But I couldn't help it. I
really meant it, you know. I never saw a girl blush so
easily as Mabel Summers did. My last remarks suf-
fused her face with carnation. Now I come to recall it,
I don't wonder.
"Have you any correspondent in the army?" I ven-
tured.
"Oh, yes; my brother."
"Any one else?"
"Oh, no."
"Wouldn't you like to have one?"
"What do you mean?"
"I think I would make a good correspondent."
Another blush on the part of Mabel.
"I — I hardly think it would be proper. And," with
a little show of pretty petulance, "I think your sugges-
tion is a little bold, not to say somewhat impudent."
"I beg your pardon, Mabel — I mean Miss Summers
— but you know that soldiers must be bold, not to say
impudent. ' '
This play on her words made her smile, and she
asked me my name.
"Joe," I replied.
I don't know how much further the promising flirta-
tion would have gone had it not just at this point been
interrupted by a sergeant, accompanied by a file of men.
The non-commissioned officers asked me what I was
doing there?
"Eating and talking and having a good time," said I.
"What regiment do you belong to?" asked the ser-
geant.
"Thirteenth New Jersey."
"What corps?"
I told him.
"Don't you know," he asked, "that your command
started off some time ago? Take him in charge, men"
(turning to his companions).
"Who are you?" I asked indignantly,
"The provost guard,"
102 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
That was the first time I had ever heard of such a
think as the "provost guard," but I considered that it
was advisable to go along without making any fuss. I
was greatly surprised to learn that my regiment had
already started off.
I turned to bid farewell to the pretty little Frederick
city girl. A spirit of mischief seized me, and I said :
"Good-by, Mabel."
Mabel's blush was on schedule time, as usual, but
that did not prevent her taking up the implied chal-
lenge, for she coquettish^ answered :
"Good-by, Joe."
That was the first and last time I ever saw Mabel
Summers. The reader may perhaps think we were both
a little "fresh" to indulge in such familiarity on such
short acquaintance; br.t the present generation does
not understand the feeling that prevailed at that time
toward the soldier boys. The blue uniform of Uncle
Sam's service was an open sesame. No one wearing it
needed an introduction to anybody. The girls seemed
to regard every soldier as a hero. Perhaps it is better
for the reputation of some of us that they were never
undeceived.
I have often wondered what became of Mabel Sum-
mers. Is she living yet? Perhaps, and possibly a
grandmother.
But I forgot that I was in the hands of the provost
guard — a prisoner!
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 103
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PROVOST GUARD.
Let me introduce the reader to the "provost guard."
The provost guard was what might be called the
police force of the army. Their duty was to look after
the recreant soldiers, stragglers, camp followers, hang-
ers-on, and the like.
People unacquainted with war often ask how it was
that there were not more desertions. How was it that
the men, suffering from the fatigue of the march, the
hardships and exposures of the camp and the awful
horror of the battle, did not escape through the pickets
and run through the guard lines and — go home?
It was the provost guard that prevented all this.
Imagine a man in a battle. What is there between
him and liberty? Behind him are first, the non-com-
missioned officers, then the commissioned officers;
then the "turkey buzzards." This consisted of a line
of cavalry, generally armed with long spears, on the
end of which were strips of red flannel, the latter curi-
ous insignia giving them the singularly appropriate
title of "turkey buzzards." You couldn't get past this
line without a written pass, or a show of blood issuing
from a wound. So much for a battle.
At other times, and practically in fact at all times,
there were regimental and corps guards and outside
these the army pickets. Suppose you escaped through
all these? Everywhere you went, through every city of
the land, you would meet with soldiers of the provost
guard, who would arrest you if you couldn't show
written authority for being absent from your regiment.
There were provost guards even in Paterson, where I
lived, perhaps in uniform, maybe not, and more than
104 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
one deserter was arrested there and sent back. If a man
hadn't a written pass he was considered a deserter. I
might mention the names of several now prominent
Patersonians in this connection, but will not. There
would doubtless have been more if they could have
similarly succeeded in getting "through the lines."
Up in the mountains not many miles from many cities
there were huts and caves that were utilized by deserters
for months in the latter part of the war. These desert-
ers were where the provost guard could not find them,
and they were consequently safe. They came sneaking
back to town in the night when the war was over.
Not many deserters suffered the penalty prescribed
for that offense — being shot. President Lincoln was
very tender-hearted in this respect. Scores — I might
perhaps safely say hundreds — of deserters who had been
sentenced to death were pardoned or had their sentence
commuted by the kind -hearted president. In all my
experience I saw only two men shot for desertion. That
terrible sight I will describe before long.
The worst penalty suffered by a deserter was what
might be called the social ostracism to which he was sub-
jected on his return to his regiment. He was ignored,
disrespected, and treated with contempt generally in a
way that was unbearable. No one sympathized with
him in sickness or trouble, he was put to the hardest
duties and most menial work, and his life was made
•such that the poor victim often prayed for death. I
heard of two men committing suicide because they could
not stand this treatment from their companions when
they had returned to the regiment after deserting. It
is a singular fact that some of the men who wanted to
— or even tried to — desert were the most severe in their
treatment of the ones who had succeeded — and been
caught.
If I deserted I would a thousand times rather be shot
than go back to the regiment.
The offense for which I had been arrested by the pro-
vost guard was technically called "straggling." Any
man who fell out of the ranks or otherwise got behind
his regiment while on a march, unless taken sick or
wounded, was called a straggler. It was the most com-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 105
mon of all army offenses. It was considered the least
serious. The punishment was scarcely ever anything
worse than being conducted back to your regimental
headquarters, and perhaps receiving a mild reprimand
from the colonel or captain.
I did not know this then, however, and felt somewhat
nervous as 1 was waiting my turn to be disposed of at
the headquarters of the provost guard when the army
halted that night. I began to think that thirteen was
an unlucky number for me. I had enlisted in the Thir-
teenth Begiment and here I was arrested on the 13th of
September. What had I done? Had I deserted?
Would I be shot?
A comical incident interrupted my reverie. I was in
the midst of some old soldiers. The officers were almost
as dirty as the men in appearance. Most of them were
in their undress uniforms and few of them wore shoulder
straps or other insignia of office. A man in a dark suit,
which was presumably originally black, was leaning
against a tree, smoking a briarwood pipe.
A tall, gawky-looking fellow of gigantic build, being
over six feet high and heavy in proportion, with long,
bushy, sandy whiskers, stalked up. Some of the men
saluted and addressed him as "colonel," although he
wore no sign of a silver eagle, the insignia of that
office. The slouchy-looking man smoking the pipe did
not salute and this seemingly attracted the attention of
the other.
The colonel, for such he was, addressed the smoker,
and asked him gruffly:
"What are you doing here?"
"Smoking," was the laconic reply, and not very
civilly at that.
"Who the devil are you, anyhow?" asked the colonel.
"I am the chaplain of the — th Ohio," replied he.
"Now who in h 1 are you?"
Such language from a chaplain collapsed the colonel
and every one else who stood around. The colonel
looked at the chaplain a moment and said :
"Good for you, chaplain; I've got some good 'com-
missary' in my tent. Come along and sample it."
The colonel and chaplain walked off arm and arm to-
106 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
gether as sociably as if they had known each other for
years.
For the edification of the reader I will explain that
"commissary" was the whisky furnished by the gov-
ernment to the army for medical purposes. The staff
officers were generally "sick," and this was their pro-
verbial panacea and preventive. We sick privates were
fed on blue pills. We never got whisky, unless we
stole it — which by the way, we occasionally did. The
door on the wine cellar of the officers was nothing more
secure than a canvas tent flap, you know ! •
When my turn came in the line of delinquents I was
sentenced to nothing worse than to be sent back to my
regiment under guard, and I reached Company K just
as the boys were boiliug their coffee for supper. A
number of others had been similarly picked up by the
provost guard and brought back, and nothing was said
about it.
I found the boys in a state of considerable excite-
ment. The Dews had leaked out among them somehow
that we were close upon the rebels. There had even
been some shooting further out to the front and some
slightly wounded soldiers had been brought through to
the rear.
The pervading sentiment seemed to be that we would
have a battle on the morrow. Who can describe the
feelings and emotions of a soldier on the eve of an ex-
pected battle? As for myself, my mental sufferings
were acute.
I supposed then that it was because it was my first
experience, but I subsequently learned that that did not
in fact make much difference. I firmly believe that
with most men each subsequent battle requires more
nerve to enter.
"How do you feel. Rats?" I asked Davy Harris.
We always called him "Eats." It was a name the
boys in the Guardian office had given him. Harris
was at that moment very pale.
Just as I spoke there was a sound of distant musketry.
It sounded like a far-off explosion of firecrackers. It
was only an exchange of picket shots. We didn't
know. We could fairly feel a quiver of quiet excite-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 10?
ment sweep through the camps. For a moment every
one stopped talking and there was a stillness so impres-
sive that the crackling of the camp fires sounded like
pistol shots. Then there was a low murmur of many
voices. That I had turned pale myself I could feel.
As soon as I could get my self -possession again, and
saw that general conversation had been resumed with
the cessation of the shooting, I repeated my question to
Davy Harris as to his personal emotions at that par-
ticular moment.
Davy did not reply for a minute or so. Then he
quietly arose, turned his back to me, and emphatically
ordered :
"Kick me!"
"What?" I asked, not fairly understanding.
"Kick me!"
"What do you mean, anyhow?"
"Kick me!" Davy answered for the third time, a la
Amelie Rives when she wrote her famous three-time
"Kiss Me!"
Then I saw what he meant. It was his expressive
way of indicating his feelings in response to my inquiry
as to how he felt then and there on the eve of an ex-
pected battle. He offered no explanation of his singular
reply, nor was any needed. He simply wanted me to
kick him for enlisting I felt the same way myself. I
would have liked to have some one kick me then and
there for listening to the persuasive eloquence of the
patriotic orators on the steps of the old Main Street bank
building in Pa Person whose speeches had induced me to
enlist. I should also have liked to have kicked those
self -same orators !
Some great things had happened that day, of which
we privates did not know at the time, nor for a long
while after, for it remained for the newspapers and the
historians to tell what had taken place.
Some of these things will be related in the next chap-
ter.
10$ TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XIX.
SIGNS OF A BATTLE.
As said in the previous chapter, some great things
had occurred on that day (September 13, 1862), which
we did not know about at the time. Upon that day-
General Lee issued an order directing Stonewall Jack-
son to proceed to Harper's Ferry by the way of Sharps-
burg, where he was to cross the Potomac River and
thus make a rear movement, while at the same time
General McLaws was to go direct, by the way of Mid-
dletown, and seize Maryland Heights, while General
Walker was to cross the river below Harper's Ferry
and take possession of Loudon Heights. The same
order of General Lee contained the information that the
remainder of the Confederate army would remain in the
neighborhood of Boonesborough or Hagerstown, and stay
there till rejoined by the troops detailed for the capture
of Harper's Ferry.
Harper's Ferry was, from a warlike standpoint, a
most important strategic point. It is a cleft or opening
in the mountains, where two rivers join. The letter Y
is about the shape of the confluence of the Potomac and
Shenandoah Rivers. On one side of the Potomac are
Maryland Heights, on the other side, Loudon Heights,
and the third mountain is called Bolivar Heights. It
is a natural gateway, the only passage through which
is the narrow road along the side of the river. The
Chesapeake and Ohio canal runs along the river on the
Maryland side. It will be thus appreciated, even by
the reader who has no knowledge whatever of military
matters, that this was a most important strategic point.
If General Lee obtained possession of this it would
give him the key to an important position. That is the
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 109
reason that Harper's Ferry played such an important
part in many instances during the course of the war.
It is not my province here to dilate upon the cowardly
manner in which Harper's Ferry was evacuated in the
face of the enemy at about this time.
Well, this important order of General Lee, involving
the whole plan and scheme of the rebel army, in some
mysterious way fell into the hands of General McClel-
lan a few hours after it was issued. It was said that
General McClellan had a copy of it as soon as the gen-
erals on the rebel side, to whom duplicates had been
addressed. How General McClellan got that order no
one e^er knew. Some said that it was procured by a
scout. Others that it came through the hands of a spy.
Still others say that it was sold to the Northern general
by a Confederate officer, the same as the secret plans of
the French were recently sold to the Germans, for which
the traitorous officer was sentenced to imprisonment on
an island for life. If this be so, the officer in this case
was never captured by the Confederates. If he had
been, his bones would have long since been transformed
into another shape of elementary substance of a cereal
character, for those grounds are now covered with corn
and wheat fields.
As said frequently before, this war story is not in-
tended as a military history, but rather as the experi-
ence of a private soldier in the ranks; but at the same
time this particular circumstance is so interesting and
has such a direct bearing on subsequent events, that I
thought it would not be amiss to give it. Of course we
privates did not know anything about all these things
at the time. Perhaps only the very highest officers in
the army were acquainted with the circumstances. All
that we knew at the time was that there was every in-
dication of a coining engagement of some sort, for that
we were in close proximity to the enemy there was
every sign.
General McClellan, taking advantage of the impor-
tant information he had so mysteriously gained, pro-
ceeded to make a movement that would head off Gen-
eral Lee. He started his army immediately toward
South Mountain, which was a high, rocky hill, between
110 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Hagerstown and Sharpsburg. By doing this he would
cut right in the middle of the Confederate army. And
there is nothing in the world that is so dangerous to an
army as to be divided by the enemy.
To come back to our feelings and sensations on the
eve of an expected battle ! We had around our camp-
fire that night some of the old veterans of the Third
Wisconsin, one of the other regiments of our brigade.
Naturally the conversation turned to the coming con-
flict and the subject of battles generally.
After our visitor had got us pretty well alarmed
over the horrors of a battle, and mj'self in particular
in a state of nervousness bordering on hysteria, he
asked :
"By the way, boys, have you formed your clubs?"
We asked him what he meant by clubs?
"Well, you see," replied he, "if there is a battle the
chances are that some of you will be killed" (and how
glibly he uttered the awful word). "In that case it is
a, good thing to have a club."
I wished somebody would club me.
"The idea of a club is this," he continued, while we
were listening with mouths and ears wide open. "The
plan is to divide yourselves up in clubs of three men.
The chances are that the whole three will not be killed.
You give each other your names and addresses of the
relatives or friends at home whom you would wish to be
notified in case anything happened. Then the fellow
that comes out all right can send word at once in case
anything happens."
"But don't the officers report all these things. Don't
the newspaper correspondents send the list of names by
telegraph to their papers?" I asked, with journalistic
instinct.
"Oh, pshaw, that don't amount to nothing," was the
reply. "These fellows get all the news they can, of
course; but they don't get half. In a battle everything
is all mixed up. Men are killed and they are stripped
of their clothes and everything in their pockets so that
they do not leave a trace of who they are. Then fellows
get captured by the rebs, and wounded men fall into
the hands of the graybacks, and some are left on the
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Ill
battlefield to die alone and no one ever hears what be-
comes of them. In this case you can write to their
friends that they are 'missing.' But as a general thing
the three men in a club can keep track of each other,
whatever happens. I tell you clubs are a good thing.
In fact clubs are trumps."
The idea struck me like joining a suicide club, but at
the same time it could not be doubted that it was a good
thing. We immediately decided to form ourselves into
a club. The club to which I attached myself consisted
of Sergeant Heber Wells, John Butter worth and my-
self. And it is a singular fact that all three of us are
alive to- day. There were soon decimations in many of
the clubs, but none of our particular three had to send a
letter breaking the news of a death in our trio. Two
of us were, however, wounded in the battle of Chancel-
lorsville, but the news of that got home quickly enough.
I can't say that this club business was very pleasant.
It seemed like writing one's own epitaph, or engraving
one's own name on his coffin-plate. It made me very
nervous and downhearted. I felt sure that I was the
one of our three whose name would be the first to be
sent home among the list of killed.
I didn't sleep much that night. I could think of
nothing but fighting and being shot. I wondered how
it felt to be shot. Did it hurt much? Was the agony
awful? I had never seen anything shot but a dog.
A hundred times I recalled the shooting of that dog,
how he yelped and writhed, kicked and struggled!
Imagine a human being writhing and struggling in
that way ! Imagine me — me, writhing and struggling
in that way, in mortal agony ! In fitful dreams I saw
the shooting of that dog again, and it seemed as if I
were the dog, yelping and writhing and struggling in
my death agony.
Then I dreamed that I was at home, in bed, in my
little front room in Fair Street, with the aquarium at
the window and the canary bird in his painted cage. I
dreamed that I dreamed. I dreamed that I awoke from
a dream — a horrible dream — that I had been in the
army, and that there was going to be a battle. I dreamed
that I awoke from the horrible dream and found that
112 THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER.
it was a nightmare, and that I got out of bed and knelt
beside it and thanked God that it was but a dream and
nothing worse. Thank heaven, that it was but a
dream ! Thank heaven, I had not enlisted ! Thank
heaven, I was at my home, safe and secure, and that
the only warlike sound I would hear in the morning
would be the bell calling me down to a breakfast of
broiled chicken and muffins.
Sleep on, soldier ! Pleasant be thy dream ! For the
morrow ye know not !
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 113
CHAPTER XX.
NEAR A BATTLE.
It was not the breakfast bell at my home in Fair
Street that awoke me the next morning, but that ever-
lasting drum sounding the reveille that had become so
painfully familiar. After the vivid dream of home
related in the previous chapter, the awakening to a
sense of my surroundings was a severe shock. But
there was too much excitement around camp to spend
much time in gloomy reveries.
It is perhaps good for the soldier that there is such
incessant activity while at the front. It occupies his
time and takes all his mind, so that there is not much
opportunity to sit down and think. And when night
comes the soldier is generally so fatigued that he sinks
at once into a leaden-like slumber. It was not often
that the soldier dreams as I had dreamed the night before.
"I tole you fellers," said John Ick as he was boiling
his coffee, "we got by dot schlaughter haus to-day, and
don'd you forgot dot." Then turning to Reddy Mahar,
who seemed to be his natural enemy, he added :
"You don'd was so fresh yourselluf, Retty. You
don'd vant to fight so much alretty, eh?"
"Be jabbers and I wish I was home, that's phwat I
does," answered Reddy very meekly.
"No, you don'd vant to fight so much as you was by
Washington, don'd it? I don'd was no cowyard now,
ain't it?"
"Shut up, you fellows," said John Stansfield, think-
ing there was going to be a repetition of the racket be-
tween these two in Washington. But there was no
danger. There was no fight in either of them. John
Ick seemed at the moment to be outwardly the least
concerned, but it was evident that it was only put on,
114 THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER.
for the occcasion. Ick apparently wanted to arouse the
ire of his old adversary for the purpose of creating some
sort of a diversion, but it was a failure. He might
have kicked Mahar just then, and I doubt if he would
have taken it up.
It was not long before we heard fighting of some sort
further at the front. The musket shots started in first
in little spurts, two or three at a time. Then there
would be a volley that sounded like a rattle — like one of
those wooden concerns that the boys hold in their hands
and whirl around. Then something else — more warlike
than all ! Listen !
' ' Hark ! Tis the cannon's opening roar ! "
I shall never forget the first time I heard a cannon
fired in the army. And this was the morning.
Boom!
And the hills echoed and re-echoed with the roar, like
lowering thunder.
Whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — !
Say it as fast as you can. Start with the voice loud
and strong. Then with each reiterated "whiz" let the
voice fall, diminishing in force. Try it :
Whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — !
That is the sound of the rifled shell flying through
the air. Then —
Crash !
At it smashes through the trees, or splinters the rocks,
or richochets along the ground. Then, again, another —
Boom!
As the shell explodes, its fragments fly in every di-
rection, scattering destruction and death in its wake.
And if you are near enough to where it struck, and
there is any one in the way, there is another sound.
It is the shrieking, the yelling, the cursing of those
who have been rent asunder by those terrible fragments,
and yet have enough life left to suffer.
Why is it that men curse and blaspheme when
wounded, instead of praying?
I am describing here the first cannon shots that I ever
heard. The part relative to the curse does not apply to
this particular day, but to subsequent experiences. On
THE TOUNQ VOLUNTBEU. 116
the day in question we were not close enough to the
front to hear the cries of the severely wounded, but we
did hear the roar of the cannon and we heard lots of it.
Once the shooting of the cannon had commenced,
there was a good deal of it. It was some distance fur-
ther out in the front, but we could hear it plainly
enough. It was a continual "Boom — whiz — crash!"
for several hours.
And it f ormod the bass and baritone for the soprano
and tenor of the musket shots. Once or twice, far back
as we were, we heard the peculiar singing of a rifle
bullet. This can be best expressed in type this way :
"Z-z-z-z-z-z-z-zip !"
The"z-z-z" represents the course of the bullet through
the air. The "zip" is the sound of its striking some-
thing.
Imagine a mosquito buzzing around, and then the
slap on the cheek that puts him (and you) out of mis-
ery, and you will have a fair idea, on a small scale, of
the sound of a minnie rifle bullet.
That all this shooting further out in the front was no
Fourth of July nonsense soon began to be evident, for
the wounded soldiers began to stream in.
It was our first sight of the real horrors of battle.
We were too close to the front for any of the wounded
to be attended to by the surgeons without passing
through us to the improvised field hospitals, designated
by small yellow flags on staves stuck in the ground, to
the rear of us. Thus it was that we saw the wounded,
not with their injuries concealed by neat white band-
ages, but in all their grewsome nakedness.
Of course these were the men who were "slightly"
wounded — those who were able to walk. A wonderful
number were shot in the arm and hand. There were
lacerated fingers and thumbs ; useless arms, held up by
the others unhurt ; men with the tips of their noses shot
off; soldiers with the fragment of an ear hanging down
alongside of their necks ; men painfully limping from
the effects of shots in the leg or foot; officers and pri-
vates with blood streaming over their faces from scalp-
wounds — the most terrible of all to look at, but in
reality the least dangerous. All these hurried to the
doctors in the rear.
116 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
What struck me was the utter nonchalance of the
wounded. Of those able to walk, no matter how des-
perately hurt they seemed to be, no matter how bloody
they were, none uttered a cry or a complaint. On the
contrary they seemed to be remarkably cheerful and
chipper. Had those men been similiarly injured in civil
life they would have indulged in vehement demonstra-
tions of agony.
But when a man is wounded in the army, it seems as
if his system, both mental and physical, were nerved up
to it. And furthermore there is a feeling of inexpres-
sible exultation over the fact that one has escaped some-
thing worse, and the victim is also braced up with the
knowledge that for awhile at least he will have no
fighting to do, and that there is a good prospect of his
getting a furlough to go home and see his family.
I did not appreciate all this at the moment and so was
struck with the apparent unconcern of those who had
been wounded. When I was wounded myself on a sub-
sequent occasion, I learned to understand these things.
And furthermore, when a man is shot, if it be not in
a vital spot, the immediate pain is not severe. The real
agony comes later, when inflammation begins to set in,
and the entire system is involved with the fever that
invariably follows gunshot wounds sooner or later. If
you want to know how it feels to be shot through the
leg, for instance, let some one throw a stone from across
the street so that it will strike you. There will be a
sharp sting, followed by a sort of numbness. That is
almost exactly the sensation of being shot through a
muscular part of the body.
But afterward — when the fever begins ! Then there
are long and tedious days and nights of intolerable
agony.
Pretty soon the more severely wounded began to come
through on stretchers, carried on blankets with the
sound men holding each corner ; or being lifted by the
legs and arms in the most primitive way.
We were lying near the town of Boonesborough.
Here the wounded were taken. The churches, school-
houses and even residences taken possession of as hos-
pitals became at once the scenes of surgical butchery. I
use this word in no offensive sense.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEEB. 117
And yet, one week previous, the people of Boones-
borough had no more idea that they would be in the
immediate theater of actual war than had the people of
the quietest town in the country. Imagine the feelings
of the women and children on seeing their homes sud-
denly filled with mutilated and bleeding soldiers,
spread in rows along the floor of the parlor and dining
room ! And yet one week — in fact two days — before,
there were no more signs of such a thing happening in
that particular town than there is to-day, I might almost
say.
What were my feelings all this time? I can hardly
describe them. We lay there momentarily expecting to
be ordered into the thick of the fray ourselves ! We
did not know at what minute our turn would come, or
how soon some of us might swell the number of muti-
lated human beings going back to the surgeon's knife.
As for myself I remember that I was in a state border-
ing on a panic. I was almost out of my head. In fact
I was mentally and physically almost paralyzed. I
moved about in a misty, hazy sort of a way, hardly
knowing where I was or what I was doing.
There was not much talk among the boys that day.
The same listless, despairing spirit seemed to prevade
all.
What was going on? We didn't know. What bat-
tle was it? We didn't know. All that we knew was
that there was a scene of carnage being enacted some-
where out there a little further in front, where human
beings were being torn to pieces. And all that we
thought of was that our turn to take part in the awful
scene would soon come.
"What do you think of it?" I asked Davy Harris as
he threw himself on the grass beside me.
Harris was very pale. He replied :
"I think "
The sentence was not completed. It was interrupted
by the order :
"Fall in, Thirteenth!"
Davy Harris and I exchanged nervous glances.
"Our turn has come, Joe," said he quietly.
im THE YOUN& VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XXI.
SOME AWFUL FIGURES.
Of course we thought surely that our turn had come
and that we were about to be precipitated into a battle.
Does the reader wonder that we were demoralized?
Consider the situation.
We had barely entered the service. As a matter of
fact it was only two weeks since we had left the mus-
tering camp at Newark. The most of us had never
fired a gun in our lives with the exception of the single
volley over the canal at Camp Frelinghuysen in the
battalion drill. We had had no experience, but little
drilling, and were practically as ignorant of military
movements as we were on the day we enlisted.
We had entered the army with the idea of course that
we would some day in the future be precipitated into
an engagement, but we did not imagine that we would
be thus summarily hustled from our homes to the bat-
tlefield without being hardened and prepared for it by
degrees, as it were. In the whole course of the war I
do not believe there ever was a regiment so suddenly
engaged in a battle after entering the service as the
Thirteenth New Jersey.
It so happened that we did not get into a fight that
day, nor for a couple of days later, but the same remark
holds good about the remarkably short time that existed
between the time of our enlistment and our experience
in actual warfare, in one of the most sanguinary of con-
flicts.
I believe that if we had really been ordered into a
fight that day I would have fainted from terror and
nervous weakness. But fortunately, at least for me,
we didn't get into that battle. It was only one of those
THE TOUNG VOLUNTEER. 119
mysterious movements that were so frequent — a change
of position. There may have been some reason for these
constant changes, and again there may not have been.
I still incline to the latter idea. But nevertheless, it
did seem as if we were forever changing our position
and moving from this spot to that without any sense or
reason whatever. That was all it amounted to on this
occasion.
And to our intense satisfaction and relief there was a
sudden cessation of the firing in the front. Whatever
had been going on, it had evidently come to a settle-
ment some way.
What we had heard, as we learned later, was the en-
gagement that has gone into history as the battle of
South Mountain. It wasn't a long engagement, but it
was an important one, and had it been properly followed
up and had the other departments of the army properly
co-operated, the result would have been of inestimable
value to the Northern army.
General McClellan had captured the South Mountain
passes at the engagement at Turner's Gap, although not
without considerable loss. The Confederate loss in this
engagement at South Mountain has been put down at
about 3,000, including some prisoners. The loss on both
sides in the shape of killed, wounded and prisoners, was
perhaps 5,000. This is not much of a battle compared
with some of the fights during the war, but it was a con-
siderable one just the same, even in these days, as will
be seen by comparing the number with that of some of
the recent engagements between the Japs and Chinese,
with all the former's advantage of improved weapons
and ammunition.
And by the way, is the reader of this a sufficient stu-
dent of history to notice the fact that as civilization
progresses and the means of killing people are facilited,
the losses in battle continually decrease? The accepted
theory is that eventually the instruments of wholesale
slaughter and death will be so perfected that a fight be-
tween two armies will mean nothing less than total
annihilation of one or the other; that this will reach
such a stage that war will cease to be possible, and that
the differences of the future will be settled by arbitra-
120 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
tion instead of by recourse to arms. But the facts do
not bear this out. Histor}^ tells us that they had a good
deal more extensive list of fatalities in olden times than
at present, which, if the records are correct, suggest
some strange comparisons.
Modern warfare has been aptly described as an im-
proved and scientific way of throwing stones. In olden
times a battle was more in the nature of a hand-to-hand
conflict and the number of killed and wounded was
undoubted l} r larger.
At the battle of Cressy the arms of the English Prince
of Wales were won by Edward, the Black Prince.
Among the killed on the side of the French was the
King of Bohemia, whose crest was three ostrich feathers
and the motto "Ich Dien" (I serve). At the conclusion
of the battle the crest and the motto were adopted by
the Black Prince, and have ever since been worn by the
Prince of Wales. I interpolate this simply as an inter-
esting fact. What I wanted to say was that at that
battle the French went into the fight with nearly 100,000
men and at the close of the day the French king fled
with five knights and sixty soldiers. Over 40,000 men
had been killed or wounded and the rest of the army
had scattered in every direction.
At the battle of Borodino there were 250,000 men en-
gaged, and in one day 78.000, or 31 per cent., had been
killed and wounded. Every woman in France wore
mourning after that battle. In the Roman army of
146, 00§ men, the loss was 52,000 or 34 per cent., at the
battle of Cannae. All the prisoners were massacred,
and Hannibal, the victor, sent to Carthage five bushels
of gold rings taken from the fingers of the enemy's
knights that were killed.
As the Battle of a Week, in 732 a.d., in which
Martel overthrew the Saracens, there were 550,000 men
engaged, of whom 375,000 were killed on the field.
This was the bloodiest battle of history, and yet the
arms at the time must have been of an extremely primi-
tive character. Among the 140,000 who participated
at Waterloo, the loss was 51,000. In the Battle of Na-
tions at Leipsig in 1813, there were 320,000 men
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 121
engaged, and the loss was 111,000. Of the 320,000 en-
gaged at Gravelotte, the killed and wounded numbered
48,000. At Marengo, in which 58,000 were engaged,
the loss was 13,000.
To afford a comparison with our late war, I will cite
the battle of Gettysburg as an example. In this en-
gagement there were 140,000 men opposed to each other.
The loss in killed, wounded and missing during the three
days' righting at Gettysburg, was — Federal, 28,898;
Confederate, 37,000; total, 65,898. That is between 25
and 30 per cent. But this was not only the largest battle
of the war, but the loss was proportionately the great-
est. The average loss in battle, according to statistical
historians who have made a study of "our late un-
pleasantness," was not over 10 or 12 per cent.
And yet, during the late war, compared with the
armies of old times, the troops were equipped with
modern and improved arms, and naturally it might be
supposed that the mortality would be all the greater.
The records of losses during the last war (between the
United States and Spain) are not complete, so that they
may be only roughly stated, viz. : Americans killed at
and around Santiago, from 260 to 270 ; wounded, about
1,600. Killed in naval encounters at Bahio Honda and
other points on the north coast of Cuba, 5 or 6. Killed
at Porto Rico, 5 or 6 ; wounded 60 or 70. Killed in the
capture of Manila and attendant skirmishes, 40 or 50 ;
wounded, about 200. In addition to these, several thou-
sand American soldiers and sailors died of disease in
camp, the estimated number being, according to latest
reports, about 2,600. A rough aggregate would make
the total American loss in the war (including the de-
struction of the Maine), about 3,236 killed (and died),
and about 5,356 wounded. These are believed to be the
outside figures. Official and complete reports would
probably show a sight diminution.
The Spanish losses may only be estimated, as follows :
At Santiago, killed, 2,000; wounded, 6,000. Killed in
the destructioruof Cervera's fleet, 600 to 700 ; wounded,
400. How many were lost by the Spanish in the other
engagements will probably never be known, for no fig-
ures have ever been given out of Spain's loss in the
122 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
memorable destruction of Montojo's fleet by the match-
less Admiral Dewey on May 1, 1898.
The last battles between the United States forces and
the Filippino insurgents under Aguinaldo in the Philip-
pine Islands are too recent and the information too
indefinite to present very reliable figures. In the battle
at Manila in February, 1899, the American losses are
believed to have been about 40 or 50 killed and perhaps
250 wounded. The Filippino losses are estimated at from
1,500 to 2,000 killed and about 3,000 wounded. This
was really a large battle, for there were no less than
32,000 men engaged— 13,000 Americans and 20,000
Filippinos.
The total strength of the American army in the Span-
ish war was 274,717. The war began on Thursday,
April 21, 1898, at 7 a.m. The peace protocol was
signed at Washington, D. C, on Friday, August 12,
1898, at 4: 23 p.m. The treaty of peace was signed by
the joint American and Spanish commission in Paris
on December 10, 1898. The treaty was ratified by the
United States senate on Monday, February 6, 1899, at
3s»25 P.M.
A comparison of the number of men enlisted in the
war with Spain and in previous wars by the United
States may in this connection be interesting. In the
Revolutionary war the number did not exceed 250,000.
In the civil war there were 2,320«,168 Federal troops, of
whom 178,975 werecolored and 6V,000 regulars. In the
war of 1812 there were 471,622, of whom 62,674 were
regulars. In the Mexican war there were 116,321, of
whom 42,545 were regulars. In the war with Spain our
troops numbered 219,035 volunteers (of whom 10,189
were colored), and 55,682 were regulars, a total of
274,717.
I interpolate these statistics here as being interest-
ing and appropriate, inasmuch as they give the
reader an idea of the size and extent of the battle of
South Mountain. To the private soldier a battle
is a battle, and it practically makes little difference to
him, as an individual, whether tbe loss is 1,000 or 100,-
000. The effect on the army or the country, however,
/
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 123
is more or less important, according to the numerical
and strategical results
The battle of South Mountain, although not a large
one, as battles go, was nevertheless an important one,
for it gave General McClellan the opportunity he de-
sired of cutting the rebel army in two and relieving the
Federal garrison at Harper's Ferry.
But the disgraceful and utterly inexcusable surrender
of Harper's Ferry defeated this purpose. Colonel Miles
had 12,000 men, 73 pieces of artillery, and an immense
quantity of military stores and supplies, and he should
have defended such an important place to the last man.
But he surrendered. He saw the signs of the big rebel
army, and capitulated without terms or conditions.
The cowardly act, however, met with instant retribu-
tion. While Colonel Miles was in the very act of hoist-
ing a white Hag in token of surrender, he was struck by
a cannon ball and instantly killed. There is an old
adage that it is not well to speak ill of the dead. But it
was a fortunate thing for Colonel Miles that he was
killed as he was, for it blunted the rough edge of popu-
lar indignation that was expressed at his conduct. In
those exciting days there was little sympathy for a com-
manding officer who had the reputation of being a cow-
ard. Had Colonel Miles lived long enough to have
heard the criticism over his surrender of Harper's
Ferry he would probably have committed suicide.
Now that Harper's Ferry had been lost General Mc-
Clellan changed his plans and directed his entire atten-
tion to the main army of General Lee, and then com-
menced the movements that a day or so later precipi-
tated us into one of the great conflicts of the war — the
battle of Antietam.
In that bloody battle the Thirteenth New Jersey regi-
ment received its "baptism of fire."
124 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XXII.
EVE OF BATTLE.
After the battle of South Mountain, General Lee,
who saw that General McClellan meant business, found
what military men would call "a strong position" on
the west side of Antietam creek, and proceeded to get
his army in readiness to meet the pursuing Union army.
In telling this, of course, I am writing in the light of
subsequent knowledge. Of course at the time we knew
nothing more of what was going on, or what was com-
ing, or indeed what had passed, than so many sheep in
a drove.
But at the same time we felt, rather than positively
knew, that the army was getting into position for a
great conflict. There was a hurrying and scurrying of
mounted officers and messengers, an anxious look on
the faces of the higher officers over us that we fre-
quently met or passed, and an air of general importance
and preparation, not manifest on other occasions, that
gave the soldier a knowledge that a battle was immi-
nent. It was evident even to us raw recruits, who had
scarcely been a fortnight away from our homes. Much
more were these movements and preparations under-
stood by the older and more experienced soldiers.
"We all knew, therefore, that we were about to be
plunged into a battle, and as practically the whole of
the Federal and Confederate armies of Virginia were
pitted against each other, it would be a battle royal
and a terrible conflict.
And, by the way, speaking of Com pan y K and the
other company from Paterson and vicinity, Company
C, we had hardly yet become acquainted with each
other. We had enlisted in haste, had been hurried off
to the front so quickly, and had been kept on such con-
stant movement, that there had been no chance to be-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 125
come acquainted outside of our own immediate coteries,
so to speak. We were simply a big crowd of compara-
tive strangers.
Soldiers in the army always divide themselves into
couples. Every man has his partner (usually called
"pard"), and they were to each other almost man and
wife. I will not go into this right here, for my present
partner was one with whom I only had a comparatively
short connection, and the ordinary relations between
"pards" did not prevail. My partner, or bed-mate,
just then was Heber Wells, the orderly sergeant of the
company. I could not call him a tent-mate, for we had
no tents at this time, having left our Sibleys at Rock-
ville, and the "shelter" or "pup tents" had not yet been
given out to us. In another stage of the story I will
have something to say about the man who was essentially
"my partner," John Butterworth, with whom I was
thrown in accidentally, as it were, but whom I found
to be one of the best of fellows and a "partner" in more
senses than one.
Heber Wells was the orderly sergeant. He was the
busiest man in the company. He had to call the rolls,
attend to all the company reports, and in other respects
do the work of the commissioned officers, so that he was
kept at it all the while and did not have opportunity to
spend much time with the gatherings and groups of the
privates. He was always a gentleman, always a good
friend, always a brave man, and always carried himself
with a dignity that was inborn.
Then there was John Stansfield, always full of fun,
but at the same time dignified. Two other characters
were also already familiar to the whole company —
"Slaughter House Ike" and "Reddy Mabar," the
former particularly, not only on account of his peren-
nial wit, but because of his everlasting penchant to get
into trouble.
I might also mention my old printer associates, David
Harris, Liv. Allen and Curt Brown, and such men as
Abe Ackerman, James J. Vanderbeck, James W. Post,
John J. Carlough, Daniel S. Wanamaker, Samuel
Dougherty, John Anderson, Jacob Berdan, Henry
Clark, John Farlow, Alexander Kidd, Archibald Mc-
126 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Call, George Mickle, Henry Speer, Thomas Vander-
beck, Charles Noble, William Lambert, and others who
were acquaintances by this time, and the most of whom
are living to-day. There were plenty of others in the
company with whom I became acquainted afterward, but
the above about comprised the limit of personal ac-
quaintances at the time mentioned, and I particularly
remember them as we were approaching the place where
we were to engage in our first real fighting.
John Ick had the "slaughter-house" fever bad just
then. He broke out every five minutes with some re-
mark about the "shambles" and every wounded man
that came along was the signal for a fresh outbreak.
But there was no reprimand or fun cast at John Ick at
this time, for we all felt the same way, and to a great
extent he expressed our sentiments.
In speaking for myself in saying that I was in a per-
petual state of nervous fright, I think I can speak for
the rest. Once when a lad, I had come near drowning.
I was under the water long enough to remember every-
thing that I had ever done in my life. I remember to
this day how the bad things stood out in the boldest
relief. Things that I then considered very wicked per-
haps would not trouble my conscience so much nowa-
days, but the smallest offense seemed a great sin then
and it was pictured before me like a panorama.
So it was now. I felt as sure that I was going to be
killed as I did when I was under the water when a lad.
I thought over my comparatively short life and every-
thing that I had done. I wished that I had not done
somethings. I wished that I had lived a better life,
that I was a member of the church and in other respects
better. In fact I thought I was going to die, and I was
afraid, not so much of the simple dying, as of the mj-s-
terious hereafter. In fact I felt afraid to die, and I am
sure that I mentally made up my mind that if I got
through with this all right, I would lead a better life.
But alas, that is the rule always.
" When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be.
When the devil was well, the devil a monk was he."
In other words I am afraid that after the big battle
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 127
that came and passed I was wickeder than ever. Such
is life.
I remember plainly what Henry Spear said to me.
"It is all right for you young fellows, who have no
one to depend upon you. But just think of me and the
others who have wives and families."
"That's all right," said I, "but don't you suppose
ve young fellows like to live as well as you older ones?"
"Perhaps; but you have no one depending on you and
that makes all the difference. I don't think of myself
at all, but of my wife and children."
"That's true," said Heber Wells, who had heard the
conversation; "if you had a family depending on you
you would feel different."
"And are you not afraid for your own self?" I asked.
"Of course I do not want to be killed," answered
Henry Spear; "but that is nothing compared with the
thought of family."
I was young then. I had my doubts about it. True
I had no family depending on me, but I had bright
prospects and — well, I had the picture of a pretty girl
in my pocket who perhaps might grieve, and perhaps
might not. On the whole I didn't think she would —
much. But I was scared for myself, and I honestly be-
lieve the others were too. I did not have any family
excuse to cover up my fear. And yet, seriously, in the
light of later experience, I can appreciate the fact that
this must have added materially to the mental suffer-
ings of the men who imagined they were going to their
death.
All this time we were marching and countermarch-
ing, going hither and thither, as if the commanding
officers were not quite satisfied where they did want us
to stand. Late in the afternoon on September 15, 1862,
the advance troops of our army reached the front of the
enemy and preparations were at once made for the big
battle that was expected to begin the following morning.
That was not a pleasant night. We were in a state
of nervous expectancy, and as we sat around the camp
fires we discussed the awful possibilities of the morrow.
The little "club" to which I belonged gave each other
the directions as to what to do in case anything hap-
128 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
pened to any one of the three. We carefully went over
the addresses of each other's relatives at home, and mu-
tually agreed to stand by each other in case any of us
were wounded. In fact we made arrangements that
impressed me as being very much like the preparations
for a funeral. Which of us would be the corpse? The
comrade from the Third Wisconsin who had suggested
the idea had told us that there was no likelihood of all
three being killed. One might. Perhaps two might.
But the chances were that at least one of the three would
escape. Who would it be? I hoped that I would be
the one, but I had my doubts about it.
Was this cowardice? Was I a coward? Perhaps I
was. But I really believe that if I was a coward for
feeling this way, then ninety-nine hundredths of the
army were cowards. It is not natural that any man,
or any animal for that matter, should not be nervous
and apprehensive in the face of impending death. If
this feeling was cowardice, then truly I was a coward.
I guess I was never cut out for a soldier, at least the
kind that have to fight. I wished that I had joined the
"home guards."
When the reveille sounded the next morning we all
arose and looked at each other in a strange way. We
did not talk much, but the glance that each man gave
the other was a silent inquiry or interchange of feeling.
Nearly every man was pale, and everybody's eyes bore
the appearance of having passed a wakeful night. In a
listless way we prepared and tried to eat a little break-
fast, but there was no taste to it, and we had no appe-
tite. And when the order to "fall in" came, we got
into the ranks in a slow, despairing sort of way, as if
we had given up all hope — the sort of way that a con-
demned prisoner pulls himself together to walk to the
scaffold.
Let a man of that regiment say, if he truthfully can,
that he felt differently from the way I have tried to
describe.
But we did not get into the battle that day. They
say that "hope deferred maketh the heart sick." I can-
not say that the delay in this made any of our hearts
very ill. But at the same time it was a painful wait,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 139
withal. When a man has an aching tooth to be pulled
he wants to have it hurried through and be done with,
and the same sentiment prevailed now. We thought
that we would rather be plunged into the unknown
horror of the battle and be done with it than have to
much longer suffer this terrible suspense.
I am only endeavoring to describe the feelings of a
private soldier on the eve of his first battle. The de-
scription is tame and unsatisfactory at the best. I feel
that I have greatly underestimated the sensations.
We moved that day with Mansfield's corps, to which
we were attached, to the neighborhood of Keedysville,
where we remained all day. The preparations for the
battle were seen all around us. The troops were get-
ting in line for the conflict, and even to our inexperi-
enced eyes, the reasons for the movements were under-
stood. The artillery was being placed on the hills, the
guns unlimbered and turned toward the direction where
the rebels were supposed to be. The cavalry were gal-
loping hither and thither to the front. Mounted order-
lies dashed up to the corps headquarters with written
orders to the generals. When night came we could
even hear distant drums and bugles, which were said to
be those of the enemy. We were getting into close
quarters and no mistake.
Late in the night we received orders to move. The
orders were ominous. Instructions were passed around
in a whisper, to move as quietly as possible. There
must be no loud talking. Our tin cans and coffee pots
were to be muffled in some way so that they would not
rattle. Under no circumstances must any man light
his pipe or strike a match for any purpose whatever, for
it was a quiet maneuver in the dark, to be made with-
out letting the enemy know what was going on.
That was enough. Company K wasn't going to let
the enemy know where it was, not if she knew herself,
and we w r ere as still as mice as we marched here and
there in the dark, stumbling over almost everything in
the way. We went over fences, through woods, up hill
and down, past quiet farmhouses, and crossed a good-
sized stream on an old bridge. We learned afterward
that it was Antietam creek, made famous the next day
by the bloody battle that took place along its banks.
130 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Finally we were halted in a position on the extreme
right of the line, and threw ourselves on the ground for
a much-needed rest. It was at that weird hour in the
morning just before dawn, when it is the darkest.
Scarcely had we laid ourselves on the ground than
there was some very sharp shooting in front of us.
The battle of Antietam had begun !
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 131
CHAPTEE XXIII.
ANTIETAM.
It was the memorable day of September 17, 1862.
As stated in the previous chapter, it was an hour or so
before the first signs of daylight, and we had just
thrown ourselves on the ground for a short rest after a
tedious and fatiguing night's march. Then the shoot-
ing began a little distance in front of us.
Hooker's corps had been assigned the position on the
right of the Union army in the hope of turning the
enemy's left. Our corps was to support Hooker's. The
skirmishers on our right had encountered those of the
rebels on their left. They exchanged shots, and that
was the firing -\ve had heard.
It seems — and this was learned afterward, of course
— that Stonewall Jackson's force had made a rapid
march from Harper's Ferry and joined Lee during the
day. Lee was one of the most able generals and astute
strategists that the world ever knew. He seemed to
possess a wonderful facility for learning the enemy's
movements and as if by intuition knew what they were
intended for. Thus by bringing his own troops into the
proper position he frequently frustrated the best-laid
plans of the Northern generals. In this way on this
occasion he had strengthened the weakest point of the
Confederate's right, where General McClellan had
intended to make his most savage attack.
Although but two weeks away from home, as it were,
we had become quite used to the sound of musketry, but
never before did the shooting seem to have the same
significance 'that it d id now. We knew that we were
in for it. We waited for daylight as the condemned
murderer waits for the sun to rise on his last day, for
13$ TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
there was not one of us that did not regard it as his last
day.
"We was by dot schlaughter-haus now, sure, alretty,"
said John Ick, in the darkness.
"Sh-h!" said Sergeant Wells. And it was the only
answer to Ick's lugubrious remark, for we all felt that
there was too much truth in it. Even Reddy Mahar,
Ich's perennial enemy, said not a word, but hugged the
ground all the closer.
The minutes rolled on. Did ever time pass so slowly?
Everybody was silent. Everybody was thinking —
thinking — thinking! The sun would arise! Would
we ever see it set? Alas, some of us did not !
The long-delayed daylight finally arrived. The first
gray streaks of dawn disclosed to our eyes a vast army,
lying in battle array, all ready for the fight, it seemed.
The first thing done was to serve us all with a ration
of fresh beef. This was the universal custom before a
battle. Why was it? Was it to make us more savage,
like so many animals? At all events it seemed to be
the general rule. More than once I have seen an army
marching into a battle with a chunk of half -roasted
fresh beef in every man's hand. There used to be a
tradition that the Confederates gave their men a ration
of whisky and gunpowder before a fight to make them
savage. I don't know whether there was any truth in
this or not.
We lighted fires. There was no use for secrecy now,
for each army knew the proximity of the other. We
stuck our fresh beef on the ends of sticks, held them in
the flames of the camp fires and roasted, or rather
toasted them, as best as we could. But before the meat
was scarcely smoked we were ordered to change our
position.
The Thirteenth was formed in "close column," which
is a usual way to prepare for a battle. We had never
been drilled in any such movement, and to get us in
the right position it was almost necessary for the officers
to lead each man by the shoulders and put him where
he ought to be. And to tell the truth, most of the
officers knew about as little of these movements as the
men.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 133
When we were in the right shape Ave were told that
we might again light the fires and cook our meat for
breakfast. But that breakfast was never cooked. We
had scarcely got the fires started than the firing in the
front began again more vigorously than we had ever
heard it before. We were ordered to "fall in."
Some of the men ate their beef raw. I was not used
to that yet, and thrust my ration into my haversack.
I didn't have much of an appetite auyhow !
Then the firing of the rifles in the front became more
continuous. That was followed by the artillery. First
there was a single shot, as if it were a signal. Then
there was an answering roar from a far-off hill. The
Union artillery responded, and the rebels answered
back. The shooting of big guns extended all along the
line, and the scarce risen sun was greeted with a con-
tinuous salvo that sounded like ten thousand anvil
choruses.
The "boom — whiz — crash — boom" described in a
previous chapter, was repeated and repeated a hundred,
a thousand, yes, thousands of times', till the skies
crashed like a thousand severe summer thunder-storms.
It was simply awful! The noise was ear-splitting,
and the effect on the nerves was terrible. I really
believe that if it were not for the infernal noise of the
artillery in a battle it would not seem half so bad.
We were temporarily baited along a piece of woods ;
I believe that this woods has gone into history as "The
East Woods." Then every man was startled by the
most unearthly yelling.
None had ever before heard such demoniacal shrieks.
They sounded as if they came from a lost soul in the
nethermost depths of purgatory. We were all startled.
It made our blood run cold.
"What in the world is that man making such a noise
for?" asked Sergeant Wells.
"Damfino," replied Hank Van Orden, "let's go and
see. ' '
Don't let the reader think that Hank meant to be pro-
fane, right there in the face of death. He was so used
to that expression that he would have said the same
thing if spoken to by the Angel Gabriel. No one ever
134= THE TO UNO VOLUNTEER.
regarded it as profanity, and even Wells did not notice
it then.
So we went over the edge of the woods from whence
the unearthly shrieks were coming. Wells made an
exclamation of horror. There was no more cool and
self-possessed man in the army than Heber Wells, but
the sight that he saw was enough to turn the stomach
of the most hardened veterans.
There lay a wounded soldier. He was a member of
the One Hundred and Seventh New York, one of the
regiments of our brigade, and whose face was instantly
recognized. He had been struck by the fragments of a
bursted shell, and both of his legs were torn off near the
knees. The feet and ankles were gone entirely, but
there protruded from the lacerated flesh the ends of the
bones of the legs i i a most horrible manner, making a
sight that was simply sickening. Nearly every man of
Company K went over to take a look at the wounded
man and immediately turned away with a pallid face.
There were plenty of wounded men now passing
through to the rear, but their injuries were compara-
tively insignificant. This was the first time that any
of us had seen a man mortally wounded and in the act
of dying. I think that did more to upset and demoral-
ize the men just at that moment than anything else in
the world, and the fact that he was one of our own men,
so to speak, and that the same fate was likely to over-
come any one of us at any moment, made an impres-
sion that was terrible.
Heber Wells saw that the man was beyond hope and
that all that could be done for him would be to possibly
relieve his sufferings.
"What do you want, man?" asked Heber, sympa-
thetically.
"Water, water, water!" moaned the wounded man.
Wells reached for his canteen and handed it to the
dying man.
"No, no," he said, in a weak voice, as Heber held it
to his lips. "No, not — drink. Pour — head "
The man's head was bursting with the fever of the
terrible anguish he was suffering.
"Thank — thank — better — " painfully gasped the
TSE YOVN& VOLUNTEER. 135
poor wretch, as he felt the cooling draught trickle down
his forehead.
An order to "fall in" ended this painful scene. The
wounded man must have died a few minutes later, for
he was going fast when we left him. He is probably
in one of the graves in the Sharpsburg national ceme-
tery marked "unknown." But the dreadful sight had
made an unpleasant impression upon us, for nothing
that we had yet seen had so greatly unnerved us. I
don't think any member of the company ever forgot that
sight.
We were ordered to take a slightly changed position,
to support Hexhamer's battery, which was banging
away for dear life. As fast as the men could load the
cannon they were sending shot and shell toward a rebel
battery on an opposite hill, and the latter were sending
back their shells, which were striking around us in the
most reckless manner. The execution done by the
enemy just then, to our intense relief, did not amount
to much, for the most of the shells went over us, and
exploded somewhere further in the rear. When I saw
the artillerymen at work then, I began to wish that I
had enlisted in that branch of the service, for it cer-
tainly looked a good deal safer than the infantry or
cavalry.
My subsequent experience corroborated this. Let me
advise the reader if there is another war, to enlist in the
artillery. When an artilleryman is wounded, he is
generally torn to pieces; but taken as a whole the
chances of his getting out of a fight alive are a good
deal better than in most of the other branches of the
service and it is better in other respects.
Suddenly we were ordered to lie down flat, with space
between each file sufficient for some one to pass
through. This strange order was soon understood, for
a moment later, the Sixty -ninth New York, one of the
bravest fighting regiments of the war, came running
through us in the double quick.
They had been ordered to charge one of the rebel bat-
teries. They went down the hill on the run with their
guns on their shoulders, or hanging in their arms, and
when they began to ascend the other side of the valley,
they brought their muskets to a "charge bayonet l"
136 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
A gallant charge they made, but they were repulsed.
They were ordered back to their former position. Al-
though a number of them had been killed, although
there were some still in the ranks with blood streaming
from their wounds, they came back through the Thir-
teenth with as much regularity as if they had been in a
drill, and with a discipline that excited our admiration.
It was this sort of conduct that made the Sixty-ninth
New York one of the most famous regiments in the
war, and no historian could ever praise that regiment
too much.
"How do you feel, Heber?" asked Captain Irish of
Heber Wells.
"Hungry, just now," was Heber' s cool response.
"I don't mean that. You know what I mean,
Heber," said the captain.
"Well, to tell the truth," was Wells' reply, "I would
much rather be at home."
"Do you know," said Captain Irish, "I feel as if I
would never come out of this alive."
"Oh, nonsense," said Wells, "you will come out all
right."
" No, " reiterated the captain gloomily; "I will never
come out alive."
Do men have presentiments of death? Inside of thirty
minutes Captain Irish was a corpse !
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 137
CHAPTER XXIV.
CAPTAIN IRISH KILLED.
Now comes the Thirteenth's "baptism of fire." And
a bloody- one it was !
We were ordered forward !
Over eight hundred strong, in battle front, we pro-
ceeded. The officers ordered us to "dress to the right,"
but it was a straggling line.
The "z — z — z — ip" of the bullets could be heard
whistling past us. And a moment later the first man of
Company K fell. It was Fred King. He was mortally
wounded, and died in the hospital about two weeks
later. The feeling at seeing one of our own men fall
out this way was indescribable. I shall not attempt to
do it. But no matter who fell we must obey orders.
And the pitiless, relentless order was "Forward!"
The cannon balls and shell struck around us, tearing
up the earth, and sometimes ricochetting or bouncing
along the ground a great distance, like a flat stone skims
across the water of a pond.
Wounded men lay everywhere. Some were writhing
and kicking. Others lay still. Some of the human
forms were already quiet in death. The number of
dead horses was enormous. They seemed to lie every-
where. But it was still "Forward!"
We climbed over a rail fence. It was a road, the old
road that yet runs from Hagerstown to Sharpsburg.
We did not take the road, however, for the order was
still "Forward!"
We climbed over the fence on the other side of the
road. We marched some fifteen or twenty feet into
what was then a meadow.
We could not see any of the enemy, although their
bullets were whistling past our heads. The rebels
seemed to be in a woods on the other side of the meadow.
138 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Suddenly something occurred that seemed almost su-
pernatural. A vast number of the enemy appeared to
rise straight out of the solid earth, and they poured into
us a deadly volley of leaden hail.
It is not believed that there is another geological for-
mation like that particular spot on the face of the earth.
Great military men from all over the world have since
inspected it, and said that it seemed as if nature, in a
savage mood, had made those natural breastworks,
simply for the purpose for which they were used on that
particular day.
Let me describe that field if I can. On one side, as
before said, was a road, flanked by a post and rail fence.
On the other side was a little valley, at the bottom of
which was a small brook, and beyond this, a woods.
About two-thirds of the distance to one side of the field,
nearest the woods, there is a sudden drop in the surface
of the ground, making a step of about four or five feet
in height. The perpendicular side of this step is of
ledgy rock. On the upper level, and on the lower level,
it is tillable ground. It is as if one-third of the field
had simply dropped its level about five feet.
Standing over by the fence the whole field looks flat,
without a break in it. No one would ever think there
was such a step there. It is one of the most wonderful
formations in the world. It extends from one side of
the field to the other, a distance perhaps equal to two
city blocks in length.
It was behind this singular, natural breastworks that
the rebels had concealed themselves, and quietly waited
till we had got within shooting distance and then sud-
denly stood up and fired into us. When standing erect,
their aimed muskets were a little above the higher level.
It was thus that it appeared as if the enemy had actually
arisen right out of the solid earth.
They fired into us a murderous volley.
Surprised, demoralized, we wavered and fell back
and made for the first fence, on the nearest side of the
road!
Does anybody wonder? Remember that we were
green troops. This was the first battle we had been in.
It was scarcely two weeks since we had left the muster-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 139
ing camp at Newark. Perhaps there were not half a
dozen men in the regiment who knew the least thing
about loading and firing a rifle. Under such circum-
stances, and thus surprised by what seemed like an ap-
parition of the enemy, the most experienced troops
would have wavered. What wonder then that the
green and inexperienced Thirteenth Regiment broke and
with one accord made for the fence.
Most of the officers, to their everlasting honor be it
said, were marvelously cool and collected in that terri-
ble scene. They succeeded in stopping the stampede.
They re-formed us on the road before we had climbed
the second fence, and we were again turned against the
enemy.
_ A cessation, for a few moments, not entirely, but par-
tially, of the firing, enabled us to collect our shattered
senses as we gazed over the meadow we had just left.
Then we saw the murderous effect of the volley that
had been fired into our ranks by the enemy concealed
behind those natural breastworks.
There in the meadow lay nine dead and sixty wounded
men of the Thirteenth Regiment— the work of a single
volley !
There was but one man there who seemed not to be
wounded. It was Heber Wells, one of the bravest men
in the battle that ever lived. I wish that I had suffi-
cient mastery of the pen to adequately describe and give
proper tribute to Heber Wells' bravery.
Why had he remained behind in the storm of bullets
that were whistling past him, when everybody else had
fled?
He had remained beside the body of his dead captain.
j Captain Irish had been killed !
When the captain saw the company wavering, he
raised his sword aloft and cried out the words that have
made his memory famous .
"Rally, boys! Rally!"
And just as he said this, he fell, pierced by a bullet.
Sergeant Wells saw him fall and returned to his side.
Wells imagined at first that the captain had been shot
in the head, but could not find the wound.
"Captain," said he, "are you hurt?"
140 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"Heber, I'm killed!"
Captain Irish pressed his hand on his right breast,
glanced gratefully at his faithful friend Heber, gasped
painfully — and was dead !
And thus died one of the bravest, kindest-hearted men
that ever lived. Thus died my old friend, my old em-
ployer. When the members of Company K realized
what had happened they were paralyzed with horror.
The poetry of war, however, had Leen verified, for the
first man to be killed was the captain, while in the
brave act of rallying his wavering men.
Heber Wells tore open the captain's coat and shirt,
and found a small wound near the right nipple of his
breast. There was not a particle of blood oozing from
it. But it had reached a vital spot. Wells put his ear
to the captain's breast, and heard the last fluttering of
his stilling heart.
Then Wells searched the pockets, taking from them
the captain's watch, the papers and memorandums, and
unfastened his sword. He tried to get the pocket knife
and other things on the other side, but could not, on ac-
count of the way the body was twisted around. There
was imminent danger of the Union troops being repulsed
and the body falling into the hands of the rebels, and
Heber did not want any of the contents of the captain's
pockets to fall into the hands of the enemy.
Then Wells made up his mind to rescue the body.
The bullets Avere still whistling about his ears in a dan-
gerous fashion, but he seemed to care naught for that.
Picking up the things he had removed from the cap-
tain's pockets, and his sword, he took them over to the
road and called for volunteers to rescue the captain's
body. There were plenty of responses of this noble, yet
sad duty, dangerous though it was. Of the volunteers,
Wells selected Jacob Engle, Lewellen T. Probert and
Jacob Berdan, and the four carried the captain's body
over the fence and laid it in the road.
Word was sent home as soon as possible and a dele-
gation came on and took charge of the remains. They
were brought home and Captain Irish's funeral was one
of the largest ever seen in Paterson. Business was sus-
pended, the streets were hung with banners bearing the
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 141
last famous words of the dead captain, flags were dis-
played at half-mast, all the public and many private
buildings were draped with mourning, aud an immense
concourse of people followed the body to the grave at
Sandy Kill, where it was buried.
Captain Irish was a member of the First Baptist
Church of Paterson, and a handsome memorial tablet
was set in the walls, and is there yet. Later, when the
Sons of Veterans were organized, the first post started
in Paterson was named "Captain Hugh C. Irish Cainp,
No. 8." _
Captain Irish was not the only one of Company K who
lost his life in that battle. The others were Frederick
C. King, Curtis Bowne, John B. Doremus, Robert
Gammall and Abraham JMargoff . The latter was killed
instantaneously. The others were mortally wounded
and died afterward. The case of Curtis Bowne was
very peculiar, as will be described a little further on.
Company C, the other Paterson company, also suf-
fered severely, there being three who were fatally shot,
namely : Peter Arlington, John M. Sheperd and George
Me3*ers. All these were Paterson boys.
Altogether in the regiment, however, as before stated,
there were nine killed and some sixty wounded, and the
whole thing occurred in that one murderous volley,
which did not take more time than it does to write this
sentence.
The captain being dead, the command of the com-
pany fell on First Lieutenant Scott. But he was liors
de combat too.
The lieutenant was not killed, but sick — very sick.
When Sergeant Wells went to look for him, he found
the lieutenant lying alongside the fence, doubled up
with cramps and vomiting like a dog. Sergeant Wells
ordered a couple of men to take the lieutenant to the
rear, and assumed command of the company himself.
But the battle wasn't over yet !
142 THE YOVNQ VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE REST OF ANTIETAM.
Not much account of the time of day is kept during
a battle, but everybody seems to agree that it was about
9 o'clock in the morning when Captain Irish was killed.
The battle of Antietam lasted all day on the 17th of
September, 1862. So the fighting was not over yet, by
any means. On the contrary it had just fairly begun.
People who are reading this story for the fun it con-
tains will not find much that is very funny right here.
They were certainly a good many amusing things in
the army, but there were just as many that were horri-
ble. All phases of war life will be given in the order
in which they come, the object being to present all the
different experiences of a soldier just as they are, and
that these reminiscences are given faithfully and accu-
rately I am sure every veteran will admit.
The battle of Antietam was not over yet, nor was the
part the Thirteenth New Jersey played in it. From its
position on the pike the regiment was ordered back into
the woods, pretty nearly the same it had occupied before
proceeding down to its baptism.
We had scarcely got there before the enemy made his
appearance in full force on the other side of the turn-
pike. Then our artillery opened up on them in good
shape. This attack of the Confederates had evidently
been intended to capture that battery on the hill, which
was giving them a good deal of trouble. But they
didn't get that battery, not by a long shot. The enemy
was given a hot dose of shot and shell and shrapnel and
canister (packages of bullets and slugs which burst
open and mow down the ranks of the victims like a
scythe), and the enemy was promptly sent back to his
shelter at the edge of the woods.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 143
The Thirteenth Regiment, already demoralized by
the volley down in the meadow, where Captain Irish
had been killed and so many wounded, had not got over
it and this second attack very much scattered them. It
took some time for the officers to get them together in
good shape again, but they finally succeeded in doing
so.
Just then an order came for the regiment to report to
General Green, over by the " Dunker church, " where the
enemy was massing in force and pressing the Union
troops dangerouslj r .
It is not often that I strike anything lucky, but I cer-
tainly did just then. It became necessary to detail some
men to guard some ammunition wagons that were
bringing supplies to the battery on the hill, and as my
name was next on the roster, I was one of the men
selected for this duty. It was dangerous, of course, but
nothing to be compared with ordinary fighting, and I
gladly welcomed the "assignment." Some of the other
fellows greeted me enviously and offered to change
places with me, but I did not see it in that light.
So for the rest of the day I viewed the battle from the
hills, following the ammunition wagons around from
one place to another on the heights as they visited the
different batteries. I don't know what special use there
was for a guard for the wagons, but I did not stop to
inquire.
Any detail that will take a man out of the very front
of a battle is always a welcome one. The cannon balls
and shells came pretty close at times, but I had got
somewhat used to them, and nothing after all was so
bad as the insidious little bullets of the rifles.
The main portion of the regiment, however, was in it
again for fair. They were marched down about a mile
to the left, and up the hill back of the old Dunker
church. This was a small brick structure, about the
size of a country schoolhouse, and it was right in the
thick of the battle of the afternoon. It was struck sev-
eral times, and big holes were made through the walls
by the shells.
And by the way the church and its surroundings
look about as forlorn and uncivilized now as they did
144 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
on the clay of the battle thirty-two and over years ago.
The name"Dunker" arose from the fact that the church
was the worshipping place of a religious sect called the
Dimkards.
Up back of this church the Thirteenth Regiment, led
by General Green himself, came near being captured.
The enemy advanced toward us with their guns held as
if they were either out of ammunition or else wanted to
surrender, and quietly marched down to the right as if
going peaceabl} T to the rear.
Adjutant Charles A. Hopkins (afterward captain of
Company K), with another officer went out with a white
handkerchief on a sword as a sort of truce to see what
was meaut by these mysterious movements. Hopkins
had got out into the open field where he was exposed to
every danger, when it became evident to everybody that
the crafty enemy was trying to work the dodge of get-
ting in our rear, and thus putting us between two fires,
which would have annihilated the Thirteenth in a few
moments.
The scheme was discovered by the Union troops, and
the fact that it was seen through was discovered by the
Confederates almost simultaneously, and the firing
began at once on both sides in a very lively sort of a
manner. Those who were there say that the horror of
the fight that was commenced was almost offset by the
sight of Adjutant Hopkins and his companion skedad-
dling over that field to get out of the way of the bullets
that came from both directions at once. As if by a
miracle, however, neither of them was struck.
This engagement lasted for an hour or so and there
were a number of the Thirteenth killed and wounded.
Some of those who are put down as being killed in the
first volley may have been killed at this spot, as the
records do not divide the encounters, the total loss being
charged to the one engagement of "Antietam." The
Thirteenth Regiment, however, stood its ground in -a
manner extremely creditable for new troops, but they
were confronted by superior numbers, and were finally
compelled to fall back to a safer position. Their place
was taken, later, by fresher troops, who at least suc-
ceeded in holding the position,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. H5
In the meantime there was some very hard fighting
in progress on the lower side of the Dunker church,
where the memorable charge of the Sixth corps took
place, a portion of which I observed from my elevated
position on the hill with the artillery. Although I was
personally in a state of fright for fear that something
might happen to necessitate my being sent to the front
again, yet I could not help admiring the magnificent ex-
hibitions of bravery which I saw almost every minute.
Fortunately for me, however, I was kept guarding
that blessed ammunition wagon for the balance of the
day. Had a shell struck it and exploded, both the
wagon and myself, including the driver and the mules,
would have ascended skyward, but I never thought of
that, even if I knew it. When an old soldier told me
afterward that guarding an ammunition wagon under
an artillery fire was one of the most dangerous things
in a fight, I felt quite nervous over the risks I had run.
But where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise, and I
never knew anything about the likelihood of an ammu-
nition wagon blowi?ig up. I faithfully attended to the
duty of seeing that no one stole anything out of the
wagon, and I supposed that was what I was there for.
Certainly I could see no other reason.
The Thirteenth Regiment after its retreat from the
field near the Dunker church did not get into any more
active fighting that day, although it was called upon
several times to support other regiments and batteries.
The fighting late in the afternoon was more severe fur-
ther down in the direction [of Sharpsburg, particularly
around the old stone bridge over Antietam creek where
General Burnside made his famous stand, and which
has ever since been called "Burnside Bridge."
So far as I could judge the line of battle front ex-
tended a distance of eight or ten miles from one end to
the other, and the Hagerstown pike was practically the
dividing line between the two armies all day. It is
needless to say that every soldier was completely tired
out when night finally came.
Colonel Carman, the commandant of the Thirteenth,
fell from his horse or was injured in some other way
early in the engagement, and the command of the regi*
146 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
ment fell to Lieutenant- Colonel Swords, and he acquitted
himself with credit. General Mansfield was mortally
wounded in the morning and the command of the corps
fell on our division commander, General A. S. Wil-
liams. In the afternoon fighting Company K was com-
manded by Orderly Sergeant Wells, for there were no
commissioned officers left, and so well did Sergeant
Wells acquit himself that day, that just as soon as
necessary preliminary red tape arrangements could be
gone through with he wore the shoulder-straps of a sec-
ond lieutenant, and his place as orderly sergeant was
taken by Sergeant Hank Van Orden.
On the whole the Thirteenth, for the first time under
fire, had acquitted itself with more than ordinary credit,
and this was publicly accorded in subsequent "general
orders," which is the only way the rank and file ever
get any premium on having more than done their duty.
I am not trying to tell the whole story of the battle
of Antietam. That is published in various volumes. I
am only telling what I know of it. It is not much, to
be sure, but it is as much as the ordinary private soldier
knew about any battle in which he participated.
No one had stolen the ammunition wagon and I had
done my part of the duties of the day. When evening
came the wagon was turned in with a lot of others to a
sort of extemporized quartermaster's department, and I
naturally expected to be sent back to my company.
But my troubles were not yet over for that night.
Something entirely out of the usual run occurred,
which prevented me from getting the much-needed
night's rest.
TJSE YOUNG- VOLUNTEEB. 147
CHAPTER XXVI.
A "slaughter house" sure.
Instead of being ordered back to the regiment, I was,
with some other men, sent down the road to guard some
cattle that were to be killed in the morning for fresh
beef. To my delight I found two other members of my
company detailed on the same duty. They were Curtis
Bowne and E. L. Allen, both old printing-office associ-
ates, too.
There were twelve cattle in the drove that we were
to guard, under the charge of a corporal. We got them
in a corner of a field, and divided ourselves up into
three "reliefs," that is, one of us was to watch for two
hours while the others slept, when our turns would be
changed, so that each man would have "two hours on
and four off," according to the regular custom.
We lighted a fire, cooked some coffee, and had a
smoke before turning in for a rest. The conversation
of course turned on the events of the day, and particu-
larly on the death of Captain Irish. Then we began to
talk about the wounded members of Company K.
"By the way," said Bowne, "I got a little dose of it
myself. Look at this."
He took off his cap and turned his face toward the
camp*fire. In the middle of his forehead there was a
small round bruise, as if it had been hit with a stone.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I don't know. I think I must have been hit by a
spent ball that just bruised the skin without entering."
"You are sure that it did not go into your brains?" I
remarked laughingly. I had no more of an idea of
such a thing than Curt did.
"No!" he answered good-naturedly. "My brains
are not as soft as that."
148 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"Not a bit," was the answer. "It is nothing — not
worth talking about."
And none of us thought at the time that it was. Yet
at that very moment there was a one-ounce bullet im-
bedded in Curt Bowne's brain that afterward caused
his death. He remained with the regiment for some
days and then his head began to pain him so badly that
he had to be sent to the hospital. He grew worse, but
very slowly, and he actually lived until the following
March, when he died from the effects of the wound
which was at first supposed by all to be so trivial.
This certainly was a singular case. I am told that it
was duplicated during the war, but there were few in-
stances like it. For a man to live from September till
the following March with a large bullet imbedded in
the folds of his brain is certainly something wonderful.
The theory of the doctors, if I remember rightly, was
that the bullet had passed between the convolutions of
the brain without lacerating their coverings, that there
was consequently no immediate internal hemorrhage,
and that death resulted at last from slow inflammation.
We couldn't get over the sad death of Captain Irish,
and as two of my comrades of that night had worked with
me under him in the Guardian office, we felt all the
more keenly his loss. It seemed as if we had suffered
the loss of a relative. I felt very moist about the eyes
when I recalled how he had bathed my blistered feet
with ointment only a few days before in the camp at
Rockville.
"What is that strange noise?" remarked Bowne; "it
sounds like some one humming."
We listened. There certainly was a queer noise com-
ing from the direction of an old barn on the lower end
of the field. But we didn't pay much attention to it
then. We went on discussing the battle.
During the day, in the excitement, it had appeared
like nothing but a gigantic excitement — a rushing mob,
with deafening thunders of cannon and rattling volleys
of musketry; of crowds of men rushing hither and
thither; of men and horses falling around us; of bloody
soldiers hastening frantically to some quiet and safe
spot. It was a nightmare !
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER, 149
But now that it was over we began to realize what
we had gone through. As each minute passed the hor-
rors of the day seemed to stand out more and more
vivid. With blanched faces each gave his version of
the scene of the slaughter, and the merits and demerits
of the individual members of Company K were dis-
cussed at length.
All through it all came that strange murmuring noise
we had referred to. It was a low hum, like the sound
of the insects on a summer's night, only less sharp. It
formed a background of our whole talk. More than
once we stopped to listen and wonder what it was.
"Did any one see John Ick during the fight?" I
asked.
"Didn't you hear about him?" answered Curt.
"No."
"Why, he sneaked!"
"Sneaked!"
"That's what he did— sneaked out!"
"How was that?"
"Well, when the company was re-formed in the road
after that sudden volley, you know," said Bowne, ex-
plaining, "some one asked what had become of John
Ick and Reddy Mahar. Lem Smith said that he saw
them going over toward the woods on a run. One of
the sergeants, I think it was Hank Van Orden, was
sent to see if he could find them and bring them back to
the regiment, which was just then marchiug back to the
place where it had been in the morning. ' '
"Well," I asked, interrupting, "did he find them?"
"The sergeant didn't find Reddy. He turned up
afterward from somewhere. But Hank found Ick, and
where do you think he was?"
I answered that I was sure I could not tell.
"Up in the woods, behind a tree," said Curt. "He
had got an old rubber overcoat somewhere, which he
had put on, and then squatted behind the tree. The
coat was covered with mud and looked like a big stone.
In fact Hank said he thought it was a rock at first.
But the stone coughed, and looking a little closer, Hank
discovered Ick hiding under it. Hank gave him a kick
and told him to come back to the company. Ick said
l£0 TIIE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
that he had had enough of the slaughter-house business
and was going home. But Hank made him come
along."
"Did he take part in the fight in the afternoon?" I
asked.
"Yes," answered Curt, "and he stood up to the rack
like a major. He seemed to have got over his panic of
the morning."
"Well, I declare," said I. "I imagined that with
all his talk about slaughter houses that he would be all
right when it came to a pinch. But where did Keddy
come from?"
"I don't know," said Curt. "He arrived in the camp
just as I left the company to come here."
"Did any of the other fellows of Company K sneak?"
I asked.
"Not a single one of them, they all "
"For the love of God, don't— Oh-h-h !"
This came over from the direction of the barn before
referred to. It was not like a cry. It was a shriek. It
was a loud -cracked voice, that seemed to come from the
very depths of some human soul. I never heard such a
tone of voice in my life again. It was like the shriek
of a wounded horse.
We listened, breathless. Then we heard that mys-
terious, low moaning chorus that had attracted our
attention so often.
"Suppose we go over to that barn and see what it is,
Joe," suggested Liv. Allen.
I consented and went. I wished that I never had.
The old barn was being utilized as a field hospital.
It was one of those big old-fashioned Southern barns,
with a large open space in the middle of a row of stalls
on the two sides. The floor was covered with wounded
men, lying closely side by side.
On the bare floor, in a row, as thick as they could
lie, were the maimed human beings that had just been
operated upon. Some were conscious, but the most of
them were moaning and groaning. These moans and
groans arose in the night air like a chorus. It was this
that we had heard from our place on the opposite side
of the field where we were guarding the cattle.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 151
I passed between the rows of wounded men, many of
whom would never be removed from their hard couches,
except as corpses. Li v. and I stopped to look more
carefully at one poor fellow whose face seemed familiar.
This poor wretch — we didn't recognize him after all
— had just suffered an amputation of the left arm at the
shoulder joint.
He looked at me appealingly, as if he wished to say
something. I knelt at his side and held down my ear.
He made an effort to speak, but not a sound came
from his lips. On the contrary, he simply turned his
head — and there ran from his mouth a stream of what
looked like dark-green paint. His legs stiffened out, a
convulsion passed over him, an ashen hue suffused his
face. He was dead !
Horror-stricken I rushed through the barn and out of
the rear side, closely followed by Liv. Allen.
We had better have gone the other way, for here
were horrors a thousand times worse. The surgeons
were at their ghoulish work on this side of the barn.
Upon a board, laid upon two barrels, was stretched a
human form. Perhaps it was the same poor fellow
whose yell of anguish had aroused and startled us. But
he was silent now. A young medical cadet was'hold-
ing a chloroform -saturated handkerchief to his nose.
The doctors were about to amputate the shattered mass
of flesh that was once a leg.
The surgeons were in their shirt sleeves. The aprons
that some ol them wore were as red with blood as if
they had been butchers. Assistants held candles to
light the operation. I saw the doctor give one cut into
the fleshy part of the man's thigh — and fled !
But I ran straight into another amputating table — a
board over two barrels. Here they were taking off an
arm ! Turning, I ran against another ! In every direc-
tion that I might go, I would run against one of the
horrid things.
Blinded with fright and terror, I tried to escape. I
don't know what became of my companion. Seeing an
apparently open way, I deliriously rushed in that direc-
tion, but meeting some obstruction, I stumbled and fell.
What had I fallen into? In grasping to steady my-
152 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
self, I caught hold of something wet and slimy! It
was quite dark, but I could see! I could see all too
plainly. Would to heaven I could not see !
I had fallen headlong into a heap of horrors — a pile
of human legs and arms that had just been amputated.
I shall not attempt to say how many there were. Were
I to say there were a dozen wagon-loads of arms and
legs, hands and feet, in that ghastly pile, I might not
be believed !
And yet I do not believe that it would be an exag-
geration.
As I lay there, scrambling for a foothold in that
slimy, slippery, bloody, hideous mass of cold flesh —
human flesh — there arose from one of the operating
tables another wild shriek:
"Oh, doctor! Oh! O-h! Oh-h-h! O-o-o-o-h! . .
kill me! Kill me and be done with it! Kill me, and
put me out of my misery!"
My overwrought brain could stand no more! I
fainted !
I dropped unconscious into the slimy, slippery, bloody
mass of amputated legs and arms !
The young volunteer. 153
CHAPTER XXVII.
A WONDERFUL FREAK OF NATURE.
The incidents related in the preceding chapter are
not exaggerations. There is not a soldier living who
went through several battles, but that has seen great
piles of dismembered arms and legs lying around the
operating tables of the surgeons. A veteran who was
at the battle of Gettysburg says that he was one of a
detail to bury these horrible human remnants, and he
counted no less than eight hundred in the pile around
the operating table of one temporary hospital. And at
that battle there were a hundred of such places where a
similar thing was to be seen.
You pass middle-aged or old men on the streets even
now, minus arms or legs. A large proportion of them
were wounded in the army, and their lost limbs are
mingled with the dust of some Southern battlefield.
The sight of encountering such a hideous pile the first
time is enough to overcome almost anybody. It over-
came me, and when I fell headlong into the bloody,
slimy mass, it made my stomach turn, my head swim,
and; I fainted.
I do not know how long I remained unconscious.
When I recovered I was lying beside the rail-fence fire
that had been started by my companions on the cattle
guard. They revived me with a cup of hot coffee,
which was the panacea for all the ills of the soldier, the
same as whisky is for some people in civil life.
I was very much fatigued and fell asleep. So did
the others. It was Curt Bowne's turn to keep awake
and guard the cattle. Like the rest of us he was tired
out, and perhaps the w r ound in his head made him the
more drowsy. At all events he fell asleep too, when
he should have remained awake, and some time during
the night, Liv. Allen awoke to find that the cattle had
disappeared. There was not a single steer to be seen.
154 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Whatever became of those twelve cattle — whether
they were driven off by some one when we were asleep,
or whether they had some presentiment of the "slaugh-
ter house" that John Ick was always talking about —
none of us ever knew. All that we did know was that there
were twelve steers there when we were placed in charge
and none when we awoke in the night from our sound
sleep. Take twelve from twelve and nothing remains.
What should we do? Here we were confronted by an
entirely new problem ; we had a vague sort of an idea
that it was a serious matter for a soldier to go to sleep
on his post, but did not know what the penalty was — at
least not then. We had no excuse to offer, for the
offense was self -apparent. The cattle were not there.
Any one could see that — or rather they could not see it
— or them !
So we held a council of war.
"There is only one thing that I can see that we can
do," said Li v. Allen. He wasn't a Methodist minister
at that time and might perhaps make suggestions that
he would not make in these days. "There is only one
thing that we can do, and that is to see if we cannot find
those cattle — or some others. If they are not the same
ones, who can tell the difference?"
We caught on. Liv.'s proposition, stripped of all sur-
plus verbiage, was to get twelve cattle somehow — hon-
estly if we could, but get them anyhow. So we started
out on a nocturnal hunt.
It has often struck me since as strange that we met
no guards or pickets or other thiDgs to stop us that
night and ask us where we were going, and if we had a
pass. But we encountered nothing of the sort. We
went right along without the least molestation.
We passed through thousands of sleeping soldiers
along each side of the road (it was Hagerstown pike),
and more than once passed droves of cattle, but their
guards were more faithful than we had been. They
were awake and watchful. There were no appropriat-
ing any of those herds.
"If we don't strike a fat barnyard, we're lost," said
Curt Bowne. We all had arrived at the same conclu-
sion. _ . .
THE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. 155
"And there is do use following this main road," said
Liv. Allen, wisely. "Let's strike off somewhere to one
side."
I don't know how far we went, but we finally came
to a large barn on a farm that seemed well stocked and
prosperous, and carefully going around behind it we
were delighted to find me yard back of the building
filled with cattle. With as little noise as possible we
picked out twelve (as we supposed) of the cows and
corraled them.
None of us apparently remembered that we had been
placed in charge of steers, and these were cows. In
fact I don't tli ink any one thought of that matter.
In the darkness of the night it would perhaps have been
somewhat difficult to distinguish anyhow.
The corporal who was in charge of the guard which
we three printers from the Thirteenth composed, was
an old soldier — one of the Third Wisconsin boys. He
had gone through the mill and knew the ropes.
"This is a snap," said he, as he emerged from a small
building alongside the barn, holding a big rooster by
the legs. The fowl began to squawk, but that was soon
stopped by seizing him by the neck.
Bowne and Allen followed suit, and each came out
with a fine chicken. I was about to do the same thing,
when the corporal interrupted :
"We have got about enough poultr} T ," said he. "In
that next shed you will find some fine suckin' pigs. Get
one of them.'
I reached over the fence and carefully grabbed one of
the little pigs from its snug bed under its mother's side.
The old sow grunted, but did not seem to appreciate the
loss of one of her helpless offspring. But I had not
gone far before that infernal young pig began the most
itrageous squealing, and all that I could do I could
not stop it.
"Drop it, d — n the critter," said the corporal. "Let's
git. There is no time to fool around here now."
And we "got." The other fellows held on to their
chickens but I was empty handed except for the stick
1 had picked up to facilitate the driving of the cattle
"I'm afraid we will catch it for this in the morning,"
156 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
said I, when I began to appreciate the fact that we
were nothing but a lot of cattle thieves.
"NonseDse, pard," said the corporal from the Wis-
consin regiment. "These critters will be all cut up into
mincemeat by the time the old codger who owns them
fiads out that they are gone. Besides this is nothing for
these times. I have done this same thing many a time
before. It's a darned sight better than getting hauled
up for sleeping on our posts. ' '
I thought perhaps this might be so, but my conscience
troubled me a little still. I was a young soldier, and
hadn't got hardened to such things. Many a time I
helped do similar acts afterward and never once thought
about it — unless caught at it!
It was nearly daylight when we got back to the place
where we had been posted at sunset, and drove the cattle
into the same corner and relighted the fire. And when
the sun arose we sat and stood around with faces as in-
nocent as if we had faithfully performed our duty and
had not been away from the place at all.
We had a good breakfast of broiled chicken that
morning. The broiling was done by sticking parts of
the fowl on the end of sticks and holding them into the
flames of the fire, and I can assure the reader that that
is a good way to broil chicken all the same. We did
not use the whole of it for breakfast, but put what was
left in our haversacks for a future occasion.
At 9 o'clock the relief came along and a new guard
took charge of the cattle.
"How's this?" asked the officer of the new guard, of
our corporal. ' ' This order says that you are to be re-
lieved of the charge of twelve steers. And these are
cows. And let me see — one. two, three, etc. — why,
there are thirteen of them ! How's that?"
We privates looked dismayed as we ran our eyes
over the cattle and counted thirteen. In the darkness
of the night we had stolen one too many. But no officer
could throw that Wisconsin corporal off his gaard.
"Don't know nothing about it, lufftenant," said he.
"Them there's the critters we had turned over to us. I
didn't count 'em. Guess the other fellows must have
made a mistake."
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 157
"But they're cows, not steers," said the officer.
"And you ought to know that the government never
kills cows for beef."
None of us had noticed this wonderful freak of nature.
"Don't know nothing about that," replied the cor-
poral. "If them was steers yesterday they must have
changed during the night somehow, for they're cows
now sure enough. It am a curious circumstance, 1
vow. ' '
The lieutenant evidently thought there was no use
arguing the point with the corporal any further, and
said nothing more. We were relieved of our charge
and ordered back to our brigade.
"Dash my buttons," said the corporal, when we had
got out of hearing. "I wish some of you fellows would
give me a good kick."
"What for, corporal?" I asked.
"Don't you see," he answered, "we had one critter
too many, and we might ha' killed her and had fried
brains for our breakfast. And then did you see them
udders? We might ha' had milk in our coffee. Kick
me for a fool!"
He was an old soldier. And to lose such an unusual
opportunity to improve the menu of a soldier was not at
all "in accordance with the regulations."
158 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
SLEEPING WITH A DEAD REB.
We got back to the Thirteenth Regiment about
11 o'clock. We passed through what seemed to be
many miles of soldiers, all resting. They were lying
about, smoking and otherwise taking it easy. And they
needed the rest, for it was the first time there had been
a stop in many days, and everybody was played out
from the previous day's big battle. There is nothing
more fatiguing than a battle. One does not notice at
the time how much marching and running about he has.
When the excitement is over the reaction comes and
nature demands a rest.
It was the first I had seen of my company since I had
left them immediately after the murderous volley that
killed Captain Irish. I found the boys downhearted over
the loss of the captain. The particulars of the afternoon
fighting were related to me, together with many other
interesting and thrilling incidents that I had not per-
sonally noticed or participated in. Nothing was talked
about but the previous day's experience. The boys had
seen a battle. They did not care to see any more. All
had had enough !
Lieutenant Scott had recovered from his sickness and
was in command of the company, while Orderly Ser-
geant Wells, beside his legitimate duties, seemed to be
acting in the capacity of lieutenant also.
What struck all the soldiers that day, and it has sim-
ilarly impressed all the subsequent historians of the war,
was whj T General McClellan did not follow up the
enemy. The fight, as it stood, was what might be
called a drawn battle. Neither party could claim a
victory.
From the camp occupied by the Thirteenth Regiment
The young volunteer. 159
on September 18, 1862, we could see the camps of the
enemy on the opposite hills. We could see their flags
and their guards. We could see their cannons and their
mounted officers. They seemed to manifest no disposi-
tion to renew the fight; neither did we.
All through that day we momentarily expected to
hear a cannon shot that would be the signal for the re-
newal of hostilities, but it did not come. Everything
was as quiet as a country convention, except for the
drums and bugles that we could hear from the camps of
the rebels as plainly as we could hear our own.
Toward night we could see the signal flags of the
enemy wig-wagging from the hills, and we took it for
granted that that was preliminary to a renewal of the
fighting in the morning. When we went to sleep that
night we fully believed that we would be aroused before
daylight by the thunders of the artillery and that that
would be another day of terrible carnage.
But the battle was over. In the morning when we
looked in the direction of the enemy's camp there was
nothing to be seen. The rebels had quietly sneaked
away during the night and had crossed the Potomac in
safety.
There was not one of us private soldiers but was glad
that the fighting was over for the present, but at the
same time there was not one who could understand why
General McClellan had not followed up the advantage
he had. He might have pursued the rebels that day,
and, forcing them down to the banks of the river, simply
annihilated them and ended the war then and there.
General McClellan, in the opinion of the soldiers gen-
erally, was one of the best officers the army ever had,
but his conduct on that occasion was never satisfactorily
explained to them.
In the afternoon of the following day (the 19th) we
were ordered to move, and we marched through a good
part of the battlefield. Then for the first time we ap-
preciated what an awful battle it had been. Blackened
remains of soldiers lay scattered everywhere, gray and
blue side by side, leveled in death. It was an impres-
sive thing to see a dead Union soldier lying beside a
dead Confederate. Both had been cut down in the act
160 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
of trying to take each other's life. How futile it all
was!
There lay the dead soldier in blue. By his side lay
the dead soldier in gray. What was it to them now?
Their life struggles were over, and what was the bene-
fit? Perhaps both of them had families to support. I
can tell the reader that this sight brought up many
strange feelings. It touched the heart as nothing else
could. Could the dispute have been left to the rank and
file, how quickly would the war have been ended.
The Union loss in that battle was 11,420, and that of
the Confederates, 10,000. But few of the bodies had
been buried. In places — "Bloody Lane," for instance
— the dead bodies had been piled up six and eight high,
just where they had fallen upon each other in a hand-to-
hand conflict. Many Union soldiers had been stripped
of their uniforms by the half -clothed rebels, and lay
there stark naked, stiff and dead, in most cases with
their limbs drawn up as if they had died in agony.
Many of the bodies had turned so black that at first they
were mistaken for negroes.
Dead horses lay everywhere. Broken muskets, un-
limbered cannon, wrecks of caissons and baggage
wagons were scattered about. The ground seemed to be
actually strewn with discarded cartridge boxes and
belts, and you could pick up a vet's blanket every few
feet.
There were a good many stragglers. Many fell out
of the ranks from sheer fatigue. I was one of them.
The excitement of the past two or three days, and tho
fact of having undergone so much fatigue were too
much for me. During one of the stops I crawled up to
the side of a fence, lay down and fell asleep.
The reader will perhaps begin to think that I was a
confirmed "straggler." I can't well deny the allega-
tion. But I had plenty of company, for there were
many others just as bad.
I did not awake till some time late in the night. The
last of the army had passed. I could hear the "tinkle,
tinkle" of the thousands of tin cups in the far off dis-
tance. There was no use of my trying to catch up with
the regiment. So I decided to make myself comfortable
for the balance of the night.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 161
There were plenty of other stragglers flying about.
Some of them were not stragglers asleep, but dead men,
although I did not know it at the time. We were still
on a part of the battlefield. Although the days were
warm, the nights were chilly, and I felt cold. The
usual thing to do on such occasions is to seek some other
soldier, lie beside him, and share blankets. The two
blankets and the heat from each other's bodies keep the
men warm.
I soon found a fellow alone and prepared to lie beside
him. Nothing was thought of such a proceeding in the
army. He was awake.
"Can I share your bed with you, pard?" I asked.
"Sartin," was the answer. "I am a little shivery,
for I've shed a lot o' blood from this wound."
"Are you wounded?" I asked, in surprise.
"Yes," he answered, "right through my side here.
But I guess it escaped by vitals, for it don't hurt much,
although it has bled considerable. What regiment be
you from?"
"The Thirteenth New Jersey."
"Why, that's Yanks!"
"Certainly, what did you think it was?" I asked.
"Nothin', only I'm a Johnnie," said my companion.
I involuntarily pushed back a little. "Don't be scart,
pard," said he. "I'm not going to harm ye. We're
all the same. If we fellers had the settlin' o' this thing,
I guess it wouldn't last long, would it, pard?"
"I don't think it would," I answered. "What regi-
ment do you belong to?"
"I'm from Galveston. I belong to the — th Texas."
(I have forgotten the number of his regiment.)
"How long have you been in the service?" I asked.
"I 'listed in '61," he answered. "How long you bin
in?"
"Only about two weeks," I answered. "We got into
a fight almost as soon as we got here, and lost our cap-
tain in the first round."
"Maybe I'm the fellow what killed him," said he.
"Nobody knows. But that is all the better, isn't it,
pard?"
I admitted that it was. And indeed such was the
162 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
fact. If any particular soldier on either side knew pos-
itively that he had killed any particular man he would
feel a good deal worse over it.
I don't know how long we talked together, we men
who had been deadly enemies the day before. It might
strike the reader as a queer proceeding, but I can assure
him that outside of the battles the men on each side
were brothers and friends, as many an old soldier can
testify. But we finally fell asleep.
It grew colder and colder toward morning. I snug-
gled closer to my companion, but that did not seem to
increase the warmth as it usually does. I was too
sleepy, however, to make investigations.
The sun was beginning to shine before I awoke the
last time and threw off the blankets that covered myself
and my bedfellow.
"Pard," said I. "It's time to get up. The break-
fast bell will ring in a moment."
I shook my companion, but he did not stir. I looked
closely into his face. It was ashen.
I put my hand on his face. It was as cold as ice.
My rebel bedfellow was dead !
/,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 1(53
CHAPTER XXIX.
"JEFF DAVIS" AND I.
To say that I was startled when I found that my bed
fellow for the night was a corpse, would be putting it
mild. I think it would startle anybody to wake up
and find the person he had last spoken to at his side be-
fore going to sleep, cold and stiff in death. I sprang
up in horror and involuntarily hurried from the scene.
Then a second thought struck me. As a matter of
common decency was it not right that I should try to
see who this poor fellow was, and send word to his
family? He !had said that he belonged to the — th
Texas regiment, and that his home was in Galveston.
That was all I knew. I decided to search his pockets.
Besides the usual miscellaneous assortment of strings,
knives and other things to be found in a soldier's pocket,
I came across two tintypes. One of them was of a
middle-aged woman and the other was of a pretty little
girl about ten or eleven years of age. These I at once
surmised to be the dead rebel's wife and daughter. I
also found two letters that he had received, which wore
addressed to "James H. Thompson, — th Regiment,
Army of Northern Virginia."
This is the way envelopes were addressed by the Con-
federates. They called this particular branch of the
army "the Army of Northern Virginia," while the
Union soldiers always called it "Army of the Potomac."
Letters to men in the army were thus addressed, giving
the name, regiment and army, and in some mysterious
way, after the lapse of two or three weeks maybe after
they were written, the letters would reach the party to
whom they were addressed — perhaps. The mail regu-
lations in war times are anything but perfect!
It may also interest the reader of the present time to
164 THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER.
know that a letter sent by a soldier to friends at home
did not necessarily have a postage stamp on the en-
velope. It was for obvious reasons a practical impossi-
bility for a soldier to go to the post'office to buy stamps,
and so the letters went through just as well without
them.
Both of these letters to James H. Thompson were
from his wife, and they were painfully pathetic and
affectionate. I also found a half -written letter which
was to be sent to the poor fellow's wife, which, so far as
I can remember, read about as follows :
"My Dear Wife: I will try to write you a few
lines to let you know that I have been wounded in a
fight in Ma^land, but it does not seem to amount to
much, although it prevents me from marching. They
left me here on the field. I suppose they thought I was
dead. Our army has marched on and the Yanks are
coming this way and I expect that I will be taken pris-
oner. I cannot stir away from this place and they
won't have much trouble in taking me, I guess. When
you next hear from me it will likely be some time in a
good while from some Yankee prison. But I don't care,
for I am tired of fighting and marching and I hope
this thing will soon be over, for I am sick of it. From
the looks of things it will not last much longer, for Lee
is driving the Yanks right up north and they will surely
give it up. I expect to be home to see you soon. Tell
Old Meigs that I will be back after my job in the shop
before long. I wish you would see "
Here the unfinished letter ended. Alas, how pathet-
ically it read after what had happened. I was glad
now that I came back to see what I could find in the
poor fellow's pockets.
I tore a piece of paper off the blank side of the sheet
and wrote on it the name and address, "James H.
Thompson, — th Texas Begiment. This man lived
somewhere in Galveston." This I put back in his
pocket.
As soon as I got an opportunity, which was not for
some days after, I wrote a letter explaining the circum-
stances, and inclosing the other letters I had found and
THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER. 165
the tintypes, and sent them all addressed to "Mrs.
J. H. Thompson, Galveston." I never heard a word
of the matter afterward, and so could not say whether
they ever reached their destination. I intended to write
again to Mrs. Thompson after the war was over, but the
matter was forgotten entirely until I hunted over my
memorandums for the materials for this story. It
would have given me considerable satisfaction to have
known if the information I sent to Texas had reached
its destination.
I was not the only straggler from the Union army, by
any means. As they say nowadays, the woods were
full of them. From the worn roads, the demolished
fences and other evidences, we knew what direction the
army had taken, and we followed along the road in a
go-as-you-please march. I here fell in with one of the
most peculiar characters of the Thirteenth Regiment,
and perhaps one of the most peculiar characters in the
entire army.
His name was Davis. I don't remember what his
first name was, but the boys always called him "Jeff."
"Jeff Davis" became one of the noted characters of the
brigade.
He never would keep up with the regiment on a
march. He was a short, stout fellow, of the coarsest
grain, physically, so stooped in the shoulders that he
looked hump-backed. He was as strong as an ox, and
about as bright intellectually as a mule. He also re-
sembled the latter animal in stubbornness. He is the
chap who has been already referred to as the man who
would always insist on carrying two knapsacks and two
haversacks, and if he had been asked to carry two guns
he would not have minded it much.
Davis, at the battle of Antietam, when ordered to go
into the fight, stepped out of the ranks and fired off his
rifle into the air. He said that he wanted to see if it
was all right before wasting any cartridges on the
rebels. And all through the fight he had his gun
swathed in an extra overcoat.
The quantity of stuff that this fellow carried was as-
tonishing. He had enough equipments for the supply
of an ordinary squad. He was a perfect miser so far as
166 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
accumulating necessary articles was concerned, and it
did not seem to make the slightest difference how heavy
a weight he had on his shoulders.
As said, the officers could no more keep "Jeff Davis"
in the ranks on a march than they could fly. He would
take his time, walking along as he chose, and generally
reaching camp two or three days after the regiment had
arrived. It was always a great wonder how he escaped
being gobbled up by the guerrillas.
Neither would he go into a tent with the company.
He always insisted in making up a bed for himself on
the ground immediately behind the colonel's tent.
Neitner would he drill or do any other of the ordinary
duties of a soldier. He was too stupid to learn any-
thing and it was not considered safe to intrust him to
picket or guard duty, for the chances were ten to one
that he would not remain on his post five minutes after
the corporal left. He was punished in every imaginable
way, but all that seemed to make no more impression
upon him than pouring water on a duck's back.
After all sorts of trials, he was finally assigned to the
duty of caring for one of Colonel Carman's horses, and
that he did well, and he was retained as hostler for the
balance of his term.
But old Jeff wasn't a bad companion during the time
we were marching along with the stragglers, looking
for the army that had left us behind. Jeff knew how
to cook almost everything, and he managed to have a
good supply of things in his larder (haversack) that
were not included in the regular army menu. He also
had tyro or three estra blankets, so that we were com-
fortable. Furthermore there was a quaintness and
originality about the old fellow that made him interest-
ing — at least for a while.
We stragglers were four or five days getting along
alone before we reached the regiment in camp at Mary-
land Heights. In the meantime the regiment had
reached Sandy Hook, a place some distance below
Harper's Ferry, and was in camp there two or three
days, but we could not find them. There were over one
hundred thousand men scattered about, and it was no
easy matter to find a particular regiment in that crowd.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 167
When we got to Sandy Hook, we found that the regi-
ment had moved down the river to Maryland Heights.
It was the day after — that is, the 24th of September — ■
before we finally found them, and rejoined our comrades
of Company K.
Maryland Heights has already been previously de-
scribed. It is located at the confluence of the Potomac
and Shenandoah and immediately across the Potomac
from Harper's Ferry.
There wasn't much to Harper's Ferry in those days,
although so far as the village itself is concerned it
really did not look much larger on the occasion of a
visit there recently. It is a historic place, particularly
in regard to matters relating to the civil war, for it was
here that the first act of the preliminaries to the war
was perpetuated — John Brown's raid. It also figured
extensively in various movements during the war, for
the reasons before described of its being such an impor-
tant strategic point.
From our camp we could look down and take a bird's-
eye view of Harper's Ferry. None of the immense rail-
road bridges now there were to be seen in those days.
There had been a railroad bridge, but it had been de-
stroyed and the only way to cross was on a pontoon
bridge.
A pontoon bridge is made by taking a lot of small
scows and anchoring them at regular intervals across
the river. Then stout timbers are laid from one boat to
the other, and across these timbers are laid heavy
planks, which form the floor of the bridge. It is aston-
ishing what a load these bridges will carry, even to
quite large cannon and heavy baggage wagons. The
boats are carried on the march on wheels and the timber
and planking on wagons, and the shortness of the time
required to make a bridge across the river is wonderful.
These bridges are all right unless the anchors slip.
Then there is trouble. The bridge goes to pieces in an
instant, and whatever is upon it is precipitated into the
water. I have seen this more than once.
Some of the things that occurred while we were in
camp on Maryland Heights I shall defer till another
chapter.
168 THE YOTJNG YOLUNTEEB.'
CHAPTER XXX.
THE " PUP TENT."
We had been in the service just four weeks. And
what an exciting month it had been! We had gone
through one of the hardest battles of the war up to that
time, had participated in fatiguing marches, and had
practically seen as much service in those respects as
some regiments that had been enlisted five times as
long.
And yet we had never had a rest, never been in a field
camp, hardly ever had any drilling. We had seta pace
and beaten a record, for there was not another regiment
in the army that could equal this hasty, sudden precipi-
tation into active warfare.
We were glad enough therefore when informed that
we were likely to remain in Camp Maryland Heights
for some time, and that we might proceed to make our-
selves comfortable. As a matter of fact we remained
there till the 27th of October, which is quite a long
time for an army at a time of the year when the war
might be prosecuted.
Of course we did not know how long or how short a
time we were likely to remain there but we proceeded
to make ourselves as comfortable as possible, and to do
so was no easy task. We had no tents or anything else
to shelter us. Our tents had been left at Rockville, to-
gether with our knapsacks, and we had nothing to pro-
tect us from the weather except such things as blankets,
and a few overcoats, for we had been under light march-
ing orders since we left Rockville. The old soldiers
had "pup tents," but we had nothing. So we under-
took to build some log huts.
It was a long distance to the nearest forest, and that
made it a difficult job to get the necessary timber to the
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 169
camp. Details were made from each company to fell
trees and bring the logs to camp, but that was a slow
process. In the meantime we were exposed to the
weather.
For a wonder, ever since we had left home we had
had clear weather. We never thought of its being any-
thing else. The days were warm, aud the nights cool,
as they usually are in September, but it had remained
clear. So when an old-fashioned rainstorm came along
it introduced us to a new misery.
I can't imagine a more doleful state of affairs than a
camp in a rainstorm. A more forlorn set than Com-
pany K it would be hard to imagine. We had erected
the side walls of our little log cabins, and had plastered,
the chinks with mud, but they had no covering. Some
of the boys had utilized their rubber blankets for this
purpose, but the most of us had foolishly thrown away
our "ponchos," as they were called.
So we had nothing to do but to mope around and an-
swer to roll call and cook coffee in the drenching rain
in the daytime, and sleep on the bare ground exposed
to the deluge at night. Is it a wonder that many of the
boys got sick? Is it a wonder that many of them never
recovered from the effects of such exposure even after
their return home when the war was over? I was
"bunking" with Heber Wells, and it was at Maryland
Heights that he received a box from home, filled with
cakes, fresh homemade bread (fresh when it left home)
and potatoes (something we did not get in the army very
often) ; on the top of it all some fine smoking tobacco,
which was a great improvement over the "dried chips"
sold by the sutlers. '
Heber and I used that box as a cover for our heads in
the rain. To be sure the rest of our bodies was out-
doors, drenched to the skin, but onr heads and faces
were protected and we pitied the other fellows who had
no nice boxes to protect themselves with !
The rain lasted several days and I do not think there
was ever more suffering and discomfort experienced by
a body of soldiers during the whole course of the war.
The consequences was that half the regiment was on
the sick list from the exposure."
V/0 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
To add to the discomfort, everybody was affected by
the water. There were altogether about six thousand
troops in camp on Maryland Heights, and they all had
to get their supply of water from a single spring. This
spring was located at the bottom of a precipitous rock,
and the water was as clear as crystal, and looked all
right. It also tasted as good as it looked.
But it seems that the spring water was strongly im-
pregnated with magnesia, or something of the sort, and
the result was that every man in the whole camp was
affected. The reader can well imagine what would be
the result for a man to drink rochelle salts for break-
fast, dinner and supper! Boiling it did not seem to
make any difference. Some of the boys went half a
mile or so down to the river for their water, but that
was not till after the character of the spring had been
discovered.
There was not a well man in the whole brigade, and
the deaths were so numerous that it was scarcely a day
that one did not see three or four funerals. Only one
case in Company K resulted fatally, however — Martin
V? B. Demarest. I was one of the pall bearers at his
funeral.
The coffins in which soldiers in the army were buried
were made of pieces of the boards from the cracker
boxes, nailed together. These were carried by poles
being tied at the sides. A dead soldier wears no shroud.
He is simply dumped into the box in his everyday uni-
form, and nailed in. In the time of battle they don't
even bother with the boxes.
The company is mustered, and the chaplain says a
short service over the body. Then follows the parade
to the grave, the lowest in rank marching first. The
music is with the fife and drum, and the tune is always
the same, the solemn Pleyal's hymn, or "Dead Marc; ,"
as it was called. At the grave six soldiers each Lie
three blank cartridges over the body, and it is buried.
The romains are lowered and covered, and a piece of
board from a cracker box or a barrel stave is marked
with the name and regiment of the deceased. Then the
mourners march back to camp while the "band" plays
,the liveliest tune in its limited repertoire.
THE TO UNO- VOLUNTEER. 171
As John Ick romarked, "Dey blays a solemn hym-
tune by de zemmytery, un den ein dance tune back, all
de times."
We buried Mart Demarest at the time in a shallow
grave beside the camp, but his body was afterward re-
moved to the National Cemetery at Antietam, where it
lies in a long row in Section 11.
No one can tell the sufferings we endured at Mary-
land Heights, until the arrival of our "shelter" tents, or
"pup"®tents, as the boys more commonly called them.
These reached the camp on the 17th of October, along
with an extra supply of blankets and clothing.
Had the "pup" tents been given out to us at first, im-
mediately after leaving home, we should have regarded
them with scorn. But after the exposures we had suf-
fered, they seemed veritable palaces. We immediately
proceeded to make ourselves comparatively comfortable.
A "pup" tent consists of two pieces of canton flannel
or thick muslin about six feet square. On one side is a
row of buttonholes, and on the other side there are but-
tons. These things were made by contract, and it was
seldom that the location of the buttons corresponded
with the buttonholes, but as most of the boys were pro-
vided with needles and thread they soon overcame that
difficulty. Each soldier carries one section of a tent.
When they go into camp the two are buttoned together,
making a piece about twelve by six feet square.
Two short poles, three or four feet high, are driven
into the ground about six feet apart. The upright poles
must have forks on the upper end. Across these is laid
a horizontal pole. This forms the apex of the tent.
The sides are fastened to the ground by pegs whittled
from twigs. This makes a small tent the shape of an
inverted "V" with nothing at either end. Generally
the soldier carried in addition to the piece of shelter
tent, a rubber blanket and a woolen one. One of the
rubber blankets served as one end of the tent. The
other was laid on the ground, and covered with one of
the woolen blankets. This formed the bed. The other
blanket formed the "bedclothes," which were added to
by a spare overcoat, if it was too cold.
This tent was about the size of a dog house, which
172 TEE TO UNO VOLUNTEER.
perhaps gave it the name of "pup" tent. Of course
there was not room enough in them to stand up, or
hardly to sit up, but they kept off the rain and wind
and that was enough. To get in one of them the soldier
had to get down on his hands and knees and crawl in
like a dog. There was no protection to the lower end of
the tent unless one of the soldiers carried an extra piece,
which was sometimes the case.
Don't laugh at the "pup" tent. It was one of the
most useful things ever invented for the comfort of the
soldiers. An old soldier would dispense with almost
everything else before he threw away his piece of shel-
ter tent, if it were in the inclement season of the year.
In warm weather it did not matter so much. And the
idea of two soldiers always bunking together probably
begins to dawn on the mind of the reader.
These two soldiers were always called partners, or
rather, for short, "pards." They were to each other as
husband and wife, so far as a division of personal and
"domestic" duties were concerned.
But I will defer a fuller description of my pard till
the next chapter.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 173
CHAPTER XXXI.
"my pard."
"MYpard!"
What a host of recollections that expression brings to
the mind of every old soldier !
Nearly every soldier in the army had his "pard."
When the boys first enlisted the gathering into couples
was a process of natural selection. It is innate in the
human breast to have a chum. The Good Book says
that it is not good for man to live alone. That of course
referred to Adam in the Garden of Eden, and meant
that our original grandfather should have a wife. It
would have been extremely inconvenient for the soldiers
to be accompanied by wives, so they did the next best
thing — selected a "pard."
No one ever knows how this is done. There seems
to be a natural affinity that draws men together. It
cannot be said that it is generally on account of a simi-
larity of tastes, for experience proves that men who are
of the most radically opposite character get along best
together. The selection of a "pard" came at the first as
naturally as mating of birds in spring. The longer
they were in the army the more did the soldiers appre-
ciate the convenience, indeed the actual necessity of
this arrangement.
It frequently happened that the original selection was
not amicable, and there was a change. This in army
parlance was called a "divorce." But these changes
were not frequent after there had once been a satisfac-
tory adjustment of relations. Only by death or the
absence from sickness or wounds of one of the parties
was the relationship broken.
The two soldiers constituted the "families" of the
174 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
army. They divided the numerous little duties of a
personal nature, aside from the regular military duties.
They pooled their rations, took turns at cooking and
other things, and altogether made themselves more
comfortable and happy.
On stopping for the night, one "pard" would hasten
for the nearest rail fence or to the woods for twigs to
make a fire, while the other would grab two canteens
and go for water; sometimes this necessitated a trip of
a mile, for the flanks of the army might be a long dis-
tance from the stream that had determined the camping
place. One of the "pards" would then take a short trip
out into the country to see if he couldn't "confisticate"
a chicken or a stray pig, or even participate in the pur-
loining of a calf. Not infrequently was a rabbit raised.
If there was a granary or a potato mound handy, it
afforded a valuable contribution to the larder.
More than once these foragers came back with bird
shot in their epidermis, which came from the guns of
the irate grangers. I have felt the sting of small bird
shot on more than one occasion. But the soldier did
not mind a little thing like that. No matter what hap-
pened he would not let go of his "rations," if he had
been successful in getting anything. One of the cheek-
iest things I remember doing was to steal a chicken
from a hen roost, and j;then go to the house and borrow
an iron pot to cook the chicken in and make a fricasse.
And while one of the "pards" was putting up the
"pup" tent the other would cook the supper. They be-
fore long become good cooks too, and could make a
variety of dishes out of their limited supply that would
surprise a professional chef.
Sometimes one of the "pards" was sick and tired out
at the end of a day's march, while the other was com-
paratively fresh. Then the better one would care for
his "pard" as if he were a brother, and do all the work.
They stood by each other in sickness or trouble. They
shared with each other the'joys that came from surrepti-
tious foraging, whether it be on some neighboring farm,
or from the sutler's tent.
At night they shared each other's blankets. Thus
they kept warm. Soldiers always slept, whether in a
A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 175
"bunk" in winter quarters, or alongside a fire on the
march, in that peculiar shape called "spoon fashion."
The reader will understand what that means. It was
a convenient and practical arrangement except when
one of the fellows desired to turn over on the other side.
The other had to get around at the same time.
When in the stillness of the night you heard some one
shout out :
"Attention — 'bout — face!" you knew that it meant
that the two "pards" were about to turn over on their
other sides to ease their positions. To keep warm in
cold weather they snuggled and hugged each other in
the most affectionate manner, and it was only the direst
necessity that induced them to change their position if
they once got comfortable.
There were few men who did not have their "pards."
If a soldier had a foghorn voice when he snored, it was
considered a legitimate cause for "divorce." If one of
the "pards" was less cleanly in his habits than the other,
a bill of separation was in order. The "statutory
grounds" from a soldier's point of view, was a chronic
disposition to play off and shirk in the performance of a
due share of duty. That was an unpardonable sin. If
a soldier obtained the reputation of being a shirk in this
respect, no matter how good he might be otherwise, he
was doomed to live and sleep alone, with all its discom-
forts.
I was fortunate in the selection of my "pards." The
first, as before stated, was Orderly Sergeant Heber
Wells. He was the same dignified gentleman that he is
now, a man of the highest instincts and most upright
moral character, who never knew how to do a mean or
dishonorable act. But Heber was the "orderly," and
that meant no end of work. He had to attend to all the
roll calls, make out the reports and be in constant com-
munication with the captain or other commanding officer
in regard to the different duty details. That kept him
busy. B3' common consent the orderly sergeant is
exempt from the ordinary menial service of camp life.
So the most of the duties of a personal or domestic
nature while he was "my pa?d" naturally fell upon me.
Heber, however, was not "my pard' yery long, for
176 A YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
he was soon appointed to the position of second lieuten-
ant of Company K. That meant his removal from the
ranks to the officers' tent, and a separation between us
socially. The social distinction between a soldier and
a commissioned officer is very great. The man with
the commission belongs to the four hundred of the army,
while the private is the workingman. If it were other-
wise it would be detrimental to discipline, for there is
no greater truism than "familiarity breeds contempt."
A servant or employee has comparatively little respect
for the master or employer who makes himself familiar.
The high-headedness of officers in the army is galling at
times, but it is necessary for discipline, and no amount
of philosophizing can change this fact.
My real "pard" was John Butterworth. John was
an old employee of Daggers & Row, the bobbin turners.
He told me all about wood turning, and I told him all
about the printing business. He was married and wor-
ried a good deal about his wife, which was a pain that
I had not to undergo. John was not an educated man,
but he was possessed of an extraordinary degree of
sound common sense. He knew how to cook every-
thing that could be made of pork and beans and hard-
tack. The only thing in which John was lacking was
in card-playing. I taught him how to play a fair game
of High-Low-Jack with the greasy old pack of cards we
had, but could never teach him the mysteries of poker.
He conscientiously sent home every cent of his pay that
had not been mortgaged to the sutler, while I had no
one depending on me and so liked to indulge in the elu-
sive pleasures of "draw." I found plenty of other fel-
lows in the company, however, who could relieve me of
my surplus cash, after a visit from the paymaster, with
neatness and dispatch, and even go so far as to mort-
gage future months' income. When credit in that di-
rection was exhausted, blankets, overcoats and other
goods and chattels went the way of all flesh frequently
in consequence of overconfidence in the security of three
nines or a five high full house.
But other than in card-playing John Butterworth was
an ideal "pard." I ne^?r heard him "kick" over the
performance of a duty. X think I sometimes took ad
.i
A TO UNO VOLUNTEER. 177
vantage of his perennial good nature, now that I come
to look back to those times. He would take the can-
teens and walk a mile for a supply of water, without a
word of protest. He would gather twigs and branches
for bedding, raid a rail fence afar off or do any other
duty asked, without a word of complaint.
And he was always good natured. I never saw his
temper ruffled. He was a good soldier in every respect,
always ready to perform his duty with the minimum of
"kicking," whether it were a battalion drill, a battle, a
long march or a turn at picket. And when he had after
a day's hard work succeeded in getting a few cedar
boughs on a row of poles on the ground for a mattress,
he would pull the blanket up to his chin and say :
"Oh, I tell you, Joe, but isn't this solid comfort?
There's many a poor fellow in the world who hasn't such
a nice comfortable bed as this, eh?"
I agreed, but I frequently did so with the mental
reservation that no one but a veritable Mark Tapley
could extract comfort and pleasure from such condi-
tions.
I shall ever remember "my pard" John Butterworth
with feelings of satisfaction and pleasure, for he was a
good, true friend, and there were not many men in the
army so well favored as I was in the selection of a
"pard."
Some of the other fellows were not so fortunate.
There were continual quarrelings and bickerings and
even fights as to who should do this and who that. But
I think the most comical thing of all was that Jonn Ick
and Beddy Mahar should have been thrown together
as "pards."
Such, however, was the case. It would have been
difficult to get two more incongruous characters together.
One was German and the other Irish, and they were
always quarreling. They were unlike in everything
imaginable. Yet by some strange fate things hap-
pened so that they should bunk together.
I remember on the occasion of the first night we had
our "pup" tents. My "tent" was next to theirs.
"Dot vas a devil uv a ting," said Ick. "How was a
fellow to get dot ting on the outside, alretty?"
178 A YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"Oh, shut your blarney trap," answered Reddy.
"Wait awhile till we get the hang o' this consarn.
You see here are some holes — ■ — "
"Und here be de buttonholes, by jimminey."
"We will button thim together, that we will, be
gorra."
"We vill dot, ri-et away."
They buttoned the two sheets of the "pup" tent to-
gether and spread it out on the ground.
"That is the sheet, begovra," said Reddy. Where-
upon he spread it out and rolled himself up into it.
After some altercation between the two as to the way
to fix it, some of the other fellows showed them how to
make a tent of the "sheet." When it was completed
the two got on their hands and knees and crawled in. I
never knew what started the trouble, but in a moment
everybody in that part of the camp was attracted by the
bellicose talking between Ick and Mahar, and pretty
soon the} 7 became involved in a regular rough-and-tum-
ble fight.
Now there isn't much room in a "pup" tent to carry
on a fight according to the rules of the Marquis of
Queensberry, or any other British nobleman. The fight-
ers rolled over to the side of the little tent, and pulled it
from its fastenings. The tent was on the side of a hill,
and they naturally rolled downward. The further they
rolled the closer were they wrapped in the folds of the
"pup" tent, and they went down that hill as if they
were done up in a muslin bundle, fightiDg and snarling
as they went like a couple of cats in a bag.
It was one of the most comical sights I ever saw.
The tent was torn to tatters. But John Ick and Reddy
Mahar didn't want any tent that night. They slept in
the guardhouse.
I also lost my tent that same night, but in an entirely
different way, although fully as comical.
A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 179
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE ARMY MULE.
Before I pioceed to tell how I lost my "pup" tent
that night, let me introduce the reader to the army
mule.
There was nothing in the whole army that filled such
an important and unique place in the prosecution of the
war as the meek and docile mule. I use these adjec-
tives with an unlimited degree of mental reservation.
Appearances are often deceiving. There is nothing
more plainly written in nature than the sign of meek-
ness and docility emhossed on the placid countenance of
the mule.
But woe be to him who places faith in the meek and
innocent appearances of the army mule. Somewhere
in the interior of the mule there lurks a latent energy,
a pent-up supply of total depravity that would do credit
to the arch enemy of mankind. No doubt the original
delineator of Satan had been a victim of misplaced con-
fidence in the hind legs of a mule, for otherwise what
would have suggested the adoption of hoofs as the ortho-
dox representation of the devil's feet? If the aforesaid
original artist had put a paint brush on the end of
Satan's tail, instead of an arrow head, there would have
been no room for doubt as to where he got his model.
Horses were never used in the army except by the
mounted officers and soldiers. The motive power of all
warlike rolling-stock was the mule. The teams con-
sisted of from six to ten mules, according to the depth
of the mud. They were driven by one line, the same as
they are driven now through the South. The driver
does not sit on the wagon, but in a saddle on the wheel
mule on the near side.
180 A YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
I tried once to drive a mule team, but only succeeded
in getting them into inextricable confusion. How a
driver guides the team to the right or to the left as he
desires, with only one rein, is a mystery in equestrian
dynamics that I could never comprehend. The rein and
the long-lashed whip had their uses to be sure, but they
were insignificant factors in the art of driving a mule
team.
The secret of this science lay entirely in the language
used by the driver, or 'iteamster" as he was called in
the army. In order to keep a mule team in motion it is
necessary to carry a continual conversation. A man
with a weak pair of lungs could never drive a team of
army mules. Neither could a strict church member.
The nature of the conversation is altogether inconsistent
with orthodoxy. I have heard of men who were good
and pious, and refined and discreet in their language,
being appointed to the position of mule drivers. In
such cases one of two things happens. Either the afore-
said teamster resigned his position, or else he fell from
grace to a depth of hopeless depravity that completely
ruined all hopes of future happiness.
I cannot describe the language a successful mule
driver used to make his team start, and keep them going
after they had once started. It would be entirely in-
consistent with a work designed for general distribu-
tion. Besides, it would likely break down the press on
which it was printed. Keeping within the confines of
conservative respectability, I will merely remark that
when the teamster wants to start the team, he grasps
the blacksnake whip in his right hand and the single
rein in his left, gives the former a snap and the latter a
jerk and opens the conversation :
"Now, then, you ! Git up there, you
why don't you pull? f *******! 1
! ! ■ ! Gee Haw !"
Looking toward the noise you see a cloud of blue
smoke arising and the air is filled with a suffocating
odor of sulphur. Then you are conscious of a move
ment.
A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 181
" She starts, she moves. She seems to feel
The thrill of lif e along her keel ! "
The long mule team with its cumbersome, canvas-
hooded baggage wagon has started. But don't let the
innocent reader imagine that the torrent of vocal sounds
ceases with the beginning of motion on the part of the
team. No, indeed ! The teamster must keep right on.
The moment he stops the team stops. The yelling is a
part of the mechanism of the motive power of the estab-
lishment. It is the supply of steam that actuates the
valves and pistons of the long-eared, brush-tailed, four-
footed locomotives. Thus it was that when night came,
and the other soldiers were tired and fatigued in their
limbs, the teamsters were played out in the muscles
that move the vocal chords, the lips, and the bellows
apparatus of the lungs.
When night came, the mule took up the refrain
where it was dropped by the teamster and generally
kept it up till daylight. The reader has probably heard
the peculiar music rendered by the mule. It is hard to
express it in type, but it is something like this :
"Onk-a! onk-a! onk-a! onk-a!"
The tone is a mezzo-soprano, alto, falsetto, basso com-
bination, something like a bazoo. The exact intonation
can only be given by a man in the last stages of diph-
theria. I have heard some singers who could sing as
well as a mule — but not many.
Such is the natural music of the individual mule.
Now the average army mule never took much stock in
solos. When one began his bazoo, another answered,
and a third chimed in, till at last there was a chorus of
mule music. Other mules in other parts of the army
would join the refrain, till a cloud of discordant mule
song arose to the ambient heavens and mingled with the
twinkling stars. (That's pretty bad, but I'll let it go.)
The soldiers soon got used to imitating tho music of
the mule with marvelous accuracy. In fact at times it
was almost impossible to distinguish between the gen-
uine article and the counterfeit. A mulo would begin
with his indescribable "Onk-a, onk-a," and some camp
wag would follow it up. Other mules (the four- legged
ones, I mean) would join in the refrain, and so it would,
182 A YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
go, till the entire body, mules and men, would send
forth a grand chorus that was limited only by the utter-
most confines of the army.
The mule choruses were indescribably comical, and
sometimes disastrous, as they would discover the where-
abouts of the army to the enemy under circumstances
that were unpleasant. I have known one man to start
up the mule chorus on a quiet night till it involved
every brigade, division and corps within twenty miles.
There was no accounting for the vagaries of the army
mules. Sometimes they would be quietly crunching
their fodder, when suddenly, without the least excuse
or provocation, they would stampede. They did not
care what direction they took. One would think after
a hard day's work they would take advantage of the
opportunity to get a little rest. But a mule is never
really tired. At least no matter what may have been
the work of the day there is a reserve force equal to any
possible or impossible extra emergency. And when the
mules got loose and stampeded there was nothing to
stop them except their own sweet and angelic will.
I remember on one occasion in the middle of the
night we were suddenly aroused from our sleep and ran
for our lives under the idea that the enemy's cavalry
had made a charge upon us, when it was nothing but
the mules stampeding from a neighboring brigade.
This same thing occurred many times, in different parts
of the army, during the course of the war.
There is no dependence on the friendship of the hind-
leg of a mule. It may rest in quiescence for months,
but finally, like a long smouldering volcano, it will
break forth without any preliminar}- rumbling. It is
no respecter of persons or rank, that hind-leg of the
nrnile. The man who had carefully and faithfully stood
by the mule in sickness and distress, in hunger and
thirst, in the camp and on the march, after having been
left unmolested so long that a feeling of confidence had
been created, was often made the victim of the irrespon-
sible viciousness of the hind-leg. No,never~put your trust
in the hind -leg of a mule, no matter how innocent it
may look.
In other respects is a mule deceptive. His eye ia
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEEB. 183
gentle and bland, but don't trust it. The more gentle
and bland, the more perfect the mask over the hidden
stock of total depravity lurking within that silent but
busy brain.
With a horse you can tell something about his inten-
tions by the position of the ears. Ears slanted forward
indicate alarm or extra watchfulness. Ears laid behind
flat on the head indicate viciousness. A state of equine
placidity is manifested by quiescent ears hanging
loosely at the sides of his head. But not so with a
mule. His ears generally hang senselessly beside his
head. They are too heavj T to move around to express
emotion. So the driver cannot take warning of the
feelings of the mule or his possible intentions for good
or evil at any particular moment from his ears.
I doubt if the reader ever saw a dead mule. As
many thousands as I ever saw alive, 1 can't remember
more than half a dozen dead ones. They did not often
get near enough to the front in the ordinary course of
the war to be shot in battle, and they seemed impervious
to all the usual influences of climate or condition. The
only thing that ever kills a mule is not a physical ail-
ment, but mental trouble.
I give this statement after full consideration of the
gravity of the assertion, and reiterate that the main
cause for fatality among mule folks is mental worri-
ment — in other words, discouragement. When a mule
for any cause becomes discouraged, his sphere of useful-
ness in this world has forever ended. He simply lies
down, and without any unnecessary nonsense or fuss,
quietly yields up the ghost. I never saw but one mule
die. He tried in vain and faithfully to help pull a
wagon out of the mire, but when he found that the task
was impossible, he gently laid himself down and died.
Ask any old army teamster if he ever knew a mule
to die from any other cause than sheer discouragement.
A word of sympathy and justice is due to the mule.
All through his life he labors under the pain and disad-
vantage of a questionable ancestry. No matter how
otherwise bright the surrounding circumstances may
be, the mule always has within his breast the knowl-
edge that he is an illegitimate offspring. While horses
184 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ~~ .
hold their heads high in the knowledge of a noble an-
cestry, the poor mule hangs his head in shame because
his genealogical tree extends back only one generation ;
and in addition to that, the possibilities of future blood
relations to honor his memory are so remote that it
must forever be the source of carking care and mental
pain. These things may possibly account for many of
the vagaries of the mule that might otherwise be inex-
plicable.
The appetite of the mule is insatiable and omnivorous.
His digestion is an object of envy on the part of many
a two-legged dyspeptic. To the mule antediluvian hard-
tack crackers are but as mush. Like the Manhattan-
ville goat ho can digest anything short of coal scuttles.
Old blankets, haversacks, newspapers, and leather belts
form a sumptuous dessert for the mule ; and instead of
nuts at the end of a banquet, he would any day prefer
the ridgepole of a tent.
And that brings me back to the introduction of this
chapter.
Heber Wells had received a box from home, as be-
fore described. It looked like rain one night and he
suggested that he keep the box under cover so that the
rain would not spoil the remainder of the contents. I
vacated, aud bunked that night with Hank Van Orden.
In the middle of the night I was awakened by the rain-
drops falling in my face, which I thought was strange,
as I had gone to sleep fully protected b}^ the "pup" tent.
Getting up I was surprised to find I was outdoors.
The "pup" tent had entirely disappeared with the excep-
tion of a small end of one of the white sheets.
This was sticking out of the month of a mule !
The mule had eaten up our "pup" tent.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER, 185
CHAPTER XXXIII.
GENERAL M'CLELLAN AND I.
Yes, it was a fact. The mule had eaten up our tent.
This was not an infrequent occurrence, for as said be-
fore, an army mule liked a "pup" tent as well as a
Harlem goat does a tomato can or a flesh-colored living
picture on a three-sheet poster. But it was something
entirely new to us, and we marveled greatly.
The worst of it all was, Hank Van Orden and I were
out of a tent. We were outside in the cold, and the
tent was inside the mule. It did not call for a mo-
ment's reflection to know that the further usefulness of
that particular tent, so far as we were concerned, was
at an end. What use it might have been to the diges-
tive apparatus of the mule is another thing.
So we consulted Orderly Sergeant Wells, and he ad-
vised us to consult the captain, or rather the acting cap-
tain, Lieutenant Scott. The latter made out a requisi-
tion on the quartermaster for the respective two sections
of "one shelter tent." We went to the quartermaster,
but he had run out of a supply of tents, and he made a
requisition on the brigade quartermaster and handed it
to us. The brigade quartermaster sent us to the divi-
sion quartermaster and the latter sent us to the corps
quartermaster — all for one "pup" tent!
When we got to corps headquarters, we were kept
waiting a long time for the convenience of the high and
mighty official who had charge of the government
clothing and tailorshop for that particular branch of the
army. There were a lot of other fellows from other
regiments waiting their turns for various articles for
which requisitions had been made.
One of the men was a soldier from our own brigade,
180 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
a member of the Twenty-seventh Indiana. "We got
talking together and among other things we told him
about the mule eating up the "pup" tent.
"Oh, that's nuthin'," said he. "Them air mewels
are a curus critter, them are. Givvum a chance, 'n
they'll eat a hull muskit, bayonet 'n all. But the
funniest thing of 'em all is to see 'em shoot a cannon
from atop a mewel's back."
"What!" I interrupted; "shoot a cannon from a
mule's back? What are you giving us?"
"That are the dead shure fac'," was the Hoosier's
reply. "I've seen it done many a time. They jis'
strap the cannon — a howster (howitzer) is what they
call 'em — on the mewel's back. They load the guns
up, turns the head o' the mewel to the Johnny Rebs,
and pulls the string."
"And shoot the cannon from the mule's back?" I
asked iacreduously.
"Shure's you're livin'. The muzzle of the cannon
are p'inted to'ards the head o' the mewel, and when the
gunner gits ready for to shoot, the mewel he hangs
down his head, ye know, and stretches out his four legs
to the four p'ints o' the compiass, like the legs o' a saw-
back, ye know. That gives the mewel a solid footin',
d'ye see, so that the shootin' o' the cannon can't knock
the mewel over."
"How do they teach the mule to hold his legs that
way?" I asked, "seeing the mule is such a stuDid
beast."
"They don't teach him nothin'. He hes sense enough
to l'ara himself. The fust time the cannon are shot
from the back o' the mewel, it jist knocks the mewel
clean over. He luks around kind o' scared like, a won-
derin' if that air cyclone struck any one else. Then he
tries to shake off the cannon When the mewel finds
that the cannon are a tight hold on his back, he gits up
and kind o' concludes, cYye know, that there have been
some sort of a mistake like. The secon' time he
reckons, d'3 r e know, that there ain't bin no mistake.
And the third time, he squars off his four huffs."
"And don't get knocked over, oh?" I asked.
"That's whare ye're right, parcl. And you oughter
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 18?
see the 'spresshun on the mewel's eyes just then. He
don't say nothin' but he jist looks as how he were say-
ing to himself, 'Golly, but I fooled 'em that time for
shure.' After that, every time the mewel hes sense
enough for to stretch out his four legs and brace himself
for the kick o' the gun. It are a queer sight I kin tell
you, pard, but it air as true as the gospil, as you'll see
for yourself, afore you are long in the sarvice. But
come, here's a chance for to get our accuterments. "
Strange as this may seem, the story given us b} T the
veteran from the Twenty-seventh Indiana was literally
true. Small cannon were strapped to the backs of the
mules and actually fired therefrom, and the conduct of
the mule on such occasions was just as described.
These mule guns were called "mountain howitzers,"
and fired a shot of perhaps three pounds. Old soldiers
have told me that the mules got so used to it that they
did not stop nibbling at the twigs while the cannon was
being shot from their backs !
Afterward I many a time saw a mule trudging along
with a cannon strapped on his back, but I cannot say
that I ever saw any of the shots fired. The cannon that
I saw shot off were always on wheels. But these mule
guns comprised quite an important adjunct to the army,
and many a time, as said before, I have seen the ani-
mals clambering over the mountains thus equipped. It
is a somewhat singular thing that I never saw any
mention of this fact in any of the war books that I ever
read, and doubtless the statement even now will be met
with incredulity on the part of some readers. But
nevertheless I can assure them that it is absolutely true.
After the usual delay and expenditure of red tape,
Hank Van Orden and I got our new "pup" tents and
made our way back to the regiment, arriving there just
in time to be detailed to go on picket.
I had never been on picket. I had been on guard,
both around the camp and to guard wagons and cattle,
but this was the first time I had been assigned to the
dignity of a picket.
The picket is "mounted" in about the same manner
as the ordinary guards, and a guard mount was some-
what imperfectly described in one of the opening chap-
188 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
ters of this story. In ordinary guard duty, the head-
quarters of the guard is a "guard house." In picket
duty it is a little different.
The officer of the guard has charge of a certain num-
ber of men on picket duty. The men are divided up
into squads under charge of sergeants. Each squad is
composed of three times as many privates as there are
posts to guard, and three corporals. The privates stand
on their posts two hours, and then have four hours'
rest. "Two on the four off," is the laconic way it was
expressed in army parlance.
The "first relief" serve from 9 to 11, the second from
11 till 1, and the third from 1 till 3, when the first relief
comes on again, and so it goes throughout the twenty-
four hours of the day and night. The corporals serve
the same way, although they are not on post. They
hang around the camp fire, ready to respond to any call
from any of the men on guard.
"Corporal of the guard, post No. 6," is a call fre-
quently heard. It may mean anything. It may mean
that the picket is confronted by the enemy, or it may
mean that he wants a drink of water. It is the cor-
poral's duty to wait upon him. For that reason al-
though a corporal was of higher rank than the private,
the former was frequently dubbed by the name of
" waiter."
The sergeant stayed at the headquarters of the "picket
post," which usually consisted of nothing more than a
good fire in some convenient place along the line.
The sergeant had the command of the pickets of that
particular post, which might include a dozen or more
places where the privates were stationed. The corporal
reported to the sergeant, and if the problem presented
was more than the sergeant could solve, he reported to
the officer of the guard.
The difference between guards and pickets is this:
Guards are merely men stationed around some internal
part of the army. Pickets are the men stationed on the
extreme outer edge. In other words there is nothing
between the pickets and the enemy — that is if there is
any enemy in that particular direction. Whether there
is or not, there is always supposed to be.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 189 "
I was on the second relief — that is, on duty from 11
to 1 o'clock, and my first post was on the road along
the Potomac River, at the foot of Maryland Heights
and about half a mile up the river from opposite Har-
per's Ferry.
It was a beautiful day. The rain had cleared off and
the skies were bright. Any one who has been there
knows that it is one of the most picturesque spots in the
country. I felt good and for the first time since my
enlistment seemed to enjoy the experience of being a
soldier.
Here I was, I thought, on the outskirts of the Union
army, with nothing between me and the Confederate
army. I felt and enjoyed the responsibility of reflect-
ing that so many men were under my watchful care.
How faithful I would be. I imagined to myself how I
would defend my post if any of the enemy's pickets
should make their appearance. 1 would defend it with
my last drop of blood, of course.
So I thought. If an enemy's picket had made his
appearance I most likely would have suddenly de-
camped. But the enemy did not appear. As a matter
of fact there was not a rebel within miles. How easy
it is to be brave under such circumstances, although of
course I did not know.
I had been very carefully cautioned not to let a living
soul pass my post without the countersign. The coun-
tersign that day was "Manassas.'' I had of course
heard of the tricks played on John Ick and the other
green ies, but they couldn't come any such game as that
over me. Not much !
Pretty soon I heard a clanking of swords, and a largo
number of brilliantly uniformed mounted officers ap-
proached. Who should the head one be but General
George B. McCleilan himself !
I had seen General McCleilan several times, and
knew him by sight perfectly. As he approached he
came up to me and I brought my rifle to a "present
arms."
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
"Of course I do," I answered. "You are General
McCleilan."
190 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"And these officers are members of my staff," said
the general. "Yon must keep your musket at a 'present
arms' while they all pass."
"All right, general," I responded, and I kept my
rifle sticking out in front of me according to the way the
tactics called for a "present arms."
I looked down to the next picket, another Thirteenth
boy, and saw the same maneuver enacted there, and so
on till the gay cavalcade had passed around the bend of
the rocks.
I felt highly honored with the idea of having pre-
sented arms to General McClellan. What a story it
would be to tell to the boys at camp.
What a story it was, indeed !
In less than half an hour after, the entire section of
picket guarded by the Thirteenth's boys were relieved
and marched back to camp and locked up in the log hut
called the "guard house," or prison.
"What is this for?" we asked indignantly. "Who
ordered that we should be locked up?"
"General McClellan," was the answer.
"What for?"
"For letting him and his whole staff pass you with-
out the countersign !"
"Well, I'll be d — d!" said Lem Smith, one of my
companions.
And so said we all of us.
the young volunteer. 191
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE SUTLER.
Well, wasn't this a nice predicament?
After all the instruction we had received ! After all
the fun we had poked at John Ick and the other fellows
for being so green as to let officers pass them without
giving the countersign, to think that we — we, who con-
sidered ourselves more than ordinarily well posted and
on the alert, should be found guilty of the same stupid-
ity, was too much altogether.
Of all the chagrined and ashamed lot in the guard
house that day I do not think there was a single one
who .thought for a moment of making any excuse for
himself. We had been found remiss in one of the sim-
plest duties of a soldier, and had been caught in a trap
that was considered only fit for greenhorns. And we
had by this time begun to look upon ourselves as veter-
ans, although in the service scarcely more than a
month.
But we ought to have known better, that's sure
enough. When a picket is given orders to allow no one
to pass without the countersign, it means everybod3 r ,
from the lowest private to the commanding general of
the army, or even of the President of the United States.
As for myself I was blinded by the magnificence of
General McClellan's staff. Or perhaps I imagined on
the spur of the moment that of course the highest officer
in the army could come and go as he chose, countersign
or no countersign. Be it as it may, we all recognized
the stupid blunder we had made the moment we were
told why we had been arrested and by whose order.
Not only the comparatively green pickets of the
Thirteenth New Jersey and some of the equally green
New York regiment that was brigaded with us, had
192 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
been caught in the trap, but also some of the members
of the Twenty-seventh Indiana and Third Wisconsin,
who certainly ought to have known more, had been
hauled in for the same offense. It seems that on the
retreat from the Peninsular discipline had become some-
what relaxed, and it was a common occurrence for the
guards and pickets to let the high officers pass without
question, and ^such a thing as demanding the counter-
sign from them, in spite of the strict orders that had
been given, had never entered the minds of these veter-
ans. So it was that they fell into the same trap.
I cannot tell how many men were arrested that day
for the same thing — there were a good many. It was
only intended as a sort of object lesson to teach the men
that orders were to be more strictly obeyed thereafter,
particularly in regard to picket duty. So the punish-
ment in this instance was nothing more than a repri-
mand, and a warning not to be caught in the same trap
again. We were kept in the guard house, however, for
several hours before we were thus disposed of, and dur-
ing that time we were picturing all sorts of punishment
for our remissness.
It was a good lesson to us all, for never again were
we caught in the trap of letting any one pass without
the countersign when on picket, no matter who it might
be.
It was while we were at Maryland Heights that we
were introduced to something new about army life — the
"sutler."
If ever another war breaks out and I conclude to
enter the service, I think I will be a sutler. At the first
sign of a fight, the sutler mysteriously disappears and
never turns up till the danger is over. Sutlers always
got rich. They had a regular bonanza. Perhaps the
majority of the readers of this do not know what the
sutler was.
In the midst of camp one day some men began to put
up a big, square tent. It was larger than the tent oc-
cupied by any of the officers. It was high and commo-
dious. Wagons began to be unloaded of boxes and
barrels and mysterious-looking crates. They were
taken inside and the flaps of the tents drawn, while the
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 193
actors inside got the properties arranged for the per-
formance.
In the morning our eyes were dazzled with the lay-
out. The upper part of two sides of the tent were rolled
up, displaying on a sort of counter the most tempting
assortment of articles. There were pipes and tobacco
galore, boxes of sardines and tomatoes, butter in her-
metically sealed glass jars, ginger snaps and cakes,
apples, potatoes, fresh bread, herring and mackerel,
dried apples, prunes and peaches, figs and dates,
oranges, soda water and ginger pop, and a thousand
other things that were likely to tempt the palates of
soldiers.
And there were various articles of wearing apparel of
a finer texture than that furnished by Uncle Sam, such
as better stockings, finer shoes and long-legged boots,
leggings, rubber overcoats, handkerchiefs, writing
paper and envelopes, and in fact no end of articles in
the fancy goods line.
Nearly every regiment in the army had its sutler.
These things were sold to the officers and soldiers, and
the trade was a good one, while the prices were some-
thing outrageous. You had to patronize the sutler of
your own regiment or go without, and pay whatever
was charged for the articles desired.
We were nearly all in need of tobacco, which was
about the first thing sought for, and although it was
villainous tobacco, half chips, it was better than smok-
ing oak and laurel leaves, to which strait some of us
had been reduced. The tobacco sold by the sutler was
mostly known as the "Garibaldi" brand. It bore a
gorgeous picture of the patriot in a red shirt and dark
trousers, so he looked like a member of a volunteer fire
department. Ask any old soldier if this description of
the wrapper on the smoking tobacco used in the Army
of the Potomac does not remind him of old times. The
tobacco itself looked and tasted like pine sawdust, and
had about as much flavor when smoked.
"I'd like to have some of that tobacco," said John
Butterworth to me, "but I haven't a cent."
"I'm busted myself, Jack," said I, "but let's go and
see if we can't stand him off for a paper of the tobacco."
194 TSE YOUNG VOLUNTEEB.
Butterworth agreed to this proposition and we ap-
proached the tent of the sutler. "Say, Mr. Sutler,"
said I, "we fellows want some tobacco, and haven't a
cent. Do you trust?"
"Oh, yes," was the reply. "You can have anything
you want not exceeding the pay due you. You have
been in the service for a month and consequently your
credit is good for thirteen dollars."
"Say, Jack," said I to my comrade, "this is a snap.
Let's lay in a stock. He'll have a time to collect it,
won't he? There's no justice of the peace or constable
around here to make a levy, you know."
"There's some trick about it," replied Jack, "or he
wouldn't be so willing to trust. However, we will try
it and see. ' '
I chose a new briar pipe, price one dollar — anywhere
else twenty- five cents. For a ten -cent paper of smok-
ing tobacco the price was a quarter. Fifteen cents was
charged for a plug of "niggerhead" chewing plug. I
also paid fifty cents for about ten cents worth of paper
and envelopes.
Total, one dollar and ninety cents.
The butter in the jars looked tempting. I hadn't
tasted butter for over a month. The butter was done
up in little muslin bags, and these were placed in a
glass jar, which was hermetically pealed. Altogether
the butter was supposed to weigh one pound.
"How much for the butter?" I asked, holding up the
jar.
"Twenty shillings," I was informed.
"What?"
"Two dollars and a half."
"Two dollars and a half for a pound of butter?"
"That's the price," said the sutler. And he ex-
plained the difficulty of getting butter to the front and
caring for it in such a convincing manner that I became
satisfied that two dollars and a half a pound was not
only reasonable, but, under the circumstances, very
cheap indeed.
I invested, thus running up a bill of four dollars and
ninety cents. It was the last pound of sutler butter
that I ever bought, for it was a delusion and a snare. I
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 195
guess it was nothing but colored lard — and very stale
lard at that. We simply couldn't eat it — and when a
thing is so bad that a soldier cannot eat it it must be
bad indeed.
John Ick was disgusted with the sutler because he
could not supply his demand for "ein glass lager."
Reddy Mahar pleaded iu vain for a little of "the old
stuff," for in the rear end of the tent could be seen some
bottles marked "Bourbon." The proper brand of
whiskey in those days was "Bourbon." Such a thing
as "Rye" was hardly ever heard of.
But the sutler could not sell intoxicating liquor to the
enlisted men. It was against the regulations. These
regulations did not apply to the commissioned officers,
and some of them took advantage of the exceptional
privilege. Lieutenant Scott was good to me in that
respect, however. I did not take much to whisky, but
enjoyed the opportunity to get it because it was "forbid-
den fruit."
Not infrequently, with all these precautions, one
would see a drunken soldier. How he got his liquor
was always more or less of a mystery, but generally on
such occasions there would be found a bottle or so miss-
ing from the sutler's tent.
I thought the sutler was very generous in giving the
soldiers so much trust, and often wondered how he
could collect all his bills. But I found out at the first
pay day. We were getting two months' pay — twenty-
six dollars. When the paymaster called me up for my
pay I signed my name at the edge of the big sheet of
paper and the clerk handed me eight dollars.
"How's this?" I asked. "Here's only eight dollars,
instead of twent} r -six."
"That's right," answered the paymaster, with an
imperious wave of the hand. "We have deducted your
bill on the sutler, amounting to seventeen dollars and
twenty-five cents. ' '
Ah, I had discovered how the sutler collected his bills
— why he was so willing to trust the soldiers. He had
the bulge on us, sure enough. That was a nice arrange-
ment, wasn't it?
"But hold on, major," said I, after making a hasty
196 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
mental calculation. "You say my bill at the sutler's
was seventeen dollars and twenty-five cents, which
amount, taken from twenty-six dollars, leaves eight
dollars and seventy-five cents, and you have only given
me eight dollars. That is seventy-five cents short."
"Haven't time for explanations," answered the auto-
crat. "Ask p your captain. Campbell" (calling the
next name on the roll).
"You see," said Lieutenant Scott, explaining the
matter to me afterward, "the paymaster has no change
and can only pay the even dollars. The seventy-five
cents will go to your credit on the next pay roll."
That was the rule. The sutler came first, the odd
change next, and the soldier got what was left. The
cash I received for my first two months' service in the
army was accordingly eight dollars, four dollars a
month, a dollar a week — and found !
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 197
CHAPTER XXXV.
NEWS FROM HOME.
We all made up our minds that the sutler would, not
get such a large proportion of our pay the next time,
but these good resolutions did not amount to much when
the time came. And let me interpolate that a soldier's
remuneration was never referred to as "wages" or
"salary," or any other term than "pay." That was the
only word ever used in connection with the compensa-
tion received from Uncle Sam for our services.
As said, the good, resolution not to let such a large
proportion of our "pay" fall into the hands of the sut-
lers was easier made than kept. Mild as it was, it was
the only source of dissipation within our reach. The
bill of fare provided by the government was very
limited, and in a short time it became extremely monot-
onous. There was scarcely a day that there was not a
demand for some little luxury or convenience from the
sutler's tent.
With us young fellows this drain on our income did
not amount to much, but married men, who had fami-
lies at home who needed every cent that could be sent
to them, had to be more economical. And the people at
home probably never had the slightest comprehension of
the privation and discomfort that their husbands and
fathers went through in order to save every cent. That
was patriotism from a domestic economy point of view.
There were some occurrences at Maryland Heights
that filled us with indignation, in the shape of the resig-
nations of several of the commissioned officers. A pri-
vate soldier was enlisted and bound fast "for three
years unless sooner discharged," but the commissioned
officers had the privilege of resigning and going home
whenever they saw fit, although it was generally re-
198 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
garded as arrant cowardice for one to resign on the eve
of an impending battle. In such cases, however, as a
general rule, the resignation would not be accepted.
But there were several resignations among the officers
at Maryland Heights. They "knew when they had
enough' ' and ' ' wanted to go home. ' ' So did we privates,
but we couldn't "go home." Of course all the resign-
ing officers had "urgent business" or "sickness in the
family" that required their immediate presence in the
vicinity of the domestic hearthstones, but an altogether
different interpretation was placed on these resigna-
tions by the average soldier.
Sometimes, under very extraordinary emergencies, a
private could get a short leave of absence or "fur-
lough," to go home, but one had to have a "pull" to
obtain this inestimable privilege. It is easier for a
camel to go through the eye of a sewing-machine needle
than it is for a private soldier to get a furlough.
To their credit be it said, there were no resignations
in Company K. We had at that time but one commis-
sioned officer — Lieutenant Scott — and he stuck by us. He
was daily expecting his commission as captain and that
was another incentive for his remaining. But the mem-
bers of Company K were not slow in expressing their
opinions of thos9 officers that did resign. Of course our
friend John Ick bobbed up serenely on this occasion.
"Dey vas a lot of d — d cowyards," he said. "Dey
gets us here by the front alretty, mid den dey goes back
by us all the times, by jimminey. Dey drives us
likes ein lot o' sheeps by the schlaughter haus, nnd then
dey runs avay. Dey was cowj'ards!"
The juxtaposition of "cowyards" and "slaughter
houses" was a better pun than John had any idea of.
But that is what he said, and he expressed the senti-
ments of a good many others. These adverse comments
went to such a length that there was a warning that if
the boys did not keep their mouths shut on the subject
they would likely be disciplined for disrespect toward
their superior officers — an unpardonable sin, by the way.
At Maryland Heights we began to get our first mail
from home. It is impossible to describe the delight and
satisfaction to a soldier to receive letters from home.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 199
I received two. One was from my uncle, and another
from — well, no matter.
I also received a copy of the Guardian — the paper on
which I had worked — the one containing the particulars
of the battle we had recently passed through. Then for
the first time we learned the name of the battle — "An-
tietam." We had always imagined that it would be
called "the battle of Sharpsburg," because it was near
that village. But the Northern newspapers and histo-
rians named it after the creek — Antietam — and so it has
been known ever since — throughout the North.
The Southern people named it by its natural and more
proper appellation, it seems to me. They have in their
histories no "battle of Antietam." With them it is
"the battle of Sharps burg." The theory adopted by
the Northern historians was an old one. Cities and
towns maybe destroyed or otherwise disappear, running
streams never. The name of the location of a great
event is accordiugly taken from some permanent land-
mark or watermark. Hence, "Antietam," from the
creek, rather than "Sharpsburg," from the village.
I remember the articles about the battle in the Guar-
dian distinctly. It had a lot of flaring headlines and a
long list of the killed and wounded. I forget whether
it was in this battle or some other one that I was reported
among the killed. I had the pleasure (?) of reading my
own obituary at least once in my life. I often wonder
when the genuine article is published if it will be so
complimentary !
It afforded an intense pleasure to read that paper
from home. The local news was specially interesting.
I saw that more of my old companions had subsequently
enlisted in the army, in other regiments, and I began to
wonder if there was anybody left at home at all. But
1 looked in vain among the list of those who had gone
to the war for the names of those patriotic orators who
had made the speeches from the steps of the old bank
building on Main Street.
Nearly all the boys had received letters from home.
Some of them contained bad news, telling of trouble or
sickness, and these made the recipients very down-
hearted and unhappy. I was more than ever glad that
200 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
I had no one dependent upon me. The letter from my
uncle told of the trouble he had to get out the Guardian,
now that all his printers had gone to the war. He said
that he had even to put one of the girls at work on mak-
ing up the forms. I showed the letter to Davy Harris.
"Joe," said he, "do you remember how I kicked at
being called up from the job room to make up the forms
when Joe Mosley was sick? Well, I wouldn't kick at
such an order now, you bet. What fools we were to
leave that job and come here. But there's no use cry-
ing now. We are in for it, and that settles it. So Joe
Mosley has enlisted too, has he?"
"So it seems," I replied. "Guess he will find it a
little different from setting advertisements and making
up the forms, eh?"
The conversation was interrupted by an order to fall
in tor drill.
And by the way, the drilling began to be incessant,
and it was very tiresome. The boys were all more or
less weakened from the effects of that magnesia spring,
and the exposure of army life had begun to have other
effects upon us. So far as I was concerned, this sort of
life rather agreed with me. I had always had a rather
indoor occupation — at least for some years before I en-
listed — and the outdoor air was building me up. There
is nothing like the fresh outdoor air for health, even
with all its discomforts.
With drills and picket duties we were kept busy dur-
ing the time we were at Maryland Heights. And so it
ran on till the 26th of October, when we were informed
that a new general had been assigned to the command
of our corps — General Henry W. Slocum. He was to
visit us the following day, and be formally "intro-
duced." In other words, we were to have a "general
review."
Later in the evening we were thrown into a state of
still further excitement. We were told to have our uni-
forms neatly brushed, our guns cleaned to the highest
pitch of perfection, and the brass work on our accouter-
ments polished till we could see our faces in them.
"What's up? What does all this mean?" I asked
Sergeant Wells.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 201
"Why, don't you know?" he replied. "The presi-
dent is coming."
"The president? What president?" I asked, not tak-
ing it in.
"The President of the United States, of course."
"You don't mean to say that President Lincoln is
coming to see us?"
"Yes, he will be here to-morrow to review us."
I hastened down through the company to spread the
news.
202 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
I SALUTE THE PRESIDENT.
In the meantime Lieutenant James G. Scott had re-
ceived his commission as captain, "vice Captain Irish,
killed," as the rolls had it. William H. Miller, for-
merly a member of the Second New Jersey, had been
appointed as first lieutenant in Scott's place, and soon
after Heber Wells, the orderly sergeant, was appointed
second lieutenant, while our old friend "Hank" (Henry
Van Orden), was made orderly sergeant.
Similar changes had been made in the other com-
panies. In fact so many changes had been made that
the various companies were practically newly officered ;
but on the whole it was an improvement, for we were
getting down to the practical hard pan only reached by
service and experience. At the time mentioned in the
preceding chapter therefore, the Thirteenth Regiment
was getting down to a pretty good shape. The men
had received considerable drill and knew the difference
between "present arms" and "guard mount."
I appreciated the fact that I had even made some
progress myself. I could shoot off a rifle without shut-
ting my eyes, and in the marksmen's drill I had on at
least one occasion succeeded in hitting the edge of a six-
foot target. I felt if I continued to improve at this rate,
it would soon be dangerous for a rebel to stand in front
of my gun if it should go off, and that if I only got a
chance at the enemy the war would soon be ended by
the total annihilation of all the fellows on the other
side.
I had also received a sort of a promotion. It was not
a promotion in a strictly military sense, but it was a
peg higher anyhow, and it involved certain enviable
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 203
perquisites and privileges. In other words I had been
dignified by the appointment of "company clerk."
The clerk of a company makes out the different and
apparently never-ending rolls and reports connected with
the company. He is practically the captain's private
secretary. He is most of the time during the day in the
captain's tent, and his associates are more the officers
than the enlisted men. The advantages of being a com-
pany clerk consisted in being- excused from squad,
company and other drills, and from guard duty, police
duty, and other menial service. It did not excuse him
from regimental or brigade drill, nor from picket duty,
inspections or reviews. There was no excuse from these
except for those on absent assignments or detached
service.
But the position of company clerk is altogether an
enviable one, and much sought after. I received the
appointment because I could write a good hand (those
who see my writing now would never believe it) and
because I was possessed of a certain degree of general
intelligence that qualified me for the position. The
place, by bringing the incumbent into close connection
with the officers, gave him the advantage of certain im-
portant information ahead of the general rank and file,
which sometimes was a good thing.
As said we had had a new general assigned to the
command of our corps, General Henry W. Slocum.
Our other general, Mansfield, had been killed at the
battle of Antietam.
"What sort of a man is this Slocum?" I asked of a
member of the Second Massachusetts whom I met that
morning. j
"He's a rip snorter," was the answer. "He is a
fighting man from way back. I tell you we will catch
it now when we get into a fight."
"Mine Gott und himmel," said John Ick, who stood
near at the time. ' ' Ish he a more by dot schlaughter
haus yeneral by dot under feller? I no likes dot. Now
we gets kilt sure enough, alretty."
And if it be true that General Slocum was a harder
fighter than General Mansfield, it did not suit me either,
not much. A man of peace would have been more to
204 The young volunteer.
my liking. But we were in for it, and what was tha
use? The [government did not consult the private sol-
diers as to who should be their commanding officers.
Perhaps if it had we would have had better ones some-
times. This was not the case with General Slocum, of
course, for a better genoral never lived.
As General Slocum died only a short time since, and
his portraits were published by many papers in connec-
tion with that event, most people are familiar with his
appearance. They will remember his white hair and
white mustache, and a generally blond appearance.
He was an entirely different-looking man in the army.
He was of course much younger then. His hair was
a dark brown, and he wore a full beard, trimmed short.
Most of the officers wore full beards in the war, not so
much on account of appearance, but because it was sup-
posed to be a protection against sore throats. But the
principal reason was that the barber shops were not
handy and the opportune for regular shaving was not
possible. I remember General Slocum as he looked
then because I had a specially advantageous opportu-
nity to see him close by.
It was my good fortune to be detailed for guard that
day, and my still better fortune to be one of the men on
guard at General McClellan's headquarters. It was
a scene of great activity and magnificence. Extra tents,
of a large size, had been set up, one of which was a sort
of lunchroom, where a table was set that contained a
marvelous collection, considering the situation. There
were bottles galore, and numerous baskets of cham-
pagne. The idea of such a thing as champagne and
glass goblets to drink it from, struck me with wonder-
ment, out there "in the front."
Mounted orderlies and aids were galloping hither and
thither with preparatory orders, and the number of
handsomely uniformed officers wearing the stars of a
general on their shoulder-straps was something won-
derful. Many of the officers were from the ornamental
detachment on duty at Washington, whose uniforms
looked as if they had just come from the tailor's shop,
and whose gold lace and bullion trappings were like
those worn by the militia now. This was something
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 205
oddly contrasting with the dull and dingy appearance
of the uniforms and equipments of the officers who had
been in active service in the front.
To a soldier who had just been through hard marches
and battles, there was a feeling of intense disgust for
these "play soldiers," as they were called. It is said
that a man with a fur-lined overcoat is always tantaliz-
ing to a laborer in overalls. The same sort of a feeling
seemed to overcome me and my companions at the sight
of these gorgeously attired "West Pointers," with their
clean and speckless uniforms, their bright golden trap-
pings, and their airish eyeglasses.
Soon there began to arrive some coaches. How funny
they looked— coaches in the army, where the only
vehicles are mule- drawn baggage wagons and cavalry
saddles. But funnier still was the sight of some hand-
somely dressed ladies getting out of the carriages^
Now it may seem strange, but with the exception of
a vivandiere in one of the regiments of our corps, none
of us had seen a woman since we passed through Wash-
ington. Every man seemed to straighten himself up
with dignity at the unwonted sight. I really don't
know whether those ladies were handsome or not, but to
our eyes they resembled angels. The bright ribbons,
the dainty, flower-decked hats, the pretty wraps, and
above all the bright parasols, lent an addition of color
to the surroundings such as we had not seen in many a
long day.
These women were the wives and daughters ot the
distinguished officers and officials of the govern-
ment. Harper's Ferry is not such a long distance from
Washington and the visit for them was a nice little ex-
cursion trip. There were no rebels within miles, so
that there was no earthly danger, but I imagined those
women many a time after boasted about their having
been "clear to the front" of the army during the war.
The last of all to arrive were the commanding gen-
erals of the different corps, and finally General McClel-
lan himself with his brilliant staff.
With these was the President of the United States,
and some members of the-cabinet, all in citizens' clothes.
How plain and funereal those plain black suits looked
206 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
after having seen nothing but blue uniforms for so many
weeks! It must be admitted that the contrast waa
rather in favor of the soldiers — or rather the officers.
The president wore a silk hat, which looked woefully
out of place.
With an imperious air some of the staff officers led
the way into the collation tent, followed by the presi-
dent and the other civilians. After them came some
privileged army officers, and some of the ladies. If I
remember rightly, however, the most of these remained
outside, watching with interest the gathering army on
the parade ground.
As President Lincoln passed me, on my post at the
entrance of the tent, I brought my rifle to a "present
arms" with a click and a snap. I purposely endeavored
to attract his attention, but he never noticed me no more
than if I had been a wooden Indian in front of a cigar
store.
The distinguished party remained in the tent for some
time. I could hear the popping of corks and clinking of
glasses, the lively talk and the merry laughter. Ah,
thought I, it's fun for them. Little do the most of them
appreciate what real war is. I thought this way in my
innocence. I did not appreciate then the worry, the
anxiety and sleepless, troubled days and nights that were
being passed by those who directed the war.
Others than soldiers fight. There are heroes who
never shot a gun or wore a uniform.
In the meantime the vast army had got into position
for the grand review. The different regiments and bri-
gades, divisions and corps, were drawn up in line on
the field, which from the elevated position we occupied
we could see spread out like a cosmorama. It did pre-
sent a beautiful sight, the straight lines, the thousands
of soldiers, the glittering bayonets, the bright flags, all
spread out there on the plain below us.
Then the generals commanding the different corps
mounted their horses and, accompanied by their staffs,
galloped to their respective commands and General Mc-
Clellan and his staff, accompanied by the president and
his associates, and followed by many of the ladies, went
out to the place selected for them where they could have
a good view of the maneuvers. .. .
THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER. 207
CHAPTER XXXVII.
A PRESIDENTIAL REVIEW.
"Attention! Present arms!" shouted General Mc-
Clellan.
"Attention! Present arms!" repeated the various
corps commanders.
"Attention! Present arms!" reiterated the com-
manders of divisions, and the commanders of the bri-
gades, and the commanders of regiments, and the com-
manders of companies, until the order had gone down
to the furthermost soldier in the army.
That is the way orders were given. It was mani-
festly impossible for one man's voice to reach the whole
army, so that the command went down in sections, ac-
cording to rank, like the signal corps wig-wagged their
messages from hilltop to hilltop.
In an instant the entire army stood at a "present
arms," and General McClellan turned, and with a
graceful sweep of his sword, addressed the president:
"Your excellency, the parade is formed."
I don't know what the president said in reply, for it
was in too low a tone. But he at once mounted a
horse, as did those with him, and proceeded to move
off. In the meantime the soldiers were ordered to bring
their muskets from the uncomfortable position of a
*' present" to a "shoulder" arms. According to the
tactics then in use a "shoulder" was a "carry."
President Lincoln, General McClellan and their bril-
liant cavalcade of staff officers then galloped down
toward the vast army.
I will never forget the appearance of the president
on that occasion. He was mounted on an enormous stal-
lion, and sat in a Mexican saddle that was about four
times too large for him. I think without exception he
208 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
was the most awkward-looking man on horseback that
I ever laid eyes upon. He was over six feet in height,
slim as a rail, and naturally ungainly. On horseback
he bobbed around in the saddle in the most uncomforta-
ble sort of way.
His long black coat tails streamed behind comically,
and his "plug hat" looked as if it would bob off with
every jump the horse made. The officers rode like cen-
taurs, as if they were a part of their steeds themselves,
which made the contrast all the more startling. To tell
the truth, I was in mortal terror that the president would
tumble off his horse.
But he didn't. The bands played "Hail to the
Chief," according to the orthodox rule, and the presi-
dent. General McClellan and the big staff of gold tin-
seled officers cantered down the line and back on the
rear, and along the front of the next line and around
that, until the magnates had seen the front and rear of
every line of troops in the vast army.
Then they returned to their starting point, called the
"reviewing stand" and, still mounted, stood there for
the second part of the performance, the "marching in
review."
To the private soldier this is one of the most arduous
and exasperating of all drills. The men march around
the reviewing stand in what is called "company front."
That is, the} r march by flank, and the idea is that when
the different companies pass the reviewing stand, each
one shall present a perfectly straight line.
On level ground and in single ranks this was com-
paratively easy. In the front, in two ranks, with the
soldiers treading on each other's heels, and over uneven
ground — perhaps an old plowed cornfield or something
of that sort, with intercepting rocks and stumps,
bushes, hillocks, and furrows — it became almost an im-
possibility.
But the army on this occasion did remarkably well.
From the position I occupied, as one of the guards at
headquarters, I could see the whole thing as plainly as
the president himself. Then for the first time I got an
idea of what a big army it was. I forget the exact
number in that particular review, All that I remem-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 209
ber is that it was something less than one hundred thou-
sand.
What impressed me most was the number of cavalry-
men and artillerymen, who came past after the infantry
or foot soldiers. Then came the ambulance corps and
the hospital brigade.
Ugh! This made the cold shivers run down my
back. It reminded me of the unpleasant and grewsome
experience I had that night after the battle of Antietam.
The grand spectacle was over at last, the assembled
army broke up into its integral parts, and the president
and general officers returned to the headquarters.
As the president passed me for the third time that
day, I again brought my musket to a "present arms"
with a more vigorous movement than ever, so much so,
in fact, that it attracted Mr. Lincoln's attention, and he
turned and looked at me.
Although I had really intended to attract his atten-
tion, in order to see if he would remember that morning
in the capitol rotunda well enough to recognize me, yet
when I had succeeded in getting him to look in my di-
rection, I was so startled that I nearly dropped my rifle.
He paused and gazed at me intently, as if trying to
remember something. I shook like a leaf in the wind.
To say that I was embarrassed is no name for it. The
incident was so marked as even to attract the attention
of some of the officers, and they looked at me as if I was
a culprit, for I suspect that they thought that I had been
doing something wrong and had astonished the Presi-
dent of the United States.
I therefore felt considerably relieved when Mr. Lin-
coln renewed his steps and disappeared in the tent. He
evidently did not recognize me, and yet my face had
apparently awakened some recollection.
The corps commanders then came up and were for-
mally introduced to the president and other dignitaries
and to the ladies. The clinking of the glasses was re-
newed, and it was still in progress when the "second
relief ' came along and another soldier took my place.
The president did recognize me, but could not at the
time place me. The proof of this will appear later. If
I could have had recognition from him then and there
$10 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
it would have been of immense advantage to me. I
had been in the army long enough already to appreciate
the advantage of "a pull."
We had become quite familiar with some of the ad-
joining regiments of our brigade. Frequent calls and
visits were interchanged between the men from differ-
ent States at odd hours. That night I spent some time
in the camp of the Third Wisconsin.
"Things look ticklish," said one of them. "That
review by the president warn't for nothing."
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
"Well, you see, pard," said the Wisconsin man,
"whenever we are reviewed by the big guns, that means
to see if the army is all right for a scrimmage. I never
knowed there to be a review by the head general that
we didn't have to git afore long. And when the presi-
dent comes to see how things are, that means more than
something ord'nary. I tell you there's go in' to be a
scrimmage, and afore long at that."
"Why," I replied, probably in the effort to console
myself, "there are no rebels anywhere around here.
No enemy, no fight. We are not likely to have a bat-
tle with ourselves, are we?"
"Don't you fret yourself, pard," he replied; "the
rebels may not be very near, and they may not be likely
to come our way. But what's the matter with our
going to hunt 'em up. That's what we'll likely do
afore long. Mind what I say, pard, we won't be here
long. You can bet your next month's pay on that."
That wasn't very consoling. We had scarcely recov-
ered from the effects of one battle, and that ought to be
enough for some time. In fact, I had had enough to
last me for the remainder of the war.
It struck me as a very inconsiderate proposition on
the part of the government that we should put ourselves
to any trouble to bunt up the enemy so long as the
enemy was not bothering us. What was the sense of
seeking trouble? If the rebels came our way, all right.
We would fight them. But so long as they did not
molest us, what was the odds? Why should we go out
of our way to get into trouble? So far as I was con-
cerned I was perfectly willing to stay right there on
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 211
Maryland Heights for the whole "three years unless
sooner discharged."
The readers will perhaps get the impression that I
was no fighter. Well, maybe not. But I can say one
thing. I was not the only one. There were lots of
other fellows who thought and spoke the same way that
I did.
Two days later we received orders to get ready to
break camp.
It immediately struck me that the Wisconsin veteran
was right. That review meant something. The army
had been found in fine condition and ready for another
engagement. We were going to hunt up the enemy
and give him another tussle.
Some of the more restless men were glad of a change
of some sort, but I would have preferred to have re-
mained just then at Maryland Heights.
It was not thought that we would move for several
days, but on the night of the 29th of October (this was
in 1862, remember) at about 9 o'clock, an order was
whispered around camp hurriedly to fill in for a march.
It was also reported that the rebels had made their ap-
pearance at a spot a good deal nearer than any of us
imagined.
Certainly there must be something important on
hand or the start would not have been made at that
late hour of the night.
But we were all surprised, after we had gone some
distance, to find that we were retracing our steps, and
were marching back over the same roads that we had
come when we came from the battlefield of Antietam.
Was there going to be another fight on the same bat-
tle ground?
312 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEEH.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
CAPTAIN IRISH'S BROTHER.
Before leaving Maryland Heights, however, let me
stop to relate one more incident that happened while we
were in camp there.
Captain Irish's watch, sword, papers and other effects,
taken from the body by Sergeant Heber Wells, were
still in Wells' possession. Heber was with the regi-
ment at Maryland Heights, and Lewis Irish, the cap-
tain's brother, had to make a journey thither to get
them.
Visitors to camp could not come and leave as they
chose in those days, but were obliged to wait for cir-
cumstances. Frequently they were compelled to wait
in camp several days longer than they wanted to.
Lewis Irish was a nervous, timid sort of a man. The
deadliest weapons he had ever handled were a needle
and a pair of shears. He was a man of peace and had
an inborn abhorrence and horror of everything apper-
taining to war.
As a result he was in a state of nervous trepidation
all the time he was out at the front, although as a mat-
ter of fact there was really no more danger there than
there was in the staid old village of Hackensack, where
he resided.
Mr. Irish was in a constant fear that the rebels would
pounce upon the camps at any moment. One member
of the family had been killed. He was the only re-
maining brother. He didn't want the family name to
become extinct !
At every unusual movement Mr. Irish would start.
A stray shot from some soldier cleaning his gun would
put him in a quiver. When the drum beat for reveille,
guard mount or sick call, he would apparently imagine
T&E YOUNG VOLUNTEER. -213
that it was the long roll for the whole army to fall in
line of battle.
While there Lewis Irish "bunked" with Heber Wells,
of course. It was before the "pup" tents had arrived,
and the boys had rigged up all sorts of outlandish huts
"to keep off the dew," as they expressed it.
Heber' s hut, like many others, was made of poles
and cedar boughs. A couple of poles with notches on
the ends, like clothes poles, perhaps six or seven feet in
length, were driven into the ground about ten or twelve
feet apart. Across these was laid a ridgepole. From
this, and slanting down to one side, the other end rest-
ing on the ground, were laid a lot of other poles, as close
together as possible.
This formed the framework for a rude sort of shed<
The roof was composed of cedar branches and boughs,
and the ground was covered with the same thing for a
bedding. This arrangement was of course perfectly
useless in case of rain, but it sheltered the occupants
from the wind and was more comfortable than sleeping
out-of-doors entirely.
The occupants crawled in as far as possible when go-
ing to bed, so that their heads were near the side where
the roof came down to the ground. There wasn't much
space over the heads of the sleepers. When they
wanted to get out they had to carefully back out before
attempting to rise.
It was this peculiar characteristic of the improvised
shed or hut that caused the mishap and scare that Mr.
Irish sustained the last night he was in camp. It was
quite a cool night, and he and Wells had snuggled them-
selves tightly under the blankets in the furthermost end
of the shed to escape the cold wind that was sweeping
through.
Either the lobscouse for supper or else perhaps some
of the rich pound cake from home, had disagreed with
Heber's internal department. Like Tit-Willow, maybe
he "had a rather tough worm in his little inside." At
all events, in the middle of the night he had a very bad
attack of nightmare.
All who had taken part in the battle of Antietam
were still thinking of the horrible sights during the day
2H THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
and dreaming of it at night. The visit of Mr. Irish and
the conversation about the death of the captain had per-
haps renewed the scene in Heber's mind, and probably
he fell asleep while thinking about it. When he had
the nightmare he thought that he was again in the
battle.
Heber suddenly arose in his sleep, and throwing off
the blankets, rushed to the company street and began
yelling at the top of his voice :
"Hello, Hank, get the men out at once! Where's
Dougherty? Get the men out quick, for the rebels are
right on top of us ! For heaven's sake, hurry, men, or
we'll all be captured! Where's Hank Van Orden?
Where's Sam Dougherty? Why don't they get out the
men? Fall in, Company K!"
Wells yelled this out with such a loud voice that it
aroused the entire company. Hank Van Orden ran
half-dressed from his hut and grasped Wells around the
waist, asking what was the matter. The other men were
hastily buckling on their cartridge boxes and seizing
their rifles. For a few moments there was a scene of
the greatest excitement, and even the members of some
of the other companies were aroused by the hullaballoo.
In the midst of all this Heber awakened, for he had
been fast asleep all this time and did not have the slight-
est idea of what he was doing, and perhaps was as
much astonished as any of the rest of them till an ex-
planation was made.
But the funniest part of it all was the experience of
Lewis Irish, the deceased captain's brother.
Hearing all the noise Mr. Irish sprang from his bed
and attempted to jump to his feet. In doing so his head
came in contact with the low roof of the shed, and gave
him such a blow that it felled him. He was nearly
knocked senseless.
Irish thought that we were surrounded by the enemy
and that a rebel had hit him a blow over the head with
the butt end of a rifle. He thought that his day had
come sure. He rushed out of the hut, exclaiming :
"Oh, Heber, what shall I do? Where shall I go?
Give me a pistol or a gun, so that I can defend myself!
Which way is the enemy coming? Where's the on©
that hit me on the head?"
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 216
Wells had sufficiently recovered his sense3 to take in
the situation, and undertook to pacify Mr. Irish. But
he was too excited to be quieted at once.
"Quick, quick, Heber!" he exclaimed. "Tell me
what to do ! I can't stay here ! I am not a combatant.
I am a citizen. I've no place here. Where shall I go?
What shall I do? What "
"That's all right, Irish," said Heber, trying to reas-
sure him. "There's no danger. There are no rebels
round here. I only had an attack of nightmare or
something of the sort. You'd better get back to bed
again, for there are no rebels within miles of here."
"Yes, there is. Yes, there is," insisted Mr. Irish.
"One of the scoundrels hit me on the head and almost
killed me. I'm bleeding now from it."
Heber lighted a candle, and sure enough the blood
wae streaming from quite a serious wound on Mr. Irish's
head. How it happened no one seemed able to guess at
the time. A search was made around that part of the
camp to see if there were any strangers lurking around,
but nothing unusual could be discovered. The mystery
remained unsolved until after Mr. Irish's head had been
bandaged up and quiet restored, and Wells and his vis-
itor pioceeded to return to bed.
Then they found that immediately above the blankets
where Irish had lain the poles of the low roof had been
knocked out of place where Irish's head had come in
contact with them. On one of the poles was a project-
ing knob where a small branch had been cut off, and
th?s had some hair and a particle of blood on it. The
color of the hair corresponded with that on Mr. Irish's
head. That was the place where he had bumped his
head as he sprang from his bed. It had been a hard
knock, too, for the wound on Mr. Irish's head the next
morning was large and painful.
But for the time being Mr. Irish thought sure that he
had been hit in the head with a musket in the hands of
a rebel. And no wonder. The startling yells and
orders from Orderly Sergeant Wells in the middle of
the night were enough to frighten almost anybody.
Wells often laughed about the occurrence afterward.
As for Mr. Irish, he had had enough of war. He
216 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
made up his mind that he would not remain in the front
another night if he had to walk all the way to Balti-
more. But, fortunately, he managed to get transporta-
tion that day and left for home, and never so long as the
war lasted did he again venture to the front.
Many a time afterward, before he died, a few years
since, he laughingly referred to the adventure, and can-
didly admitted that for a little while he thought that
his earthly career was at an end. He thought sure that
the camp was surrounded by rebels and that one of
them had hit him on the head with the butt end of a
musket.
"But what's the difference?" he often asked. "What
difference does it make whether a man has his brains
knocked out by the butt end of a musket or the gable
end of a house?"
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 817
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE FIEST THING I KILLED.
The march on the night that we left Harper's Ferry
was one of the hardest the Thirteenth ever experienced.
I could neA r er see the necessity for it. There was no
need of any such hurry. We were not going to get into
a fight, despite the predictions of my friend in the Wis-
consin regiment. We were only going back to Sharps-
burg to relieA-e the troops of General Fitz-John Porter,
who were doing duty as pickets along the Potomac
River opposite Sheperdstown.
The entire Army of the Potomac, with the exception
of the Eleventh and Twelfth corps, had crossed the river
and started over into Virginia, in pursuit of the enemy,
while the two corps mentioned were left behind to guard
"Harper's Ferry and the Potomac River." The
Eleventh corps had taken our place at Harper's Ferry,
and we — that is, the Twelfth corps — were sent further
up the river. That there were some rebels in that
neighborhood we soon found out.
But as said before there was no necessity, so far as we
could ever see, for the impetuous and hasty character of
that night's march. Many of the men fell out from
sheer fatigue. While at Maryland Heights the most of
us had got new knapsacks, and despite experience had
again loaded ourselves down with various useful
things in camp, but altogether too much to carry on the
march.
The result of this was that the road was again strewn
with all sorts of things which we would soon need very
much. Had we marched a little more slowly we might
have retained all these necessities. There were few who
stuck to their loads. When we reached our camp,
218 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
somewhere near morning, we were almost devoid of
everything except our blankets and shelter or "pup"
tents. And it must be remembered that the season was
advancing and the nights were becoming uncomfortably-
chilly.
We went into camp near Sharpsburg, within but a
short distance of the Antietam battlefield. Our duties
consisted mainly of picket duty along the Potomac
River. It was the first time we had ever been on picket
immediately in front of the enemy.
The rebels were on one side of the river and we were
on the other ; we could see each other plainly. The river
is narrow at that point, and when the water is low one
can wade across, or step from stone to stone. At the
time we were there the stones at the bottom could not
be seen, but the river was shallow enough to wade
across.
On one side of the river was the Chesapeake and Ohio
canal. This was the side we were on. The towpath
was between the canal and the river. Between the tow-
path and the river there was an embankment, and at
various spots there were trees growing.
Our picket posts were supposed to be on the tow-path.
Where there were trees we got beh ind them. In other
places we got down on the water side of the canal and
behind the protection afforded by the sloping banks.
There was not much water in the canal at that time, for
there were no boats running then.
These protections were very useful, for the rebels on
the other side of the river kept popping away at us
whenever they got a chance, and we fired back every
time we saw an exposed head on the other side of the
river. We had no change of pickets at night for a while,
because of this danger. The sergeant and his squad of
men would remain behind the protecting trees and em-
bankment as long as it was daylight.
I remember one day while on picket with John But-
terworth. We were both down in the ditch of the
canal.
"I wonder if there are any Johnnies on the other side
now, anyway," he said. The rebels were always re-
ferred to as the "Johnnies," The enemy invariably
called us the "Yanks."
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 219
"You'd better look out, Jack," I replied. " Don't
run any risks with that cocoanut of yours."
"I'm going to take a peep, anj-how," said John.
And so saying he raised up his head so that his eyes
were just over the level of the towpath.
"Z-z-z-z-ip!"
A bullet whistled by, uncomfortably close to Butter-
worth's head. You would have laughed to see him
dodge. His head went down as if he had been shot !
"By jingo, Joe," said he. "I could feel the wind of
that bullet in my hair. I guess there are some John-
nies over there after all. ' '
"No doubt of that, Jack," said I. "But say, wait a
minute and see some fun."
With that I took off my hat and placed it on the end
of my rifle. Then I slowly lifted it up as if a soldier
was taking another peep over the towpath.
"Zip!" came another bullet. It came near my cap,
but did not touch it. I drew the hat down quickly, as
if the wearer were dodging, and a moment later stuck
the hat up again.
Another bullet, two, three, came whistling by, and
one of them went plump through my cap.
"Pretty good shooters over there, Joe," said John.
"It's a good thing your head was not in the hat then,
or you would have been a goner, sure."
"If my head had been in that hat I wouldn't have
held it there, you know. I merely wanted to see if
there was any danger of those fellows hitting anybody.
That settles it. I don't stick my head out there, in the
daytime, you bet."
"Nor I, neither," said John.
I relate this to show the dangerous nature of the duty
we were performing. In unguarded moments two or
three of our men came near being shot, but the bullets
missed their mark.
It was most nonsensical sort of business, but then a
soldier in the war is generally like the Irishman at
Donnybrook fair. Whenever he saw a head he struck
at it.
In the night time one could walk along the tow path
with comparative impunity. The rebels would fire
220 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER
random shots occasionally, but there wasn't much
danger of their hitting anything in the dark. The
grand rounds visited us and the officers of the guard
very sensibly inspected the outer posts in the night
time.
This desultory shooting at each other's pickets from
the opposite sides of the river was kept up for some time,
and it was a constant nuisance and bother, let alone the
dangerous part of it. It was very uncomfortable to
patrol a beat on the inside of a canal bank. It was ex-
asperating to see the river so close and yet impossible to
get down to it.
The first night I was on picket here I had an adven-
ture.
It was after midnight and the night was very dark,
For the reasons before stated there was no apparent
danger then and I was walking along the tow path with
my rifle carelessly hanging over my arm.
All of a sudden I heard something creeping through
the bushes near me.
"Halt!" I cried, in the orthodox way. "Who comes
there!"
But not a word came in answer. On the contrary the
mysterious personage kept coming toward me. I felt
my hair raise in terror.
"Halt!" I repeated, still more peremptorily, at the
same time cocking my rifle in readiness to shoot.
But it didn't halt for a cent.
I imagined all sorts of things — spies, midnight assas-
sins, guerrillas, rebels detailed to go around and kill in-
dividual soldiers, everything horrible. That it was
anything else than a man I never for a moment imag-
ined.
It became my plain duty to shoot. And yet then and
there, under the extenuating circumstances that existed,
I distinctly remember a horror at the idea of taking the
life of a human being. It gave me the chills.
But something must be done, and done quickly. If
I didn't shoot it, it would shoot or knife me, and so
there was nothing to do but to take the best aim I could
and blaze away.
How I managed to hit the mark in the darkness pf
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 221
the night I don't know. But I did. It rolled over,
struggled a moment and was still.
I was too much agitated to go and see who or what it
was. I didn't want to gaze upon the creature whose
death I had caused. So I yelled at the top of my voice :
"Corporal of the guard — post No. 10!"
"What's the matter?" asked the corporal, as he came
running up, out of breath.
"I — I — I've shot a man," I stuttered. "He was
sneaking up to me and would not stop when I hollered
'halt' three times, and so I shot him. See if he is dead."
The corporal proceeded to make an examination.
"Yes, he is dead. Dead as a door nail."
I thought I should faint. Dead ! I had killed a fel-
low mortal. Horrible ! In battle you shot, and didn't
know whether your individual gun had killed an} 7 body
or not. There is a consoling uncertainty about it.
But the thought ihat you, with your own gun, with
your own hand, have been the cause of the death of any-
body, is a terrible thing.
When the corporal came toward me pulling the dead
body behind him, I wanted to run away, but of course
could not.
"I'll share this with you in the morning, pard," said
the corporal. "We will have a dandy dinner to-
morrow."
Dinner to-morrow! What did the corporal mean?
Eat a human being?
"Do you take me for a cannibal?" I asked, in aston-
ishment.
"A cannibal? What do you mean by that?"
"I mean do you think I am going to eat the man I
have killed?"
With that the corporal broke out in a fit of laughter
that I thought very uncalled-for under the circum-
stances.
"A good joke, by thunder!" said he, as soon as he
could recover his voice. "And did you really think
you had shot a man?"
"Why, of course I did," I answered. "What else?"
"Take a look at the 'man' you have killed," said he,
throwing the corpse toward me,
222 r iEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
I leaned down ^,nd examined it. Then I felt of it.
Then I lifted the body up, and broke out into laughter
myself. I was a little hysterical, too. The sudden
revulsion of feeling was the cause, for the body before
me was not that of a man.
It was only a 'possum !
THE TOUN& VOLUNTEER. 223
CHAPTER XL.
YANKS AND JOHNNIES.
Sure enough, we had 'possum for dinner the next
day, in a savory stew. 'Possum tastes a little like very
3 r oung pork, but has a much finer flavor. We relished
it immensely, particularly as it was the first time the
most of us had ever tasted 'possum.
The incident was duplicated many a time, for 'pos-
sum was very plentiful in that part of the country, and
scarcely a night passed but that the men on picket saw
one or more. They generally traveled at night. Of
course the size of a 'possum was nothing to be compared
with a man, but in the darkness I could not see what it
was, and I was terribly frightened and overcome for the
few moments that I really thought I had killed a human
being.
Here let me tell the reader something strange. Experi-
ence afterward made us very suspicious of a calf or a
large pig creeping past us at night. Spies and scouts
used to take calf hides and complete pig skins, and get-
ting inside of them, crawl past the picket lines. More
than one supposed pig or calf has been shot and the
body of a man found inside the hide.
Wolves travel in sheep's clothing, according to the
Good Book. The little school geographies we had in
the primary departments invariably had pictures of
Indians in wolf's skin crawling toward the unsuspect-
ing buffaloes In war times all such devices are re-
sorted to by the scouts to get past the picket lines.
About a week later I was on picket again, at pretty
near the same place. The rebels had continued their
popping at every Union soldier's head that they saw,
and the Union soldiers had been keeping up their side
in this nonsensical individual warfare. But one day
£24 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
we were astonished by an unusual sign on the other side
of the river.
It was a white handkerchief — or rather a handker-
chief that had once been white — held up on the end of a
bayonet.
A white flag is a "flag of truce.'" It means a cessa-
tion of hostilities. If the other side agrees to the truce,
an answering white signal is set. We had some trouble
to find anything white enough to serve as a flag, and
finally resorted to a small muslin bag that one of the
boys had in his haversack to hold his sugar.
A very dirty-looking rebel then stepped out, and hold-
ing his hands to his mouth like a speaking-trumpet,
yelled out:
"Hey, Yank!"
"Hey, Johnnie!" was our reply.
"Will you stop shootin' if we-uns do?"
"We will."
"All right. We-uns' 11 send you a message."
"How?"
"Wait'n you'll see."
We waited. We could see three or four of the dirty
gray backs doing something down at the edge of the
river, but could not see what it was, when something
like a long, little boat started across.
It was a very ingenious arrangement.
A fence rail, one side of which was round and the
other side flat, made something very much the shape of
a boat. At intervals were stuck twigs, for masts. On
the masts were sails made of paper. At the rear end of
the rail was an improvised rudder.
The man who concocted this arrangement, and ad-
justed the sails and rudder must have been a sailor at
some time in his life, for the gentle breeze that pre-
vailed at the time brought it straight as if it had been
manned by human sailors.
We went down to the side of the river and caught the
queer little ferryboat as it landed.
On one of the masts was a sheet of paper folded up.
Opening it, it was found to be the "message." It read,
as nearly as I can remember it after so many years,
about as follows :
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 225
"Yanks : If you fellers stop a-sbootin we-uns will stop
a shootin. Whats the sens of us a shootin at each
uther? Lets be a little sochibul. Have you fellers any
coffie what you'd like to swap for some tobaccy? We-
uns has plenty tobaccy but no cofee, and we-uns knows
what you fellers has lots of cofee and no tobaccy. Send
anser by bote. Shift the sales and the ruder tother
way, and she'll come over all right. Hoping these fu
lines will find you enjying good helth, we subscrib
oursels yours truly. Johnny. ' '
Anything for a lark. Here was a chance seldom
offered. It struck me very strangely.
All along I had regarded the rebels as something in-
human. I cannot exactly explain it, but all of a sudden
it came to me that here were fellow human beings on
the other side, who as individuals were no more con-
cerned m the war than we were, who were willing to
stop the practice of killing on sight, and anxious to
strike a common-sense, everyday barter.
The impression such an event gave to the private sol-
diers was that the war was a useless and uncalled-for
affair, and might as well be stopped then and there. It
is impossible to convey to the reader the precise emo-
tions aroused. Somehow everything that had passed
slipped entirely from the memory, and awakened a dim,
unaccountable, indefinable vision of the way things
might be if peace were declared.
But we didn't stop to reflect or moralize. We had
plenty of coffee, as the rebels had surmised, and were
willing to share with the enemy, especially as it was al-
ways reported that the rebels had an unlimited supply
of tobacco of a superior quality.
So we tied up in an old piece of paper as much coffee
as it would hold, each man contributing his quota, and
fastened it to the "boat." We also wrote a return
"message," and stuck it on one of the tiny masts. As
near as I can remember the message ran something like
this:
"Johnnies : We send you some coffee; now send the
tobacco. We will stop shooting at your hats if you will
226 THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER.
do the same. What is the use, as you say? If you fel-
lows go back on your word, now, look out.
"Yanks."
I wrote the original of that letter, and so have a pretty
clear remembrance of what was in it. I remember dis-
tinctly that I signed it "Yanks," the same as they had
addressed us.
We adjusted the sails and rudder of the little craft as
suggested and sent the comical ferryboat on its journey
across the river. But somehow or other we did not fix
the nautical tackle right, and instead of going across, as
intended, the improvised boat suddenly turned down
stream and started in the direction of Harper's Ferry in
a lively manner.
If that message had got into the hands of some of the
officers it might have caused us trouble, for to "hold
communication with the enemy" was a grave offense
— a good deal more grave than any of us appreciated at
the moment.
But no such disaster happened. The rail boat had
not gone far before one of the rebels jumped into the
river and waded out to the little craft and carried it to
the Virginia side of the river. The water was not very
deep. It was hardly up to the "Johnny's" hips.
We could see them open the message and read it, and
there was a scramble between them for a division of
the coveted coffee. In a little while they sent the boat
back again with some smoking tobacco that was excel-
lent, and which we greatly appreciated. There was no
message this time. One of the rebels shouted across the
water that they had no more paper.
But it was not a great distance across the river and
we could talk to each other in a somewhat loud voice.
This sort of a conversation was not very satisfactory,
however, but it ended in a somewhat startling proposi-
tion from "our friends, the enemy."
It was, if we would receive them in the same spirit
in which they came, they would come over the river
after dark and have a "chin" with us.
We counseled among ourselves about thia. It was
a rather risky proposition — not so much that we would
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 227
be captured by the rebels or that they would take some
other advantage of it, but that we might be caught by
some of the officers, with*disastrous results.
But we finally decided to take the risk, and the ar-
rangement was that our visitors should come over im-
mediately after the "first relief" went on their posts —
that is at 9 o'clock.
And so the programme was carried out. The first
relief had hardly taken the place of the third, when we
heard the quiet splashing of the water from the little
group of rebels wading over to us.
228 -. TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XLI.
OUR FRIENDS THE ENEMY.
For a picket post to hold communication with the
pickets of the enemy is one of the things most emphat-
ically forbidden by the articles of war. But that it was
done many times during the course of the war is unmis-
takable. There is many an old soldier who can testify
to the fact from his own personal experience.
If any of us thought of the magnitude of the offense
he did not mention it. I know for myself, there was no
idea of doing anything wrong. It was merely a little
novelty that tended to relieve the terrible monotony of
picket duty, and consequently simply regarded as a wel-
come diversion.
There were six in the party of rebels that came across
the river. There were twelve or fifteen on our side, so
that there was no danger of a capture or anything of
that sort — at least so far as we were concerned. The
greatest manifestation of trust and good faith bad cer-
tainly been on the part of the "Johnnies," in the way
they had put themselves in our power.
They had further shown their trust by leaving their
guns behind them. They were completely in our power
if we had wanted to be mean. But we never thought of
such a thing as that.
"Hello, Yanks," said the spokesman, as he came up
dripping from the water. "That was mighty good
coffee you-uns sent we-uns."
That was a Southern provincialism that may strike
the reader as funny, but it was used almost exclusively
in conversation on the part of the majority of men in
the rebel army. They always said "you-uns" for
"you," and "we-uns" for "we" or "us."
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 229
"Hello, Johnnies," replied one of our boys, "and that
was good tobacco you sent us in return. It was the
best we have had in a long while."
"Yes, we know the kind of tobaccy you-uns have. It
comes from Baltimore, don't it?"
We told them that they had guessed right.
"We-uns gets our tobaccy from Virginny crop, put
up in Richmond — the best in the whole world. You-
uns don't get much o' that nowadays. You-uns' tobaccy
is from Maryland, I reckon."
We told the spokesman that we didn't know anything
about it, except that it came from Baltimore.
"Where be you-uns from?" asked the rebel spokes-
man.
We told him. We represented several Northern
States. In return they told us that they were from all
the way from Virginia to Texas.
We sat down on the canal bank, and lighted our pipes.
There was a fire on the canal side of the bank, which
we had lighted for the first time after the agreement not
to indulge in any more shooting. We boiled some
coffee and proceeded to have a regular picnic.
Both sides were a little guarded in the conversation
at first, so as not to give offense to each other. But on
the general topic of the war we had a nice talk.
"How long do you-uns think this thing's agoin' to
last?" asked one of the rebels.
"Till you fellows give up," replied I banteringly.
"If we-uns had our way," replied the Johnnie, "it
wouldn't be long afore that happened. We'uns is good
and sick of it. If it weren't for the officers and the pol-
erticians, it would be settled mighty soon, I reckon."
"There is something in that," I answered. "But
you all know we of the North are fighting for the Union,
which you want to destroy."
"We don't want to destroy nothin'," answered the
rebel. "We'uns don't want to destroy the Union."
"Then what are you fighting for?" I asked.
" 'Cause we have to," was the answer. "You-uns
don't suppose we would be here if they didn't make us
come, do you? Didn't they make you-uns come to fight
the same way?"
230 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"No, we didn't have to come," I replied. " We en-
listed of our own accord. We volunteered, you know."
"What, went into the army and didn't have to?"
"That's as true as gospel."
"Well, I'll be derned," exclaimed the astonished
rebel. "If we'uns didn't have to come I'll reckon there
wouldn't be many of us in the front. Of course there's
some of 'em what came at the first because they didn't
want the Northern ablishionists to free our niggers.
That's what the war's for, isn't it?"
Now I am willing to affirm that that is the first time
I ever had any idea that the abolition of slavery had
anything to do with the war. And from the exclama-
tions and denials of my comrades I do not think any of
them ever dreamed of such a thing. We vehemently
protested against this view of the case and so told our
strange guests. But they could not be shaken in their
belief that the freedom of the slaves was one of the
essential causes of the war.
"That's what we'uns believes, anyhow," said the
spokesman of the party. "Now, see here. You-uns
have factories and railroads and such like. Suppose
we-uns went for to destroy all them, wouldn't you fight
agin it?"
"I think we certainly should," I replied.
"Well, then," continued the rebel spokesman, "we-
uns have no factories and few railroads. We have
cotton fields and sugar-cane plantations. Our niggers
do the work. We own 'em, the same as the planta-
tions. You want to make our niggers free, and so take
aAvay all our property. Then we-uns fight agin ib, see?
You would do the same thing, I reckon."
The slavery part of the question had never entered
my mind, and I was not prepared to argue it. But I
said:
"I thought you said that you are fighting because
they made you, and here you are saying that you are
only defending your rights and what you call your prop-
erty."
"I ain't talking for myself," said the rebel. "I was
made to come. I don't own no niggers and never did.
I worked in a grocery store in Montgomery. But I'm
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 231
only telling you-ims what we-uns heard men say, what
they are keeping up the war for. So far as we-uns here
are consarned, none o' us have any niggers and we don't
care how soon this thing stops."
"Nor which side comes out ahead," chimed in
another of the "Johnnies."
This conversation, so odd and under such strange cir-
cumstances, was kept up for some time, and then
branched off into other things more personal, mainly
reminiscent of the war. They were all old soldiers and
had seen some hard service, and their stories w r ere very
interesting.
" 'Sh-h-h! Hark!"
This came simultaneously from several mouths. We
listened and heard voices further down the canal. It
was at the next "post."
"Who comes there?" we heard.
"The grand rounds," was the answer we heard.
Then there was a quiet scattering. We were intensely
surprised. We had gauged our time so as to keep on
the lookout for the grand guards. Generally they do
not come around till after midnight. And yet it was
not yet 11 o'clock.
We hastily but quietly directed our rebel visitors to
get behind the trees growing at the foot of the canal
bank, at the edge of the river. They were thoroughly
frightened.
" You-uns ain't agoin' to give us away?"
"Never fear of that," we assured them.
The sentry on the nearest post, the sergeant and cor-
poral of the guard, went about their business, as if
faithfully doing their duty, while the rest of us hastily
pulled our blankets around us and pretended to be
asleep, as we were supposed to be.
The grand rounds came along and were received in
the customary fashion.
'Everything all right here?" asked the officer of the
day. a captain.
"Everything quiet, sir," was the answer.
"1 see some embers here. Have you been having a
fire?"
"Y-y-yes, sir," stammered the sergeant.
232 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"I thought the orders were not to light any fires on
this line," said the officer. "It's rather dangerous. Put
it out and don't light it again. It will draw the fire of
the enemy."
"They've not "been shooting at all to-day, captain,"
said the sergeant. "I guess there ain't any rebels on
the other side now. We haven't seen any signs of them
for some time."
The sergeant was a good deal more correct about there
not being "any rebels over there" than the captain had
any idea ot. I saw through the subterfuge and could
hardly keep from laughing outright.
"Well, keep a strict lookout, sergeant," said the cap-
tain, as he and the rest of the detail forming the grand
rounds took their departure for the next post.
When the way was clear we gave the signal, and the
concealed rebels emerged from their hiding-places.
"You-uns are a lot o' bricks," said the first one out.
"You had us that time, if you wanted to go back on
we-uns."
"Oh, we would never do a thing like that," was the
reply, "after having given our words. But, all the
same, you fellows had better get across again for "
This advice was interrupted by a shot from a rifle,
and the bullet came whistling past us and struck into
one of the trees with a characteristic "zip!"
Instantly there was a scene of great excitement.
Every one of our picket guards sprang to his feet and
seized his rifle.
Our rebel visitors sprang into the river with a loud
splash !
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 233
CHAPTER XLII.
AN ALL-AROUND SCARE.
Although alarming for the time being, the combi-
nation of occurrences that caused all the commotion pre-
vailing at the conclusion of the preceding chapter was
very comical.
It transpired that the man on the next post had fallen
asleep, leaning against a tree, as frequently happened.
It is wonderful with what ease a soldier would fall
asleep, standing up, leaning against a tree, or even
on the march. And he would suddenly awake at
the first start, like a nodding deacon listening to the
drowsy sermon from an old-fashioned minister of the
" thirteenth ly" sort.
The sleepy sentinel heard the approach of the grand
rounds, and to his half -awake mind it probably seemed
like the approach of the entire rebel army. So, in a
dazed sort of a way, he raised his rifle and blazed away.
The startled grand rounds, hearing the bullet whistle
past them, naturally imagined that they were being sur-
rounded by a scouting party from the enemy, and they
retreated hastily back to the next post, where we were,
which was the headquarters of that particular section of
the picket line.
The bullet zipping past us, and the footsteps of the
running grand rounds coming toward us, made us also
think that the rebels were making some sort of a flank
movement around us.
The rebel visitors, hearing tbe shooting of the rifle and
the whizzing bullet, perhaps thought that we had laid
some trap for their capture despite our promises and
pledge of immunity.
The splashing of the retreating visitors in the water
234 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
as they were scurrying across the river also added to the
mystification of ;the officer of the day and his compan-
ions of the grand rounds, and thus it was that every one
of the different characters in the farce was for the time
being startled, because of his ignorance of all the cir-
cumstances.
"Halt!" our sentry called out, at the approach of the
grand rounds on their backward movement. The usual
exchanges were made and the countersign given. Then
we began to speculate on the cause of that shot. Every-
thing was quiet in that direction now.
" 'Sh !" said the captain, who was serving as officer of
the day. "I think it was a rebel scouting party trying
to cross the river. I thought I heard them after the
shot. Did you men hear anything?"
We all solemnly averred that we had not. But at the
same time we knew well enough what had made that
splashing in the water.
"Suppose I go up and see if there is anything the
matter with the man on that post?" suggested our ser-
geant.
"That's a good plan," said the officer of the day.
"But you'd better take a file of men with you to be on
the safe side."
I happened to be one of three selected for this duty.
"We crept cautiously and with as little noise as possible,
and when we got near enough we heard sounds that we
recognized as those attendant on the loading of a
musket.
"Hello, Jack," said the sergeant cautiously, abandon-
ing the usual formula for approaching a sentry, "what's
the matter?"
"Nothing," he replied. "Was that the grand
rounds?"
"Yes."
"Well, they got on to me rather suddint, and I blazed
away at 'em not thinkin'."
"And you nearly scared the life out of the whole of
us," said the sergeant.
We returned to the post station and reported that
everything was all right. The officer of the day was
satisfied with that part of the explanation, but he was
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 235
still dubious about that splashing in the water. He
thought it strange that none of us had beard it, and it
seemed to arouse his suspicions. Just then David
Harris, who was with us, was smart enough to invent a
story to get out of the dilemma.
"I guess I can explain it, captain," said he. "There's
a big iiock of ducks there feeding. I saw them before
dark, and have heard them quacking several times. I
guess that shot scared them, and their fluttering
through the water was what we heard."
Davy Harris' stupendous audacity at this ingenious
invention excited my most profound admiration.
"Ah," said the captain, "that must be it. But you
boys must be careful for the enemy might make a feint
at any time. Fall in, grand rounds." (This to his
detail. )
The grand rounds then proceeded to the whilom
sleepy sentry, who was wide enough awake by this
time ; and was received "according to the regulations."
He gave the captain some cock-and-bull story about his
gun going off accidentally, but that didn't work.
Official dignity had been insulted. A high-toned com-
missioned officer could not be given such a scare as that
with impunity. The sentinel was placed under arrest
and another man put in his place.
The fellow told us afterward how he had got asleep
for sure, and was thoroughly startled at the approach of
the grand rounds at such an unexpected hour. But we
never gave him away, and beyond a few hours in the
guard house he escaped punishment.
In the morning we rigged up another rail ferryboat
and sent a messenger over to our rebel friends on the
other side, explaining the matter, as we did not want
them to think that we had wilfully gone back on them.
We expected to see them again, but did not. I was
on picket two or three times afterward, but always at
some other post. But we told the men who relieved us
of what had occurred, and the nightly visits were kept
up for some time. There is more than one private sol-
dier of the Thirteenth who could testify to these facts
to-day, and it was a pleasant and enjoyable innovation
on the usual monotony of picket duty.
236 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
I don't know if any of the officers ever "caught on"
to it. I am inclined to believe that they knew nothing
about it, at least at the time, or they might have put a
stop to it. But then the officers did not know every-
thing that was going on in those daj T s — not much they
didn't!
It was a frequent occurrence for the opposing picket
posts to come together in this sociable manner, unless
it was right before an expected battle, when the men
were enemies in fact as well as in name. But by no
means were the private soldiers thirsting for the blood
of their brethren on the other side.
And I never heard of advantage being taken by either
side of those who thus trusted the enemy's pickets and
put them on their honor as men. Perhaps if it had
been a war between two different nations there would
not have been such a thing possible, for there would
have been a natural enmity and antipathy that could
not have been overcome. But this was a civil war, of
brother against brother, and the circumstances were
somewhat peculiar. At the same time it cannot be
denied that it was "holding communication with the
enemy," although never, to my knowledge, was an in-
formation given of each other's strength or movements.
These intersectional calls and visits were always merely
sociable and personal.
When we had been on picket we were excused from
drill and other duties the next day. We were supposed
to take it to rest, and we generally did, unless a march
was ordered. But on other days we had no end of drill-
ing and dress parades and other military maneuvers,
so that we were kept pretty busy, and no one complained
of the want of exercise.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 237
CHAPTER XLIII.
AN INSPECTION.
An inspection is one of the bugbears of the soldier.
Not only is this so in an active campaign, but it is so with
troops in barracks and forts, and as much so in the reg-
ular army, where a man makes it the business of his life,
as it is in the volunteer service in time of war, when it
is only an exigency.
We were always notified of the coming of the inspec-
tion officer. Of course we had an inspection by our
regimental officers every Sunday morning while in
camp, but the visit of the official inspector was another
thing. It was a very useful thing, all must admit, but
at the same time it was a perfect nuisance to the aver-
age soldier.
Upon receiving notification that the inspecting officer
was coming every soldier proceeded to put himself in
presentable shape. The first thing of all was to clean
our rifles. They must be taken apart and cleaned to
the acme of perfection. Not a particle of dust must be
found anywhere upon them, and the polished parts must
shine like silverware.
This, with the limited facilities at our disposal, was
no easy task. There was a dearth of old rags and other
material with which to clean the guns. Sapolio, silverine
and other polishing materials were not furnished by the
government, but a fairly good substitute was found in
common dry clay, which gave a pretty good polish to
the metal work of our weapons.
On the cartridge box at our side and on the belt
around our waist there was a big brass plate, bearing
the letters "U. S. , " and on the cross over the breast there
was another brass plate bearing what was supposed to
238 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
represent the great American eagle, but which in reality
more resembled a turkey buzzard. I think it was John
Ick who originated the name of "buzzard" in our com-^
pany, for he was always talking of the time when that
bird would pick the flesh off his bones. That of course
would be after he had passed through the ordeal of the
"slaughter house."
These brass plates had to be polished to the highest
notch of perfection. And then the belts and shoes had
to be blackened or polished, although at times it was
hard to get blackening, and the unfair part of it was
that we had to provide ourselves with this, purchasing
it out of our own pockets from the sutlers.
The clothes had to be neatly brushed and the entire
toilet of the soldier made as respectable as possible. Not
only that, but the knapsacks had to be packed in a cer-
tain manner, with each piece laid in a particular part of
the pack, and the blanket rolled so that the edges came
in just a certain position.
The whole object of this was to have everything in
perfect uniform. The word "uniform" expresses the
equipment of a body of troops exactly. Every man's
apparel and equipment must be exactly like his fellow's.
These things seem trivial, taken individually, but when
it comes to a vast number of men the importance of the
matter is obvious.
On assembling for inspection the regiment forms in
line the same as in dress parade and then wheels into
companies. Then at a shoulder arms the inspecting
officer and his assistants, accompanied by the staff
officers of the regiment, take a hasty trip down the front
of each of the ten companies in succession and then
around the back. Then he starts again at the company
on the right and proceeds to inspect the arms of every
individual soldier. This is the crucial test.
As the inspecting officer, who by the way was always
a very airish and self-important official, with a strik-
ingly arrogant manner, approaches each soldier, the
latter holds up his gun in front of him in a certain pre-
scribed manner, so that it is handy for the officer to
take.
The inspector seizes the gun with a snap and jump,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 239
something as a startled mother would grab a bottle of
poison from the hand of a child. I don't know why
they did it in this way, but the inspecting officers cer-
tainly always did so. Then the inspector takes the
rifle, examines it carefully and tries the trigger, as if he
were in a store examining a new gun which he proposed
to buy.
The inspector invariably wore spotless white gloves
to begin with. On the condition of those white gloves
at the end of the inspection depended the percentage of
perfection. The cleaner the gloves the higher the per-
centage. The more soiled they were the lower the rate
of credit. The result of the inspection was accordingly
decided automatically, as it were.
To begin with, the inspector would rub a finger under
and around the hammer to see if he could find a speck
of dirt there. But the next ordeal was the worst. I
forgot to say that before handing the gun to the inspec-
tor the ramrod had to be drawn from its sheath and
dropped into the barrel of the rifle. The inspector would
give the gun a sort of upward throw that would send
the ramrod up a ways and let it fall back into the bar-
rel. If there was a bright, bell-like, musical result, it
showed that the barrel was clean, for if there was dirt
there there would be a dull sound instead of the bell-like
result.
If there was any suspicion of dirt or dust the in-
spector would turn the ramrod around on the bottom of
the barrel, and twist the end of it on the palm of his
white glove. Woe to the soldier if there was any dirt
on the end of the ramrod to soil that white glove.
When the inspector had finished examining the gun,
he would throw it back with a force that would almost
knock the soldier over in his efforts to catch it. The
agility with which the soldier officiated in the catcher's
box on such an occasion seemed to be an important
factor in the inspector's opinion of that individual
soldierr
As win be imagined this inspection of every individ-
ual in a regimentTof seven or eight hundred men was a
slow and tedious process and the fatigue of standing
there in line so long was one of the reasons why the
240 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
ceremony was so much dreaded. But this part of the
inspection was finally concluded.
Then the soldiers had to open their percussion cap and
cartridge boxes, while the inspector marched around and
ascertained if they all contained the required comple-
ment of ammunition. After that each soldier had to
unsling his knapsack and lay it carefully on the ground
behind him, open, so that the inspector could see that
every article was packed according to the regulations.
Every article had to lie just so, even to the manner of
its folding.
In times when the army was in camp, or otherwise
so situated that the things discarded on the march could
be replaced, every soldier had to have certain necessary
articles and to show them to the officials on these period-
ical inspections. This fact got John Ick and Keddy
Mahar into trouble.
The inspection near Sharpsburg was the first one
wherein the inspector had pried into the interior of the
knapsacks. On former occasions, only the outside of
the "trunks" were examined. As a loaded knapsack is
quite heavy, Mahar and Ick had invented an ingenious
scheme to reduce the fatigue; they had done this so
neatly that no one knew the difference. The knap-
sacks stood out firm and plump as if they contained all
the articles called for.
Their ingenuity, however, on this occasion brought
Ick and Mahar to grief. When the order came to
"Open knapsacks," these two worthies looked at each
other in a guilty fashion, and I could almost see them
grow pale as they saw the nice and orderly manner in
which their comrades had packed their knapsacks. Ick
and Mahar held back. "Didn't you hear the order to
open knapsacks," said Scott, who was in command of
the company.
"Now, captain, you see — " Mahar began to say; but
he was interrupted by the captain :
"Open your knapsacks, I said." ' " d
"Mister Scott," put in Ick, who always had a funny
way of addressing the officer p.3 "mister,*' "please
oxcuse me. I don't vaxit to opens mine knapsack any
juore alretty this time, You gee it yas— ■*»'* .., . _.,.,, ,
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 241
"Open those knapsacks!" roared the captain, getting
angry.
The two men sheepishly proceeded to open the knap-
sacks, and then the entire company saw why they hesi-
tated. Both were stuffed with straw!
The straight line that Company K had been main-
taining was immediately broken up, for every man was
nearly bent double with laughter. Captain Scott looked
as if he would like to annihilate the two men on the
spot, for it was a reflection on him. According to the
rules he should have held a little inspection of the com-
pany himself before coming out on the field, to see that
everything was all right, but this he had of course
failed to do.
To make it all the worse, just at this moment along
came the inspecting officer and his staff. That terrible
autocrat seemed to take the whole thing as a personal
insult and fairly roared. But even his roaring could
not stop the laughter among the other members of Com-
pany K.
Poor Ick and Mahar rather got the worst of that
scheme. They were sent to the guard house, and after
the inspection were put through their punishment. The
penalty prescribed by Captain Scott was appropriate.
For four solid and tedious hours John Ick and Reddy
Mahar marched up and down the company street carry-
ing knapsacks filled with stones. When they got
through with the ordeal they were nearly dead with
fatigue, and the straps holding up the heavy load had
cut through the flesh of their shoulders seemingly
almost to the bone.
243 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
I
CHAPTER XLIV.
WE BUILD A HOUSE,
"Iaji always suspicious of those inspections," said
Joan Btansfield to me, after the conclusion of the par-
ticular ono described in the foregoing chapter.
"Why, John?" I asked.
"Because they are not held for nothing. They mean
that there is something coming off pretty soon. These
things are to see that the army is in good order and
ready for a move of some sort. Do you remember what
that Hoosier said just before wo left Maryland
Heights?"
"Yes," I replied. "But that did not amount to
much after all. There was no fighting after that re-
view. We were only given a little march. ' '
"I don't exactly mean that we will get into a fight,"
answered Stansfield ; "but there'll be something — either
a march or a light before long."
It really seemed as if Stansfield was right. There
was generally some sort of a movement after a review
or an inspection of more than ordinary formality, so that
the soldiers had begun to regard the sign as unfailing.
Every old soldier regarded these things as the first steps
toward some important change or movement. But so
far as this particular affair was concerned the rule did
not hold good, inasmuch as we remained in the vicinity
of Sharpsburg for some little time after that. This oc-
casion, however, was unquestionably an exception to
the general rule.
The rigors of army life and exposure, together with
the approach of cold weather, began to play havoc with
the soldiers of the Thirteenth New Jersey. A great
many of them were taken sick, and the temporary hos-
pital that had been improvised was full. Nearly two
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 243
hundred were sick, and six of these cases resulted
fatally. The hospital was an old two-story frame
building about a mile from our camp, and about as
comfortable as the pest house on the almshouse farm.
Although there were a number of the members of
Company K on the sick list, yet there were no deaths
among them. So far as I was concerned, my health
was splendid.
While we were at Sharpsburg there were also a good
many promotions and other changes among the officers.
George M. Hard, a Newarker — now president of one of
the leading national banks of New York City — was
transferred to the position of first lieutenant of Com-
pany K. This made some grumbling, for the men
argued that if there were any offices to fill the vacancies
should be filled from among our own members. But
Hard proved a good officer, and the grumbling did not
last long. Furthermore he was soon afterward trans-
ferred to another company.
It is unnecessary in this story to refer to all the
changes, but I will mention one case — that of Lieuten-
ant Ambrose M. Matthews, who was promoted to the
captaincy of Company I, a position he held to the end
of the war, although he was entitled to a much higher
position, for a better man never lived.
He is now a prosperous business man of Orange, 1ST.
J., and is fortunatelj 7, so situated in life that he can
devote a good deal of time to the interests of the veteran
soldiers, and there is no man on the face of the earth
who takes a livelier interest in these matters than he
does. He was an excellent officer and is to-day one of
the most esteemed citizens of Orange, holding many posi-
tions of trust and honor in the commercial world of that
community.
It was getting very cold, for it was now November,
and really the temperature in that part of Maryland is
not much warmer than it is here. Every morning the
ground was covered with a thick white frost, and when
the company was called out for the reveille roll call, the
breath came from the men's mouths like a jet of steam.
We suffered considerably in consequence.
For a little while we were — that is a portion of Com-
244 TUB YOUNG VOLTJNTEElt.
pany K — quartered in an old school building on the
main street of Sharpsburg. Out of curiosity I "visited
the same building a year or so ago. But we were glad
not to stay there long, for it had been previously oc-
cupied by some of General Fitz-John Porter's troops,
and the place was so infested with "pe?idi cuius investi-
menti," that it was more than an offset for the protec-
tion the building afforded against the cold.
Somewhere about the middle of November the regi-
ment was divided into two wings, and located a couple
of miles or so apart to facilitate the work we were en-
gaged in — picket duty. Lieutenant-Colonel Swords
was in command of one of these wings and Major
Chadwick of the other. The colonel moved his head-
quarters to a point about halfway between the two
wings.
Then the story got out that we were going to remain
there all winter and we proceeded to make ourselves
more comfortable. Some of the officers even sent for
their wives and friends to come and visit them. My
pard, John Butterworth, and I proceeded to build a log
house.
An army log house is worth a brief description.
These houses were generally "built for two." In size
they would perhaps not be larger than twelve feet long
and about eight feet wide.
First of all, we dug a square hole, something like a
cellar, the size of the cabin. Butterworth called it "the
basement." That saved just so much timber, you
know. Then we cut down some trees, which were split
in half and cut the length and width of the house.
These were notched near the ends, and then piled up
after the manner of a "corncob house," such as the chil-
dren used to make.
With considerable labor water was brought from the
nearest stream and a sufficient quantity of mud made to
fill up the chinks between the logs. The roof was com-
posed of the pieces of our "pup" tents fastened together,
and stretched over a ridge pole.
Then came the building of the chimney, the most im-
portant part. In one end of the "cellar" a hole was
dug, like an oven, with a small round hole at the top,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 245
opening into the ground above. Above this was laid a
lot of split sticks, two or three feet each in length, and
covered with the peculiar red mud with which that part
of this glorious country abounds.
Great care had to be taken to leave none of the sticks
exposed, or the chimney would take fire. It was a very
frequent occurrence to be awakened in the night by a
small conflagration and destruction of the domicile of
some comrade from this cause. I have gone through
the interesting experience myself more than once, not-
withstanding the fact that Butterworth was almost prof-
ligate in his use of mud.
The mud chimney would soon dry, and when com-
pleted it filled its purpose to perfection. Few of the
most scientific chimneys of the present day would
"draw" better than those stick-and-mud affairs that we
had in the army.
On the other end of the hut was built the bunk. This
was composed of poles about six or seven feet long,
fastened across, and on top of these was laid a lot of
evergreen or cedar boughs, which formed the mattress.
The boughs were covered with a rubber blanket, and
the result was a good bed that was a good deal more
comfortable than would be imagined on reading this
description.
A spare blanket or piece of shelter tent served the pur-
pose of a door, and thus housed the soldier was quite
comfortable, with a big fire burning in the "fireplace"
even in the severest weather. Many a pleasant hour I
have spent in such a primitive residence, cooking lob-
scouse or playing old sledge.
We began to receive our mail quite regularly too,
and this was a source of great satisfaction and pleasure.
The home papers came to me about a week after being
printed and with more or less regularity — generally
more less than more. The local news, such as there
was, interested us greatly.
I say "such as there was" with all that it means.
To tell the truth, there was not a great deal in the papers
in those days beside war ne^^•s. And wo learned a
good deal more about the war from these papers than
we did otherwise. Even the very acts that we had par-
246 THE YOU KG VOLUNTEER.
ticipated in were presented to us plainer hj the papers
than we could see them for ourselves.
Many a movement that we could not understand sim-
ply because we were a part of it, was explained by the
ubiquitous war correspondent. But the funniest part
of all was the editorial columns. These were mainly
devoted to telling how the war ought to be prosecuted.
None of the generals were doing right. If they would
do this or that it would be a good deal better than the
way they were doing. I refer to no particular paper.
All that reached us were about the same. We soon
came to the conclusion that the government had made
a big mistake aud put the army in charge of the wrong
men. Instead of the generals in command there seemed
to be little doubt that the war might have been ended
in half the time if the whole business had been placed
in charge of the editorial and other critics at home.
We also received many interesting letters from home.
It was while at Sharpsburg that I heard for the second
time from "The girl I left behind me."
With one exception it was the last one I received
from that source. The next one was not so interesting.
To while away the time I had written a letter to Mabel
Summers, the pretty little Frederick city girl. At the
same time I wrote one to my Paterson girl.
The letter to the Frederick girl never brought an
answer. She must have thought the writer crazy. The
letter from the Paterson girl was a curt and dignified
demand for the return of her picture. It was not till
after the war was over and she had cast her lot with
another and better looking man that I understood the
reason for such a summary dismissal.
In directing those two letters, written at the same
time, I had got them mixed up!
I can imagine the indignation and feelings of my
Paterson girl, now that I know the reason she answered
as she did, after having read the letter to the Frederick
city girl, but I can't imagine how the latter received
the letter that she got. And on such a brief acquaint-
ance, too!
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 247
CHAPTER XLV.
THE FREDERICKSBURG CAMPAIGN.
But we didn't stay at Sharpsburg all winter, as we
expected, after all. On the 10th of December, a bit-
terly cold day it was too, we were ordered to break
camp. And from the rumors prevalent, notwithstand-
ing the unusual time of the year, we were likely to get
into another fight soon.
Some great changes had taken place during the past
few days, of which we heard pretty soon. For some
reason known best to the government at Washington,
General McClellan had been relieved from the com-
mand of the Army of the Potomac, and General Burn-
side had been appointed in his place.
It should be understood, that, whereas the general in
command in the field was popularly supposed to have
charge of the operations, all the movements were
directed from Washington, and these were mainly
formulated by General Halleck. He, under the advice
and direction of the president, was supposed to have
command of all the armies in the field. The president
had his hands full about that time, and of course he had
to be invariably guided by the experience of General
Halleck.
The soldiers always referred to Halleck as "Grand-
mother Halleck," and the name in my opinion was well
placed. He was the greatest fogy imaginable. The
records of the departments, the histories of the war, and
the State papers of Abraham Lincoln, all of which I
have carefully studied, go to show that Halleck did
more to prolong the war in the first part of its existence
than anything else. It was not till General Grant was
given command that the ostensible commanding general
of the army really had that control of it that he should.
"848 \ TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Grant would take command under no other circum-
stances, and he was right.
The idea that a general in Washington could better
direct the active movements of the army than the com-
mander at the front in the presence of the troops, is
absurd on the face of it. And yet that is the theory on
which the first part of the war was prosecuted.
General McClellan was in this manner handicapped
all the time he was ostensibly in command of the Army
of the Potomac. Some writers may argue differently,
but I am satisfied of these facts. General McClellan
was the idol of the soldiers, and there was a very gen-
eral feeling that he had not been fairly treated by the
powers that be, but when he was relieved there was not
so much of a commotion as there might have been. The
feeling among the soldiers and many of the officers was :
"Well, let them see if some other general can do any
better than our Little Mack."
At the same time every soldier in the army had the
most profound respect for General Burnside. He had
been a corps commander and everybody knew that he
was a good and fearless officer. The modest manner in
which he accepted the command of the army was also
calculated to create a favorable impression. He said
that he would take the command and do the best he
could, but at the same time he did not consider himself
qualified to command such a large body and carry them
successf ull through an important campaign. The boys
heard of this and manifested a disposition to stand by
him every time.
General Burnside's very first move, however, ran
against the political generals and others who were run-
ning the thing at Washington. Burnside proceeded to
make some changes and transfers among the corps com-
manders, somewhat after the plan adopted by the late
Superintendent B} T rnes when he gave the precinct cap-
tains a "shaking up" in New York City.
The approval or disapproval of the powers that be was
deferred till after the conclusion of the Fredericksburg
campaigns, which were then in progress. Then when
Burnside insisted on having his ideas carried out or
being relieved from the command of the army, the in-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 249
fluences brought to bear were too strong, and General
Burnside was "relieved at his own request."
This is anticipating the story somewhat, but it is
stated here to explain the state of mind and other adverse
circumstances that prevailed during the brief time that
General Burnside was in command of the Army of the
Potomac.
The order which we received to march away from
Sharpsburg was the beginning of the movements con-
nected with the inauguration of the Fredericksburg
campaign. General Burnside had taken a position with
the main portion of the army at Falmouth, nearly op-
posite Fredericksburg, and on the day that the Thir-
teenth left Sharpsburg, the 10th of December, the Union
forces were practically in a position to assault the lines
of the rebels.
We were marched back to Harper's Ferry, and on
the following day were in camp at Loudon Heights.
The next day we started again and marched through
the city or town of Leesburg. And before describing
further progress, I want to tell something very sensa-
tional that happened at Leesburg.
Before that, however, I will explain that on the same
day, or about the same time, the battle of Fredericks-
burg, one of the sharpest and bloodiest battles of the
war, was fought. The Thirteenth, nor any part of the
Twelfth Corps, did not get into that battle, but we were
supposed to form a part of the movement somehow, in
occupying a position that would cut off one possible line
of retreat. At least that was the explanation given.
The why and wherefore I cannot attempt to explain.
I was only a private soldier then, and knew no more
than the other private soldiers, perhaps not as much as
some of them.
The battle of Fredericksburg was a peculiar one.
Fredericksburg is a town on the southern side of the
Rappahannock River, located on a hill. On the north-
ern side of the river was the little village of Falmouth.
The Union troops were on the Falmouth side while the
rebels occupied the city of Fredericksburg, and were
strongly intrenched behind breastworks. The enemy
had destroyed all the bridges, and the only way to get
across the river was on pontoon bridges.
250 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
The Union troops got across. They assaulted the
town. They destroyed it, burned the houses and
smashed the furniture, but — were driven back in con-
fusion, as might naturally be expected under such cir-
cumstances. Result — nothing gained, much lost. The
army that fell back across the river to Falmouth was
12,321 less in number than the army that went over the
river. And the rebel loss was less than 5,300.
Burnside was right in the estimation he had placed
upon himself. The soldiers liked him, and he was a
good corps commander, but he was never intended to
have command of a large army. At the same time,
after this disastrous result he was left in command, al-
though still handicapped by the powers at Washington
in the refusal to make the changes he had recom-
mended. Perhaps the powers at Washington might
have been right in this particular instance.
I am getting a little "twisted" right here in trying
to describe the movements of the two divisions of the
army at the same time. I will return to the Thirteenth
New Jersej T once more. And this brings me back to
what I was going to tell of what happened at Leesburg.
There had been a number of desertions from all the
regiments at Sharpsburg. The cold weather had damp-
ened the ardor of the troops. The position of the army
was such that it made it a comparatively easy matter
to get away from it. A good many took advantage of
this opportunity.
I am sorry to say that there were some members of
the Thirteenth New Jersey amoug the deserters. Some
of these were recaptured and brought back by the pro-
vost guard. Others were never heard of till after the
war.
Of those brought back, the most were punished in
different ways. First it was by fining them several
months' pay. Then it was by imprisonment in some
military prison or fortress. But these penalties did not
seem to have the desired effect. It was decided to make
a horrible example of some of the deserters in order
that it might possibly have a deterrent effect on the
others who might be overcome with an overwhelming
degree of homesickness.
r
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 251
A squad of deserters were captured, brought back,
court martiaJed, and sentenced to be shot !
Now President Lincoln was the kindest hearted of
men. There is no telling how many men he pardoned
during the war after they had been sentenced to be shot
for desertion. But advantage had apparently been
taken of this leniency, and the time had come when the
recalcitrant soldiers should be made to believe that the
government meant business. Executive clemency was
therefore withheld in the case of three of the deserters
from our corps, and we were startled with the notifica-
tion to fall in to witness the execution !
The entire division was marched out to witness the
terrible scene of three comrades being shot to death by
their associates. I don't believe there was a face in the
division that was not pale, nor a pair of legs that were
not more or less shaking at the knees.
The details of the execution will be given in the next
chapter.
252 V f THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XLVI.
AN AWFUL SCENE.
Three deserters were to be shot that morning and we
were compelled to witness the execution !
Fain would we all have escaped the ordeal,, but it was
impossible. No oue was excused. Every soldier must
have indelibly impressed upon his memory that it is a
heinous offense to desert. Every soldier must be made
to understand that this was hereafter to be the fate of
deserters.
None who took part will ever forget that day. So
far as the preliminary sensations and emotions were
concerned it was a thousand times worse than any bat-
tle. The men were subdued and silent as if going to a
funeral — and indeed they were. Poor John Ick's lugu-
brious expressions about a ."slaughter house" met a
response in all our minds, for like nothing else than a
slaughter house did it appear to us.
It seemed as if the orderly sergeant was more quiet
than usual in forming the company, and the tone of the
captain as he ordered the company to march to the
parade ground was low and sorrowful. When the regi-
ment was formed there was an unusual lack of bustle
and enthusiasm. A spirit of sadness, I might say of
horror, pervaded the entire command.
It was a beautiful day. There was not a cloud in
the sky and the sun shone down on the glittering baj'o-
nets till R they looked like silver spikes. The men all
wore sober countenances as we marched out to the place
of execution.
There were three men to be shot. Two were from
the Forty-sixth Pennsylvania, and the other, I regret to
say, from the Thirteenth New Jersey. The latter was
named Christopher Krubart, a member of Company B.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER* %&
These three men were to be killed !
And we were to kill them !
Fortunately for me and fortunately for the victims I
was not one of the men detailed on the shooting squad.
It was fortunate for me, because I would as like as
not have shot myself in my excitement. It was fortu-
nate for the victim, for I would probably have hit him,
if I hit him at all, in some unimportant part of the body
and only help to put him in agony, without killing him.
Before we started for the scene of the execution the
order announcing the findings of the court martial and
the approval of the sentence was read impressively to
the regiment. That this had a moral effect on the men
is beyond question. No one could describe the solem-
nity of that event, made all the more solemn from the
impressive manner in which the order was read by
Adjutant Hopkins.
At 13 o'clock precisely the different regiments of
the brigade and division were marched out to the place
selected for the execution and formed into a "hollow
square." The officers gave their orders m subdued
voices, and the men obeyed with impressive silence, as
the rifles were dropped to the ground on the order to
' ' shou lder arms. ' '
Straight before us we could see the three graves that
had been dug and into which vere soon to be consigned
the dead and mutilated bodies of three fellow beings
who at that moment were as alive and full of heallh
and vigor as we were. It seemed as if there was an
unnecessary delay in the proceedings. Everything
seemed to be done with painful deliberation. This was
perhaps to lend additional impressiveness to the scene.
There was no use for that. The scene was sufficiently
impressive as it was.
Then, moving so slowly that they scarcely moved,
came in the wagons containing the three coffins which
were soon to contain the bodies of the unfortunates.
Behind the coffins came an ambulance surrounded by
armed soldiers.
In the ambulance, securely manacled, were the three
doomed victims of the tragedy. They were slowly,
almost tenderly, assisted from the ambulance, and led
to the coffins.
£54 TEE TOTING VOLUNTEER.
There was a coffin at the head of each of the three
graves and the men were seated on the end of the coffins.
Each man sat on the coffin he was to occupy !
Their eyes were blindfolded, their hands fastened to
their backs, and their legs tied together. They could
neither move nor see.
The firing party consisted of thirty-six men in all.
Eight men were detailed to shoot each deserter, making
twenty-four to fire at the first order, and the other
twelve v/ere held back in reserve, to finish the horrible
work in case there was any sign of life after the first
volley.
Not a man of that detail knew whether his gun was
loaded. This was a merciful provision for such cases.
In each squad there was one rifle loaded with only a blank
cartridge. In firing a musket, one cannot tell whether
there is a bullet in the cartridge or not. If the guns
were all loaded every man would have it on his mind
that he had shot a fellow being. With one blank in
the squad no man knew for sure whether his gun had
fired a fatal shot or not.
This left an uncertainty about it that was very con-
soling. Every man consoled himself with the idea that
he had the blank cartridge. The guns had been loaded
by the officers at the division headquarters and only one
or two officers knew which of the rifles were really
loaded. Even they did not know long, for the guns
were mixed up indiscriminately in a pile, from which
each member of the firing squad picked a rifle as he
was marched past.
The firing squad marched to the place of execution
with slow and measured tread, which served to still
longer prolong the painful scene and add to the already
almost unbearable impressiveness and awfulness of the
event.
Then the death sentence was read again, in a solemn
manner. Every face in the ranks was pale, and many
of the men were trembling. In fact some of their knees
were shaking so that they could hardly stand on their
feet. I plead guilty to being one of this class.
At the same time everybody was curious enough to
watch the condemned men. The handkerchiefs tied
over their eyes obscured the upper parts, but the lower
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 255
portions could be seen. They were ghastly — not white,
but ashen and sickly in pallor.
From the furthermost parts of the "square" the men
could see the unfortunate and terrified victims trem-
bling. One of them was actually shivering, as if he
had a severe chill. The lips of two could be seen to
move slightly, as if in prayer. There is little doubt
that it was really a prayer.
But not one of them undertook to speak a word aloud.
They had all evidently made up their minds to die with-
out a flinch, without a murmur or protest.
Such bravery and fortitude as this, displayed on the
battlefield, would have won them a pair of shoulder
straps. As it was, it was the ineffable disgrace of being
shot as a deserter !
Chaplain Beck, of the Thirteenth Regiment, offered
a short prayer for the salvation of the souls of the un-
fortunate men, and their lips seemed to move in response
to every syllable of the supplication. Glancing around
furtively among my companions, I noticed tears trick-
ling down many a bronzed and weatherbeaten face.
The time has arrived !
The firing squad were placed in position, only a few
feet in front of the condemned men — eight men to each
deserter. There was a look of determination on the
faces of the firing party, and yet they were all very
pale. They all stood at a "shoulder arms."
It is usual in giving the order to shoot, to say, suc-
cessively, "Ready! Aim! Fire!" But in this in-
stance a somewhat original innovation had been made
to the usual rule. One of the words was omitted.
This was a merciful surprise, both to the condemned
men and the soldiers who were compelled to witness the
execution. The officer in command of the firing party
and the members of the latter themselves were the only
ones who had been informed of the change in the order.
Consequently it came upon us as a big surprise, I might
perhaps better say, a big shock.
"Ready!"
So commanded the officer of the firing party. Every
nerve stretched to its utmost tension as the men in front
of the condemned wretches brought their pieces up to
256 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
their hips, the hammer at the same time being raised
with the right hand.
I felt like shutting my eyes to escape seeing what
was coming next, but a horrible fascination glued my
gaze intensely to the scene. And I knew of course
there was another command, "aim," before the shots
were finally fired.
But no! With a quick, sharp command that gave us
all a start, which came so unexpectedly that even the
condemned deserters probably did not fully comprehend
it, came the order :
"Fire!"
Like lightning twenty-four cocked muskets jumped
up to twenty-four shoulders. The movement was made
with marvelous rapidity. Before we could fully com-
prehend what had happened, there was a puff of smoke
and the three deserters fell over backward on their
coffins, or rather I should say, almost into them.
We saw the smoke from the guns before hearing the
report, of course. It is alwaj^s that way. The noise of
the report was heard simultaneously with the sight of
the dead deserters falling backward.
As the doomed men fell over they seemed to stiffen
out convulsively, so that they did not go over bent in
the sitting posture, but as if they had been standing up,
and had fallen back like three felled trees. From the
distance where I stood I could discern no signs of a
struggle or even a convulsive tremor. Those who were
close by failed to see even the twitch of a muscle.
Their deaths must have been instantaneous. It is
doubtful if they even heard the reports of the rifles that
shot them, for at that distance the speed of a bullet is
greater than that of sound.
The effect of the tragedy on the silent witnesses was
peculiar. Judging from my own sensations, it was one
of intense relief that it was all over. The solemn and
impressive preliminary preparations were emphatically
the worst part of the whole transaction. As if a great
weight had been lifted the sensation was one rather of
exhilaration than of depression, for the time being.
But this was not permitted to last long. ' We still
bad another ordeal to pass through, perhaps still worse
than anything that had preceded it.
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 257
We were marched slowly around and past the bloody
bodies of the three executed deserters and compelled to
gaze upon them as we went by. This was a shuddering
ordeal, and all the more tended to impress the lesson the
event had been intended to convey.
The marksmen had performed their duties well.
Each one had aimed at a bit of paper pinned over the
condemned men's hearts. It will be remembered that
seven only out of each eight rifles were loaded with
bullets. When we examined the body of Krubart, the
Thirteenth Regiment deserter, it was found that the
whole seven bullets had passed through his body in the
immediate vicinity of his heart. Any one of them
would have caused instant death.
The results in the cases of the others were the same.
There was no need for the services of the reserves on
this occasion.
The bodies were buried like those of dogs. Not a
word of burial service was said over them. The bodies
were hurried into the coffins while yet warm, the coffins
were lowered into the graves, and in a few moments the
ground was leveled over them.
No head board or other marker was placed over the
grave of an executed deserter. He merely became a
part and parcel of mother earth, and the precise where-
abouts of his remains were never known afterward.
We marched back to the spot where we were to camp
for the night without much talk, but everybody was
doing a good deal of thinking. What was everybody
thinking about? I think the answer can be best
given in the laconic remark of the ever-ready John Ick :
"By jimminey, poys," said he, "des settles it.
Ven you sees Yon Ick deserting some more alretty, he
stays py de regiment all de times."
258 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XLVII.
FLOODED OUT.
It must be admitted that the lesson had a salutary
effect. There was not much deserting after the execu-
tion of the three men at Leesburg, and there had been
a good deal before that time. It seemed hard to sacri-
fice even three lives for such a purpose, but it had be-
come necessary, and it practically put a stop to the
practice for a considerable time.
We resumed our tiresome march. Where we were
going we did not know. It was nothing but getting up
early in the morning, marching and halting all day
long, and passing tired nights around sickly fires, half-
frozen.
For the weather was getting cold now. This was
adding another hardship to the boys' long list of
troubles. During the daytime when we were on the
move it was possible to keep comfortable. It was even
uncomfortably warm in the middle of the day. But the
nights were very cold.
Although the blankets and shelter tents and overcoats
were just as heavy as ever, yet we stuck to them now,
because they were absolutely necessary for comfort at
night. I use the word "comfort" with some mental
reservation, for I cannot say we were exactly comforta-
ble at all during the night.
Some one suggested that the Indians slept with their
feet to the fires and that if the feet were kept warm the
rest of the body would be comfortable. There was a
good deal in this, as we found out from experience, but
at the same time it was not sufficient. The more ordi-
nary practice was to sleep with one side turned toward
the fires for a while, and then turn the other side, and so
on. This alternate series of freezing and roasting be-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 259
came the universal rule, and as the boys were generally-
crowded so closely together that they had to lie spoon
fashion, it became a sort of a drill. When one turned
over, the other had to.
There are some men who are born to command,
whether they hold rank or not. This soon became mani-
fest in this "change side" order. By tacit consent,
some one particular individual gave the word and it
was obeyed. No attention was given to it if the sug-
gestion came from any other source. This was a singu-
lar thing, but a fact. Some one soldier, regardless of
rank, would always be accepted as the leader and com-
mander of these petty duties, not in the strict line of
military service.
Several times we had to ford creeks that were quite
deep. This was not so bad when the weather was mild,
but when it was cold it added suffering as well as dis-
comfort. Then there was apparently a good deal of
unnecessary marching. We would go for a distance
along some road, and then turn and go another way,
as if the leaders had lost their route. This made a good
deal of grumbling.
We passed through Chantilly, which had once before
been the scene of a battle, and through several other
places that were big enough to be honored with a name
and that is about all. Finally, about the 25th of De-
cember, we reached the Occoquan creek at a place called
Wolf Run Shoals.
Here we had an experience worth describing.
During the night a tremendous storm arose. It was
one of the worst I ever remember.
I plainly recall my own experience that night. John
Butterworth (my pard) and myself had pitched our
little "pup" tent on the side of a hill at the bottom of
which was a good-sized creek or brook.
It was in a piece of woods that had evidently not
been occupied by troops before, for the trees were stand-
ing, and the ground was covered with dry twigs and
leaves. The skies were overcast and the air was damp
and chilly, but we did not think that there was going
to be a very big storm.
"I tell you, Joe," said Butterworth, "we're lucky to
260 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
get this good place to-night. See the leaves I have
gathered for a bed. It beats a spring mattress. There's
many a poor fellow at home that hasn't such a good
place to sleep in as this."
"Yes," I replied, pulling the blanket up under my
chin, "and this slope of the ground is just right. It
brings our heads higher than our feet, which makes it
more comfortable. I'm glad I didn't throw away my
blanket in to-day's tramp, aren't you?"
"You bet I don't throw away mine while the cold
weather remains," said Butterworth. "It is pretty
tough sometimes during the day, but they come in
mighty handy at night, I can tell you."
"Don't you think it is going to rain to-night?" I
asked.
"Wouldn't be surprised," replied John. "But then
what do we care? We have a good tent, plenty of
blankets, a soft bed, and even a canteen full of spring
water, for I filled the canteen fresh just before I turned
in."
"Where is the canteen?" I asked. "I want to get a
drink now."
"Hanging right over your head," said he, "on the
tent pole."
I took a good drink of the refreshing draft, and John
was right, for it was as fine a specimen of spring water
as I ever tasted.
We talked a little while on commonplace subjects and
soon fell soundly to sleep. Soldiers were too tired out
on such occasions to indulge in much talking after they
were in bed, and when they once got asleep they slept
soundly. Only those who have had that experience can
fully appreciate the soundness of the sleep of a tired
soldier.
I was awakened during the night some time by the
sound of the ram falling in torrents. The wind blew a
gale and fairly howled through the branches of the trees
over our heads. I felt uncomfortably chilly, and turn-
ing over to find what was the matter, found the blankets
both under and over me soaking wet.
"What's the matter now, Joe?" asked Butterworth,
waking up.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 261
"I guess that confounded old canteen of yours has
sprung a leak," said I, "for the blankets are all wet."
We made an examination and found the canteen all
right, but as we sat up, there was a very uncomfortable
sensation of water trickling down our backs.
"Phew!" said Butterworth, "here's a pretty mess.
The tent has sprung a leak. The blankets are soaked
and so am I. I am wet through."
"You're no wetter than I am, I guess," I replied.
"Let's get up and see what is the matter."
We pulled the blankets from the ground and found a
stream of water running through the tent. It was run-
ning through by the pailful. It will be remembered
that we were in such a "nice place" on the side of the
hill, and the water was running down through the tent
like a brook.
We got outside. It was better to be standing out in
the rain than it was to be lying there in a brook. We
found the entire regiment up and standing under the
trees, each man wrapped in his rubber blanket, to pro-
tect himself as well as he might from the pelting rain-
fall.
A more forlorn and unhappy lot of men it would be
hard to conceive. There we were, in the middle of the
night, in a desolate woods, with the rain falling in per-
fect torrents. And how it did rain ! It came down by
the bucketful !
"I haf change my mind alretty," said John Ick. "I
beliof I will desert alretty, so soon by I got chances."
"What's the matter now, John?" I asked.
"Dot's vot I said alretty," he answered. "Dose fel-
lers vat vas deserted was died und don'd haf to go
through by dot rain-storm all the times. Dey vash
happy, und ve vas "
"That's true, John," I said. "They are dead and
maybe they are happy. I can't tell about that. And
we are not very happy. There's no denying that. But
at the same time wouldn't you rather be a live soldier
than a dead soldier? And maybe perhaps those dead
fellows are not happy after all. Maybe they went to
the other place, where the people are not so happy, ac-
cording to general belief."
282 r iHE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"I don'd care, neider," said John. "Dose fellers vas
warm if dey goes by dot under places vat you says
don'd was so happy be. Dey vas warm and dry und ve
vas wet und cold alretty. Ya, I wish I vas dead all
the times. I change my minds. I vas goin' to desert
so soon by the storm vas over."
There was no getting over this argument. The exe-
cuted deserters might be in purgatory, as Ick said, but
if they were, it was a good dry place. And a dry place,
in our present frame of mind, comprised all the essential
elements of complete happiness.
But John didn't desert, then or afterward. He was,
as a rule, a good soldier, despite all his talk.
We tried many times to light a fire, but were unable
to do so Everything was so water-soaked that nothing
would burn. We passed through a miserable night,
and when it came daylight, although the storm let up a
little, we were a miserable lot, soaked to the skin, shiv-
ering, uncomfortable and hungry, for it was even im-
possible to get enough o f a fire to boil coffee for break-
fast.
But, sleep or no sleep, wet or dry, hungry or sur-
feited, the ^operations of the army must proceed. The
relentless march must go on. Whatever spot we were
aiming for must be reached.
And so, wet and tired, hungry, listless, depressed and
enervated, we mechanically obeyed the order to —
"Fall in, Thirteenth!"
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. £$
CHAPTER XLVIII.
RATHER MUDDY.
But we didn't march very far that day. When night
came again we were not more than two miles from
where we started in the morning.
And now for the first time we encountered what was
a genuine specimen of "Virginia mud." We thought
we had seen Virginia mud before, but all previous ex-
periences were a farce in comparison.
The storm had cleared off. That is, the rain had
stopped falling, although the skies were still overcast.
It was but a short distance from where we had camped
for the night to the ford at Wolf Run Shoals, over the
Occoquan creek.
It was called a ford, because in ordinary seasons the
water is only a foot or so deep, and the place was used
for a crossing for wagons. The economical Virginia
grangers never wasted county appropriations in build-
ing bridges when they could find a place shallow enough
to wade across. And they would go miles out of their
way to reach the ford.
The spot was called Wolf Run on account of a tradi-
tion that in former days it used to be a favorite haunt
for the wild ancestors of the domestic dog. But we
saw no wolves. Neither did we see any ford.
On the contrary we encountered a raging creek.
Usually it was but a foot or so deep. Now it was sev-
eral feet deep, and the water was rushing through with
the speed of a tail race.
The mounted officers rode across, although the water
was high enough to have wet their feet if they had not
held them up. But the main portion of the vast army
was not mounted. It was not a big enough stream to
use pontoon bridges, and there was not time to construct
264 THE TOTTNG YOLTTNTEEIL i
c regular 'army truss bridge, for we were in a hurry.
It was a part of the movement somehow or other con-
nected with the Fredericksburg campaign.
As things turned out it would have saved time for
the officers to have stopped the entire army for a day or
so and built substantial bridges. But then everybody's
foresight isn't as good as his hindsight, not even an
army officer's.
There were plenty of large trees growing along the
edge of the creek and some bright genius suggested that
these trees be felled in such a way as to fall across the
stream and let the troops go over these logs.
I was not a general. I was not even a commissioned
officer. I was "only a private."
But if even with my ignorance I could not have de-
vised something better than that I think I would have
been ashamed of myself. The idea of marching an
army of several thousand soldiers across a log over a
stream of water, and in a hurry at that, was simply
ridiculous.
And yet that is just what was attempted. I forget
how many of these primitive bridges were thrown
across the creek. Perhaps eight or ten. They were
big trees, eighteen inches or two feet in diameter.
I saw the first two or three men cross. With their
heavy rifles, their knapsacks and various accouterments,
they had about all they could do to walk along a coun-
try road, let alone balance themselves on something only
a trifle better than a tight rope. It took perhaps a
minute for a man to get over.
The first three or four went across with comparative
ease. Then the dripping clothes and the muddy shoes
of the men began to besmear the round top of the logs,
and they became perilously slippery. From that mo-
ment it became something like a man trying to walk
along the top of a rail fence with a pair of roller skates
on his feet.
About every third man slipped off into the water and
of course that was not a very pleasant thing. As I said
before, the stream was deep and the current was swift.
The first two or three unfortunates were nearly
drowned, hampered as they were with their cumber-*
... THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 26o
some accouterments. So, below each of the log bridges,
they established a cordon of cavalry, to catch and fish
out the men as they slipped off. Fully one-half the
men consequently got on the other side drenched to the
skin.
It was very tedious. We had to wait for an hour or
so after reaching the stream to get a chance to cross, for
it could only be done one by one, as may be imagined.
And after getting to the other side we had to wait for
the rest of our companions. I think of all the experi-
ence I ever had in the marching line this took the
premium.
I felt sure that I would be one of the fellows to slip
off the log and go into the water, but I didn't. Al-
though I slipped and scrambled and twisted myself into
all imaginable shapes in keeping my balance, I man-
aged to get over somehow, and took my place with those
waiting for the others to come over.
Then and there we indulged in the customary kick-
ing, and the army, the war and everything connected
with it was cursed uphill and down. If Jeff Davis had
come around just then he would have met with a warm
reception from a disgusted army. The loudest in their
imprecations were of course those who had tumbled into
the creek and were wet to the skin and shivering with
the cold, as they tried to dry themselves by the sickly
fires that had been kindled.
In the meantime the wagons were coming across by
fording. Each wagon and team naturally brought up
out of the creek its quota of water, which dropped off
on the banks as they emerged from the creek. This
was a little thing at first, but wagon after wagon and
team after team soon had the ground saturated, not only
close by the creek, but for some distance up the side of
the bank.
The wheels of the heavy baggage wagons, wearing
into this, mixed it over and over again, till the mud got
deeper and deeper. First it was a few inches deep.
Then it worked down till it was a foot deep. Soon it
was up to the hubs of wheels. It did not take long to
work the mass till it came up to the bellies of the mules
and the bodies of the baggage wagons.
266 TEE TO UNO VOLUNTEER.
The mud grew thinner 'and thinner till it was of the
consistency of paste. Its color was a bright red, as
Virginia mud usually is. Not only did it grow deeper
and deeper, but the slough extended further and further
until it was fully a quarter of a mile in length, if not
more.
It was muddy all over that part of the country at that
particular time. In the wet season the normal constit-
uent of the State was mud. But I am now talking of
more than ordinary mud. The sort I am trying to de-
scribe is the regular old army mud, such as was only
seen by the soldiers on the march.
It was not long before the mud was too deep for an
ordinary six-mule team to drag the wagons through.
Teams from other wagons would be unhitched to help
those still in the sloughs. I have seen not only twelve,
but frequently twenty-four, mules, attached to a bag-
gage wagon to pull it out of a mud hole, and on the par-
ticular day I am talking about I saw thirty-six mules
attached to one wagon, and yet unable to budge it.
It was in such a place as this that the mule would
become discouraged and lay himself down and die, as I
have described in a previous chapter.
It was in this place and on this occasion, that origi-
nated the following incident, which perhaps some of
my readers have heard before :
Out in the middle of the road, resting apparently in
a mud puddle where it had been left, lay a brand new
army hat of the "slouch" pattern. A soldier whose hat
was somewhat the worse for wear caught sight of this,
and decided to secure it. The mud was too deep for
him to wade out for the hat and so he got a long pole
from the woods and reached out for the hat with the
pole, as if he were fishing.
As he lifted the hat on the end of the pole the soldier
was astonished to see that he had exposed a human
head. And not only a head, but a very much alive one
at that, with the mouth in good working order.
"Here you," shouted the head, "what are you about
there? Put that hat right back where you got it!"
<l I didn't know you were there/' replied the soLUer
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 207
■who had just fished off the hat, as he tried to wiggle
the pole around so that it would fall back on the head.
"I didn't know there was anything under that hat.
Don't you want some one to help you out of the mud?"
"N-no, I g-guess not," said the man in the mud
nonchalantly, "I have a good horse under mo, and I
guess he will bring me out all right after awhile 1"
268 TEE TOtTNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER XLIX.
AN UNCOMFORTABLE NIGHT.
I don't know if that man's good horse ever brought
him safely out of the mud, hut I do know that the story
is not so much of an exaggeration as it might appear at
first glance. No amount of extravagant description
could greatly exaggerate the depth, diabolical character
and general cussedness of Virginia mud.
A soldier cannot march in boots. Experience soon
proved that the only proper footgear was a broad, low-
cut shoe. This was of course no protection to the mud.
The usual custom was to pull the woolen stocking up
on the outside of the trousers, forming a sort of legging.
That protected the bottom of the pantaloons, and made
marching easier. But as may be imagined the shoes
were soon full of mud and water and one's feet were
constantly in soak.
In civil life it is supposed to be a dangerous thing to
go long with wet feet, but some kind Providence must
have inured the soldier to this. None seemed to be
much the worse for it. Of all the ailments of life ordi-
nary colds were the least troublesome to the soldier after
he had become once hardened to the service.
But that it must have had an effect on the health is
evident from the large numbers of veterans to-day who
are suffering from rheumatism and kindred ailments,
all unquestionably the result of the exposure suffered
while in the army.
That day, with the mud and wet and the cold, was
one of the hardest we ever experienced. In ordinary
times we would have thought little of a twenty-mile
march in a day, but on that particular day we did not
make more than two miles, and when night came we
were completely exhausted with the fatigue of the day.
THE TOUNG VOLUNTEER. 269
We went into camp that night within a mile of the
crossing at Wolf Run Shoals, and not two miles from
where we had slept the night before on the hillside,
where the rain poured down our backs. It wasn't a
jolly crowd that night. Everything was wet through.
It was almost impossible to find a piece of wood dry
enough to burn. Butter worth and I, however, man-
aged to discover and cut down a couple of good-sized
sassafras trees. These, no matter how wet, will burn
like pine, although they make a terrific smoke.
Of all the trees that grow in the woods, none will
burn as readily when green as sassafras, a fact which
the rising generation should remember, as it might be
of use to them in case there is ever another war — which
God forbid.
Poor, clumsy John Ick was of course one of the fel-
lows who had fallen off the slippery log into the creek
and got wet through. This nearly led to a fatal dis-
ruption between him and his "pard," Reddy Mahar.
"Ye clumsy blackguard," said Reddy, "couldn't ye
kape on ye're feet loike a sober man. How d'ye sup-
pose Oi'me a-goin' to sleep wid ye this night?"
"I don't care, needer," said Ick, "you can schleeps
where you likes. You don't have some tents to schleep
mit, under you don'd schleep by me, all the times."
"The divil I don't. Half uf that tint is moin, and
Oi'll roll meself up inside uf it, and no thanks to ye for
a favor, ye spalpeen."
"No, you don't, needer. Both pieces by dot tents vas
mine. Don'd you remember dot you loose your tents
de under night, Reddy?"
"Oi didn't lose my tent at all at all, you old slaugh-
ter house. Half uf that tint is moin and ye know it. ' '
"Nein. You vas mistooken, Reddy. You know you
lose your halluf de under day, und you don'd draw
some more from the quartermaster alretty."
"Ye can't come that over me, ye spalpeen," answered
Reddy, as he proceeded to seize half the "pup" tent
from Ick. John grabbed the other end, and they began
to pull on the two sides of the piece of canton flannel.
The language that ensued between the two during
the scramble that took place for the possession of that
£.;0- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
piece of tent was altogether unparliamentary. It was a
funny conglomeration of Celtic and Teutonic, and beat
any character dialect acting that was ever placed on the
variety stage.
You have perhaps seen the picture of the pug dog and
the baby tugging at the two legs of the rag doll, and if
you have you, no doubt remember the fate of the doll.
Well, that was the fate of the piece of "pup" tent. It
came in two and was torn to pieces in the struggle.
Then a grab was made for the other half of the tent,
and before long it met the same fate. That was torn to
pieces also.
After the mischief had been done, the two belliger-
ents gazed upon the ruin, and then looked each other in
the face for a moment as a curious expression came over
their countenances.
"John," said Reddy, whose sense of the ludicrous al-
ways overcame his animosity on such occasions, "we're
a pair of fools, that's phwat's we are."
"And I vas anudder, Reddy," replied Ick.
That settled the difficulty then and there. The two
worthies shook hands cordially, and were extra vagantly
profuse in offering each other the use of their blankets
for the night. Reddy and John had no tent at all that
night, nor for a number of nights afterward, in conse-
quence of that disastrous quarrel, but they were closer
friends than ever. Although Ick was wet through, and
must have been a very uncomfortable bedfellow, they
slept that night as close as brothers, and not a word of
complaint was heard on either side, although they must
have been anything but comfortable.
This is only one of the many examples of the peculiar
incompatibility of these strange "pards." They were
always quarreling and there was scarcely a day that
they did not have a fight. They did not seem to be able
to agree upon anything. And yet, if any one abused
one of them, the other always took it up, and behind
the uncouth, incongruous exterior there was a depth of
friendship that was astonishing.
There was many another soldier that night that had
a wet "pard," although there was not the same way
adopted for the settlement of the matter as in the case
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 271
of Mahar and Ick. But if there was anybody comforta-
ble and happy in camp that night I did not hear of it.
In the course of my war experience I do not think that
patriotism was ever at a lower ebb than it was that
night.
We were glad enough when it was morning. Then
we learned that not half the army had been got across
the creek, and it had been decided during the night by
the officers in command to retrace our steps and take
some other route.
This was one of the things that always disgusted the
soldier — to spend a whole day getting somewhere and
then immediately go back again. We could not under-
stand the why and wherefore of such things of course,
although there must have been some reason. But the
why and wherefore was not explained to the private
soldiers.
" Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die.''
It did not take so long to get back, for the weather
was still colder and the mud had partially dried and
partially frozen, so that it was not near as deep as it was
the previous day. The water in the creek had also gone
down so that it could be forded, and many crossed that
way, although I stuck to the log and again managed to
get across without tumbling off. We marched some
distance further back that day, and before night reached
Fairfax Station, a place where we were to remain for
awhile, it was said, as the weather was getting too cold
for army movements.
And as we marched into camp that night it began to
snow. It was a tradition that it did not snow very
often in that part of the country ; it did that afternoon,
and it snowed as hard as I ever saw it snow in the
North.
Here was another new experience. We had suffered
from the intense heat of the sun and we had gone
through some pretty cold nights already We had been
drenched to the skin in the rain and half -drowned from
fording creeks. But this was the first time we had ever
encountered a snowstorm.
272 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Although it might not be thought to be a fact, yet it
is not nearly as cold to be outdoors in an ordinary snow
storm as when it is a clear cold. The principal incon-
venience was in the fact that the snow covered up the
twigs and little sticks in the woods which were so use-
ful in kindling and maintaining fires in camp.
But the ever willing Butterworth, "my pard,''
hustled through under the trees, pushing the snow from
the ground with his feet, and gathered a big armful of
small branches and brushes while I went to the nearest
stream and filled the canteens. We put up the *pup' '
tent and had everything fixed nicely for the night, and
were preparing to cook some lobscouse for supper, when
to my intense disgust I heard my named called to go on
picket.
So, donning my haversack and equipments, and de-
ferring my supper till later, I fell in line, with my com-
panions, and started for — no soldier knows where he
starts for I
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 273
CHAPTER L.
A LESSON IN GUERRILLAS.
On the way to the picket headquarters we were cau-
tioned to be careful, as although the main portion of the
rebel army was some distance from that spot, yet there
had been some evidences of guerrillas around and they
might make a raid upon us at any moment.
"What are guerrillas?" I imagine I hear the reader
ask.
Guerrillas were isolated detachments of the cavalry
of the enemy. They did not seem to be connected with
any main branch of the Confederate army, but con-
ducted the war on a sort of a go-as-you-please principle.
They rode in detachments of from fifty to five hundred
men.
The guerrillas particularly infesting the Virginia cam-
paign were Moseby's, Morgan's, Stuart's, and Wheel-
er's. They were generally called "men," that is,
"Moseby's men," "Stuart's men,'' etc. A rumor that
any of these bushwackers were in the neighborhood
always put the soldiers on the alert.
The particular province of the guerrillas was to harass
the Northern army. I suppose there were similar
guerrillas on the Northern side, but we did not come
across them, of course. In the Union army, if there
were such things, they were given the more dignified
appellation of "skirmishing parties."
The guerrillas also perhaps made it a part of their
business to take hasty surveys of the Union forces, posi-
tions and strength. They would suddenly dash down
upon our camps, generally in the night time, and gal-
loping through the lines would cut and slash and shoot
after the manner of a lot of Western cowboys on a
round-up through some small, out-of-the-way settle-
ment,
W4. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Their appearance was generally so sudden and unex-
pected that it found the Union soldiers unprepared for
it. They would dash through the picket lines, rush
through the camps, and then as suddenly disappear, be-
fore our lines could be formed to drive them off. Cav-
alry has no chance to fight against infantry when the
latter is once formed into a "hollow square," but that
takes some time to form, and the guerrillas would nave
disappeared before the boys had received the orders to
fall in.
There was one good thing about the guerrillas. Their
proximity always served to make the soldiers more on
the alert. The report that guerrillas had been seen
around always kept the pickets and everybody else on
the qui vive.
Our picket post was a very lonesome spot at the edge
of a woods. It continued to snow quite hard and the
ground was covered to the depth of several inches. We
managed to start a fire, however, and made ourselves
as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.
I was on the second relief and did not have to go on
post till 11 o'clock. We thought it was no use trying
to get any sleep before starting out, we fellows on the
second relief, and consequently sat around the fire, after
cooking some coffee, and indulged in talk.
"Those guerrillas," said one of the Third Wisconsin
boys to me, as we sat there smoking our pipes, "are a
derned nuisance. I remember once before the Second
Bull Run they made a raid through our camp and gave
us the derndest scare you ever saw. We were a sittin*
around the fire just like this, when all of a suddint there
was a whoop and a hurrah, and a lot of shootin'. Then
the guerrillas dashed through us, firing and slashing and
yelling like Injuns. None of us was shot, but one of
the Twenty -seventh Infantry boys got a slash on the
arm with a saber. They was right through us afore we
could do anything. Then they dashed down through
camp, clear through, mind you, with their yelling and
racket, and went out of the other side, and all so sud-
dint that not a single one of them was shot."
"What is the sense of it all?" I asked. "What ob-
ject have they in making these rushes through camp?"
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 2?5
"Derned if I know," replied the veteran. "Pure
cussedness, I guess. If they find there's only a small
force they will grab up everything they can cany. If
there is a big army lying around they simply dash
through. I guess it is simply to find out how many
there are on our side and perhaps to give us a little
scare. ' '
"Do they ever attack the picket posts?" I asked
somewhat nervously.
"Oh, yes, that's their main hold. One time down
on die Peninsula they raided the post I was on, wound-
ing the sergeant and one of the men, and they grabbed
our blankets and haversacks and guns and skedaddled
before we could say beans. Say, I'd rather go into a
good-sized battle than be raided by guerrillas. Not that
there is so much danger, but it gives a fellow such a
scare, you know, and you. don't get over it for some
time. Somenow after you have once been raided by
guerrillas you have no confidence in yourself for a long-
time, especially when you are out on some lonesome
post on a dark night."
"Do you think we are likely to have any guerrillas
around to-night?" I asked. I was beginning to feel a
very lively personal interest in the matter, considering
the fact that I would have to go on post in a short
time.
"I wouldn't be much surprised," was the reply. "I
heard the officers say as how guerrillas had been seen
near by some of the skirmishers, and it kind o' looked
as if they might be along this way afore mornin'. But
then we will keep on the lookout for them."
"Isn't it rather dangerous to have a fire burning like
this, so that they can see where we are?" I asked.
" Well, I don't think as how that makes much differ-
ence They would come anyhow, fire or no fire. And
say, if a fellow was going to go without a fire simply
because there might be guerrillas around, he would
freeze to death before the winter was over. We have
to take chances on that."
"But then a man is in more danger when he is out
alone on post, isn't he?" I asked.
"To be sure, pard," was the encouraging reply.
276 THE YOUm VOLUNTEER.
"You have to keep your eyes open. But then you can
hear the tramp of the horses long before they are near,
unless they have the hoofs muffled, which they some-
times do. Then you can hardly hear them till they
are close on top of you."
" What do you mean by having their hoofs muffled?"
I asked wonderingly.
"Why, they sometimes have sort o' cushions or pads
on the feet of their horses, and they go along softly, like
a man wearing gum shoes. They don't do this very often,
you know, but they do sometimes, and then they make
scarcely any noise at all. An old soldier, however,
soon gets to know the guerrillas are coming even with
the horses' hoofs muffled, if they only learn how and
keep a close watch."
"How do they do that?" I asked. I was getting in-
terested.
"The weight of the horse as he comes down when on
the gallop, makes a sort of thud, you see, and although
it is little, it jars the ground just enough to feel it.
You hear them through your feet. If you suspect that
there is something of the sort going on, just plant your-
self solid on the ground, both heels down. Don't raise
on your toes, but put your whole weight on your heels.
Then the sound of the cavalry a-comin' will go up
through your legs."
"It's just the same if they are galloping toward you
through the mud or over soft ground?" I suggested.
"No, it isn't, either. When galloping through soft
ground there is a sort of a kerchuck and a suckin' as
the hoofs come out of the muck, that you can hear quite
a distance on a still night. And then with the ground
muddy and soft you can't hear them coming by the
sound passing through your legs, as I have said. It is
only on solid ground with the hoofs muffled that you
can hear the rumble through your legs when you can't
hear them with your ears."
"But can't you hear the rattle of the sabres and other
things? I have noticed that there is aways a consider-
able lot of jingling with a company of cavalry."
"Oh, they have them things muffled too," was the
reply. "When they muffle the hoofs, they muffle
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 27?
everything else and come along like a loto' spooks. As
I said afore, the only way you can hear them is through
your legs, with your feet firmly planted on the ground."
"Do you think it likely that we will be visited by
any of these fellows to-night?" I asked, as unconcern-
edly as I could.
"Shouldn't be surprised, pard," was the answer; "I
heard the officers say as they thought we would likely
have a scrimmage with them before long, and the way
we have moved about lately is another sign that there
are some rebs not very far off. But you and I have to
go on the second relief and then we'll find out. Better
be careful to-night and keep a close watch, and remem-
ber what I've been telling you about listening with
your feet as well as with your ears."
"I will that," I replied. "And I am much obliged
for the information you have given me to-night, for it is
something I never heard of before, and I might have
been caught napping, for I never heard of horses having
their hoofs muffled."
"It's a fact, all the same, and "
"Fall in, second relief!"
This interrupted the conversation, and we strapped on
our cartridge belts and picked up our rifles to go on
picket, perhaps to be attacked by the hated guerrillas.
878 THE YOUNG YOLUNTFEB.
CHAPTER LI.
"i'm not afkaid."
It was an awfully lonesome place where I was posted
on picket at 11 o'clock that night. It struck me that
it was the furthermost post of the entire picket line.
At all events I was the last man of our detail to be
posted and I could neither see nor hear any one further-
out.
The snow was falling, but not so hard as it had been.
It was not as dark as it would have been had there been
no snow on the ground, but there were obstacles in the
way of my seeing very far.
My post was alongside a clump of small trees,
scarcely more than bushes. About fifty yards behind
me was the woods, but I did not anticipate attack from
that direction, as there lay the Union army. About a
quarter of a mile in front there was another wood, and
about halfway between there was a stone fence, per-
haps four or five feet in height.
After the snow had stopped falling so thickly, I could
see quite plainly as far as the stone fence, and that par-
ticular thing was the object of my most earnest solici-
tude. I could not help thinking that there might be
some rebels concealed behind that excellent breastwork.
Then I remembered what the old veteran of the Third
Wisconsin had been saying to me. It struck me that a
horse with muffled hoofs would make very little noise
galloping over ground covered with three or four inches
of snow, and that made me all the more watchful.
I commenced to practice the art of hearing through
my legs as I had been instructed. I shuffled a clear
place in the snow and stood on my heels with legs stiff-
ened out till they became lame. I paced up and down
my beat and at each end and about the middle, stopped
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 279
to listen, first with ears, and then by standing still, rest-
ing the weight on my stiffened legs, and straining every
sense of observation and conception to see if I could -dis-
tinguish any unusual noise, or any abnormal trembling
of the ground.
But everything remained as still as a graveyard.
Everybody knows how snow muffles all sounds, even
in a big city. There out in the country, at midnight,
alone, in a dismal corner, the stillness was oppressive.
It was almost supernatural. The sense of the loneliness
was intense.
Now and then, as we simultaneously reached the ends
of our respective beats, I could catch a glance of my
next companion on the picket line, and we would ex-
change a few words. We had been cautioned to keep
very quiet and listen intently all night, but this became
unbearable, and finally when I came up, after several
turns, and again met my neighboring picket, I was glad
to hear him suggest that we stop and have a talk.
He was a member of the Second Massachusetts. This
regiment was composed almost entirely of college boys.
Nine-tenths of the members left college with Colonel
Gordon to go to the war. Consequently in intelligence
and general information that regiment probably had no
equal in the entire army.
My companion was a young fellow, not over nineteen
years of age, only a little older than myself. He was a
delicate-looking, refined young fellow, and had an en-
tertaining manner of talking, strikingly different from
the language of the uncouth Western men belonging to
the Wisconsin and Indiana regiments of our brigade.
"It seems to be very quiet out here to-night, partner,"
said he. He didn't even use the ordinary abbreviation
and say "pard."
"It is," I replied. "And I have been listening with
all my ears and legs for the guerrillas they said might
be around to-night."
"So have I. They said that there were guerrillas in
this vicinity during the afternoon and I was told to be
very careful, but so far I have never seen a quieter
night. I haven't even heard or seen any signs of a 'coon
or 'possum. How do you like this sort of life, any-
how?"
$80 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"I can't say that I like it at all," I replied, honestly,
"Especially on such a night as this."
"It isn't such a bad night," said my companion. "I
would a good deal rather have this sort of weather "than
a hard rain."
"I don't know but I would, too," I answered, "but I
was speaking generally. I don't like picket duty any-
how. A fellow never knows what is going to happen
and has to keep on the alert."
"That's so, but then there really isn't as much
danger as one would suppose. I have been on picket
a good deal, and never yet had any trouble but once,
and that was just before the Second Bull Kun, when
the rebel guerrillas made a skirmish upon us and drove
us back. That is the only time I ever had the least
trouble, or even a scare."
"Did you ever hear of the guerrillas coming down
upon you in the night with their horses' hoofs muffled?"
I asked. And I explained what the Wisconsin [soldier
had told me.
"Yes, I've often heard of that," he answered, "but
to tell the truth I never met a fellow who actually saw
it. I don't see how— Hark! What is that?"
I was much startled at the sudden manner in which
he had interrupted his own conversation. We both
listened intently.
It was the sound of galloping horses, and not muffled
at that. We also heard the unmistakable clanking of
the sword scabbards as they jingled around against the
stirrups of the saddles.
The clanking of cavalry sabers is an unmistakable
sound. No one who had once heard it could be misled
as to what it was.
My companion hurried down a little further on his
own post while I sneaked back to the little clump of
trees referred to. The sound of the clanking swords
sounded louder and louder as the cavalry, whatever it
was, came nearer.
Whatever it was it apparently made no attempt to be
quiet. There was no muffled hoof business about this,
that was sure.
I was not a little startled, however, when the ap-
THE 70 UNO VOLUNTEER. 281
proaching horsemen made tbeir sudden appearance
around a bend in tbe woods. It did not strike me at
tbe moment that they were coming from the Union side
of the line, or I might have inferred what it was.
I cocked my rifle, however, to be ready for any emer-
gency, and determined to put on as brave a front as
possible, although to tell the truth I was shaking.
I remember that it struck me then that there was
something wrong about the tactics and regulations for
a man on picket. Instead of first crying "Who comes
there?" and then shooting in case the answer was not
satisfactory, I thought the operation ought to be reversed
—in other words, the shooting to come first and the in-
quiry after. It would have given a fellow a good deal
better chance for his life, at times.
But I waited until the party, ten or fifteen horsemen,
came within hailing distance, and then cried out :
"Who comes there?"
"The grand rounds."
This answer almost took me off my feet. In the first
place it was rather an unusual thing for the grand
rounds to be mounted, and then I had become so worked
up on the subject of guerrillas that such a thing as
grand rounds had entirely slipped from my mind.
The unexpectedness of the reply to my challenge, as
well as the sudden relief from the tension when I found
that it was friends and not enemies that were confront-
ing me, as I said before, almost threw me off my feet
with astonishment. I imagined that my voice was a
litth shaky when I gave the next salutation :
"Officer of the grand rounds, dismount, and give the
countersign."
It was the rule, at that time at least, when the grand
rounds came on horseback, for the officer in charge or
whoever else was delegated to "take up the password "
to approach the picket on foot. Otherwise it would
give the person approaching the picket an undue advan-
tage had he been other than friendly.
The officer dismounted, shambled through the snow,
and said, "Trenton" over my musket at a half-charge
bayonet, and I continued with the usual permission for
the remainder of the grand rounds to approach.
282 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"Everything quiet out here?" asked the officer of the
grand rounds.
"Everything quiet, sir," I answered. "I haven't
seen or heard of anything unusual whatever."
"All right, then; but keep a close lookout, for there
are unquestionably guerrillas about. There have been
some suspicious movements in front of one of the posts
further down. You can't be too careful, my man."
"All right, sir," I replied bravely; "I'll keep a close
look out for them. I'm not afraid !"
I am rather inclined to think that I lied a little when
I said that.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 283
CHAPTER LII.
CHRISTMAS EVE.
Despite the repeated warnings of the officers, we
saw nothing in the shape of guerrillas or anything else
unusual that night. It was more than ordinarily quiet.
Shortly after the departure of the grand rounds it began
to snow hard again, and it was so supernaturally still
and quiet that I almost imagined that I felt the flakes
strike as they fell. The rustle of a twig breaking from
a tree with the weight of the accumulating snow upon
it could be heard some distance, so still was the air.
It would have been a bad night for an attack of
guerrillas under such circumstances, although that did
not strike me at the time.
My feet were becoming painfully cold and I was get-
ting chilled through and generally disgusted when the
approach of the third relief gave me the welcome signal
that my turn was over and that it was 1 o'clock.
The picket post headquarters, when I returned to it,
did not present a very inviting appearance. The fire
h 1 1 gone down till it was little more than a pile of
smouldering embers, and all the good places had been
pre-empted by others. They lay in a circle with their
feet to the fire, and some of them were snoring with a
noise that would have made a Silsby steam fire engine
envious.
The sleeping men stretched around the fire presented
a curious aspect. While the neat from the fire had
melted the snow from their feet and the lower part of
their legs, their heads and shoulders were completely
covered. In fact they looked like piles of snow, with
human legs sticking out of the sides.
Then I noticed for the first time another curious cir-
cumstance,
ZZl THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Each soldier as he lay down to sleep had pulled the
cape of his blue overcoat over his head, which protected
that part of the body from the falling snow. When
covered it resembled a small snowdrift.
But right in the middle of the top of each of these
miniature mountains there was a small round hole
which gave it the appearance of a baby volcano. Had
it been daylight it would have all the more resembled a
volcano, for steam would have been seen issuing from
the "crater."
"What are those holes for?" I asked my friend of
the Third Wisconsin, who, being an old soldier, was
supposed to know all about everything.
"Those are breathing holes, " he answered. "They
let the air in."
"But," I asked, "how is a fellow to keep those holes
open after he is asleep. Won't he smother if somebody
don't attend to it?"
My companion laughed heartily at my ignorance.
"Why, you goose," said he, "those holes make
themselves. The breath coming out of your mouth
keeps them open. No matter how fast it snows, the
warm breath melts it away above the mouth and keeps
the air hole open."
"Then how is it that men die when buried under the
snow, as they do out in your part of the country, as I
have often heard?" I asked.
"Never heard of anybody smothering to death under
the snow," was the reply. "People get asleep and
freeze to death, but they don't ever smother for want of
air. There's no danger of freezing to death here, so
long as your feet are near the fire. Besides, it isn't cold
enough for that. Out our way, where we have it below
zero half the time through the winter and a fellow gets
asleep on a cold night he never wakes up. But there
isn't any such danger here, I guess. ' '
Still, those curious little air holes over the mouth of
each sleeping soldier interested me very much. I had
never heard of such a thing before. But I saw it sev-
eral times afterward. I cannot say that I saw it a great
many times, for to tell the truth we did not often have
snow in Virginia,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 28o
I think the one I am describing was about the deepest
of my experience there.
I warmed my feet as best I could at the smouldering
embers of the fire and then curled myself down on the
snow-covered ground to sleep, covering my head with
the cape of my overcoat as I saw the others had done.
For a few moments I was very cold and shivered as
if I had a chill. But before long I grew more comfor-
table and in a little while became deliciously warm. I
could feel the weight of the snow on my overcoat cape
over my head, but there was no sonse of suffocation or
even discomfort for the want of air. In fact I was soon
so comfortable and contented that I fell into a sound
sleep and slept on until aroused by the unwelcome cry :
"Fall in, second relief!"
Could it be possible that it was nearly 5 o'clock in the
morning! But such was the fact. I had had nearly
four hours' good sleep and must once again go out and
relieve the fellow who was patrolling the post I had
left at 1 o'clock.
"It isn't quite 5," said the sergeant; "but' I
thought as how you might want to make a can of coffee
to warm you up before you went out."
Thoughtful, considerate sergeant! I don't know
that I was ever more grateful to a human being. Al-
though warm and comfortable while lying there asleep,
yet 1 was shiveringly cold on arising, and anybody
knows that it makes a fellow cold under the best of
circumstances to jump out of bed and hasten to work
without anything in his stomach.
It did not take many minutes to boil my tomato can
of coffee and drink it, while I ate a hard-tack, and I
was in first class condition for another round on the
lonesome post.
From 5 to 7 o'clock in the morning is one of the most
dismal turns on picket. The slow process of night turn-
ing into day makes it appear twice as long as any other
time during the twenty-four hours. Then a fellow is
tired and sleepy, and there is a nervous strain unknown
to any other time of the day.
Anybody who works for a living ten hours a day, dur-
ing the usual laboring hours, knows that the longest
286 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
time of the day is between 4 and 6 o'clock in the after-
noon. So it is with the last two reliefs of a soldier on
picket.
For this reason these hours just before dawn were re-
garded by old army officers as the most dangerous, for
the alert enemy, knowing the condition ot the men on
picket, frequently adopted those times for raids and sur-
prises. Many a battle has been commenced unex-
pectedly just before daylight and with disastrous results
to the army attacked.
But nothing occurred to disturb the monotony of those
two long hours, and daylight at last began to make its
appearance. Better yet, the rising sun commenced to
dissipate the snow clouds and the prospects were that
we would have a clearer and milder day.
This turned out to be the case. We had to remain
about the picket headquarters after going off duty at 7
o'clock till 9 o'clock, when the new picket came on.
The sun came out bright and strong, and the snow
began to melt, till it soon became a disagreeable mass
of slush.
While cooking another can of coffee my Massachu-
setts friend said to me :
"You didn't have much of a chance to hang up your
stocking last night, did you?"
"Hang up my stocking?" I answered, wondering
what he meant. "I should think not. The best place
for a fellow's stockings last night was on his feet, I
think."
"Why, don't you know what night it was?" asked
my Massachusetts comrade.
'"What night? Really I hadn't thought. To tell the
truth I have lost the hang of the almanac. ' '
"It was Christmas Eve," he replied. "To-day is
Christmas."
Sure enough. It was Christmas. And last night
was Christmas Eve.
What a Christmas Eve !
Those were the times that made a fellow homesick.
He was all the more impressed with the great contrast
between "the is and the was."
Christmas Eve ! I wondered what was going on at
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 28?
home. The hanging of stockings, the exchange of pres-
ents, the merry-making? Were all these things going
on as usual?
Were the streets filled with women and children
carrying mysterious packages? Wer» the men sneak-
ing home with the ends of half -covered sleds and hobby-
horses and little express wagons sticking out from the
bundles under their arms?
In fact, was the world— the gay, happy world, going
on just as usual? Were people laughing and singing,
and pianos playing Christmas carols as of yore?
Were the girls ?
The girls !
What in the world did a girl look like, anyhow?
Was there such a thing? Was it reality or a dream
that I once danced with my arm around a pretty Pater-
son girl at a Christmas Eve hop?
Confound it ! Could it be possible that this was the
same world that I lived in last Christmas, one short
year ago?
Was it all a dream?
Or is the present all a dream?
Poor boy ! Poor soldier boy !
288 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LIII.
A MERRY CHRISTMAS.
Christmas, 1862. The snow storm had cleared off
and the sun came out strong and bright. The snow was
turned into slush in a remarkably short time, and the
slush soon turned into water. The water mixed with
the red Virginia clay, and the result was — mud !
And such mud !
In a previous chapter I told about the mud at Wolf
Run Shoals, where it was of the consistency of thin
paste, and so deep that it came up to the bodies of the
baggage wagons till they resembled boats. But this
mud was different.
It was of the consistency of bread dough that has been
rising in front of the fire all night and is ready for
kneading in the morning. It was tough, sticky, stringy.
One could not go many steps before his shoes were
covered, first so that they resembled red arctics, and
soon they bore resemblance to pillows. It would be no
exaggeration to say that the clump of mud stuck fast to
every soldier's foot was as big as a real pillow — of the
Pullman car size.
This sort of walking we had that Christmas morning,
even through the company streets of the camp. The
men moved about slowly and laboriously, and there is
no slang in the statement that at every step he got his
leg pulled.
Such surroundings and the fact that it was a holiday,
put the boys in anything but a pleasant frame of mind,
but their attention was drawn from it by the introduc-
tion of a novelty. This was something new in the line
of rations.
When the order came to "fall in for rations," I asked
John Butterworth, my pard, to go and draw mine with
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 289
his, as I was tired with the night's picket duty. John
came back presently in a state of pleasant excitement.
"They've given us something new this time, Joe,"
said he.
"What is it, Jack?" I asked.
"I don't exactly know what it is," he replied; "but
I think they called it dissected vegetables."
' ' D issected vegetables ?' '
"Yes, that's what they called it."
"Let's see it."
John pulled out two cakes of the "dissected vegeta-
bles." They were supposed to be three days' rations
each. Each cake was about twice the size of a stick of
patent kindling wood. It looked like a mass of com-
pressed sawdust and hops.
"What do you do with the stuff?" I asked.
"They say it is vegetables," replied John. "You
put it in the kettle or tomato can with a piece of pork
and some water, boil it and make soup. ' '
"Sawdust soup?" I asked.
"Don't know," answered John. "I only know that's
what they told us to do with it."
We concluded to try it at once. We put one of the
cakes into a tomato can, together with a little piece of
pork, and filled it with water and went to the camp fire.
It will be remembered that in the front every man was
his own cook. It is only when in a camp that is some-
what permanent that he had a regular cook for the
whole company.
Pretty soon the water began to boil and then the cake
of "dissected vegetables" began to swell. It swelled
till it not only filled the can, but ran over. I never saw
anything swell so in my life. It was worse than a
piece of plug tobacco. It was a common expression in
the army when borrowing a chew of tobacco from a
comrade to hear the remark :
"Don't take too big a bite, for it swells in your
mouth."
So it was with the "dissected vegetables." They
swell, not in the mouth, but in the kettle. The result
of it was that about half was wasted before the stuff
was fairly cooked through.
290 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
This was supposed to make vegetable soup. The
theory was that the vegetables were preserve by pres-
sure, the same as they preserved fodder for cattle in
kilos. It was supposed that there were potatoes, tur-
nips, cabbage, carrots, onions and other succulent vege-
tables in the mass, but as a matter of fact there was
nothing but cabbage and carrots, and a very poor article
at that. At first trial the soup was utterly tasteless,
but with the addition of plenty of salt and pepper, and
a little more grease from the pork it became somewhat
more palatable.
It was the only thing in the shape of vegetables ever
served to the soldiers in the army and insipid as it was,
it was a pleasing addition to our bill of fare The first
lot we received was tolerably good, but the quality de
generated till it became nothing more than a lot of rags,
apparently, and the time soon came when the soldiers
would not take the trouble of putting it in their haver-
sacks. In the course of time it was entirely dropped
from the list of rations.
But we got something more that day. In addition to
the usual coffee and pork and beans we got some rice,
and this was most acceptable. Rice boiled with pork
really makes a palatable dish. I think that of all the
things served to the soldiers rice and beans were the
most acceptable, next of course to the indispensable
pork and coffee.
It may here be of interest to the reader to know what
allowance of food was made for the soldiers "according
to the regulations." I will give it.
Twelve ounces of pork or bacon or twenty ounces of
salt or fresh beef ; twenty -two ounces of soft bread or
flour, or one pound of hard -tack; (twenty ounces otcorn
meal was sometimes given in lieu of either of these).
The above was for each man. Then, for every one
hundred men, fifteen pounds of beans or peas, ten
pounds of rice or hominy, eight pounds of roasted coffee
or twenty-four ounces of tea, fifteen pounds of sugar,
four quarts of vinegar, twenty ounces of candles, four
pounds of soap, four pounds of salt, four ounces of
pepper, thirty pounds of potatoes and one quart of
molasses.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 291
The potatoes did not materialize. The only tubers,
that we got were procured by foraging. I remember
seeing molasses two or three times. Tea wasn't a pop-
ular beverage, and the soldier never took it unless he
could not get his beloved coffee. One of the items on
the allowance was never seen — fresh bread.
It will be seen that there was plenty of the substan-
tials of life to keep body and soul together provided we
got them all. But there was always something short.
There was always something "out." We simply had
to take what we could get or do without. Of course
we grumbled.
Kicking was one of the inestimable privileges of a
soldier that was never interfered v/ith.
Everything was furnished the army by contract.
And every government contractor got rich. They took
the contracts at ridiculously low prices and then got
square by swindling the soldiers. The food was fre-
quently of inferior quality, while the shoddy clothing
that was furnished was at times so bad that it would
almost fall apart of its own weight. To the soldier,
who judged the thing simply by experience and obser-
vation, the terms "contractor" and "robber" were syn-
onymous.
Then another discomfort was discovered on that day
— that merry Christmas Day !
The place where we were stopping had been used as
a camp ground before, and there was the usual result.
It was not long before the pesky pendicuhis invesii-
menti began to show himself in great numbers.
"Why isn't this a good time to get rid of these gray-
backs for awhile?" asked John Butterworth.
"How' 11 we do it, Jack?" I asked.
"I heard Jake Engle say he wasn't going to use the
kettles to-day," was the reply. "We can get them and
give our shirts a good boiling."
"Agreed," said I, "although it isn't a very pleasant
day for such work."
"That's so, but we must do it when we can get the
kettles. Jake may be making bean soup to-morrow."
The indiscriminate use of the camp kettles for boiling
lousy shirts and making bean soup may probably strike
293 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
the reader as not being quite as nice as it might be.
But then these are facts as every soldier can testify.
"Everything went" in the army. We had to make
the best of such things as were at our command.
So we got the kettle and made our way down to the
brook. It was the same brook that we got our water
from for culinary purposes; but what of that? I must
admit, however, that this made me a little "feasty."
The brook was lined I don't know how far up with
other soldiers performing both personal ablutions and
engaged in laundry work, and the surface of the little
stream was covered with soap suds that floated by us.
We built a fire, filled the kettle with water and before
long the water was boiling.
Then we pulled off our coats, cardigan jackets and
ehirts.
I can tell you that it isn't pleasant to stand outdoors
in one's bare pelt in the winter time, even though it be
in Virginia. We quickly put on the cardigan jackets
and coats, minus a shirt, but still shivered with the
cold.
Why didn't the men have two shirts? I hear the
reader ask.
What was the use of two shirts when one would do?
Furthermore every ounce counted on the march and
that was of more importance than the temporary dis-
comfort of going without while washing the one shirt.
"Say, Joe," said Butterworth sarcastically, as he
gave the boiling shirts a poke with a stick he had picked
up somewhere, "this is a merry Christmas, isn't it?"
"A Merry Christmas" it was indeed!
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 293
CHAPTER LV.
OUR SHIRTS " SWIPED."
Boiling shirts was one thing. Drying them was
another. The brook where we were engaged in the
laundry work ran through a woods, in the shade. Al-
though the sun was melting the snow in the clearing, it
seemed to be about at the freezing point there in the
woods. This fact we didn't notice as 'we carefully
spread the wet garments over some bushes to dry.
We went out into the sunshine where it was a little
warmer, and indulged in a game of tag and a running
race to keep from being chilled. When we thought the
shirts might be a little dry we went for an examination.
Instead of being dry they were frozen stiff. When
we bent them they cracked like a printing office towel
that hasn't been washed in six months.
"I think we area pair of fools," said Butter worth.
"We might ha' known that the shirts wouldn't have
dried there in the shade on this cold day."
"Well, to tell the truth, Jack," said I, "I have not
had much experience washing shirts and I didn't know
anything about it. But I guess it will be all right if
we hang them out in the sun."
So we hung the shirts in the sun, and as it was get-
ting toward noon we thought we would kill two birds
with one stone and keep comfortable around the camp
fire while cooking some coffee. That warmed us up.
"The shirts must be pretty dry by this time," said
John. "I will go and see."
Butterworth went to look after the laundry while I
put away the coffee pots. In a few moments my pard
returned with the most lugubrious expression on his
face that I ever saw.
294 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"What's the matter, Jack?" I asked. "Aren't the
shirts dry yet?"
"I don't know," he answered, with a quizzical look.
"Don't know? What's the matter now?"
"Well, the fact is, Joe, somebody has stolen those
shirts!"
"Stolen the shirts?"
"Yes, they're gone."
It was true. Somebody had "swiped" the shirts.
Some bright comrade had come to the conclusion that it
was easier to get a couple of clean shirts that way than
it was to wash them. There was no use trying to dis-
cover the thief in such a case as this. The different
things furnished to the army were as alike as peas, and
could not be identified. Some of the boys put private
marks on their articles, but we had never bothered with
that.
All through the army there were a thievish lot of fel-
lows in every regiment who seemed to delight in taking
other's property. I don't think it was considered a sin.
It was a perfectly natural operation, and legitimately
within the ordinary degree of normal turpitude of a cer-
tain class. Blankets, muskets, canteens, everything,
were indiscriminately "swiped."
Of course no one suspected a member of his own com-
pany ! It was always laid to some wicked fellow who
had sneaked into camp from one of the adjoining com-
panies. In such, cases, frequently, if the loser was a
big fellow and a bully, he would coolly go to some
smaller soldier and calmly demand his blanket or what-
ever it might be, claiming it as his own and charging
the little fellow with having stolen it! A pretended
private mark, some peculiarity suddenly observed at
the moment, would be utilized to back up the claim of
ownership.
That reminds me of a story which may be old to
many of my readers, but which will serve to illustrate
the fact stated.
A soldier went to another who was lying on the
ground covered with his blanket. The first man coolly
pulled off the blanket and proceeded to walk off with it.
"Here, here, what are you doing there?" asked the
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 295
man who owned the blanket. "What are you taking
my blanket away for?"
"That's my blanket, you spalpeen, and I have a
right to take it."
"Your blanket! How do you make that out?"
"Sure'n there's my name on it."
"Where?*'
"There. Don't you see the letters, 'U. S.' on it."
"What's that to do with it? What's your name?"
' Tat Murphy, There's the U. for Patrick and the S.
for Murphy— Patrick Murphy. That's my blanket and
ye can't deny it."
History doesn't tell us the termination of this story,
but rt is only an exaggerated illustration of the cheeky
claims for ownership that were sometimes made in the
army.
But there we were shivering in the cold for the want
of a shirt. What should we do? We consulted Heber
Wells.
"The quartermaster has just received a lot of clothing
and perhaps he has some shirts," said Heber. "I will
give you a requisition."
Heber made out the requisition for "two shirts" on
the blanks provided for that purpose and we went to the
quartermaster's and after the usual delay and red tape
managed to procure the desired garments, which we
put on then and there. They were neither of the right
size, but we had learned not to mind a little thing like
that.
"Joe," said Butter worth, "I have an idea."
"If you have, Jack," I replied, banteringly, "keep
hold of it for fear it will get away from you.''
"No, but it's a good idea. What's the use of bother-
ing with washing our shirts when we can draw new
ones?"
"True enough," I replied. "That is a good idea. I
don't thmk I will do any more washing."
And I think that this was the usual practice with old
soldiers, whenever it was possible. The government
allowed a certain amount of clothing, and so long as
the account was not overdrawn a soldier could always
obtain a supply. Of course it was not always possible,
296 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
for the quartermaster was one of those fellows who was
not with the camp when there were signs of a conflict;
but the allowance was liberal, and the practice of draw-
ing new underclothing became more general with the
old soldiers than washing out the old ones.
It was on the next day after this, if I remember
rightly, that General Williams woke up and decided
that the army under his command had not had quite
enough work to do, and that it would also add to his
glory and renown to have a division review.
Now a review or inspection was always obnoxious
under the most favorable circumstances, but at that par-
ticular time, with the ground so thickly covered with
mud, we came to the conclusion that the officers all had
gone mad. "Kicking" doesn't fairly express the con-
duct of the boys on that occasion.
But what was the use of kicking? The generals and
others gave the orders and all that we had to do was to
obey them. We wallowed through the mud and went
through the various evolutions connected with a review
as well as we could, and it must have been pretty good
after all, for we were subsequently complimented by
"general orders."
"Something on hand, pard," said my friend of the
Third Wisconsin, who had got in the habit of making
friendly visits. "As I told you often before, there's
always something coming when we have these reviews
and inspections. We won't stay here long."
It really did seem so, and I remembered these words
when the very next day we were ordered to fall in for a
march.
That was the most ridiculous day's march we ever
had. We had only fairly got started, and in fact had
not gone more than a mile, when we were formed into
companies, ordered to stack arms and go into camp
again.
What could this mean? We soon found out that the
doctor had pronounced the water in the other camp im-
pure and had advised a change. I guess the doctor
must have examined the brook immediately after we
had washed our shirts. If so, no wonder he found it
impure!
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 297
But the change was a good one. The brook along-
side of which we camped this time was as clear and
pure as crystal — although there was no telling how long
it would remain so. The ground was higher and dryer,
the wood was plentiful, and altogether it was an im-
provement that pleased us much. We were also de-
lighted to hear that we would likely remain there for
some time.
Early next morning, however, we were hustled out
and ordered to put all our knapsacks in a big pile, with
a layer of light wood between them, so that the whole
lot could be set afire and burned up at a moment's
notice i
What under the sun did this mean?
Had the officers all gone crazy?
298 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LVI.
KEDDY AND ICK AGAIN.
To us private soldiers the scene in which we had just
participated was incomprehensible. Why the officers
piled our knapsacks in a great heap, mixed with light
wood and small branches, ready to form a gigantic fire,
was something that we could not understand.
Equally incomprehensible to us was the fact that Ave
were ordered to fall in for a march in "light marching
order."
Here it was, as one might say, in dead of winter, and
wo were ordered off with nothing but our overcoats and
blankets, in addition to our accouterments, at a time
when we needed every article that we could possible
carry to make ourselves comfortable.
It was a hard march that the officers gave us that
day. We hurried along the muddy roads, and across
lots through muddy fields, hither and thither, till tired
out and completely disgusted, we once more came to a
creek, that we immediately recognized as that forlorn
place, Wolf Run Shoals.
Here we halted for the first time, and despite the con-
dition of the ground, we were so tired that we lay right
down in the mud to get some rest, being absolutely too
much played out to cook the coffee that we were all in
need of.
When we halted we imagined of course that we were
going into camp then and there, and there were loud
and deep imprecations over the orders that had deprived
us of our knapsacks, and other things so much needed
at that time of the year.
*'Dat vas ein shames, don'd it," said John Ick lugu-
briously. "Vat you tinks, Reddy?"
"Be jabers and Oi think they are a set of lu-nat-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 299
ticks," replied Redely. "Do they suppose we're a lot of
Eskimoxis to bo able to slape in the snow and ate taller
candles? A grease-eatin' Dutchman like ye, shouldn't
moind, but for respectable men the loikes o' me, be
jabers, it isn't roight, that's phwat it isn't."
"Who vas dot grease-eatin' Dutchman, you ninper-
poop," replied Ick, somewhat angrily; "don'd you call
me by some names like dot, Redely."
"That's phwat ye are," replied Reddy. "Don't Oi
know? You Dutchmen do nothing but ate sourkrout
and blood puddin', and fat sausages and duck livers
win at yer home, and that's next door to atin' taller
candles, don'd it?"
"Der Deutschmens lives better as by the Irishes,
Reddy, und don'd you forgot dot. You Irishes eats
gooses, und dot's worser by taller candles, don'd it?"
"Oi wish Oi had a good fat goose now," said Reddy,
smacking his lips.
"Vas you hungry, alretty, Reddy?"
"Oi am that. Oi could ate a whole soide o' sole
lither."
"I vas so hungry mine own selluf, Reddy. You gets
some woods und I vill der coffee cooken."
"No, ye get the wood, and Oi'll cook the coffee."
•'Nein, I will dot coffee cooken. Dot vas your turns
to get some woods."
"Phwat d'ye mean, ye spalpeen? I got the last
wood. ' '
"No, you don'd, Reddy. It vas me by dot last woods
begotten."
"John, ye are the worm st loyer Oi iver saw. You
know that's your turn to get the wood."
"Don'd you calls my dot name some more, Reddy,
oder I'll smash your face all over your nose."
"Let's see you do that, ye spalpeen," said Reddy,
getting angry and jumping to his feet. "Oi have had
enough o' this palaver from the loikes o' ye."
Ick thought Reddy meant business, and squared him-
self for the encounter. Reddy thought that Ick was
going to carry out his threat to "smash his face all over
his nose."
The discomforts of the situation and the fatigue from
300 THE YOUNG YOLUNTEElt.
that day's march through the sticky mud had put
everybody in a bad humor. Reddy Mahar and John
Ick, whose respective characteristics were more animal
than intellectual, had created a safety valve for their
outraged feelings. They were both in a humor to fight.
They would have fought anybody. It made no differ-
ence whom. But the conflict had naturally arisen be-
tween these two strange companions.
They both struck out simultaneously. I never saw a
prettier rough-and-tumble. The first blow given by Ick
looked as if he really would carry out his face smash-
ing threat. He landed a right bander square on
Reddy's proboscis, which set the claret flowing. Reddy
retaliated with a blow that would have been declared
foul in the prize ring because of its being below the belt.
To this day I can hear the grunt that came out of Ick's
body involuntarily.
Then they withdrew a few steps from each other, and
after looking into each other's eyes for a moment like
wild beasts at bay, they once more came together with
a clash and crash.
The result of this collision simply involved a problem
in momentum. Ick was the heavier of the two, and to
use a slang phrase, he walked right over Mahar. The
latter went down, with Ick on top of him.
Reddy was the slimmer of the two and more supple in
his movements. Ick was a big, clumsy fellow, and al-
though on top, the under dog in this fight had decidedly
the best of it. They punched and scratched, gouged
and bit, rolling first one way and the other, through the
thick mud on the ground, till they were both besmeared
from head to foot.
I guess the fight lasted fifteen minutes. The officers
of the company, with the others, were holding a con-
sultation at regimental headquarters, so that there was
no interference from that score. The privates and non-
commissioned officers had learned never to interfere
with these periodical conflicts between Reddy Mahar
and John Ick, for we all knew that they would again be
the varmest of friends when it was over.
Besides, it was rather a diversion to the rest of us.
It was a sort of relief to our feelings. We all felt in the
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 301
humor to fight something or somebody. Even I, who
had never fought anything in my life, felt as if I could
whip anything that came along. There is a certain
time when man's endurance has been about exhausted
that this feeling is natural and involuntary.
Exactly how the fight ended I can't tell. I remember
that both the belligerents got up simultaneously, wiped
the blood and mud out of their eyes with their coat
sleeves, and then Ick said :
"I told you vat we does, Reddy; we'll both go after
some wood and then both dot coffee cooken, don'd it?"
"Thin why didn't ye say that before, ye spalpeen,
and act like a gintlemen?" replied Reddy.
The two dromios thereupon shook hands in the most
cordial manner imaginable, and they were friends once
more. The comical termination of the fight, although
it was the way all their fights terminated, set us all to
laughing for the first time that day, and I must confess
that it put us in better humor.
The rest of us had been aroused from the depression
we had fallen into, and by mutual consent we concluded
to follow their example, get some wood and cook some
coffee, for we were all in need of it.
But we had wasted our valuable time. We had been
watching a pugilistic encounter instead of attending to
very necessary culinary duties. It was too late now.
The officers just at that moment returned to the com-
pany and gave the order to "fall in."
There was more kicking, of course, but it did not
amount to anything. All that we had to do was to obey
orders. The duty of a soldier is to "say nothing and
saw wood."
They say that the work that drives convicts to insanity
quicker than anything else is the apparently nonsen-
sical labor of carrying a pile of stone one by one from
one end of the prison yard to the other, and when that
is done, carrying them back again one by one. This is
kept up incessantly day after day, and the monotonous
labor eventually drives the unhappy victim to the
lunatic asylum.
It was for a somewhat similar reason that the soldiers
were frequently driven to the verge of insanity. There
302 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
seemed to be no end to the practice of marching the
troops back and forth, hither and thither, without any-
apparent cause or reason. The object of all this prob-
ably was known to the officers, but the privates were
kept in ignorance. I often thought that the enlisted
men would have a good deal less mental worriment and
fatigue if they had some of these things explained to
them. But that wouldn't be "according to the regula-
tions. ' '
Imagine our disgust, therefore, to be marched back
right over the ground we had taken in the fore part of
the day. We followed the same course so accurately
that we almost stepped into the same tracks that we had
made in the forenoon.
We reached the old camping grounds toward night,
tired out, hungry, discouraged and utterly disgusted.
Some such experience as this must have inspired the
author of the old Mother Goose story about the famous
king who, with his forty thousand men, marched them
up the hill and then marched them down again.
TEE YOUW& VOLUNTEER. 303
CHAPTER LVII.
THE PAYMASTER.
There lay our kDapsacks and other things in the
great pile, with the light wood mixed with them, ready-
to set fire. They hadn't been burned up after all. This
made it look more mysterious than before.
They had been left in charge of a detail of men under
command of Major Chadwick. He had taken good
care of them. No one had stolen any of the knapsacks.
It seems that the movement that we had made that
day is what they called a "reconnaissance." It was re-
ported that there were some rebels in the neighborhood
of Wolf Run Shoals, and we had gone to see if it was
so. Had there been any we would naturally have got
into a fight. This going out of the way to get into a
muss was one of the things that never met my approval.
Why not leave well enough alone?
But we met no enemy at Wolf Run Shoals, for the
reason that there was no enemy there, and we conse-
quently all came back on foot instead of on stretchers
or in ambulances.
It also seems that the officers feared a raid by the
rebel guerrillas while we were on the reconnaissance, and
so the knapsacks had been arranged in a pile ready to
set fire and destroy on the first appearance of the enem} T .
Rather destroy government property at any time than
permit it to fall into the hands of the enemy. That is
war!
When the ranks were broken the men were directed
to find thoir own knapsacks.
Well ! Here was a job !
There were six or seven hundred knapsacks in that
pile, and they wore as much alike as so many peas in a
304 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
pod. Not half a dozen in the entire lot had any partic-
ular mark to identify them.
There had been no arrangement or system in piling
them up. They were thrown in the pile promiscu-
ously, indiscriminately. For each man to pick out his
own was consequently a tedious task. Nearly every
one had to be opened to see what was inside, so that it
might be recognized by the owner. That took a good
deal of time. It was late in the night before they were
all claimed, and even as it was, some mistakes had to
be rectified the next morning.
Butterworth knew my knapsack, and while he was
looking for his and mine, I cooked some coffee, so that
we did not crawl under our blankets hungry. But many
another soldier did. I have heard kicking many a time
on the part cf the Thirteenth Regiment, but I cannot
recall any occasion when the kicking equalled that
which was indulged in that night.
We remained in camp at this place about ten days.
We had become convinced that we would make it our
winter quarters, and had spent some time and gone to
no little trouble in fitting up log houses, "with all
modern improvements." But alas! there's no rest for
the wicked — nor for the soldier.
On the 4th of January we were once more ordered to
break camp, and once more started on the march. It
was not in light marching order this time, however.
We carried our knapsacks and everything we could
pack in them.
Once more we went over that too familiar road toward
Wolf Run Shoals. It was not so bad this time, how-
ever, for the mud had either dried away or the ground
was frozen, I've forgotten which. Anyhow, the walk-
ing was not nearly as bad as it was on the previous
occasion, nor did we seem to be in a like feverish haste.
We were halted and directed to form camp almost on
the same identical ground where John Butterworth and
I had got such a soaking that night when the rain
rushed through our "pup" tents, going into the backs
of our necks and coming out at the bottom of our trous-
ers' legs.
• It was a good place for a camp, T&ere was plenty of
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 305
timber to cut down and make into log houses, and there
was an ample supply of good water. We were more
than pleased to hear that we had at last reached our
"winter quarters," and that we might proceed to make
ourselves comfortable with some degree of certainty of
remaining there for a while.
Butterworth and I spent a busy day making another
log house, after the style of architecture described in a
previous chapter. It was the most cozy place we had
yet had, for experience had taught us how to make
things comfortable with the limited means at our dis-
posal.
It was a wonderful thing how quickly the dense
woods disappeared. In twenty -four hours the ground
around the camp, for a space covering several acres,
was entirely cleared, and where there had stood large
trees there was nothing left but a lot of stumps. These
stumps came in useful for a number of purposes.
I was detailed a day or so afterward with some other
fellows to smooth off the top of a big stump in front of
Colonel Carman's tent. We did not know what it was
for, the only instructions we received being "to make it
smooth enough to write upon." Inasmuch as the only
tools we had for this purpose were some axes (and not
over sharp at that) and our jackknives, it may be
imagined that it was no easy task, and the result was
not quite as satisfactory as the green baize top of a roll-
top desk of modern times. When we had done the best
we could, the colonel said: "Let it go at that," and
that settled it.
Then Captain Scott called me to his tent and set me to
work making out the pay rolls. This showed what the
stump was to be used for. The paymaster was coming
The pay rolls, as well as all the other rolls of the
army, were enormous affairs. There is hardly a desk
made in these days that would accommodate one of
them. With the limited facilities at our command at
the front it was a difficult thing to make them out at
the best. The "desk" that I wrote upon was the top of
an old cracker box, which took in about one-quarter of
the big sheet of paper, and so it had to be made out in
sections, as it were.
303 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Three copies of these rolls had to be made out. They
contained the name of the soldier, the date of his enlist-
ment and muster, and lots of other things, beside the
time he had served since his last payment. When com
pleted they had to be certified to by the commandant of
the company.
In the army enlisted men had to swear to all legal
proceedings. The commissioned officers only had to
' 'certify' ' on their word of honor. The ' ' word of honor' '
and "certification" of a commissioned officer was con-
sidered as binding as the oath of a private or # 'non-
commish. " The former were a higher grade of mortals,
and were governed by a different code of morals.
That may be all right in theory, but — well, never
mind !
A day or so later the paymaster arrived. His high
and mighty giblets was of the usual arbitrary and
arrogant character, an autocrat of the autocrats. His
clerk spread the rolls out on the stump we had cleared
off, and an assistant carried the grip that contained the
boodle.
The officers were paid off first, of course, and we
envied them as they stuffed the thick wad of crisp green-
backs, never before used, fresh from the press, into their
pockets. Then came the non-commissioned officers and
then the "men."
The amount given to each diminished in size as the
process continued. The omnipresent sutler was there
for his grab, as usual. What was left for each private
wasn't much. He might have stuck it into his ear, and
it wouldn't have impaired his hearing at that!
There were two months to be paid for. There was a
good deal more than that coming, but the paymasters
were always several months behind in their payments
for some reason or other. If we were paid to within
six months of the time due, we were lucky.
When I had signed my name to the three rolls — and
signing one's name with a scraggly pen on the rough
top of the stump was no soft snap at that — and the pay-
master had deducted the amount due to the sutler, I had
fourteen dollars left. I hadn't spent so much with the
sutler this time, probably because the sutler had been
separated from the regiment so much of the time. ,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 30?
A large proportion of the men sent their money
home, through the medium of messengers sent to the
front for the purpose by Governor Marcus L. Ward.
This was a good and safe arrangement. It was also
touching to witness the devotion of the men to their
families at home. Some of them sent every cent when
a little change would have provided them with many a
luxury.
I didn't send mine home. I had no one to depend on
me, and I was glad of it. On the contrary I soon got
rid of the bulk of mine in another way. I am sorry to
tell how, but the truth must be told, even though it be
not very creditable.
Sam Dougherty, one of the sergeants, came up to me
and asked :
"How much did you get?"
"Fourteen dollars," I replied.
"What are you going to do with it?"
"I don't know. Keep it, I suppose."
"Suppose we have a little draw?" he said.
308 THE TOUNa VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LVIII.
A LITTLE GAME OF DRAW.
"What do you mean by draw?" I innocently asked
Sergeant Dougherty.
"Poker," he replied. "Draw poker."
"Pd make a pretty fist at that," said I; "I never
played a game of poker in my life. I can go you on
High-Low or euchre, but I don't know anything about
poker. ' '
"That makes no difference," said he insinuatingly;
"it is the easiest game to learn you ever saw, and I can
show you in five minutes."
I was innocent, and imagined that it must be a simple
game that can be learned in five minutes. Sam Dough-
erty was perhaps the first man that ever lived that had
the assurance to make such an assertion.
We went to Sam's log house, and with a greasy old
deck of cards spread out on the lid of a cracker box, he
began to initiate me into the mysteries and intricacies
of the great game of "draw."
He fired at me a perfectly bewildering lot of straights,
full houses, bob-tail flushes, royal flushes, ace and king
highs, and all that. The more he explained the more I
got mixed up. One thing particularly struck me, how-
ever, and that was the "bluff." He carefully impressed
this on me, and told me how a man with a poor hand
could frequently win if he kept the right sort of an ex-
pression of confidence and didn't lose his nerve.
I concluded that I'd let the other things go and con-
fine myself to the bluff. I would make that "the feat-
ure" of my game.
The quartette indulging in that wonderful game com-
prised Sam Dougherty, Lew Van Orden, Charles Rue-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 309
stow and myself. Van Orden was a good player
already, having bad considerable experience in tbe
game. Ruestow, like myself, was a novice. We al-
ways called him "Rooster." Nearly all the soldiers
had some sort of a nickname.
We used little pieces of twigs for "chips," and each
was supposed to represent five cents.
"We'll make it five cents ante with a dollar limit,"
said Sam. I didn't know an ante from an uncle, but
didn't want to display my ignorance before the others.
Sam dealt the cards. I got two deuces, a tray, a jack
and queen. I had caught on to the fact that three of a
kind was better than two of a kind, and so discarded
the jack and queen. Then I drew two cards.
They were two jacks.
What a fool I was, I thought to myself. If I had
only kept that other Jack I would have had three of
them. As it was I had two jacks and deuces. I
thought that was a pretty good hand.
All the other fellows "went five better.'' Neither
Reustow nor myself had the slightest idea of what this
was, but when we saw the others lay down another twig
we did the same thing. This thing went around twice
and then some one "called."
We threw down our hands, and strange to say I had
won. The next highest hand was a pair of ten spots.
My jacks had beaten that. The man with the ten spots
had also a pair of nines. It struck me that twice ten
and twice nine counted more than twice two and two
jacks, but I entered no protest when they said I was the
winner, and I raked in the chips representing about sixty
or seventy cents, I've forgotten exactly how much.
I was elated at this victory. It swelled ni} T head and
I began to imagine that I saw through the whole
thing. Sam was right when he said this was an easy
game!
In the next hand I made a phenomenal draw. I held
four aces. By intuition I recognized that as good, and
I could not help looking pleased.
Sam thought I was profiting by his advice on the
question of bluff, and he apparently made up his mind
to push me to the wall. The other fellows seemed to
310 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
have good hands also, for the betting went round and
round.
I won again. My four aces was "good."
"Are you sure you never played this game before?"
asked Sam incredulously.
I solemnly assured him that this was the first time I
had ever played draw poker. But from the look on his
face I don't think that he believed me.
Lew Van Orden said nothing, but I noticed that he
exchanged glances with Sam Dougherty. I didn't un-
derstand what it meant at the time. Charley Reustow
was also silent. But he was a bright little fellow, and
I felt that he was closely studyiug the game. As for
myself I began to think that I was a boss player.
My next hand positively had nothing in it. I gave
myself away by drawing five cards. Then I found that
my hand was just as bad if not worse than before. But
I decided to try the bluff game this time. I didn't
know that bluffing doesn't generally "go" after a five
card draw, but I tried it all the same.
Singular to say it worked all right. The others had
grown suspicious of my good luck, and Sam apparently
didn't think that I would bluff after drawing five cards,
and imagined of course that I had struck another
phenomenal hand.
When I had scooped in the third pot, Sam asked me
to let him see my hand. I didn't knov/ any better and
showed it to him. When he saw that there was noth-
ing in it he made a remark that I didn't fully under-
stand. It was something like "being taken for a
sucker." I wasn't yet sufficiently acquainted with the
technical terms of the game to understand what this
meant. Again I noticed Lew winking at Sam in a some-
what suggestive manner.
Another hand being dealt and getting another poor
lot of cards, I again tried the bluff game and laid down
my chips with an expression supposed to represent a
man who has a good thing and knows it. But it didn't
work this time. I was "called" and Van Orden
grabbed the pot, after exhibiting three nines and two
trays. "A full house," he called it.
I began to lose faith in the bluffing business, but
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 311
thought that maybe after all my losing the hand was
only an accident.
The next hand I drew was " 'way up in G." It con-
tained four queens and a jack. I chipped in with the
greatest confidence and could not conceal the certainty
I felt of winning. When somebody had "called," I
threw down my four queens and jack with a wave of
triumph, and made a motion to grab the stakes.
"Hold on there," said Sam, seizing my hand. "Don't
be quite so fast, my young man. I think I'll take that
pile."
"What have you got?" I asked.
He threw down his hand. It didn't look to me as if
it was anything very wonderful.
"Well, what of that?" I asked. "That lot of stuff
don't beat four queens, does it?"
"Of course it does. That's a royal flush."
"What is a royal flush?" I asked.
"It is a hand," replied Sam, "where you have the
cards in regular order, like one, two, three, etc., and all
of the same color."
"Well, what of that?"
"What of that!" said Sam, with a face as sober as a
judge ; "that's the highest hand you can hold, and takes
anything."
"I thought a royal flush must be all the same suit,'*
interrupted Ruestow. "I don't see how you make it out
of a mixture of diamonds and hearts."
"That don't make any difference, " said Sam, "so
long as they are of the same color. Isn't that so, Lew?"
turning to Van Orden.
"Yes, that's so 3 " replied the latter gravely. "All
that is uecessary is that the sequence should be of the
same color."
"I know that it isn't so," interrupted Ruestow.
"They must be of the same suit." Sam looked angrily
at this interference, and demanded :
"I thought this was the first game of poker that you
ever played? 5 *
"So it is, ,: replied Ruestow; "but I've read a great
deal about the game and know that I'm right."
A very black look came over the faces of Sam and
312 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Lew. Ruestow noticed this, and throwing down his
cards he got up and said he would not play any more.
I remained, and at the suggestion of the others made
it a three-handed game. From that moment my luck
seemed to forsake me. I couldn't understand half the
decisions that were made, hut I supposed they were all
right. They were experienced poker players and this
was my first game.
Under such circumstances the result was inevitable.
When I walked out an hour afterward my fourteen
dollars were gone!
I can't say that I regretted the experience. It had
taught me a good lesson. I played many a time after
that, while in the army, but never again for real money.
Plain, everyday chips having only a supposititious value
were good enough for me after that.
But in all my subsequent playing I never ran across
anybody who had the same interpretation of a "royal
flush" as the two gentlemen who initiated me into the
mysteries of the game of draw.
TEE YOUNG YOLTJNTEEB. 313
CHAPTER LIX.
A private's philosophy.
The camp we occupied was "Near Fairfax Station,' y
and so our letters were dated and our mail addressed.
We occasionally, when we bad the chance, went out to
see the "station." That was all there was of the place,
by the way. It was a big storehouse, built of rough
boards, alongside the track, with the platform on the
railroad side, so that it was simply and purely a freight
house. It was the depot of supplies for the army in
that part of Virginia.
Such a thing as a passenger car was never seen.
Everybody who rode, even the officers, sat in the freight
cars. The officers seemed to have a good deal of busi-
ness to call them back and forth, but there were not
many privates to be seen on the cars — at least not out-
ward going. Occasionally some lucky fellow would get
a furlough. But the most were new recruits, arriving
from home.
The quantity of goods and provisions that continually
kept coming was immense, and for the first time we
began to get an idea of the tremendous quantities needed
to supply an army. And we constituted only a very
small portion of the army at that.
There was a strange sensation at the first sight of a
railroad train, primitive and rough though it was, after
not having had that pleasure for so long a time. We
had become impressed with the feeling that we were m
another sort of a world and that such things as steam
cars and carriages, houses and stores, were but the
memories of some half-forgotten dream. But the sight
of the locomotive and car seemed to open a new link
with the outer world.
Particularly striking was it to me to see on the loco-
314 TBE 70 UNO VOLUNTEER,
motive the familliar name of ** Rogers.'' Oh, you de-
lightful old thing from Paterson ! I could almost have
hugged it — that is if I could have got my arms around
something small enough to hug,
I sat there on the rough platform and gazed at the
name "Rogers" as if fascinated, I forgot the sur-
roundings of the place and was carried back to glorious
old Paterson! Then my thoughts wandered down to
the corner of Broadway and Main Street, to the old
Guardian building, and for a few moments I was back
there again, wearing a long apron and "kicking" the
Ruggles press, I forgot for the moment that kicking a
Ruggles press is likened to nothing under the sun beside
a treadmill or a slave galley, but it seemed a delight-
ful occupation just then by contrast.
But I was suddenly awakened from the dream by a
sergeant.
' ' Let me see your pass, ' ' said he.
I had no pass. I had simply wandered over from the
camp to "take a look at things."
"Then get back to your camp," said the sergeant
harshly. He was a member of the provost guard or
something. They always had something of this sort
hanging around the depots. The powers that be knew
that the cars awakened just such memories as they had
awakened in me, and that it was one of the greatest
known incentives to desertion.
I never thought of desertion. But it may be imagined
what would be the tendency of such a train of thought
on the part of a soldier who ever dreamed of "skedad-
dling." So I wont back to camp — thinking.
There perhaps was never a soldier in the army who
did not have such moments as these, when some out-
ward conditions or situation would arouse a terribly
strong feeling of homesickness. With some it was a
good deal stronger than in others. With some it was
irresistible.
'Twas not always cowardice that made soldiers desert.
Something stronger than fear caused some to forget
their oaths. Not even the hardships of the winter at
the front, not even the horrors of the forced march was it
that made men forget their oaths and disgrace themselves
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 315
in the eyes of their country. It was pure and unadul-
terated homesickness.
Had there been a more liberal policy in regard to the
granting of furloughs this might have been oifset. The
officers refused furloughs as much as possible for fear
that the soldiers might desert. In my opinion exactly
the opposite would have been the result.
I knew of one poor fellow who deserted because he
had received word that his wife was on her deathbed.
He asked for a furlough but could not get it. There
was uo reason for the refusal at the time. So he obeyed
the stronger instinct and deserted. When his wife died
and was buried, he started to return, but was captured
by the provost guard, tried, convicted, and sentenced to
one year in a military prison. Of what use was that?
I am not going to defend the deserter. There is noth-
ing in the world more despicable. But there were
deserters and deserters, and in dealing with them there
was a lamentable lack of common sense and humanity.
Another thing that made us disgusted just about this
time was the way the officers were resign ing. They were
going home by the score and new men were taking their
places. Our captain, Scott, sent in his resignation, and
it was accepted in a few days, and the first we privates
knew about it was when he came around and bade us
good-by.
Captain Scott was not the most noted officer in the
war, as officers are regarded, but he was kind to the
men. He was a boy with the boys. At the close of a
weary day's march he would gather the company
around him and start up a song in which we would all
join, and the hour or so thus spent relieved many a
heavy heart. The other officers criticized this severely,
saying that it was unmanly, and that it was not con-
ducive to discipline to have a captain mingling so famil-
iarly with his men. But there was no airishness on
the part of Captain Scott and his men liked him for it.
At the same time I cannot commend this sort of busi-
ness as a general rule. The more an officer holds him-
self aloof from his men the more will they respect him
in the end, and the better will be the discipline.
This was made manifest by the character of the officer
316 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
who succeeded Captain Scott. It was the late adjutant,
Charles H. Hopkins. He was a man of high breeding,
finely educated, refined, and what might be called a
member of the four hundred, had there been such a
thing in those times.
He was the exact opposite of Captain Scott. At first
he would have been considered a martinet and an utterly
heartless officer. But he understood military matters
better than his predecessors, and brought into the
officers' tent a degree of dignity and manliness there-
tofore unknown, with the exception of Lieutenant
Heber Wells.
With the men Captain Hopkins was rather austere.
Everybody soon recognized the fact that he was way
above him in more than his finer clothes and his shoul-
der straps. It is rather a hard task to take a rough
stone and make a finished diamond out of it, but that
is just what Captain Hopkins did with Company K.
We first feared, then respected, then admired. We
recognized in him a man of superior intelligence and
ability — one who could not only command, but one
whom every man considered it an honor to obey. The
result of it was that Company K soon obtained the rep-
utation of being one of the best companies of the Thir-
teenth Regiment, both in discipline and drill, and even
those who liked the free-and-easy familiarity of Captain
Scott soon began to appreciate that it is better to have
a captain who preserves his dignity on all occasions,
and proves by his conduct his superiority and his fitness
to be the commanding officer.
So, therefore, not only does this sort of conduct make
a better officer in the opinion of officers, but the fact is
very soon appreciated among the privates. The old
army officers are right. The general rule is good, that
the less contact and less familiarity, in a strictly per-
sonal way, there is between officer and private, the better
the discipline and the greater the efficiency of the or-
ganization.
I think this rule holds good in civil life as well as
military. It is human nature for men to hold those
oyer them in higher respect if they keep themselves be-
hind a breastwork of dignity that is not carried to such
an extent that it is offensive.
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 31?
There were changes in all the other companies, so
many had been the resignations and consequent promo-
tions. Many of the sergeants stepped one grade higher,
and discarded the government uniforms of "enlisted
men," for the finer cloth of "commissioned officers."
And let me say right here, that of all the martinets,
the rough, tyrannizing officers of the army, there were
none so bad as a man who had just been promoted from
the ranks to the shoulder straps. For a little while the
sudden transition from subserviency to power made the
new officer a petty tyrant. But fortunately this soon
passed over, as soon as he became familiar with the
privileges and novelties of power.
Some of the promotions from the ranks were obtained
from what in these days would be called a "pull."
Political influence, friendly connections or relationships
with those in authority, and similar causes, frequently
resulted, for instance, in a private being promoted right
over the heads of a lot of corporals and sergeants whose
turn would have come next. This always made a great
deal of dissatisfaction and grumbling. But it couldn't
be helped. All that the disappointed ones could do was
to kick — like a mule.
While all this comes in quite properly and consecu-
tively, yet it is somewhat of a digression from my story,
to which I will now return.
318 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LX.
"the mud march."
"Joe," said my pard, "if you want to see a queer
sort of a bridge, just come down to the creek. ' '
"What is it, John?" I asked. "What is there so
very queer about it?"
"Come down and see. It's only a little ways."
We went down to the little creek that we had already
crossed over several times. There was still a consider-
able quantity of water in the stream and it was running
almost with the swiftness of a mill race.
The bridge was really worth going to see. One had
been constructed already and the "sappers and miners,"
as the military engineers were called by the soldiers,
were at work upon a second one near by.
The distance between the sides or banks of the stream
must have been forty or fifty feet. The bridges that
were being constructed were made of trunks of small
trees perhaps five or six inches in diameter, and not one
of them more than ten feet long. It is not such a hard
task to erect a bridge fifty feet in length out of timber
ten feet long, providing one has plenty of spikes or bolts
or something of that sort to fasten the pieces together,
and there are piers in the stream to lay the ends, so as
to divide the bridge into spans.
But these bridges were being built in a single arch,
and there was not a pier in the middle. Furthermore
the short pieces of timber were not nailed or spiked to-
gether. They were simply interlocked in a curious
manner hardly possible to describe without a diagram.
The ends passed each other, and there were two cross
pieces at each end of the poles — they were nothing more
than thick poles— all arranged in such a manner that
they bound against each other and made a very solicj
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 319
structure. The greater the weight placed upon them
the stronger they were, while a comparatively slight
pressure upward from underneath would have knocked
the structure apart as if it had been of cardboard.
This was a curiosity to me and the many others who
watched the erection of the bridges. To make a bridge
with a forty or fifty foot span out of pieces not more
than ten feet long, without a piece of metal or a rope to
fasten it together, is really a feat in engineering won-
derful to contemplate.
I have since that time made little bridges on this
principle out of matches or toothpicks, with a span of
nearly a yard, to the great wonder of all who saw it.
We saw the same sort of bridge many a time after, as
well as many other curious things that were done by
the sappers and miners. But when we saw the first of
these structures, and presently saw heavy baggage
wagons crossing them, it really did seem as if all the
rules of mechanics had been upset.
"I think the building of these bridges is rather sus-
picious," said Butter worth.
"What do 3^011 mean by that?" I asked.
"I think that this army is getting ready for a move."
"Why," I replied, "they said that this was to be our
winter quarters and that we would remain in camp here
till the weather got better. I don't think we are likely
to make a move for some time yet. ' '
"You remember what a time they had getting the
wagons and artillery through that mud before," said
Butterworth. "Well, they are making better arrange-
ments this time. Those bridges are so that the wagons
can be got across better. I tell you they would never
have built them if they did not intend to make a start.
If we were to remain here some time longer they would
wait till the water went down and then ford the creek."
"That looks reasonable," I replied. "But what is
the sense of changing our position now? We have got
as good a place to camp in for the winter as we could
find anywhere. They certainly would not be so foolish
as to start a campaign with the roads in their present
condition, would they?"
"I shouldn't think so," replied Butterworth. "I
330 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
don't see what they could do if they did make a start,
for they couldn't get far anyhow. But there is no tell-
ing what they won't do. And I tell you I helieve those
bridges are not being built for nothing. If Ave are not
ordered to pack up our knapsacks and get out of here
very soon, I'm greatly mistaken in my guess."
John Butterworth was a pretty good guesser. He
had a habit of putting this and that together and com-
ing, by a sort of intuition he possessed, pretty near the
truth. In less than twenty-four hours we received
orders to pack knapsacks and get ready for a march.
I don't think we ever received this order less joyfully.
We had the most comfortable log house we had ever
occupied. There was plenty of wood and an abundant
supply of excellent water. It was an ideal spot for
winter quarters, and we had come to the happy conclu-
sion that we were sure of having a comfortable place to
remain till the spring weather made going better.
But there's no rest for the soldier. No sooner does
he think that he is settled for a while and proceed to
make himself as comfortable as possible under the cir-
cumstances than along comes that relentless order to
"Fall in for march."
We started early in the morning of the 19th of Jan-
uary, 1863. We bade adieu to our comfortable house
and our cozy camp with genuine regret. We were off for
no one knew where. "Anudder schlaughter haus,"
John Ick said.
We had not gone a great distance before the skies be-
came overcast, and the gathering clouds in the east
betokened the approach of a great storm. But soldiers do
not stop for storms.
Under ordinary circumstances I might not have men-
tioned the fact of the approaching storm here, for I have
already described several storms in the front. But this
storm was one that has gone into history. It has ever
since been referred to as one of the events of the day.
It didn't rain right away, however. Great bodies
move slowly. Great storms usually come up deliber-
ately. In fact the length of time a storm takes in mak-
ing preliminary operations, as a general rule, is indica-
tive of its duration and severity. We marched through
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 321
Dumphries, a place that had just been occupied by-
General Siegel's corps, and went into camp on the fur-
ther side of the town, near a little stream called Quan-
tico creek.
In the night the threatened storm broke loose. And
such a storm ! The rain came down literally in torrents.
The "pup" tents were of no more use than so many
sieves. They were called "shelter tents," but they were
anything else than a shelter on that occasion. We spent
the night standing up or walking around, on the prin-
ciple that a man erect affords less surface to be exposed
to the rain than a man lying down. Besides the water
was apparently two or three inches deep on the ground,
so that we might as well have undertaken to go to bed
in a bath tub.
There was not a man who was not drenched to the
skin. If we had been thrown into the river we could
not have been more thoroughly soaked. The wood was
so saturated that it was impossible to build a fire in the
morning, and we consequently had to go without our
much-needed hot coffee. The wet clothes, saturated
knapsacks and other things almost doubled the load we
had to carry. But all this made no difference. The
relentless march was ordered to proceed.
We had not gone far before we were compelled to
throw away our woolen blankets and other things,
which were so saturated with water as to be useless,
and the weight was more than we could carry. And
here it was in the dead of winter at that ! The loss of
the blankets unquestionably meant suffering for us
when night came, but we could not help that. There
was no alternative.
The mud had become deeper than ever, and the tramp
of so many thousand feet made it sticky and mushy.
We floundered around, seemingly aimlessly, for awhile
and finally came to the banks of another creek, which
we were expected to cross to get to where we were going,
wherever that might be.
Here another obstacle was encountered. The rain
had swollen the creek several times its usual height, so
that it could not be forded. Fortunately some big trees
were growing in the neighborhood and these were felled
322 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
and dragged to the creek and thrown across. This in-
volved no end of labor and consumed a good deal of
time.
It took five or six hours to get the infantry across on
the rough bridge that had been completed, but then it
was found that it was impossible to get the artillery and
baggage wagons over. So there was another delay.
The bridge had to be made more perfect for the wheeled
vehicles.
A row of logs was laid across the timbers of the
bridge and the tops hewed off, till it formed a sort of
corduroy road. The artillery was then brought across
on this structure, but here another trouble was experi-
enced. The wheels of the heavy cannons only mixed
up the mud on the other side of the creek, till it became
impossible to pull the artillery through, no matter how
many horses and mules there might be harnessed up.
It is no exaggeration to state that the mud was above
the hubs of both the cannon wheels and those of the
wagons and ambulances. But a small portion had got
across when everything came to a dead halt. Not a
wheel could be moved. The army of the Potomac was
stuck in the mud !
For four days we labored there trying to get out of
the mire. Every soldier had to take his turn at the
wheels of the wagons and cannons, trying to help push
them through, but in those four days not more than two
miles were made.
Then the infantry, of which we were a part, were
ordered to cut loose, and we were marched off in another
direction, and after a long and tedious tramp, or rather
I should say "wallow," we finally reached Stafford
Court House, completely exhausted. It was several
days later before the artillery got out of their mud hole.
They were stuck fast in the mire when they should have
been shooting the big guns at the enemy.
Of course we did not appreciate at the time what all
this movement meant, but we found out afterward that
General Burnside had commenced a second attack on
Fredericksburg, and this was just what that was. One
would think that after the first terrible repulse Burn-
side had received at Fredericksburg he would have
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER, 323
hesitated before trying it again, or at least waited till
the weather was suitable. But he didn't. He tried it
at a time when it was not fit for an army to march, let
alone engage in a battle with a fortified enemy, and the
result was another disaster.
This was the affair that has gone into history as the
"second Fredericksburg campaign." Not a shot was
fired. Instead of engaging the enemy we were stuck
fast in the mud, not far from Dumphries. As said,
history calls it "the second Fredericksburg campaign."
The boys forever after called it "the mud march."
To this day you never hear an old soldier speak of
that affair without calling it by its natural and appro-
priate title of "Mud March."
That event settled the career of General Burnside.
Immediately after that he was relieved from the com-
mand of the Army of the Potomac.
324 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXI.
THE CORPS BADGES.
General Burnside was right when he said, on
somewhat reluctantly assuming command of the Army
of the Potomac, that he did not consider himself quali-
fied for the position. He had been one of the best corps
commanders in the army. When ordered by the com-
manding general to perform a certain duty he always
did it, and did it well. But when it came to commanding
a big army himself, and originating the movements as
well as executing them, he was an utter failure.
The historian therefore must not blame General
Burnside for what he did not do. He was not qualified
for the position of commander and knew it, and he
should never have been appointed. But his service in
other respects in the army and his subsequent brilliant
career in congress more than offset all his shortcomings
as a commanding general.
General Hooker, who succeeded Burnside, was an
entirely different sort of a man. Among the soldiers
he always went by the sobriquet of "Fighting Joe."
He was a dashing, courageous man, one born to com-
mand. Tho soldiers liked him and had the most im-
plicit confidence in his ability and judgment. The only
fault with General Hooker was that he was not exactly a
representative of the total abstinence party. Not to
mince words, he used to get gloriously drunk.
Truth compels the statement, I regret to say, that if
this were a disqualification, there would not have been
many men left in the army to command it. General
Howard on the Union side and General Stonewall Jack-
son on the part of the Confederates, are the only ones
credited with having gone through the war without
touching intoxicating liquors. There may have been
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 325
others, and probably were, but these are the only ones
I ever heard of. I am merely mentioning it as about
the only thing that could be raised against General
Hooker as being a proper general to be placed in com-
mand of the Army of the Potomac.
The common soldiers did not care for that, however.
They all liked General Hooker, and the result of his ap-
pointment was immediately noticeable. The men had
become discouraged and downhearted with the repeated
failures and defeats, the senseless marches and seeming-
ly meaningless maneuvers and they hailed with delight
the advent of a commander who, they believed, would
put an end to this sort of work.
The effects of the improvements resulting from the
orders given by the new commander were apparent
throughout the army. Desertions, which had again be-
come alarmingly frequent, the executions at Leesburg
having become by this time almost forgotten, were at
once stopped, and the discipline of the army generally
was otherwise improved in a thousand different ways.
General Hooker began to manifest a hitherto un-
known regard for the individual comfort of the troops.
He issued orders that did away with many of the exist-
ing abuses and in some way managed to in fuse a degree
of life and vigor among them such as had never been
known before. The cavalry had hitherto been a sort of
go-as-you-please attachment of the army, confined to
squadrons or regiments, and attached to no regular
branch or department more extensive. He organized
them into brigades and divisions, the same as the in-
fantry, and soon made them a most important branch of
the service.
It is perfectly safe to make the statement that before
the advent of General Hooker none of the commanders
had much of an idea of the use of the cavalry anyhow.
They were used without system or order, and seemed
merely to exist because it had been the custom from
time immemorial to have such a thing as cavalry in an
army. General Hooker, however, changed all this, and
from that time on the cavalry were made to understand
that they constituted a most important department of
the army.
326 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
The gallant General Phil Kearny, whose death at
Chantilly has been before referred to, was a great friend
and associate of Hooker before the former's death.
One of Kearny's pet schemes was the idea of adopting
corps badges, after the French idea. He had something
of the kind for his own corps, but never lived to see it
adopted by the army generally. It. is generally sup-
posed that General McClellan was the originator of the
corps badge idea, but as a matter of fact it was General
Kearny who originated it, and General Hooker who
carried it into effect.
Kemembering the pet idea of his old friend Kearny
and being impressed with its utility, General Hooker
decided to adopt it for the entire army immediately
after his assumption of command. The corps badges
from that time on became a distinguishing mark and
their usefulness was proven 6n more than one occasion.
The badges for the officers were generally made of
velvet with a border of gold braid, like the shoulder
straps. Those of the men were cut out of a piece of
cloth or flannel. The shape of the badges designated
the corps, and the color the division of the corps. This
designation was not subdivided down so low as bri-
gades. All these badges were worn on the top of the
forage caps, or in the front of the hat, if it were of
slouch pattern.
Take the Twelfth corps for instance. Its badge was
a five-pointed star. If red, it indicated the First Divis-
ion. If white, it meant the Second Division, and blue
was the color indicative of the Third Division. There
were seldom more than three divisions in a corps, nor
more than three brigades in a division.
No matter where an officer or soldier might be, the
badge not only indicated what corps he belonged to,
but even the division. The officers could therefore see
the command of any man, and the men could the more
readily discover friends and associates, for it must not
be imagined that every soldier knew every other soldier,
even of his own corps or division, by his face. Thes o
corps badges were, so to speak, the signboards for both
officers and privates in the army, and they were one of
the most useful things ever concocted. That this is so,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 327
may be inferred from the fact that ever since the war of
the rebellion in this country the corps badge has been
regularly adopted in the army of every civilized country
on the face of the globe.
For further information of the unmilitary reader I
will give a list of the corps badges of the army, viz. :
First corps, a lozenge, or "full moon," as the boys
called it.
Second corps, a trefoil, but more commonly desig-
nated as the ace of clubs or the clover leaf.
Third corps, a diamond, the badge of Kearny's old
command.
Fourth corps, a triangle.
Fifth corps, a Maltese cross.
Sixth corps, a Greek cross.
Seventh corps, a star and crescent.
Eighth corps, a six-pointed star.
Ninth corps, a shield, anchor and cannon.
Tenth corps, a sort of diamond cross.
Eleventh corps, a crescent, or more commonly called
by the boys, "new moon."
Twelfth (and afterward Twentieth) corps, a five-cor-
nered star.
Thirteenth corps (there was never a Thirteenth corps).
Fourteenth corps, an acorn.
Fifteenth corps, a cartridge box in a square.
Sixteenth corps, a circular cross, made by taking a
First corps badge and cutting four small wedges out of
it, from which some of the soldiers called it "pie."
Seventeenth corps, an arrow.
Eighteenth corps, a sort of scolloped-edged diamond.
Nineteenth corps, an ornamentally shaped Maltese
cross.
Twentieth corps, same as the Twelfth. The Twen-
tieth corps was composed of the consolidation of the
Eleventh and Twelfth when they were transferred to
General Sherman's Army of the Cumberland, and the
Twelfth corps badge was adopted, the "new moon" of
the Eleventh being discarded.
Twenty-first corps. This corps was disbanded before
the badges were adopted.
Twenty -second corps, a five-armed cross.
328 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER,
Twenty -third corps, a shield.
Twenty-fourth corps, a heart.
Twenty-fifth corps, a diamond inside of a square.
Potomac cavalr} r corps, crossed swords, surrounded by
lines representing the rays of the sun.
Wilson's cavalry, a badge containing crossed sword3
and suspended from a miniature carbine.
Engineering corps, a rather elaborate badge, consist-
ing of a scroll, surmounted with a castle, underneath
which was an anchor and pair of oars.
Signal corps, a torch, flanked with a couple of "wig-
wag" flags. In the army this corps was alwaj T s re-
ferred to as the "wig-waggers," as they are in the New
York militia to-day.
I have given all the corps badges here as a matter of
information, not only for the readers of this generally,
but for the old soldiers as well. I do not believe that
there are ten per cent, of the men who served m the
army who ever saw a complete list of these badges
before this. They were only acquainted with those of
their immediate army. The Arm 3- of the Potomac
comprised the First, Second, Third, Fifth, Sixth,
Eleventh and Twelfth Corps and these badges are per-
haps very familiar to the veterans living hereabout.
Those residing in the West will be more familiar with
some of the others.
Of course General Hooker had nothing to do with any
of the soldiers except those in the Army of the Potomac,
but the other generals, hearing of it, thought well of it
and so adopted the badge system also, until it spread
over the entire army of the Union.
It is singular that there never was a Thirteenth corps
in the armj", and consequently no badge for that num-
ber. It is said that this was on account of there being
a superstition against the number thirteen. This rule
did not apply to regiments, however, and it is a note-
worthy fact that those bearing the alleged unlucky
number turned out protty lucky after all, comparatively
speaking. Take the Thirteenth New Jersey, for instance.
There was a Twenty-first corps once, but it was con-
solidated with the Fourth and some others before the
badges were adopted, and never rehabilitated.
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEEE. 329
I might mention the fact right here that there was
never a Company J in the infantry of our army, and this
rule holds good to the present day, not only in the armies
of the United States, but of other countries of the world.
One reason for this, it is said, is that a J is so like an I
that the two get mixed in making out the reports. But
the better and more probable reason is in the fact that
at the time, centuries ago, when they began to enumer-
ate companies by letters, there was no letter J in the
alphabet.
Regiments of infantry seldom if ever have more than
ten companies, which only runs down to the letter K.
In the cavalry and artillery, however, I have seen com-
panies way down to L and M.
But to return to the story.
330 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXII.
CAPTAIN AND PRIVATE.
Some of the boys kicked at the adoption of the corps
badges. It was to have been expected. They would
have kicked at anything under the sun. Had an officer
come along with an honorable discharge for every one
of them, I really believe that two-thirds would have
kicked because they had been discharged without hav-
ing asked for it.
As before stated somewhere, a soldier's efficiency was
indicated to a large degree by the vigor of his strength
in kicking. And with this as a standard of excellence,
it can never be gainsaid that the Thirteenth Regiment
of New Jersey Volunteers was one of the very best regi-
ments in the army of the Union.
"Well, what is your objection to the badge, John?"
I asked Ick, who was one of the most vigorous objectors
to the new insiguia. "Isn't that pretty red star an ad-
dition to your make-up?"
"I don't want some make-ups, what you callem," he
answered. "I don't like dot alretty. Dot vas nottings
else under ein bull's-eyes. Dot vas for dose rebbels to
shoot mit, ain't it."
"Shut ye'r blarney," interrupted Ready Mahar.
"D'ye ivver s'pose ye will venture close enough to the
innemy for 'em to see that little sthar on yer cap?
How's the rebels ter see the sthar wid yer head forninst
a rubber blanket, Oid loike to know?"
"Who vas dot hides his head alretty under dot rub-
ber blankets, Reddy?" demanded Ick, getting angry.
"Ye did, ye spalpeen," replied Reddy.
"Ven do I dot?"
"At An-tee-tam."
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 831
" Who did?"
"Ye did."
''Who told you dot?"
"Ivverybody. And faith, an' didn't Oi see ye me-
self?"
"Den vot vas you doing there your own selluf,
alretty, eh?"
It wasn't often that Ick got the better of the ready
witted Irishman on a repartee, but he did this time.
As will be remeaibered, Ick was discovered at the bat-
tle of Antietam hiding under a rubber blanket, where
he was found and dragged out by Sergeants Wells and
Van Orden. Reddy started to taunt Ick about this, but
Ick had turned the tables on Mahar by demanding to
know what he was doing there to see it.
While Reddy was always ready to make a joke at the
expense of John Ick, he didn't like to have it turned on
himself, and this turn of the tables made him hopping
mad, and he completely forgot himself.
"I didn't say Oi was there meself," said Reddy un-
blushingly. "I said that everybody said that you hid
ye'rself forninst the rubber blanket while the foightin'
was goin' on, and ye can't deny it, that's phwat ye
can't."
"You just said you vas there und see me under dot
blanket, under you vas notting but em liars all the
times. Don'd he vas said so, fellers?" (addressing the
crowd. )
We had to corroborate John in this instance. He
had Reddy foul and no mistake. JSTow when Mahar
was cornered he always wanted to settle the matter with
a fight, and he quickly came to the conclusion then and
there that the only way he could retrieve his mistake
was to give John Ick a trouncing.
Off went his coat and hat, and he spat on his hands
ready for the fray. Ick was in a good humor over the
way it had turned out, and made no attempt at self-
defense. Mahar began berating him for being a cow-
ard, and the words were becoming loud and angry when
suddenly Captain Hopkins put in an appearance.
Now Captain Hopkins was a man who never lost his
dignity, and he had the respect of every member of
332 THE YOTTN& VOLUNTEER.
Company K to that extent that every one was on his
good behavior when he was around. The incipient
fracas was therefore ended as if by magic. Mahar
slowly pat on his coat and hat again, and Ick went to
his tent a moment afterward.
Captain Hopkins stood there like a statue, looking at
the crowd without saying a word. But everybody knew
what sort of a man he was, and soon the crowd was dis-
persed quietly and orderly as if it was a handful of
snow melting under the rays of the sun. I was one of
the last to remain.
"Come up to my tent, Joe," said the captain. "I
have some writing for you to do."
I went. But there was no writing of importance,
only a letter or so, the order having been given me sim-
ply to get me to the captain's headquarters.
"What was the trouble down there?" asked Captain
Hopkins.
"Oh, nothing to speak about," I replied. "Only a
few words between Ick and Mahar. It didn't amount
to anything. ' '
"Those fellows are always quarreling and fighting,
are they not?" asked the captain.
"It doesn't amount to anything, captain," I replied.
"They are the best friends in the world."
"They certainly have a strange way of showing it,"
said the captain. "But then they are both pretty good
soldiers. I don't suppose we can repress the exuberance
of such fellows."
"Not unless you kill them," I replied laughingly.
"Then I guess we will have to stand it," replied
Captain Hopkins, "at least for a while. The Lord
knows they may get killed soon enough."
"Why, do you think we are likely to get into another
fight soon?" I asked, somewhat nervously.
"Not right away," was the reply. "But when we
do make a start I think it will be something big. We
have got "Fighting Joe" over us now, and you probably
know what that means. From what I hear I don't
think there will be any more fighting till spring opens,
but when it does happen it will be a big battle, and I
think a decisive one. I think General Hooker intends
that the next fight shall settle the whole thing,"
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 333
"But you don't think this will happen soon?" I asked
again. I did not like to hear this matter-of-fact talk
about a tremendous battle that was going to "settle the
whole thing." There was altogether too much sugges-
tiveness about its settling me at the same time.
"No," replied the captain. "As I said before, I
think we will remain somewhere about this neighbor-
hood till the winter weather is over. We have had two
campaigns this winter and both have resulted disas-
trously, and I don't think that anything more of that
sort will be attempted. But General Hooker is making-
preparations and trying to improve the army in a man-
ner that was never tried before, and I think his idea is
to have it in readiness for a supreme effort."
"I suppose that you, being an officer, have a chance
to hear all about these things, captain. You know that
everything is blind to us men. "We don't know what
anything is for, but merely obey orders and follow like
so many sheep wherever ordered."
"There could be no discipline if it were otherwise,"
replied the captain. "If the men always knew where
they were going, they would sometimes weaken. It is
a part of the science of war to make the rank and file
as much of a machine as possible. I cannot see how
there could be a successful army otherwise."
"But I think it would be better if the men did know
some of these things sometimes," I replied. "I believe
that the result would be better and that the men would
act more willingly and do more to carry out the move-
ment if they were treated more as intelligent men in-
stead of, as you say. part of a mere machine."
"That is a common idea," said the captain. "But it
would not work. When you get older and have more
experience you will understand this matter better than
you do now. I can see very plainly why it is better to
keep the rank and file in as much ignorance as possi-
ble."
"I think it is cruel — at least from my standpoint,"
said I. When together in the privacy of the captain's
tent we were quite friendly, and our difference in
rank was forgotten. The captain went further in
this respect than he probably would, because I never
334 THE TOTING VOLUNTEER.
took advantage of it. I knew my station. When I
was outside of the tent, or when there was any one else
present, I was as quiet and humble as the lowest soldier
in the company. This was a trait that the captain
liked and appreciated and he thought more of me for it.
When we had these little conversations we were
only two American citizens on a level footing. When
we were outside, I was a private, he a captain.
"So you think it is cruel?" said the captain, half-
musingly. "Well, perhaps it is. But tell me, Joe, if
yon can, what there is about war that is not cruelty?"
This was a poser. War and cruelty are synonymous.
"But you are mistaken," added the captain, "about
my knowing much more about what is going on than
you do. Captains are kept in nearly as much ignorance
of general movements as the men. Even the colonel
does not know what is going ou till he is ordered to do
something, and all that he has to do is to obey the order
without asking any questions. The commanding gen-
eral and his corps commanders perhaps are the only ones
who really know the why and wherefore of everything.
But then some things do leak out, nevertheless. We
hear little things here and there, and put them together
and form our own conclusions, and sometimes they turn
out right — sometimes not."
"Then you are only inferring from what you see that
General Hooker's intentions are something like you
have said?"
"That's all, Joe," replied he. "But I guess you will
find out that it will come out about that way. The
nest battle we get into will be one of the hardest ever
fought, but it will not take place till the winter is en-
tirely over. You may depend upon that."
For this respite I felt grateful, but I did not give the
captain any intimation of my feelings just then.
"Don't say anything to any of the men of what I
have said to you," said the captain, as I turned to leave.
"I will not," I said. "I think you understand me
well enough."
"I do," was his answer. "Otherwise I would not be
so free with yon, only a private."
"Only a private," I repeated with a touch of irony.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 335
"I never thought of it before," said Captain Hopkins.
"You deserve something better. Would you like to be
a corporal?"
A corporal? A non-commissioned officer? I hesi-
tated at the temptation over the possible promotion.
"Would it deprive me of my place as company clerk?"
I asked.
"Yes, I am not allowed to detail a non-commissioned
officer for that purpose. I can only use a private for
that. And I don't know whom else I could take that
Avould suit me as well, after all."
"How about Jimmy Post?" I asked.
"Post? He's a good man, but — but I'd rather have
you, for several reasons."
"That settles it, captain," said I. "I would rather
be your secretary than wear the two stripes of a cor-
poral.''
"Thank you," said the captain. "That's compli-
mentary, and I'll not forget it."
"When I go for anything, captain," said I, "it will
be for something higher than a corporal." I had cer-
tain ambitions, and I threw this out as a feeler.
"All right," replied Captain Hopkins. "When the
time comes, you can depend on me for anything you
want. ' '
I left the captain's tent in more than a good humor,
and I remembered the captain's kind promise and months
afterward took advantage of it. He faithfully kept his
word.
But of that later. I will say, however, that the time
did come when I did wear a shoulder strap and carry a
commission signed by the President of the United
States, and Captain Hopkins was largely influential in
the achievement of that much desired result.
336 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXIII.
WHEREIN GLADSTONE AND I DIFFER.
It was on the 24th of January when the Thirteenth
Regiment went into camp at Fairfax Court House, if
my memorandum of the date is correct. A thickly
wooded pine forest was selected as the site for the camp,
and there was an abundant supply of water. It was in
every respect as good a place for the camp as the one we
had left before the "mud march."
"Well, John," said I to my pard, "here we are
again, and I suppose the best thing we can do is to build
another house."
"I don't see much sense in it, Joe," replied he; "we
seem to be doiug nothing but building houses and mov-
ing out of them again. As soon as we get nicely settled
then along comes that confounded order to fall in for a
march. What's the use of it? Why not make our-
selves as comfortable as possible without going to all
the trouble?"
"Bat we are likely to stay here now till the winter is
over," I replied, "and we might as well make ourselves
comfortable."
"What makes you think we will remain here any
time?" asked John.
"Well, I just think so," I replied. I did not want
to tell him what Captain Hopkins had told me confi-
dentially, but I gave him to understand that I had good
reason to believe that we would remain in that camp for
a while.
"You do seem to find out things somehow," said
John, "and if you say we are likely to stay here for
a while I will take some stock in it. If you say so we
will begin on the new house at once."
"I think we had better," was my only response,
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 337
Butterworth fell in with my suggestion. Somehow I
was always the dominant spirit of our partnership — the
"head of the house," so to speak. We got axes and
saws and started out into the woods, where we found
nearly all the other members of the regiment engaged
in gathering material for the construction of their primi-
tive residences.
It took a couple of days to complete our log house,
and when done it was the largest and best that we had
ever had. It was fortunate that we took so much pains
with it, for, as prophesied, it was our abode for a consid-
erable time to come, and we passed many pleasant
hours in it.
We had plenty to do while in that camp in a military
sense. There was no end to the drilling and other ma-
neuvering. I was excused from company drill by rea-
son of being the company clerk, but there was no end of
regimental and brigade drilling. The constant fear of
being raided by the enemy's cavalry made the officers
pay especial attention to a peculiar formation specially
intended as a defense against attacks from that branch
of the opposing army.
This was technically called "forming into a hollow
square." The title indicates the character of the for-
mation. The regiment was formed in a square, four
deep, which made it look like a human fence around
a vacant lot. I said "vacant,'' but that is hardly cor-
rect, for there was something always inside the square
■ — the officers. The enlisted men formed the fence or
wall inside of which the commissioned officers were
comparatively secure.
All the rifles were equipped with bayonets. The
outer edge of men knelt on one knee and held the rifle
with the bayonet sticking cut at an angle of about
forty-five degrees. Behind them, stood another row of
men at a charge bayonet. This made a double row of
glistening bayonets sticking toward the suppositious
enemy, like a chevaux cle frise. The two inner rows
of men were there ready to shoot their guns over the
heads of the men in front.
These hollow squares were supposed to be invincible.
And so far as an attack of cavalry was concerned they
338 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
were practically so. No troop of horses could stand or
run against that array of bayonets if the men only stood
to their posts. But the trouble was that it took some time
to get the men to understand this. When they saw a
whole company of horsemen galloping toward them,
the natural instinct was to get out of the way, and even
in the practice attacks that we had it was seldom that
the men all stood their ground.
Useful as this precautionary drill was, however, we
never had occasion to use it in actual warfare. The
Thirteenth Regiment, so far as I ever heard, never was
attacked by cavalry at a time when they were in a hol-
low square.
Another drill that we had was called "bayonet drill."
This was a pet scheme of Major Grimes, who seemed to
always imagine that the regiment would some time get
into a hand-to-hand conflict with the enemy, and that it
would be a good thing to know just exactty how to stick
the sharp end of the bayonet through the enemy's intes-
tines, give it a sort of corkscrew twist, and then be
able to complacently contemplate the sight of a rebel
writhing in death agony on the ground.
With that, the "guard," and "tierce," and "parry,"
and other things, and the jumping sideways and for-
wards and backwards, it would be hard to imagine any
more vigorous sort of exercise than the bayonet drill.
We were put through it day after day, till every man
became a sort of an athlete of the high jumping variety.
This was only a silly waste of time. Perhaps every
regiment in the army had to go through the experiment
at one time or another, but it was finally dropped as
useless. It is unnecessary to state that very seldom did
the two armies come close enough together to indulge
in the interesting pastime of making holes in each
other's anatomy. And even if they had, under the ex-
citing circumstances it is not likely that any man would
ever have remembered the first thing about the scien-
tific instructions he had received in the best way of
doing it.
The worst experience I ever had while at this place
was to be detailed one day to go out and build a cordu-
roy road. A corduroy road is made by placing felled
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 339
trees side by side along the road, like the planking on a
bridge. This made a pretty rough sort of a thorough-
farefand the wagons went bumping over it at a fearful
rate', while as for marching over it, it was something-
terrible. But it was better than deep mud at that.
Now I had never cut down a tree in my life. When
we were building log houses John Butterworth did the
felling and I helped in other ways. But this day I was
given an ax and set to work cutting down trees.
3 The first two or three went all right, although I was
always in a quandary as to which way the confounded
thing was going to fall. All that I could do was to
wait till it began to move and then scamper out of the
way. Some of the fellows knew how to make the tree
fall in any direction they desired, but that was a mys-
tery utterly beyond my comprehension. My trees fell
whither they wisted, and they generally wisted to fall
in a manner that threatened the life of some of the other
fellows who did not see the thing coming in their direc-
tion.
The first two or three were small trees, not over six or
seven inches in diameter.
But then the confounded officer in command of the
work took it into his head that larger trees were indis-
pensable, and he set me to work on one at least three
feet thick, a tremendous fellow. It was a tall pine, and
the wood seemed to be extraordinarily hard and tough,
while my ax appeared to be as dull as a hoe.
I contemplated the job with discouragement, but went
to work with a will. I never could see what fun Glad-
stone could find in cutting down trees. There isn't
much to amuse a man in England if he calls that fun.
I hacked and hacked. I cut on one side and a while
on the other, trying to see which side of the tree was
the softest. My hands, unaccustomed to such work,
became covered with blisters, my arms and legs ached,
and the sweat poured from me in a stream, notwith-
standing the fact of its being midwinter. At the end
of two hours I had not succeeded in making more than
a shallow ridge in the tree, hardly enough to have set
the sap running.
Then I gave up in disgust. I called the sergeant and
340 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
told him there was no use of my trying to cut down that
tree. I never did such a thing before, and told him
that it would take six months for me to get that tree
down, and I felt sure that when it did come down it
would kill somebody, for I had no idea as to which way
it would fall.
The sergeant took pity on me and told me to take a
rest. He called another man, a tall fellow from the
Wisconsin regiment, a backwoodsman who had been
accustomed to that sort of work.
"Which way do you want this tree to fall, sergeant?"
he asked.
"Right about here," said the non-commissioned
officer, marking the place in the ground with his foot.
I was filled with admiration. Here was a man who
could not only cut down a tree but who could make it
fall just where he wanted it to fall. And he did so. It
seemed but a few moments, with a remarkably few dex-
terous blows with the ax, that the tree was nearly cut
through. The wood seemed a good deal softer and the
ax much sharper for that man than it had been for me,
somehow.
Finally the tree wavered, moved and fell. It came
down almost exactly where the sergeant had marked
the place for it to fall. This was the difference between
a man used to the work of cutitng down a tree and one
who had never had any experience in that sort of thing.
But I was willing to bet a day's rations of hard-tack
that I could beat that man setting type.
I didn't have to cut any more trees. They set me to
work helping to carry them and at other things, till
night came, and I went back to camp probably more
tired out and generally used up than I had ever been
before. I begged the captain that he would never let
me be detailed for such a service again, as I was never
calculated for that kind of work. Captain Hopkins did
not know that I had been sent to do that sort of labor,
and he laughed at my description of the ordeal. But
ho saw to it that I never had anj'thing like it again, and
truth compels me to state that Company K escaped the
most of that sort of menial labor.
Of course there came times, in the face of a battle,
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 341
when every man, and sometimes some of the officers, had
to come to the rescue and assist in the hurried construc-
tion of breastworks. On such occasions, however, a
sort of feeling that it was necessary for personal safety
overcame the repugnance to such labor.
These things are described because they are legiti-
mately a part of the life of a soldier. The men in the
army had something else to do besides shooting at the
enemy and reducing the number of Confederate soldiers.
The paymaster was long a-coming in those days.
We were months behind with our pay. The most of us
had gone to the fullest extent in running credit at the
sutler's, and we missed the little luxuries that we had
been accustomed to get there. One day there was a
good deal of mysterious consultation and whispering
around camp, which for some time I could not get the
hang of. But after a while the other fellows took me
into their confidence and let me into the scheme.
The sutler had just laid in a new stock. His counters
were piled high with all sorts of tempting dainties. In
the rear part of the tent we even saw many bottles of
whiskey and other things that made the boys' mouths
water, for "it had been a long time between drinks."
Perhaps had there been plenty of it within reach I
would never have thought of such a thing, but now that
it was practically impossible to get, the more I thought
of it the more it seemed as if a good horn of the real old
stuff would be just about the thing.
The scheme was nothing more or less than to make a
midnight raid on the sutler's tent and help ourselves to
the first things within reach.
Butterworth, my pard, did not altogether approve of
the idea, but he was overruled, and there were enough
of us without him to carry the thing through. The
plan was for about twenty of us to wait for a signal,
and simultaneously sneak out in the middle of the night,
and then raid the tent of the sutler. I'll admit that I
was one of the twenty midnight prowlers, and burglars,
if 3 r ou will. The others were all in it in a secondary
sense. That is, they were to keep watch, give what-
ever alarm might be necessary, and afterward partake
of the booty.
342 THE TO UNO VOLUNTEER.
Midnight came, and I quietly sneaked out and walked
softly to the sutler's tent. I found the others there and
ready for the depredation.
The leader of the gang gave the signal, and the attack
.began.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 343
CHAPTER LXIV.
THE SUTLER RAIDED.
The plan had been to cut the ropes that braced up the
tent, on all sides at once, so that the whole business
would come down together and then make the raid on
the good thing3 there concealed.
Usually the sutler and hi.; assistants slept in the back
part of the tent and we supposed that they were there
this time. Our plan had been to grab the things and
hide them somewhere before the sutlers could extricate
themselves from the folds of the tent and geb after us.
We had the places all ready to hide the articles, and we
were to feign sleep and profess ignorance of the whole
thing if any officers came around afterward to make
inquiries.
We were destined to have better luck than this, how-
ever. For some reasons none of the sutlers were asleep
in the tent that night. The cords were cut simulta-
neously on all sides and the tent came down with a flop
in a heap, just as expected. It is hardly necessary to
state that what we were after was the whiskey, or
"commissary," as it was called then. We each grabbed
a bottle of the supposed whiskey and hastened back to
our log houses, hid the liquor, and fell asleep with a sud-
denness that would have surprised a hypnotist.
We waited patiently for the expected alarm, but none
came. Everything was as quiet as usual. Directly
some one poked his head in the door of our house and
said that there was not a sign of life around the sutler's
tent, and that we might go and help ourselves to what-
ever else we wanted. We did so, and could scarcely
find room to hide the purloined goods.
Then we proceeded to sample the liquor. I didn't
know exactly at the time what was in the bottle But-
344 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
ter worth and I had, nor did we care, so long as it was
liquor, but it tasted just like the juice off the mince pre-
pared for a mince pie. It was nectar!
But the confounded thing flew to my head, and that
was the last I remembered till morning, when Orderly
Sergeant Van Orden stuck in his head and asked how
it was that we did not turn out for the morning roll
call. I got up as best I could, for my head was spin-
ning around like a top. Butterworth had evidently
taken less, for he was not so badly affected. When we
got out to the line there were only seven men there.
There should have been some seventy. Most of the rest
were really sick. And no wonder, when it is explained
that the liquor on which we had got boozed was Hos-
tetter's bitters!
By some bad luck the captain had taken a notion that
morning to turn out to see the reveille roll call, and he
asked how it was that the other men had not turned out.
"I don't know, captain," replied Hank Van Orden,
the orderly sergeant. * ' I can't wake them up this morn-
ing. I don't know what is the matter with them."
Captain Hopkins stuck his head in one log hut and
then another. From both he brought an empty bottle.
"I guess this accounts for it," said he. "What does
this mean, anyhow?"
Sergeant Van Orden hadn't been let into the racket,
and he was in ignorance of what it did mean. He told
the captain so.
"The whole company's drunk," said the captain.
"Where did they get the liquor, I would like to know."
Just at this moment the adjutant came down.
"Captain, are any of your men in this?" he asked.
"In what?" asked Captain Hopkins.
"In this robbery of the sutler's tent. Don't j-ou see
that it is down? That isn't the worst of it. There has
been a robber3 r . Nearly all the liquor there was in the
tent has been stolen, as well as some other things."
The captain pointed to the two bottles that he had
thrown on the ground.
"That looks somewhat suspicious, doesn't it?" he
said.
"The colonel will be furious when he hears of this,"
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 345
said the adjutant. "There's trouble ahead for all who
were concerned in it. Try and find out which of your
men are implicated. "
I began to shake in my boots, but said not a word.
I think that I was the last man in the company the cap-
tain would have suspected, for I was there all right in
the line for roll call, raid the captain knew that I wasn't
much of a hand for liquor anyway.
Well, the captain and orderly sergeant made a search,
and a partially emptied bottle was found in nearly every
tent or hut in the company. The sutler must have had
a big stock on hand, for not only was Company K con-
cerned, but several of the other companies had been in
the scheme, and a similar discovery was made there
also.
Nov/ I never knew how it came out the way it did,
but as a matter of fact not a single man was punished
for that night's escapade. In the first place it was
against the rule for the sutlers to have more liquor or
"bitters" on hand than just sufficient to be used for
medical purposes, or perhaps an occasional little "blow
out" on the part of the officers. Then the sutler we
had at that time was a mean sort of a fellow, a regular
Shylock, who took advantage not only of the men, but of
the officers as well, whenever the opportunit}' offered.
So he did not have much sympathy as far as that was
concerned. But be it as it may, none of us were ever
punished, and not much was said about the matter be-
yond a little "general order" on dress parade that the
men should remember that they should act as law abid-
ing citizens in the army the same as if they were at
home, and that it was as much of a crime to break into
a store there and steal as it was in a city. This was
the only hint, in an official way, that we ever had about
the matter and it was the nearest that we ever had to a
punishment.
Indeed the result was the other way, for the next day
orders came that the credit at the sutler's would be ex-
tended, and the door was opened so that we were able
to get whatever we liked on the strength of the credit of
future months' pay. So as a matter of fact, instead of
being punished, we were practically rewarded for the
part we had taken in the robbery of the sutler's tent.
346 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
They say that there are some kinds of liquor that will
keep a fellow drunk several days. This must have been
the sort that we had on that occasion, for it was several
days before I fully • ecovered from that debauch. I felt
heartily ashamed of myself, not only for that, but be-
cause it was the first time I had ever been concerned in
what might be called a burglary at night. And it was
the last time I was ever guilty of such a crime. But
then we were soldiers, and there are few men who served
in the army that cannot relate some such experience.
We didn't often get the chance to obtain liquor while
in the front. Occasionally after great exposure it would
be dealt out sparingly to the men. I remember one
occasion.
It was while we were stationed at Fairfax that we
went out on one of those mysterious raids or reconnais-
sances, and we had to ford a creek. The water was up
to our waists and it was very cold.
It so happened that we had been much troubled with
the ^efitiievousj)endi cuius investimenti and the surgeon
had said that anguinum, or blue ointment, was a good
thing to kill the nits. We had saturated the seams of
our clothing with this salve, which is largely composed
of mercury.
There is danger in getting wet after using any sort of
a mercurial ointment, for the result is salivation. This,
judging from my own personal experience, is one of the
most horrible sensations. The saliva runs from the
mouth, the eyes water and the whole body aches ter-
ribly.
When we laid ourselves down that night on the wet
ground, soaked to the skin as we were, the flesh seemed
too soft to bear the weight of one's bones, and one could
feel his skeleton from the top of his head to the soles of
his feet. The sensation is simply horrible. One felt as
if he were nothing but a skeleton, and every individual
bone appeared to sink into the soft flesh with a sicken-
ing pain.
It was then that the surgeon ordered to be dispensed
a good ration of "commissary," and if liquor ever did
a man good It was then and there.
After being at Fairfax Station for a while the Thir-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 347
teenth Regiment was ordered to change camp and we
marched to Stafford Court House, a place that enters
very largely into the history of the regiment, for it was
from that place that we went into the greatest engage-
ment in which the Thirteenth ever participated.
348 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXV.
AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION.
We were stationed at Stafford Court House from the
early part of March till near the end of April, and tak-
ing it altogether it was the quietest time we ever had
while in the army. It was officially given out that
there would be no more lighting or marching till the
spring fairly opened ; and we were in fact in training for
the arduous campaign of 1863, which, as all will re-
member, was the turning year of the war. It may be
truthfully stated that till the middle of 1863 it was a
grave question which would win, the North or the South.
England and other foreign countries had manifested a
strong sympathy for the Confederacy. Peace commis-
sioners were endeavoring to settle the contest in a man-
ner that would have left the South the winner. The
Confederacy appeared to be more desperate and deter-
mined than ever, and throughout the North there was a
feeling of despair and a sentiment that the best thing to
do would be to give up the struggle before more lives
were sacrificed.
But the fact that the North meant business was evi-
dent from the Emancipation Proclamation of President
Lincoln. That settled all questions of peace. It was
from that moment "a fight to the finish," with equal
determination on both sides. No one could foretell the
result. It was an even contest till Gettysburg, and
then the tide turned in favor of the North, although it
took nearly two years after that to finally suppress the
rebellion.
Many of the men about this time succeeded in obtain-
ing furloughs. I had the opportunitj T to go home for
ten days, but did not. Only so many were allowed to
?
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 349
each company, and I gave up my chance in favor of one
of the men, who had a sick wife at home.
I was rather glad that I did so, for all the men came
back discouraged, downhearted and despairing. They
had become imbued with the feeling of discouragement
that prevailed at home, and it was worse coming back
than the original enlistment, for every soldier, when
leaving home from his furlough, bade good-by to his
family with the impression that it was the last time he
would ever see them. For some of them indeed it was
the last time !
We had not been long at Stafford when several of the
companies of the Thirteenth were ordered on detached
service at White House Landing, on Aquia creek.
There was nothing but a small dock there, where curi-
ous little stern wheel steamboats landed provisions from
Washington. Our duties there were to be 'longshore-
men or stevedores, but Butterworth and I did not go on
duty the first day.
We spent the entire day building a log house, and by
night had a fine one. But we slept in it only one
night. The next morning we were ordered back to
camp and another company took our place. I never
knew why Company K had been returned in this man-
ner. But I was not sorry for it for one, for the work
of unloading provisions from the boat and placing them
in the baggage wagons was laborious.
Many of the men received boxes from home contain-
ing quantities of good things, and many of them also
contained whiskey. This made some of the men drunk,
and after that all the boxes were inspected by the officers
before being turned over to the men. Three of the boxes
contained nothing but whiskey!
The officers took charge of all this. What they did
with the liquor history does not tell, but one might
guess !
Another discovery was made by the inspection of
those boxes. Fully one-third of them contained citi-
zen's clothes. It looked as if one-third of the recipients
of favors from home were making preparations to desert.
In fact there had been a good many desertions before
this,, and the officers wondered how the men had sue-
850 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
ceeded in getting away without detection. This ex-
plained the business. After the wholesale confiscation
of citizens' clothes the desertions were materially
lessened.
We had considerable fun in the sporting line while at
Stafford. Several times we obtained permission to go
to Aquia creek, where the fishing was good, and we
caught many shad with the most primitive sort of nets.
The greatest fun, however, was in shooting ducks.
I never saw so many wild ducks in my life. The
river seemed to literally swarm with them. We had
no shot guns, nor even shot, for that matter, but we got
around this very nicely by cutting bullets into small
bits called "slugs," and shooting them from the rifles.
Indeed Ave became quite expert, shooting the ducks with
the full sized bullets, although naturally this tore the
birds to pieces so that they were practically useless.
The greatest difficulty was in getting the ducks after
we had shot them out on the river. There were no dogs
of course, and only one small boat, a sort of dug-out,
which had to be utilized in turn by the men. A large
proportion of the ducks consequently were not recovered,
out we got enough for our own use, and we had duck
cooked in every possible and impossible style.
One of our duties at Stafford Court House was to
erect a gigantic stockade. What this was for I don't
know. There was no enemy anywhere around at the
time, and there seemed to be no possibility of there ever
being an engagement in that neighborhood. But I pre-
sume that the theory was that if we were kept busy we
would not get into mischief.
One day while at Stafford Court House, Captain
Hopkins came to me and asked me if I didn't want a
day off?
"A day off? What do you mean, captain?" asked I,
wonderingly.
"Well, if you do," he replied, "you are at liberty to
go. Come to my tent and I will give you a pass. You
will also find a horse there for you."
A horse for me ! What could the captain mean?
However, I went up to the captain's tent and sure
enough there was a horse — two of them, in fact. Both
THE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. 351
were saddled and held by a tall cavalryman with yellow
trimmed riding jacket and boots.
"This is Crowell, orderly," said Captain Hopkins by
way of introduction. The big cavalryman looked at
me, I imagined not with a very high degree of admira-
tion. And I didn't look very pretty. I had not had
mjr hair cut in some time, and looked like a foot ball
player. I had been sleeping in the dirt so much that I
presented anything but a tidy appearance. But then I
was as well fixed as the average soldier.
"General Stagg presents his compliments," said the
orderly, "and invites you to come and take dinner with
him."
General Stagg? For a moment I could not recall
who that could be. Then I remembered. It was Peter
Stagg, the brother of my old companion in the Guar-
dian office, John Stagg, who had enlisted in the
Eleventh New Jersey — the same John Stagg who is
to-day the chief of the Paterson Fire* Department.
I remembered that Peter, who was also a Paterson
boy, had moved to Michigan when he was married, and
knew that he had entered the service as a captain in the
First Michigan Cavalry, but I had not heard that he
had become a general.
"Do you mean Peter Stagg, of the First Michigan
Cavalry?" I asked the orderly.
"Yes," was the reply. "He was our colonel. He
has been promoted to brigadier-general. He sent me
over to bring you to our camp and have dinner with
him."
"Well, well," said I, in amazement, "and so Peter
Stagg's a general. And he wants me to come to take
dinner with him. Well, well!" I couldn't get over
the surprise.
"Yes," said the orderly, "and he sent his horse over
for you to ride. This is the critter."
I looked at the horse. I hadn't particularly noticed
the animal before, for I was so astonished that Peter
Stagg had become a general (and by the way he was the
only Paterson boy that ever did become a general), that
I hadn't noticed anything. But when I saw that horse
I was struck with terror.
352 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
I never had much experience riding horseback. Tak-
ing my father's docile old nag to water was about the
extent of my experience in that direction. But here
before me was a big black stallion, that looked as if he
could only be ridden by a Buffalo Bill or a cowboy. I
confess that I weakened. But I didn't want to let the
cavalryman think I was afraid.
"Say, pard,'' said I familiarly — and my familiar
tone at once put me on good terms with my to-be-escort
— "I am a pretty looking fellow to take dinner with a
general of cavalry, am I not? I look as if I ought to
go to the barber's and tailor's before I tackle anything
like that. I think I had better send my regrets."
"Oh, that's all right," said the orderly. "You're all
right. Besides, the general said that I must insist on
your coming if you could get away, and the captain
here says that's all right. So come along. Here's
your horse."
Again I looked at the skittish looking stallion. Then
I looked at the tamer looking animal of the orderly,
which I could distinguish was a private soldier's steed
from the comparative plainness of its trappings.
"Hadn't I better ride your horse, orderly?" I asked.
"He looks less frisky. This stallion here will break
my neck."
"No," replied the orderly, "you take the general's
critter. He is as gentle as a kitten. You couldn't ride
mine. He is a bucker and would throw you off before
you got half a mile on the way. ' '
"How far is General Stagg's camp from here?" I
asked.
"About twelve miles. It is straight across the coun-
try. We don't follow the road, but cut across lots. It's
a good route and a pleasant ride. You will enjoy it, I'm
sure."
"I will if that horse doesn't break my neck," said I,
"but I suppose I will have to tackle it."
The boys had begun to gather around, wondering
what was going on. Some of them envied me the
chance of the trip. Others I thought regarded me with
admiration on account of having been honored with an
invitation to dine with a general. But Stansfield took
the starch out of me with the remark he made.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER, 353
"Say, Joe," said he, "if you get back alive from your
ride on that horse you're a lucky cuss. I wouldn't get
on that stallion's back for a farm."
"Oh, I'm not afraid," I replied, jauntily. But I
lied; I was scared to death. I nearly fell off with
trembling.
We started on our ride, and to tell the truth I never
expected to survive the journey.
35-i THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXVL
I DINE WITH THE GENERAL.
I hadn't ridden far, however, on General Stagg's
stallion before I began to feel perfect confidence. A
nicer saddle horse no man ever strode. But I had to
take some instructions before I knew how to guide the
animal.
When I pulled the right hand rein he turned to the
left, and vice versd. Either the horse or I had lost the
compass.
"That horse is trained for the cavalry service," said
the orderly, "and you have to handle him a little differ-
ent from what you would a farm horse. Just hold the
reins together in the left hand. When you want to
turn to the right, hold your hand over to the right.
That presses the bridle reins against the left side of the
horse and makes him go to the right. When j t ou want to
go to the left you hold the hand o t'er to the left, so that
the rein presses on the right side. ' '
"Then," said I, "you really pull the left side of his
bit to make him go to the right, and the right side of
his bit to turn to the left. Is that it?"
"I s'pose it is," replied my escort. "But cavalrymen
don't pay any attention to the bit. They drive by
the rein. The right hand is supposed to be busy with
carbine or saber, and only the left is used in guiding the
critter. Now if you want him to lope, give a couple of
quick jerks upward, and if he is loping and you want a
gallop, jab in the spurs."
I hadn't put on the spurs, however. Nothing could
induce me to do that, or I would have had the horse
running away in short order. Loping was rapid enough
for me.
THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEEE. 356
"If you want to bring him to a walk again," con-
tinued the orderly, going on with his equestrian instruc-
tions, "just pull gently on the reins, and a good hard
pull will bring him to a standstill. That's the way to
drive the critter with the bridle. But generally we do
it with our knees."
"With your knees?" I asked.
"Yes, we don't bother much with the bridle, for often
we have both hands busy in a scrimmage. When you
want to start, give a 'cluck.' When you want the horse
to lope, press the two knees against his withers two or
three times, sharply. Do it again if you want him to
gallop. If you want him to turn to the right, press the
left knee only. If to the left, press the right knee. If
you want to stop, press both knees hard."
I went through all these things and the noble animal
obeyed like a child — a good deal better than some chil-
dren, by the way. I never rode, before nor since, such
a well trained animal. Riding him was like sitting in
a rocking-chair. I was delighted with the experience,
for it was not long before I had perfect confidence
restored, and felt as self-possessed as if I had been rid-
ing horseback all my life.
But I was not altogether self possessed for another
reason. I was overcome with the idea of being tho
guest of a general officer. Only those who have been in
the army can appreciate the vast gulf that exists be-
tween a private and a brigadier-general.
And a brigadier-general of cavalry was more than a
brigadier-general of infantry. In army etiquette and
precedence the cavalry general comes ahead of the in-
fantry general. And then a brigade of cavalry is as
big, so far as the ground it covers is concerned and its
military importance and pomp, as a whole corps of in-
fantry. There was a peculiar dash and show about a
high cavalry officer that no infantry commander ever
attained. And yet, all the way, I couldn't help repeat-
ing to myself, "Pete Stagg a brigadier -general ! Pete
Stagg a general?" And the last time I saw him he was
working at his trade in the locomotive works, if I re-
membered correctly.
After a pleasant ride of twelve or fifteen miles, the
356 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
camp of the cavalry brigade commanded by General
Peter Stagg loomed into sight.
General Stagg's headquarters were quite pretentious.
Instead < f a tent it was a good sized barrack made of
rough boards, the cracks between which were slatted so
that it afforded perfect protection from the weather.
The general's brigade was in winter quarters and it was
the most comfortable and complete thing of the sort I
ever saw in the front.
The general came to the doorway of his house as [
rode up, and greeted me cordially. Had I also been a
brigadier-general there could not have been a warmer
or more friendly welcome. I must confess that I felt a
little ashamed. I was only a private, with all that im-
plied, and my clothing was not very creditable for even
a private.
On the other hand, the general, who had just been
superintending some maneuver, was in full uniform, as
bright and spick as a militia officer, and there was a
dash and vivacity about his manner that was altogether
different from the plain mechanic I had remembered in
Paterson. He was surrounded by a glittering staff of
colonels and majors and captains, and the scene was so
dazzling that I felt extremely abashed, to say the least.
But the cordiality manifested from him of the star to
the stripeless private was so hearty, and the consequent
attitude of the officers around him so condescending, as
I was introduced as "My old friend, Crowell," by the
general, that I &oon felt at home, and for the time being
forgot altogether the difference between our ranks.
I do not altogether remember the details of that day's
visit. I do remember, however, that we had a good
dinner — wonderfully good considering the place and cir-
cumstances — and I was filled with wonder as to where
they had got all the provisions and delicacies that made
up the menu. The wind-up of the dinner was a sort of
punch that was very palatable, but which for a few mo-
ments made my head swim. That dinner impressed
me strongly as to the difference between the lobscouse
of the high privates and the tempting lay-out of the
general officers. All the while I felt my subordinate
position keenly, although I tried my best to put my
brightest and most nonchalant side forward.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 057
We lingered long at the table, which, by the way, was
spread in a large barrack back of the general's head-
quarters, and in which all the officers participated.
And many were the stories and experiences related,
which gave an interesting insight to the exciting and
dangerous life of a cavalryman. Of the stories told, I
particularly remember one. It was by the general him-
self:
"It was down on the retreat from the Peninsula,"
said he, "when we were halting as if uncertain whether
we should continue toward Washington, or go back
toward Richmond, that we stopped on the way for a few
days. I met an old friend of mine from another Michi-
gan regiment, of which he was the colonel, and invited
him to dinner. Now it happened that we were rather
short of rations just then, and it was hard to get any-
thing out of the usual line of provisions. The worst of
it all was that we had run out of pork entirely.
"But," continued the general, "my cook had some-
how managed to get hold of a couple of good cabbages.
This was something so unusual that I thought a cab-
bage and pork dinner would be an acceptable novelty
to my guest. When it was served there were only
three or four thin slices of pork, which were spread
around the sides of the dish of cabbage, as a sort of
garnishment. It made it look very tempting. I won-
dered where Nick had got that pork, but said nothing.
"There were half a dozen or so officers at the mess
that day; when each one was asked if he would have a
piece of pork, he saw what a small supply there was
and politely answered no. So there was not a mouthful
of the pork eaten. The party seemed so delighted with
the cabbage that they were satisfied. The dinner was
a success, and all expressed themselves as pleased with
having had the opportunity of partaking of a dish which
they had not seen for many a day.
"I saw the cook remove the pork from the table with
some satisfaction, for I thought that would come in
good for breakfast in the morning. But when break-
fast came, I looked in vain for the pork. I asked the
cook what he had done with it.
" 'Say, Nick,' said I, 'where is that pork that was
358 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
left over from dinner? I might as well have it for
breakfast. We have not had meat for so long that I
am hungry for some.'
"The darkey hesitated in making reply, and seemed
strangely nonplussed. But I insisted on an answer. I
began to suspect that the confounded nigger had eaten
the pork himself.
" 'Ex-ex-excuse me, massa, I done gone take dat po'k
back again. '
" 'Took the pork back again?' I asked, 'what do you
mean by that?'
" 'Well, you know, massa, dat dere was no po'k in
de com'sarry, an' I done gone an' borrid et.'
" 'Borrowed it?'
" 'Yes, massa, I borrid dot po'k from Cap'n Wilkins,
ob de Fust Ill'noy, an' when you'ns were through I
done tuk et back again. Dis nigger only clone borrid
et. I tole de cap'n so when I done got it.'
" 'That was a risky thing to do, Nick,' I told him.
'Now suppose we had eaten that pork, where would you
have been? You couldn't have taken it back then?'
" 'Yous cawn't fool dis nigger, gen'ral,' replied the
confounded darkey. 'I done know'd better. I know'd
that when gen'lmens dine, an' dar's only a little bit ob
ennythin', dey nebber teches et. I done know'd et. I
done know'd it wouldn't be teched. I know'd I cud
took dat po'k all backag'in, widout a brack in de skin.'
"And so it was. The shrewd darkey had waited on
tables long enough to know that when there is very
little of anything on a dish at dinner none of the guests
is likely to touch it, out of politeness. But it struck
me that it was a mighty big risk to run, under the cir-
cumstances."
After dinner we sat and smoked and talked about
Paterson and things at home till the time for the after-
noon dress parade. Here I was given a horse and ac-
companied the general as an orderly, and as there were
two or three other privates mounted in that capacity, I
did not feel much abashed. But they had given me
another horse, which was not as good a one as the gen-
eral's, and when the staff galloped along the line with
me following them, I had a difficult job to hang fast to
the saddle.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 359
Escorted by the orderly who had come for me in the
morning, I rode back to the camp of the Thirteenth lato
in the afternoon, after having had a most enjoyable day,
and passed through an experience not often allotted to a
private soldier. The distinction of having been invited
to dinner with a general also set me up a peg or so in
the opinion of my companions. No civilian can fully
appreciate the influence of little things like this.
En passant, speaking of General Stagg, reminds me
that his brother John, who originally enlisted in the
Eleventh New Jersey Infantry, was later in the war
promoted to a lieutenancy in the First Michigan Cav-
alry and served as an aid-de-camp on General Stagg's
staff. As before said, John is now a sort of general
himself, being in command of the Paterson Fire De-
partment.
From that time on, till the end of the war, I always
remembered Peter Stagg as the dashing cavalry general
surrounded by a brilliant array of staff officers. The
picture was, as it were, photographed on my memory.
Great was the shock, therefore, when I next visited
him. I had remained in the service for a year or so
after the war was ended on special service in the Freed-
men's Bureau. But the main portion of the army had
returned to their homes and settled down to the routine
of citizens' lives.
Great was my surprise, I say, when I saw Peter
Stagg. He had opened a little grocery store on Main
Street, and there I called.
"Is the general in?" I asked.
"The what?" inquired the half -grown lad I had ad-
dressed.
"The general," I repeated. "General Stagg?"
"Oh, it's Pete, you mean. Yes, he's in the back part
of the store, waiting on a customer."
And there I found General Stagg, wearing a long
grocer's apron, and measuring out a quart of kerosene
for a woman !
The transformation from the picture in mind to the
reality before me, nearly knocked me over. But it was
the same welcome, the same hearty manner. Peter
Stagg was the same whether in a general's uniform or
in a grocer's apron.
360 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"Bank is but the guinea's stamp,
A man's a man for a' that,"
said Robby Burns , but still, I fain would repeat, the
change was startling.
And when I went down the street, whom did I meet
but Captain Scott, my old company commander, stand-
ing on the corner of Broadway, yelling at the top of his
voice, peddling whips!
As for myself, 1 went back to the Guardian office to
set ty pe !
But there were many exciting scenes to pass through
between the time I took that dinner with General Stagg
and the time I next had a composing stick in my hand.
The most terrible scenes and experiences were yet to
come. And I am getting close upon them !
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 661
CHAPTER LXVII.
AGAIN WE START.
It was the purpose of the author in writing this story
to present some idea of the daily life and experience of
a private soldier. It was to give an inside history of
real army life in war times, rather than follow the
stilted route of maneuvers, movements, engagements
and statistics. As said earlier in the story, the experi-
ences and services of the Thirteenth New Jersey merely
formed the thread on which [the incidents were strung.
And yet the truth as to dates and names has been
adhered to, so that to the extent to which this is carried,
it is practically a history of the regiment to which the
writer belonged. The further history of the detailed
incidents of the campaign and individual experiences,
however, would be largely repetitive of what has already
been described, and henceforth only new experiences
will be detailed, those similar to what have already
been described being cursorily referred to.
There still remain, however, some novel incidents and
adventures to be described, and some scenes more ter-
rible than [anything yet presented to the reader, and it
will consequently be to the advantage and interest of
the latter to patiently pursue the story to the end.
I interpolate these remarks here, because it is an ap-
propriate place. The Thirteenth Regiment at this par-
ticular time was going through the most inactive period
of its entire experience. Never before and never after-
ward did it have such a long rest as at Stafford Court
House.
Yet we were not entirely idle, for the ordinary duties
of a soldier do not leave much time, whether it be in
camp or on the march. The term "idleness" is only
comparative, when mentioned in connection with a
soldier.
$e% THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
I remember one incident of a personal nature. I
heard that my Uncle David, a lieutenant in the Thirty-
fifth New Jersey, was at Aquia creek, and obtained a
pass to go and see him. It involved a walk of five or
six miles through the thickest and deepest mud. When
I reached his camp, my trousers were besmeared to the
knees and my shoes were filled with the red pigment.
My uncle went to the sutler's and presented me with a
nine dollar pair of boots, coming to the knees. They
were admirable for the purpose of keeping out the mud,
and I was heartily pleased with the present.
My uncle probably never knew what became of those
boots. On the next march they hurt my feet so that I
temporarily traded them with Cornelius Mersereau, one
of my companions, for a pair of English shoes that had
been captured from a blockade runner, bound for the
Confederacy. There is no use talking, nothing is as
good as low, flat, broad soled shoes for marching.
But I only intended the exchange to be temporary,
till after we had concluded the march. Alas, Mersereau
was killed in the next battle, and his feet swelled so
that I could not pull off the boots, and they were buried
with hirn at Chancel lorsville. Of that, later. Mer-
sereau's name is carved on the base of the soldiers'
monument at the falls in Paterson. The boots are ab-
sorbed by the soil of Virignia, somewhere.
It was just about this time that there were numerous
changes among the officers in consequence of the resigna-
tions and consequent promotions. Lieutenant Colonel
Swords, who, despite his name, was a peaceably dis-
posed man, resigned. Captain John Grimes was pro-
moted from captain to major. But the greatest sensa-
tion was caused by the promotion of Private Franklin
Murph}', of Company D, to the position of second lieu-
tenant. As said before somewhere the promotion of a
private over the heads of the sergeants and others in the
direct line of promotion, always created a sensation and
not a little indignation over what was esteemed a sense
of injustice. As a general rule, it indicated a "pull"
somewhere that was not popular among those con-
cerned.
There was consequently not a little kicking at first
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 363
when Murphy made his rirst appearance on parade
ground in a brand new uniform of a commissioned
officer. But he proved such a kind-hearted officer, and
seemed disposed to put on so few airs, that this feeling
soon wore off, and Frank Murphy became one of the
most popular officers of the regiment.
I refer to him particularly, because this Frank Mur-
phy has become one of the most prominent men in the
State of New Jersey. His name was mentioned re-
cently in connection with the office of United States
Senator, and he was also spoken of as a candidate for
Governor of New Jersey in 1895. This is the same
Franklin Murphy.
Along about the middle of April (this was in 1863,
remember), we received word that the army was about
to be honored with another visit from President Lin-
coln. The other parts of the Army of the Potomac had
been reviewed, and this demonstration included the
Twelfth Corps, under command of General Slocum,
only. The review was a grand success and a magnifi-
cent sight.
The corps included about twenty thousand men, com-
prising all branches of the service. It marched to a
large field about four miles from camp, and there went
through all the evolutions incident to such an occasion.
The army was never in better condition than at the
present time. The men had had a good rest, for some
time the rations had been plenty and good, and all the
regiments had been perfected in their drill. In fact the
army was recuperated, fresh, and in magnificent shape
for the beginning of the campaign which we all antici-
pated as soon as the spring fairly opened. The long-
rest had put everybody in good condition bodily, and
every man's spirits were proportionately buoyant.
While we all knew that there was arduous marching
and hard fighting in store for us, yet no one felt down-
cast or discouraged. In fact, I might almost say that
every man was eager for the fraj r . The desire to get
into something active and less monotonous was uni-
versal.
Even our old, and for sometime forgotten, friend
John Ick, prated not of "slaughter houses" and mani-
364 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
fested such a desire to get started at something that he
actually excited the admiration of Reddy Mahar.
Without exception, I think I am safe in saying, the
entire army was desirous of being "on the move."
It was not my luck at this last review in which Presi-
dent Lincoln participated to get anywhere near him. I
was in the ranks while he rode down and around the
line, and afterward marched past him in the review,
but only got a somewhat distant glimpse of one I had
almost come to regard as a personal friend.
I imagined, from what I saw of him, that he looked
more gaunt and careworn than ever. It may have been
imagination, but every succeeding time that I saw Presi-
dent Lincoln the more did he appear to me to be aging.
And now that we can more fully appreciate what he
had to go through, how could it have been otherwise?
Just about this time, the surgeon of the Thirteenth,
Dr. J. J. H. Love, was promoted to the position of bri-
gade surgeon -in-chief. This took him away from our
immediate vicinity, greatly to our regret, for every sol-
dier revered Dr. Love. He was, until his recent death,
a highly respected citizen of Montclair, and held in
great esteem far beyond the limits of that picturesque
New Jersey town.
But at last the expected order to move was received.
We were suppled with sixty rounds of ammunition per
man.
That meant business!
The usual quantity carried by the soldier was about
forty rounds. Sixty was never given out except on the
eve of an expected battle of more than ordinary dimen-
sions and importance. We were also directed to dispose
of every superfluous article, and place ourselves in
marching order in the fullest meaning of the word. We
were "in it" now for fair.
On the 14th of April came the order, "Fall in, Thir-
teenth," and after the usual preliminary preparations,
bustle and excitement, we started off — many never to
return.
Little did we know then — and perhaps it is better
that we did not — that in a short time the Thirteenth
Regiment would be back in that very camp, with deci.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 365
mated numbers, torn and shattered, after having passed
through one of the bloodiest conflicts, one of the most
disastrous repulses of the whole war — the engagement
that has gone into history as " The Battle of Chancel-
lorsville!"
m THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXVII.
"men that ain't afraid op hell."
On to Chancellorsville !
Now for a battle that was doubtless one of the bloodi-
est and most disastrous of the war. And yet the Union
army never started into a campaign more confident of
success. Little did anj'body apprehend that it was to be
the most terrible repulse ever sustained by the armies of
the North !
The army was in magnificent shape. The discipline
was perfect. General Hooker had won the confidence
and esteem of every man under his command, from the
highest to the lowest. The spirit of his dash and vigor-
had permeated rank and file, line and staff, and the sol-
diers believed themselves part of an army that was in
vincible, under a commander who was unconquerable.
Colonel T. H. Ruger, the lighting commander of the
Third Wisconsin, had been promoted to brigadier gen-
eral, and was in consequence our immediate command-
ing general. We had as much faith in him as a brigade
commander as the army had in Hooker as the grand
commander. The men had had a good rest, they were
in fine condition physically and full of fight and spirit,
The sentiment was universal that the rebellion was
about to be quenched, and that the coming battle would
be the settler.
That it was going to be a terrible conflict was evident
to everybody from the extensive and complete character
of the preparations. It is unnecessary to go into all of
the details in this respect. But it is significant to
remark that soldiers were served with one hundred
pounds of ammunition and eight days' rations just before
starting on that fateful campaign, on April 27, 1863.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 367
1 ' The plan of the campaign was that the Fifth, Eleventh
and Twelfth (our) corps, should rapidly move up the
Rappahannock and get into position in the extreme rear
of the enemy at Fredericksburg, rendezvousing at Chan-
cellorsville (of course we privates knew nothing about
these plans at the time; I am here quoting from
' Toombs' Eeminiscences, ' Swinton, and other authori-
ties). General Couch, with two divisions of the Second
Corps, was to follow as far as United States Ford, and
cross there as soon as the success of the first movement
was apparent by the driving away of the enemy guard-
ing that point. Reynolds, Sickles and Sedgwick, with
the First, Third and Sixth Corps were to cross the Rap-
pahannock below Fredericksburg and make a vigorous
demonstration at that point."
Such the authorities say was the programme for the
campaign, and it was really well planned, for it in-
volved a simultaneous attack on the enemy from three
sides, and a series of those flank movements which in
battle are supposed to be invincible.
Nothing unusual from an ordinary march occurred for
two days. There were no signs of the enemy and
everything was as quiet and peaceful as a militia
parade on the Fouth of July.
The only thing that specially attracted my attention
was the ascension of a military balloon. It was a good
sized balloon inflated with gas from a generator carried
on wheels for the purpose. It ascended several hundred
feet and from it we could see the two occupants scan-
ning the enemy's country through their field glasses.
The balloon was attached to the ground with a long
rope, on a windlass, and at a given signal, the men
below would wind up the windlass and haul the aero-
nauts down. I distinctly remember wondering what
would happen if some rebel sent a bullet hole through
the balloon while it was in the air.
On the afternoon of the same day I saw the first mili-
tary telegraph. It was just being introduced and the
men were drilling as we marched along, in preparation
for its use in the coming battle. The men ran along
like skirmishers, carrying poles about ten feet long,
sharpened at one end, while the other had a sort of
368 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
double fork, like the hook on the end of a cistern pole.
Another lot of men would come along with wire on
reels on a wagon, and this was strung on the poles about
as fast as the horses could run. Three or four miles of
telegraph line could be put up in an hour in this way,
and removed in less time.
At each end of the line was an operator. The idea
was a good one, but the movements of an army in battle
are too rapid to use the telegraph much. I remember
seeing the lines in the first part of the battle of Chancel -
lorsville, but before long they were tying useless, scat-
tered along the ground.
On the third day of our uneventful march, I think it
was, we crossed the Rappahannock River on pontoon
bridges, and were once more in what might be called
the enemy's country. On the afternoon of the same
day we approached the Rapidan River, and were about
to cross it at Germania Ford, when we were suddenly
interrupted and startled by a volley of musketry from
the boys in the Third Wisconsin and Second Massa-
chusetts, immediately in front of us.
We had suddenly pounced down upon a lot of rebels
busily engaged in building a bridge over the river, and
we captured nearly the entire party. They were a jolly
lot of Johnnies, and wanted to know why we had not
waited till they finished the bridge, so that we could
cross the river easier !
There was one thing at this point that filled me with
horror. As we approached the bank at the edge of the
narrow river, we saw on the other side a rebel who had
escaped capture and who was running over the open
field. A big Wisconsin man alongside me lifted his
rifle and aimed at the fleeing rebel.
"Don't shoot him," I cried. "Tell him to surrender!"
"To — — with him," replied the bloodthirsty Wis-
consinian. "Dead rebs tell no tales!"
"But — " I started to say something more, but my
voice was drowned by the report of the rifle, and the
fleeing rebel dropped dead.
I did not relish tha,t sort of warfare a bit. It looked
to me like murder, this shooting down in cold blood one
poor man. But when I ventured to express my senti-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 369
merits to the slayer, he gruffly turned upon me and said :
"Say, young feller, when you know the devilishness
of those varmints as well as I do, you won't be so
chickenhearted. I never let pass a chance to kill every
one of them I can. So just hold your wind,
young feller. ' '
I said nothing more, but I had my opinions about it
just the same. It is one thing to stand in a line and
shoot at a body of troops collectively shooting at you.
It is quite another thing to shoot down a single human
being in cold blood without giving him a chance for his
life.
The bridge, as before stated, was not completed. The
pontoon trains were some distance behind. It was
necessary to cross at once, and we were ordered to do so.
There was no alternative except to ford the stream.
The water was at least four feet deep. The current
was very strong. We had to put our bayonets on our
guns and hang our knapsacks, haversacks and cartridge
boxes upon them, so as to carry them high over our
shoulders to keep them from getting wet. Cavalry
pickets were stationed a little further down the stream
to catch those who were carried from their feet by the
swift current, which, by the way, were not few.
We were wet to the skin and it was growing quite
cold, as night was approaching. Fires were lighted to
dry our clothing, and we were just gathering around to
make ourselves comfortable, when Major Grimes dashed
suddenly into our midst and yelled out :
"I want seven men that ain't afraid of hell!"
I don't know what impulse struck me. I, one of the
biggest cowards in the army at that moment, volun-
teered as one of the seven men who had no fears for the
future abode of the wicked.
It was a sudden impulse of some sort for which I
could never account. I did not know of course what it
meant. I did know that it meant some dangerous duty
to perform. My comrades naturally looked surprised
when I volunteered for this unknown horror.
I, of course, repented at once and felt like kicking
myself for being so fresh. I wondered why I had an-
swered as I did, But I wouldn't back out now. I
070 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
would have been a laughing stock forever afterward.
Indeed, after going that far, I would have stuck to it if
I had positively known that I was to be killed in half
an hour. But although I tried to look brave on the
outside, everything inside of me was quaking with
terror, and the cold chills were chasing each other down
my back.
With my fellow volunteers I was marched to brigade
headquarters, the party was duly formed, and, under
the command of a captain, we started out for the un-
known place that Major Grimes had described so calor-
ically.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 371
CHAPTEE LXVIII.
JO-SI-ER AND HIS OLD' OMAN.
If there was reliable proof that the real old-fashioned,
orthodox, red-hot, tire and brimstone hell were of no
longer duration than the Tophet described by the excited
Major Grimes, I fear that there would be a good deal
more wickedness in this world.
We were marched up the hill, and, like the famous
forty thousand men of old, we were marched down again,
and back into the camp of the Thirteenth Regiment.
We were received with all sorts of jeers as to how Ave
liked it. whether it was hot, and if we had returned for
our linen dusters and fans! We assured our comrades
that his Satanic Majesty was enjoying good health and
was as active as ever, but he wanted more company,
and we had come back for the rest of them.
We were justified in saying this, for we learned that
it had been decided to send the entire Thirteenth Regi-
ment out on picket that night, instead of only a smaller
detachment. The enemy had been discovered, it was
said, just in front and it was thought best to send out a
very strong picket line. So the other fellows had to go
through the same service as we few who had been so
very fresh in volunteering.
I shall never forget that night. Remember, we were
drenched to the skin from fording the Rapidan River,
and the night was cold, as it is usually during the latter
part of April, even in Virignia. There really isn't very
much difference between the climate of Virginia and
New Jersey, except perhaps in midsummer and mid-
winter. The spring and fall are about the same in both
States.
We had advanced into the enemy's country, and the
scouts had reported the rebels immediately in front of
372 TEE YOUNG VOLTJNTEElt.
us. So quietly had the movement of this wing of the
Unio?i army been that the enemy evidently had no idea
that we were so close upon them, and there was a likeli-
hood of a collision at any time.
As said before, we were sent on picket on the very
outposts. There was nothing between us and the rebels,
and there wasn't supposed to be much space between us
at that. No one was permitted to speak above a whis-
per for fear of its attracting attention. When I was
placed on my post, which was in a thick woods, under
a big tree, where it was as dark as Egypt, the officer of
the guard instructed me in a low whisper, and I was
advised to be unusually quiet. I was not even to march
up and down the usual proverbial "beat." The noise
of the footsteps might attract attention. Under no cir-
cumstances was a match to be struck for lighting a pipe
or any other purpose.
Now this made it worse than ever. Being wet
through it might have afforded considerable comfort to
be able to Keep moving to and fro. But to stand still,
drenched as we were, made us shiver with the cold, and
pretty soon my teeth were chattering a tattoo that made
more noise than my footsteps would have made had I
been patroling a beat.
But orders were orders and there was nothing to do
but to do nothing — except shiver. I never suffered
worse. Inside of half an hour I was almost paralyzed.
The night was very still. The slightest noise seemed
to penetrate a long distance. Way out in front some-
where there was a subdued hum, as from distant voices,
and they were supposed to be from the camps of the
rebels. Every nerve seemed to be strung to the utmost
tension, and one's ears, under such circumstances, were
phonographic with their supernatural keenness.
The inactivity of the position finally made me
drowsy, and I feared it was the drowsiness that pre-
ceded the act of freezing to death. I shook myself to
arouse my senses, and was wondering if I could stand
it for another hour or so, when suddenly my acute ears
caught the sound of breaking twigs. Instantly I was
all attention. I at once brought my rifle into position
and raised the hammer.
THE YOtJNG VOLUNTEER. 373
Nearer and nearer came the sound of the crackling
twigs, till it seemed to be within ten feet of me, when,
in a subdued voice, I said :
' ' Halt ! Who comes there?' '
"Fo' de Lo'd's sake ! What's dat?"
That was the answer that came to my military saluta-
tion. It was so unexpected, so different from what I
expected, and withal so comical, that I came near
laughing aloud. But I was suspicious. It was the
voice of a negro, but it might be the assumed tone of a
rebel scout. So I again said :
" Who comes there, I say? Answer, or I will shoot !"
"Fo' de Lo'd's sake, massa, don't shoot dis poor nig-
ger. I'se doin' nothing. I done gone done nothin'.
Doan' shoot! Oh, Lo'd! Oh, Lo'd!"
"Come here and let me see what you look like," I
said.
There was a rush that frightened me, and before I
could fully realize it, there kneeled at my feet the worst
scared darky ever seen. My eyes had become some-
what accustomed to the darkness, and I could see him
kneeling at my feet with his hands clasped in the atti-
tude of supplication.
"Oh, doan' kill dis poor nigger!" he cried. "Doan'
shoot me. I doan' know'd dere was any so'gers about
here. I tho't dey was all on the udder side of de crick.
Say, boss," he added, interrupting himself, as he drew
a little nearer and straightened himself up: "be you-uns
a Yank?"
"Yes," I replied, "I am a Northern soldier. I am
not a rebel. And there's thousands more right behind
me."
"Thank de Lo'd!" he cried devoutly "Praise de
Lamb! Salvation am come at last! Glory Hallelu-
yer!"
I didn't know what the confounded darkey meant. I
thought I had struck an escaped lunatic.
"Praise de Lamb!" continued the excited negro.
"Am it true we niggers is free? Be you-uns one ob
Massa Lincoln's men?' '
I assured him that I had the honor of being one of
the humble members of the army lighting for the gov-
3H THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
eminent presided over hj Lincoln — although of course
in not exactly those words. Then I asked the poor
darky what he meant hy all this rigmarole.
He told me that the colored people there were wait-
ing for the arrival of the Northern army that was to set
them free and take them "Up North," where they were
to spend the rest of their lives in the midst of plenteous
milk and honey — and whiskey. He announced his
willingness' to accompany me at once.
"I'se ready to go 'long straight away now," said he,
gladly. "Only wait a min'it till I gits de old 'oman
and de pickaninnies. We-uns '11 have our bund'l ready
in a min-it. Praise de Lamb! We'se free at last!
Glory halleluyer!"
The excited darky fairly yelled this out, and I feared
that it would attract the attention of the rebels supposed
to be a short distance in front. So I told him to stop his
noise. The corporal of the guard did hear it and came
running up to see what was the matter. He thought of
course that it came from one of the men on picket.
The matter was explained to the corporal, who told
the darky that it would be his duty to take him back
to headquarters. This was done in spite of the protests
of the darky, who wanted to go back after "the old
'oman and de pickaninnies."
He had not been gone long before another sound in
the darkness ahead of me nearly frightened the wits out
of me. It was a female voice, and a lusty one at that :
"Jo-si-er!"
Now the front syllable of this appellation fitted me
exactly, but I concluded to remain quiet and see what
it all meant. I recognized the voice as that of a negro
woman, but the presence of a woman out there in the
woods at night was something strange. Presently the
call was repeated :
"Jo-si-er! Jo-si-er! Whar you is, Jo-si-er?"
The voice didn't seem to be twenty-five feet distant,
and I thought I would venture forward and investigate.
The crackling of the twigs was heard by the old woman,
and she said :
"Oh, dar you is, Jo-si-er. What for you go out jist
as de hoe cake am done bake? Come, it am ready, you
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 375
good for nothin' lazy nigger. Seems to your ol' mammy
you'se allers hungry."
To my astonishment I found myself at the threshold
of a typical negro's log cabin. On the hearth blazed a
roaring fire that was temptingly warm. From a crane
of the old-fashioned sort hung a big broad spider, upon
which was a thick hoecake, done to a turn, while on a
little table at the side of the room stood a steaming pot
of coffee. Goodness, didn't it look tempting !
I had no idea that there was a human habitation
within miles, and I was thunderstruck to come across
the cabin occupied by this negro family. I stood at the
open doorway contemplating the scene with curiosity
and interest.
The fat old negro woman was standing with her back
to me and did not see me. She was busily engaged in
the intricate operation of getting the flap -jack off the
griddle upon a huge platter of wood, ready to remove
to the table.
"Here, you hungry nigger," she said, "here's yo'
hoecake. De nex' time yo' gits yure old mammy to
bake a cake for yo' in de middP of de night, 3 r o'll "
Here she turned and saw me. Instead of "Jo-si-er"
she unexpectedly contemplated the apparition of a very
wet, very tired and very dirty-looking soldier, armed
with a bayoneted rifle, standing there like a wandering
ghost.
She gave one yell, and tottered backward, upsetting
the table, spilling the steaming coffee on the floor, and
dropping the platter with the hoecake back into the fire.
376 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXIX.
A MASKED BATTERY.
The first thing I did was to make a grab for that hoe
cake before it got burned up in the fire. While I was
doing this, I was startled by a series of unearthly yells
from the opposite side of the cabin.
Looking over toward that direction I saw three young
negro babies, ranging in age from two to five years.
They had been asleep on the floor in the corner, and
had hastily arisen in terror when aroused by the noise
of the old woman's yelling. The "kids" were as naked
as the day they were born. The colored people in those
parts never put on such frills as dressing their children
in nightgowns when they put them to bed.
My attention was then directed to the old woman her-
self. She had got upon her knees, and with her hands
clasped devoutly was praying with a vigor that would
have done justice to a Methodist deacon in the amen
corner of a church.
"Oh, Lo'd! Oh, Lo'd!" she exclaimed. "Hab mercy
on dis ere mis'ble sinner. Oh, Massa Debb'l, doan'
take dis poor nigger! Doan' take me war de fire burn
and is not done squelched ! Oh, Lo'd sabe me from de
debb'l afore he take me down below! Massa Debb'l,
please, kind Massa Debb'l, good Debb'l, doan' tote dis
ere poor nigger off to der ' '
"What in thunder are you getting off?" I inter-
rupted. "What's the matter with you anyhow? I am
not the devil. I am not going to 'tote' you off to the
fire and brimstone. What I want is some of that flap-
jack. And put the coffee on again. The best you can
do if you don't want to be carried off is to get that sup-
per ready again. Those things make me hungry. The
devil don't eat. I will soon show you that I am no
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 377
devil if I once get my teeth on the edge of that flap-
jack."
I remember to this day how the whites of the old
woman's startled eyeballs bulged out as she stood there
looking at me, rot even yet satisfied whether I was real
flesh and blood or his Satanic Majesty.
And no wonder. It was the first time she had ever
seen a Union soldier in full uniform. The rebel uni-
forms, originally gray, had become dirt color, and if
you took a lot of prisoners from the Passaic county jail
and armed them with old guns, and hung a dirty
blanket around their necks, it would make a good repre-
sentation of a Confederate private.
Untidy and soiled as my uniform was, it looked im-
posing to the old woman, with the brass belt plates,
glittering bayonet and other accouterments, and alto-
gether it looked unlike anything she had seen on the
earth or in the waters under the earth. It was only natural
that she took me for a devil. But I can't say that I felt
much complimented!
Shivering and shaking, the old woman hastened to
comply with my orders. Presently she managed to
muster up courage to ask me if I was one of "Massa
Lincum's sogers." I assured her that I was and then
followed another scene of thankfulness over freedom
similar to that of the man I had encountered on the
picket post.
Then she thought of the man herself.
"Whar's dat Jo-si-er?" she asked. "Did you see a
lazy, good-for-nothin' nigger out yar? He done gone so
long dat I'se afeared he am gobbled up."
"Oh, he's all right," I answered. "He is out there
talking with some of the other soldiers. ' ' I did not
want to alarm her by telling her that he had been cap-
tured and taken back to headquarters.
Just then I heard some sort of a commotion outside.
I had forgotten all about my duties as a soldier on
picket. The sight of that toothsome hoecake and
steaming coffee had driven everything else from my
mind. The noise outside, however, brought me to my
senses again and I started to go out.
"Here, what's going on here?" asked the sergeant
3?8 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
of the guard, whom I met at the door. "What are you
doing off your post? Don't you know this is disobedi-
ence of orders?"
"I suppose it is, sergeant," I answered; "but just
look at that flapjack there on the table. ' '
"Halt, second relief," said the sergeant, turning to
the men outside. He was coming around with the sec-
ond relief. It was 11 o'clock.
Human nature is human nature. The sight of that
hot supper there on that cold and cheerless night had
the same effect on the sergeant and the half-dozen men
with him that it did on me, and they one and all leaned
their guns against the door of the cabin and came in.
The old woman had the coffee ready again by this
time, and it is needless to say that we made quick work
of that hoecake. Some pork gravy was served as butter
and I don't think that I ever tasted a meal that I
relished more than I did that lonely and singular repast
there in the wilderness.
We learned some of the facts from the old woman,
too. The rebels had been there during the afternoon,
but had marched off toward Chancellorsville. They
did not know that there were any Union troops any-
where in the vicinity. The old woman had heard them
say that they were going away for good, and that she
would not see them again.
This settled us that there were no rebels in that im-
mediate vicinity at least, and we felt that there was not
so much need of being quiet and careful to watch for
attack. Of course it was a gross violation of duty for
any of us to be there in that hut, even for a few mo-
ments, but I don't think there was a soldier in the army
who would not have taken advantage of the occasion.
I was relieved from my post by the second relief, and
went back to the picket headquarters for a little sleep,
as I did not have to go on duty again till 3 o'clock in
the morning. I slept soundly, despite the racket going
on around me.
This racket was caused by the arrival of the remain-
ing portion of the army. The Thirteenth Regiment,
being needed for picket duty, was the one that forded
the Rapidan. The others crossed on pontoon bridges
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 379
that had been placed in position, and they came over
between midnight and morning and went into camp
around us. But despite all the noise incident to this,
we men who had been on picket slept the sleep only-
known to tired soldiers.
And well was it that we could sleep. Had we known
what was in store for us on the two or three days fol-
lowing, none of us would have felt much like sleeping.
I was on picket again from 3 to 5 o'clock, and a more
lonesome two hours I never experienced. The old negro
woman's cabin was silent, showing that she and the
pickaninnies had gone to bed, regardless of the absence
of "Jo-si-er," and with the exception of the occasional
hoot of an owl, the woods were as quiet and dismal as a
cemetery.
I leaned against a tree, and I believe that I fell asleep
standing there. This was often the case. It did not
take much for a soldier on picket to fall asleep on the
relief just before daylight. But on such occasions the
picket would be aroused by the slightest noise. The
noise that aroused me was the approach of the second
relief again at o'clock. If I was asleep I was wide
awake enough when the relief took my place, and I
gladly returned to camp, completely tired out. But
there was no more sleep that night. Already the army
was making preparation for a move.
It was on Thursday morning, April 30, 1863. It
was the day previous to the commencement of the great
battle of Chancellors ville. We knew that we were
engaged in some important movement, of course, but
did not know when the fighting would begin or where.
All the signs, however, with which we had become so
familiar, indicated that we were close upon a serious
conflict with the enemy.
It was a beautiful sunny forenoon. The weather was
simply delightful. We were marching along comfort-
ably, leisurely and contentedly. It seemed like a
spring excursion party, so peaceful was everything.
There was not a sign of anything like an enemy, and
the only sound that greeted our ears, beside the joking
and laughter of the soldiers, was the chirping of the
birds in the trees which we passed. Now and then a
360 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
chipmunk would dash across the road, and occasional'*^
the cotton tail of a fleeing rabbit would be seen scurry-
ing through the brush.
All was peace. Nothing could seem further than
anything like war, when —
"Boom!"
Simultaneously came the familiar "Ker-chew, ker-
chew, ker-chew" of a flying shell.
Then a great crash ! Then yells of agony and moans
of pain, for the shell had fallen and burst in our ranks,
right in front of us.
Involuntarily we all turned our eyes toward the place
from which the report came, which was plainly indi-
cated by the still hovering cloud of smoke. A moment
later we saw a small battery of artillery hurrying away
from the spot on a gallop. It was hidden behind a
clump of bushes on the hill. It was what was called a
"masked battery." It could not be seen from the road,
and no 'one knew that it was there.
A company of cavalry made a dash after the fleeing
artillery of the enemy. I don't know if they were cap-
tured or not.
Our column halted its march, and everybody made a
rush to the place where the soldiers were crowding
around the wounded men. I rushed forward with the
rest.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 381
CHAPTER LXX.
BEGINS TO LOOK LIKE BUSINESS.
I rushed forward with others to see what damage
had been done by the shell that had exploded in our
ranks.
And I was immediately sorry that I had done so. I
received a shock that made me feel sick all over.
Two men had been literally torn to pieces. Their re-
mains was strewn over the roadway from one side to
the other. One man's heart was still throbbing. Pieces
of skull and human brains lay here and there !
One poor fellow had lost a leg, and his writhing was
terrifying. Others were less seriously wounded. Alto-
gether there were two men killed, one fatally, and six
others severely wounded by the explosion of that single
shell. I turned from the scene sick at heart and sick at
stomach.
Nearly every man's face was pallid. It was the sud-
denness, the unexpectedness of it. Had we been in the
midst of a battle, when such things are expected and
looked for, it would not have been so startling. But
everything had been so quiet and peaceful, and every-
body's thoughts were so far away from anything like
carnage and death, that it was just like such a tragedy
would be in the quiet and peaceful streets at home.
John Ick came in with his customary remark about
"slaughter houses, ' ' but no one disputed him. It looked
more like a slaughter house than anything else. And
it seemed more like cold-blooded murder than warfare.
But then what is warfare but murder, at the best?
For some time after we resumed our march there was
an unnatural quiet in the ranks. The incident through
which we had just passed seemed to have an effect on
every one. It perhaps impressed each one with the fact
38-2 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
that we were likely to soon meet the same fate as the
poor wretches we had seen writhing there in the dusty
road.
But the spirits of soldiers do not remain depressed.
Pretty soon we came to a small farmhouse along the
road, and in the barnyard behind the dwelling we
caught sight of an old sow with a lot of sucking pigs.
There was no orders to "break rauks," but immedi-
ately there was a grand rush for those porkers. The
squealing captives were carried back into the line despite
the indignant protest of the woman in a very shabby
dress who came out and futilely ordered the return of
"them 'ere shoats."
As we marched along we passed quite a number of
farmhouses and each one was denuded of everything in
the shape of live stock. Soon there was a remarkable
chorus of squealing pigs, squawking chickens and quack-
ing ducks all along the line. The boys were assured of
a change in their menu for once, that was sure.
We marched on and on and on. Detouring the woods
and fields on each side of us was a lot of cavalry, on the
lookout that we might not be again surprised by a shot
from a masked battery. But nothing of the sort oc-
curred during the remainder of the day, and we did not
stop till night, when we went into camp in line of battle
in a fine large open field between two clumps of woods,
in the immediate vicinity of Cbancellorsville.
That night we had a banquet with the fresh meat and
poultry we had captured during the day. We had no
duty to perform that night, except to be called out in
line to hear the reading of some orders.
It was an order from General Hooker complimenting
the Fifth, Eleventh and Twelfth corps for the com-
mendably successful manner in which they had achieved
the movement, whatever it was. We did not know
what it was. It did not seem anything more than an
ordinary day's march, with the exception of tho inter-
ruption from that deadly shell from the masked battery.
But General Hooker said it was, and that settled it.
There was a good deal of braggadocio about that order,
by the way. In fact General Hooker was entirely too
previous. The order said ;
THE YOUNG VOTATirfEER. 383
"It is with heartfelt satisfaction that the command-
ing general announces to the army that the operations
of the last three days have determined that our enemy
must ingloriously fly, or come out from behind his in-
trenchments and give us battle on our own ground,
where certain destruction awaits him."
We all cheered, of course. It was the proper thing
for us to do under the circumstances. It wasn't a bad
idea either, that order. It filled the troops with en-
couragement and fight, and impressed them with the
idea that this really was to be the deciding battle of the
war.
It is said that General Hooker took a drink — perhaps
several of them — after the issuance of that order, and
made the remark that "God Almighty himself couldn't
get the rebels out of the hole he had put them in."
There is good reason for the statement that the general
did make some such remark as this.
And although irreverent, there was good reason for
felicitation over the successful preparations for the con-
test. It is admitted by all military authorities that it
was one of the best planned campaigns in history, and
up to the time of the issuing of that order by General
Hooker it was perfect as a military movement.
But the very power that General Hooker had so ir-
reverently referred to was the power that got the enemy
out of the hole, and turned a glorious victory into one
of the most disastrous defeats of the civil war. Heaven
literally interfered and upset the calculations of an able
general.
Man proposes, God disposes. Never was this truer
than in the Chancellorsville campaign. But of that
soon.
We slept quietly, peacefully and unmolested that
night. Nothing seemed further off than a battle, except
for the sanguinary orders that had been read, and the
fact that when we lay down that night the regiment
was formed in line of battle, and every man had his
musket at his side. As for any sign of any enemy
there was no more right there than there is here where I
am writing at the present moment. Little does a sol-
dier know what the morrow may bring forth.
384 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Early on Friday morning, May 1, after my compan-
ions had been hammering me to their heart's content
because it was my birthday — a boy of nineteen years — '
we fell in line and resumed the march.
Soon things ''began to look like business."
We had scarcely gone more than a mile, when we
were turned into a line of woods and formed a line of
battle. We were ordered to throw off our knapsacks
and leave them there — temporarily. But we never saw
those knapsacks again. I suppose mine is lying there
yet! I never had a knapsack on my shoulders after
that morning !
Slowly and cautiously we moved forward through
the woods. The very atmosphere seemed ominous.
Pretty soon we emerged from the woods and reached an
open field where we were ordered to lie down — lie flat
to the ground. I think that I occupied the space of a
flounder!
In a few minutes we were ordered up, and we sneaked
— that is the word — sneaked forward, slowly, cau-
tiously, till we reached a post and rail fence along
another piece of woods. Into this we marched.
In getting over the fence, our regimental commander,
Colonel Carman, fell and was wounded ! He retired to
the rear! When I saw him go, I wished heartily that I
might fall off the fence too !
Lieutenant-Colonel Chadwick was happily — for him
■ — home on a furlough, and the command of the regi-
ment fell on Major Jack Grimes.
Company D was sent forward as skirmishers, sup-
ported by Company C. This was to discover the where-
abouts of the enemy, supposed to be hiding somewhere
in the front — to go forward and rake up the muss, as it
were!
We cautiously moved forward some five or six hun-
dred feet, momentarily expecting to unearth the enemy.
Our ears were constantly on the alert for the first sound
of the ominous minie bullet. But none came.
Just as we had got in a good position and things
looked as if the impending conflict could not be long
deferred, we were surprised to receive orders to retreat,
and we went into camp again not very far from the
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER, 385
camp we had left in the morning. Every man felt as
if this was a retrograde movement and a mistake, and
all wondered what it meant.
But soldiers must ask no questions. They have noth-
ing to do but obey orders, and the next order we received
was to begin cutting down the trees in front of us to
build up a breastworks to guard against surprise from
the enemy during the night.
While we were engaged in this work, we were startled
by the discharge of a cannon, not in front of us, where
it had been expected, but immediately in our rear !
386 THE TO Uim VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXXI.
CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY.
The discharge of the cannon was immediately fol-
lowed by the usual swish of the flying shell. We were
greatly surprised that there should be such an apparent
attack from the rear, instead of the front, where we had
been expecting it. I dropped to the ground and wal-
lowed in the leaves like a pig, to escape the flying mis-
siles from the exploding shell.
Bat there was no exploding shell, at least near us.
The shot was fired from our own side, from Battery M,
of the First New York artillery, and it was followed by
two or three others of the same sort.
I thought it was the beginning of the fight, of course,
but it seems that it was only intended as a "feeler," to
see if the rebels would take it up. It elicited no re-
sponse whatever and everything was as quiet as a grave-
yard in the direction where the enemy was supposed to
be.
This quietness made us all the more apprehensive of
an attack. It was suspicious and we became impressed
with the idea that there was some sort of a surprise in
store for us. We went to work all the more vigorously
in the completion of the breastworks.
Well do I remember that day's work. We had been
served with a ration of fresh meat, which seemed for
some reason to be always the case immediately before a
battle. Whether this was to arouse the animal nature
within us and make us ready for a fight, I cannot say,
but it was always a fact that there was a service of fresh
meat immediately before a premeditated engagement.
The cattle had been killed near us, and there lay
around on the ground great numbers of heads. These
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 337
we placed on top of the breastworks, with the horns
pointing toward where the enemy was supposed to be.
This gave the breastworks a terribly ferocious appear-
ance, but as a matter of fact it was about as useful as
the bearskin hat of a drum major.
When I afterward read how the Chinese soldiers went
to battle with umbrellas, and making hideous noises to
frighten the Japs before shooting at them, it involun-
tarily took me back to those cows' horns on top of the
breastworks at Chauceliorsville. We are not so very
far advanced over the heathen when it comes to the
details of war, after all our boasted civilization. But I
forgot. War is not civilization. When the time of
perfect civilization arrives there will be no such thing
as war.
We had just about finished the breastworks that after-
noon when General Ruger ordered us to move forward in
light marching order. This, bear in mind, was Satur-
day, May 2, 1863, a date that has gone down in history
for more than one reason as being one of the most im-
portant in the history of the war.
As I said, we were ordered out in light marching
order. We had already lost our knapsacks, but this
meant to leave even our haversacks, canteens and
blankets. A detachment was left behind to guard these
things, which we left with considerable reluctance, for
whatever else a soldier may cheerfully do he hates to
leave behind his "grub-bag" and "watering can."
We were conducted to a position far in advance of
the one we had occupied, and there were ordered to lie
down. "Lie low and be quiet" was the order. I lay
as low as"B'rer Rabbit" and wallowed in the leaves of
the woods like a hog. We all remained quiet, speak-
ing not above a whisper. These things were most dis-
agreeably ominous.
The rest of our brigade, with General Pleasanton's
cavalry and brigade of the Eleventh corps, had been
sent out to reinforce General Sickles. The latter had
been ordered to go forward and reconnoiter the position
of the enemy, and had come across them sooner than
tbey expected. General Sickles had struck the rear
guard of Jackson's rebel troops and had taken quite a
number of prisoners.
388 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Word came back that the enemy was retreating and
we all felt delighted at the easy way the thing was
going. We felt a degree of security that we had not
entertained in some days. But alas! It was false
security.
One brigade of the Eleventh corps, and our brigade
of the Twelfth, were guarding the extreme right of the
line of battle, while General Sickles and his associates
were chasing what was then supposed to be the main
body of a rebel army.
But here is where the rebels fooled us. The supposed
retreat which Sickles was following was only a com-
paratively small detachment of the enemy. The main
body was flanking us, and the scene of the flank attack
was immediately where we stood.
The Eleventh corps brigade was a little to the right
of us. My company was just then on the top of a hill,
in front of which was a ledge of rocks. On the right
was the edge of a piece of sparse woods. On the left
and behind us, were the sloping, rocky sides of the hill
on which we stood.
In front was a low, level space, like a plain. From
my elevated position I could see General Sickles'
troops corral ing the rebel prisoners and bringing them
toward us. A forlorn lot they were, in their dirty gray
uniforms, shapeless slouch hats, and generally disrep-
utable appearance. I felt pity for the poor fellows, on
many of whose faces I imagined I could see traces of
satisfaction over having been taken prisoners.
It was just before dusk. The sun had set in a scene
of glory behind the western hills. The sky was cloud-
less, golden in hue. It was the approach of a beautiful
night. It was so beautiful that I even remember hav-
ing remarked it, there in that exciting scene.
Exciting scene, did I say? The excitement was just
to commence.
Suddenly there were yells, cries, shouts, and the whiz
of flying bullets on every side.
Immediately I was surrounded by thousands of flying
men.
The first that came were hundreds of Eleventh corps
officers and men. I immediately recognized them by
the half -moons on their hats.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 380
Their eyes fairly bulged from their heads in their
terror and excitement. Many of them were hatless, and
their hair streamed behind from the breeze caused by
their rapid flight. Hundreds were unarmed, having
thrown away their guns in their panic.
Then, mixed up with the blue, was the gray. The
rebels, right there in our midst, all running, all shout-
ing and yelling, were as numerous as the fleeing boys
in blue.
Then there came horses, some riderless, pack mules,
artillery caissons, ambulances and what not, in inextri-
cable confusion, a perfect mob, demoralized, disorgan-
ized, utterly beyond control — for it was a panic !
The Union troops were fleeing as they supposed for
their lives. The rebels were chasing them to take them
prisoners. There was nothing like order or discipline.
It was simply a crazy mob, a rout, a flight of panic-
stricken men, rushing with about the same judgment
and sense as a big audience would rush from a burning
theater.
They came like an avalanche — like a whirlwind.
Union and Confederate, blue and gray, were inextri-
cably mixed together, all rushing, screaming, yelling,
shouting !
Nothing could withstand that rush. For an instant
I stood petrified, and was then swept from my feet as
if I had been a wisp. What became of my comrades
I knew not. They had disappeared, been swallowed up
in the tidal wave of humanity. I was knocked down
and rolled, fortunately, behind an overhanging ledge of
rock.
I did not attempt to rise. If I had I would have been
trampled to death in an instant. Instead, I crowded as
closely as possible under the protecting rock, while over
me there poured a steady stream of human beings,
friends and foe alike. They went over that rock, jump-
ing over to the further side, like the endless roll of
Erie's waters over the precipice at Niagara.
This was the scene that has gone into history as "The
break of the Eleventh corps at Chancellors ville. " I
was right in it. In fact I was altogether too much in
it for comfort's sake.
390 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ' ' • ; . '.
Vi Lat was it all? What did it mean?
History calmly tells us that the Eleventh corps had
been surprised by Jackson, and the latter, by a flank
movement, had charged upon the former, compelling
them to fly. This is what history says. And history is
right when it says that the Eleventh corps did fly. No
other word could justly describe the movement.
After a little while the main portion of the grand rush
subsided and I thought it was safe to emerge from my
place behind the rock and start to hunt for the Thir-
teenth Regiment of New Jersey Volunteers.
I straightened myself up, and was about to pick up
my rifle from the ground, when a rough hand was
placed on my shoulder and a gruff voice met my aston-
ished, and I might say, very much startled ears.
"You are my prisoner, you Yank!"
I turned, and found myself in the firm grasp of a
stalwart rebel sergeant I
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 391
CHAPTER LXXII.
A SECOND BALAKLAVA.
I WAS a prisoner !
A more terrible situation it would be hard to con-
ceive. The approaching darkness of the ending day
was made the more gruesome by the smoke that arose
from the desultory firing of many rifles, and the inter-
mittent boom of artillery posted on every elevated posi-
tion.
Demoralized soldiers were rushing hither and thither,
apparently without system or order, separated from
their regiments, without commanders. Cavalry horses,
some riderless, galloped to and fro, apparently not
knowing where they were going. The whole battlefield
was a scene of indescribable confusion, noise and smoke.
I turned to look at the Confederate soldier who had
taken me his prisoner. He was a tall, gaunt specimen
of a rebel, with protruding cheek bones, little, glisten-
ing eyes, hair long and unkempt. On his head was a
broad-brimmed, gray slouch hat, much the worse for
wear and dirt. His uniform, if uniform it may be
called, looked like the clothing of a man who had just
come from a trench where he had been mending a
bursted water main.
The rifle he carried, as well as the blanket slung over
his shoulder, his canteen and haversack, I immediately
recognized as having been recently taken from some
Union soldier. Half the Confederate army were pro-
vided with these equipments from the Northern side,
although where they obtained them was a mystery.
I must confess that my captor presented a rather pic-
turesque appearance. He looked like a cowboy on tho
plains — or in a circus. Although he was so tall and
392 TEE YOTTFG VOLUNTEER.
gaunt, there was a kindly expression in his eye, and I
was not the least frightened, for some reason or other.
'Well, now that you've got me, what are you going
to do with me?" I asked.
"Wall, Yank," replied he, "I reckon as how we-
uns '11 have to take you-uns back to the coop."
"Tve a good mind to take you prisoner," said I] im-
pudently.
This made the rebel laugh outright. And it was
rather funny. I had no rifle or other arms, and my
captor was not only well provided in that respect, but
he was almost twice my size. He could easily have
picked me up and carried me off. The idea struck me
as being comical. It wasn't a very cheerful place for
mirth, but we both laughed in concert at the idea I had
suggested.
"The trouble 'pears to be, jist neow," said he, with
that peculiar twang noticeable alike way "down East"
and in the South, "the trouble 'pears to'Jbe, that we-uns
can't tell which way to go. Things seem to be all
mixed up. We-uns men and you-uns men be a running
all ways ter onct, an' if we-uns don't look out, we-uns
'11 take you back to your own camp, an' we-uns '11 be
taken prisoners by you-uns a'ter all!"
It seemed very likely. Union and Confederate sol-
diers appeared to be inextricably mixed in the wild,
panicky rush that still continued, although it was sub-
siding. So we just stood there, hardly knowing what
to do. A moment later, however, something occurred
that riveted both our attention, the contemplation of
which so absorbed us that we both forgot our respective
conditions.
A Union general, accompanied by several members
of his staff, rode up to near where we stood. I heard
subsequently that it was General Pleasanton. The
latter called to him another officer, a major of cavalry.
"Where is your command, major?" asked General
Pleasanton.
"Eight over thereunder the edge of that woods,"
replied the major, saluting.
"How many men have you?"
"About six hundred, general. But there's Captain
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 893
Bassett's cavalry immediately beyond, and I can get
them if necessary. That would make twelve hundred,
about."
"How comes it that Captain Bassett is in command?
Where is the colonel?"
"He is wounded, general. He was shot from his
horse only a few minutes ago."
"Very well, major. We have not a moment to lose.
I want you to hold back that corps coming over at the
edge of the woods at the foot of the hill, and hold them
till I place my battery here. Do you understand?"
I saw the face of the major first flush and then turn
pale. And no wonder !
From the position where we stood, we could see the
rebel corps referred to approaching. It was (General
Jackson's Confederate troops — the same that had
flauked the Eleventh corps and driven them back, caus-
ing the panic-stricken stampede which we had just
gone through. In that corps, approaching us to give
battle on a part of the Union army where all was de-
moralization, where there was not a gun in position for
action, there were from fifteen to twenty thousand men !
And yet that vast body was to be kept back by a
comparatively insignificant body of twelve hundred
cavalrymen !
The major saw what was meant, and turned pale.
But I will never forget his answer: "General, I under-
stand your order and will do my duty."
Now here was the theory of that murderous move-
ment. General Pleasanton wanted to bring some of his
artillery to that hill, place them in position, and be
ready to repel the attack of the rapidly approaching
corps under General Jackson. It would take ten or
fifteen minutes at the very least to post the artillery.
That time must be secured at whatever sacrifice.
It was simply a question of occupying the enemy's
attention for that ten or fifteen minutes. In projecting
a body of twelve hundred men against a corps of some
twenty thousand, there was but one result possible.
That was the practical annihilation of the smaller num-
ber.
.. It. was this principle on which General Grant later on
394 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ' '
prosecuted the war. He argued that war was but a
question of attrition. That, other things being equal, the
larger army would succeed. By just so many men as
the larger army exceeded the smaller, just so many men
would be left on the larger and victorious side when
the battle was over.
In the present instance it was merely a question of
the number of minutes that would be consumed by the
approaching rebel corps to annihilate the interposing
Union cavalry. Would it take ten or fifteen minutes?
If so, then there would be time for the posting of the
artillery. If not, then the movement would be a failure.
It was a ride to death, but unflinchingly did that
major and his twelve hundred men throw themselves
intolthe jaws of almost certain destruction.
And I saw that movement — an achievement that has
gone down into history in prose and in poetry as one of
the most marvelous examples of bravery seen in the civil
war. It was an achievement that rivalled that at Bala-
klava, made immortal by Tennyson's famous "Charge
of the Light Brigade."
Yes, I was an eyewitness of that terrible cavalry
charge of twelve hundred against fifteen or twenty
thousand. I and my rebel companion stood there pet-
rified with amazement, as we watched the scene. We
saw the cavalry charge into the rebel corps, only to be
cut down in rows. It was an indescribably awful con-
flict while it lasted.
Men were shot from their horses. Horses were shot
under the men, and the latter in many instances fell
under the steeds struggling in their death agony. Soon
the smoke rising from the firearms arose and obscured
the view from our vision.
In the meantime General Pleasanton was getting his
artillery into position on the hill near us. For some
reason we — my captor and I — stood there, comparatively
isolated from the rest. Near us were a number of Union
men in charge of detachments, men who had been taken
prisoners by the enemy the same as I had been. It was
rather a strange situation.
The trouble was that things had got so much mixed
that the rebels did not know which way to take us.
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 395
Union and Confederate soldiers seemed to be every-
where alike. This perhaps was never known before or
after during the entire war, but all who were in the
midst of the Eleventh corps rout at Chancellorsville will
testify that it was as here described.
The movement of the handful of cavalry was a suc-
cess. It took the rebel corps fully twenty minutes to
disperse, I might almost say annihilate, for of that gal-
lant twelve hundred, if the records are right, but thirty-
eight survived the charge ! Among the first killed was
the gallant major to whom General Pleasanton had
given the fateful order.
But the posting of the cannon soon changed the aspect
of affairs. In a few minutes shrapnel and shell were
plowing down the ranks of the approaching troops, and
they were driven back.
A moment later a division of infantry attacked Gen-
eral Jackson's corps on their left, and they were driven
off in confusion, and as history puts it, "with great
loss."
My rebel captor still stood there standing guard over
me nominally, but so absorbed in what he had just wit-
nessed that he said not a word nor made any attempt
to conduct me further.
Just then a sudden inspiration seized me, and acting
upon it, in less time than it takes to tell it I had made
my escape. There was probably never anything like it
during the war. I have to smile every time I think of
it even to this day.
But I will wait till the next chapter to tell just what
did happen.
396 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXXIII.
A QUEER ESCAPE.
Now the usual weapons of warfare are rifles, pistols
and swords. 1 don't think it is customary to use one's
fists in battle. It is not often that the two opposing
sides get near enough together to use swords, let alone
knuckles
But this is an exception. I did use my fists. I
knocked my rebel captor down, and made my escape.
I believe it is the only time in my life, at least since
schoolboy da}^s, that I ever knocked a person down with
a blow from my fist
As stated in the preceding chapter, my rebel captor
and I were simply petrified with amazement at the
scene we had just witnessed, and we still stood there
after it was practically over. As before stated, we were
on a rocky ledge or hill, one side of which, that toward
the enemy, was precipitous, while the other side was
sloping.
My tall companion stood a little lower than I, so that
our heads were about even. Glancing down I noticed
that he was standing right on the edge of a rock, from
which there was a step of four or five feet.
Visions of the horrors of Libby prison, about which I
had heard so much, flashed through my mind with the
rapidity of lightning. Why should I go there without
a struggle, at least? Was it possible that I might make
my escape?
Then I noticed the advantage of my position. That
settled it! My thoughts, which were working with
electric swiftness, were hardly more rapid than my
action.
An inspiration seized me, and I suddenly let out,
with my full force, with my right fist, and gave that
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 397
big rebel a blow under his ear that must have aston-
ished him greatly, even if it did not hurt him much.
I saw him reel, lose his balance, and fall headlong
from the edge of the rock where he had been standing.
As he fell his gun flew from his hands, and he went
sprawling down the steep side of the elevation.
I went the other way !
Talk about sprinting ! Talk about bicycle scorching
and breaking records on the Blank Company's patent
light-weight, non-puncturable tires !
None of them could hold a candle to the gait I main-
tained as I rushed down the other side of the hill. I
ran, I knew not whither, neither did I care, so long as I
was escaping. I went through a brook without as
much as wetting my feet, jumped little precipices,
vaulted over deserted breastworks, dodged under the
shells flying from the cannon's mouths, and never
stopped till I at last fell, almost senseless, with palpi-
tating heart and panting breath, alongside a little brook
in the midst of a thicket !
But I was safe, and that was all that I cared about.
I never knew what became of my rebel captor.
While I was running I felt the buzz of a bullet swish
past mj r head, which I imagine came from his rifle, al-
though of course there was no telling who fired the
bullets that were flying around so recklessly just about
then and there !
But I was left quiet only for a moment. There was
a mighty cry and yell, a wild rush, and the first thing
I knew I was knocked headlong into the brook by a
team of runaway horses — a six-horse team at that !
It may sound queer to the reader who has not been in
the war to hear one talking about horses running away
in the midst of a battle. That sounds too much like an
everyday street incident. But nevertheless such was
the fact. It was a very frequent occurrence, and many
men were injured by runaway horses during the war.
Horses are horses, whether at home or in the army, and
they will run away just the same and from similar
causes.
It is a wonderful thing how a horse becomes ac-
quainted with his surroundings. Here at home, no
398 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
matter how much he may be frightened at first, he soon
becomes accustomed to the electric cars and the steam
road roller. In the army the horse becomes accustomed
to the moving of large bodies, the racket of the bands,
and even the intolerable noises of a battle. But some
little thing, insignificant in itself, but out of the usual
order, will startle a horse and set him to running away.
I don't know what started the team that ran over me.
They were attached to the limber — the front wheels and
ammunition box — of a cannon, and they came dashing
down the hill, striking me, and knocking me into the
brook, and passing over me.
The soft mud in the bottom of the brook probably
saved my life. I was pressed deep into the slimy ooze,
and covered from head to foot — a veritable "mud
bath."
I pulled myself out with difficulty, quite badly hurt,
having received a severe bruise on the hip. I did not
think much of it at the time, but it began to hurt badty
afterward, and has bothered me ever since more or less,
particularly in cold and damp weather.
But I was young then, and comparatively tough, and
although I was still stiff and sore, yet I scrambled out,
and scraping off some of the mud with a stick, pro-
ceeded to discover "where I was at."
Just then I heard a moan in the bushes near me, and
a cry for help. I went to the spot and found an officer
lying there with the blood flowing from a wound in the
fleshy part of his leg. A closer inspection discovered,
to my astonishment, that it was none other than Major
Grimes.
"Why, major," said I, "what's the matter? Are
you hurt?"
"Yes," he replied. "I'm shot through the leg, I
guess. Can't you help me to get somewhere?"
The major was a big man, and it was about all I
could do to support him on his feet, but I managed to do
so, and led him back a ways, where there was a fire and
a little yellow flag stuck in the ground. This indicated
the headquarters of some surgical detachment. The
doctors were there engaged in their customary butcher-
ing work. I turned the major over to their tender
mercies.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 390
Perhaps Major Grimes never knew till now who was
the private that led him out of the thickets where he
was shot, on that eventful Saturday evening, May 2,
1863. Major Grimes was not seriously hurt, however.
It was only a flesh wound, and not dangerous, although,
doubtless, painful enough.
I then started out to see if I could find the Thirteenth
Regiment of New Jersey Volunteers. But it was like
finding a needle in a haystack. It was simply a disor-
ganized mob.
It had become dark, and only for the faint lights of
campfires here and there was there any guiding beacon
for the homeless wanderers who were looking for their
respective commands.
In a case like this, the regimental flag is the designat-
ing emblem of the position of the command. I looked
for a long while for the colors of the Thirteenth in vain.
I passed flag after flag, but they were all of some other'
regiment.
Non-commissioned officers were calling out "This
way for the One Hundred and Seventh New York, ' '
"Here is the Twenty -seventh Indiana," "Fall in, Third
Wisconsin," and such cries, which facilitated matters
considerably, and knowing these to be regiments of my
own brigade I felt that I must be getting pretty close
"at home."
And I was. In a few moments more I heard the
welcome cry, "Thirteenth New Jersey," and proceeded
there.
Was this the Thirteenth New Jersey?
There were the well-known colors, sure enough.
And there was Corneil Mersereau, poor fellow, holding
the flag — his last day on earth, for early the next morn'
ing he was killed.
"Hello, Corneil," said I, "how's my boots? All
right?''
"Yes, the boots are all right," he replied. "But you
can have them in the morning. I wouldn't have them
for a gift. My feet are covered with blisters."
t: AJl right," I answered. "I will take them back in
the morning, for my feet seem to have got a rest."
But I never wore those boots again. Mersereau wa*
killed with them on in the morning, as I said before.
400 THE TO UliQ VOLUNTEER.
The Thirteenth New Jersey Volunteers never pre-
sented a more forlorn aspect than they did that night.
When they arrived there were not a hundred men there.
They had all become scattered in the wild rush of the
evening, and had not come together again. But one by
one the boys came straggling in, so that by 9 o'clock
there were three or four hundred of them. The most
of the remainder came back during the night.
Some never came back. What became of them is
not known. Whether they were killed, and buried as
"unknown," or whether they went to some rebel prison
to die the most lingering and horrible of all deaths, is
something that perhaps will never be known. They are
down on the matter of fact army rolls as "missing."
Everything went crosswise that day and night. By
some strange fate we occupied the same breastworks we
had built earlier in the day, and there were the steers'
horns just as we had placed them, looking as ferocious
as ever,
But we were on the other side of the breastworks.
The rebels had got around on the side we had occupied
in the forenoon, and we had got around to their position.
Everything seemed to have been turned topsy-turvy.
That 'rout of the Eleventh corps" was one of the worst
panics the Army of the Potomac ever experienced.
There was no chance for rest that night, however.
We had not been long in that position behind the breast-
works before we were again ordered to move forward.
Scarcely had we started when there began a rattle of
musketry in front of us, and a roar of artillery in the
rear !
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 401
CHAPTER LXXIV.
SHOOTING OUR OWN MEN.
It was right here that General Stonewall Jackson
was killed.
General Jackson was one of the ablest officers on the
Confederate side. His only superior, either in rank or
ability, on the side of the rebels was General Robert E.
Lee.
It seems that General Jackson, flushed with the suc-
cess of his early evening maneuver, which resulted in
the disastrous repulse of the Eleventh corps, undertook to
follow up his advantage.
He ordered General Hill's division to the front, and it
was the firing from these troops that we had just heard.
General Jackson, accompanied by his staff, rode for-
ward to examine the position of things personalty. The
Union pickets, under General Berry's command, heard
him coming and fired.
Jackson fell back toward his own line, but in a differ-
ent place from where he had started. Hill's (Confed-
erate) troops, mistaking Jackson and his staff for the
Union troops, fired upon them, killing and wounding
half the escort, and fatally wounding General Jackson.
So Stonewall Jackson was killed by his own men, and
not by the troops of the Northern army.
Suddenly the firing ceased. The rattle of the
musketry in front and the booming of the cannon in our
rear stopped almost simultaneously, as if from a pre-
concerted signal.
The command of the Thirteenth Regiment had fallen
on Captain Beardsley, the senior line officer, all the
members of the field and staff being either absent or
wounded. I remember how he walked up and down
the line behind us, urging us to be calm and cool, and
advising us to lie close to the ground, We did^iot need
iO% THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
a second admonition of the latter kind. As for myself
I fairly scooped a hole^ in the ground, so that I could
snuggle closer and be out of the way of any stray bul-
lets that might come along.
About midnight, Burney's division of Sickles' corps
made an attack on the enemy. The moon had come out
and it was quite light in the open, although dark
enough in the woods. The ground that we occupied
was composed of alternate open spaces and dense patches
of woods.
The moonlight charge on the enemy aroused them like
a broken hive of angry hornets, and immediately there
came a perfect shower of bullets whistling over our
heads. We lay only a short distance in the rear of the
attacking column.
Then the Union artillery behind us began their can-
nonading of the woods in which the rebels were massed.
In a moment or so there commenced the worst racket
that I had ever heard.
Upon the raised ground, some quarter or half a mile
in our rear, the guns of the artillery were stationed. We
occupied lower ground, but the mouths of the cannon
were pointed right toward us, although of course
with elevated aim. Anybody who knows anything
about it is aware that the most noise and most concus-
sion from the discharge of a cannon is experienced by
those in front of the guns. The noise was simply ter-
rific. A hundred summer thunderstorms combined
could not come anywhere near it.
The murderous shot and shell passed directly over
our heads. In the night the burning fuses left behind a
train of fire like a sky rocket. This made, as it were,
a perfect arch of fire over us. The rebel artillery re-
plied. They accepted the challenge and the long range
duel began.
No pen could describe an artillery duel. It is as if
all the demons of hell were let loose at once. The
shrieking shell, the deafening thunder of the cannons,
the fiery arch over us, the shouts of the men, combined
to make a scene the like of which is indescribable.
Occasionally a shell would prematurely explode in
the air, and the fragments would scatter in every direc-
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 403
tion, a perfect rain of broken iron, dealing death and
destruction where the missiles might fall. Fortunately
none was hurt in our regiment, although there were a
number wounded in this manner in other commands.
Once or twice the shells from the opposite sides col-
lided in midair. They hurst simultaneously with a
terrific crash.
The old soldiers could distinguish the kind of a can-
non from which the shell was fired from the character
of the noise they made while passing through the air.
Some went through with a prolonged shriek. They
were Armstrongs. Others went with a "chew-chew-
chew," like a train of cars. These were the Whit-
worths. Then again there was a peculiar sort of a
shell, such as came from Best's and Hexamer's batter-
ies, that seemed almost human. Their noise could be
best interpreted as:
"Where-is-he — where-is-he — where- is-he!"
And when the shell struck and exploded, some of the
boys would answer :
"There he is!"
For an hour, maybe more, this infernal artillery duel
continued, till we were almost deafened. Startling as
it was at first, the men finally became accustomed to it.
They talked of other things as calmly as if they had
been at home. Many even went to sleep and perhaps
dreamed — perhaps dreamed of their peaceful homes !
It is wonderful how quickly human nature can adapt
itself to circumstances. It is marvelous under what
conditions a soldier can sleep.
After a long while, after the apparent waste of a
good many tons of iron and steel, the duel came to an
end. It did not stop suddenly, but gradually died
down, till, after a desultory explosion now and then,
everything became as quiet as the country, and so far
as any noises were concerned, there was nothing war-
like to be thought of.
This silence was so intense as to he ominous. Old
soldiers do not like anything mysterious. Anything
that they cannot understand they regard with suspicion.
A silence like this, under such circumstances, meant
that something was up.
404 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. . ■ • .
There was !
It must have been along about 2 or 3 o'clock in the
morning when suddenly, from the woods in front of us,
there began the most exciting sort of a racket. There
were yells and cheers and discharges of musketry. The
line of Union troops immediately in front of us had ap-
parently become engaged with the enemy.
A singular thing struck us, however. The yell that
the rebels were indulging in was not the regular ''rebel
yell."
When the Union troops cheered their cry was a suc-
cession of " Hurrahs, " generally repeated three times.
The rebel war-cry was more continuous and unbroken,
a sort of "Hi-yi-yi-yi-yi!"
It was not the rebel "Hi-yi-yi" that came from the
troops in front of us, and which were shooting in our
direction. It was, on the contrary, the regular
"hurrah" of the North!
What could this mean?
"Oh, that's plain enough to understand," said Lieu-
tenant Wells. "The rebels have adopted our hurrah to
deceive us. They are using it as a surprise or a decoy.
It is an old trick of the Johnnies."
We all thought that this was a good explanation, for
there was no doubt entertained that the opposing forces
in our front were those of the enemy.
The fight continued for some little time. We were
just beginning to think it was about time for the Thir-
teenth to take the place of the line actively engaged in
front, when suddenly an unexpected, a startling thing
occurred.
Our side had made a little charge and captured a
number of prisoners. The fighting had been in the
woods, where it was quite dark. Neither side could see
the other. The muskets had been aimed and fired from
the sound rather than at any body of troops, for it was
too dark to distinguish the troops.
But when the prisoners were brought in, and taken
out in the open field where the moonlight was brighter,
a terrible discovery was made.
We had been fighting Union soldiers! We had been
shooting our own men !
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 405
CHAPTER LXXV.
NOW FOR THE GREAT FIGHT.
At this moment General Ruger rode up.
"For God's sake," he shouted, "stop this! Cease
firing ! Send some one out to tell them that these are
our men."
To send some one on this errand was rather danger-
ous work. It was like flying in the face of death to go
forth and inform the opposing army they were making
a mistake.
But there were brave men in those famous daj r s of
the war. Volunteers there were in plenty. These mes-
sengers of peace started on their dangerous journey, and
some of them succeeded, by making a detour, in getting
around to the commander and explaining the fact that
they were fighting their own men.
The shooting stopped, and we advanced and mingled
with the men we had just been trying to kill. Then
the mistake was verified. We men in blue had been
really fighting other men in blue, shooting them down
like dogs.
I don't think anything ever happened during the war
more heartrending. The pdea that we had been shoot-
ing at our own men was something terrible. The feel-
ing we experienced was indescribable.
And there on the ground they lay, brave boys in blue,
some already still in death, some writhing and strug-
gling in their last agony, many grievously wounded.
Shot by their own fellows !
It was horrible !
We had fallen into precisely the same sort of a mis-
take as happened when General Stonewall Jackson was
killed.
Some of the 'Union soldiers further in the advance
40 G TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
had been ordered to change position. In making the
movement they passed to the front of what had previ-
ously been the advance guard. The latter, not being
able to distinguish blue from gray in the dark, naturally
took them to be the enemy.
The Union troops changing position, being thus as-
saulted, of course imagined that the rebels had got in
the rear, and turned upon them. Each thought the
other the enemy, and thus the nocturnal battle began.
The discovery of the terrible mistake nearly threw
the Union soldiers on both sides of the engagement in a
panic. For some time they were completely demoral-
ized. The criticism the officers received for the blunder
was unlimited. It was also unjust, for it could not well
have been avoided. But the men were so indignant at
the occurrence that they were altogether unreasonable.
Under the sad circumstances of the case it was only
natural.
There was a disposition on the part of both officers
and men that this night fighting, when friend could not
be distinguished from foe, ought to be stopped. And it
was stopped. No orders were given, but it appeared
to be a tacit understanding that whatever further fight-
ing there was to be done would be deferred till after
dajdight.
We remained lying on the ground for the remainder
of the night. We hugged our rifles as our bedfellows,
for there was no telling when there might be another
attack from some source. There was not much sleep
after that. The men were all too much excited. The
episodes of the night had been too enervating to permit
of slumber even on the part of the most calloused.
Everybody instinctively knew now that the great
battle was on. Everybody appreciated the fact that the
morrow would be the decisive day. It was felt that the
righting would begin at daylight.
But it did not.
It was as beautiful a morning as the Lord ever made.
It was Sunday — the first Sunday in May. I distinctly
remember what a beautiful morning it was, how all
nature seemed to smile, how peaceful it all appeared.
There was not the first sound of battle anywhere.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 40?
The birds were singing in the branches of the trees, that
were soon to be torn asunder with shrieking shot and
shell. The men were standing or lying around, talking
quietly and wondering what was going to happen next.
In the distance could be heard an occasional bugle call
or some drum signal, and mounted aids and orderlies
galloped about as if delivering orders, but otherwise
everything was remarkably quiet.
Before daylight along came that ominous ration of
fresh beef — so indicative of approaching carnage. We
were being fed for the battle.
"There's a schlaughter-haus somewhere by here
alretty," said John Ick, who had been remarkably
quiet during the past day and night.
"It's quite evident, John," I replied, "for here is
some of the beef that has been slaughtered."
"We vill be schlaughtered dot way our own sellefs, I
tinks so mit," replied John Ick in his broken English.
"We vas goin' to haf some bad fights before much
longer, ain't it?"
"Oh, don't get the blues, John," I said.
Those were the last words I ever addressed to John
Ick. That was the last time I ever heard his voice.
The next time I saw him he was dead.
Even while we were talking there came the sound of
a cannon.
It was but a single shot. A moment later it was an-
swered by another, further down the line. Then another
and another, gradually becoming so distant that it could
scarcely be heard.
Well enough did we know what that meant. It was
the signal !
It was the signal for the great battle to begin.
And thus, on that quiet, beautiful Sunday morning,
May 3, 1863, began the battle of Chancellorsville proper.
Of course all the occurrences of the two preceding days
were a part of the battle. They were the preliminaries.
But now the great conflict itself was to commence.
The battlefield extended from where we were, on the
extreme right at Chancellorsville, to far beyond Freder-
icksburg, sixteen miles or so below.
All along the river we had advanced across to the
408 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
enemy's side and challenged him on his own soil. The
rebels had a clear space of country to fall back upon.
We were backed by the river. We felt that we could
not retreat if we desired. But ,no one thought of re-
treating on the Northern side that day. We expected
to "drive the enemy ignominiously from his lair," as
General Hooker had put it in his famous order only two
days previous.
The Union cannon signals were at once repeated on
the rebel side, summoning that army to battle array.
It sounded like the acceptance of a challenge. Tto
gauntlet which we had thrown down had been picked
up by our antagonists !
Immediately there was a commotion all over. Corps
commanders, surrounded by their staffs, could be seen
galloping from the vicinity of General Hooker's head-
quarters at the old Chancellorsville house to the differ-
ent parts of the field where their commands were
located.
Orderlies and messengers dashed hither and thither.
Flying artillery earned its name by flying to advanta-
geously elevated positions further in the advance.
Great bodies of cavalry galloped off somewhere.
Here and there, in the rear, we could see the staffs
stuck in the ground from the tops of which waved a
yellow flag. Arranged in rows near these ominous yel-
low flags of the surgical and hospital departments, we
could see the ambulances, all in waiting for their hor-
rible freight, for soon their passengers would be dis-
membered and mutilated human beings.
The surgeons took off their coats, rolled up their shirt
sleeves, and placed their glittering array of knives and
saws handy within reach on trays. Attendants super-
intended the placing of splints and bandages and piles
of lint.
They were getting read} r to mend the men soon to be
broken.
I think this affected me more than anything else.
Would I be one of those soon to fall into the surgeon's
hands? Or would some cruel and relentless bullet do
its work so effectively that no surgeon would be needed?
They say that in the navy the worst moment is when
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 409
the sailors sprinkle sand on the decks to absorb the
blood of the men to be killed and wounded, so that the
living will not slip while in the performance of their
grewsome work! In the army, I imagine that the
supreme moment of mental torture is when one con-
templates the systematic preparations of the surgeons,
as just feebly described.
But something else very soon took our attention from
the surgeons and everything else rearward.
A sudden commotion in front of us. A crash !
And the bullets began to whizz past and over us like
hail, literally like hail !
410 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXXVI.
SURROUNDED BY DEATH.
Literally like hail flew the wicked minie bullets
over and around us !
When bullets come along singly, or in twos or threes,
they come with a buzz and a zip, very similar to a big
bumble bee flying past you and striking against a fence
or a barn. But imagine, if you can, the sudden capsiz-
ing of a thousand hives of big bees and the simultane-
ous release of the insects.
The single buzz would become one continuous hum
or whirr. And so became the noise of the thousands of
bullets that now whistled around and above us !
I say "above" because we were just then lying flat
upon the ground, waiting for our turn to become ac-
tively engaged in the battle that was raging in all its
fury. The Second Massachusetts and Third Wisconsin
had been ordered in first. The Thirteenth New Jersey,
Twenty-seventh Indiana and One Hundred and Seventh
New York were waiting there to relieve the first two
mentioned reigments when they should have exhausted
their ammunition or have been driven back or annihi-
liated !
I heard a voice, low, cool, calm, behind me. I turned
my head and saw Captain Beardsley, who, as before
said, was in command of our regiment just then. The
rest of us, officers and men alike, were hugging the
earth for all we were worth, so as to expose as little of
our bodies as possible to the storm of missiles flying
about us. But there stood Captain Beardsley, erect,
courageous, unexcited, as cool and collected as if he
were in the peaceful street of a city, utterly regardless
of the bullets whistling around him, and of the shells
that now and then exploded close by! I was struck
with amazement at such an exhibition of bravery.
r
r TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 41 1
"Keep cool, men," said he, in that calm, low voice of
his, "keep perfectly cool, lie low, and don't get excited.
Be calm. Keep cool now!"
Keep cool ! I couldn't have kept cool to save my life.
I was fairly burning up with the fever of terror and ap-
prehension. My tongue was hard and dry, and I could
hardly have spoken if I had tried. And yet, although
fchus hot, I was shivering, not from cold, of course, but
from very fear.
Some men pretend not to have been afraid in the be-
ginning of a battle. It is my opinion that such men
deliberately lie. I think every man there was fright-
ened. Captain Beardsley was outwardly calm, but he
was as white as a corpse, and I doubt not that he was
fully as terrified as the rest of us, but he was too much
of a man to show it.
I think the inaction of the moment, coupled with the
knowledge that it was "our turn next," was a thousand
times worse than it was for those actively engaged a
hundred yards or so ahead of us. In times of danger
there is nothing like activity to keep the mind from
constantly thinking, dreading, apprehending. Great
calamities are magnified by apprehension, the same as
pleasures are enhanced in the anticipation.
As I turned my head still close to the ground, to look
at Captain Beardsley, a staff officer rode up to the cap-
tain to give him some order. Perhaps it might have
been the order for the Thirteenth to advance! It was
Adjutant-General "Williams, of our division. As he
leaned over the neck of his horse to speak the word to
Captain Beardsley, I saw a terrible sight.
Suddenly the chin and lower jaw of the adjutant-gen-
eral disappeared entirely ! In its place was a mass of
blood, raw flesh and gore ! A piece of shell had come
along and torn away the entire lower portion of his
face. One could not see pieces of shell in their flight,
so rapidly did they go, but the effect could be seen,
which made it seem as mysterious as it was horrifying.
The adjutant-general sat still on his horse for an in-
stant, with the blood gushing from his neck in a great
stream. Then he reeled and felL He soon bled to
death where ho lay.
412 " . THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
I involuntarily shrieked ! A man lying almost a]~*ag-
side of me, a member of Company I (for I was the last
man in Company K's line), raised his head to see what
was the matter.
It was his death ! Even while I looked at him, I saw
a little red spot appear on the side of his forehead, the
head fell back, the man gave a convulsive stretch, and
was dead !
If I had been hugging the ground closely before, I
fairly wallowed in the dirt after that !
From where I lay I could see some distance down the
side of the slope where we were located. The field pre-
sented a scene of devastation. The bodies of horses and
men could be seen lying everywhere. Some were silent
in death; others were writhing in their last agony.
Broken ammunition wagons, dismounted cannons, ac-
couterments, rifles and other debris were scattered all
over the field. A dense smoke hovered over the scene,
giving the atmosphere a lurid glow. Everything
seemed on fire ! Everything appeared to be red — the
color of blood.
I saw a mounted orderly galloping across the field.
Suddenly, as if by magic, the head of the horse flew off!
It literally disappeared ! An exploding shell had de-
capitated the animal while on a gallop.
And yet, strange to relate, that horse actually gave
two more leaps before it fell ! The muscular action of
the gallop had continued two jumps before the nerves
could telegraph the word that the horse had received its
death stroke.
Then the animal fell, in a somersault, throwing the
rider some distance, and apparently stunning him, for I
did not see him move again. Aghast, I turned my
head to the ground !
But only for a minute, for then came the order which
we had been awaiting, yet dreading.
"Fall in, Thirteenth!"
It was Captain Beardsley who spoke, cool and calm
as ever.
"Steady now," he said. "Don't get excited! Keep
cool!"
We were ordered forward, and I thought our time had
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 413
Come. I couldn't conceive how any man could stand erect
in that storm of flying missiles, and live a second.
We arose to our feet and were ordered forward !
I can hardly say that I arose to my feet. I distinctly
remember crouching down as much as possible, so that I
almost crept as we moved forward, perhaps a hundred
feet. Here we were again halted, and every man dropped
prostrate, as if shot, and once more we hugged the
ground.
Here a new danger confronted us. We had before
been just outside the woods. Now were lying a short
distance in the forest. The cannon balls and shells were
crashing through the branches of the trees over our heads,
and there was a continual fall of the limbs as they were
cut off. It did not take long to transform those trees into
telegraph poles, but the rain of the branches while it
lasted was almost as dangerous as the duly recognized
ammunition of the ordnance department. Several of the
men were so severely hurt thereby that they had to be
removed to the rear.
The cannonading by this time had become incessant,
uproarious, deafening ! The bullets were whistling past
us more wickedly than ever. The tree limbs were
dropping among us. There was death staring us in the
face, apparently from every direction.
In our new position we could see the enemy just be-
yond the Second Massachusetts and Third Wisconsin
regiments ahead of us. The union side had slightly
the advantage of the position, for the ground was gently
declining and the rebels were somewhat lower than their
opponents. But the rebels had reached an old stone fence,
which they were utilizing as a breastwork, and this made
chances about even.
As the Confederate host loaded and fired their guns,
they looked like a lot of devils in a war-d;mce. The
upward movement of the arms in manipulating the long,
old-fashioned ramrods, made them look for all the world
as if they were dancing.
We could hear the battle cries of the opposing armies
— the continuous " Hi-yi-yi " of the rebels, and the well-
known three cheers of the union men. These were given
alternately as each side wavered or advanced,
414 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. > ' '
The two battle lines appeared to advance and recede,
like the waves at the seashore, so that it looked at one
moment as if the Confederates were retreating and the
next as if the Union side had been driven back. Each
side would then cheer when it advanced.
There is something inborn in human nature to like a
contest of power. The staidest citizen becomes excited
and interested in a sparring match, a wrestling bout, a
horse race, or any sort of a competition. Even in the
terrible surroundings of that battle, I distinctly remem-
ber the arrival of a new interest in the desperate fight
that was taking place.
It is when this moment arrives that the feeling of
fear over personal safety in a more or less degree leaves
the participant. As for myself I will not say that I
was not still frightened — terribly frightened ; but I felt
the fear not altogether disappearing, but being over-
shadowed by the interest in the contest.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 415
CHAPTER LXXVII.
"load and fire at will."
The excitement of the battle had effected us all to a
great extent, as related in the previous chapter. At the
same time I cannot say that I felt any very intense
desire to get up and rush forward to be an active par-
ticipant.
Not so with William Lambert, one of our Company
K members. He had become more interested and ex-
cited than the rest of us. Suddenly jumping to his feet,
and waving his gun high over his head, he yelled out, in
a voice that could be plainly heard even in that tremen-
dous din :
' ' Come on, boys ! Come on ! They're running ! The
cowardly are running ! Come on ! If you're not
all cowards, come on!"
And with that Lambert rushed ahead and was soon
in the ranks of one of the regiments ahead of us.
In less than two minutes Lambert came back !
This time he did not have his rifle with him. On the
contrary he was carrying something else in one of his
hands ! It was the broken remnants of one of his arms !
It had been struck by something and literally torn to
shreds. A strip of skin and the cloth of his coat sleeve
prevented its falling off altogether, but what there was
left of it was being carried in the other hand. That
was the last of brave William Lambert's fighting. He
went to the rear, had his arm amputated, went to the
hospital, and was discharged when he got well.
I have just told how Lambert was holding his
wounded arm in his well hand as he came back from the
battle line. That was typical of all wounded soldiers.
There is an involuntary and irresistible desire or inclina-
416 THE TO UN a VOLUNTEER.
tion to take hold of the part that is wounded, as if to
carry it, and this habit became so recognized by the
"boys" that they invariably referred to the wounded
member as "the baby." The fact that wounded men
carried their injured hands and arms and heads so care-
fully and tenderly, naturally created the term, "baby."
It was recognized by all of us that we would in a very
short time be precipitated to the very front and become
actively engaged with the enemy. I involuntarily
looked around and glanced at such of my companions as
were near enough to be seen.
Every countenance bore a peculiar expression. Every
face was pale, ashen in its pallor, and yet bore a strik-
ing expression of determination.
It is said that there is no other place in the world
where a man gets that expression. It is known as
"the frenzy of battle."
It seems as if a man under these circumstances con-
centrates all his energies, all his power, mental and
physical, into one thing, and that is to be brave ! He
becomes an animal. His eyes have the same glare you
see in the eyes of dogs as they stand ready to spring at
each others' throats. It is seen in the eyes of a bull in
the fighting ring. It is the glassy expressions of death
without the concomitant of despair. It is the look
that means death — death to one or the other. I
imagine you might see that same expression in the faces
of two men who are about to fight with bowie knives,
"till one or both are dead."
In poetry and history it is called the look of "the
frenzy of battle."
I turned to the man beside me. It was David Harris.
"How do you feel, Davy?" I asked. I found that
my tongue was so hard and dry that I could scarcely
articulate.
"I wish I was feeding the press in the Guardian
office," replied he with a sickly smile — such a smile as
one might expect from a corpse.
I glanced in the direction of John Ick and Eeddy
Mahar. Both were pale, which was an unusual thing
for Mahar, for his complexion was like his name — reddy.
Down on the end of the line I saw Corneil Mersereau,
THE YOUNG VOLUMTBEB. 417
ftiid wondered if my boots hurt his feet as they did mine.
But such a thing as blistered feet didn't worry one at
that moment, I guess.
I noticed John Stansfield and Henry Speer, lying
quietly, saying nothing, pale ; like the rest, and having
a worried expression. On the other side of me lay But-
terworth, my faithful "pard."
"How do you like this, Jack? " I asked him.
"I guess we're done for, Joe," he answered, quietly
and solemnly.
"I think I am going to be one of the first one killed,"
I replied. And I really felt so.
"I would rather be killed outright than wounded like
some of these fellows, ' ' said Butterworth.
And the way some of "these fellows" were wounded
was frightful. There was passing through our line a
perfectly endless stream of reddened, mangled human
beings, shot in every imaginable part of the body.
There seemed to be no end of them. It made me won-
der how it was that there were any of them left at the
front to fight.
Some of our men had been detailed to carry the worst
wounded to the rear. One of these was Jimmy Pest.
As we were talking, Post and another man came along
with a helplessly wounded man in a blanket, which
they were carrying with the ends over their shoulders.
The wounded man sank the blanket down till it looked
like a bag.
"Whom have you got there?" I asked.
"Some poor devil," replied Jimmy. "I don't know
whether he is dead or alive. But I am going to take
him back to the doctor anyhow."
I plainly remember how Jimmy Post looked on that
occasion. He was naturally very ruddy, with a face
covered with freckles; but he was then so pale that it
seemed as if nothing but the freckles could be seen.
Perhaps the terrific noises of the battle prevented one
from hearing little things, and maybe that is the reason
why I failed to hear much from the wounded men. The
soldiers had so nerved themselves up, as it were, that
they were in a condition to stand terrible pain without
complaining. Horribly wounded men made no sign
418 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
whatever of being in agony. Those who were compar-
atively slightly wounded seemed to be actually laugh-
ing. The more seriously hurt perhaps moaned and
groaned, but the outcry then and there was not what
would have been expected.
When a man was shot through the abdomen, it
seemed to be excruciatingly painful, and he would
shriek, as he writhed and rolled on the ground, like a
decapitated chicken. But I am inclined to think that
in other cases the victim was stunned, so that there was
comparatively little pain at the start, and consequently
none of those demonstrations of agony that might be ex-
pected. It is unquestionably the fact that in civil life,
perhaps because it is less expected, an injured person
makes considerably more of a demonstration than does
a soldier in battle.
I don't know how long we remained there in our ad-
vanced position, waiting for our turn to take the places
of those actively engaged in the fight. It might have
been hours, it might have been seconds, so far as our
sensations were concerned, for there was no thought of
time. As a matter of fact it could not have been many
minutes. Then came the long-awaited order:
''Fall in, Thirteenth! Forward, march!"
iWe marched forward, in battle array. The line was
wavering and unsteady, but as good as could have been
expected under the circumstances. As before, I fairly
crouched on the ground as I walked along, as if desir-
ing to present a less surface for a target to be shot at.
It was the very worst possible thing for me to have
done. If a bullet passes through a man (interesting
thing to talk about, isn't it?) while he is standing in a
natural position, the same as through he were lying in
his bed, it makes it the easier for the surgeon to probe
the wound and remove the ball. If he is twisted out of
shape, the course of the bullet is erratic, and to trace the
ball the wounded man would have to put himself in
precisely the same shape he was at the moment he was
wounded, and this of course would be a difficult thing
to do.
But I must confess that I "scrouged" a good deal,
and tried to contract my body into the smallest possible
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 419
compass. And no wonder, for we were getting into the
thick of the fray, and the bullets were whistling past us
more wickedly than ever.
We had, in obedience to orders, removed the bayonets
from our rifles, so that they could be loaded the more
handily, and opened the lids of the boxes containing our
cartridges and percussion caps. We were ready for the
fight.
A strange feeling began to come over me. The feel-
ing of fear was vanishing. As if by magic the strength
appeared to come to my legs again, and they no longer
shook and trembled. I suddenly became utterly oblivi-
ous to personal safety, and I straightened myself up as
stiffly as if I were on dress parade.
For an instant, the briefest sort of an instant, there
flashed through my mind the leading events of my past
life, and they as suddenly disappeared. Everything
was forgotten in the excitement — the fighting excite-
ment of the moment. I was possessed by a sudden and
bloodthirsty desire to kill every gray-backed rebel that
I saw dancing not the distance of a city block in front
of me.
I have often heard old soldiers tell of this feeling.
While all honest men will declare that at the com-
mencement of a battle, or while waiting for their turn
to become engaged, they are frightened out of their five
senses, yet when they actually get into the fight all this
disappears. I never believed it, but it turned out to be
true in my case as in others. Every trace of fear and
apprehension disappeared, and for the time being I was
utterly oblivious to any feeling of danger.
Slowly, steadily we moved forward.
"Don't shoot till you receive the order," said Captain
Beardsley, behind us, in that calm voice of his — a voice
that seemed to inspire us all with confidence and fear-
lessness.
This made me wonder. We were close enough to the
enemy to shoot. We could almost "see the whites of
their eyes," to use a revolutionary simile. Every shot
would perhaps have taken effect, but still the order was
not to shoot till we received the order. A few more ex-
cited soldiers could not restrain themselves and a shot
420 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
was heard here and there, but as a general rule the men
faithfully obeyed their instructions about firing.
The men in our ranks began to fall. I remember
plainly the case of Silas Abbott, who was immediately
beside me. He was shot through the abdomen. He
fell on the ground before me, rolled in the dry leaves of
the forest, twisted and turned, and contorted his con-
vulsed body in a manner that showed he was suffering
exquisite torture. Poor fellow ! He died a few days
later from the effects of that wound.
But it did not seem to affect me very much then and
there. My sensibilities and feelings appeared to have
become blunted. I cared for nothing.
I felt a sting in the calf of my leg, and glancing down
saw the blood coming from the bottom of my trousers.
But it didn't hurt. In fact the only inconvenience was
in having my leg wet, and it was warm. The warmth
of my blood appeared to have no more effect than if it
had been a cup of warm coffee that had been spilled on
the inside of my pantaloons.
I was too much excited to care for that. I had made
up my mind to stick to my place until I was disabled.
Another bullet scraped along my side. I plainly felt
that and it hurt a little, but still I had no intention of
retiring from the field — as some of them perhaps would
have done under the circumstances.
Still the men kept falling around me. And still the
order was repeated not to fire till we had received the
order.
I felt something trickling down my face.
"Joe, are you wounded?" asked little William J.
Post, who stood at my side.
I lifted my cap and brushed my hand over the top of
my head. "When I looked at my hand it was covered
with blood. But I never would have known that I was
hurt had it not been for the blood. There was not the
slightest pain. It turned out only to be a scalp wound.
The reader will perhaps think that the author was
getting peppered pretty well about this time, and it is
the truth. The writer was wounded in six different
places in that battle, and some of the wounds subse-
quently turned out to be quite painful. Two of the
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 421
wounds, however, hurt so little at the start that they
were actually not discovered till the victim had an op-
portunity to undress. That was in the hospital. But
at last the order came to fire.
We were close upon the enemy. "We could almost
distinguish their countenances. Perhaps the distance
was between one and two hundred yards.
Then came Captain Beardsley's order —
"Attention, Thirteenth! Load and fire at willl"
423 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXXVIII.
WOUNDED.
The order to "Load and fire at will!" meant for us
to load and shoot our guns as fast as we could, and
pepper away at the enemy continuously, without fur-
ther orders.
My rifle was already loaded, as were most of the
others, and the first salute the rebels received from the
Thirteenth might appropriately be called a volley. As
soon as possible after firing I looked in the direction of
the enemy, and it seemed to me as if the number was
smaller already ! Of course this might have been mere
imagination.
I continued to load and shoot as fast as I could. I
remember Lieutenant Wells, who was in command of
Company K, and who was stationed immediately behind
me, cried out :
"Don't shoot too high. Aim low. Aim at their
knees and you will hit them."
This was a common order. In the act of aiming and
firing, the pull on the trigger or something else would
raise the muzzle of the gun, so that the bullet would
pass over the heads of the men aimed at. It is esti-
mated that this peculiarity is the reason that such a com-
paratively small number of men were killed in battle.
The bullets aimed at them went over their heads.
But by aiming at the knees of the enemy, the bullet
would go about right to hit them somewhere in the
upper part of the body. Of course there was more or
less lateral variation in the course of the bullets, but
that made less difference, for as the soldiers on the other
side stood in a row, if one of them was not hit, the next
one to him might not escape.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 423
As said, I continued to pepper away. I loaded and
fired my rifle at fast as I could do it. It took some time
to load the old-fashioned muzzle-loading muskets, for
there was the cartridge to tear open with the teeth, and
it had to be rammed down home with the ramrod, tho
percussion cap had to be placed on the nipple, and lots
of other things attended to, taking perhaps altogether a
minute, maybe two minutes, for each shot. How dif-
ferent nowadays with the breech -loading, ready-made
cartridge guns, with which all that is necessary is to
raise and lower a lever.
Phew, but it was hot work! The perspiration
streamed from every pore. The saltpeter in the powder
of the cartridges got into one's mouth, makmg him ter-
ribly thirsty. The men wiped the sweat from their
foreheads with their powder-stained hands, which they
smeared over their faces till they looked like the be-
grimed stokers of an Atlantic liner.
Pretty soon my gun began to get very hot. It was
so hot that I could hardly handle it, and I had to take
hold of the wooden part of the stock under the barrel.
Then it began to expand so that the bullets would hardly
go into the bore. One would naturally think that when
the barrel of a gun expands from the heat, it would
make the hole bigger, but the contrary is the case. The
metal expands on the inside of the bore and makes the
hole smaller. I followed the example of some of the
other fellows and jammed the bullet in by putting the
end of the ramrod against a tree — for be it remembered
we were fighting now in a thick woods.
The fact that the men were falling on all sides of me
seemed to make no difference what happened. All that
possessed me was an ardent desire to do my part in kill-
ing the rebels in front of me, and there is not the slight-
est doubt that some of them were laid low by the bullets
that came from my gun, for I took deliberate aim every
time.
The Thirteenth, and other regiments in the same line
of battle, seemed to waver forward and backward. The
rebels would apparently retreat, when we would ad-
vance. Then the enemy would appear to come nearer
and we would fall back again. And so it went, back
424 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
and forth, so that the effect was to preserve about the
same distance between the two contending sides
throughout.
As the men fell out of the ranks, either from being
killed or wounded, we were ordered to "close in on the
colors." That meant for the line to be closed in and
the gaps filled up as fast as the men fell out. When
the battle began I was somewhere about two hundred
men from the flags. The last that I remember look-
ing at them, there were not over fifteen or twenty men
between where I stood and the colors. That shows the
way the Thirteenth wat being mowed down !
Several times I saw the colors drop as the color bear-
ers were disabled, only to be immediately picked up by
some survivor. Several times the right and left general
guides were felled, and the little flags they carried were
seen to fall, but they immediately reappeared. Once
when the left general guide colors fell they were being
borne by my comrade, Cornelius Mersoreau, the man
who wore my new boots. He was fatally wounded.
The first man I saw hit in Company K was Llew-
ellyn J. T. Probert, who was shot dead. Directly Cor-
poral Henry Speer dropped out. Then in turn followed
Isaac Clark, William Freeland, Alexander Kidd,
Francis More, John J. Nield, William J. Post, James
W. Vanderbeck, Stephen Carlough and others. These
wore only members of Company K. The other com-
panies were suffering equally, if not even worse.
Altogether that morning the Thirteenth Regiment
lost eighteen killed, and eighty-nine wounded, includ-
ing seven commissioned officers.
I had fired perhaps twenty or twenty-five shots, when
suddenly —
"Bing!"
I thought that somebodj^ had hit me in the hand with
a stone. It felt exactly as if it was a blow from a small
stone thrown from the other side of the street.
I did not think much of it, for the moment, but when
I tried to lift my gun to fire another shot, I found that
my hand was disabled, and looking at it, saw that it
was covered with blood.
The little finger was torn to pieces and the side of my
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 425
hand shot away. What was left of the little finger was
pulled over the back of the hand by the tendons. I
could not move a single finger. I was disabled !
I remember carefully leaning my gun against a tree.
That was the last I ever saw of the old rifie that I had
carried so far, that I had so often cleaned and polished,
and that, on the march, at times seemed to weigh at
least a ton.
I turned to leave the ranks, as was the right thing
for a wounded soldier to do, when Lieutenant Wells gave
me a whack on the back with the flat side of his sword.
"Get back into the ranks," he cried. He thought
that I was skulking or had been seized with one of those
panics that frequently attack soldiers under such condi-
tions.
"But I'm wounded, Heber," holding up my bloody
hand.
"Oh, all right then," ho said. "Get back to a doctor
as soon as you can."
Just then Lieutenant Wells raised his sword aloft
with a sort of hurrah, and while I looked I saw that
sword fly from his gi'asp and go spinning through the
air perhaps fifteen or twenty feet. It had been struck
by a bullet or something and knocked out of the lieu-
tenant's hand.
And the same bullet took Wells' first finger along
with the sword.
Heber looked at his hand a moment, went calmly over
and got his sword, and then joined me in the retreat for
the rear, on our mutual search for a surgeon to attend to
our respective hurts.
On going back to the rear we had to pass down the
side of one hill and up another, and as we ascended the
latter we went through what might be termed a verita-
ble shower of lead. Bullets fairly rained around us.
We could see them strike the sod and tear up the dirt,
causing a puff of dust to arise. It seemed even hotter
here than it was in the midst of the battle itself. I
have since thought that it was here that I received one
of those minor wounds which I did not discover till
later, although of course that is only conjecture. At
all events I had no consciousness of being hit by any-
thing at that time.
426 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
We finally got back to a place where we found a yel-
low flag sticking in the ground, which we recognized as
the stand of some field surgeon. Here were a lot of
other wounded men and we had to wait for our turn at
the "slaughter house," a3 John Ick would have called
it had he been there.
While waiting I saw something that I never saw be-
fore nor afterward. It was a vivandiere. She was
rather a pretty girl, only for the fact that she was
tanned and sunburned like a farmer in haying time.
She wore a costume which was very much like the latest
make-up of the female hicj^clists — a sort of zouave dress,
with bloomers and leather leggings.
"Will you have a drink?" she asked; and then I
noticed that she had a little wooden keg hanging at her
waist, and carried a tin cup in her hand.
Would I have a drink? Would a duck swim?
Of course I answered in the affirmative, and she
turned a little spiggot in the end of the keg, and poured
me out a cup full of —
It was brandy, and good braudy at that. Never be-
fore nor afterward did a drink of brandy taste so good.
I didn't ask for any "chaser," for I didn't want any in
the first place and there was none to be had if I wanted
it!
That drink of brandy nerved me up considerably, and
I was ready for almost any sort of a surgical or other
operation.
Heber Wells was by this time having his wound at-
tended to. The doctor was a young fellow, a mere boy,
apparently some medical student. Everything was
pressed into the service in those times that could handle
a carving knife.
I watched the operation on Heber with some trepida-
tion. He winced a little but did not complain.
"Does it hurt much?" I asked, very much interested.
"No," he replied. "It's nothing more than a snip of
the scissors." When Heber got finished up, he bade
me good-by, saying that he would not wait, and the
young doctor turned to me.
"Come, it's your turn," said he.
I held my hand, and he examined it curiously. Then
he stooped down and picked a stout twig.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 427
"Here," said he, "hold this between your teeth."
"What's that for?" I asked.
"Something for you to bite on," he replied coolly.
"This is going to hurt you a little and you don't want
to break your teeth, do you?"
Then he took my hand in one of his hands, and a
blood-stained knife in the other !
428 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXXIX.
"for the love of god, shoot me."
The man who undertook to amputate my finger and
patch up my mangled hand, was a butcher, if there ever
was one in the world. He did not know any more about
surgery than a three year old child. There were so
many wounded men to be attended to there, however,
that they had pressed into the service everybody who
knew enough to handle a penknife, and the fellow who
got hold of me must have been either a medical cadet
or a hostler.
He went at me as if he was going to carve a piece of
mutton chop — perhaps a pork chop might make a more
appropriate simile, eh? He cut and sliced and muti-
lated vc\j hand in the most horrible manner, and when
he got to the bone he produced a pair of nippers similar
to those used by the electricians of the present day to
cut small wires, and with that he nipped off the broken
bones of my finger and hand that protruded from the
flesh.
It was well that ^he had given me the twig to bite
upon, or I should certainly have broken my teeth, for I
chewed that thick stick into mince. The recommenda-
tion to hold that twig between my teeth was about the
only degree of intelligence manifested by that amateur
human butcher.
When he had got through with having all the fun he
wanted out of me, he turned me over to a still less ex-
perienced young man to bandage up the wound, and
that was done in a bundle so large that it looked as if I
had on a big white boxing-glove. I cannot describe
how much that little operation pained me. I did not
make any outward demonstration, but it was all that I
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 429
could do to keep from crying out loud. I took satisfac-
tion out of the stick between my teeth.
While I was there the wounded were being taken
past in a perpetual string, some being carried by the
arms and legs, others on stretchers, and still more being-
supported between two comrades. Among these were
many of the members of the Thirteenth Regiment, and
some of them were terribly wounded.
I remember seeing Adjutant Thomas B. Smith, who
was badly hurt somewhere about the body. Then they
brought along Lieutenant George G. Whitfield, of Com-
pany A, who was horribly wounded on the head. He
was on a stretcher, and his head seemed one mass of
gore, and he writhed around on the stretcher in a way
that made one's blood run cold. Poor fellow, he died a
couple of days later.
Pretty soon I saw some men assisting from the field a
man from Company C, whom I recognized as George H.
Comer. His arm had been so badly wounded that it
had to be cut off. Then I saw many other acquaint-
ances come along, wounded in one way or another.
Among these I remember George Baitzel, Freeborn
Garrison, Charles B. Burris, David Burris, Amzi
Brown, John C. Crawford, Andrew Leise, R. B. Man-
ning, Jacob Mickler, William Parker, Gilbert Smith,
and others. Some of these are still living, but others
have answered their last roll call.
It would be impossible to state the exact loss of the
Thirteenth in killed and wounded at the battle of Chan-
cellorsville. The official number has been given in a
previous chapter, but it is known that it was consider-
ably larger. After every battle there was always a
number put under the head of "Missing," and it was
never known what became of them, and these should
perhaps be placed in the list of killed.
On the other hand some of these that were "missing"
after a battle turned up after many years, with a more
or less accurate account of their doings. There have
been many Enoch Arden cases of this nature.
The "missing" department of the rolls of a regiment
after a battle is one of the most wonderful and mysteri-
ous features of a war.
430 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
After having had my wounded hand dressed I started
to go to the rear. To the rear is a term universally
used as going in the other direction than the front. It
is also always supposed that there is a haven of refuge
and retreat somewhere in the rear, and that is the ob-
jective point of all wounded soldiers. There was a per-
fect procession of more or less severely wounded men
strolling rearward and I joined this parade.
I passed the old Chancellorsville house, which was
General Hooker's headquarters, and was an eye-witness
of the accident that occurred to General Hooker on that
morning. There have been many versions of the man-
ner in which he was wounded, but I can give the facts,
for I was not far distant from him when it happened.
I bad stopped to look at the old fighting general, whom
I recognized, standing on the porch of the ancient hotel,
half-leaning against one of the posts or pillars that held
up the shed over the porch.
The cannon balls and shells were flying around very
lively, and one of them struck the post against which
the general was leaning and broke it into splinters. The
general naturally fell over and appeared to be stunned.
It was reported afterward that he was struck by the
shell, or whatever it was, but this was not the case.
When it was found that there were no external marks
upon him and that he did not appear to be dangerously
hurt, it was reported that he was knocked over by the
concussion from the passage of the shell. But this is
not true either. He simply lost his support and fell over
and was injured by the fall from the porch.
Report has it that the general soon revived after the
application of a dose of good old commissary, and that
it made him feel so good that he took another and
another dose, until pretty soon — but this may be a base
libel. Like Grant, the president perhaps inquired what
sort of whisky he drank, so that he might get some of
the same sort for some of the other generals !
Not far from the Chancellorsville house was an im-
mense barn, which had been turned into a hospital.
My first idea was to repair to this hospital, which I
knew to be such from the large yellow flag floating over
it.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 431
Now in civilized warfare — as if any warfare couid be
called civilized — the hospital flag is presumed to pro-
tect the building or tent from the fire of the enemy. It
is an unwritten law, in the interests of common human-
ity, that hospitals shall be exempt from being shot
at. But imagine my horror to see that the enemy had
trained their guns on this hospital.
It could not have been accidentally done. Shell after
shell poured into the building, almost tearing it to
pieces in the course of a few moments. The wounded
men came streaming out, some helping themselves,
others on stretchers. They were suffering untold
agonies from their wounds, and many of them w r ere
horribly stained with their own blood. As they came
streaming from the hospital, the upper part of which
had taken fire, it presented one of the most horrible
scenes that I ever witnessed, and never before did I feel
so thoroughly mad at the inhumanity of the gunners
who would do such a thing.
But the shells and the bullets came flying still faster
and it was getting too hot for me. I concluded to get
further back, where it was safer.
Just about this time a remarkable revulsion of feel-
ing came over me. From the time I had become actively
engaged in the conflict of the battle, as previously de-
scribed, I had not experienced the slightest emotion of
apprehension or fear. But suddenty I began to be
frightened. In fact I was almost panic-stricken, and
my sole desire was to reach a place of safety. Now
that there was a possibility of saving my life, the desiro
of doing so was all the more intensified. I started to
run at full speed, and for a little distance made good
time, till I began to feel some strange pain in my legs.
Upon the top of a hill I saw what looked like a com-
paratively safe place behind some ammunition wagonr,
caissons and limbers, to which the horses were attached,
as if ready to move on a minute's notice.
Getting down behind these, I pulled off my trousers
and began to examine my nether extremities. I found
my legs streaming with blood, and then found the two
bullet wounds that I had never before suspected. I
must have received these in the midst of the fight a
432 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
little while before, when I was too much excited to
notice "a little thing like that."
While 1 was at this, there was a tremendous crash
and explosion, followed by yells and curses, and a
dense cloud of smoke arose to the skies.
Looking upward, I was amazed to see the air filled
with flying debris, and among the lot I was horrified
to see human beings and horses mixed with the broken
pieces of the wagons and timbers.
Before I could recover my senses there dropped right
alongside me a human being — or what was left of him!
Such a sight! I nearly dropped senseless. It makes
me shudder to this day when thinking of it.
Could it be a human being? Could there be any life
left in that — that thing?
But it was alive ! It spoke !
"For the love of God," it said, "for the love of
God, shoot me! Put me out of my misery!"
THE TOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXXX.
RETREAT FROM CHANCELLORSVILLE.
"If there is any one near me," moaned the poor man,
"if any one can bear me, let him shoot me!"
This the poor wretch repeated time and time again.
His voice was thick and his words could hardly he com-
prehended, but I understood them. And I confess right
here that if I had had a gun or pistol I would have done
as he wished and put him out of his miseiy.
A shell had struck one of the caissons and it had ex-
ploded. That one shot had, as afterward ascertained,
killed sixteen horses and twelve men, beside wounding
nearly as many more. One-half of these had been blown
high into the air, amid a mass of scorching flames from
the exploding powder.
The poor fellow before me had gone up in the midst
of the flame, and the fire had not only burned off every
stitch of clothing, but had roasted his flesh to a crisp.
His hair was gone. His eyes were burned out and his
ears had entirely disappeared. The ends of his fingers
were roasted off to the very bone. Through one of his
knees protruded the end of the bone. Such a sickening
sight was never seen.
And yet the thing was alive, and not only alive, but
conscious, and able to pray that some one might put a
merciful bullet through his heart. I have always re-
gretted that I was not able to answer that prayer. I do
not think it would have been wrong to kill a man under
such circumstances.
What became of that man I don't know. I could not
stand the sight, and ran away as fast as I could, not
even taking time to put on my trousers, which I had
taken off to examine my own wounds. With these
434 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
hanging over my arm I scurried down the other side of
the hill as fast as my legs would carry me, and when I
got to a safe place I redressed myself. It was many a
day before I got the horrible sight from my eyes.
Once more I joined the procession of wounded men,
and pretty soon came to the river again and crossed on
a pontoon bridge.
An army was moving in opposite directions. One
was the army of wounded men with which I was mov-
ing. The other was composed of the fresh troops that
were going forward to relieve those actively engaged in
lighting.
Right glad was I that I was going the way I was in-
stead of in the opposite direction. And when I thought
of the difference I began to feel exhilarated and joyous.
Gradually a sense of the situation came over me, and
it grew stronger and stronger as I walked along.
I began to appreciate what a glorious thing it would
be to see my name in the papers among the list of
wounded. Here was unanswerable proof that I had
been actively engaged in a battle. For a time at least
there would be no more fighting for me. Only an old
soldier can appreciate what that sensation means.
Perhaps — and the idea struck me like a flash — per-
haps I might get a furlough to go home. A furlough !
Could it be possible?
Would I again see Paterson? Was it possible that I
might go home with my arm in a sling, bearing the
honorable wounds of a soldier who had bravely done
his duty?
These sensations are the ecstacy of a soldier's happi-
ness, and then I experienced them for the first time.
What were all the hardships and terrors I had gone
through now? They all sank into insignificance. All
that I knew was that there was a chance of my seeing
home once more, and that for a time I would go into
civilization and be free!
Free! Yes, that is the word. Service in the army
is a sort of slavery in one sense, a nightmare, an ever-
present sense of not being your own master. And the
feeling that one may be exempt from this slavery, this
trammel, or whatever it may be called, is a pleasure
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 435
that can only be comprehended, by those who have gone
through it.
I had a long walk that day, and it was a tiresome
walk for me, for the wounds in my legs pained and
weakened me. But the mental sensations of getting
away from the active and horrible front, kept me going
and gave me strength.
Somehow or other it got out that the wounded soldiers
were to repair to Aquia creek, where the general field
hospitals were located. How far was Aquia creek?
"About ten miles," was the answer. Ten miles — in
Virginia ! We knew what that meant, and made up
our minds that it was at least twenty.
But what is twenty miles to a soldier, especialty when
not hampered with the weight of a heavy musket and
knapsack and accouterments? It was nothing. As a
matter of fact, however, it was not twenty miles. Six-
teen was nearer it.
While we were walking along one side of the river,
we could see the rising smoke and hear the rattling
musketry and booming cannon on the other side of the
river all the way from Chancellorsville to Fredericks-
burg and below.
I reached Aquia creek somewhere about dusk, and
reporting to an officer was assigned to a straw bed on
the ground in an immense hospital tent. The condi-
tions were not very favorable for sleeping, for the tent,
as well as many others like it scattered around, was
filled with wounded men. The wounds, at first com-
paratively painless, had by this time begun to inflame,
and the men were growing restless under the agony.
There was a perfect chorus of moans and groans, pray-
ers and curses.
But I was too fatigued from the day's excitement to
stay awake and soon fell sound asleep. During the
night some time I was awakened by the water running
through the straw on which I lay. I listened and heard
the rain pattering on the outside of the tent and the
wind was blowing the canvass in a way that threatened
to turn the whole hospital upside down.
A terrible rainstorm had come up during the night.
It is a singular thing that a heavy rain always fol-
436 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
lows a big battle. It is supposed to be the result of the
cannonading. It is upon this theory that the "rain-
makers" recently made such an ado. I haven't the
slightest doubt that if as much powder were spent in
these scientific tests as there is consumed in a big battle,
there would be a heavy rain afterward. At all events
I think that history will prove that there never yet was
a heavy battle that was not followed by a big rain-
storm.
That rain-storm, by the way, was one of the causes of
the failure of the Union troops at Chancellorsville.
General Hooker, in his braggadocio order, had said in
effect that he had got the enemy in such a position that
even the Almighty could not save them. That was
where he made a mistake. He had arranged the details
for the battle all right and all had been done that
human skill could do. But the very power that Gen-
eral Hooker had derided frustrated the whole scheme,
and turned into a defeat what might, but for the storm
that heaven brought up, have been a glorious victory.
After I had been wounded the Thirteenth Regiment
remained in the fighting line till their ammunition was
completely exhausted. The regiment was frightfully
reduced in numbers, but the men did their duty nobly,
and made a name for themselves that gained for them
the soubriquet of "The Fighting Thirteenth!"
In falling back to a position near the Chancellors-
ville house a number of them were wounded by the
storm of shells and bullets through which I had passed,
as previously described. The fighting continued all
day, but although the Thirteenth was moved hither and
thither, it did not again become actively engaged.
The battle was continued on the following morning
in a desultory sort of a way, but pretty soon the rain
began to interfere with the operations. The roads and
fields became so deep with mud that the artillery and
ammunition wagons could not be moved, and the river
began to rise so rapidly that the current threatened to
wash away the pontoon bridges. It was impossible to
bring to the front any more ammunition or provisions,
and a further delay might prevent the retreat of the
troops to the other side of the river.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 437
So, instead of following up the battle, the army had
to retreat to the other side of the river to escape being
hemmed in and cut up completely. This left the field
in the possession of the enemy practically, although
they were also cut up too badly to make any effort to
follow us. The Northern army was in decidedly the
best condition, and it was one of the greatest mishaps
of the war that they were not in a position to follow up
the enemy and annihilate them then and there, as might
unquestionably have been done, but for the interference
of the great storm.
As it was, the entire army was ordered back to the
same camps they had occupied before starting out for the
Chancellorsville campaign.
How different was that backward march from the
one to the front only a few days before ! The roads
were heavy with mud. The rain came down in tor-
rents, dampening both the bodies and spirits of the men.
There were sorrowful hearts in the ranks as the com-
rades looked around and failed to see their former com-
panions. No oue knew the fate of his comrades, of
course.
What had become of this one and that one, was the
question that none could answer. They were last seen
at this place or that place. Some remembered seeing
some shot, but whether wounded or killed, no one could
tell. To all intents and purposes all the absentees were
killed. It took days before the real fate of the missing-
could be ascertained, and never was the fate of some of
them discovered.
With thinned ranks, downcast, tired out, discour-
aged, what was left of the Thirteenth Regiment of New
Jersey Volunteers filed into the same old camp they had
occupied at Stafford Court House, and took possession
of the same old log huts.
Those who participated in that return said afterward
that it felt like coming home from a funeral. My faith-
ful "pard," John Butterworth, had the whole bunk to
himself, for I lay under that rain-soaked tent at Aquia
creek and the report was in the regiment that I had
been killed.
438 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Indeed the first papers after the battle had my name
among the list of the dead, and every once in a while
when I feel in a peculiarly cheerful mood, and want
something to amuse me, I get out the old files and read
my own obituary !
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 439
CHAPTER LXXXI.
HOSPITAL SCENES.
The time I lay in the rain-soaked hospital tent at
Aquia creek was about as tough an experience as I had
yet passed through. It was impossible to go out with-
out getting wet to the skin, while the inside of the tent
was cold and damp, and it was so filled with wounded
men that there was hardly room to get around.
The best thing that we could do under these circum-
stances was to remain in bed, and that is just what the
most of us did. When I say "bed" of course I mean
nothing more than the pile of straw on the wet ground
upon which we lay.
The wounded men lay in a row along each side of the
tent, leaving a sort of aisle in the middle through which
the surgeons and attendants could pass. The wounds
began to become very painful as the time passed, and
the groans and moans of the poor victims were unceas-
ing day and night. Every once in a while the doctors
would have to amputate a leg or an arm or perform
some other surgical operation in one end of the tent, and
that added to our mental torture. Although wounded
and feverish, the fare that we received was little better
than the regular army rations out in the field, and tak-
ing it altogether it was a fearfully uncomfortable and
painful experience.
After about three days, however, on a cold and damp
night, although the rain had stopped, word was passed
through the tent that a number of us were to be trans-
ferred to Washington, and I happened to be one of the
men thus favored.
We were taken down to the dock and placed on board
a steamboat. We were laid on the bare deck of the
4i0 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
steamer, as closely together as we could lie, but it was
a dry place, compared with the tent, although very
draughty. Pretty soon the throbbing of the engines of
the steamboat commenced. It was welcome music to
my ears. It was the first sound of civilization. It was
so different from the taps of the drum, the blast of the
bugle, the rattle of musketry and the boom of cannon,
that it sounded like veritable music, and it soon lulled
me into a sound slumber.
I never awoke till morning. When I opened my eyes,
the sun streamed into the windows at the side of the
boat, and at a distance I could see some buildings.
Getting up to take a more careful observation my eyes
were delighted by the familiar sight of the unfinished
dome of the National Capitol, and the half-completed
shaft of the Washington monument.
I was again in Washington.
We were removed to the various hospitals that had
been built at the capital. These were simply rough
barracks built in wings, but commodious enough to ac-
commodate many thousand wounded men. And from
the way the wounded men were being taken into them
it seemed that it would not take long to fill them all up.
Wounded men arrived by the hundreds, by boat and by
cars, and then for the first time we begam to appreciate
the vast number of soldiers that had been mutilated in
the battle of Chancellorsville.
I was taken to the Lincoln hospital. There was a
good deal of red tape in the army at all times, and it
even extended to the operation of assigning wounded
men to the different hospitals. I remember that it was
late in the afternoon that I arrived at Lincoln Hospital,
and it was night before I had been assigned to my par-
ticular ward and cot.
My name and regiment and the address of my friends
at home were Avritten on a piece of paper and stuck at
the head of my cot on the wall. This was done in the
case of all the men, and was of course for the purpose of
identification in case anything happened that rendered
it necessary to send word home or make a report to the
regiment.
A sister of charity, God bless her! — a mere girl at
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 441
that, who would have been very pretty had she taken
off her big white bonnet and fixed up her hair a little,
came to me and calmly told me that she thought I had
better go to bed. I am inclined to think that if my face
was not too dirty to show it at the time, I actually
blushed a little as I politely told her I would retire if
she could manage to hide herself for a few moments.
Smilingly she disappeared.
I proceeded to undress. Then it struck me that this
was the first time that I undressed to go to bed since I
enlisted. To tell the truth I felt rather ashamed. A
soldier in the field never thinks of takiug off all his
clothing to go to bed, and there was a freedom or loose-
ness about it, if you please, that felt very odd. When
I opened the bed and saw the clean, white sheets, it
seemed a sacrilege to muss them up.
But I hastened into the cot and pulled the clothes up
around my chin, and oh! how comfortable it did feel!
It was the first time in about nine months that I had
been undressed and in bed, and the sensation seemed to
be as strange as if it were the first time I had ever done
it in my life.
Pretty soon the sister came along with a glass of
something and told me to drink it. It was eggnog !
Yum-yum-yum-yum ! Did ever anything taste so good?
It was nectar fit for the gods. I kept my lips glued to
the edge of the glass as long as there was a drop of the
precious stuff left. Then I felt as if I would like to
swallow the glass.
The sister told me to go to sleep, and I think I obeyed
this instruction in a few moments, for pretty soon the
warmth of the liquor in tho punch began to flow through
my veins and I think that I never before nor" since felt
so supremely happy or comfortable.
Some time during the night I was awakened by a
racket. The ward in which I was located contained a
number of severely wounded men. The racket was
caused by the efforts of the attendant to quiet a poor
fellow who had become delirious. He had had both
legs amputated just above the knees, and in his delir-
ium had arisen from his cot and was trying to walk
down the aisle on his mutilated stumps ! The effort tore
the bandages off and the blood flowed on the floor.
442 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
"Get that man quieted at once," exclaimed one of
the surgeons, who had hastened out of his office to see
what was the matter. "If you don't act quickly he
will bleed to death."
"You're a liar," was the surprising answer from the
wounded man. "You're a liar! You can't kill Jim
Murphy. There isn't a rebel in the country that
could kill Jim Murphy.**
"But you'll bleed to death if you don't remain quiet
and let these nurses attend to your bandages," said the
surgeon.
"No, I'll be ■ if I do," replied the wounded man.
"I don't intend to die, and ye can't kill me. Jim Mur-
phy's too tough for ye all!"
They got the plucky fellow back into his cot and tied
him in, much to his disgust. There were other rackets
in progress down the ward, for the wounds had begun
to make the men feverish generally. I will only refer
to one case as a contrast with that of "Jim Murphy."
It was a fellow who had been shot through the thigh,
and although it was a painful injury it was by no means
dangerous. But the man was frightened half to death
and had made up his mind to die anyway.
"I tell you, doctor," said he, plaintively, "I am go-
ing to die. I will never get over this. I have received
a mortal wound."
"Oh, nonsense," replied the doctor. "You are not
fatally hurt hj any means. You are not half as badly
wounded as this fellow with both legs off, and he says
that they can't kill him."
"No, you spalpeen," replied the legless man, "they
can't kill me. Don't ye be a baby. Brace up and
don't die to satisfy the spalpeens."
But this did not pacify the other. The trivially
wounded man lost his heart and made up his mind
that he was going to die, and he did. He died that
very night, and the doctors said that it was not from the
wound at all, but from the fact that the fellow had lost
his nerve and given up, and all the doctors on the face
of the earth could not save a man under such circum-
stances.
The legless man, true to his word, kept up his pluck
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 443
and got well, and for all that I know he is living yet.
Possibly he may be one of those who are scuffling along
on the New York sidewalks, picking up a handsome
living from charitably disposed people.
I simply relate this instance to illustrate a matter
that had many parallels during the war. A grievously
wounded man would invariably recover if he kept up
his pluck and his nerve, while many a man, whose
wounds should not have caused his death, died, simply
because he gave up. The influence of the mind over
the body was never more strongly shown than in such
cases as these, and there is not an old army surgeon
who could not relate hundreds of similar instances.
In a day or so my wound began to pain me fearfully,
and swelled bigger and bigger till it became as large as
my head. I grew feverish and somewhat delirious.
The gentle sister who waited on me brought me many
milk punches and cup custards, and if she had been my
blood sister she could not have manifested greater solic-
itude for my welfare. My swollen hand was placed in
an oil-silk bag and filled with ice, so that it was prac-
tically frozen.
But no use. Gangrene had set in, and old soldiers
know what that means. One morning the doctor came
to me and after examining my hand, shook his head
and gravely remarked :
"It's no use, my boy; that hand has got to come off,
if you want to live. ' '
If the surgeon had given me a blow on the head with
a sledgehammer I could not have received a greater
shock.
444 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
CHAPTER LXXXII.
A SISTER OF CHARITY.
When the surgeon told me that he would have to cut
off my hand to save my life, it was, as stated, a terrible
shock. I had lain there and suffered, with my swollen
arm incased in ice, frozen stiff and strapped to a chair
beside my cot, and suffered untold tortures, but had not
made a murmur. But the mental suffering occasioned
by the startling information that I would have to go
through the world for the rest of my life with only one
haud, was a thousand times worse than anything that I
had yet experienced.
As soon as I could recover my voice, I asked :
"Is there no hope of saving it, doctor? The loss of
that hand would ruin me. It would make it impossi-
ble for me to ever work again at my trade."
"What is your trade?" he asked.
"A printer."
"Hump! That's bad. I'll see what can be done
about it this afternoon."
"This afternoon?" I asked. It seemed a dreadfully
short notice.
"Yes, my boy," answered the surgeon, kindly;
"whatever is done must be done without further delay. "
I shuddered at the idea of having my hand ampu-
tated, even though it was the left hand. I reflected
how I would look going through life with one hand.
How would I ever earn my living? I couldn't hold a
composing stick and set type with one hand. Then I
suddenly remembered my fiddle. How could I play
the violin with one hand — and that instrument was one
of the jo3 r s of my life. I am not saying how much joy
it must have been to those who were compelled to listen
to my practicing !
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. US
Then the good sister came along with another milk
punch. It was a dandy. I imagined it must have been
three-quarters brandy. In a few moments I felt so
good that I didn't care if they cut off both hands and
threw in one leg for good measure ! I was soon sleep-
ing the sleep of the just and virtuous, as soundly as if
I had been given a dose of knock-out drops.
Some time during the afternoon I was awakened by
the surgeon's assistant, who had come to take me to the
operating-room at the end of the ward. Now the sur-
geons in the hospital in war times were no prohibition-
ists. They believed in the efficacy of good old whisky.
And that it served a good purpose there can be no ques-
tion.
The first thing the doctor did, therefore, was to pour
out for me a regular old-fashioned bumper of Bourbon,
a brimming glassful that would have made Weary
Waggles' eyes glisten with joy. I swallowed it, and
sent a chaser after it, and in a few moments felt as if I
didn't care for all the surgeons' knives in the world.
The surgeon, and by the way he was a Dr. Brown, of
Carlisle, i onnsylvania, and as expert a surgeon as ever
lived, besides being a kind-hearted and humane gentle-
man, unwrapped the bandages off my swollen hand and
arm and critically examined the wound.
"What do you think of it, doctor?" I asked, some-
what nervously.
"I may save the hand yet," replied the surgeon. "I
can't tell, however, till I cut into it a little to see how
far the gangrene has extended."
"Try and save it if you can," said I, mournfully. I
had a terrible dread of losing the hand. Perhaps in the
first excitement of the battle I would not have thought
so much about it, but now that I had time to refect
it was different. And I had had an opportunity to
notice the crippled and helpless condition of the other
fellows who had been forced to part with that very neces-
sary part of the human anatomy.
"Better try a little more of this, my boy," said the
doctor, pouring me out another generous bumper of the \
whisky.
It struck me that the surgeon was determined _that I
446 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
should get gloriously drunk. But I didn't care. If
there ever was a time when I felt like getting a first-
class jag, as it is called nowadays, it was just then and
there. This, however, was not Dr. Brown's intention,
as I discovered afterward. My system was run down,
and it was necessary that I should be stimulated to go
through with the operation.
I was strapped on the top of the operating table. The
good sister stood at my side, holding a basin of water
and a sponge. The surgeon's assistant got a sponge
saturated with chloroform. It was the first time I had
ever taken an anaesthetic.
A smothering sensation ! A brief struggle for air. A
feeling that I was going up, up, up ! . . .
The next moment — so it seemed — I found myself in
the grasp of three men. The table was upset, the sis-
ter, picking herself up from the floor with her face cov-
ered with blood and her usually white and spotless
bonnet crumpled out of shape, and I struggling there
with my wounded hand a mass of blood and gore, with
the bandage knocked off.
I was completely bewildered. And what struck me
the more strangely was the fact that everybody was
laughing. Even the sister was smiling as she picked
herself up from the floor. Dr. Brown said it was the
"liveliest time he had since the war began."
It must have been, judging from my appearance and
the looks of things about me !
It seems that the combined effects of the whisky and
the chloroform had been too rich for my blood. As ex-
plained afterward to me, after the operation had been
performed, and I was reviving from the effects of the
anaesthetic, I had become delirious, and the first thing
I had done had been to knock down the sister of charity
with a blow of my wounded fist. This had torn off the
bandages. The upsetting of the things in the little
operating room was caused by the struggle the doctor
and his attendants had in subduing me.
I knew nothing of what had occurred, of course.
When I looked at my hand and saw that it was there
yet, I imagined that the operation had not yet been com-
menced, and asked the doctor what was the matter that
it had not been done?
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 447
"It's done," replied Dr. Brown. "The operation is
finished "
"But the hand's still there?" I asked, glancing at the
bloody looking object.
"Yes," replied he. "I think we can save it. It is
not so bad as we supposed. You will find that it is
narrower than it was. I took out the bone on the side,
below the base of the little finger, and got the end of
the gangrene. You will be all right yet. Your hand
will be saved."
"Thank God!" I exclaimed, fervently and thank-
fully. "Doctor, I'll never forget you for this."
"But you will have to have it fixed over again," said
he. "You have knocked it all to pieces. The stitches
have come out and I will have to sew it over again. Do
you think you can stand that, or will I give you another
dose of chloroform?"
"Oh, I can stand that, I guess," I replied. "No
more chloroform for me, if you please. I think too
much of the sister here to run the risk again. ' '
The sister smiled. "Oh, that was nothing," she said
pleasantly.
So the doctor proceeded to "sew me up." There
were only three or four stitches, but fury ! didn't it hurt !
Those who have undergone surgical operations all agree
that the most painful part of it is the sticking through
of the needle and drawing through the silken thread.
It is the most sensitive part of the body, the skin. But
I got through with it all right.
Then I began to have an atrocious headache, and felt
like completely collapsing. The doctor's suggestion
that I take another drink of whisky almost made me
gag. "No," I replied; "one drunk a day is enough for
me."
I was put to bed, and pretty soon had a raging fever.
For two days and night I lay there on the cot, not
caring whether I lived or died. The afterclaps of the
operation were worse than the operation itself, a
thousand times.
But youth and health will triumph pretty quickly
with a boy of nineteen years, and I rapidly came to my-
self again. Then I realized the inestimable service the
448 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
good sister had rendered while I lay so low. She had
sat by the side of my cot day and night and attended to
my every want and desire. And anybody who has sat
by a sick bed appreciates what that means.
When I got better the sister did not keep around me
as much as while I was dangerously feverish. But she
came now and then, with a glass of eggnog or a cup
custard or some other dainty, such as they give conva-
lescents. One night she came through the ward about
10 o'clock. She was on her last errand before retiring,
and seeing me awake, stopped, took a seat at the side of
the cot, and softly asked me how I felt?
The ward was very quiet. Everybody seemed to be
asleep ; with the exception of the lonely and half -asleep
guard at the end of the room, there was no one there
but the sister.
Now I had just about fallen half in love with that
sister! And who would wonder? She was the first
woman I had spoken to in months. She had treated
me like a mother, and her kindness had been ceaseless.
I felt more than grateful. I felt affectionate, as one
would to his affianced. And as yet not a word had
passed between us that was not strictly professional, so
to speak. This time I decided to go a little further.
"I am glad that you have stopped here to-night,"
said I.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you have been very kind to me, and I don't
know how to thank you."
"It is my duty to be kind to these poor fellows," she
replied.
"Yes, but I have been watching pretty closely, and I
imagine that you have been specially kind to me."
The sister dropped her eyes — and blushed.
Now for a sister of charity to drop her ej T es and blush
is something out of the usual run. Generalby they are
as implacable and emotionless as marble. They are
trained to be so. But here was an exception. I felt
encouraged at the sign and proceeded.
"Sister," said I, "will you do me a favor?"
"What is it?" she asked, looking at me wonder-
ingly.
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 449
"Will — will you please take off your big white bon-
net?"
She blushed again.
"I can't do that," she said gently; "it's against the
rules."
' ' Oh, never mind the rules, ' ' I said. ' ' Take it off, and
do me that little favor, won't you, please?"
"I— I "
"Oh, please do."
She glanced about nervously, hesitated a moment,
and then, with her face crimson with color, unfastened
the broad white strings under her chin, and with a
graceful movement threw back her bonnet.
In doing this it got caught in her hair somehow, and
down to her very waist tumbled a luxurious mass of
wavy brown tresses. I looked up and saw a vision of
perfect loveliness !
450 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER,
CHAPTER LXXXIII.
"crushed again."
"There's many a noble heart under a ragged coat,"
and there is doubtless many a handsome face mas-
queraded by an exaggerated and distorted white bonnet
worn by a sister of charity, but never did I expect to
find such an object of beauty in the little sister who
now stood before me in all her loveliness.
To be sure, I had become acquainted with her gentle
manner, her soft touch and her soothing voice, but I
had all along imagined that she was naturally as
homely as she looked in her solemn garb. Sisters of
charity all look alike, owing to their peculiar dress,
which seems specially designed to make them seem un-
attractive, but in this instance at least I discovered that
there was beauty behind the plain exterior, and ever
since when I have met one of them attired in the homely
garb of the order I have involuntarily wondered how
the sister would look if she were attired in ordinary
costume.
Inasmuch as beauty is the pride of woman, what a
sacrifice it must be for them to thus bury their charms
and devote their lives to the mission of benevolence and
the alleviation of human suffering! When one consid-
ers these things he must have a still higher regard for
the self-sacrificing spirit of those who throw aside the
pleasures of the world and devote themselves to an ex-
istence of slavery to good work, as it were.
When I saw the sister standing beside me that night
in all her loveliness, with her flushed face, and her
thick tresses hanging down her back, I was speechless
with amazement. Embarrassed, she proceeded to read-
just her hair, and as she did so her sleeves slipped back
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 451
to her elbows, displaying an arm that would have set a
sculptor wild with enthusiasm. I quickly put out my
hand to stop her.
"Don't put it up, please," said I. "Let your hair
remain as it is."
"But I must not," she said. "It is against the rules.
But," she added coyly, "why do you ask that?"
"If you knew the difference it makes," said I, "if
you appreciated how beautiful "
"Sh," she interrupted. "You must not talk that
way. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"But I'm not," I replied. "A young man who
wouldn't admire you as you look now, ought to be
ashamed of himself. But no one could help it, I guess. ' '
"Sh, you mustn't," she repeated. But I noticed
that she was not in a particular hurry to put up her hair
again. She dallied in the operation. She was a woman,
if she was a sister of charity.
"What is your name, sister?" I asked her.
"Sister Felicia. You know that."
"Yes, I know that. But what is your real name?"
"It would not be right for me to tell that."
"Oh, it wouldn't do any harm." I insisted. I reached
out and took her hand. She did not withdraw it. I
was making good progress, and my heart went pitty-
pat. I had fallen in love with the sister !
"My right name — is — I don't suppose it will do any
harm to tell, although it is against the rules — my right
name is Nellie Carleton."
"Where do you iive?" I asked her.
"I shouldn't answer that, but I will tell you that my
home is in Philadelphia."
"Philadelphia, eh? That's where the soldiers are al-
ways so nicely treated. It is the city of Brotherly
Love.
"Tell me," I continued, "what made you, such an at-
tractive girl, perhaps surrounded with everything to
make life enjoyable, lay aside your toilets and dresses
of civil life, to" put on that homely gown and devote
yourself for life to such work as this? It does not seem
natural."
"Excuse me," she answered. "I haven't devoteq
452 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
my life to this, by any means. I am not a regular sis-
ter of charity. I have not taken the veil. I can leave
and return home at any time I desire. I only volun-
teered, with some other girls, because the government
wanted nurses. The men are doing their duty, and I
thought it only right that the women should do their
part, in the best manner possible, and I could not see
any better way than to assist in alleviating the suffer-
ing of the sick and wounded. ' '
"And then you are going back home when your serv-
ices are no longer required?"
"Certainly. My father is a rich man, and my mother
is not in good health, and I will return as soon as pos-
sible to look after my little sisters."
"Are they all as pretty as "
"Sh," she interrupted. "No more flattery, please."
"I can't help that, but if you do not like it, I will
stop."
To tell the truth she did not look as if she really
wanted me to stop. She was a woman !
"Nellie," said I, but she promptly interrupted me:
"Sister, if you please."
"Well, then, sister," I said, smiling, "why have you
been so kind to me since I have been here?"
"I have tried to be kind to all these poor fellows,"
she replied.
"Yes, but I have noticed carefully, and I think you
have been specially kind to me."
She blushed deeply.
"Havel?" she asked quietly.
"Yes, you have. You know you have been." She
seemed embarrassed considerably at this.
"I don't know that— that "
"It makes no difference," I insisted. "You have
been specially kind to me and you have made me feel
very kind — I trust you will forgive me for saying it,
but I think you have been almost affectionate in your
treatment and kindness."
Her face turned crimson, and she proceeded to put up
her hair and did not stop till she had pinned it up,
and took up her ugly bonnet as if to put it on.
"Don't put that horrible headgear on just yet," I
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 453
said, taking her hand again. "I want to talk a little
more with you. ' '
"Then don't talk any more nonsense, or I will go
away," she said coquettishly, just as any girl would
have done. She was a woman !
I talked of various things, about her present life and
the terrible strain it must be on a girl accustomed to
ease and luxury, and complimented her on her noble
conduct in giving her services to the good work in the
manner she was doing, and all that. This seemed to
please her and to re-establish the friendly relations be-
tween us. Finally I got back on the old strain again.
"Nellie," said I, once more — and this time she did
not interrupt, to my great joy — "Nellie, why have you
been specially kind and attentive to me?"
"Because — because — " she stammered hesitatingly.
"Well, 'because why?' " I asked her.
"Because — because I was attracted somehow to you
the first time I saw you. ' '
No girl could have made this winsome remark in a
prettier way. I thought that every nerve in mj body
was afire with ecstasy. I was surely in love with her.
I felt that she must have a warm feeling toward me,
"Why, Nellie, why did you feel that way?" I asked
her, giving her hand a little — just a little squeeze.
"I have a brother in the army somewhere," she said.
A brother! What the dickens did I care if she had a
dozen brothers in the army? What had that to do with
me?
"Well?" said I, hardly knowing what was coming,
and yet involuntarily suspicious.
"And," she continued, "my brother bears a remark-
able likeness to you. When I first saw you I thought
it was he, and my heart went into my throat."
"And when you found your mistake, you took me for
a substitute, I suppose?"
"Hardly that," she replied blushingly. "But I
thought perhaps my brother might some time be in the
same situation as you are, and I hoped that some other
sister would be kind to him. I treated you as I wished
my brother to be treated should he be wounded."
"And I suppose when you saw a fellow that looked
454 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
like your brother you thought you would be specially
kind to him?"
"Yes, that's it."
"You love your brother, don't you, Nellie?"
"Why, of course I do."
"And do you think you could love the fellow who
looks like your brother?"
"Sir!" she exclaimed, pulling her hand from mine
and drawing back.
"Well, I said it," said I, "and I repeat it. Do you
think you could love me?"
"What do you mean, sir, by such talk as that?"
I immediately saw that I had put my foot in it — both
feet, in fact! But I wasn't the fellow to back down in
the face of the enemy — particularly if the enemy be one
of the prettiest girls the Lord ever made.
"There's no use beating about the bush," I said. "I
have said what I mean and I will stick to it. You
know that I love you, and I pimply wanted to know if
you loved me. It was only a perfectly natural question
to ask, after what we have said,"
"I have made a mistake, " she replied, half -sorrow-
fully, I thought. "I have let this interview go entirely
too far. You have misconstrued all I have said and
done."
"Then you do not care for me, after all?"
"Care for you!" she exclaimed, and here she was
more womanlike than ever. "Why, you are the big-
gest fool I ever saw. Care for you? Of course not! I
only thought I saw a resemblance to my brother, and
that made me feel like taking special care of you while
you were too feeble to take care of yourself."
"Then what you did was not for me, but for your
brother?" I asked lugubriously.
"That's it exactly," she replied. "Good -evening!"
Crushed again !
As I caught the last glimpse of the pretty sister's gray
skirt as it swished around the screen at the end of the
ward, I was conscious of three separate and distinct
sensations.
One was a sense of intense disappointment — a sense
of having lost something on which I had fondly set my
heart.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 455
Th9 next sensation was that I had made a great mis-
take — that I had been making a fool of myself. I had
been entirely too precipitous. A girl's heart isn't; cap-
tured in such a sudden manner as that. But I was
young and inexperienced then ! I learned more about
' ' woman and her ways' ' later in life.
But as intimated, there was a third sensation. It was
this: It was that if I should ever meet that homely
brother of the sister's — the fellow that looked like me — I
would kill him on sight.
The idea of falling in love with a girl who was kind
to you simply because you resembled her big fool of a
gawky brother! It was too much! One of us must
die!
But fortunately for that homely brother of hers he
has always managed to keep out of my way, i»,nd has
thus escaped with his miserable life.
I did not see much of the sister the next morning.
She passed through the ward a number of times, and
always passed by without stopping or recognizing me.
Toward noon she came to the side of my cot and calmly
asked if I wanted anything.
I looked up into her face, but her eyes were averted.
She acted as if she had never seen me before in my life.
She was a woman !
Pretty soon I became somewhat convalescent and was
able to be up and around, with my arm in a sling, and
could help myself at meals, so that it was not necessary
that I should be waited upon. Necessarily I met the
sister daily and several times a day, but nothing except
the most commonplace remarks ever passed between us.
We were apparently perfect strangers. I thought at
times that she would make some reference to the inter-
view that night, but she did not refer to it, and I was
afraid to, for fear of some sort of an explosion.
Thus matters went on for three or four weeks, till one
morning a number of us were notified that we were to
be removed to a Northern hospital. Another big battle
was expected , and all the convalescents were to be re-
moved to make room for a fresh batch of mangled
human beings from another bloody field of conflict.
It was one afternoon about 3 o'clock that we were
456 THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER.
told to get ready, and an hour later the "invalid squad"
was ordered in line to proceed to the depot. I was not
tit all averse to leaving Washington, but I still had a
desire to have another word with Nellie, the pretty sis-
ter of charity.
The opportunity presented itself at the last moment,
just as I was gathering up my few things from the side
of the cot on which I had passed so many painful — and
so many happy hours, it must be confessed.
The sister came to me to bid me good-by.
"So you are going away," said she. I thought that
I noticed a tinge of regret in the inflection of her voice.
"Yes, we are going somewhere up North. Wil-
mington, I hear. Are you sorry to have me leave?"
The sister flushed a little, but replied coolly :
"Of course I am sorry. It is always sorrowful to
part with friends."
"Then I am a friend of yours?"
"Of course. I am a friend of all the soldiers."
"That is altogether too general," said I. "Can't you
say that you are especially sorry to part with me?"
"Well, yes, as I told j~ou before, you look so much
like my brother that I shall miss you more than some
of the others."
Confound that brother again.
"Then you only care for me because I resemble your
brother?"
"I told you that before."
"Yes, I know you did. But I wish that you cared
for me for myself. ' '
"There you go again. You men are such fools."
"Thanks. You are complimentary. But really,
Nellie "
"Sister, please."
"Well, then, sister, do you think we shall ever meet
again? Could you consent to correspond with me?"
"Why can't you be sensible?" she asked in reply.
"What is the sense of all this ridiculous talk? You
know we are not likely ever to meet again. You know
that our lives are to be apart, and that after you have
gone you will forget me entirely or only remember me
occasionally as the sister of charity that took care of
you while you were wounded and helpless."
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 457
"No, you are mistaken in that," I replied. "I shall
always remember you as Nellie, and not as the sister of
charity."
"And I shall always remember you," she said, "as
a great foolish boy, but," she smilingly added, "I hope
that you will be successful and have good luck and be
happy "
"How can I be happy without you to — — "
"Oh, you get out, you big goose," she said, laughing
outright. "Good-by."
And then she turned away, and I had to fall in line,
and was a moment later on the way to the depot with
my companions. I turned and saw the sister standing
on the steps of the hospital entrance, with a quizzical
smile on her face, and so I remember her to this day,
for I have never seen her nor heard from her since.
That was the first time I ever tried to make love to a
sister of charity, and it was the last. It wasn't a suc-
cess. But then as she said herself she was not a regular
sister of charity.
From love making, however, I was suddenly precipi-
tated into the stern realities of soldier life. We were
marched up through the dust} 7 streets of Washington —
they were not the magnificent streets they are now by
any means — and finally reached the depot. It was late
in the afternoon. The miserable depot was crowded
with wounded soldiers, northward bound.
Of course there was no train ready for us to take.
There never was. Here were hundreds of wounded and
feeble soldiers, waiting in that stuffy depot, in the hot-
test weather, and it seemed impossible to get even a
drink of water. We had to remain there all night and
till afternoon on the following day, and I don't think I
ever put in a worse experience. After the luxuries and
comforts we had enjoyed at the hospital, the contrast
was terrible. We had some miserable black coffee and
some of that tough "salt horse" dealt out to us, but
none of us had the appetite to eat such stuff,
Finally we were embarked. They were not exactly
cattle cars, but they were little better. The cars that
used to be run on the Erie emigrant trains to the West
were about the sort we had. The ride northward was
458 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
not altogether unpleasant, for the breeze that came in
through the ear windows was a decided improvement
over the stuffy and suffocating air that we had heen
breathing in that miserable depot.
Just before dusk the train stopped in the depot at
Wilmington, Delav/are, and we were removed to a hos-
pital so finely located, so beautiful, and with such sur-
soundings that we thought we had dropped into heaven.
But of this I will have to wait till the next chapt
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 459
CHAPTER LXXXIV.
IN PHILADELPHIA HOSPITALS.
As said before, we arrived at the hospital in Wil-
mington about dark on a beautiful warm day early in
June, 1863. I don't remember at this late day what
sort of a building it was, but I do remember that it was
a beautiful place. To the best of my recollection it was
a church that had been temporarily transformed into a
hospital.
In those days everything was utilized for such pur-
poses. The number of wounded men and soldiers who
had become sick through the exposures of army life,
was something terrible. Statistics show that ten times
as many soldiers are disabled from sickness as from
bullets. I have given some idea of the immense num-
ber of the wounded. Add the sick, and the number be-
comes frightful.
So eveiything possible was utilized for the purpose of
hospital work, even to churches, and if my memory
serves me right the hospital in Wilmington was an
Episcopal church that had been turned into a hospital.
It was a prett} r , ivy-clad building of stone, surrounded
by large shade trees, and the whole atmosphere was
cool and pleasant. It was a great improvement in this
respect on the rough board arrangement of wards that
composed the Lincoln Hospital in Washington, which
stood out on the flats, unprotected from the sun.
We were assigned to snowy white cots, and given a
most excellent supper. But what struck us all was the
number of pretty girls who seemed to have something
to do with the place. There were no sisters of charity
there. They were all women in ordinary dress of life,
and a large majority of them were young ladies. And
460 THE TO Uim VOLUNTEER.
they were young ladies of refinement, of apparently the
better walks of life.
During the evening we had a large number of lady
visitors, and if all the soldiers felt as I did their hearts
were beating with admiration. Now note the transi-
tion:
In Virginia the only specimen of women we saw
were of the commonest class. They were what the
darkies used to call "the poor white trash." They were
women whoso surroundings were those of the direst
poverty. Their dresses, if dresses they could be called,
were nothing more than old bed quilts sewed together.
They were sunburned and untidy, and anything but
attractive.
In Washington all the women we saw around the
hospital were dresssed as sisters of charity, and al-
though, as I have described before, there were some
very pretty women disguised under that homely dress,
yet the eye had become accustomed to the somber garb,
and woman had somehow or other become associated
with the idea of extreme plainness and simplicity.
But in Wilmington! There we for the first time
since we left home were surrounded with ladies dressed
in fashionable attire, and the light and bright-colored
dresses that the ladies of the Southern cities wear in the
month of June are bewitchingly fascinating.
White and pink dresses, straw hats trimmed with gay-
colored ribbons, and all those delicate little nothings
that go to make up the summer girl, were displayed
before us, and delighted our hungry eyes. I remember
thinking how pretty my little sister of charity friend in
Washington would have looked thus attired, but, truth
to tell, I almost forgot her in the presence of the hand-
some young ladies that flitted around the hospital ward
that evening.
One of them, an extremely pretty girl of about my
own age or perhaps a little younger, took a seat by the
side of my cot, and we had a long and delightful talk.
She was very friendly and unusually intimate for such
a short acquaintance, but that was a pleasant waj- those
Wilmington girls had, and as I looked around I saw
that nearly every soldier in the hospital was similarly
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 461
engaged in pleasant conversation with one of Wilming-
ton's fair daughters.
I am rather inclined to think that my particular girl
was somewhat of a flirt from the way she talked, but
she found a match in me in that respect, I can assure
the reader. Before she departed we had become quite
chummy. She had told me the street and number
where she lived, and said that she had two other sisters,
and they would all be glad to have me call on them. I
promised to get off the following day and call on them,
and went to sleep to dream of pretty angels in white
dresses and pink ribbons in their hair.
But alas ! Wilmington was a sort of halfway house,
a stopping place on the way to Philadelphia, where the
principal hospitals were located. I did not get to see
my fair visitor in the morning after all, for at an early
hour we were ordered to fall in again, and to our in-
tense disgust we were marched to the depot to take the
train for Philadelphia. My girl was there, however,
to bid us good-by. She said it was "really too bad"
that we had to leave so soon, for she would "dearly
have loved" to have me call to see her and her sisters.
I did not care a rap for her sisters, whom I had never
seen, but I was really sorry that I had not the oppor-
tunity to accept her invitation, and told her so so warmly
that she blushed. Just as the conversation was getting
peculiarly interesting we heard the signal to get on the
cars, and a moment later we were moving out of the
depot amid enthusiastic cheers on the part of the men
and waving of handkerchiefs by the ladies.
Nothing unusual or particularly interesting occurred
on the ride to Philadelphia. It is only a short distance and
the trip took but a short time. There were perhaps two
or three hundred convalescent wounded men in the
train besides some who were still in a dangerous con-
dition. These were taken care of first, and carefully.
Here is where the beautiful ambulance system of
Philadelphia came in useful. I think that I have re-
ferred to this feature somewhere before. Each engine
company was equipped with an ambulance of the most
elegant character. The exteriors of these vehicles were
painted artistically to represent battle scenes and pathetic
402 THE Y0TT2TQ VOLUNTEER.
war episodes, and were of the most gorgeous character.
They were arranged in, as it were, two stories o&
shelves, each of which would accommodate two soldiers
lying flat, on a soft springy leathern mattress. These
shelves were arranged to let down at the side and make
seats for those who were able to sit up. I was one of
the latter. Eight men could ride on the seats. The
ambulance was very springy and comfortable and the
ride to the hospital was extremely pleasant.
The hospital to which we were first taken was at
Cherry Hill, a Philadelphia suburb, but I don't remem-
ber much about that place, for we only remained there
for a day or so, till we were removed to the central hos-
pital at the corner of Broad and Cherry Streets. This
had been a big market or railroad station, I've forgotten
which, and had been transformed into a first-class hos-
pital, with accommodations for several hundred patients.
I was located on the third story, which perhaps con-
tained a hundred wounded men. There was a great
deal of red tape and form about this hospital, and the
discipline was very strict. It was a good enough hos-
pital, but at the same time it was a good deal like a
prison.
Every morning at 10 o'clock the surgeon-in-chief
would make his daily inspection. He was in full uni-
form, as was the big staff of assistants that always ac-
companied him. They marched through the different
wards, past the cots, to inspect the wounded. We had
to have the bandages removed from our wounds so that
the} r could be seen as the doctors passed.
To us who were only comparatively slightly wounded
not much attention was paid. Sometimes the doctors
would stop and handle the wound in a perfunctory and
at times rough sort of a way, but that was all. But
when they came to a particularly bad case they would
stop and give the matter more attention.
This was a sort of clinic. The head surgeon would
examine the wound and perhaps do some probing, while
the subordinates would stand around and watch the
operation as the surgeon-in-chief would give a sort of a
lecture on the character of the injury and its treatment.
I will describe just one of these serious cases :
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 463
It was the case or a poor wretch who had heen struck
on the hip with a piece of shell. It had broken the hip
bone into slivers, which of course made a running sore.
Every morning the doctors would stop at this cot and
after a great deal of probing, would remove one of the
slivers of bone. For some reason they did not give the
patient an anaesthetic, and from the way he yelled and
howled it must have been excruciatingly painful.
This was kept up for a week or ten days. Every time
the doctors would stop at the side of the poor fellow
they would gather around while one of the surgeons
fished under the sore flesh for another sliver of bone,
and never stopped till they removed it. I remember one
morning the surgeon -in -chief, after hacking at the fel-
low for some time and removing an infinitesimal ly
small bit of bone, made the remark: "To-morrow we
will perform the principal [operation and see if we can-
not remove the large piece that we feel." The poor
fellow gave a groan over the prospect that echoed
through the ward.
The next morning when the long string of doctors
entered, and the patient referred to saw them coming,
he gave vent to a series of shrieks and yells that made
our hearts stand still. He was apprehending the opera-
tion that the doctors had been talking about the day
before.
They did not give him ether, but began carving at
him without much preliminary. I never heard a man
cry and yell from pain as loudly as he did. It was ter-
rible. We had to stuff our fingers in our ears so as to
keep out the sound of his agonizing voice. He begged
them to kill him outright and put him out of misery.
Then he cursed them for a lot of devils and butchers.
He prayed and cursed almost in the same voice, and so
loud that it was simply a yell.
The doctors finally got the bone out, and left the suf-
fering wretch writhing in agony and alternately pray-
ing and cursing. He kept this up for perhaps an hour
and then suddenly all was ominously quiet.
Directly I saw a crowd of attendants around the cot.
There was a brief consultation. Then somebody brought
a sheet and spread it over the man. Then two men
464 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
brought in a stretcher, and lifting the body on it car-
ried it out. He was dead.
I must say that we all felt glad he was dead and out
of his terrible suffering.
This is only one case of many. I simply relate
this as an example of some of the terrible heartrending
scenes in the hospital that we were continually witness-
ing.
After a week or so at the Broad and Cherry hospital
I was removed to the one at the corner of Sixteenth and
Filbert Streets. This was a large building, originally
erected for manufacturing purposes. It was only one
block from Market Street, on the corner of which stood
a large market building.
I remained at this hospital till I got well. When
able to be about I was put on light duties, such as
standing guard at the door. Then when I could use my
hand somewhat I was appointed as a sort of an assistant
to the surgeons when they were operating. In this
manner I learned considerable about surgery, and more
than once personally applied an anaesthetic and did a
little in the line of sewing up simple wounds. Then
they put me in the dispensary and under instructions I
put up many prescriptions. The doctor in charge took
a fancy to me, and spent considerable time in explaining
the uses of the different drugs aDd the fundamental
principles of surgery.
All this, however, did not save me from a little duty
in the line of standing guard. This duty was very
light. I only had to stand on guard at the corner of
Market and Filbert Streets from 9 to 11 o'clock every
other night. "What particular use we were there for I
never discovered. Our only instructions were to stop
the soldiers coming through Filbert Street and make
them show their passes. If they had no passes we
were to get their names and report them. But nothing
was ever done with those who had no passes, so that
I never saw any use for the service.
It should be explained that in Washington, Phila-
delphia and other cities where hospitals were located,
no one could leave the institution without a pass. It
was easy enough to get these passes, and the soldiers
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 465
were practically free, between certain hours, but if they
did not have the passes they were liable to be taken in
by the provost guards.
There were many hospitals in Philadelphia in those
days and the city was so filled with soldiers that it
almost resembled a camp. There were as many soldiers
as civilians, and perhaps more.
It was while I was in Philadelphia that the news
came of the battle of Gettysburg. There had been in-
tense excitement in the city for several days, for the
news had arrived that the rebels were marching north-
ward and it would not be surprising if thej r got as far as
Philadelphia. Consequently there was an incipient
panic all through the city, and the public nerve was on
a great strain.
This was the state of affairs when the news came that
General Meade had met and repulsed Lee at Gettysburg
after a desperate three days' fight. Now it so happened
that General Meade, who was in command of the Army
of the Potomac at Gettysburg, was not only a Pennsyl-
vanian, but a former resident of Philadelphia, and con-
sequently there was a strong local pride in his conduct.
When the news came that the army under General
Meade had repulsed the Confederate army under Gen-
eral Lee, the entire city went wild with enthusiasm.
Flags were displayed everywhere, and one could not
look a block through any street without seeing an ele-
gant banner stretched across in honor of the occasion.
The sale of soda water was superseded by the sale of
"mead," a sort of root beer, which at once became the
popular drink.
In the West General Grant had just achieved one of
the remarkable victories that brought him into promi-
nence, and this, coupled with General Meade's victory
in Pennsylvania, filled the nation from one end to the
other with enthusiasm; but nowhere was it more
marked than in the city of Philadelphia. I remember
one particular banner which happily referred to both
the successful generals, and which read as follows :
"To our victorious commanders, we Grant the Meade
of praise."
The author of that happy and appropriate expression
466 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
made the hit of his life, for it became a regular catch
word, and was kept standing at the head of the editorial
columns of the papers.
And, by the way, the principal paper read in Phila-
delphia in those exciting days was the Jnguirer, The
Philadelphia Inquirer and the Baltimore American
were about the only newspapers that anybody in Phila-
delphia read then. We seldom or never saw a New
York paper, although occasionally I came across a copy
of the Herald.
Through these papers I read of the gallant part taken
by the Thirteenth Regiment in the battle of Gettysburg.
I rather kind of wished I was with them to share the
glory, but on the other hand I rather think that I felt
perfectly satisfied to be where I was.
It wasn't long before some of the wounded men of
the Thirteenth Regiment turned up in the Philadelphia
hospitals, and from them I got a full account of the part
they took in the battle. When I heard this I was more
than ever glad that I was not present on that occasion.
And a year or so ago, when I went over the battle
grounds and visited every one of the three hundred and
sixty-six handsome monuments there, I was more than
ever convinced that I was sensible in getting com-
paratively slightly wounded at Chancellorsville.
It was also while I was in Philadelphia that the great
riot occurred in New York, when the Tribune building
was partially wrecked, and when so many people were
killed. That was the time when every negro who came
in sight v/as hung to the nearest lamp post. Several
regiments from the front had to be brought North from
fighting the common enemy to suppress another rebel-
lion that had started right in the principal city of the
nation.
The anti-war feeling that was the principal incentive
to that riot in New York had spread to a greater or less
extent all over the country, and there were signs of its
spreading. It might have become national, in fact, but
for the prompt measures that were taken to suppress it
in its incipiency.
This riotous sentiment spread even to Philadelphia,
but the measures taken there were prompt and decisive.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 4G7
Large bodies of armed men were stationed all over, in
the market houses and other piaces and drilled in the
riot tactics. Their guns were loaded with bullets and
had the riot started there would have been some bloody
work.
Philadelphia is a city grid ironed with street railroads.
It was even so in those days. Hastily the tops were
torn off many passenger cars, and they were made into
platform cars. On the platforms of these cars were
placed howitzers, loaded with grape and canister.
The cars, fully manned, were run into the depots of the
street railroads, and remained there ready for instant
emergency. There were not enough artillerymen in
the city to man all these portable batteries, and infan-
trymen were pressed into the service.
To this duty I was assigned, greatly to my terror. I
didn't want to be killed in a riot, after having passed
through several battles in the front ! But there I was.
I was given a big wooden ramrod, with a brush ar-
rangement on the end, and they told me it was a
"swab." I was shown how to use it. Immediately
after the cannon had been fired I was to clean out the
barrel with the swab, and then step to one side for the
next man to push in another cartridge — an arrange-
ment that looked like a bag of salt.
But fortunately for the unruly element of Philadel-
phia, they did not break out into a riot and my services
as chief swabber were not required. The chances are
that I would have been so excited that I would have
forgotten to pull out the wooden ramrod arrangement
and some citizen of Philadelphia might have been hunt-
ing for a doctor with a thick wooden bar sticking
through his stomach !
We had lots of good times in Philadelphia. The
Chestnut Street and Walnut Street theaters were run-
ning and I visited them several times a week. I re-
member the spectacular play of "Joseph and his Breth-
ren" in Walnut Street, and in the Chestnut Street
theater I saw "The Duke's Motto" and Edwin Booth
in "Hamlet," while in the Arch Street theater I saw
the debut of Caroline Richings in opera, under the man-
agement of the late Edmon S. Conner.
488 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
Taken altogether, therefore, our soldier life in Phila-
delphia was not unpleasant, and the several months we
spent there were enjoyable.
Some time in the fall an officer came around to
examine us to see if we were sufficiently recovered to be
returned to our regiments. A good many were pro-
nounced able to go back to the field. I can't say that I
felt happy at this prospect, but I could only obey if so
ordered.
But after my examination, I was informed that I was
not to go back. I was to be transferred to the Invalid
Corps.
And here is to be introduced another branch of army
life, about which not much has been written. And it
leads into a very interesting branch of the writer's mili-
tary experience. But of that I will wait for another
chapter.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 469
CHAPTER LXXXV.
A BOLD STEP.
About the time the war was about half through, say
the latter part of 1863, the government began to be con-
fronted by an unprecedented condition of affairs. In
the North the supply of volunteers was becoming too
small to meet the calls for troops, and drafting was
about to be resorted to. In the army large numbers of
men were being disabled by wounds and from the sick-
ness caused by exposure from service in the field.
Necessarily, many able-bodied men, who were capable
of performing duty at the front, were being kept in the
rear for duty as guardsmen, orderlies, clerks, etc., at
the headquarters, around the provost guard posts, and
other places, where the service required was indispen-
sable yet not physically arduous.
It struck some one to use the wounded men for this
reserve service, and after a good many different sugges-
tions had been made and rejected, a branch of the army,
called the "Invalid Corps," was organized.
The Invalid Corps, at first, was composed o f two
battalions, the first and the second. The Second Bat-
talion was composed of men who had lost a leg or arm.
They could elect whether to be discharged or remain in
the service in the Second Battalion, and the most of them
selected the service, for they began to appreciate the
fact that a man minus one of the more important mem-
bers of his body was lucky if he could get anything to
do to earn a living. These men, however, could run
errands, stand guard at gates and doorways, and do a
thousand and one little things as well as a strong, able-
bodied man, who might better be utilized at the front.
The First Battalion was composed of men less seri-
ously injured, such as those with the loss of a part of a
470 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
hand or foot, or who limped or suffered in some other
way to such an extent that they were not able to do
active duty at the front in the field. The latter had no
class choice. They were put in the Invalid Corps
whether they liked it or not, and could not elect to be
discharged like those who went into the other battalion.
It was into this branch that I was drafted. I not
only missed the part of my hand, but the wounds in
my hip and foot made me limp considerably, and it was
impossible for me to walk any great distance. At the
same time I was able to do pretty good service in every-
thing that did not involve marching or remaining out
in the hot sun, for the effects of the serious sunstroke I
had received at Rockville had begun to trouble me con-
siderably more than they did at first.
And thus it was that I was transferred into the In-
valid Corps during the latter part of the year 1863.
This meant that I should serve my time out in this
branch of the service, and never rejoin the regiment
again. But my heart was with them and I closely fol-
lowed the movements of my old companions wherever
they went.
I should say right here that the name Invalid Corps
did not stick to the organization very long. There was
something about the name that was for some reason
considered opprobrious, and ridicule was thrown on
that branch of the service for no other reason than the
title. So, at the suggestion of some of the leading
officers of the organization, the name was charged to
"Veteran Reserve Corps," and so it continued to the
end of the war, and it became a very useful branch of
the service.
The officers of the Veteran Reserve Corps were com-
missioned by the President of the United States instead
of by the governors of the different States, as were the
ordinary volunteers. In fact the commission of an
officer in the Veteran Reserve Corps was the same as
one of the regular army, and the rank was the same —
that is, about one grade higher, rank for rank, than the
officers of the volunteer service.
After the usual formalities of my transfer from the
Thirteenth New Jersey to the Veteran Reserve Corps, I
THE YQUXTG VOLUNTEER. 471
was assigned to Company D, Sixteenth Regiment,
which was formed at Philadelphia, but immediately
transferred to Elmira, New York.
At the latter place were located large military prisons
for the confinement of rebel captives. The prisons, as
well as the quarters for the men, were nothing more
than rough barracks. The prisoners might have broken
out at any time almost, but the security depended upon
for their safety consisted in the cordon of guards sta-
tioned about the buildings, and the large reserve guard
which was always kept on duty at the guardhouse to
be called upon at any moment.
The rebel prisoners were a dirty, untidy, forlorn-
looking lot of men, but as a whole tolerably good-
natured and affording not the slightest trouble to keep
under control. They were comfortably housed, not-
withstanding the fact that the weather was cold (and
there was snow on the ground all the time I was at
Elmira), and they were better fed than they had been at
any time during their service in the Confederate army.
In fact there is reason to believe that some of them were
better fed than they ever were at their homes in the
South, for the class of men we had in our charge was not
representative of the so-called aristocratic chivalry of
the sunny South.
The rebels in our charge were prisoners in name and
in fact, but they were a happy-go-lucky lot, and didn't
seem to care for anything except to eat. In marked
contrast with their condition was the horrible treatment
received by the starved and illy treated Northern sol-
diers who were so unfortunate as to be confined in those
death-holes, Libby and Andersonville.
Our life at Elmira during the late fall and early win-
ter of 1863 was monotonous in the extreme. There
wasn't much to be seen in Elmira in those days, for it
was a comparatively small place. About the only
place of amusement in the town was a little one-horse
sort of music hall, where we occasionally went in the
evening, and my recollection of the place altogether is
that of its being intolerably stupid and uninteresting.
For some reason, perhaps from inspiration, but more
likely because I had nothing better to do, I spent many
472 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
of the long evenings in studying the revised army regu-
lations, articles of war and tactics. Theoretically I Lad
all these things at my fingers' ends. I don't know
what ever took me to studying them, but as it turned
out shortly it was a happy thing for me that I did so.
One evening while in the captain's office helping him
make out some reports, I happened to pick up a circular
issued from the office of Provost Marshal General James
B. Fry, who at that time seemed to he at the head of
the Veteran Corps. H9 was a sort of secretary of war
for that branch of the service, as it were.
This circular was to the effect that examinations
would be held in the city of Washington on January
27, 1864, for the appointment of sixteen lieutenants of
the Veteran Reserve Corps, and it was desired that this
examination be confined to members of the corps. The
circular gave full instructions how to proceed.
My heart jumped into my throat at the sight of this.
It seemed to be so presumptuous that I hardly had the
nerve to mention it to anybody. But the more I
thought of it the stronger did the feeling become, till at
last, on the following morning, I went to the captain's
office and informed him that I desired to make an appli-
cation for examination for a commissioned officer.
The captain looked at me with a smile. He saw be-
fore him a boy not yet twenty years old, not at all im-
posing in appearance, in fact very youthful-looking,
and anything in the world seemed more appropriate
than to imagine him in the uniform of a commissioned
officer. No wonder the captain laughed.
But I meant it, and soon impressed the captain with
my earnestness. He at once took some interest in my
case, and assisted me in writing my application. The
circular, however, said that the application must be
accompanied by a recommendation from my former com-
pany officers.
Then I remembered the conversation I once had with
Captain Hopkins, of Company K. He had promised
that if ever I wanted him to do anything for me he
would do it, and it will perhaps be remembered at
the time I told him I would remember the promise
and, call upon him to keep it. So I wrote to Captain
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 473
Hopkins and asked him to get the approval of my old
officers, not only from Company K, but if possible
from Colonel Carman as well.
I felt a little doubtful about the latter. The last time
I had spoken to Colonel Carman was down near Wolf
Run Shoals. The supply of provisions had run short
and we were for two or three days in danger of being
starved to death. It was all the result of blundering on
the part of the officers. Being possessed of the penchant
for newspaper correspondence, and having had two or
three letters already published in the New York Herald,
I sent that paper a very interesting account of our half-
starved condition, which was published. In that letter
I gave the officers the dickens, and pitched into Colonel
Carman especially.
By some bad luck a copy of the Herald containing
the letter fell into the hands of the colonel. He showed
it to General Euger, and the result of it was that I
was clapped into the guardhouse. After being there
several hours the colonel came to visit me. He gave
me a scolding. There was no law that prevented a
private from sending a letter to a newspaper, and
that was the only punishment he could give me. But
he exacted a promise from me that I would not write
any more letters to newspapers, and not knowing any
better at the time, I complied and stopped my corre-
spondence.
That was the last conversation I had had personally
with the colonel before I left the regiment a wounded
soldier at the battle of Chancellorsville. I therefore
had very little hopes of receiving the recommendation
of Colonel Carman.
But nevertheless I did. In the course of a couple of
weeks or so the answer to my letter to Captain Hopkins
was received. The kind captain had more than kept
his promise to me. The recommendation he sent was of
the strongest possible character. It commended me for
ray intelligence, faithfulness to duty, and of all things
in the world, for my bravery and courage in the field of
battle in the face of the enemy. In fact the document
was so extremely complimentary, that to use a modern
expression I was "quite stuck on myself."
474 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
But, what was my surprise, on turning the recom-
mendation over to find that it was signed by every
officer of the Thirteenth Regiment. The document bore
the signatures of some officers that I had never spoken
to in my life, and who did not know the difference be-
tween me and a side of sole leather. But I could see
through it all. They had all done this at the request
of Captain Hopkins. Kind captain ! How grateful I
felt to him for this. I immediately sat down and wrote
him my thanks, and as they were expressive of my feel-
ing just at that particular moment they must have been
very warm.
The next thing was to get a furlough for ten days to
go to Washington to pass the examination. This was
easily secured, under the circumstances. Not only does
a commmissioned officer stand higher socially and other -
v/ise than a private, but the very fact that a private
stands a slight chance of being a commissioned officer
puts him in a position to taste for the first time the
privileges of a commission. Colonel Stephen A. Moore,
the commander of the Sixteenth Regiment, V. R. C. , at
once granted me the desired furlough and kindly wished
me every good luck on my journey.
"If you don't return wearing a pair of shoulder
straps," said he good-naturedly, "I'll put you in the
guardhouse."
Now that it began to look so much like business I
began to be frightened. I almost felt like backing out.
The idea of my going to Washington and undertaking
to pass an examination to prove that I was able and
qualified to hold a commission in a branch of the regu-
lar army was overwhelming. It seemed such a piece
of cheek that I half -felt a mind to tear up the furlough
and give the whole thing up.
But on the other hand I considered what a glorious
thing it would be to be a commissioned officer, to wear
shoulder straps, and to step into the other estate so high
above that of the enlisted soldier. I concluded to go
on, and face it through, whatever the result. And on
the evening of January 26th, the day before that set for
the commencement of the examination, I found myself
in Washington again.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 475
I put up at the old National Hotel. As I looked into
the glass that night I was struck at my extremely
youthful appearance, and more than ever was overcome
with the cheek I had in thinking of being a commis-
sioned officer. My mustache had just begun to show
itself. It was a mere downy mass on my upper lip,
hardly distinguishable to the naked eye ! My hair was
long, uncouth and scraggly. If I remember rightly the
last time it was cut it was by one of my comrades in the
barracks, and it looked as if it had been hacked off with
a carving knife.
A happy thought struck me. I must do something
with that mustache. Every officer wore a mustache,
that is, every officer in Washington. The larger the
mustache the more dignified and ferocious an officer
looked. In fact to a certain extent the importance of a
commissioned officer in those days was based on the size
and impressiveness of his mustache.
I must do something to make my mustache show
more plainly. At first I thought I would get a false
one, such as they wear at masquerades, and paste it on
my upper lip. But I discarded that idea as being too
dangerous. Suppose the thing should drop off while I
was undergoing the examination ! That would ruin my
chances at once. I would be iguominiously relegated to
my regiment as a private for trying to get a commis-
sion under false pretenses.
But at last I solved the problem. I would go to the
barber's and have that mustache dyed black. Then it
would show more plainly. Further, I would get my
hair cut to a crop, and the comparison would make the
mustache still more prominent. I had solved the diffi-
culty at once, and immediately proceeded to put it into
execution.
I found a barber's shop on the first floor of the hotel,
stretched myself back into che chair and gave the Older.
The barbers were all colored men in Washington in
those days, and I remembered the smiling look my man
gave his next companion as I gave the order to have
my mustache dyed.
But it was accomplished at last. It cost me eighty
cents for the job, but I never invested eighty cents that
476 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
gave me greater satisfaction. WhenI surveyed myself
in the glass, I straightened myself out with ineffable
pride — for my mustache could be seen clear across the
room. I squinted my eyes downward and could even
get a glance of it below my nose. It was the first time
in my life that I had been able to see my own mustache !
I took a short walk through Pennsylvania Avenue,
clean gone on myself. I wondered if everybody did not
notice that I was some distinguished personage, with
such a big mustache ! I felt at least a foot taller than
I did before. With an air of importance I stalked into
a saloon and asked for a cocktail !
"Can't sell liquor to enlisted men," said the bar-
keeper.
I had forgotten. I was only a private yet. I had
forgotten that I still wore my dingy blue suit of a pri-
vate in the "Veteran Reserve Corps. If I had the shoul-
der straps I might have filled myself up with liquor till
I could not stand. But none was sold to a private.
There was a feeling of humiliation about this. The
idea that a man cannot buy what he wants when he has
money in his pocket, simply because of his rank, is very
galling to a native-born American. But such was the
rule. Washington was under martial law, so far as the
soldiers were concerned, and any saloon keeper who
sold liquor to an enlisted man in uniform was liable to
have his license revoked. Had I put on a citizen's
suit I might have got all the liquor I wanted. But
then, strange as it may appear now, it was against the
law for an enlisted soldier to wear a civilian suit of
clothes. It was regarded as a prima facie evidence that
the man was disguising himself for the purpose of de-
serting. Another evidence of the degradation of low
rank !
I really didn't want the drink. I had merely gone
in because I just then felt my importance, and because
it was a proper sign of importance for a man in my po-
sition to go into a saloon and order a drink. But I had
come down like the stick of a used-up sky rocket. I
had a mustache that could be seen, it is true, but the
other necessity, the shoulder straps, were not yet visible.
I had to go through something worse than a barber's
shop before I got that insignia of rank.
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 47?
The examination was to begin the next morning at 10
o'clock, and I was on hand bright and early. No sooner
had I arrived, however, than I was almost paralyzed
with the prospect.
As I said before, the circular of instructions said that
there were sixteen appointments to be made. What
was my horror to find that there were at least one hun-
dred and fifty men there to be examined.
And some of them were very important-looking.
Some looked as if they had already held commissioned
offices. Many of them looked wise and important.
Nearly every one was older than I. In fact I think
that I was the youngest man there, and I imagined that
some of the others looked at me with a disdainful air.
Worst of all, most of the other candidates had mus-
taches ten times as -formidable-looking as the miserable
little black dyed outline of hair on my upper lip ! What
chances had I alongside such an array of formidable
hirsute adornment !
An airish and important-looking officer came from
another apartment into the room where we were hud-
dled and read off the list of applicants, like a roll call.
The list was made out in the order the applications had
been received. Mine was nearly to the bottom. Another
discouraging thing, I thought. The appointments
would all be filled before my name was reached.
I took a note of the time it would take before my turn
came, and from the time it took for the first ones to be
examined, calculated that it would be quite late in the
afternoon before my turn was reached. As I sat there
looking over the circular of instructions again, I sud-
denlv jumped at the sight of a name I had not noticed
before. It was that of "Colonel M. N. Wisewell," an
officer who held an important position in the office of
the provost marshal general, and whose name was
signed to the circular.
How well I recognized the familiar signature. Of
all the men in the world, I could have wished for none
more just then than Colonel Wisewell. Let me explain.
When I lived in Yonkers, New York, a boy, I went for
a while to M. N. Wise well's military academy. It was
there that I received my first instruction. My father
478 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
had only sent me there for the discipline, as he said,
never imagining that it would be any particular benefit
to me. But it was very fortunate for me just then.
Colonel Wisewell, by the way, after the war, was the
principal of the military academy at Eaglewood, near
Peith Am boy, New Jersey.
I thought that I would at once try to see Colonel
"Wisewell at his office, and proceeded to the war depart-
ment.
Now it was a hard thing in those days for a private
soldier to get into the war department without a pass or
order or some sort of an introduction. I was stopped
at almost every turn of the hallwaj'S by a soldier on
guard, but as I had had some newspaper experience in
getting into places, I finally succeeded in reaching the
office of the provost marshal general. Eight at the
entrance whom should I run right into but Colonel
Wisewell himself!
The colonel was a remarkable-looking man. He was
considerably over six feet high and had an eagle nose of
the hookiest shape imaginable. He also had an eagle
eye, that seemed to look straight through you. He was
altogether a man of extraordinary, commanding ap-
pearance, and in his uniform he looked more command-
ing than ever. I remember being struck just then with
the impression of how appropriate it was that a man
with an eagle eye and an eagle nose, should wear eagles
on his shoulder straps — a silver spread eagle being the
insignia of a colonel.
"Colonel Wisewell?" I said quite bravely.
"Well, sir, what do you want?" he asked, very
brusquely, not to say harshly.
"Do you remember me, colonel?" I asked, some-
what timorously, for his brusque manner had rather
disconcerted me.
He turned his eagle eye at me, and his glance seemed
to penetrate my innermost soul. I was terrified lest he
should have forgotten his former humble pupil at Yon-
kers academy. For a moment he hesitated, and then
said :
"Your face is familiar, but I can't place you. What
is your name?"
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 479
My heart rather went clown. But if I had stopped to
think a moment I might have considered that it was
quite improbable that he should have recognized me on
the start.
I was. a mere boy when I attended his school and it
was several years previous. Furthermore how was it
likely that he should have recognized me there, in that
place and in that uniform? But I was a little shaky
when I answered :
"My name is Crowell. I used to attend your academy
at "
"Oh, yes," he interrupted, "I recognize you now.
You are Joe Crowell. But what are you doing here?
I had no idea you were in the army. "
Then I related to him the circumstances, and briefly
went over my service in the Thirteenth, and explained
how I had come on to be examined for a commission,
but was afraid that with so many applicants there was
little chance for me unless I had some influence. I
frankly acknowledged that I had come to him to ask
for his influence to help me through.
His answer was more than I could have expected. He
gave me to understand then and there that if I could
pass at least a creditable examination he would be able
to help me through. And he very complimentary re-
marked that any one who had been a pupil at his school
in Yonkers ought to know enough to answer the ques-
tions that would be propounded.
"When do you expect to be called before the examin-
ing board?" he finally asked.
"Some time this afternoon," I replied. "Judging
from the way they are going I should think that I
would be called about 3 o'clock this afternoon."
"All right," said he, "I will attend to the matter at
once. You go and take your seat as you were and wait
till you are called, and say nothing to any one about
having seen me, for if it is heard that there can be any
help, there will be no end to the applicants for assist-
ance."
I went back to the rooms of the examining board with
a much lighter heart. In a few minutes I noticed Colo-
nel Wisewell enter the examination room, and directly
480 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
he came out again. He gave me a significant nod of
recognition as he passed me, but I had the sense not to
stop him to ask any questions. I knew, however, from
his glance that he had done everything he could do.
According to my calculations and judging from the
number of candidates still ahead of me on the list, I
thought that it would be at least two hours before my
name was reached. But what was my surprise a few
moments later to see one of the officers stick his head
out of the mysterious apartment of torture, and looking
around, ask:
"Is Private Crov/ell here?"
I arose and answered in the affirmative.
"All right," said the officer. "Come right in now."
I was so nearly paralyzed with astonishment and
fright that I staggered like a drunken man. My shak-
ing knees would hardly bear the weight of my body as
I made my way into the mysterious chamber.
My self-possession was not in the least restored when
I glanced around and saw the array of generals and
colonels and majors gathered around the long table at
the end of the room.
Then began the inquisition. I had come to the gulf
that separates the privates from the commissioned
officer.
TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 481
CHAPTER LXXXVI.
CROSSING THE GREAT GULF.
None except those who have served in the army can
fully appreciate the vast gulf that exists between the
"enlisted man" and the "commissioned officer."
The former is the plebeian, the serf of the army, the
latter the aristocrat, the autocrat of the service.
The difference between the master and a slave in the
old times was hardly greater than that between the en-
listed soldier and the commissioned officer. The former
was compelled to do whatever the latter commanded,
no matter what it might be. If an officer commanded
a soldier to blacken his boots, brush his clothes, cook
his breakfast, or even wash his shirt, to refuse or dis-
obey would be regarded as mutiny. The soldier might
subsequently make a protest, and perhaps — I say per-
haps — it might be righted by instructions being given
to the officer not to again put the soldier on such menial
service.
But for the time being it was the soldier's duty to obey.
In fact, the first thing a soldier is taught is to obey
orders, no matter what they may be. And it were bet-
ter for him to do so, for if there was a protest against
some mean service, the officer could, by a system of
petty tyranny, make that soldier's life forever after a
hell on earth.
The best advice I can give to a soldier is to obey
orders, no matter what they may be ; and as far as pos-
sible keep on the right side of the officers.
This vast gulf I was about to cross, or to try to cross.
It was therefore not an ordinary examination. The
result was momentous. It was perhaps one of the most
important steps I had ever taken. I was impressd with
its importance, and naturally felt very nervous over the
433 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
result. I bad not the slightest idea of the nature of the
questions to be asked, and so had not had the chance to
make any preparation. I bad more than a fair knowl-
edge of the tactics and articles of war and military
matters generally, but I had been given to understand
that the examination would go a good deal further than
that, although in what direction I was profoundly igno-
rant.
Seated around the table in the middle of the examina-
tion room were a lot of gold-laced, shoulder-strapped
officers, whom I did not know at the time, but whom I
subsequently learned were as follows :
There were Colonel Richard H. Eush, Colonel G. N.
Morgan, Colonel F. D. Sewall, Colonel B. J. Sweet,
Lieiitenant-Colonel Dewitt C. Poole and Captain James
R. O'Beirne. The latter is a prominent New Yorker
at the present time. He is the same Colonel 0'Beiri:e
who was commissioner of immigration, who refused to
vamoose the ranch when another man was placed in
his position, on the ground that he was a veteran and
that under the civil services rules he could not be
removed except for cause.
The above-named officers were the official members
of the examination board. I noticed a number of others
sitting around, but they were there simply as spectators.
They appeared to enjoy the torture of the innocents the
same as the kings and emperors of old enjoyed the tor-
ture of the prisoners brought before them.
Well, the examination began promptly on time. Colo-
nel Rush, the president of the board, sent the ball roll-
ing in a kindly meant way by advising me not to be
nervous and to keep cool, as the examination would not
be a hard one. This was all right, but the idea that he
should have considered it necessary to give me any such
advice at all struck me as a preparation for something
terrible, and, if anything, it made me all the more
nervous.
The first question was of course my name and resi-
dence, occupation before enlisting, and all such things.
Then came the time I had been in the army, the battles
I had been in, and the nature of my wounds. When
this part of the examination had been reached I had to
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEEB. 483
Undress and be examined by two surgeons who were
present. I did not like the idea of stripping before so
many big officers, but then I had come prepared to go
through anything that might come along, the same as a
fellow does when he offers himself as a candidate for
initiation in a Masonic lodge.
This through, after being examined like a horse for
all my "points," I resumed my clothing, and the ques-
tions were fired at me with lightning rapidity.
As I said before, I had posted myself on the regula-
tions, articles of war, tactics, and such things, and
could even draw from memory many of the blanks used
in the service, thanks to my experience as company
clerk. Then they commenced asking me questions
touching my general intelligence.
Mathematics was my weak point always, and I felt
sure that I would stumble on these things, but fortu-
nately they did not go further than the computation of
interest and the multiplication of plain fractions. If
they had gone into the mixed and vulgar fractions I
would have fallen by the wayside. They skipped over
algebra, to my great satisfaction, for on that subject I
never got further than to know that "x equalled the
unknown quantity," and the rest has been an "unknown
quantity" all my life. They asked me one question in
geometry, and it happened to be about the only oue I
could have answered. It was the first problem in Book
I of Davies' "Legendre," and I guess that must have
been as far as any of my examiners had ever got them-
selves.
What under the sun all these things had to do with
holding the commission of a lieutenant, perhaps the
reader would like to know. So would I. I never did
know.
Then they tackled me with geography, and here I
made a pretty mess of it. "How long is the Mississippi
River?" I was asked. How did I know? How many
of my readers can tell, off-handed? ' ' How many square
miles are there in Lake Superior?" was fired at me. I
began to get desperate.
"Gentlemen," said I, reaching for my hat, "I am a
candidate for a position in the army, not in the navy."
434 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. - ....
I thought it was all up with me then. But instead
of getting mad about it, my sally provoked a laugh, and
they dropped the question of the areage of the great
lakes.
Then they tackled me on grammar and spelling and
literature, in which I did fairly well, I imagine, for
there were approving nods passed round the board.
And when I was asked to take a seat at the table and
write an imaginary report of a street riot, I was right
in my element, for I simply wrote it out as I would
have done for a newspaper.
But I will not weary the reader by any further details
of the examination. It lasted apparently a long while,
but it was not so long after all, for when I was dis-
missed and got out into the other room I had not been
before the board much more than half an hour.
Of course I did not know whether I had passed or
not. I was told that I would receive word of the result
in due time. From that moment I was on pins and
needles. Now the prize seemed to be so near my grasp,
I was more than ever anxious to secure it. I went to
the hotel that afternoon in a very disconcerted state of
mind over the feeling of uncertainty.
In the evening I met Colonel Wisewell at Willard's
Hotel, where I had wandered somewhat aimlessly. The
colonel was quite friendly.
"I have a room here," said he. "Come up."
And I went upstairs with the colonel. He rang a
bell and the boy brought us some whisky. I felt that
I needed something just then. Then I touched the bell.
I had a little money and we had a good time !
During the evening two of the officers of the examin-
ing board dropped in. I was considerably surprised at
their appearance.
"I was just treating my old friend and schoolmaster,
Colonel Wisewell," I said. "If I were a commissioned
officer I would ask you to join. I believe that it is con-
trary to the ethics of the service for a commissioned
officer to drink with a private soldier."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that little thing, lieu-
tenant," said Colonel (I won't mention his name).
" Lieutenant?" said I wonderingly.
TEE TOTING VOLUNTEER. 483
"Yes, Lieutenant Crowell, permit me to congratulate
you."
"You don't mean to say that I passed all right?"
asked I, with ill-suppressed delight.
"That's just what I mean. You will receive formal
notice in the morning. You are practically a second
lieutenant now at this moment, for your commission
dates from to day."
For a moment I was speechless. I could hardly
realize it.
I rang the bell. There were no electric buttons in
those days — only a sort of little brass crank fastened
into the wall, which sounded a bell in the office.
"Boy," said I, with all the air of a major-general,
when the waiter stuck his woolly head into the door,
"boy, bring up half a dozen bottles of wine."
Champagne was then five dollars a bottle, and small
bottles at that. But what did I care for expense just
at that moment? Thirty dollars in a momentary swoop,
to be sure. One-third of the capital I had brought to
Washington gone in a minute ! But I never thought of
the expense just then. I was getting one hundred and
twenty-five dollars a month then, instead of the measly
thirteen dollars that I had been receiving as a private.
We drank the wine, and one of the officers ordered
some more. Then another officer ordered some more,
and so on !
All the same I got back to my hotel about midnight
without assistance !
I passed through the office of the "National" that
night in the plain garb of a private soldier. "Only an
enlisted man," is what any one would have said to see
me. But I held a blessed secret in my heart that made
me greatly enjoy the incognito.
There was little sleep for me that night. A commis-
sioned officer ! The dreams of every soldier are to be a
commissioned officer. I had been accorded the distinc-
tion. I could hardly realize it. It seemed all so sud-
den that as I lay there on my bed that night I had to
go over and over the facts to make myself believe that
I had really been so fortunate.
I felt a little rocky in the morning and thought that a
486 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
cocktail would rouse me up. I forgot my uniform and
ordered it with all the gusto of a general.
"Can't sell liquor to enlisted men," said the bar-
keeper.
I had forgotten. But then I wasn't an enlisted man.
Would I tell the barkeeper? No, I guess not. He
wouldn't believe me anyhow. And I rather enjoyed
the disguise, as I had begun to regard my private's uni-
form. So I took a plain lemonade. I have an idea now
that it did me a good deal more benefit than the cock-
tail would have done.
The next morning I received an official document set-
ting all doubts at rest. Here is a copy of the original I
have now before me :
Office of the Board of Examination of Officers
of the Invalid Corps,
Washington, D. C, January 27, 1864.
Report of the examination of Private Joseph E. Cro-
well, Co. D, 16th Regt. In v. Corps, by the Board of
Examination convened by Special Orders No. 9 (Ex.
26), War Dept., 1864.
Having carefully examined Private Joseph E. Cro-
well, Co. D, 16th Regt. I. C. upon Tactics, Regula-
tions, Articles of War, Field Service, Discipline, Dis-
ability, General Education, and capacity for holding a
commission, upon mature deliberation decide to recom-
mend Private Joseph E. Crowell, Co. D, 16th Regt. I.
C, for the appointment of Second Lieutenant in the
Invalid Corps and to do duty in the First Battalion.
(Signed)
Rich'd H. Rush, Col. 1st Regt. I. C, Pres't
of Board.
G. N. Morgan, Col. 2d Regt. I. C, member.
F. D. Sewall, Col. 3d, 4th Regt. In. Corps.
R. J. Sweet, Col. 8th Regt. I. C, member.
Dewitt C. Poole, Lieut. -Col. I. C.
A true copy,
James R. O'Beirne, Capt. I. C, on duty.
As before explained, the name of the organization at
that time was the "Invalid Corps." It was subse-
quently changed to "Veteran Reserve Corps." The
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 487
change was made between the time of my examination
and the receipt of my commission from the president, so
that the commission bore the new name, and I have
been informed that mine was the first commission issued
under the name of the "Veteran Reserve Corps."
I went up to the provost marshal general's office the
same day and asked Colonel Wise well what to do next.
He told me that there were certain formalities to be
observed before I got my commission. I had to return
to Elmira, where I would receive a formal announce-
ment and the colonel of my regiment would also be
similarly notified. And on the strength of that notice
he would grant me a discharge as private.
So I returned to Elmira. I called on Colonel Moore
and informed him of my success, and he congratulated
me heartily.
"It's a good thing that you got through all right,"
said he good-naturedly, "for you will remember what
I told you — that if you failed I would put you in the
guardhouse."
I laughingly remembered.
For several days I waited for the official announce-
ment of my appointment. As the days rolled by I
began to get discouraged. What if after all there
should be some mistake about it? The disappointment
would have been terrible, after my ideas had been raised
so high.
It was not till the 8th of February that I received the
expected notification. It was dated February 2d, but
there was so much red tape to go through in those days
that there always was a delay in official documents.
But the thing came at last, and I have it before me. It
reads as follows :
"War Department,
"Provost Marshal General's Office,
"Washington, D. C, February 2, 1894.
"Second Lieutenant Joseph E. Crowell,
Invalid Corps,
Elmira, N, Y.
"Sir: Inclosed you will receive your appointment in
the Invalid Corps. You will put yourself in uniform,
488 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
according to the instructions contained in the inclosed
circular, and report, in person, to the Provost Marshal
General, Washington, D. C, with as little delay as pos-
sible. I am, very respectfully,
"Your obedient servant,
"M. N. WlSEWELL,
"Colonel and Assistant to Provost Marshal General."
There was a little note attached to the effect that if I
did not report in seven days it would be construed as
a non-acceptance of the appointment. No danger of
that ! I would be there on time all right, you bet !
Colonel Moore, of the regiment to which I had been
attached, received notice of my appointment at the same
time, and he at once made out my discharge. I left
Elmira the same day with the congratulations of my
former companions and the envy of the men with whom
I had been intimately associated in the menial duties of
a private soldier.
The next thing was the uniform. I concluded to
patronize home industry and made a bee-line for Pater-
son, and gave the order to a tailor of that city. The
uniform was an expensive and elaborate affair. The
overcoat alone cost $95. The sword and sash, which I
have yet, cost $30. Altogether the outfit cost in the
neighborhood of $250, and I had to borrow some money
to make it up. But a jump from $13 to $125 a month
and expenses paid was such an advance that the ques-
tion of expense never entered my mind.
If ever I had a good time I had it on that occasion. I
visited all my old friends and enjoyed myself im-
mensely. I was regarded as a sort of hero, too, and I
didn't lot on to a single soul that I was anything else !
But I was surprised at the absence of so many of my
old associates. I would ask for this one and that one,
only to be told that he had enlisted in this or that regi-
ment. It really seemed as if all my old friends had
gone to the front. Paterson looked deserted. And my
best girl had been married. If she had seen me in my
uniform she never would have done it.
But there were still some people in town that I re-
membered well enough, including some of those whose
THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 489
speeches had instigated me and so many others to enlist.
They never went themselves. Their course was like
that of the dominie who said : " I want you to do as I
say, not as I do." They fought the war with a chin — ■
as did Samson of old, in his encounter with the Philis-
tines !
Before the week was up I was ready, and started
once more for Washington. There was lots of fun
traveling in those days, for it cost nothing. All that it
was necessar3 r to do was to exhibit the order received to
the nearest quartermaster (and there were quartermas-
ters stationed in almost every city just for such pur-
poses) and he would give you an order on the railroad,
which was technically known as "transportation."
This order presented at the ticket office would give a
ticket for the trip, whether it involved one or a thou-
sand men.
So I went to Washington in style. There were no
Pullman cars in those days, or the officers would have
patronized them. The officers always took the best
there was to be had. I am speaking of the commis-
sioned officer. Cattle cars were good enough for the
enlisted men. But I had passed the great gulf and was
now a commissioned officer.
The weather was very cold and I wore my big over-
coat, a dark blue, navy cloth garment, with a wide
cape, and the front all decorated with braids and loops
instead of buttons. The number of braids in the deco-
rations indicated the rank.
But they were not so noticeable as the bright new
shoulder straps, and I remember throwing back my
overcoat so that the shoulder straps would show. I
only wish 3d that my mustache was a little bigger.
The dye was wearing off. I would have to patronize
that Washington barber again as soon as I reached the
capital !
I will digress a moment to say that while I had re-
ceived my appointment, I had not yet my regular com-
mission. I did not receive that for some time after.
The commission was precisely the same as those given
to the officers of the regular army. They were signed
by the President of the United States. They were
490 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER.
neatly engraved on real parchment, and highly prized
by the recipients, more so in fact than the commissions
of volunteer officers, for the latter were signed only by
the governors of States, while those of the regular army
and the Veteran Reserve Corps were signed by the
President of the United States, the secretary of war and
the adjutant general. My own commission, which I
have carefully retained to this day, bears the names of
Abraham Lincoln, Edwin M. Stanton and E. D. Town-
send, the incumbents, respectively, of the three offices
named.
I arrived in the evening, and went to the same hotel I
had occupied before— the National. After I had been
assigned to a room and left my valise and sword, I
sauntered into the barroom. I didn't want a drink, but
I thought I would just for once see what difference the
shoulder straps would make.
"Make me a light cocktail," I said to the barkeeper.
"Certainly, lieutenant; what shall it be, whisky or
gin?"
I was now convinced that I had crossed the great
gulf!
CONCLUSION.
For nearly two years after promotion the writer
served as a commissioned officer, but not in the field.
It was on detached service, in secret government work,
on commissions, etc. It was interesting, exciting, and
replete with adventures. But that is, to quote a well-
known author, "another story."
An answer to " The Story of An African Faf rii»'*,
By ALIEN,
12 mo. Cloth, - $2o2S a
(Nealy's International Library.)
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Newspaper incidents and pathetic details."
THE ONE TOO HANY
By E. LYNN LINTON,
Author of "Patricia Kemball" "The Atonement of Leam Dundas,"&c
12 MO. CLOTH, • $1.25.
(Neely's International Library.)
Post "Mrs. E. Lynn Linton Is one of the very ablest from the
la teliyrencer group of brilliant writers of fiction. The charm of her style
ana the interest of the story are alike undeniable.
Cc ,imercial "A work with a commendable mission. It is inscribed to
Ai peal the ' sweet girls still left among us who have no part in the
new revolt but are content to be dutiful, innocent and sheltered.' "
Bo ton Finely worked up, buoying the interest of the reader on the
Courier highest surface level to the end.
Chicago "Although Mrs. Linton has a horror of the girl who jumps
Mail the home traces, she has built a plot in which the new
woman has the best of the situation."
Boston "The story as a story is a thoroughly Interesting one and
Ideas runs along with cultured smoothness and alertness."
Public " The story Is a notable one. The strength of character.
Opinion drawing is marked and the plot is developed with skill."
fftw Sale by all Booksellers, or sent on receipt of Price by the Publisher,
K TENNXSON NETL¥ ? OsicafQ. New York.
Neely's Prismatic Library.
GILT TOP, 75 CENTS.
"I KNOW OF NOTHING IN THE BOOK LINK THAT
EQUALS NEELY'S PRISMATIC LIBRARY FOR ELEGANCE
AND CAREFUL SELECTION. IT SETS A PACE THAT
OTHERS WILL NOT EASILY EQUAL, AND NONE St'1
PASS."— ». A. KOBINSON.
A GUIDE TO PALMISTRY.
By Mrs. Eliza Easter-Henderson.
THE BULLET. Max Nordau.
MONTRESOR. By Loota.
REVERIES OP A SPINSTER. By Helen Davles.
THE ART MELODIOUS. By Louis Lombard.
THE HONOR OF A PRINCESS.
By F. Kimball Scribner.
OBSERVATIONS OF A BACHELOR.
By Louis Lombard.
KINGS IN ADVERSITY. By E. S. Van Zile.
NOBLE BLOOD AND A WEST POINT PARALLEL.
By Captain King and Ernest Vcn Wlldenbruch of
the German Army.
TRUMPETER FRED. By Captain King. Illustrated.
FATHER STAFFORD. By Anthony Hope.
THE KING IN YELLOW. By R. W. Chambers,
IN THE QUARTER. By R. W. Chambers.
A PROFESSIONAL LOVER. By Gyp.
BIJOU'S COURTSHIPS. By Gyp. Illustrated,
A CONSPIRACY OF THE CARBONARI.
By Louise Muhlbach.
SOAP BUBBLES. By Dr. Max Nordau.
For sale everywhere, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price,
F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher,
96 Queen Street, 114 Fifth Avenue t
LONDON.
NEW YORK.
IN THE QUARTER*
By ROBERT W, CHAHBERS,
Author of " The King in Yellow."
Neely's Prismatic Library.
50 cents.
A new novel by the author of that wonderful book, " The King in Yellow,"
Is an event of considerable importance to the reading public ; nor will a perusal
of " In the Quarter " disappoint those critics who have predicted such a glorious
future for Robert W. Chambers. As the title would indicate, the jtory deals with
life in the Quartier Latin, in Paris, where the merry art students live and move
and have their being, and over which the halo of romance ever hangs ; a pecul-
iar people with whom we have spent many an entrancing hour in company with
6uch volumes as " Trilby " and " A E : ng in Yellow."
PRESS NOTECES:
Book Buyer, New York: — " It is a story of a man who tried to reconcile
Irreconcilable facts. . . Mr. Chambers tells it with a happy choice of words,
thus putting ' to proof the art alien to the artists.' . . It is not a book for the
unsophisticated, yet its morality is high and unmistakable."
Brooklyn Citizen : — " Full of romantic incidents."
Boston Courier:— "Interesting novel of French life."
Boston Traveler :— " A story of student life written with dash and suie^'
of handling."
Boston Times:— "Well written, bright, vivid; the ending is highly dr»
tnatic."
New York Sunday World :— " Charming story of Bohemian life, with its
bouyancy, its romance, and its wild joy of youth . . vividly depicted in this
graceful tale by one who, like Daudet, knows his Paris. Some pages are exquis-
itely beautiful."
Philadelphia Bulletin :— " Idyllic— charming. Mr. Chambers 7 story is
delicately told."
) New York Evening Telegram :— " It is a good story in its way. It is
»ood in several ways. There are glimpses of the model and of the grisette— all
aainty enough. The most of it might have coire from so severe a moralist as
George Eliot or even Bayard Taylor."
New York Commercial Advertiser :—" A very vivid and touchingly told
story. The tale is interesting because it reflects with fidelity the life led by cer-
tain sets of art students. A genuine romance, charmingly told."
Congregationalist. Boston :—" Vivid, realistic. There is much of no-
bility in it. A decided and excellent moral influence. It is charmingly written
from cover to cover."
Per sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of prices
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06 Queen Street, London. 114 Fifth AW"ui*, New Yttfe,
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^IDAQ©, publisher. NEW YORK.
RK i
Petfonilla, the Sister.
By Emma Homan Thayer.
Cloth, $1.25. 1
Mrs. Thayer's art books have made for her &
world-wide reputation as a writer, and an illustra-
tor of the wildflowers of America. "Petronilla"
is her first novel, and we can honestly recommend
it as a most delightful story indeed. The gifted
writer paints human loves and vanities with much
the same dexterity she has exhibited as an artist in
delineating the delicate hues of the modest wild-
flowers she so fondly worships. We take pleasure
in recommending so chaste and interesting a story
to the public. In this day of erotic literature such
a book is doubly welcome, and "Petronilla" is of
such a character as to hold the reader's attention to
the last page. The scenes are laid in New York
v!ity, with a bright and spicy visit on a ranch in the
mountains of Colorado, a region in which the writer
is evidently at home. The illustrations, some forty
in number, partly by the author, and ably abetted;
by the well-known artist, Remington W. Lane, a^
piquancy to the letterpress.
For sale everywhere, or sent post-paid on receipt of price.
F. TENNYSON NEELY, Publisher,
§6 Queen Street, London, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York-'
RARE BOOK
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