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 THREE YEARS 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 BY E. W. LOCKE. 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE POPULAR SONGS, "DOWN BY THE SEA," "I FEEL I'M 
 
 GROWING OLD, LIZZIE," "THERE'S A FRESH LITTLE MOUND NEAR 
 
 THE WILLOW," "HEAVEN OCR HOME," "HAS FATHER BEEN 
 
 HERE?" "SWEET CHILD OF THE GLEN," "KITTY 
 
 MANEE THE QUADROON," ETC., ETC., ETC. 
 
 Bear witness, our sires, beneath the turf Bleeping, 
 
 Forever your flag shall wave spotless, untorn ; 
 Your long- rusted swords from scabbards are leaping, 
 
 To follow and smite where our banner is borne. 
 While Bunker's spire guards its patriot ashes, 
 
 While Lexington's grandsons have arms to be nerved, 
 While foam from the sea o'er Plymouth Hock dashes, 
 The Union, it must be, it shall be preserved, 
 The Union, the Union, the Union forever! 
 The bond of our fathers no treason shall sever : 
 The star-spangled banner shall ever wave o'er us, 
 From fortress and steeple reecho the chorus, 
 Hurrah I hurrah I the Union forever I 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 GEO. D. RUSSELL & CO., 126 TREMONT ST. 
 GENERAL AGENTP.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
 
 E. W. LOCKE, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
 
 PEEFACE 
 
 . ^ / 
 
 THIS book is published more especially for Mends and 
 acquaintances, many of whom may be found in nearly every town 
 in the Northern and Western States. Having met with most of 
 the "boys in blue" in the Army, delivered many thousand 
 temperance lectures in different States, devoted from two to four 
 months to almost every important political campaign since 1856, 
 and sung for more than a million of children in the Public and 
 Sabbath Schools of the country, it will be seen that, for a man 
 of medium gifts, I am very extensively known. 
 
 I am well aware that the sphere I have occupied is regarded by 
 most people as a humble one. It is common to commend humil- 
 ity, as an abstract virtue, but to pass by the one who practises it. 
 The mass of mankind, though destitute of claws, seem born to 
 climb. The boy is not out of his skirts before he climbs to the 
 top of the highest fence he can find ; anon he seeks a tree, jthe 
 house, if not the chimney, top. The builder must watch his 
 staging, or the boys are astride the ridge before the roof is 
 boarded. Men climb above each other all through life ; and the 
 constant aim of most men and women is, not to enjoy what they 
 have, but to stand higher than their neighbors. To get to the 
 head in the school-room, to be an officer in the town or some 
 society, in short, to be ahead and attain distinction, seems to 
 be one of the leading characterist-V-s of many of our race.
 
 j v PREFACE. 
 
 In my Bible and Sabbath-school books I early learned the 
 beauty of humble serving ; and thirty busy years of manhood, 
 spent mostly with those in the humbler walks of life, in an earnest 
 endeavor to minister to their wants or pleasure, have demon- 
 strated that this virtue is not only beautiful, but, like most others, 
 a paying one. It returns luxuries money will not purchase. 
 In the following pages there is more about the common soldiers 
 than officers, for the reason that I spent most of my time with 
 this, the working class of an army. 
 
 Though mainly for friends, if others see fit to purchase the 
 book they will have my gratitude. In giving the language of 
 different persons, uttered from five to ten years since, I cannot, 
 of course, pretend to strict accuracy. If those who have been 
 quoted shall find any fault, they will please excuse; for it has 
 been my aim to be strictly truthful, and that I have been nearly 
 so I am the more confident, inasmuch as my memory is very 
 retentive and accurate. 
 
 The songs, with music, scattered through the book, are some 
 of those most sung by the soldiers. I am asked for them by 
 members of the Army whenever met. The entire book will cost 
 less than these songs alone in sheet music. Those without music 
 are inserted for such as take an interest in simple ballad poetry. 
 
 In conclusion, I will say that, in all my intercourse with 
 officers and men in the Army, with political committees and 
 politicians, with Sabbath-school superintendents and scholars, 
 with school-teachers and pupils, and with clergymen and their 
 vestrymen, my intercourse has been of the pleasantest character. 
 I have met with but one class of public servants who have left
 
 PREFACE. v 
 
 very painful impressions. I refer to the higher officers of 
 prisons. If I should ever present the public with another book, 
 it will be on the prisons of our cquntry. In JefFersonville, 
 Indiana, there is a Prison Warden who tries to carry the spirit 
 of Christ into his every-day work. His Chaplain, the Rev. 
 Mr. Sullivan, is a meet companion ; and the prisoners love 
 them as they would their fathers. But observations made in a 
 large number of these institutions compel me to say these men 
 are exceptions. 
 
 I am sensible of many blemishes in composition. Some of 
 them shall be removed in future editions. But the book was 
 not written for critics ; and if it shall be found to any extent 
 enjoyable, and shall pay the uncritical reader for his time in 
 perusing it, I shall be content. 
 
 THE AUTHOK.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. SINGING IN THE ARMY . . . .11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 NEAR THE RAPPAHANNOCK 36 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 UP THE SHEXANDOAH VALLEY ...... 56 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 HOSPITALS .71 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Two NIGHTS UNDER GUARD 90 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THE SEVEN DAYS' FIGHTING BEFORE RICHMOND . .118 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 INCIDENTS IN CAMP AND ON RETREAT 140 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SUBSISTENCE 160 
 
 (vii)
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WOMEN IN THE AKMT 181 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 CHAPLAINS 202 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 BOXES AND LETTERS FROM HOME 234 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 NIGHT AND DAY TKAMPS IN TENNESSEE .' 254 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 BRANDT-STATION, MARCH, 1864 275 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 MONEY-MAKING IN THE ARMY 295 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 SPIES * 313 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 SPIES Continued - .333 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 THREE QUADROONS AND THEIR MOTHER .... 348
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 MASS-MEETING IN SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Hark! To Arms .... 
 We're Marching down to Dixie's Land 
 "We're Marching on to Richmond . 
 "We must not fall back any more 
 Brother, When will you Come Back? 
 The long Night is Ending 
 Swinging around the Circle . . 
 And so will the Boys in Blue . 
 
 34-35 
 116-117 
 138-139 
 158-159 
 200-201 
 232-233 
 346-347 
 372-373
 
 THREE YEARS 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. SINGING IN THE ARMY. 
 
 HOWEVER little the world may prize the singer or 
 the musician, music seems, on very many occasions, 
 nearly indispensable. It has a wonderful charm for 
 most persons. Hand-organs do not go out of use 
 like " one-hoss shays " and velocipedes. They are as 
 dear to our children of to-day, as they were to us in 
 our childhood. People who regard the players as 
 beggars, or a nuisance, and refuse a penny, throw up 
 their windows, that they, as well as their children, 
 may hear the music. It forms a large part of wor- 
 ship among most nations ; and at festivals, social, po- 
 litical, patriotic and religious gatherings, accomplished 
 musicians are sought, to add interest to the occasion.
 
 I3 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 The factory-girl sings at her loom, the blacksmith at 
 his forge, and the teamster whistles by his slowly-plod- 
 ding team. Only at a quarrel, and a birth, is music 
 never heard ; or, if there is any in the latter case, the 
 business is appropriated entirely to the new-comer. 
 Some sing before they can talk, others never. Some 
 patronize music because they love it, others because 
 they are ashamed to have it known that they have no 
 musical taste. Many who scarcely know one tune 
 from another, and certainly not harmony from discord, 
 are liberal patrons of musical artists, but from what 
 motive it is hard to tell. 
 
 In my first book of history, I read of ballad- 
 ists who accompanied armies to battle. They 
 told the story of the struggle, and the victory, and 
 it took deeper hold of the senses than the words 
 of the most eloquent orator. Exquisite ballad sing- 
 ing is the highest form of eloquence. In every age, 
 events that have stirred the hearts of the people 
 have given birth to innumerable songs. The history 
 of any people, with their songs omitted, is imperfect. 
 These, better than almost anything else, show their 
 ^thoughts and feelings. 
 
 When Moses and his people had escaped from the 
 Egyptians, and their pursuers had been swallowed up 
 by the sea, they sang unto the Lord a song, " The 
 horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea. The
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 13 
 
 Lord will reign for ever and ever. For the host of 
 Pharaoh went in with his chariot, and with his horse- 
 men into the sea, and the Lord brought again the 
 waters of the sea upon them ; but the children of 
 Israel went on dry land in the midst of the sea. And 
 Miriam, the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a 
 timbrel in her hand ; and all the women went out 
 after her, with timbrels and with dances. And 
 Miriam answered them, Sing ye to the Lord, for he 
 hath triumphed gloriously ; the horse and his rider 
 hath he thrown into the sea." 
 
 Sitting, in my childhood, on the knee of some vet- 
 eran of the Eevolution, I could always win a more 
 tender embrace, and start the tears from his dim old 
 eyes, by singing, "The Taxation of North America" 
 It had some fifteen eight-line stanzas, yet once singing 
 seldom sufficed : it took him back to the days when he 
 fought at Bunker Hill, and suffered at Yalley Forge. 
 Through childhood and youth, I ever had day-dreams 
 of marching with armies, to fight for some loved prin- 
 ciple . I never heard the Marseillaise without wishing 
 to spring into the ranks as a soldier, and fight to 
 overpower some wrong. But when war came upon 
 us, it found me unfitted for military duty, having been 
 disabled by a fall three years previously ; and, though 
 being able to walk quite well, going to the field as a 
 soldier or an officer was out of the question. Think-
 
 I4 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 ing there might be something for me to do, I wrote 
 Senator Wilson asking for an appointment, however 
 humble, assuring him that my services should be 
 rendered without expectation of pay or honors. His 
 answer was that he knew of no place for me. This 
 was mortifying, and made me indignant. Other men 
 obtained situations with pay and honors. I asked 
 for neither, and was refused. Yet if there should be 
 a serious war, as many predicte'd, there might be a 
 place in the hospital before the end. 
 
 I determined, then, to ask for an appointment in the 
 civil service, under Mr. Lincoln, for he had prom- 
 ised me at his home, in Springfield, assistance, at 
 any time it mjght be needed. With a straightforward 
 letter from Mr. Washburn, then Governor of Maine, 
 in which my qualifications and services were duly 
 set forth, I proceeded to the White House for 
 an office. If Mr. Lincoln should forget his promise, 
 here was my Governor's letter to intercede for me ; if 
 that failed, here were the signatures of a good part of 
 the Maine delegation. Who had a better chance for 
 an office? Arriving at the marble building, there 
 was no sentinel to pass at the outer door ; and any 
 one who had business with the President could pass 
 through the hall into the large waiting-room on the 
 left, send his card into the smaller room beyond, by 
 a messenger in attendance, take a seat among the
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 15 
 
 crowd, who have mostly come for an office, and in due 
 time he will be admitted. 
 
 Until I saw the crowd, and watched their anxious 
 faces, and overheard the importunities of each to the 
 other for help, begging this one to turn awhile for 
 the sharpening of his axe, when, in due time, the fa- 
 vor should be reciprocated with large interest, I was 
 elated. But the office-seekers disgusted me, and the 
 letter to the President was torn up at once. Yet it 
 would be pleasant to speak with him. Waiting for 
 iny turn to go in, there was an opportunity to study 
 my companions . One wanted the collectorship of New 
 Orleans. But what had he done to merit such a fat 
 office? Some extraordinary thing out in Illinois, for 
 the Republican party ; and Mr. Lincoln could not be 
 so ungrateful as to deny his request. He claimed 
 that he had expended a number of hundred dollars 
 for the party ; and how was he to get his pay, but by 
 an office? Another wanted a berth at Niagara Falls, 
 connected with the Customs. Another wanted to 
 supplant Gen. Bulger, of Baltimore, who purchased 
 army supplies. Another claimed, that by his zeal, 
 money, and tact, he had carried a doubtful county in 
 Pennsylvania, and nothing short of a good paying 
 office would satisfy him. Here was one from Illinois, 
 who had been a Democrat all his life, fighting side by 
 side with John A. Logan. But now, as John had
 
 1 6 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 gone to fight the rebels of the South, he wanted to 
 fight the rebels at home ; and, to do it successfully, 
 he must have a good paying office . n O shame ! where 
 is thy blush? " I was ashamed of my company, and 
 ashamed of myself, without looking in one of the 
 great mirrors that hung in the room. 
 
 Taking my memorandum-book, looking a few 
 minutes at the anxious crowd of patriots, and in- 
 cluding myself in the number, the following dog- 
 gerel was pencilled while waiting for my turn : 
 
 Noble, patriotic men ! 
 Maimed and scarred in bloody strife ; 
 Loving country more than self, 
 Leaving all more dear than life ; 
 Counting thousands spent as nought, 
 Willing yet to dare and do ; 
 w Give an office, Uncle Abe, 
 Then we'll be as good as new. 
 
 w Think of us while on the stump, 
 Braving Democratic hail ; 
 Think of speeches we have made, 
 And the tons we've sent by mail ;
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Still there's fearful work to do, 
 Stopping Democratic foam ; 
 Give an office, Uncle Abe, 
 Then we'll join the guards at home. 
 
 " We have brothers in the war, 
 Or, at least, our wives have some ; 
 If we're wanted we will go, 
 When the time to draft shall come ; 
 Let those go who like the fun, 
 We have other work to do ; 
 Give an office, Uncle Abe, 
 Then we'll put the rebels through." 
 
 At length the President was ready to hear my 
 business. Who that looked at the care-worn man 
 sitting at his desk, pen in hand, could but pity 
 him, and wonder why any one should ever desire such 
 a position as his ? The weight of a nation was on those 
 small, round shoulders ; the lives of tens of thousands 
 in those thin hands. Men of humble life sleep the 
 whole night, and wake refreshed, their faces showing 
 no line of care ; at the setting of the sun they lay 
 down their responsibilities with their tools, and give 
 the evening to recreation. Not so with that weary 
 servant of the nation, who watches, prays, and works,
 
 iS IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 while others sleep. And yet I, like others, had 
 come to take up his time. Giving his hand, and 
 saying he recollected me, he asked what he could 
 do for me. 
 
 " I want no office, Mr. President; I came to ask 
 for one, but have changed my mind since coming 
 into this house. When it comes to turning beggar, I 
 shall shun the places where all the other beggars go. 
 I am going to the army to sing for the. soldiers, as the 
 poets and balladists of old sang in war. Our sol- 
 diers must take as much interest in songs and sing- 
 ing, as did those of ancient times. I only wished 
 to shake hands with you, and obtain a letter of rec- 
 ommendation to the commanding officers, that they 
 may receive and treat me kindly." 
 
 "I will give you a letter with pleasure, but you 
 do not need one ; your singing will make you all 
 right." 
 
 On my rising to leave, he gave his hand, say- 
 ing, " God bless you, I am glad you do not want 
 an office. Go to the army, and cheer the men around 
 their camp-fires with your songs, remembering that a 
 great man said, " Let me but make the songs of a 
 nation, and I care not who makes its laws." 
 
 Calling me back, he said it weuld be necessary to 
 procure a pass at the Provost-Marshal's, on Twenty- 
 first Street, which could be done on the recommen-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. ^ 
 
 dation of Senator Merrill, or any of the members 
 from Maine, and that, with the object in view, there 
 would be no difficulty in reaching any of the armies, 
 East or West. 
 
 Procuring a cork bed, which could be rolled up 
 and slung like a knapsack, and getting out a large 
 edition of my songs, with music as well as words, each 
 song being printed on a large thick sheet, and sold at 
 five cents, I crossed the Potomac on my new enter- 
 prise. My feelings were new and strange. It was 
 attempting something for which there was no mod- 
 ern precedent. When a minister or a justice marries 
 his first couple, he can consult a form, and commit it 
 to memory. If one were to give a concert in any 
 town or city, he had but to get out posters, and he 
 could draw a crowd. 
 
 It was difficult to determine what to call myself in 
 this new role, provided it should be successful. 
 There were fife-majors, drum-majors, and band-mas- 
 ters ; but there was nothing in the Army Eegulations 
 about singing-masters. It mattered not that there 
 ought to be, it mattered not that France has been 
 thinking of teaching singing in her navy, it matters 
 not that Key, who wrote the "Star-spangled Banner," 
 is immortal, as well as Washington, though the differ- 
 ence in the position, of the two persons is as great as 
 can well be imagined. Yet mine was a mission that
 
 20 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 had no name, nor could an appropriate one be 
 thought of. 
 
 My first effort came near being my last. I called 
 on the colonel of a regiment from the city of New 
 York, told him my business, and asked permission 
 to speak and sing with his men. He gave me a very 
 chilling reception, and was anxious to have me leave. 
 Telling me that his chaplain could do all the speaking 
 and singing his men wished to hear, he yet said, if 
 they wished to hear me, he should not prohibit my 
 smging. "Yet," he continued, "if you cause any 
 row in the camp, you must leave at once." 
 
 Stepping upon a cracker-box, in the centre of the 
 camp, I told the men that if there were no special 
 duties to take their attention, I would be happy to 
 entertain them for a short time. 
 
 " Are you a tract peddler ? " says one. " We don't 
 want any tracts, we make our own." 
 
 I told them I would sing them a new song or two, 
 if they would gather about me and make an audience ; 
 but some one replied w that they had men in the regi- 
 ment who could beat the world singing, and that I 
 had better go and do re mi to the country-boys. " 
 They came from the city of New York, where the 
 best music of the country was made. I was about 
 leaving, when it occurred to me that it might be well 
 to try a stanza or two, without an audience. Before
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 2 l 
 
 the second stanza was completed, there were more 
 than two hundred men about me ; and as I was 
 about to take up the third stanza, a Lieutenant, a 
 short distance away, thinking I was a bummer, and 
 wishing to annoy me, while at the same time he 
 could give a specimen of his wit, called out, 
 
 "I say, old fellow, have you got any soap to sell?" 
 
 " No sir ; but if I had expected to find a chap that 
 needed it as much as you do, you should have been 
 supplied." 
 
 A shout was raised that brought more than five 
 hundred men about me. It was a successful hit. 
 Not only must the singing be continued, but the 
 Lieutenant came forward and helped to sell the songs. 
 Hundreds of the men sang with me, and it was al- 
 most impossible to get away from the camp. Even 
 the Colonel and surgeon came out and listened, while 
 the officers joined in promiscuously with the men, all 
 singing as if it were a religious, instead of a military 
 camp-meeting. 
 
 This was uiy introduction. With a little pluck, and 
 lucky repartee, my untoward beginning became a 
 successful ending. It would need another day to 
 decide whether my mission was to be a success or not. 
 The second and third trials the following day were 
 successful, and I felt myself a fixture. Eoom in any 
 tent, and such fare as others had, were free. I was
 
 22 TN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 wanted at headquarters, at the band-room, at the 
 guard-house, and the hospitals. Why have not other 
 and greater men preceded me? It was not only 
 pleasant, nay, exhilarating, but it paid. My first 
 thought was to organize a troupe ; but more mature 
 reflection told me I had better paddle my own canoe. 
 The band-masters arranged my songs for their bands, 
 and in a short time some of them were sung in every 
 part of the country, both in and out of the army. 
 
 I believe that my enthusiasm never made me en- 
 tirely forget myself, but once, while in the army. It 
 was a cool day, the last of March, or beginning of 
 April, when Slocum's Brigade, of Franklin's Divi- 
 sion, broke camp where they had wintered, a few 
 miles southwest of Alexandria, and marched down 
 the hill to take the cars for " On to Eichmond," via 
 Manassas. The rebels had retreated from the latter 
 place, and been followed to the Rappahannock. 
 When the long roll was beaten, the officers of the 
 line, and the men, believed they were going where 
 an engagement was probable. There were four 
 regiments and a battery. The 96th Pennsylvania 
 headed the line, its band playing one of my new 
 songs, and most of the men singing it. I marched 
 near the head of the column ; and when we came 
 to the chorus,
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 23 
 
 O, we're marching down to Dixie's land, 
 To Dixie's land, to Dixie's land, 
 And our flag shall wave to the Rio Grande, 
 And treason shall go down, 
 
 we made it ring out grandly over the Virginia hills. 
 Forgetting who and what I was, I determined to 
 march where the soldiers marched, sleep where 
 they slept, and fight where they fought, as soon as 
 there was a spare rifle. My appearance, as I look 
 back to it, seems comical. But, had we gone to battle, 
 my stout arms would have been useful with the 
 stretcher, or in the hospital, as was found on very many 
 occasions afterwards, and the officers knew it ; there- 
 fore, they welcomed me. 
 
 At Harper's Ferry there was, at one time, an Irish 
 regiment, brigaded with some New York troops. 
 With the latter I had become quite well acquainted, 
 and spent a number of successive evenings 'in giving 
 my entertainments. Passing by one of these regi- 
 ments one evening, an Irish soldier accosted me, and 
 wished to know if this was the man who had been 
 singing for the troops across the stream, for a few 
 evenings past. Being answered affirmatively, he 
 said the Adjutant of his regiment wished an enter- 
 tainment with them, the first evening it would suit 
 me. Having no engagement for that evening, and
 
 24 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 being promised an introduction, I accompanied him 
 to the quarters of the said officer. 
 
 Reaching the tent, and being introduced, I found 
 myself a lilliput with a giant. Had he been a Scotch- 
 man, he would have been taken for a lineal descendent 
 of William Wallace. But he was an Irishman, and 
 of most herculean proportions. Asking me if I could 
 spend a short time with him and his friends, and get- 
 ting an affirmative answer, he sent out for the Colonel 
 and the chaplain, a Catholic priest. Instead of 
 sending for others, and having the bugle sound the 
 "Assembly," as was customary in many of the regi- 
 ments visited, he commenced questioning me sharply, 
 thus : 
 
 " Who employs or pays you for the services ren- 
 dered here in singing? " 
 
 "No one employs me, sir; and my pay comes 
 from the sale of music." 
 
 There was something about the manner and eye 
 of this huge inquisitor, that aroused my suspicion. I 
 determined to be on my guard, say what he might. 
 He continued, 
 
 "Will you please sing for us 'the John Brown 
 song?'" 
 
 Knowing that was the last song an Irishman would 
 would want to hear, I said to him, 
 
 "I do not know it, -sir."
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 2 $ 
 
 " What ! in the army making song-singing a busi- 
 ness, and not know the John Brown song?" 
 
 "That is so, strange as it may seem. I have 
 often heard it, but not considering it a suitable song 
 for the army, never learned it, and consequently 
 cannot sing it." 
 
 " Why is it not a proper song for the army ? " 
 
 "It may not be easy to tell you, further than 
 this : There are a great many anti-John Brown men 
 in the army, whose feelings might be hurt by the song ; 
 and, being here to sing for all, irrespective of poli- 
 tics, it would be impolitic, in fact improper, to 
 sing the song." 
 
 "But, sir, that is the verysong we wish to hear, 
 and we do not care to hear any other until you have 
 sung that. Can you not give just one stanz&?" 
 
 "No, sir; not even a stanza; is not one refusal 
 sufficient ? " 
 
 "Unless my ear deceived me, I heard you sing 
 that song last evening. To be sure, I was twenty 
 rods away, but the air was still ; and if you did not 
 sing it , it was some one whose voice is marvellously 
 similar to yours." 
 
 " If you please, I will sing the song you heard last- 
 evening. It has the tune and chorus of John Brown ; 
 but the words are no more alike than Tarn O'Shanter 
 and Rorv O'More."
 
 2 6 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Giving them the Kallying Song, at the end of the 
 second stanza they joined and sang Glory Hallelujah, 
 as lustily as the best abolitionists from Boston could 
 have done. They were perfectly satisfied. The 
 Adjutant then acknowledged that he had endeavored 
 to entrap me ; that he suspected I was a second edi- 
 tion of the Hutchinson family, poisoning the young 
 men of the army with abolition songs; and that, 
 inasmuch as that batch of " namby pambies," as he 
 called them, had been sent outside the lines, by 
 order of Gen. Franklin, he intended to see that I was 
 taking their tracks, if he found me of their stamp. 
 
 Could he have looked into the depths of my heart, 
 he would have seen every verse of John Brown care- 
 fully kept for every needed and proper occasion ; 
 and could he have known how much I revered John 
 Brown, though condemning some of his rash and 
 wicked acts, and how I loathed such men as the 
 giant before me, no doubt he would have given 
 me such a thrashing, on the spot, as would have 
 compelled me to hang up my harp for at least one 
 campaign. 
 
 Coming from Frederick City to Baltimore, a few 
 days before Banks's defeat in the Valley, the cars 
 were filled mostly with soldiers; but there were 
 some civilians and a few ladies. In the crowd was a 
 Quarter-master, shining in his first suit. His cloth
 
 IN GAMP AND HOSPITAL . 2 y 
 
 was of the richest fabric, and his buttons bright from 
 the mould. He occupied a seat with a talkative, 
 confiding Virginia damsel, and they appeared so 
 much pleased with each other, it seemed an evidence 
 that the stern features of war were relaxing, and that 
 the time might not be far distant when the lion, 
 etc. 
 
 The soldiers importuned me for a song, and I gave 
 them "McCLELLAN is OUR MAN," they joining in the 
 chorus. Our Quarter-master took offence, I had 
 hirt the feelings of his compagnon de voyage. Ad- 
 dressing me very pompously, he said, 
 
 "We object to any more singing in this car." 
 
 " Why, I thought you were so absorbed you did 
 not hear it." 
 
 "It is exceedingly annoying to some of us, and we 
 do not intend to have any more of it. And, further- 
 more, if you are so patriotic as you profess, why don't 
 you shoulder the musket, and become a soldier at 
 once ? " 
 
 "Why, sir, the muskets gave out long ago, and 
 there is nothing left for us patriots but Quarter-mas- 
 ter's berths. But a hundred dollars a month, and a 
 quart of brass buttons for my coat, would not pay 
 me, so I make and sing songs, for my part in putting 
 down the Eebellion." 
 
 Springing up in his seat as if to seize his pistol, or
 
 2 8 . IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 to attack me, he was very glad to sit down at the 
 quiet invitation of an officer, who told him that he 
 was the aggressor, and he could not harm me. 
 
 Whether he remained long enough to tarnish his 
 buttons, or went home to tell of his exploits in a 
 campaign that needed no gunpowder, I do not know ; 
 but this I know, that during the first years of the 
 war there were thousands of men in the army who 
 would do more to propitiate a pretty Secesh woman, 
 than to defend the flag of their country. 
 
 Standing in an army-wagon without cover, in the 
 camp of the 5th Vermont, a day or two before the re- 
 treat to the James, I was singing for the regiment, 
 most of whom were gathered about me, perhaps five 
 hundred men. Ping-e, a bullet close to my head ! 
 Not certain whence it came, for flying bullets were 
 by no means rare at that time, I paid but little atten- 
 tion to it. In a few minutes there is another, e.ven 
 nearer than the first ; an officer has discovered that 
 the rebels in yonder thicket, three-fourths of a mile 
 distant, -are making my crowd their target ; and my 
 concert is speedily adjourned to a more convenient 
 place and season. 
 
 In the army, and out, I have had most splendid op- 
 portunities to turn for some one to grind his axe. A 
 would-be Governor, knowing what a hold a little song 
 sometimes obtains upon the common people, is anx-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 29 
 
 ious to see his strong points thrown into singing 
 shape, in such a taking style as will captivate the 
 masses till after the election ; and the man who will 
 make the song, and set the people to singing it, gets 
 his pay, 011 the part of the people, by the sale of the 
 songs, and, on the part of the politician, by a nod, 
 if there is no distinguished person to see it, and, once 
 in a great while, a shake of the hand. But if the as- 
 pirant gains his point, the poor poet is seldom 
 thought of; and, if ever, as a very clever fellow with 
 versatile genius. If any of our patriotic poets have 
 been rewarded with political honors, I have not 
 heard of it. Perhaps it would not be a bad plan to 
 try some of those in the berths that have been dis- 
 graced by the numerous Government defaulters. 
 
 After a battle, almost every commanding officer 
 thinks his troops displayed extraordinary heroism. 
 After a victory, it is quite common to find two or 
 three officers claiming the chief honor of the result. 
 " If I had not ordered that charge ! " " If I had not 
 pushed forward through that enfilading fire ! " or, 
 " If I had arrived a minute later, all would have been 
 lost ! " These, and similar expressions, are common, 
 and often honestly made. When men feel that they 
 have done anything particularly praiseworthy, it is 
 natural that they should crave commendation. If 
 officers, they wish a favorable mention in the report
 
 30 JN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 from head-quarters, and in the press. Few praises 
 are more gratifying to a successful commander than 
 those which are sung by the people ; and in all ages 
 the most popular ballads have perpetuated the hero- 
 ism of warriors. 
 
 It often happens that the exploits of both officers 
 and men, in battle, are of such a nature that the less 
 said of them the better. A case in point shall close 
 this chapter : A few "weeks after the battle of Stone 
 Biver, I visited one of the notable field-batteries, 
 commanded by a dignified officer, educated at West 
 Point. If there was any organization in the army of 
 the Cumberland that was regarded, or regarded 
 itself, as elite, that was the one. Being invited by 
 some of the men to sing, I first went to pay my re- 
 spects to the officer in command, show him my pass 
 and credentials, and obtain his sanction. 
 
 He received me with stiff politeness, making as 
 few words as possible, simply remarking that his 
 men were men of culture, accustomed, at home, to 
 entertainments of the highest order; "And as to 
 singing," said he, "I doubt not many of them could 
 better entertain you, than you them." 
 
 "But, Captain, the more cultivated the better I 
 shall like them. I have sung with five hundred reg- 
 iments and batteries." 
 
 Smiling at my persistence, he asked for one of the
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 songs I proposed to sing, when I handed him the 
 following : 
 
 BROTHER, WHEN WILL YOU COME BACK? 
 
 The shadows of evening bring home to the hearth 
 
 The loved ones who, patient, have toiled through the day ; 
 
 Though glad be the greetings, and hearty the mirth, 
 
 Our hearts ever turn to the brother away ; 
 
 We ask, is he pacing the sentinel's beat, 
 
 Intent on his duty, his face to the foe? 
 
 Or, wearied with marching through mud, rain and sleet, 
 
 He lies in his blanket, his pillow the snow? 
 
 CHORUS. Brother, dear brother, when will you come back? 
 Back to the hearts ever loving and true ? 
 While your camp-fires are burning, 
 Our fond hearts are yearning, 
 Brother, dear brother, we're praying for you. 
 
 The cold winds of winter sweep down from the hills, 
 With wailings more dismal than ever before ; 
 We think of the blast that our soldier-boy chills, 
 And sigh to divide him our basket and store ; 
 We know that but little he heeds his hard lot, 
 His long weary marches, his coarse scanty fare, 
 The cannon's loud thunder, the death-dealing shot, 
 But nerve him to suffer, to do, and to dare.
 
 3 a IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 There's many a soldier lies silent, alone, 
 Uncoffined, unshrouded, beneath the damp clay ; 
 His kindred search vainly for head-board or stone, 
 Or some one to tell where his life ebbed away ; 
 Though sad be the tidings from fields red with gore, 
 And Death reaps a harvest of brave and true men, 
 Dear brother, stand firm till the contest is o'er, 
 Then rush to the arms that will clasp you again. 
 
 Perusing the words, and looking at the music very 
 carefully, he inquired, "Who is the author of these 
 words ? " 
 
 "Your humble servant, sir." 
 
 " Who is the author of the music ? " 
 
 "The same, sir." 
 
 "I hope you are not in a hurry. I have something 
 to propose to you that I think may be of importance 
 to both of us. Did you witness any part of our 
 great battle?" 
 
 "I did; but was most of the time so far to the 
 rear, that I can tell but little about it. I knew more 
 by the sound than the sight." 
 
 " Near what part of the line were you, mostly ? " 
 
 "Near the left and centre." 
 
 " Do you know anything of the action of my bat- 
 tery on the occasion ? " 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 w Well, sir," (taking a stick, and making a diagram 
 on the ground-floor of his tent,) "here was Bragg's
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 33 
 
 Army, and here was ours. Here is my battery, and 
 opposite, are some of Bragg's choicest troops." 
 
 But I need not go into detail. His "men bore a 
 most conspicuous part in achieving victory." The 
 point of this pretension can only be seen by reading 
 a chapter in a book issued by the State of Ohio, en- 
 titled, " OHIO IN THE WAE." I will not quote the par- 
 agraph, lest I should do the battery injustice. But 
 it is there asserted that this same battery committed, 
 on that occasion, one of the most inexcusable blun- 
 ders of the war, by firing upon, killing and wounding 
 a number of Ohio troops, taking them for rebels. 
 And this man wished me to weave the heroism of his 
 boys into poetry and song, and thought it would be 
 doing not only justice to them, but a good thing for 
 myself. 
 
 Even while he was making his diagrams, I was on 
 the point of asking him where the Ohio troops were 
 that he fired into. The charge wa*s current before 
 the battle was over. But it always seemed strange 
 that the officer was not overhauled, if the charge was 
 true. But there it is in the book referred to. I did 
 not write any ballad for the occasion. 
 
 Before the war closed, some of the most distin 
 guished men and women of the country visited the 
 Army, to speak, read, and sing; among whom I may 
 mention Thomas Buchannan Read, and Murdock, the 
 Tragedian.
 
 34 Hark, To arms ! our Country calls us. 
 
 ARMY SONG. 
 
 
 Hark! To arms I our Country's calling! Treason strikes, our brothers falling ! 
 
 Mill and Workshop, cease your rattle, Send your working hosts to battle. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Hark, To arms, Our country calls us, Dangers rouse but naught appals us. 
 
 v 
 
 Northern blades, and northern metal, Test them, traitors, iiow we settle. 
 
 -ft 
 
 1
 
 35 
 
 2. Tradesmen, close your doors and speed you 
 To the field, your brothers need you ! 
 Herdsmen, leave your flocks and cattle, 
 Arm and hurry to the battle ! 
 
 Cho. Hark! To arms, &c. 
 
 3. Young men, lithe and strong we want you ; 
 Quail, and age and cripples taunt you ! 
 Seize the golden moments flying; 
 Meet your duty, living, dying ! 
 
 Cho. Hark, To arms, &c. 
 
 4. Women true, no tears or sighing ! 
 Ease and luxuries denying ! 
 Loving words and Spartan valor, 
 Not a lip or cheek of pallor. 
 
 Cho. Hark, to arms, &o. 
 
 5. East and West, they shout ' We're ready" ! 
 On the columns, firm and steady ! 
 True as were our Sires before us, 
 Marching steady to the chorus 
 
 Cho. Hark! To arms, &o.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 NEAR THE RAPPAHANNOCK. 
 
 SHORTLY after McClellan's advance on Manassas, 
 to find it abandoned, that portion of the army under 
 McDowell was encamped awhile near Catlett's Station, 
 on the railroad from Washington to Richmond. But 
 previous to the arrival of these troops, a brigade of 
 Banks' command, then in the Shenandoah, had come 
 across the mountains, and been assigned to the front 
 position -in McClellan's Army. 
 
 These troops were the 12th and the 13th Mass., 
 Cols. Webster and Leonard, the 16th Mich., Col. 
 Stockton, the 13th and 16th Indiana, and the 9th 
 New York, the Commanders of which I do not re- 
 member by name. There was also one battery, and 
 in a short time this force was strengthened by the 
 addition of the New England Cavalry, from Provi- 
 dence, R. I., and vicinity, the 8th Illinois, and one 
 half of the 1st Maine, likewise cavalry. The Irish 
 Brigade was somewhere in he vicinity, but I do not 
 know precisely where. 
 
 (56)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 37 
 
 This seemed a very inadequate force to check Lee, 
 should he assume the offensive. But, in a short time, 
 a large body of troops began to move forward towards 
 this point, though very slowly indeed ; and, as far as 
 an outsider could judge, we were going on to Rich- 
 mond by the most direct route. Next to the troops 
 already mentioned, and occupying either side of the 
 railroad, at Catlett's, were Franklin's Division, 
 Kearney's Brigade, and the Pennsylvania Reserves, 
 consisting of twelve regiments and three batteries. 
 But suddenly the plan seemed to be changed ; and, 
 while Franklin's and Kearney's troops returned to 
 Alexandria, the Pennsylvanians, and many others, 
 were sent across the country, under McDowell, to 
 Fredericksburg. Those that returned to the Potomac 
 were to embark, with the main army, for the Pe- 
 ninsula. 
 
 A few days after the Brigade from the Sheuaudoah 
 had pitched their tents at Rappahannock Junction, I 
 made a call one morning on Company B., of the 12th 
 Mass., who were doing provost duty, the same being 
 under command of Captain Bates, of AYeymouth. 
 The rain was pouring down, the mud was deep, the 
 weather cold, almost to the freezing point, and every- 
 thing gloomy indeed. If I had been asked what 
 motive brought me here, what 'could have been my
 
 38 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 answer, but a love of adventure, and a disposition to 
 go to the front. 
 
 I was about to enter one of the Sibley tents, which 
 accommodate some twelve men, when my ears were 
 saluted by a stentorian voice, which, on looking 
 away some ten rods, I perceived came from a dark- 
 complexioned, thick-set, resolute-looking man, with 
 a Captain's strap on his shoulder. 
 
 " This way, sir I Who are you? This way, sir ! " 
 
 Starting for his tent, and coming into his presence, 
 touching my hat with as much military style as my 
 brief experience enabled me to execute, I inquired 
 of the stern officer whom I had the honor of address- 
 ing? 
 
 " I am the Provost Marshal, sir, of this Depart- 
 ment, and it is my duty to arrest all unknown or 
 suspicious persons. Now, what is your name ; and 
 where are you from ; and what is your business?" 
 
 Giving my name and residence, I continued : W I 
 furnish the Army with postage-stamps, work in the 
 hospitals when feeling like it, and, when wanted, 
 give free entertainments of singing, and lectures on 
 temperance, and get my pay by the sale of music." 
 
 "Where are your stamps?" 
 
 "Here, sir " opening "a tin water-tight cylinder 
 that would hold five hundred dollar's worth. 
 
 " And do you sell them at cost ? "
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 39 
 
 " I do, sir." 
 
 " Are you aware that there is a penalty for selling 
 postage-stamps above their face ? " 
 
 "I am, sir." 
 
 "But why do you carry -them, if not to make 
 money ? " 
 
 " To accommodate those who need them." 
 
 " Has the Government sent you to the Army for 
 this purpose ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; I did not need to be sent. Most of the 
 Sutler's refuse, or neglect to keep them on hand. I 
 saw the wants of the men, and have endeavored to 
 meet them." 
 
 " I suppose you have a pass ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Let me see it." 
 
 I found, on searching my pockets, that I was in 
 the condition of the servant-girl who had lost her 
 charac-ter. It was not to be found. 
 
 " So you cannot find your pass ? Out to the front, 
 with no reasonable business, and without a pass, 
 looks, to say the least, rather suspicious. Your 
 disinterested kindness is of a pattern we are not 
 accustomed to. I shall be under the necessity of 
 presenting your case to the General in command." 
 
 " I shall be most happy to make his acquaintance 
 if he is a gentleman, and no doubt he is."
 
 4 o 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 The provost had attempted to frighten me by a 
 loud, sharp voice, and an imperious but unnatural 
 manner, the reason for which was not understood at 
 the time. I found, afterwards, that this was the 
 method usually adopted to disconcert men arrested 
 as spies. I took the liberty to tell him that all such 
 harsh words were unnecessary : that, while they made 
 mo feel unpleasant, they could do no good ; he 
 could not disconcert me, and he might take me to 
 the General as soon as possible. 
 
 A short walk to an old farm-house brought me into 
 the presence of General Abercrombie, a small, gray- 
 haired man, sixty years of age, erect as a well disci- 
 plined soldier at dress parade, voice soft and sweet 
 as a woman's, manners uncommonly affable for a 
 West Pointer, but with an eye that tocfc in the char- 
 acter of the person scrutinized at a glance. 
 
 "General," said the Provost, "I have arrested this 
 man as a suspicious character. He seems to have no 
 legitimate business, and is without a pass. I submit 
 him to you." 
 
 With great pleasantness of word and manner, he 
 asked me my reason for visiting that outpost of tho 
 Army, saying that it seemed very extraordinary in- 
 deed to find a civilian from the North there. I gave 
 him the same story previously told to Captain Bates. 
 
 " Why are you without a pass ? "
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 4! 
 
 "I left it, by mistake, with other papers, in the 
 4th New Jersey, Kearney's Brigade, back towards 
 Manas sas." 
 
 After putting all the questions he could think of 
 that might serve to enlighten him as to my charac- 
 ter, he said, 
 
 " You seem to be a Northern man. Your answers 
 are very frank. There is but one one bad feature to 
 your case that I can discover : I cannot understand 
 what motive brings you here, and alone. There is 
 nothing here to buy, and you have nothing to sell 
 but some postage-stamps, which afford no profit, and 
 a few songs, which can give you but little pay for the 
 hardships and dangers encountered. As you have no 
 pass, I think I shall be under the necessity of detain- 
 ing you until we can learn more about you." 
 
 "General, with your permission, I would like to 
 sing you a song." 
 
 Staring at me a moment, with a look that indicated 
 both astonishment and amusement, he replied, 
 
 "We will hear you with pleasure. Proceed." 
 
 I struck up my song, then new, We're marching 
 down to Dixie's Land. I had sung but one stanza, 
 when Captain Bates interrupted by asking if he 
 could see the music. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Here it is." 
 
 "Adjutant, this way if you please. You take the
 
 4 2 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 tenor, I will sing the bass, and this man will sing the 
 air. Repeat the first stanza. All right. Pro- 
 ceed." 
 
 And the concert commenced. The Captain, who 
 had a fine bass voice, became exceedingly interested, 
 and the Adjutant made his sweet tenor prominent. 
 
 The first stanza went off quite well, the second 
 much better, the third brought the General to a 
 laugh, and a clapping of the hands, and we had to 
 repeat it : 
 
 March on, march on, our cause is just, 
 
 To Dixie's land, to Dixie's land ; 
 
 With loyal hearts, and God our trust, 
 
 To put Rebellion down : 
 
 The blood of martyred brothers cries, 
 
 From Dixie's land, from Dixie's land, 
 
 Avenge, avenge our sacrifice, 
 
 And put Rebellion down : 
 
 The trumpet sounds, the war-cry rings, 
 
 In Dixie's land, in Dixie's land, 
 
 'Mid clashing steel each brave heart springs 
 
 To put Rebellion down. 
 
 O, we're marching down to Dixie's land, 
 To Dixie's land, to Dixie's land, 
 And our flag shall wave to the Rio Gi'ande, 
 And Treason shall go down.
 
 IN GAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 43 
 
 The General rose to his feet ; and, seeing that I 
 had him on my side, it made me forget that I was 
 under arrest. I seemed to be singing at a grand 
 concert, and felt myself the most important person- 
 age in the crowd. The song concluded, the General 
 gave me his hand most cordially. 
 
 " I understand you now, sir. If you can stir our 
 hearts as you have, you will wield a vast power 
 over the common soldier, who is more emotional, and 
 perhaps better than we are. Captain Bates, you will 
 furnish this man with a pass ; and you, sir, may con- 
 sider yourself at home as long as you please to re- 
 main in my Brigade." 
 
 Eight here, as well as anywhere, I may say, that 
 the army had few better officers than Captain Bates. 
 He was promoted to the command of the regiment, 
 and was one of the fighting-men of the army. Both 
 he and his men have a noble record. 
 
 When I started for the front I was with the New 
 England Cavalry. Ten miles, or more, beyond Man- 
 assas, the regiment bivouacked for the night. The 
 weather being damp, and not feeling well, I called at 
 a house for lodging, hoping to avoid sleeping on the 
 ground. Rapping several times before receiving a 
 reply, I at length heard the customary inquiry, "Who 
 is there?" 
 
 It was evident the inmates were in bed, though it
 
 44 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 was scarcely dark. I answered, "A stranger, un- 
 armed, who wishes lodging, and is willing to pay a 
 reasonable price." 
 
 "We have no place for you." 
 
 "Brother," (emphasizing that word,) "lam quite 
 unwell. True, I am a Northern man, and one of our 
 regiments ia stopping for the night near by; but I 
 am a gentleman, and, I trust, a Christian, with 
 ample means to pay, and will sleep on the floor, 
 .while you shall never regret your kindness to a 
 stranger." 
 
 "Have patience till I can strike a light, and I will 
 do what I can for you." 
 
 The door was unbolted, and there stood one of the 
 most prepossessing old men I ever saw. He had 
 no bed, but a plenty of blankets with which to make 
 one on the floor, and in half an hour I was as happy 
 as though I were at the Tremont. Rising early, 
 and knowing I had but a short time to stay, as the 
 regiment would move as soon as the men and horses 
 could finish their morning meal, I offered the old 
 gentleman a greenback and prepared to leave. "No, 
 stranger, no money, but if you could procure for 
 my family a quart of salt, you would do a kindness 
 wo shall never forget." 
 
 Taking a tin pail, which he called a bucket, and 
 seeking the proper wagon, I soon procured two
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 45 
 
 quarts, and presented it to my host. Stepping into 
 the adjoining room, he soon returned with a handful 
 of bills, four inches or more in thickness, holding 
 them so that I could see, as he turned up the ends, 
 that they were of various denominations, from five 
 dollars to a hundred. 
 
 " My dear sir, here are thousands of dollars of Con- 
 federate money, and you may take any sum you 
 please, if you will procure for me of your troops one 
 bushel of meal. I have potatoes, pork, a little 
 wheat, a few other articles of food, but no meal ; and 
 none of my neighbors have any to spare. This may 
 probably be of use to you some time ; but, had I a 
 bushel of it, it would not avail me to feed my family." 
 
 " I do not think so much could be procured, 
 perhaps not any. I will see what can de done." 
 
 But before I reached the camping-ground, the train 
 had started. I returned, and remained long enough 
 to hear his experience in the war, and, as it interested 
 me, it may the reader : 
 
 "I had no heart in this Secession. I am a Botts 
 man, sir. John Miner Botts is my friend. He lives 
 about forty miles south, between the Eappahannock 
 and the Eapidan. He is a gentleman, and a man of 
 much greater influence than I. The government at 
 Richmond annoyed him a great deal. He was ar- 
 rested, but he proved smart enough for them. I
 
 46 nr CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 thought to propitiate them, and avoid trouble, by sell- 
 ing them my stock, and buying other stock for them 
 during the time the army was in this vicinity. This 
 pile of Confederate notes is the proceeds of my 
 horses, mules, cattle and swine, and of my net profits 
 on purchases and sales. When the army left, my 
 granary was bare. It stripped most of us, but me in 
 particular. Now your troops are on the south of me, 
 and, were I in Alexandria to-day, I have nothing that 
 would buy corn or flour. 
 
 "I have but one thing to regret, and that is, that I 
 was not more decided and outspoken against the 
 course of our leaders. The more I see of their con- 
 duct, the more I loathe them, and now, sir, I abandon 
 their cause. Henceforth I am a Union man ; and I 
 will leave all I have here to the fortunes of war, and 
 go North, where I have friends, and, if I can find 
 nothing to do, will throw myself upon their hospi- 
 tality until this wretched work is ended. There is 
 not an animal about my premises that will give sus- 
 tenance to a family. I have one hope that is a little 
 comforting : the husband of that young woman you 
 just saw, with a little boy by her side, is in the rebel 
 army, and I have some hope that the villain may die, 
 or be shot." 
 
 " Why, sir, if he is a bad man, why do you not, or 
 why did you not before this, procure a divorce for
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 47 
 
 your daughter, as I presume that is the relation she 
 bears to you?" 
 
 "I think you do not fully understand the nature 
 of young women. Most of them will suffer the 
 most brutal treatment, especially if quite young, for 
 years, before they are willing to resort to the re- 
 volting steps of procuring a divorce. They prefer to 
 endure the brutality of a husband, who is sometimes 
 passably kind, to the coldness and suspicions of the 
 world, that seldom speaks of them kindly, and never 
 with pity. Her husband is everything that is mean 
 and loathsome : a liar, a shirk, a sluggard, a pol- 
 troon, destitute of honor, and a drunkard. But she 
 does not see him in his true light. She thinks he 
 will improve with age ; that he is f now sowing his 
 wild oats.' But, sir, he is rotten ; and if I lose my 
 farm I will take my family North, and, if possible, 
 where he will never see my child again. Brutes like 
 him grow worse, instead of better. 
 
 "O, stranger! we little think, when our girls are 
 children, what we are raising them for. When they 
 are in pain we leap from our warm beds into the 
 cold, make haste to kindle the fire for warm drinks, 
 ride, if need be, through the pelting storm for a 
 physician, with the image of our suffering child con- 
 fronting us all the way to the town and back ; in child- 
 hood, father and mother are detained from church,
 
 48 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 and places of entertainment, because she is unwilling 
 to remain at home with the servants ; in her youth 
 we lavish money on her in many ways, schooling her 
 at an expensive seminary, supplying her with a costly 
 piano, and the accustomed dress and ornaments of 
 females of good society, money for a visit to New 
 Orleans, and mercy knows what not, and for what? 
 With three months' acquaintance with a brainless 
 swell, she becomes a wife, and, in time, a mother. 
 Without a father, my daughter's condition would be 
 worse than that of the Hindoo widow who mounts the 
 funeral pile. She is on the funeral pile, and lives. 
 But I declare most solemnly she shall never live with 
 that wretch again. Hurry on, Northern soldiers, if 
 only to hack, shoot, or hang the cowardly brute who 
 has made my family wretched. Stranger, I see you 
 are impatient to leave. Do you know the way to 
 the place where your regiment is bound ? " 
 
 "I can follow its trail, of course." 
 
 Bidding him goad-by, I was soon on my way, 
 and in an hour was with the'regiment, which had been 
 detained in crossing a creek. 
 
 I accompanied McDowell's troops to Fredericks- 
 burg. These were the troops McClellan wanted for 
 reinforcements on the peninsula. He received a 
 small part of them, the Pennsylvania Reserves, at 
 Mechanics ville .
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 49 
 
 At Fredericksburg I saw little worthy of note. It 
 looked seedy, but had not been much injured by the 
 Confederate troops that had occupied it. I think our 
 advance met with little opposition. At any rate, 
 when the main body arrived, the city was in peace- 
 able possession of the troops that had preceded us. 
 
 I found entertainment with an old gentleman, who 
 was not only talkative, but intelligent. In fact, he 
 knew more than any Virginian I had ever conversed 
 with. Asking him how he felt about the war, I re- 
 ceived a reply somewhat like this : 
 
 " Like most Virginians, I was opposed to Secession, 
 but, being outvoted, and my State going with her 
 sister Slave States, I intended to bear my portion of 
 the burden. I have three sons, and a son-in-law, in 
 the service. My property is at the service of my 
 new country, as it was to that of my old." 
 
 " Do you expect to succeed in establishing an in- 
 dependent government ? " 
 
 "Most assuredly I do, as indeed we all do. All 
 history promises success to us. We are a great, and 
 unlike the North, a united people ; and we are fight- 
 ing on the defensive, for home, independence, and 
 right ; yes, sir, right" 
 
 "But if you are a great people, aside from your 
 slaves, who are an incumbrauce at this time rather 
 than a help, we are twice as great. We can raise 
 
 4
 
 5 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 two men to your one, equip them perfectly, feed and 
 pay them ; and then we have a Navy (while you have 
 none) that can demolish every city on your coast, 
 or, which is much better, take possession of them at 
 our pleasure. And, as to divisions at the North, you 
 will find, as we have already found, that, with few 
 exceptions, one political party feels as keenly as the 
 other every insult to the old flag. If you will go 
 with me among our troops here, while I ascertain 
 who are Republicans and who Democrats, the number 
 of the latter will astonish you. If you have flattered 
 yourself that the Democrats at the North are not 
 going to fight to put down this rebellion, you are 
 much mistaken. Why, our highest and best Gen- 
 erals are Democrats. Generals McClellan, Franklin, 
 Hancock, Wool, and others I could name, are Dem- 
 ocrats." 
 
 "That is a good one! That pleases me. Your 
 great Generals ! who are they ? Wool is in his 
 dotage ; McDowell, well, to look at him, a 
 chuckle-head stupid, is enough, without his ex- 
 ploits at Bull Run, to tell what he is ; McClellan, 
 a mere pet of a vain old man, who could subsist for 
 a month on a little flattery and a picture of himself 
 in full military dress to gaze at, what has Mc- 
 Clellan done, that he should be set up as the Amer- 
 ican Napoleon? I tell you, stranger, that when Lee
 
 /AT CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 5l 
 
 has whipped the conceit out of him, as he surely will 
 do the first opportunity that -offers, your people will 
 treat him as men do all their idols, when they find 
 they are not gods, and he will wish he had confined 
 himself to building railroads ; a business, I doubt 
 not, he understands." 
 
 " You are severe on our commanders." 
 "No more so than you will be a year hence. You 
 may raise, or the war may develop, some Gen- 
 erals ; but you have none now. I know most of 
 them personally, as I know ours. Robert E. Lee, 
 providentially, is neither too old nor too young. Ex- 
 treme age is worse than extreme youth. He has rare 
 talents, ripe years, has had a broad field of observ- 
 ation, and considerable military experience. There 
 will probably be a great loss of life, but you cannot 
 conquer us. And what are you fighting against us 
 for ? Have we ever injured you ? Did we ever prey 
 upon your commerce? Have we not bought your 
 manufactures? Have we not shipped to you our 
 cotton, made you our factors, allowed you to spin 
 and weave it, received the cloth from your looms, 
 paying double transportation, commissions and prof- 
 its? We have not troubled you. If you saw fit to 
 send to England, France, Ireland, or the British 
 Provinces for operatives to work up the cotton we 
 sent you, it was none of our business, and we did
 
 ij2 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. . 
 
 not make it such. But for thirty years the North 
 has been meddling with our system of labor, attempt- 
 ing to beget discontent, circulating incendiary docu- 
 ments through the mails, keeping up an underground 
 railroad to take away our restless negroes, and keep- 
 ing up a continual agitation in Congress, until war, 
 bloody war, is the result." 
 
 "Who fired the first gun?" 
 
 "Xo matter who fired the first gun. You might 
 as well inquire who fired the first gun when a robber 
 is entering your house." 
 
 "I do not see the parallel. I believe Anderson 
 and his men, at Sumpter, were not attempting to 
 enter anybody's house or territory. But we will 
 not argue the point. The time of argument has 
 passed; war, stern war, must settle the question 
 now." 
 
 "I am acquainted at the North. I can see no 
 material difference between the white laborers there, 
 and the black laborers here. As soon as your mer- 
 chant or manufacturer makes one hundred or two 
 hundred thousand dollars, he makes as broad a 
 distinction between himself and laborers, as there 
 is between the master and slave. I have been at 
 Central Park, and Fifth Avenue, and I never wit- 
 nessed in all the South such airs as I have seen 
 there. If our substratum is the black, yours is the
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 53 
 
 foreigner. If we have our Cuffees and Dinahs, 
 you have your Patricks and Biddys. Why, sir, I 
 have seen in a little town in Massachusetts, of less 
 than eight thousand population, a successful manufac- 
 turer riding in his carriage, driven by an Irish coach- . 
 man, displaying a cockade, like his city brothers, 
 who drive the snobs of Fifth Avenue. Eman- 
 cipate your own poor, before you come down here to 
 trouble ours ! Before the war, there was scarcely 
 a slave in Virginia that was not in a better condition 
 than a large part of the sewing women of New York. 
 Do the people of the North think we are ignorant 
 of these things? What hypocrisy I And, most 
 unaccountable and insulting of all, men and women, 
 professed Christians as well as others, who take 
 no notice of their own suffering sisters and chil- 
 dren, are ever croaking about the poor negro of the 
 South. I never heard that these people were ever 
 distinguished for their interest in the free negroes 
 of the North." 
 
 " Sir, the free negro of the North takes care of 
 himself, as I expect the free negroes of the South 
 will, if this war shall result in his emancipation." 
 
 "That is a mistake. The free negroes maybe tol- 
 erably well fed and clothed in New York, and 
 especially in Boston, but in the cities and large towns 
 of Southern Ohio and Indiana, and in Canada, they
 
 54 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 are an indolent and vagabond race. They live in 
 the meanest houses, herding almost like pigs, beg- 
 ging and stealing in preference to work." 
 
 "You are extravagant in your statement of the 
 case ; but suppose you were not, the free negroes 
 of these places are uneducated, and the whites have 
 done all they could, for generations, to keep them 
 down. They have had no incentives to rise. 
 Even the white children are allowed to insult ne- 
 groes of all ages, and if the injured party dares to 
 resist, a riot might ensue that would lead to the 
 extermination of the hated Africans. 
 
 "In Boston, Salem, Lowell, Portland and Fall 
 Biver, though they select occupations requiring less 
 physical power, they are quite as industrious and 
 thrifty as the foreign whites. And, furthermore, 
 in all these cities there are the fighting neighbor- 
 hoods, but these are not the negro quarters. But, 
 sir, when you come North again, if you will visit 
 me I will take you over my city, and others, and 
 show you what education has done for the black 
 man. We do not claim that we can make a white 
 man of him ; he has his characteristics, which may 
 never be obliterated. But your children and mine 
 may see the day that shall determine the capabil- 
 ities of the negro race." 
 
 Finding that McDowell's force was to be but a
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 55 
 
 guard for Washington, I prepared to follow the 
 main army to the Peninsula, whither it was being 
 transported. When leaving the city, I learned 
 that a female soldier had been found in one of the 
 regiments. I had a glimpse of her as she was 
 being sent away; but could learn no particulars, 
 so will not pretend to give any. She was sent 
 off as quietly and speedily as possible. Good-by 
 to Fredericksburg.
 
 CHAPTEE III: 
 
 UP THE SHENANDOAH VALLEY. 
 
 ABOUT the last of April or first of May, 1862, 
 I was at Fortress Monroe, waiting for a steamer up 
 the York and the Pamunkey to reach the army 
 encamped at Whitehouse Landing. Being obliged 
 to wait a few hours, I spent them on a steamer, 
 bound, perhaps, to Annapolis, having on board a 
 large number of the sick and wounded. It had just 
 come down the river. The wounded were from the 
 battle of Williamsburg. After talking and singing 
 there a short time, I was told that, over in one 
 corner, there were ten or fifteen wounded prisoners. 
 Calling to chat with these unfortunates a few min- 
 utes, I found them quite sociable, and one, in par- 
 ticular, very ready to talk about the trouble that had 
 brought him there. 
 
 His name was Charley Tuttle. He had a bad flesh- 
 wound near the knee, that gave him a great deal 
 of pain, but he was in good spirits, and entirely 
 cured of Secession. He cursed the leaders of tho 
 (56)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 57 
 
 rebellion, and everybody that encouraged it. Ho 
 said he deserved all his affliction, and wished that 
 all the "big Indians" who brought on the war 
 might get a Minie two feet higher than he got his. 
 
 As I was about to leave him, he said, "Stranger, 
 would you do a boy in my fix a great favor?" 
 
 "To be sure I will, if possible. What is it ?" 
 
 "I would like to have you write a little letter for 
 me. I don't want you to think, however, I am such 
 a heathen that I can't write myself. But somehow, 
 it aint handy. No paper, pon or ink, and I would 
 have to be waited upon a heap ; so if you would just 
 do it for me you would oblige me much." 
 
 "Of course I will." 
 
 The pencil and paper were soon ready. 
 
 "Now, what shall I write?" 
 
 "Stop a minute. Let me tell you a little about 
 myself, and then you can fix it up to suit the case. 
 I live in Shenandoah County, Virginia. When the 
 war-fever was at the highest pitch a year ago, I was 
 in Alabama, and, like all the other fools, enlisted. 
 You see where I am, and what I got. My parents 
 know of my enlisting, but I presume they have never 
 heard from me since. Have written two or three 
 letters, but reckon the mails aint of much account 
 South, whatever they may be North. But non- 
 sense ! why can't I come to the point? Just tell
 
 58 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 the old folks where I am, and about my leg, and I 
 don't care if you tell them I am glad I was hit; 
 for I have had soldiering enough. They that .want 
 more can have it. Tell them I shall go home as 
 soon as I can get there. I don't know as I can get 
 a discharge, but the doctor says I shall have a stiff 
 knee, so I reckon I may get one some time." 
 
 Writing a letter as much to his liking as possible, 
 I inquired, "How shall it be directed?" 
 
 "Nehemiah Tuttle, New Market, Shenandoah Co., 
 Virginia. Write on the bottom, six miles up the 
 pike towards Harrisonburg, and he will get it." 
 
 "But, my boy, I am going up the valley in a 
 week or two, and what do you say to my going to 
 see your parents?" 
 
 "Do you mean it? Why, if I had any money I 
 would certainly divide with you, if you would go. 
 They are poor, but will give you a hearty wel- 
 come." 
 
 Telling him I would post the letter, and, further, 
 if it were possible would see" his parents, I was 
 about to leave him, when some of his comrades 
 spoke up, and wished me to write for them. But 
 one lived in North Carolina, another in Culpepper, 
 and a third in Leesburg, Virginia ; and I told them 
 it would be useless to try to get any letters to any 
 one of those places ; and thought it very doubtful
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 59 
 
 about the letter in my hands reaching the place 
 intended, but it might. But the steamer for the 
 Whitehouse was ready, and there was only time to 
 say good-by. 
 
 I found the army in fine spirits. The successful 
 issue of the little battles at Williamsburg and York- 
 town, had inspired all with fresh courage. Every 
 one seemed impatient for an advance, that a decisive 
 blow might be struck before the weather became 
 hotter ; for even then, at mid-day, it was often 
 scorching. Who that saw that grand army of nearly 
 a hundred thousand thoroughly equipped and well- 
 disciplined men move out by different roads on that 
 memorable Monday morning, can ever forget the 
 scene? Infantry, cavalry and artillery, in due pro- 
 portion. There were the Springfield rifle, the breech- 
 loading and the Spencer. There were the six-pound 
 J^apoleons, the twelve-pound howitzers, and the 
 large siege guns. There was the little Coffee-mill 
 Battery, with eight guns, that threw four-ounce balls, 
 and there was the Lowe Balloon. The Berdan sharp- 
 shooters, the terror-striking Zouaves, and the Irish 
 Brigade, were all there. The long roll began before 
 daylight, and by eight o'clock there was little to be 
 seen at the Wliitehouse, but sutler and hospital tents. 
 
 Meeting no opposition till within some ten miles 
 of Richmond, nothing of moment occurred till the
 
 60 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 battle of Fair Oaks. Leaving the front, I returned 
 to Baltimore, purchased three hundred dollars worth 
 of postage-stamps, and started for the Shenandoah 
 Valley. The cars took me with little interruption to 
 Winchester, where I expected to find Banks' Army. 
 But there were few troops in this old dilapitated 
 town. Some German regiments were near by, but 
 the town was guarded, principally, by the 10th 
 Maine. The most reliable information I could ob- 
 tain about Banks' troops located them some fifty or 
 sixty miles up the valley. There was a stage run- 
 ning to Strasburg, eighteen miles, but its time of 
 starting not suiting me, I slung my knapsack and 
 started out alone. Three or four miles from the 
 town I saw a large number of men half a mile from 
 the road, busy at something which excited my curi- 
 osity, and went to ascertain what they were about. 
 They were burying the dead killed in battle a day or 
 t\vo before, in the fight between the armies under 
 Jackson and Shields. Some think it was at this 
 battle that Jackson received the title of Stonewall. 
 It is a mistake : he received it in Mexico. 
 
 The road was fine, the day not very hot, and Stras- 
 burg, my first halting-place, was easily reached ; no 
 signs of an army here. Passing on, in due time I 
 came to Woodstock, and still farther, to Mount Jack- 
 son. There were some troops in each of these
 
 IN GAMP AND HOSPITAL. 6 1 
 
 places, but none could, or would, tell me where the 
 main army was. But in two days, having travelled 
 on foot seventy miles, I found General Banks' head- 
 quarters at New Market. The only noticeable thing 
 about this town then discernible was a Yankee 
 school-marm, who had a sort of female seminary ; 
 she was the most rabid Secessionist I could hear of. 
 I found but one division, General Williams', 
 here, and a brigade two miles below the town, to 
 guard the bridge at the Shenandoah ; but most of the 
 troops were still farther up the valley. Resting over 
 night, then pushing on for the front, I found General 
 Shields in his tent, not confined to his bed, though 
 suffering from the wound received at Winchester. 
 Though presenting my pass, I was arrested as a spy, 
 and on the point of being sent back to head-quarters ; 
 but a Lieutenant-Colonel Clark, of one of the Ohio 
 regiments, had recognized mo an hour previous as 
 an old schoolmate in New Hampshire, and this 
 fact, communicated to the Colonel who arrested me, 
 made all things pleasant. Distributing my postage- 
 stamps, giving my usual entertainment of song and 
 lecture with the different regiments and batteries, I 
 started off in search of Mr. Tuttle. It was not an 
 easy matter to find him. I knew his residence must 
 bo but a few miles from these troops, but which sido 
 of the pike I knew not, and could find no one wha
 
 62 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 knew him. But farther away from New Market, 
 and farther from the pike than was expected, I found 
 Nehemiah Tuttle. 
 
 On rapping at the door of a very small, poor 
 house, a tall, old, unshaven and unshorn half-drunken 
 Virginian made his appearance. My first thought 
 was, if this is Charley's father I do not blame the 
 boy for leaving home, or enlisting, and probably he 
 will be in no hurry to come back. But having 
 called the old man to the door, I must tell him my 
 business. 
 " Is this Mr. Tuttle ? " 
 
 "I reckon." 
 
 " Have you a son whose name is Charley ? " 
 
 "I reckon." 
 
 "Did he enlist in the 24th Alabama?" 
 
 " Can't say precisely as to that ; but, stranger, 
 what yer driving at? What do yer know about 
 Charley Tuttle?" 
 
 "Indeed, sir, indeed sir," chimed in the old lady, 
 who had become so much excited she could not keep 
 silent, "we have a boy whose name is Charley, and 
 a good boy he is, or, leastwise, a good boy he was, 
 when ho went away. Has anything happened to 
 him?" 
 
 I proceeded to tell her about him, and had given
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 63 
 
 her about all the facts hi the case, when the old 
 man interrupted : 
 
 "Stranger, yer are a Northern man, and I don't 
 believe a word yer say. I reckon yer a spy, and 
 have come with this story to git some whiskey and 
 victuals. I've a mind to put yer out of my house, 
 and git shet of yer." 
 
 " Don't do it. Treat the man kind. I knows he 
 tells the truth. I knows it by the tones. I tells by 
 the tones whether folks lies or not ; and," addressing 
 herself to me, " it 'pears like yo u have seen Charley ? 
 And is he hurt bad? Will he lose his leg? DM 
 you see the wound ? Did it look very bad ? Will 
 Jie get well? Will he have enough to eat? O, that 
 my poor boy should be in the enemy's prison ! And 
 who is to pay you?" 
 
 r I have come out of my way but a few miles." 
 
 "You must stay over night." 
 
 The old man had got over his suspicion enough 
 to invite me twice to try his whiskey. Declining 
 both invitations, I positively refused staying, as the 
 rebel pickets were scarcely two miles distant ; but 
 promised to call again in two days, and take dinner, 
 if the army remained in its present position. Call- 
 ing according to promise, I found she had dinner 
 nearly ready. No matter what it consisted of, the 
 articles that most interested me were warm biscuit
 
 64 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 and some honey. This time the old man was sober ; 
 his beard had been removed, his hair combed, and he 
 presided at the table with considerable dignity, 
 though his language was no more correct than on my 
 previous visit. 
 
 The meal was scarcely concluded, when the sharp 
 crack of a rifle was heard, followed immediately by 
 many more. Springing to the open door, and watch- 
 ing the smoke of the guns, we could see that the 
 pickets were skirmishing, and that the boys in the 
 blue blouses were falling back. I was not long in 
 comprehending the situation. A poor runner, and 
 two miles from the main army, what was to be 
 done? There was no forest to flee to. 
 
 " Old man, you must hide me. I have done you 
 a Uvor, now it is your turn to do one for me." 
 
 "That I will, if I can. Ma'm, where shall we put 
 this yere man ? " 
 
 "Put me in the attic, and cover me with bed- 
 ding." 
 
 "Why, man, we have no attic. Here, git yer 
 inter this turnip and pertater hole, and I reckon yer 
 will do well enough." 
 
 A second invitation was not needed. It was a sort 
 of cellar, the only one he had, and I went into it 
 on all-fours, as quickly as ever a soldier entered a 
 bomb-proof. The skirmish lasted but a short time,
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 65 
 
 and before dark I was back with the army. One of 
 the saddest sights I ever witnessed, was presented in 
 camp that night : one of the 5th New York Cavalry 
 was struck, during the skirmish, by a ball, cutting 
 across the abdomen in such a manner that his bowels 
 began to fall out, and he held them in place while he 
 rode two miles, to die with the setting sun. 
 
 Before starting from Winchester up the valley, I 
 found many things very interesting to me, some of 
 which may be to the reader. I had been in no place 
 but Baltimore, where the Secesh element was impu- 
 dent and insulting. All through Virginia, where 
 the different armies had been, the people were re- 
 spectful and submissive. No men but old ones were 
 to be seen, and the women, young and old, made but 
 little conversation with our men. Evidently they 
 had made up their minds to have as little to do with 
 us as possible. At Harper's Ferry, though a large 
 part of the houses were appropriated for army pur- 
 poses, I witnessed no unlady-like demeanor on the 
 part of the women. Not so at Winchester. 
 
 Men told me they had seen women spit upon 
 soldiers, but I never believed it, for they did not 
 dare to do it ; they went, in the matter of insult, as 
 far as they dared. If the women of New Orleans 
 were more vituperous than those of Winchester, 
 Butler was much too mild a governor. At this time,
 
 66 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 they felt that Jackson could take the city at any hour 
 he pleased, and they regarded Banks, Shields, and all 
 the other Union officers they had seen, as beneath 
 their notice. I heard there were Union people there, 
 and presume there were, but did not meet any. 
 
 If there were any men who were proud of anything 
 they had ever done, it was those who had been on 
 guard, or in some way had assisted at the execution 
 of old John Brown, in Charlestown, some twelve 
 miles north of the city. 
 
 I visited Mason's house. It was occupied by a 
 squad of soldiers, who seemed to have little venera- 
 tion for the rebel minister-plenipotentiary to Eng- 
 land. It was not a very imposing affair in its best 
 days, not costing, originally, probably more than 
 five thousand dollars. But they had made it a 
 shabby-looking affair. They had not stabled their 
 horse's in it, but it would have been injured little 
 more, used as a stable. Seeing a sign, " Warm meaU 
 at moderate prices," on a good-looking house, I pro- 
 ceeded to investigate it. I was soon face to face 
 with the landlady, who was as gracious as any Boni- 
 face could have been, and as much at ease as if she 
 had been educated at the business of hotel-keeping. 
 But it was a new calling. Her husband was a Cap- 
 tain in the. Rebel Army ; and, as I afterwards 
 learned, when the Confederates were there she kept
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 6f 
 
 open house for the officers; but when the Union 
 troops were present, hung out her sign, and kept a 
 boarding-house. 
 
 The meal was warm, and well it might have been, 
 for there was but little to warm. Corn-dodgers, 
 tough steak, and mean coffee, with milk that might 
 have been good but for the garlic the cow had eaten, 
 and sugar, but HO butter, -this was the breakfast; 
 and the moderate price, one dollar. While I ate I 
 was entertained by the daughter, who sang and 
 played "My Maryland," probably for my special 
 benefit. Perhaps it was a trick of her mother, to 
 keep me in good humor till the bill was paid. The 
 music of the song was so sweet, and she sang it so 
 artlessly, playing the most simple and appropriate 
 accompaniment, that I heeded not the words. Giv- 
 ing the customary compliments to the young lady, I 
 was about to depart, when the mother wished to 
 know if I played and sang. I assured her that though 
 not much gifted in music, yet lyric poetry had a great 
 charm for me, and that charm was greatly heightened 
 by such sweet, artless singing as her daughter had 
 treated me to. 
 
 "I have just written some verses, and have not 
 thought of any tune they are adapted to. If you 
 would not take offence, I would like to show them. 
 Perhaps you could suggest an appropriate tune."
 
 68 Of CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 The lyric had no title, but I am enabled to present 
 the reader with the words, and he can give a title to 
 suit himself: 
 
 "Come on, you blue-back locusts, 
 You nutmeg-peddling braves, 
 "We'll give you Southern welcome, 
 To rot in Southern graves. 
 
 We give you scorn and loathing, 
 You mongrel-blooded crew ; 
 The scum of all creation, 
 Vile, crawling worms in blue. 
 
 With maws like greedy horse-leech, 
 That always cries for more, 
 You have the taste for plunder, 
 If not the heart for gore. 
 
 A wench, and then a dollar, 
 Prime doctrines of your creed ; 
 In fact, you need the wenches 
 To brighten up your breed." 
 
 Studying this highly poetic, as well as very chaste 
 and flattering poem, briefly, I told her tlio muses had
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 69 
 
 been not only liberal, but lavish in bestowing favors 
 upon her; and that possibly, with a little time, I 
 could think of an appropriate tune. While pre- 
 tending to be hunting a tune out of my memory, I 
 wrote the following : 
 
 ' My gentle dear, I've called in here, 
 With stomach faint and * holler ; ' 
 Your dodgers mean I've eaten clean, 
 And paid your price, a dollar. 
 
 Eight well I like your F. F. Vs., 
 You beat us Yanks all f holler ; ' 
 You've such aristocratic ways 
 Of reaching our last dollar. 
 
 You're such a darling poetess, 
 I'd like to be your scholar ; 
 Hang out your shingle ' poetry,' 
 Each lesson but a dollar. 
 
 Your temper's so angelic, too, 
 So free from spite and choler, 
 Your picture, in your sweetest mood, 
 Would go quick at a dollar.
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 I'm grateful that I came to you, 
 A hungry morning caller ; 
 I now know how much coffee-grounds 
 Are worth a Yankee dollar." 
 
 Folding and returning the paper, I remarked that 
 the muses had sometimes vouchsafed small favors to 
 me, and that I had written an addition to her hymn ; 
 that my part was to be sung in Yankee Doodle, and 
 probably hers would go in Virginia Reel ; but, at all 
 events, should we ever meet again I should be 
 happy to exchange billets-doux or hymns.
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 HOSPITALS. 
 
 A GOOD army surgeon is a treasure, while a poor 
 one is an affliction. Skill is not the only requisite 
 quality. Sterling principles, a tender conscience, 
 and a great heart, find daily opportunities for the 
 exercise of their functions, carrying sunshine and 
 comfort to the boys on the hospital couch, while he 
 who is without them, though ever so thoroughly 
 skilled in his profession s should be left to write pre- 
 scriptions and use his scalpel at home. In the army, 
 the surgeon stands in the place of parent, wife, or 
 sister ; and, if he have the heart of a Christian, his 
 patients will feel it, and his heart-power will reach 
 deeper than his medicines ; and in this respect the 
 soldier cannot be deceived. An ignoramus may be 
 imposed upon a regiment, and the boy whose limb is 
 to be amputated may not know that he is to be the 
 doctor's first patient in surgery, but every one knows 
 the difference between a kind man and one destitute 
 of this quality. There is something in the tone of 
 (70
 
 72 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 voice, the touch, the bearing, that tells better than 
 a certificate the moral qualities of the professed 
 healer. 
 
 In the army hospital, Heaven help the sick soldier 
 if his surgeon is an ignoramus, a drunkard, or is des- 
 titute of sympathy. It would seem that none but 
 the duly qualified should ever have obtained a po- 
 sition like this. For the efficiency of the army, if 
 for nothing else, none but the best qualified should 
 have been appointed as surgeons. A sick soldier can 
 neither fight nor work, and he may require a well 
 one to take care of him ; hence it becomes of great 
 importance that he whose duty it is to look after 
 the health of the men, should do all in his power to 
 prevent sickness, as well as cure. The loss of an 
 efficient soldier cannot be supplied in a day or a 
 mouth. A recruit may be found, but he must be fed, 
 clothed, drilled, disciplined and paid, at least six 
 months before he is worth as much as the one lost. 
 
 There are tens of thousands of our "boys in blue" 
 who remember, with undying gratitude, the noble 
 men who cared for them, almost like mothers, in 
 their sickness and pains ; while there are many 
 others, whose surgeon's name, spoken in their 
 presence, fills them with loathing and anger. He 
 stands before them the picture of indifference and 
 incompetency, if nothing worse. They feel that they
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 73 
 
 are alive not through, but in spite of, their hateful 
 doctor. 
 
 The surgeon's berth was no sinecure ; and I marvel 
 that any good, experienced physician should have 
 accepted the position, but from motives of humanity. 
 
 It was a poor home-practice, indeed, that did not 
 yield an army surgeon's pay. But whatever the 
 motive that took them there, the competent, the 
 good and the true, were by no means rare. A great 
 many young physicians went thither more for prac- 
 tice in surgery than for any other reason ; yet some 
 of them, in a short time, ranked among the best. 
 But among the surgeons, as well as all others, there 
 were the good, the bad, and the indifferent. It was 
 impossible to prevent all but worthy men from 
 securing appointments, but one can but be amazed 
 when he realizes that there are men who were army- 
 surgeons to whose care we would not be willing to 
 intrust a sick or disabled horse. 
 
 A civilian who visited the army at Arlington, in 
 the winter of 1861 '62, can never forget the new and 
 strange impressions received. He was astonished at 
 all he saw and heard : at the number of troops, the 
 extent of ground occupied, the immense area of 
 fresh-cut stumps, the trees from which had been 
 consumed, the interminable trains of wagons that 
 seemed to be always moving, the fog, the mud, and
 
 74 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 the fairy-like music from a hundred bands, music 
 which, while all was enveloped in the densest fog, 
 seemed to come, as indeed it did, from an invisible 
 world. But what moved him most deeply, if he were 
 a man of humane feelings, were the burials and the 
 burial places. Yonder moves a little procession ovei 
 the fenceless field. Its number is small . The bugler 
 blowing from his instrument the most dismal notes, 
 the chaplain, the bearers, a dozen others, and a 
 lifeless comrade comprise the train. The burial 
 service is read, the solemn work is speedily done, a 
 head-board, bearing in knife-cut or red chalk, the 
 name, company and regiment, is placed at the head 
 of the grave, and that is the earthly end of the boy, 
 who, but a few weeks since, left, in the bloom of 
 youth, a happy home. 
 
 Even then, before there had been a battle, except 
 that of Bull Eun, the hospital was a solemn place. 
 It was not uncommon to find one-fifth of the regi- 
 ment unfit for duty. But when the time of conflict 
 came, and the battles, the scorching days, with cool 
 and dewy nights, the malarious air, and the poisonous 
 waters of the Chickahominy, brought the men to the 
 hospital, there were spectacles to make the stoutest 
 heart quake. At Whitehouse Landing there were 
 ai one time not less than thirty burials at night, and 
 as many, or more, in the morning. At Nashville the
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 75 
 
 daily burials for a long time averaged nearly fifty, 
 though there had not been a battle in the department 
 for months. 
 
 It always seemed to me that there was an un- 
 necessary waste of life in our late war. I do not 
 know that it was ever less in any war, but I cannot 
 avoid believing, that, with proper care in sleeping, 
 a large percentage of sickness could have been 
 avoided. The trouble does not arise so much from 
 want of covering, as from want of a suitable bed. 
 Frequently there is nothing but some brush, and 
 pieces of board saved from cracker-boxes and barrel- 
 heads between the boy in his blanket, and the mud 
 or frozen earth. It may be said that these things 
 are unavoidable ; sometimes they arc, but often they 
 are suffered for want of care on the part of the com- 
 manding officer or of the surgeon. I know surgeons 
 who, when the regiment pitched their tents in a new 
 place, never retired till they knew how every squad 
 was to sleep. The guard-houses of our army were, 
 in many cases, a shame to those who permitted their 
 existence. Those who saw, as I did, and often, a 
 regiment at dress-parade, coughing so violently that 
 they shook the ground fifty feet front and rear, must 
 feel that such things need not have been. There 
 was an improvement in a year or two, but not what 
 inuHit have been.
 
 76 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 A noticeable feature in hospital life was the uncom- 
 plaining patience of the sufferers ; nearly all seemed 
 to feel that there were many worse cases than their 
 own, and bore themselves with praiseworthy forti- 
 tude. The amputating scenes, with exceptional 
 cases, were not nearly so harrowing as we might 
 expect. As a general rule, the patient was put 
 under the influence of chloroform, and the work 
 done without his knowledge. I witnessed some 
 cases, however, where the torture was all that I 
 could well conceive. In a cavalry skirmish, near 
 Murfreesboro', one of our men was shot in the lower 
 part of the body. The surgeon, before attempting 
 to find the ball, gave him chloroform three times ; 
 but in each case he vomited and struggled so, that 
 nothing could be done. At length the boy told the 
 operator and his assistants that he could stand the 
 pain, that they had better grasp him tightly, yet he 
 could keep still without their strength. For a full 
 half hour did the surgeon probe the wound, causing 
 him most exquisite torture, when the ball was found. 
 It seemed to me that it was akin to the suffering of 
 being nailed to the cross ; yet in six months he was 
 a lively trooper again. 
 
 Men die in the same tent where you lie sick, and 
 you do not know it until you see the attendants carry 
 out the stretcher that was your comrade's dying bed.
 
 TN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 77 
 
 You knew there had been no distressing coughing 
 for two or three hours, a thing quite uncommon, 
 and you had been dozing, perhaps sleeping, but 
 Death had been at your side unobserved. That 
 cough will never disturb you, or distress that con- 
 sumptive boy again. 
 
 But Death does not always steal into the hospital 
 like this. Sometimes a brother of the patient is in 
 the same regiment, and is permitted to nurse and 
 assist, if there is no urgent duty to prevent. This 
 brother has been told that the end is near. Speech- 
 less, and almost motionless, he sits on a box by the 
 cot of his dying brother, till the last spark is gone. 
 Then, with a wail he can no longer repress, he pours 
 forth his grief, "O, my dear and only brother, my 
 mother's idol, why did I urge you to come here? 
 here to suffer, and here to die ? " His grief is irre- 
 pressible, and the steward is obliged to take him 
 away. 
 
 Watching with the sick in hospital is much the 
 same as watching with the sick at home, with this 
 difference : in the latter case, you watch generally 
 over one patient, in the former, over a number; 
 and, furthermore, in the hospital-tent the mother 
 never surprises you by coming in on tip-toe, to 
 assure herself that all is going well. 
 
 It sometimes happens that there will be two or
 
 78 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 three in the same ward that are delirious. A ser- 
 geant imagines he is drilling a squad of recruits, 
 and for an hour he is giving orders : " Attention ! 
 Mark time ! Left, right, left, right, march ! 
 Left, right, left, right, file right, march! Halt! 
 Front! Right dress!" An orderly is making up 
 his detail : Bill Tarble and Amos Wood are to go 
 on picket. Eben Pike, and Sol. Smith, for camp- 
 guard. His book is lost, and he cannot tell whose 
 turn it is for this duty, or for that. Another is 
 fighting over the battle of last week, when a part 
 of his scalp was shot away. Another is trying to 
 load his gun, but his ram-rod is lost, and he cannot 
 find it. And still another is singing "John Brown's 
 body lies mouldering in the ground," or "Brother, 
 when will you come back?" 
 
 The reader must not get the impression that hos- 
 pitals are generally like a dead-room. In the cities, 
 some of the wards presented the appearance of 
 cheerfulness the greater part of the time. It is won- 
 derful in how short a period a young man who has 
 lost a limb becomes reconciled to it. 
 
 The patients are often more cheereful than the at- 
 tendants. Jokes, conundrums, scraps of poetry, 
 anything that will create amusement, are often as 
 common in hospitals as anywhere. 
 
 " Well, boys, there is no great loss without some
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 79 
 
 small gain ; my shoe-maker's bill will not be so large 
 as it has been." 
 
 " Sam Talbot and I are going to buy our gloves 
 together." 
 
 "A good idea ; and if you know any chap who has 
 lost his left, when we get out we will buy our boots 
 together." 
 
 "But won't this stump be a pretty thing to take 
 home for a show ? " 
 
 " Why, man, they say a cork leg is better than the 
 original.'* 
 
 "I am going home to marry a widow whose hus- 
 band was a soldier-boy." 
 
 " Most likely ! Having got rid of one fool, do you 
 think she would want another?" 
 
 "Why is a woman like an apple?" 
 
 "Because she improves by age, until she is 
 
 "Why is a hospital like a saloon?" 
 "Because it has many ails." 
 " Why is a surgeon like our chaplain?" 
 "Because he is such a, feeling man." 
 "Why is our cook like an emigrant?" 
 "Because he has to raise his bread among the 
 stumps." 
 
 "Why is a stump-arm like a fool?" 
 "Because one is enough for a family."
 
 8o IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "Oh, the weather is bad, and the whiskey is bad, 
 Bad luck to the mud and the drizzle, 
 Though they chop us up like sausage-meat, 
 The war is a murthering fizzle. 
 
 "The rebs have taken the best of me legs, 
 Bad luck to the chap that hit it, 
 If uncle Sam gives me a cork for me stump, 
 I hope 'twill be one that will fit it." 
 
 "O, Phin Taylor, dry up ! If you ever have any 
 cork it will be for your whiskey bottle ; but what 
 kind of Dutch blarney is that you're getting off for 
 poetry? You are neither a poet nor an Irishman." 
 
 "I can prove that I am both, I will bet you the 
 drinks." 
 
 "Agreed : now prove yourself a poet." 
 
 " Give me a subject. Anything from a beetle to 
 an elephant, and I will make you an illigant poem 
 on the spot." 
 
 "Tell us how you are going to earn a living with 
 a stump leg?" 
 
 " There's a quary that's been botherin' me head for awhile, 
 I've sought till I'm tired for an answer ; 
 How's me bread and me mate and me grog to be arned, 
 But I have it, I'll be a rope dancer."
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. Si 
 
 w But how can you claim to be an Irishman when 
 your parents were Massachusetts Yankees ? " 
 
 " They took me to Ireland to have me born." 
 
 "I give it up, I will pay the whiskey as soon as it 
 is included in our rations and I get more than I want 
 for my own use." 
 
 Yet cheerful, and even jovial, as some of the 
 patients were, I never saw a hospital that did not 
 present sights that were painful, while some of them 
 were so horrible that they have haunted me in my 
 dreams to this day. A poor Irish boy had his 
 foot and ankle so shattered at Malvern Hills, that 
 they were but a mass of crushed bone and flesh, black 
 with powder from the bursting shell that wounded 
 him. After all the wagons and surgeons had left 
 Carter's Landing on the James, I found this sufferer 
 in one of the little cottages near by. A negro told 
 me of him, saying, "Dey is all done gone an' leab him. 
 and what does ye reckon me an' de ole woman is 
 gwine to do wid him ? " 
 
 His groans were almost heartrending. Carrying 
 him forward was out of the question. There were 
 but two well soldiers, and the old negro, for help. 
 My mind was made up. If the boys would assist, 
 I would amputate the limb just below the knee. I 
 had seen many such amputations, but had no instru- 
 ments, While the negro was over at Colonel Car- 
 6
 
 82 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 ter's house, looking after the best instruments he 
 could find for the occasion, other negroes raised the 
 shout half a mile above us that "de rebs was a comin." 
 
 Telling the old colored woman to be sure and have 
 her husband report this case to the first rebel surgeon 
 he could find, the two soldiers and myself started 
 across the ravine to the woods, and soon striking 
 the trail of the wagons, in due time reached Har- 
 rison's Landing. But what became of Peter Mc- 
 Laughlin I never learned. But I have seen that 
 black, fmgmental foot, and heard that wail of anguish, 
 a thousand times since. He was not the only sufferer 
 left in the hands of the rebels. All the way from 
 Games' Mill, in the farm-houses, in the barns, by 
 the roadside, in the thickets, by the streams, the 
 helpless or exhausted wounded, in great numbers, 
 were left for the enemy to find. 
 
 There is no place where a burial is not a solemn 
 and deeply affecting scene. In the churchyard, be- 
 side his kindred, be it one who has been gathered 
 like a ripened shock, and for whom life had lost its 
 pleasures, none but a brutish man can see the clay 
 return to clay, in the dismal narrow house which no 
 sun-ray can ever penetrate, without a feeling of inex- 
 pressible awe. But when the young, the manly, the 
 beautiful, are cut down like a flower in bloom, when 
 the solemn procession arrives at the home of the
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 83 
 
 dead, to leave the dear form there forever, who can 
 hear the grating of the descending coffin, or the rat- 
 tling of the falling pebbles, without a shudder that 
 can scarcely be forgotten ? And a burial at sea, how 
 solemn ! But there are scenes in war more harrowing 
 than these. 
 
 Making a forced march through a wilderness coun- 
 try, we are sometimes ambushed, and some of our 
 men shot down a long distance from human habita- 
 tions. There is neither coffin, nor material to con- 
 struct one. Time is precious, and ere our comrade 
 is rigid in death, wrapped in his blanket, we have 
 laid him in a wilderness grave. The sound from the 
 first clods that strike the body is fearful ; it seems 
 that the falling earth must give pain, and we instinc- 
 tively listen for a groan. But we must hasten our 
 work, and weep, grieve, and talk of his virtues, and 
 of his mother, whose heart will almost break when 
 she gets the tidings, afterwards. A few stones at 
 the head, his name cut in a tree, the bugle sounds 
 the advance, and, sorrowing and watchful, we move 
 on. 
 
 Less than two miles north of Murfreesboro', Ten- 
 nessee, at the north-east of a little grove of oak, 
 there is a graveyard, the resting-place of several 
 hundred of the victims of Stone-River battle. In 
 the grove was one of the field-hospitals ; and for
 
 84 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 two weeks or more succeeding the battle, the daily 
 deaths were from five to twenty. At about the time 
 the mortality was greatest, there came a territic 
 storm of rain and snow. Commencing early in the 
 morning, and constantly increasing till sundown, 
 the rain came down in torrents, and the wind was 
 fearful. No canvas could keep out the water. Tho 
 fires could not be kept up, for the smoke filled the 
 tents. Beating in at the sides, dripping through the 
 tops, rushing in at the bottom, there was a fearful 
 deluge of water. And here were two hundred or 
 more sick men, some of them dying, with a few 
 attendants who could give them little but sympathy. 
 Could we procure dry blankets, they would be wet 
 in an hour. At midnight the rain ceased, and snow 
 followed, with a chilling atmosphere. 
 
 Vrill not the sick freeze before morning? But 
 nothing can be done. There are no dry blankets, 
 and the wet ones cannot be dried. We must wait 
 and suffer, and, perhaps, some of us perish. Slowly 
 the night wears away. Only fifteen have died during 
 the storm. 
 
 By noon the blankets have been dried, and a de- 
 gree of comfort has been imparted to the sick. But 
 here is a German, thirty-five years of age, perhaps, 
 who has lived through the fearful night, but will see 
 the dawning of but few more mornings. His end
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 85 
 
 draws near. With one of the sweetest countenances 
 ever seen, and a beautiful blue eye, he made a deep 
 impression upon me before he uttered a word. But 
 when he answered my question, " How have you stood 
 the terrible storm?" there was such a sweetness of 
 expression, and his words were so well chosen, that 
 I saw at once I was in the presence of a remark- 
 able man. He could talk without difficulty, but he 
 knew his wound was mortal. In his native country 
 he was once a preacher, but, becoming a Rationalist, 
 he abandoned the profession, and sought a living by 
 some small business. 
 
 But not thriving much by trade there, he came to 
 America, hoping for better success here. Yet all 
 his efforts failed. Being offered a large bounty, he 
 enlisted, and, in his first campaign, was mortally 
 wounded. He had already lived ten days or more 
 since he was shot. A chaplain came to talk and 
 pray with him, and I was invited to remain. He 
 could speak our language as well as his own. Taking 
 his hand, the chaplain commences, 
 
 "Are you aware that your case is almost a hope- 
 less one?" 
 
 "O, Chaplain, I understand your kindness of 
 heart perfectly, and that you wish to announce the 
 certainty of approaching death as tenderly as pos- 
 sible. But I know that I must die, and shortly."
 
 86 I& CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 " Do you feel that you are prepared to die ? " 
 "I hardly know how to answer that question. I 
 never felt that I was prepared to live as I have 
 wished. My ideal of what I might be has always 
 been so much higher than I have ever been able to 
 attain, I cannot feel that I was even properly pre- 
 pared to live. When I have thought for a season 
 that I was gaining strength, and rising higher and 
 approaching nearer and nearer to my ideal, suddenly 
 some passion has overcome me, and I have lost all 
 I had gained." 
 
 "But you did not put your trust in the Saviour. 
 They who rely upon themselves lean upon a reed, 
 or a broken staff; while they who lean upon Christ, 
 n'nd Him an ever-present help in time of trouble. 
 Look unto the Saviour ! Look unto the Saviour ! 
 At this moment, the most awfully solemn of you r 
 life, look unto Him who is able to save to the utter- 
 most." 
 
 " Chaplain, I would not pain so good a heart as 
 yours. But I, who have lived sincere all my life, 
 cannot dissemble now, while on the threshold oY 
 eternity. Will you hear me a few moments? In 
 return I will be glad to hear all you may have to 
 Kay." 
 
 "Most assuredly. Go on, if it does not pain }ou 
 to talk."
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 87 
 
 " Chaplain, I have no fear to die more than to sleep. 
 It is not because I feel that I have experienced the 
 new birth, or that God, through Christ, has forgiven 
 my sins. I have had my seasons of religious ectasy. 
 I have desired wings, with which I might fly away 
 from this earth, where right living is so difficult, and 
 where there always seems to be a leaden burden to 
 keep us from mounting heavenward to find for com- 
 panions a purer race of beings. I have always had 
 my seasons of prayer. Often they have been sweet, 
 and sometimes ecstatic, while at others they have 
 been productive of no visible good. But it is not 
 because I have not neglected prayer that I am not 
 afraid to die. Awake or asleep, in sickness or in 
 health, far away from, or near to, death, I am ever 
 in the hands of a just God, who can never forget 
 I am His child." 
 
 " But you must be God's child by adoption, or he 
 will not own you when he shall make up his jewels." 
 
 " Chaplain, I cannot argue now. I can only tell 
 you how I feel. A thousand creeds, explained by 
 a thousand men, could never shake my faith that I am 
 a child of God ; I learned it with my first prayer, I 
 feel it now as I never felt it before, and that I am 
 hastening still nearer to Him than I ever yet have 
 been." 
 
 ( ' And are you willing to die ? "
 
 88 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "Could I have my choice, I would prefer to live ; 
 but that being impossible, I am going hence, grateful 
 that I ever lived at all in this beautiful world ; grate- 
 ful that I have lived so long ; grateful that I have 
 enjoyed so much ; and grateful that I can leave all 
 with resignation." 
 
 " Why, brother, you talk strangely. I cannot com- 
 prehend you. While your words proclaim the Deist, 
 your patience and resignation, no less than your 
 sweet spirit, give evidence of the Christian." 
 
 "Some of my friends have told me that I have not 
 had the common share of blessings ; that I have al- 
 ways been hedged in; and for years have been 
 obliged to labor in spheres below my capacity and 
 taste. 
 
 " This is partly true ; but, chaplain, you and I know 
 what there is to be grateful for, if we are sometimes 
 pinched, crossed, and crippled. 
 
 "There are the sunshine and the beautiful orbs 
 of night ; the dew and rain ; the frost and snow ; the 
 flowers, the young grass, and the fragrant hay ; 
 the forest, with its many hues ; the mountains, the 
 running streams, and the mighty ocean ; delicious 
 odors, enrapturing music, the delights of social in- 
 tercourse, the exhilaration of acquiring knowledge, 
 the sweets of friendship and the bliss of love ; and, 
 better than all, that instinct, which, in the bird, tells
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 89 
 
 when and whither to fly, spring and autumn, in the 
 young lamb where to find its food, and in us of a 
 watchful Deity and an hereafter. 
 
 " Chaplain, you have come to pray, and I am grate- 
 ful, and love you for it. Do not think me a heathen 
 or an infidel. I have followed all the light I have 
 had. Let me hold your hands while you pray, and 
 I will pray with you ; but let your prayer be one of 
 thanksgiving as well as of entreaty." 
 
 Such, in substance, was this strange conversation. 
 I paid less attention to the words of the chaplain, 
 than to those of the dying man. 
 
 No doubt I have failed to make a strictly accurate 
 report, but the substance is preserved.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TWO NIGHTS UNDER GUAED. 
 
 AFTER the battle of Antietam, the bulk of the Army 
 of the Potomac was encamped at and near Harper's 
 Ferry. A view from the top of Maryland Heights, 
 in a clear, calm, September morning of 1862, was 
 most striking and picturesque. The mountain seems 
 upwards of a mile in perpendicular height, and the 
 top is reached by very sharp grades. There is a 
 road half-way to the top, over which the heavy guns 
 were dragged by mule and hand-power. Where the 
 road ends, there is a sort of plateau of thirty to fifty 
 acres, affording good camping-ground for troops. 
 There were not only large guns, but quite a body of 
 troops there, both infantry and artillery. The top 
 of the mountain was used as a signal station, and 
 every day, in suitable weather, the signal-man, with 
 his flag, might be seen from a distance of many 
 miles, communicating, by his waving to the right 
 and waving to the left, to those who understood the 
 (90)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 9 ! 
 
 signal-alphabet, the orders of the Commander-in- 
 Chief. 
 
 Looking southward and eastward, we take in an 
 immense landscape ; but the part that interests us 
 most is Pleasant Valley, for it seems covered with 
 troops. There must be nearly twenty regiments; 
 and as the larger part of them have never been in 
 action, most of them are nearly full. There is a 
 brigade fresh from Connecticut, and as fine-appearing 
 one as there is in the field. Nearby is another, of 
 mostly New Hampshire troops. Turning to the 
 southwest we behold Loudon Heights, at least a 
 thousand feet below the rock we are standing on. 
 There are troops on the very top, but the ground 
 they occupy is so uneven, we cannot tell whether few 
 or many. By the aid of our glass we can see a can- 
 non, a six-pouud Napoleon, on one of the highest 
 peaks. By looking carefully at two flags, floating 
 over the cheerless rocks, we can make out the 5th 
 and the 7th Ohio. That mountain, as well as the 
 one we occupy, is a point of great importance. 
 With a few troops and cannon in that position, no 
 opposing force can hold Harper's Ferry. Between 
 us and those Heights is the silver Potomac, and at 
 the northern base, the Shenandoah. Across this is 
 a pontoon bridge ; and then passing over the village, 
 we gaze on the white tents and black mass of hu-
 
 9 2 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 manity that cover Bolivar Heights. These are the 
 men who fought the fearful battle of Autietam. The 
 wounded are mostly in Frederick City; though 
 most of the houses, for a long distance about the 
 battle-field, are filled with them. 
 
 The regiments seem small. We can see even at 
 this distance, that some of them are not half full. 
 Though many are absent, the hill seems covered. 
 More than a thousand square acres are dotted with 
 tents about as close as they can stand. These troops 
 are under command of General Sumner, but whither 
 bound no one knows. If Lee was badly whipped, this 
 army does not feel very proud of its victory. It is 
 waiting to recuperate, receive shoes, and winter 
 clothing, and probably a new Commander-in-Chief. 
 
 Turning our glass back to Pleasant Valley, we see 
 a horseman galloping slowly along from the Ferry, 
 with an attendant ten rods in the rear. His steed is 
 large and dark ; so is the rider. Not graceful in 
 posture, or handsome of figure ; his clothes are 
 somewhat soiled, from the cloud of dust that is rising 
 as the trains of wagons pass to and fro. His hat is 
 of large crown, wide brim, and bears a long black 
 plume. Can we satisfy ourselves who this is ? Ah ! 
 now he removes his hat to cool his forehead. That 
 is Ambrose Buruside, who commands the forces in 
 the valley ; and he is a noble man : minds his busi-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 93 
 
 ness, docs his duty, is loved by his men, and 
 honored by his countrymen. 
 
 I had spent a day with the signal-men, and started, 
 just before sundown, for the Ferry, but had not got 
 off the mountain when I came upon a picket-guard, 
 who refused to let me pass. They belonged to some 
 new regiment. Their orders were to let no one by 
 after dark, even if he had a pass, without the coun- 
 tersign. This was the first time I had ever been 
 asked for it till after eight o'clock. Not having it, 
 there was nothing to do but put up at their hotel. 
 As landlords, they were polite, affable, generous. 
 They gave as good a supper as they had themselves, 
 and, in fact, opened a can of chicken which they had 
 brought from the sutlers for a midnight lunch. They 
 were from Livingston County, New York, farmers' 
 boys, intent on doing their duty, whether on picket 
 or in battle ; but being under the necessity of de- 
 taining me for the night, they determined to make it 
 as pleasant as possible. Supper over, a bed was 
 soon made by cutting some boughs near by, and 
 there was nothing to do but to kill time, and watch the 
 path. Had there been a candle, or could we have 
 had a fire, some of the number might have tried the 
 soldier's solace, a game of "old sledge." Scarcely 
 was my bed ready, when another man made his ap- 
 pearance. He too had a pass, but was without the
 
 94 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 countersign. He was an artist from Massachusetts, 
 and had been up reconnoitering the mountain pre- 
 paratory to taking some views. He, also, was 
 treated to supper, and invited to sleep in my wide 
 bed, and we found him a great addition to our com- 
 pany. Having been, in former years, a clergyman, 
 and having travelled extensively, possessing a most 
 wonderful memory, from which it would seem noth- 
 ing ever escaped, with a talent for story-telling so 
 extraordinary that whatever he spoke of the hearer 
 could see it almost as plainly as if he had been an 
 eye-witness, he kept us so much interested, that 
 there was not a sleeper in the squad for the whole 
 night. He could imitate an Irishman, a Dutchman, 
 or a Yankee, or, in fact, anybody, to perfection. 
 
 I have tried to put some of his stories on paper, 
 but fail to reproduce them with the spirit they had 
 when dropping from his lips. I cannot magnetize 
 the reader as he did the hearer; but I will venture 
 to relate, as well as memory will permit, a few of his 
 entertaining narratives. Said he : 
 
 " I have just come from Frederick City ; was there 
 a week, while my man took care of the business 
 over on the Heights yonder. It is a dismal place 
 just now. There are, at least, twenty hospitals, all 
 filled with the wounded from Autietam. If any one 
 is ever tempted to commit suicide, I wish he might
 
 CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 95 
 
 be compelled to visit one of these places, and remain 
 half a day. It would cure him temporarily, at least, 
 of his mania. I witnessed some of the most inter- 
 esting incidents there that ever fell within my expe- 
 rience. As I went to the ticket-office in Baltimore, 
 for a ticket to Frederick, a woman, some fifty years 
 old, was just asking for one also. She passed out 
 a fifty-dollar note, which was pronounced counterfeit. 
 
 " f O, in Mercy's name, what am I to do? I care 
 little for the money, but have a dying boy in Freder- 
 ick City, and must go in the next train. Who will 
 befriend me? If any one will lend me a little 
 money, it will be paid fourfold, for I am not poor.' 
 
 "'I will do it;' but the agent was too quick for 
 me. He had passed her, not only a ticket, but ten 
 dollars in money, simply telling her that she could 
 return the loan, if she chose, at her convenience, but 
 that the ticket was a present. 
 
 "As I had offered her money, she thanked me 
 with more gratitude than grace, inquiring if I were 
 going to Frederick. We passed on together, and, 
 before sundown, were with her son. Before we 
 reached the hospital where he lay, the city was 
 thrown into the wildest excitement by the rapid fir- 
 ing of half a dozen cannon on the outskirts. Men 
 turned pale, women screamed, children fled to their 
 mothers for protection, farmers leaped into their
 
 96 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 wagons, or astride their horses, to escape : the cry 
 rang through the streets that the rebels were upon us, 
 and for a few moments there was a panic among all, 
 and great terror among the wounded, as there were 
 but few troops present to protect them. However, 
 it was but momentary. Instead of the rebels, Mr. 
 Lincoln and General McClernand had called on their 
 way from Antietam, and a battery was giving them 
 a welcome. Though the city has as many rebels as 
 Unionists, it took but a short time to gather a crowd, 
 to whom Mr. Lincoln made a brief speech. I said 
 we found the boy in the hospital. The despatch sent 
 to the mother did not exaggerate when it informed 
 her that her boy was dying. She saw at the first 
 glance there was no ground for hope. Her son had 
 known it for two days. He could speak only in a 
 whisper. Almost his only words were, *Now you 
 have come I am willing to die.' She uttered no wail ; 
 her grief found no expression in tears. Holding one 
 of his hands, she knelt down by his cot and prayed, 
 using such language as none but they who go often 
 and happily to the mercy-seat can use. She seemed 
 to see her Heavenly Father, and to feel His presence, 
 making me think of a mother who had come with her 
 child to a stream, passed it into the hands of one who 
 could carry it over in safety, while she was to wait 
 but a short time for her turn. Her boy died without
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 97 
 
 a struggle, while she was in prayer. She was the 
 first to make the discovery, simply saying, 'He is 
 gone.' Then the tears came, and her mother's heart 
 seemed ready to break. But, in a brief time, her 
 emotion was controlled, and she said : 
 
 '" I cannot help these tears, they give relief. But 
 why should J be inconsolable? Death is not the 
 greatest of afflictions. That countenance has not a 
 mark of vice. Those ashen lips never uttered guile. 
 Those eyes just closed never turned away when he 
 was addressing me. They were two witnesses to 
 confirm his words. He never cringed to wealth ex- 
 position, or slighted the lowly. Some of his ac- 
 quaintances thought him eccentric, and some that he 
 lacked reverence for. superiors ; but there is not, in 
 all our town, an humble man or woman but will 
 mourn for him as for a brother. The children would 
 run to meet him, striving for the privilege of his 
 hand. All this is a great comfort to me. He is 
 safely across the river. Much as I loved him, I w6uld 
 not have him return. What is my sorrow to that of 
 a mother who sees her boy go down to vice and 
 crime? Though, like David, I can say, "Would to 
 God I had died for thee ;" yet, I pray that when my 
 time shall come, my end may be like his.' 
 
 "The following morning the body was in readiness 
 to be sent home. While she was waiting in the
 
 98 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 street for the express to make some little alteratior. 
 in the manner of transportation, a wounded man, in 
 a chamber overlooking the small assembly, beckoned 
 to me from the window, saying that he wished to 
 speak with me. Telling the sentinel there was a 
 friend of mine in the room above, I skipped up the 
 stab's to learn his wishes. 
 
 "'Who is that woman waiting to accompany that 
 body?' 
 
 "'I do not know her name, but she is from Scho- 
 harie County, New York.' 
 
 "'I am sure she is my sister. "Will you ask her 
 maiden name, and if she has not a brother she has 
 not seen for thirty years?' 
 
 "'With pleasure.' 
 
 "In a few moments that woman was in the room 
 with her brother, who had deserted his home many 
 years ago, because his father had threatened to dis- 
 inherit him for marrying an orphan servant-girl, the 
 daughter of some most excellent American neighbors 
 not long deceased. He went to Texas, accumulated 
 property, but was obliged to enter the rebel service, 
 and, though a Quartermaster, was hit by a stray 
 ball at Antietam, found after the rebels had re- 
 treated, and brought to Frederick with other wounded 
 men. His arm was amputated ; and the first time of 
 leaving his cot to look into the street, he saw his sis-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 99 
 
 ter, whom he left thirty years ago in the old home- 
 stead. The interview was most solemn and interest- 
 ing. But for that body in the coffin under the 
 window, that meeting would have been one of wild- 
 est joy. As it was, few words were spoken. No 
 life histories were related. She held his only hand 
 till the 'express was ready for the train, gave him a 
 parting kiss, told him she had a home to whose com- 
 forts he should be welcome through life, and passed 
 on to the cars, accompanied only by the chaplain, 
 who had been very kind to her. She requested this 
 good man not to tell the conductor, or any one else, 
 about her sorrowful mission. She made this request 
 that she might be free from the gaze of sympathetic 
 strangers ; saying, that while many persons seemed 
 to enjoy displaying their sorrows to the multitude, 
 she .wished to mourn alone, until she reached the 
 home circle, where every tear and sigh would be as 
 sincere as her own. 
 
 " Perhaps you might be interested in an incident of 
 a different character which I witnessed one Sunday, a 
 few miles out of the city. .The day was so charming 
 that I wandered off five or six miles, and fortunately 
 came to a little country church. It was evident 
 that something uncommon had drawn the people to- 
 gether, for nearly the whole population, black and 
 white, were out. The sermon told me the cause of
 
 I00 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 so large an assembly: it was the beginning of a 
 revival, and the first convert was to receive the sol- 
 emn rite of baptism that day. 
 
 "The preacher was a mere youth, perhaps a little 
 past twenty. This was the first year of his ministry ; 
 and the one to go forward in baptism, his first sheaf 
 in the field of his Master. He was modest, tingle- 
 minded, but earnest and eloquent; with the most 
 pertinent passages of Scripture at perfect com- 
 mand. 
 
 "His convert was a tall, white-haired, venerable 
 man of sixty years, with a sweet smile that pro- 
 claimed that beautiful August day as one of the 
 happiest of his long life. 
 
 "The water-side was reached, five hundred per&ons 
 stood on either bank ; the prayer was offered, the 
 hymn sung. The old man gave his left hand into 
 the minister's left, while the youthful servant of God 
 threw his right arm lovingly about the venerable 
 man's waist, and they moved forward solemnly and 
 slowly, with downcast eyes, to the water. Not a 
 breath stirred the leaves over the placid stream. 
 Even the birds had ceased their songs, and seemed 
 to be interested witnesses of the solemn scene. The 
 children, that had been chasing butterflies and grass 
 hoppers, stopped to see that youth lead the old man
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. IQI 
 
 down to the water. The singers were gathered in a 
 group, with open books, to strike, 
 
 'O, how happy are they, 
 Who their Saviour obey !' 
 
 as the two came from the water, when all were 
 startled by the loud, shrill cry of the old wife, 
 
 " ' Mr. Tarbox, Mr. Tarbox, take off them new 
 shoes. You'll spile your new shoes ! ' Men, women, 
 and children, broke out into uncontrollable laughter; 
 the poor minister was so disconcerted he forgot the 
 words of the service, but the old man heeded her not, 
 and as he came up from the water struck up, in a 
 rich, trembling voice, 
 
 'Rock of ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in thee ; 
 Let the water and the blood, 
 From thy riven side that flowed, 
 Be of sin the double cure 
 Cleanse me from its guilt and power.' 
 
 "The minister was reassured, the multitude lost 
 their levity, and sang with a power they had never 
 known before ; and ere they left the bank, a season of 
 refreshing such as they had never before experienced 
 was vouchsafed, and I heard that on the next Sabbath, 
 instead of one, the young minister baptized twelve, 
 who had found rest and peace.
 
 102 /JV CAMP AND HOSPITAL; 
 
 " Are you in the picture business over on Bolivar 
 Heights?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 w What do you charge for a good photograph ? " 
 
 " Eight dollars." 
 
 "Is not that high?" 
 
 "Well, that depends upon where you are. At 
 home, I can afford a good one for three dollars ; but 
 here, circumstances are different. I know a town in 
 Massachusetts where a denominational school has just 
 been established ; and, though it was a thriving place 
 before, as soon as it was settled that the school was 
 to be established there, real estate went up, as it were 
 with a bound, from twenty to a hundred per cent. 
 A citizen had a horse to sell, and met with a cus- 
 tomer, who inquired the price : 
 
 "'Two hundred dollars!'" 
 
 "' Why, man, you amaze me ! I cannot see a dol- 
 lar more than one. hundred in the beast.' " 
 
 " ' But you must remember,' continued the dealer, 
 'where you are. Outside of this town, a hundred 
 dollars is a fair price ; but here I must have two hun- 
 dred, to bring my horse on a par with everything 
 else.' " 
 
 Our squad consisted of the artist, a sergeant, two 
 privates, and myself. One of the latter said nothing, 
 but each of the others contributed his share to the
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 103 
 
 entertainment for the night. The other private was 
 a character, and had a hobby which he was willing 
 to trot out whenever he could find any one to exam- 
 ine it. Taking advantage of a lull in the talking, he 
 commenced: 
 
 "Mr. Artist, do you understand astronomy?" 
 
 "Only to a limited extent." 
 
 " Well, you understand that some of the fixed 
 stars have disappeared?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "And that they seemed to burn with great bril- 
 liancy for a long time, and then disappeared, as 
 though they were literally consumed?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What do you think about the sun? Is it a. mass 
 of hydrogen gas ?" 
 
 "I never tested it." 
 
 "Do you not think that this earth is liable to be 
 destroyed at any moment?" 
 
 "Possibly. But the Amazon, and the Missis- 
 sippi, the Nile, the Oronoco, and the St. Lawrence, 
 the five immense oceans, to say nothing of the in- 
 numerable lakes, and other rivers, would smother a 
 pretty big fire." 
 
 "Do not the Scriptures teach this theory?" 
 
 "Theologians give different answers to this ques- 
 tion."
 
 io4 IN CAMP AND HOSPI ^L. 
 
 "'But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in 
 the night, in the which the heavens shall pass away 
 with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with 
 fervent heat.' IE. Peter, iii. 10. 'And all the host 
 of heaven shall be dissolved, and the heavens shall 
 be rolled together as a scroll.' Isa. xxxiv. 4. 'And 
 the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled to- 
 gether.' Rev. vi. 14. 'And 1 will show wonders 
 in the heavens and in the earth, blood and fire, and 
 pillars of smoke.'" 
 
 "Do you understand Geology?" 
 
 "Not enough to do me any good." 
 
 "Well, sir, a little reflection will teach you that 
 we are living in the last centuries, if not the last 
 days. Did you ever think that the wood and coal 
 of the world are being rapidly exhausted?" 
 
 "They will probably last as long as ice shall need 
 any." 
 
 "That is evasive, if not irreverent. The forests 
 are disappearing, the coal-fields are surely not inex- 
 haustible, and, at some time, the world will run 
 short of fuel." 
 
 "There will be at least three resources when 
 wood and coal fail : one is to burn water. Paine, 
 of Worcester, Massachusetts, got all ready, twenty- 
 five years ago, to do it. The only difficulty he en- 
 countered was to get the hang of kindling it. As
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. IO - 
 
 soon as that little obstacle is overcome, water will 
 burn as well as petroleum. My father remembers 
 the time when the idea of burning black rock, as 
 coal was then called, was regarded as absurd as the 
 proposition to burn granite would be now. When 
 the coal gives out, we shall probably be able to burn 
 granite. But if neither water nor granite can be 
 made to furnish fuel, there is an inexhaustible supply 
 always to be obtained with sufficient labor." 
 
 "Where is it to come from, I would like to know?" 
 , "Why, the earth, .all but a thin crust, is molten 
 fire ; and tapping it, as we bore an oil-well, is all 
 that will be necessary for a supply. I conjecture 
 that is what the fire inside the earth is kept for. 
 Would not we like to live to see the first hole 
 drilled? Would it not cause a sensation like span- 
 ning the ocean with a cable?" 
 
 "Sir, I think you are an infidel; aiid you did a 
 good thing when you left the ministry. But is it not 
 awful to think that that this world may be destroyed 
 by fire at any moment?" 
 
 "I should think you would be more concerned 
 about the balls and shells you have got -to meet in 
 battle, than the burning of the world." 
 
 "What is a battle, where a few thousand die, to 
 the conflagration of a world, where hundreds of mil- 
 Iioiu3 v.'ould perish?"
 
 106 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 w lt would be all the same to you in both cases. 
 Death would be no more terrible or painful to you, 
 occurring with that of a million others, than alone." 
 
 " You talk like an unbeliever ; and I do not care 
 to continue the conversation." 
 
 Said the artist, addressing himself to the Ser- 
 geant : 
 
 "I came here to make money; I suppose you 
 came wholly to save the flag from dishonor." 
 
 "Well, my friend, I may as well tell you what 
 motive brought me here. I think I am as patriotic, 
 as most men. I never see the flag run up, either on 
 a ship's mast in the bay, on a flagstaff at home, or 
 on a pole that we plant in our camp, without feeling 
 my heart thumping at my ribs, and the tears on my 
 cheeks. When I see it carried at dress-parade my 
 chest heaves, and I have a strange feeling, while my 
 hands grasp my musket with a tighter grip, and I 
 am ready to give my last drop of blood for it. Who 
 can tell the cause of this emotion? But, friend, it 
 was not patriotism alone that brought me here. I 
 came partly for the money, the bounty. Had it 
 been patriotism alone, I should have come before. 
 I am one of a large class of unfortunates, who, at 
 twenty-five years of age, have nothing in particular 
 to do. Were I at home, seeking for employment, 
 and you should ask me what I could do, the answer
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. IQ >J 
 
 most likely would be, 'Anything you want done.' 
 That would be my first impression. But, really, I 
 can do nothing well. My father gave me neither a 
 trade nor an education. While I was approaching 
 manhood he had a little petty business, at which I 
 could earn him two dollars a day. I was promised 
 assistance until he died. I am unskilled in any- 
 thing. The blacksmith, the mason, the stone-cutter, 
 the shoemaker, the printer, the merchant, all want 
 help ; but none of them want me, a man in years, 
 but a child in knowledge. I came here, then, largely 
 because I had nothing to do. If I die, who will 
 miss me ? I shall leave nothing behind, as the work 
 of my hands. Other men leave something to per- 
 petuate their memories. Every house is a monu- 
 ment of mechanical skill. The proud ship coming 
 into port, bears the labor and product of thousands 
 of skilled hands, to say nothing of those who pro- 
 duced the freight she brings. He who has taken her 
 across the trackless deep, and found the port as 
 easily as the school-boy finds his home, is a man of 
 skill, and his services are wanted. Yes, and so it is 
 with his seamen. Even a sailor, though he be a 
 drunken one, and the shipping-master obliged to 
 send him on shipboard in irons, is wanted. Yes 
 sir, a drunken sailor is of more account to the world 
 (han I. With no bad habits, and a disposition to
 
 IOS AV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 work, 110 one wants me. If I live to go home, I will 
 tell every father I see to give his sou an education or 
 a trade. If anything will make a young man hate his 
 father, it is neglect to give the necessary preparation 
 to compete successfully with his peers in the business 
 of life. As well might a boy be maimed as to have 
 a hand without cunning, or .a fool, as a head without 
 useful knowledge." 
 
 As daylight was breaking, it was thought that a 
 song might be sung without breaking any rule, when, 
 it being my turn, I gave the "Frog Song," which 
 had more in the introduction than in the body. 
 
 In July, 1861, being in Washington; I heard that 
 the rebels were massing their 'troops at Mannassas, 
 and that our army would move towards that strong- 
 hold the following day. If the soldiers were to go, 
 so were the civilians, as to a country muster, or a 
 horse-show. Somewhere near Fairfax Court House 
 we passed a big frog-pond, and it being somewhat 
 lowery, the frogs were out. While some of the 
 troops were passing, it chanced that one of the 
 largest of the frogs was on a log, and he seemed to 
 take great interest in the procession. The band was 
 playing an air he had never heard before, the ban- 
 ners were waving, the muskets glistened, and the 
 sabres gleamed. Tramp, tramp, tramp, till the 
 ground shook, and the poor frog's "home on the roil-
 
 /AT CAMP AND HOSPITAL. lO g 
 
 ing deep " seemed invaded by a power he had never 
 feared. He had seen flocks of cranes, and boys with 
 stones, and knew how to avoid both of these enemies ; 
 but here was a visible power that shook his home 
 like invisible thunder, yet he bravely kept his posi- 
 tion. He saw the officers ride by, with grace and 
 majesty in their mien, and heard their orders given 
 with pomp and sonorosity. He felt like doing some- 
 thing to show his admiration of the spectacle ; but as 
 it was not convenient to take off his hat, and shout 
 "hurrah!" he did the next best thing, essayed a 
 song ; but he was somewhat puzzled in the matter of 
 selection. Not knowing whether Abraham Lincoln 
 or Jeff. Davis held dominion over his domain, he was 
 at a loss whether to strike up the "Star Spangled 
 Banner," or the "Bonnie Blue Flag," but, rejecting 
 both, as it was uncertain whose hands he would fall 
 into, he filled his bellows, and opening his huge 
 mouth, articulated, in the deepest bass, " Big thing! 
 Big tldng! Big thing!" The troops heard it, and 
 were captivated. Soon the song reverberated along 
 the lines. We went to Bull Run, met the rebels, 
 were defeated, and at night repassed the same pond. 
 The big frogs had retired, and the peepers had taken 
 their places. They gazed at us a few moments, 
 soon comprehended the situation, and then stru-jk 
 up the chorus in their finest key, " Can't see it!, cart I
 
 HO IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 see it!" The army took the hint. They could not 
 see it either. 
 
 On the Saturday evening previous to Banks' re- 
 treat from New Market, I called on General Wil- 
 liams' Division, encamped a mile north of the town, 
 and half a mile below the pike. There was a brig- 
 ade down two miles to the left of the town, to guard 
 a bridge, while the bulk of this army was six or 
 seven miles south on the pike to Staunton. Having 
 disposed of most of my stamps, sung with all the 
 regiments and batteries, and had one of my pleasant- 
 est visits, I was about to depart, when a soldier, with 
 a bayoneted gun, approached and said that the Col- 
 onel wished to speak with me in his tent. 
 
 "Give my compliments to the Colonel, and say 
 that, as it is late, past nine o'clock, I will thank 
 him to excuse me to-night. I will call early in the 
 morning." 
 
 "You are a prisoner, sir, by order ot the Colonel, 
 who suspects you are a spy." 
 
 "Take me to the Colonel's tent at once, that I may 
 show my credentials." 
 
 But no, I was to be kept under guard till morning. 
 He had ordered my arrest outside of his lines with- 
 out any cause whatever. 
 
 "You are to speak to no one but me, and me only 
 when necessary."
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. IIt 
 
 This was not the language of the soldier who 
 arrested me, but of some subaltern, perhaps the offi- 
 cer of the guard. 
 
 "Can I go to a tent to sleep?" 
 
 "No, sir; there are no tents up, but those of the 
 field officer's." 
 
 "Can I have some blankets?" 
 
 "You ought to carry your blankets with you when 
 you travel with the army." 
 
 "That is so, no doubt; but, as I am not a snail, 
 and do not carry my house on my back, and thinking 
 I was coming among friends instead of enemies, I 
 have none." 
 
 "Let me have your weapons." 
 
 "I do not carry any." 
 
 "What! no pistol?" 
 
 "Not any, sir." 
 
 "Any knife?" 
 
 "A small one ; here it is." 
 
 "Any papers?" 
 
 "Here is my pass, also two letters from home ; 
 you are welcome to them. Here is a package of 
 Union songs, and in this tin cylinder you will find 
 about ten dollars worth of postage-stamps." 
 
 "What do you do with these stamps?" 
 
 "I will satisfy your curiosity in the morning.
 
 112 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Bring me a blanket, if you can find one, and I will 
 make the best of my situation till morning." 
 
 The May air was cold, and the ground damp. 
 Sleeping was out of the question. There were nei- 
 ther logs nor chips to sit on. About two o'clock my 
 keeper was replaced by another. As I was passed 
 over to the new guard, the orders to hold no con- 
 versation were repeated. We sat near together, 
 both suffering from the cool night air. At length he 
 inquired : 
 
 "Have you a little whiskey about you?" 
 
 "Not a drop." 
 
 "Have you any tobacco?" 
 
 "Never used any. Do not know its taste." 
 
 "That is bad. This is mighty lonesome for both 
 of us, isn't it?" 
 
 " Suppose I tell you a true story, to wear away the 
 time ? " 
 
 I will not trouble the reader with the story. It 
 rehearsed the facts of wandering out into a Wisconsin 
 forest on the Mississippi while a steamer lay at the 
 bank nearly a whole day making some repairs on one 
 of the engines ; and being left alone in the solitude of 
 the forest till morning, when, by the sound of a rifle, 
 I found a white man who had lived a hermit's life ton 
 years, scarcely seeing a white man, except the em- 
 ployes of the steamer that took the wood hy cut an 1
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 03 
 
 hauled to the river bank on a hand-sled. He was 
 there because his wife had deceived him. I will give 
 just that part of it which interested my guard most. 
 Speaking of his life, the hermit said : 
 " I suppose you conjecture it was love that brought 
 me here. No, sir ; it was the want of love. I am 
 a married man ; but am ashamed to say I ever loved 
 so fascinating, treacherous, and subtle a being as 
 woman. Bah ! Beautiful ! so was Eve, undoubt- 
 edly. Fascinating! so was the serpent. I loved, 
 wedded, worshipped, and was betrayed. A hard- 
 working man, and true as the needle to the pole, I 
 was supplanted by a brainless villain ; but here, in 
 my forest home, I am free from the society of those 
 who, since the days of Eve, have been the scourge 
 of men. My dog, and even my pet bear, are supe- 
 rior to woman. My dog would die for me. JS r o 
 lying tongue could coax him to desert me. I would 
 improve on Byron, and say, instead of Frailty, 
 
 f Oh, "Deceit," thy name is woman.'" 
 
 "Hold on!" said my keeper. "That is a pretty 
 good story, and I rather pity the old wood-chopper, 
 who had been bamboozled by his wife ; but, stranger, 
 there is as sweet a pair of eyes, and as pure a pair 
 of lips, up in Wisconsin, that came down here to my
 
 1I4 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 hard bed every night to gaze upon and kiss me in 
 my dreams, as ever existed since Mary went, first of 
 all Christ's followers, to the sepulchre. Fudge on 
 Byron, old Solomon, the hermit, and all other 
 woman-haters ! I have not seen much of life., but I 
 have found it true, generally, that when a man loves 
 his wife and children as he ought, there is not much 
 chance for trouble from outsiders. For my part, if 
 I do not get killed in this war, the sweetest girl in 
 Wisconsin will have a soldier-boy for a husband who 
 will be so good to her that the very atmosphere that 
 will surround her, should any libertine dare to come 
 into her presence, will banish him at once." 
 
 In the morning I was taken to the Colonel, who 
 proved to be a Norwegian, in command of the 3d 
 Wisconsin ; and, without a kind word of regret for 
 his order, he bade me good-morning, with an invita- 
 tion to call again. It is the only instance of bald 
 incivility from an officer of his rank, in meeting with 
 upwards of five hundred regiments.
 
 116 We're marching down to Dixie's land. 
 
 E. W. Locke. 
 
 =- L * iv-^-' ' 2 
 
 %j m m tftf w 
 
 Good news, good news, from Dixie's land from Dixie's laud ; from Dixie's land 
 
 [The 
 
 The re-bels sing a-nother soiv.'. In Dixie's ]:ind, in Dixie's land ; They 
 2. Dupont and Sherman took n sail. To Dixie's laud, to Dixie's land. With 
 They called to see Miss Caroline, In Dixie's land, In Dixie's land, Found 
 
 re - bel cause Is at a stand, And trea - son's go - ing down, 
 
 find they pitched the first one wrong, Aud trea - sou's go - ing down, 
 
 lit - tie stores of 1 - ron hail, To put re - bel - lion down. 
 
 Beaufort har-bor migh-ty flue, To put re-bel-liou dowu. 
 
 We've struck the poison snake a blow. In Dixie's land, in Dixie's land, Se- 
 "With shot aud shell, aud Yankee trick, In Dixie's laud, in Dixie's laud, They 
 
 ces - sion stock is run - ning low, Aud trea - son's go - ing down, 
 put the rogues to dou - ble quick, And trea - sou shall go down. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 *= 
 
 irfcttEfcSi 
 
 v '$ v 
 
 Oh we're marching down to Dixie's land, to Dixie's land, to Dixie's land, 
 
 -P-f- K\ 
 
 -^r^^lu^=^- | ^=b=g~D=d~^~ / ' v ~ g 'F^-b--bTl : 
 
 =333P3= t irbfi -* 8 ^htf i:u 
 
 v y 
 
 And our flag shall wave to the Bio Grande, And treason shall go down.
 
 117 
 
 , They sent two Envoys Plenipo 
 
 From Dixie's land, from Dixie's land, 
 To Johnny Bull and John Crapeau, 
 
 Lest treason should go down ; 
 They rowed about from shore to shore, 
 
 In Dixie's land in Dixie's land, 
 Till John Bull lent a helping tfar, 
 
 Lesfc treason should go down. 
 A gallant plucky Commodore, 
 
 From Yankee land, From Yankee land, 
 Just bagged them both, though John Bull swore } 
 
 And, treason shall go down ! 
 
 Cho. we're marching, &c. 
 
 John Bull is in a growling mood, 
 
 For Dixie's land, for Dixie's land, 
 He'd help the rebels if he could, 
 
 Lest treason should go down, 
 We've whipped him twice, if he'll call again, 
 
 On sea or land, on sea or land, 
 He'll find us stocked with pluck and men, 
 
 And treason shall go down ; 
 John Bull we'll meet as friend or foe, 
 
 On sea or land, on sea or rand, 
 We love his smile, we dare his blow, 
 
 But treason shall go down ! 
 
 Cho. O we're mai-ching, &c. 
 
 5. March 
 
 irch on, march on, our cause is just, 
 
 To Dixie's land, to Dixie's land. 
 With loyal hearts and God our trust, 
 
 To put rebellion down ; 
 The blood of martyred brothers cries 
 
 From Dixie's land, from Dixie's land, 
 Avenge, avenge our sacrifice, 
 
 And put rebellion down. 
 The trumpet sounds, the war-cry rings, 
 
 In Dixie's land, In Dixie's land; 
 Mid clashing steel each brave heart springs, 
 
 To put rebellion down. 
 
 Cho. O we're marching, &c.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SEVEN DAYS* FIGHTING BEFORE RICHMOND. 
 
 I ASK the reader not to skip this chapter in disgust. 
 I am aware there is a wide disagreement in state- 
 ments of facts among those who were participants in 
 the events to be treated of in the next pages ; and 
 most of the politicians of the country profess to 
 know more about McClellan's manoeuvres before 
 Richmond, and his retreat to the James, than those 
 who were under this distinguished Commander at the 
 time. Were I at a loss for matter here, the files of 
 the leading journals of the country would furnish 
 enough for many chapters. But most of the reports 
 were unfair; they were written either to glorify or 
 disparage McClellan. Some of them were by men 
 who saw no part of the affair but the retreating trains 
 of wagons they were with. There were reporters 
 in the army whose chief business was to play toady 
 to some of the officers, get a share of good victuals 
 and a plenty of liquor, and report the brilliant ex- 
 ploits of the men who paid their bills. Those who 
 (118)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 119 
 
 trumpeted for McClellau, described those battles as 
 fiercely contested, sanguinary in character, managed 
 on the part of our officers with consummate skill, and 
 but for the lack of a few expected reinforcements 
 under McDowell, victory, which at one time was al- 
 mos,t within our grasp, would have been secured, 
 Kichmond taken, and the war ended in one brief cam- 
 paign. "Shame on the imbecile administration for 
 sacrificing one of the bravest and best disciplined 
 armies ever organized, composed of the flower of 
 America ! Shame on the government that could sac- 
 rifice a hero like McClellan, because he was not a 
 Eepublican!" This was, and still is, theory of one 
 party. 
 
 The other party feels that the incompetency of 
 this officer cost the country a hundred thousand lives, 
 and yet many are unwilling to use harsh terms, for 
 they know not who there was at that time that could 
 have done better. 
 
 I am to give my version of the aifair, tell what I 
 know and saw. Being on the field, or in the hos- 
 pitals, the entire seven days, confined to no locality 
 or sphere, but free to move at all times along any 
 part of our lines, my opportunities for witnessing 
 the events of the occasion were at least as good as 
 those of others. But it should be borne in mind 
 that whatever the facilities enjoyed, one man,
 
 120 I& CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 though he might have had the swiftest horse, could 
 not see nearly all the important transactions of that 
 disastrous occasion. 
 
 Looking back eight years, I can see that line of 
 "boys in blue" just as vividly as if but yesterday, as 
 it stretched out north and south from the railroad a 
 mile above Savage Station, like a pair of wings ten 
 miles from tip to tip. 
 
 On the extreme left were some twenty regiments 
 of infantry and a few batteries, under General Keys ; 
 next to him was Sumner, who prided himself in hav- 
 ing the best fighting material in all that army. He 
 might well be proud of many of his command, both 
 men and officers. There were Meagher, French, 
 Kearney, and Hooker, and if there were any troops 
 in the whole line that McClellan took pains to flatter, 
 it was the Irish Brigade. It was indeed a noble 
 corps, both officers and men feeling that they were 
 representing to the world the Irish sentiment in crush- 
 ing the rebellion, as well as the characteristics of 
 true Irish soldiers. Though some of their enemies 
 chai'ged that this partiality on the part of McClellan 
 was a stroke of policy to encourage enlistments among 
 that race, yet any one who saw the brigade at Games' 
 Mill, White Oak Swamp, or Malvern Hills, must 
 feel that the Irish have a right to be proud of their 
 countrymen on those occasions. Next to Sumner
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. I3I 
 
 was Heintzleman, with a corps nearly or quite as large 
 as any ; next Franklin, with the famous Vermont 
 Brigade of five regiments, viz. : the 2d, 3d, 4th, 5th, 
 and 6th ; the Jersey Brigade, formerly Kearney's, 
 the 1st, 2d, 3d, and 4th ; with the 5th, 6th, and 7th 
 Maine, which, as much as any regiments froin^the 
 Pine Tree State, distinguished themselves through the 
 war. In this corps there were also the 16th, 27th, 
 33d, 43d, 49th, and 77th New York, and a few 
 Pennsylvania troops. In the rear of the line were 
 the headquarters of General Franklin, and still far- 
 ther back, those of McClellan, protected by a park 
 of artillery. 
 
 Crossing the Chickahomiuy we found no troops till 
 we had passed Games' House, a mile from the Swamp. 
 Then we came upon Porter's corps. Among others 
 it included the Berdaa^Sharpshooters, the Ellsworth 
 Avengers, the 5th New York (Zouaves) , the 9th 
 Massachusetts (Irish), the 4th Michigan, and a reg- 
 iment from Connecticut that had charge of the siege 
 guns. Then there was some distance without troops ; 
 but whe*u reached, they were found to be the Pennsyl- 
 vania Reserves, consisting of twelve regiments of in- 
 fantry, and three batteries. Stoneman, with his cav- 
 alry, was in this vicinity, but constantly moving, so 
 that his troops were seldom seen in camp but at 
 night.
 
 ,32 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Near Games' House is that modern invention in 
 warfare, the balloon. Coming upon it suddenly, 
 hidden in a little ravine, a globe, perhaps fifteen feet 
 in diameter, attached to the earth by strong guys, 
 and its beautiful colors sparkling in the sun, we 
 could but exclaim, "Big thing!" The rebels must 
 be beaten, for they have no balloon ; and if Bona- 
 parte had thought of this, he never would have been 
 sent to Elba. There was a wagon-load of carboys, 
 filled with vitriol, and a great quantity of zinc, from 
 which to generate the required gas. When the air 
 was still the guys were manned, a man with a glass 
 stepped into the basket, and strong arms, with care- 
 ful hands, paid out the ropes, while the observer 
 mounted five hundred feet skyward to see what the 
 Johnnies were about over towards Richmond. 
 
 But taking such an observation was not the pleas- 
 antest recreation to be thought of. If the balloon 
 man could see the rebels, they could see him. And 
 by the time he had reached the requisite altitude, a 
 puff of smoke rises from that battery over on the 
 heights, beyond the Chickahominy ; the heavy, sharp 
 crash of a rifled cannon almost stuns us, even if we 
 are a mile away, and, almost simultaneously with (he 
 sound of the gun, co;nes the screeching shell, aimed 
 at the balloon. You know this only by the sound ; 
 for the eye cannot soe it. Again and again they fire,
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 123 
 
 but they must be poor marksmen, or their gun is 
 defective, for they never hit it. Sometimes it sways 
 with the gentle breeze, but at others it as motionless 
 as a target. My verdict was, "Poor gunnery ." 
 
 Who hatched the balloon idea may not be known ; 
 but there were few officers who did not think it ridic- 
 ulous. In a few hours after nightfall the enemy's 
 troops might have been concentrated to strike us on 
 either wing with the dawning of the first light, and 
 a battle be lost or won before the balloon man could 
 see what was going on inside the rebel lines. But 
 that ridiculous gas-bag did not live long in the army. 
 Probably no one will take out a patent for conduct- 
 ing warfare by the use of balloons. 
 
 About two o'clock in the afternoon of the last 
 Thursday in June, L862, the pickets of the Pennsyl- 
 vania Reserves were driven in by a large advancing 
 column. This threatening force was bravely met by 
 three batteries, and twelve regiments of infantry. 
 In an hour or two the firing became rapid, and, 
 though the Pennsylvanians behaved nobly, they had 
 to coj)e with such odds in numbers, they gradually 
 fell back obliquely towards Porter's command. This 
 officer was ready with his troops, in due time, to 
 take part in the fight, and for two hours before sun- 
 down, and even by twilight, nearly the whole force 
 on that side of the Chickahominy \vas engaged.
 
 ,24 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 About half-past two iu the afternoon, Generals 
 McClellan and Franklin, with their respective staff- 
 officers, rode over to the scene of action, a distance 
 of about three miles. Late in the afternoon, as far 
 as I could see or ascertain, the whole army was 
 drawn up in line of battle, as if expecting attack at 
 any moment. 
 
 That was a sight never to be forgotten. Here is a 
 regiment of six hundred strong men, standing in line, 
 two rank, their dress blue pants, blouse and cap ; 
 with muskets loaded and capped, at " order arms," or 
 "rest"; the commissioned officers one step in the 
 rear, with drawn swords ; ten rods in the rear another 
 similar line; and at the right and the left others, 
 containing from five to eight hundred each. At suit- 
 able points, with every brigade of four or five regi- 
 ments, was a battery of six guns unlimbered, the 
 gunners ready to shot and discharge them at any 
 moment ; and, just far enough in the rear to over- 
 look his brigade, sits, on his trusty horse, the Brig- 
 adier, waiting for orders from the Corps Commander, 
 either to advance to battle or return to quarters. 
 There are continuous lines, stretching for miles, of 
 armed men, ready to fight or die. 
 
 There has been heavy fighting all the afternoon on 
 the right : the cannons are yet thundering, and the 
 musketry volleys are unceasing. Is this the hour
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 I2 5 
 
 that is to decide whether America is to be one or two 
 nations? The timid are pale and trembling, the 
 reckless joking, the brave impatient, hoping that the 
 hour of trial has at length come. 
 
 "Attention to orders ! " Something like the fol- 
 lowing is read in the hearing of all : "Headquarters 
 of Major-General Fitz John Porter, June 25th, eight 
 o'clock P. M. To the officers and soldiers of the 
 Army of the Potomac ! This afternoon, at two 
 o'clock, the enemy in full force made a most vigor- 
 ous and persistent attack on our right wing ; but, by 
 the heroic conduct of your brave brothers under 
 Major-Generals McCall and Porter, was driven back 
 with immense slaughter, while our loss in killed and 
 wounded is comparatively small. With two hours 
 more of daylight we could have followed the enemy 
 into Richmond." 
 
 This message, or the substance of it, purported to 
 have come from McClellau. The soldiers cheered, 
 and cheered again. Many went to sleep that night 
 expecting to march into Richmond the following day. 
 Others shook their heads, and especially some of the 
 officers. They had listened to the cannonading (for 
 there was scarcely a breath of air, and the sound 
 could be heard distinctly even to the extreme left) , 
 and all the afternoon it had come nearer and nearer, 
 even to the very last. If the enemy had been checked.
 
 126 IN GAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 and especially towards the end driven back, we 
 should have known it by the reports of the guns. 
 But it was not so, and men who had been in previous 
 wars, or who exercised their judgment, knew that the 
 boast of going to Richmond with two hours' more 
 daylight, was idle, like a great deal of the vaporing 
 that had been heard before. But we should see ; 
 perhaps two hours in the morning will be as good as 
 two hours at the close of the day. Few thoughtful 
 men of that grand army slept much that night. By 
 five o'clock in the morning the firing recommenced, 
 apparently just where it ceased the night before. It 
 continued, though with but little vigor, almost ceas- 
 ing at times, to recommence more sharply, till nearly 
 or quite noon. By two o'clock we knew that the 
 bloodiest battle of the war in the East was being 
 fought. 
 
 General Slocum's Division, of Franklin's corps, had 
 been in readiness from sunrise to march at a moment's 
 notice to the field of action, if wanted ; at this time 
 they were ordered forward, being some three miles 
 from the battle-field, to assist their struggling breth- 
 ren. As nearly as I can remember, there were twelve 
 regiments and three batteries in this body of rein- 
 forcements ; but, later in the day, two brigades, 
 the Irish and French's, comprising some ten regi- 
 ments, also went to the assistance of McCall and For-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 127 
 
 tcr. When Slocum's troops started, they moved 
 slowly, and I think few of the men expected to go 
 into battle ; but having crossed the river, their pace 
 quickened, and soon they found there was work to 
 be done, such as they had never experienced. 
 McCall and Porter had been virtually defeated before 
 Slocurn arrived. A victorious enemy, with rein- 
 forcements constantly arriving, were killing, maim- 
 ing and capturing our men by hundreds, and forcing 
 back the right wing of McClelland army. Only till 
 late in the afternoon, when the Irish and French's 
 brigades made their appearance, was the enemy 
 checked. More than half of the Jersey Brigade 
 were killed or captured. The 5th Maine lost two 
 hundred and fifty, or one-third of its men. Colonel 
 Ilowland, of the 16th New York, was killed, and 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Marsh, of the same regiment, 
 mortally wounded. To say nothing of the losses suf- 
 fered by McCall and Porter, of the six thousand men 
 who crossed the Chickahominy that afternoon, under 
 Slocum, at dark, fully one-third were wounded or 
 missing. The last reinforcements, the Irish, and 
 French's Brigades, lost but few men comparatively, 
 for the battle ended shortly after their arrival. 
 
 What a night was that which followed ! Horrible 
 beyond description; bringing agony to the woundo-.l, 
 and not only to them, bat to every thoughtful 'ii 111
 
 128 m CAMP AND HOSPITAL, 
 
 along the whole line. No deceptive order, like the 
 one read last night, could have found a moment's cre- 
 dence had it been issued. The hopeful tried to be- 
 lieve it was a drawn battle, and that the rebels were 
 as badly injured as we. But many muttered, while 
 more cursed. " Why," said a Captain of the Third 
 Vermont, in my hearing, " what has all the rest of 
 this army been about while the rebs have been 
 slaughtering our men like sheep? What has the 
 main army been doing these twenty hours of carnage ? 
 What has the bulk of our corps done ? Was one di- 
 vision all that could be spared to help those who 
 needed assistance ? Scarcely a gun fired, that I have 
 heard, this side of the river yesterday or to-day. 
 Watching ! watching ! while others have been fight- 
 ing and dying ! I tell you, gentlemen, if there is 
 not something ' rotten in Denmark,' there is in this 
 army ! O, I am so ashamed I could not look my 
 friends at home in the face. Boom, boom, for 
 eighteen hours, almost within musket-shot, and you 
 and I, and our stalwart brothers, taking no part ! 
 Two-thirds of the army have not fired a gun all the 
 while this butchery has been going on ! " 
 
 But complaints, mutterings, and cursings were of 
 no avail. The morning came, and the defeated 
 troops fell back across, the Chickahominy. In the 
 forenoon some of the Vermont troops had a little
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 129 
 
 skirmishing with the enemy, being driven out of 
 some earthworks, which, after the right wing had 
 fallen back, was now the extreme right of the line. 
 By noon, the wagon-trains had commenced moving 
 towards the James. But White Oak Swamp, an 
 immense woody morass, that required to be bridged 
 a fourth of a mile, lay between. This, however, 
 was easily done, as trees were abundant, and the 
 water shallow. Half a day, with a thousand men, 
 was quite sufficient to corduroy it. 
 
 Nearly all the troops north of the railroad were in 
 motion by sundown, and the wagons moved on slowly 
 all night. The steamers and other vessels at White- 
 house Landing had been sent down the river, and 
 by Sunday morning there was but a small part of 
 that grand army left before the defences of Rich- 
 mond. 
 
 The enemy was not long in discovering our 
 absence, and speedily prepared to follow. The 
 last troops to leave were those under Sumuer. 
 They had some fighting to do in the morning 
 at Savage Station, but soon the stores were de- 
 stroyed, an engine and a train of cars run into 
 the river, the magazine blown up, and the last of 
 the beseiging army was pushing on in one of the 
 hottest of June days, followed at a safe distance by 
 t'.;o exultant enemy. 
 
 9
 
 1 3 o 
 
 CAMP AXD HOSPITAL. 
 
 The historians of that time tell of the seven days' 
 fighting before Richmond. But I could never fully 
 understand them. Their record does not tally with 
 my observations. There was fighting Thursday and 
 Friday, but none worth naming Saturday. Sunday 
 there was a little fighting at Savage Station, oil 
 account of mismanagement by some of our officers, 
 but I think very few were killed. In fact, but few 
 troops were engaged. Monday there was consid- 
 erable fighting at White Oak Swamp ; but if one will 
 take the pains to ascertain the number of our regi- 
 ments and batteries engaged, he will see that it has 
 been greatly exaggerated. On this point, whoever 
 will take the pains to search records of soldiers' 
 deaths, will find but a small number who were killed 
 at White Oak Swamp. It is true that our troops 
 formed in line, after passing this place, to check the 
 advancing enemy. Hancock, with a division, held 
 tho right. Brooks' Vermouters, and Davidson, of 
 Franklin's corps, lay next on the left. Sunnier and 
 Hein'zleinan and Porter extended the line to the left, 
 bordering the swamp, while a hill near by was occu- 
 pied with batteries. The enemy made little head- 
 way in the effort to carry our strong position ; but 
 late in the afternoon a large force, under General 
 Henry A. Wise, attempted to flank, by pa-sing be- 
 tween us and the river. They were met !-y P^i- ..
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. iy 
 
 and Keys, but were driven back mostly by the shells 
 .from the gunboats Galena, Jacob Bell, and Aro;>s- 
 took. The rebels must have lost many men, but 
 our loss was very small indeed. On Tuesday after- 
 noon and evening occurred the memorable battle of 
 Malvern Hills. I would not attempt to belittle it, 
 but here, as at Games' Mill, but a small part of the 
 army was engaged. The battle did not -commence 
 till three o'clock in the afternoon ; and if I remember 
 rightly, not a single position of ours was carried by 
 the enemy. Here, too, we had the most valuable 
 assistance of the gunboats. Many noble men lost 
 their lives ; but compared with battles that occurred 
 later in the war, such as Antietam, Gettysburg, 
 Stone River, the Wilderness, and Spottsvylvauia, it 
 was but a skirmish. Wednesday was occupied in 
 making our way to Harrison's Landing. Thursday, 
 the monitor and the gunboats were busy in shelling 
 that portion of the enemy that still hung on our rear. 
 The fightiug was done at Mechanics ville, Games' Mill, 
 and Malvern Hills, with what might be called heavy 
 skirmishing at Savage Station, White Oak Swamp, 
 and a few other places. 
 
 McClellan sets down his loss in killed, wounded 
 and missing, at fifteen thousand two hundred and 
 forty-nine. This may be the true number, but I am 
 confident that the prisoners were the largest class.
 
 x-3 /-V CAMP AXD HOSPITAL. 
 
 There were thousands of soldiers who never fired a 
 gun at a rebel in all those seven days. This was 
 not their fault. I would not disparage them, ov 
 belittle then- hardships. These were great enough 
 in that malarious atmosphere, with that poison-water, 
 even without fighting. It was not the soldier's fault 
 if he did not fight. Many had no opportunity. The 
 policy of the commander was not to attack, but 
 threaten ; and while he lay threatening, his men fell 
 by disease in hundreds and thousands. In that 
 army, as it lay encamped in the swamps of the 
 Chickahomiuy, there was suffering that cannot be 
 told. The water was cold, palatable, and apparently 
 refreshing; yet it quenched thirst but a short time, 
 only to give it a keener edge. Quinine, though you 
 mixed it with your food, would not kill the pain 
 caused by this deceptive liquid. The sick, besides 
 those retained in camp hospitals, daily sent back to 
 Whitehouse Landing, would fill a train of many 
 cars. To have been a soldier under McClellan while 
 threatening Richmond, even though you never had 
 an opportunity to fight, is more than to have fought 
 a number of battles. But those who were at Games' 
 Mill, Mechanics ville, or Malveru Hills, will never 
 forget the occasion. If but a portion of the army 
 was engaged, those who bore a part had no reason 
 to be ashamed. The effort was lost, and thousands
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 133 
 
 perished in vain, not through a lack of soldierly 
 qualities of the men, and the subordinate officers, 
 but from other causes. I need not tell the reader I 
 am no critic in military affairs. But men of capacity 
 and military skill said in my hearing that McClellan, 
 instead of needing more men, which he was con- 
 stantly calling for, had three times as many as he 
 ever put into battle, and twice as many as he could 
 handle. This is my opinion. Some thought at the 
 time it was splendid management, on his part, that 
 not a wagon, ambulance, or siege-gun was left in the 
 hands of the enemy. As the man said, who saw for 
 the first time the water pouring over Niagara Falls, 
 "What's to hinder?" So may we say, What was to 
 prevent taking all these things to the James ? 
 
 It was less than twenty miles to a point where the 
 gunboats could come to his assistance. There were 
 a plenty of sappers and miners to put the roads in 
 order, or make new ones across WMte Oak Swamp, 
 the only place that presented any obstacle to moving 
 an army. It was no remarkable strategy to start 
 away and gain a day's march. Lee did this at An- 
 tietam, and at Gettysburg. There was little danger 
 of being flanked, right or left. All the enemy's 
 force was in the rear, and when it followed was 
 pursuing an army superior in numbers, with no lack 
 of imns or ammunition. Had it been otherwise, and
 
 t 3 4 1^ CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 were the bulk of our men wearied out with pro- 
 tracted engagements, then we might talk about the 
 masterly skill that saved the Army of the Potomac.- 
 There was little to do but "to push along and keep 
 moving." McClellaii was shrewd enough not to 
 make a stand on the defensive, until he came within 
 assistance of the gunboats. 
 
 I feel certain that when we left the Chickahomiuy, 
 the highest officers in the army did not know what 
 point on the James we were to strike. On Sunday, 
 at two o'clock, it was my fortune to have under my 
 care some five hundred of such among the wounded 
 as could walk. Being anxious to take them forward 
 as rapidly as possible, that they might be sent down 
 the river for surgical treatment, I made an ineffec- 
 tual search for General McClellaii, but none of his 
 staff could tell me where he was, or where to take 
 the men. One of the young French noblemen 
 promised to procure the desired information, but 
 not hearing from him I applied to an old former, 
 who did his best to give us the shortest route to a 
 gunboat. 
 
 I will close this chapter with an incident that oc- 
 curred in the evening after the battle of Malvcrn 
 Hills. It is one I love to recall, when tempted to 
 believe that human nature contains more of bad than 
 good.
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 135 
 
 It was my privilege to have charge of the hospital 
 camp at Carter's Landing during, and the night after 
 the battle. By ten o'clock there were two thousand 
 or more of the sick and wounded on Colonel Carter's 
 plantation. This gentleman had a field of wheat which 
 had just been cut, and it lay in the gavel. Obtaining 
 all the assistance I could muster, we gathered up ths 
 wheat and made hundreds of beds on the grass. 
 The night was warm and still, a blanket being 
 sufficient covering. Amputations were out of the 
 question. There were present Drs. Palmer and 
 Brickett, of Maine, two as good surgeons as the army 
 afforded, but they could do nothing more than admin- 
 ister opiates and other medicines. Tho chief busi- 
 ness of the night was to carry water for drink, and 
 to pour on the wounds, and distribute black and 
 beef teas, which the gunboat Susan Small furnished. 
 Towards midnight I received a call from an officer of 
 the 16th Michigan, who wished for a candle. 
 
 Having none to spare, one was procured at the 
 mansion-house, after which he said he was going to 
 look around among the wounded, to see if ho could 
 find any that belonged to his regiment, His search 
 proving fruitless, he went to the pump, stood on the 
 platform, and called out, "Sixteenth Michigan. Is 
 any one here from the 16th Michigan?" 
 
 Faintly came an answer " Here ! this way ! " AVe
 
 X o6 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 found a poor boy, wounded but a few hours before, 
 through the left arm and upper part of the body, the 
 murderous iron passing near his heart, just missing 
 it. He was aware that he had but a short time to live. 
 
 "O, I am so glad you have come, I thought I must 
 die alone ! " 
 
 Each of us took a bloody hand. 
 
 "O, this pain ! Can I have some water?" 
 
 I had a supply, and not only gave him to drink, 
 but washed the powder from his face. He had been 
 working at a battery that afternoon, and was struck 
 down by a small piece of shell. He had been brought 
 thither to die. He said to the officer, "Will you 
 pray with me?" 
 
 We knelt by his side, and the prayer was offered. 
 And such a prayer, with such surroundings ! Groans 
 on every side, some calling for water, delirious men 
 calling for their wives or mothers, some praying, 
 others cursing ! The scene maybe imagined, it can- 
 not be described. The prayer ended, "Will you," 
 said the boy, "stay with me till I die? It will not be 
 long?" 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "And will you write to my mother? you know her 
 well, and will you tell her I died thinking of her? " 
 
 "I will." 
 
 Both of us kissed that dying boy, and one of us, at
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. ^7 
 
 least, prayed that God would receive his spirit, and 
 pardon his youthful errors, and that we who were 
 spectators might be the truer and braver for what we 
 had seen. 
 
 Before morning his life ebbed a\vay, and that Chris- 
 tian officer had written the letter to inform the Mich- 
 igan mother how her noble boy had died.
 
 138 We are marching on to Richmond. 
 
 Words and music by E. W. Locke, 
 
 1. Our knapsacks sling and blithely sing. We're marching on to 
 
 2. Our foes are near, their drunu we hear. They're camped about in 
 
 Richmond; With \vea - pons bright, and hearts so light AVe're 
 Richmond; With pick - ets out, to tell the rout Our 
 
 : V Z= A : ^ rr: v T F 
 
 bitESE 
 
 march -lug on to Richmond; Each wea-ry mile, with 
 Ar- my takes to Richmond; "We've craf - ty foes to 
 
 song be -guile. We Ye marching on to Richmond; The 
 meet our blows. No doubt they'll fight for Richmond; The 
 
 roads are rough, but smooth enough To take us safe to' Richnio'id- 
 brave may die, but nev-er fly, We'll cut our way to Richmond;' 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 L *> N S K S S N 
 
 ~\V J II'3~ ^N J _N "_pT~Ij ~H N fr 
 
 ^TEjr *^ * * g=g=P^ JT^f^ 
 
 Then tramp a - way while the bu - gles play, We're 
 
 marching on to Richmond, Our flag shall gleam in the 

 
 K- y-is K 1 ] ' S -V S- 3-. jp-pTrf d = 
 
 
 morning tx-am, From rnau-y a spire in Richmond. 
 
 
 j/ > --tr *~~ P 
 
 3. 
 
 But yesterday, in murderous fray, 
 
 While marching- on to Richmond; 
 We panted here from comrades dear, 
 
 While marching 1 on to Richmond ; 
 With manly sighs and tearful eyes 
 
 While marching on to Richmond ; 
 We laid the braves in peaceful graves, 
 
 And started on to Richmond. 
 
 CHO. 
 
 4. 
 Our friends away are sad to-day, 
 
 Because wo march to Richmond ; 
 With loving fear they shrink to hear, 
 
 About our march to Richmond ; 
 The pen shall tell that they who fell, 
 
 While marching on to Richmond, 
 Had hearts aglow and face to foe, 
 
 And died in sight of Richmond. 
 
 CHO. 
 
 5. 
 Our thoughts shall roam to scenes of home, 
 
 While marching on to Richmond, 
 The vacant chair that's waiting there, 
 
 While we march on to Richmond ; 
 'Twill not be long till shout and song, 
 
 We'll raise aloud in Richmond, 
 And war's rude blast, will soon be past, 
 
 And we'll go home from Richmond. 
 Clio.
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 INCIDENTS IN CAMP, AND ON RETREAT. 
 
 A WEEK or so before the battle 'of Games' Mill, 
 that most interesting personage, the Paymaster, 
 made his appearance one morning in the Division of 
 General Smith. He had been heralded a few days 
 previously, been seen in some other portion of the 
 army, and the report of his coming had taken wings. 
 He had been watched for in vain for a long time. 
 Two months ago he would come in a week ; a month 
 passed, and he would come shortly. But there is no 
 doubt this tune that he is near. Certain movements 
 in the tents of the ten captains are sure harbingers. 
 The muster-rolls are being corrected. Some have 
 died, some have been discharged, a few are missing, 
 and cannot be accounted for ; some have been sent to 
 Baltimore hospitals, and some to Whitehouse Land- 
 ing. Some have been promoted since last pay-day, 
 and on that little sheet of thick, firm paper, the story 
 of the Company is all told. The sutlers have heard of 
 his coming, and a few of them have obtained perniis- 
 (140)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. ^ 
 
 sion to come to the front, to collect from those in 
 arrears. Letters are commenced by the boys, to be 
 finished when they shall have received their four 
 months' pay. 
 
 But lo ! he is here. That ambulance drawn by 
 two mules brought him. He has an iron box fifteen 
 inches square by twelve in depth. It is carried into 
 the Major's tent, and a guard detached, to watch. 
 Cheer up, soldier-boy, you are to be paid sixty-four 
 dollars for four mouths' labor, drilling, marching, 
 shoveling, standing camp-guard and picket, digging 
 rifle-pits, throwing up breastworks, working in the 
 hospitals, eating quinine, bearing, without the right to 
 reply, the insolence of imperious, brainless, and often 
 drunken men. You must not complain, for your 
 wages have been raised five dollars per month. To 
 be sure, your Captain will -get six or seven times as 
 much pay as you, for much less laborious work ; but 
 never mind, you may out-rank even him before the 
 war is over. Besides, you are not here for money, 
 or rank, but to save the flag from dishonor. But, 
 with all your patriotism, you cannot ignore money, 
 and so we will take another look at the paymaster. 
 
 The field-officers having been paid, the line-officers 
 of Company A are next in order. It requires but a 
 short time to pay .them. "Fall in, Company A!" 
 and soon the line is moving forward, to face that iron
 
 ! 4 2 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 box not exactly, for they seldom see it. They 
 have but to answer to their names, and receive the 
 needed greenbacks. No courage is needed to pass this 
 ordeal. A spectator cannot watch this scene unin- 
 terested. A few minutes suffices to pay one, the first 
 giving place to the second, moves rapidly off to his 
 tent, holding the new, stiff" notes in his hands, his 
 heart all emotion, thoughtless of the fatigue, hard- 
 ships and dangers that earned it. He is soon fol- 
 lowed by others of his comrades as happy as himself. 
 
 "Bully for Uncle Samuel ! " says one ; "I always 
 knew I was a favorite nephew, and that some day he 
 would make me a present, but never expected it 
 would come when a part of his relations were trying 
 to break his head ; but he is good for them, and my 
 right arm is at his service." 
 
 " Sixty-four dollars ! " exclaims another ; "all right, 
 just as good as gold, and much lighter to carry. 
 Why, boys, that picture of Uncle Abe, who saved 
 our comrade over in the 3d Vermont from being 
 shot for going to sleep on guard, is worth a month's 
 service. Don't I like to look at it ! Somd folks 
 call it homely. Handsome is as handsome does. 
 But, boys, just five of these with his picture on each, 
 (holding up five ten dollar greenbacks) are going up 
 to a little woman in Cavendish, Vermont. She has 
 a little pet soldier, two years old, and his name is
 
 AV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 143 
 
 Abraham Lincoln, and we call him little Abe, for 
 short. I would just like to go arid carry these beau- 
 ties, and give them a surprise ; but I guess it will all 
 come right iu a few days, if Little Mac's head is 
 clear, and I think it is ! " 
 
 "Sixty-four dollars!" says another. "Not much 
 of a show ; could make twice that iu quarrying mar- 
 ble in Castle ton, Vermont ; but I would not mind 
 that if I did not owe the blarsted sutler ten dollars, 
 and my chums fifteen more. I promised to send the 
 old lady twenty-five dollars, but shall have to put 
 her off with fifteen." 
 
 "Hurrah for chuck-luck ! I am in for some fun. 
 Hurrah for the old log ! I say, boys, who is in for 
 chuck-luck? If anybody has got a better title to 
 these greenbacks, he is welcome to them." 
 
 Fifty thousand dollars have been distributed 
 among the men of that regiment. This day all are 
 in camp ; hospital, picket, and other duties being 
 performed by other regiments. Here is a scene for 
 a painter. In every tent one or more is preparing a 
 letter for home. The man with his postage-stamps 
 is wanted now, if ever. There is hurrying to and 
 fro to find some one who has a surplus, a few sutlers 
 are hunting up their debtors, the boy who has been 
 the banker for his tent-mates has got out his memo- 
 randum, and is reading off his accounts : Joe G.^ ing
 
 I44 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 borrowed fifty cents the first of May, fifty cents the 
 eighth, and twenty-five cents the tenth, and a dollar 
 the first of June, and he owes, in all, two dollars and 
 twenty-five cents. Jim Fisher borrowed his all in a 
 lump, and he owes five dollars ; Alonzo Smith owes 
 fifty cents, and, in due time, all settlements are 
 made. 
 
 In some of the tents the cards are brought out, 
 and "poker," "old sledge," or "seven-up," take up 
 the attention of a small group ; but out by the old 
 log we see a hundred or more busy at the chuck-luck 
 board. Is it possible that men who earn their money 
 thus, little by little, are to hazard it in gaming? But 
 one board is not enough to accommodate all who 
 wish to play. Look on, and you shall be astonished. 
 You would suppose, by the sums staked, that the 
 players were men with large pay. Seldom a five 
 cent piece. A fifty cent scrip as often as a ten, and 
 a dollar almost as frequently as either. Results : 
 Two days, and often in one, after the men have been 
 paid, many of them have no more than before, and 
 have nothing to show for their money. 
 
 Before an army reaches a position of danger, it is 
 attended by sutlers, and camp-followers of every de- 
 scription. It is one of the best fields known for pro- 
 fessional gamblers. I know officers, who made more 
 money at cards thaii their pay amounted to. Pro-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 145 
 
 fessioual gamblers obtained berths with sutlers and 
 quartermasters, simply to have an opportunity to 
 carry on their business with the soldiers, and avoid 
 the risk of being driven away. 
 
 It sometimes happened that a paymaster would 
 slip out two notes for one, and thus add something 
 to the soldier's luxury -fund for the next two months. 
 Such an instance occurred at the time I am writing 
 of, in the Vermont Brigade, one of the men getting 
 ten dollars more than his due. He discovered the 
 tempting note before reaching his tent, but took it 
 along and showed it to his comrade. 
 
 "And what are you going to do with it, Jim? 
 Send it home to your mother, as you do most of 
 your pay, or keep it for a good time ? I would keep 
 it, and give Uncle Sam credit towards the extra work 
 we have done for him. I tell you a ten spot would 
 not be out of place once in a while. Credit it to the 
 shoveling account, and I will not charge you more 
 than five per cent, for the advice. Remember we 
 did not come here to shovel, but to fight." 
 
 "I shall do no such thing. I confess that when 
 bringing it to the tent I intended to keep it, and send 
 it home. But God has preserved me from this great 
 sin. Whether we came to shovel or to fight, or do 
 both, matters not ; but, whatever our duty, I did not 
 come to learn to steal. The parting prayer of my
 
 !^6 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 mother was that I might not prove a coward, or be- 
 come a drunkard. But she never dreamed that her 
 son could become a thief. To think of it makes me 
 tremble. I have relatives who are immoderate 
 drinkers, and some who may be called drunkards ; 
 one uncle is a miser, and a great-aunt is a pauper, 
 but I never heard of a thief in our family." 
 
 Entering the tent at the close of this little speech, 
 I told James that, though no eavesdropper, the can- 
 vas did. not prevent me from hearing all he had said, 
 and that he had excited my curiosity. On asking 
 Him what it meant, he told me freely. " And now," 
 said he, "I am going up to return the money. But 
 I feel so much like a thief, I can scarcely find the 
 courage." 
 
 I volunteered to return it for him, without telling 
 the paymaster at what name the mistake was made. 
 But he said, 
 
 "No, thief or no thief, I will go myself. It will 
 do me good. All I ask of you is to keep the mean 
 transaction a secret ! " 
 
 Away he went, returned the money without unnec- 
 essary remarks; came back with a cheery counte- 
 nance, exclaiming, as he entered the tent, "There, 
 Mr. Satan, catch me asleep again if you can ; you 
 have got not only me to fight, but a good mother at 
 home. You may make the most of this job ; you
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 '47 
 
 will have to try me on some other side. You cannot 
 make a thief of me, after this !" 
 
 The night before the battle of Games' Mill I slept 
 under a little tent, with two boys of Company H, 16th 
 New York Infantry. When the warm weather came, 
 the wife of Colonel Howland presented each soldier 
 in the regiment with a light straw hat, encircled with 
 a black ribbon, bearing the name of the regiment, 
 making them- distinguishable from all others in the 
 army. The reveille was beaten at daylight, and after 
 roll-call, which occurred in a few minutes, my tent- 
 chums were busy in making their coffee, while I lay 
 on the ground wrapped in my blanket. While in this 
 position, I heard a boy in the adjoining tent telling 
 his tent-mates his dream. "Boys," said he, "this is 
 to be a fearful day. A part of my mother's family 
 have the gift of seeing events before they transpire. 
 I know dreams are ridiculed, but most persons are 
 excited by remarkable ones. I have had but little 
 experience, but every important event of my life has 
 been foreshadowed. What the dream-books teach 
 is of no account to me. Whether the roosters crow in 
 this place or that, whether I dream of fire or snakes, 
 or crowds, or pork, or have any kind of an odious 
 dream, is of no interest ; but there are times when I 
 am passing from open consciousness to unconscious 
 sleep, that I seem to stop on middle ground for a
 
 148 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 season, and behold, as in a panorama, the events 
 that are soon to transpire. This privilege is not 
 vouchsafed often. But when the season conies, I 
 know events of great moment to me are about to 
 take place. Going to sleep last night, I saw the 
 events which are shortly to come to pass, probably 
 to-day. We are to go to battle. We are not to 
 be attacked, but to be sent as reinforcements, reach- 
 ing the field when the contest is fiercest. A large 
 number of us are to fall, and myself among the 
 number. I shall not be killed, but fall into the 
 enemy's hands a prisoner. The thundering of the 
 cannon, and the roar of the musketry, will be terri- 
 ble. We shall be beaten, and most of our wounded 
 will be made prisoners. I saw it all. I blame no one 
 for laughing at me. This is one of my last nights 
 in the regiment, and when I am missed, you will re- 
 member the words I am now speaking." 
 
 Everything connected with the battle occurred as 
 he had foretold. His comrades saw him fall. He 
 was left on the field, but whether killed or dead, I 
 never learned. 
 
 In the evening after the battle, an Irish soldier, 
 belonging to the 9th Massachusetts, came into our 
 camp, where a large number of the wounded were 
 gathered, and doubling himself up in the condition 
 of a man dying with colic, exclaimed, "O, Docther,
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 149 
 
 Docther, do be afther giving mo something that's 
 hot, and let me get out of this. The divil is twist- 
 ing me innards up intirely. Jasus, and Joseph and 
 Mary, and all the holy angels, help me out of me 
 pain ! " 
 
 "O, stop your bellowing, you great calf. Here 
 are fifty men worse off than you, and yet many of 
 them scarcely groan." 
 
 This was the language of a surgeon ; but it did 
 little good to talk in that strain. The poor man was 
 in anguish enough to kill one in a little while ; and 
 though he was not wounded as the fifty others were, 
 he was writhing in tortures. He was no coward, but 
 dreaded to die in that manner, after escaping shot 
 and shell through that bloody day. A prescription, 
 a portion of which was hot brandy, brought him 
 right in less than an hour, and before morning he 
 was the most useful man in camp in waiting on the 
 surgeons. 
 
 Starting Saturday night, without supper, fasting 
 and marching all day Sunday, it may well be be- 
 lieved that by Monday morning my appetite was 
 tolerably keen. But the prospect for breakfast was 
 by no means flattering. I had turned into a wheat- 
 field, and was doing my best to satisfy hunger by 
 eating the ripened grain, when a couple of colored
 
 I5 W GAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 boys approached me, one of them, cap in hand, 
 inquiring, 
 
 "Mas'r, buy some cherries?" 
 
 " To be sure, for I am almost starved." But, look- 
 ing at his dirty woolly head, and his face, greasy with 
 sweat, and the cherries that filled his cap, my 
 stomach refused to ratify the bargain. That was a 
 kind of cherry-dish not familiar to me. 
 
 "You dirty darkey, why did you put those nice 
 cherries in your greasy cap ? " 
 
 "Laws sakes, Mas'r, dun yer see I turns him?" 
 
 He had turned his cap before filling it ; on seeing 
 which my appetite returned, his cherries, which were 
 large and delicious, were eaten, and soon he was 
 climbing a tree for another cap-full. 
 
 Wednesday morning, shortly after daylight, the 
 hospital camp at Carter's Landing was all commotion. 
 The battle at the Hills had lasted till after dark, aiid 
 it took a large part of the night to gather up and 
 carry the wounded to places of tolerable comfort. 
 A number of good surgeons w'ere on the ground, 
 doing what they could, but amputations were impos- 
 sible till we could ascertain whether we were to 
 remain there or go down the river. The rumor went 
 through the- camp like lightning that the rebels were 
 coming upon us. Some negroes came in, who told 
 us the soldiers were moving past by thousands, a
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 15* 
 
 mile above us, making for the next Lauding, six 
 miles below, and that they thought the rebels were 
 chasing them. The sick and wounded implored us 
 not to leave them. Some, with half their hands shot 
 away, their fingers dangling, others with a shattered 
 arm in a sling, one with a bullet-hole in his cheek 
 and four or five teeth gone ; in fact, all that could 
 walk, however sick or injured, started out to find 
 the road the soldiers were moving on. Death was 
 not dreaded so much as a rebel prison, and hence the 
 prayer of all was to be carried forward. 
 
 At that time General Wm. B. Franklin, attended 
 by his staff, rode into camp. On my asking him 
 what was to be done with the sick and wounded, his 
 answer, in substance, was, 
 
 " There is no occasion for alarm. The rebels were 
 badly whipped last night, and are retreating by this 
 time." 
 
 "Shall we remain where we are, General?" 
 
 "Of course. I tell you there is no occasion for 
 alarm. There seems to be a panic here." 
 
 I made my report, assuring all that General Frank- 
 lin knew, if any one did, whether we were in danger 
 or not. But no one gave heed to his words. The 
 negroes had told us about the moving army, and we 
 believed their report. We could understand that 
 according to present appearance* we should soon be
 
 152 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 in the rear of our troops, wherever the enemy might 
 be. If the rebels had been defeated, which we very 
 much doubted, a few armed troops were sufficient to 
 capture a number of hundred of unarmed wounded 
 men in hospital. 
 
 But soon the army wagons and ambulances came 
 pouring into camp, and some one I know not who, 
 for General Franklin had departed, and there was no 
 superior officer on the ground gave orders to fill 
 every vehicle with patients as speedily as possible. 
 There was no time lost in obeying the order, if we 
 did not know who gave it. There were the wagons, 
 and in less than fifteen minutes hundreds were being 
 carried away as fast as the mules could be urged 
 through the mud and the pouring rain. 
 
 Among the last to be lifted on their respective 
 stretchers into an ambulance, were Lieutenaut-Colouel 
 Marsh, of the 16th New York, and Captain Stevens, 
 of the 4th U. S. Artillery. The former was wounded 
 through the neck, and otherwise, the latter through 
 the thigh. It was by mere luck that a place was 
 secured for them. We thought when the wagons 
 came in there were enough to accommodate all, but 
 it was found that we had many more patients than 
 conveyances. There were quite a large number left. 
 Telling the young man who had never left Colonel 
 Marsh from the time he fell the previous Friday, at
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 153 
 
 Games' Mill, that I would find them wherever they 
 stopped, and send them down the river, if possible, 
 I remained a short time, but the negroes -assuring us 
 that the rebel cavalry were close by, I started on 
 with as much speed as possible, and in due time 
 found them at Harrison's Landing. 
 
 Determining to send these two men down the 
 river, taking a boat and pulling out into the stream, 
 I found the gunboat Susan Small, which had been, 
 the previous day at Carter's Landing. Approaching 
 the larboard gangway, I asked to see the captain or 
 the mate of the vessel. 
 
 "Have you business of importance?." 
 
 "Of course I have ;" but it was hard to make the 
 man on the steamer believe it. 
 
 Being destitute of both hat and coat, my shirt- 
 sleeves in shreds, and my pants covered with mud, 
 it is not strange that the man was unwilling to listen 
 to me. I found then, as often before, that it required 
 good clothes to secure a hearing. But by much 
 earnestness I succeeded in seeing the mate. 
 
 "Well, what do you want?" impatiently, as though 
 I had no right to trouble him. 
 
 "I have two badly wounded officers, which I wish 
 to put aboard your vessel." 
 
 "Have you any orders to that effect?"
 
 154 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "No, sir, none but the promptings of a humane 
 heart." 
 
 "But who are you?" 
 
 "Yesterday I was hospital steward at the Landing 
 above, where your vessel lay, and to whose orders 
 you issued supplies ; to-day I am the friend of any 
 one who needs my assistance." 
 
 "Are you not an officer of the Sanitary Commis- 
 sion?" 
 
 "No, sir; I am nothing. But for God's sake don't 
 question me any more. You and I came here to do 
 good, and not to run about with a roll of paper and 
 red tape. This ship is large enough to hold two 
 more men ; if not, send two well ones ashore, and 
 give the dying their room. These men will die un- 
 less they can have surgical aid immediately, and the 
 best of care." 
 
 "I will take them, if you can put them aboard." 
 
 Taking the young man before named, and finding 
 two more to assist, we were enabled, by carrying 
 one at a time, without taking them from, or changing 
 their position on, the stretcher, to place them in a 
 large boat, and with much effort, and great care, put 
 them safely aboard the vessel. But though they had 
 every care skill and kindness could furnisl), both of 
 them died ; the Colonel in two days, the Captain in two
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 155 
 
 weeks. The officers of the vessel were very kind. 
 Seeing the plight I was in, they gave me a pair of 
 pants, a straw hat, a shirt, and a pair of stockings. 
 
 If the reader wishes to know why I was in such a 
 forlorn condition, I can inform him in a few words. 
 Being, with two others, the last to leave the hospital 
 camp, when we struck the first woods we were 
 alone. Looking through the bushes, we discovered 
 some cavalry sweeping by, as if to cut off our retreat. 
 Just then there was some ground and lofty tumbling, 
 as well as pretty good running. My companions 
 left me far in the rear, for running is not my forte. 
 A limb caught, not only my hat, but my wig with it. 
 Without stopping to recover either, I pushed on 
 through the wood and brush, coming out in the sor- 
 riest plight, as I was seen when I made my appear- 
 ance at the gangway of the gunboat. Probably the 
 cavalry, that gave us the fright, were our own men, 
 though it is a matter of doubt. 
 
 Of all the horrible pictures of that march from the 
 Chickahominy to the James that come up to trouble 
 me, while living it over and over again, scarcely one 
 is more painful than this. Sunday afternoon we 
 started, five hundred or more, hoping to reach the 
 river before dark. All were hors du combat, the 
 larger part being more or less wpuuded, while some
 
 ! 5 6 W CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 were quite sick. One of the most feeble of a squad 
 of four, myself included, which kept together, was 
 a sergeant of Colonel Kane's Bucktails, the First 
 Pennsylvania Reserves. We carried his gun, knap- 
 sack, cartridge-box, and canteen, even leading him 
 as we would a man ready to drop. Often he asked 
 for drink, and every few minutes we would allow 
 him to wet his lips. The terrible fever was on him ; 
 his tongue was yellow, his breath hot. There was 
 no house near, and what to do we knew not. Sud- 
 denly, after drinking as much from the canteen as 
 we would allow, he said he felt better, and could 
 walk alone. He lingered behind a few rods, and 
 when we looked back he was gone. The road was 
 lined, on either side, with forest and thick under- 
 brush. He had plunged into the bush, and it was 
 nearly dark. We^lost no time. We called, searched, 
 mapped out the ground, and each took his section. 
 But he could not be found. We made a bed there 
 of dry twigs and leaves, drew our blankets about us, 
 and tried to rest, not sleep ; for we listened all the 
 night for the sound of his voice, or the moving of 
 the bushes, or any sound that might indicate his 
 presence in our neighborhood. But he was never 
 seen again in the army ; at least, in his regiment. I 
 do not marvel that a young man could have been so
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 '57 
 
 careless, but /ought to have known better than to 
 take my eye from him, and allow him to linger five 
 rods in the rear. But he preferred to walk alone, 
 and we humored him. His bones undoubtedly lie in 
 that thicket to this day.
 
 158 We must not fall back any more. 
 
 E. W. Locke. 
 
 I. The for - tunes of war oft - en change, boys. And 
 
 tri-fles will oft turn the scale; Though hea - vy the blows that we 
 
 strike, boys, "We fiud that the tru - est may fall: But 
 
 
 
 who has the heart to de - spuir, boys? Or 
 
 who will advise to turn back? We'll just add a lit- tie more 
 
 
 steam, boys, And rush our good cause o'er the track, 
 
 we must not fall back a - ny more, boys, We 
 
 must not fall back a - ny more, Advance be the word, Ry - 
 
 .. f - _i*_j:*- -*- -*-.:*- 
 
 =p= =fcEI^^if r P IT
 
 159 
 
 treat nev - er heard, We must not fall back a - ny more. 
 
 2. 
 
 We've battled thus long for the right, Jboys, 
 
 Regardless of station or gold, 
 We've suffered from hunger and thirst, boys, 
 
 And tramped through the heat and the cold ; 
 But let our brave leaders once call, boys, 
 
 We'll rush to the fray as before, 
 We're ready to fight or to die, boys, 
 
 But not to fall back any more. 
 
 CHO. 
 3. 
 
 We often go home in our dreams, boys, 
 
 And sit by the old kitchen fire, 
 Arid tell o'er the tales of our camps, boys, 
 
 To listeners we never can tire ; 
 But just in our moments of bliss, boys, 
 
 While thinking our hardships are o'er, 
 The order comes round to turn out, boys, 
 
 Fall in and tramp on as before. 
 
 CHO. 
 4. 
 
 Our comrades fill many a grave, boys, 
 
 Our brothers are crippled and maimed, 
 Of those who fall as they fell, buys, 
 
 Their country need not be ashamed ; 
 We sigh for the blessings of peace, boys, 
 
 We tire of the war-bugles blast, 
 We'll conquer before we go home, boys, 
 
 We'll fight for our flag to the last. 
 CHO.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SUBSISTENCE. 
 
 IT has often been said that no army was ever so 
 well fed as ours. That may be true ; but if so, army 
 fare, in general, is not very attractive. Most of the 
 time, the officers could live pretty much as they 
 chose, three or four messing together, hiring a cook, 
 and purchasing supplies at a trifle above cost. If 
 they fared poorly, it was their own fault. There 
 were times, however, when money could not pur- 
 chase proper food ; but these were rare. Most of 
 the time, and in most of the departments, fresh beef 
 was procurable at reasonable rates, flour, the best of 
 coffee and tea, lard, sugar, molasses, dried apples and 
 peaches, to say nothing of canned poultry, and other 
 luxuries. 
 
 But, for the first year or two of the war, the luxu- 
 ries of the common soldier were few. His cofiee, at 
 first, came roasted and ground, and a large part of 
 it must have been furnished by the brother of the 
 shoddy-clothing contractor. In course of time, 
 (160)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 161 
 
 however, it came in the berry, and generally of most 
 excellent quality. But it was a long time before the 
 meat was what it should have been. The pickled 
 beef of the Eastern army, and the smoked pork of 
 the Western, even as late as '03, were often execra- 
 ble. The beef was tough, and often tainted, and the 
 pork frequently so bad that no part but a little fat, 
 eaten on the hard-bread, could be made use of. On 
 the outside it was black as a shoe ; on the inside, 
 often yellow with incipient putrefaction. 
 
 But in less than two years, this outrage on the 
 soldier ceased. The hard-bread, from poor and 
 wormy stuff, became as good as possible. Huge ovens 
 were set up wherever practicable, bread as good 
 as the men had been accustomed to eat at home, 
 was distributed by the army-wagon load ; droves of 
 fat cattle were being constantly sent to the field for 
 slaughter, sa that fresh beef was as common to the 
 soldier as to the mechanic or laboring man at home. 
 With these, and beans, rice, molasses, sugar, coffee, 
 and tea, if he wished to purchase it, and all of most 
 excellent quality, and sometimes potatoes, what sol- 
 dier could, in reason, complain of his food? There 
 was almost always a surplus, which, jf the regiment 
 had an honest quartermaster, was returned pro rata 
 in money. Of course there were occasions when 
 supplies were short, but these were rare. 
 ii
 
 1 62 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 It would astonish men accustomed to dine on two 
 or three courses daily, the year round, and who think 
 they eat no more than necessary for good health and 
 cheerful spirits, yet who do not work enough in a 
 month to start the sweat, to see what an amount of 
 work, marching, or digging a man can do on a few 
 ounces of meat, a pint of good coffee, and three 
 hard biscuits, not larger, superficially, than your 
 hand, and but a third as thick; and this, week after 
 week, without losing flesh. 
 
 It is common in the Army for a company or regi- 
 ment to be sent across some mountain-ranges, where 
 no wagon, or even mules, can be taken. It is inter- 
 esting to see the men. pack their knapsacks. It would 
 seem that they should not carry much burden, but 
 it is cold, and each must have an overcoat, cany a 
 blanket, one-third of a dog-tent, a canteen, a pint 
 cup, a haversack filled with beef, hard-bread, and 
 coffee, with a little sugar; also, forty rounds of 
 Minie cartridges, and his rule, weighing from nine to 
 twelve pounds. If the road is tolerable, he will 
 make twenty miles a day with all this burden. If 
 he has to climb mountains, and wade snows, and 
 even fight one or two small engagements, he will do 
 it on the little food he put into his haversack on 
 starting out, and return to camp but little fatigued. 
 
 It must be confessed, that with all the strict orders
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 163 
 
 against theft from citizens, it was difficult to restrain 
 hungry soldiers from foraging upon the rebel farms, 
 under favorable circumstances. 
 
 The most scrupulous officer in guarding rebel 
 property I saw, was General Hancock. It did not 
 require much to start him to swearing, in a high key, 
 at any time. But if any of the men burnt rails, or 
 were found in possession of a sheep or a calf, or if he 
 found any of the officers conniving at this kind of 
 thieving among their men, one could hear language 
 not laid down in Hardee, or found in the Army Kegu- 
 latious. 
 
 I will give an instance, which I did not see, but 
 which was current in the Army, and is undoubtedly 
 true. Marching from Warrenton, the troops under 
 Hancock had received orders to respect private propr 
 erty. Passing by a turnip-field, a brigade helped 
 themselves to all they could carry. Hancock coming 
 along, found the Colonel and his Chaplain, with half a 
 dozen of the vegetables attached to each of their 
 saddles, while each was munching away at a delicious 
 one, as large as a saucer. 
 
 Hancock to the Colonel : 
 
 " Who commands this regiment ? " 
 
 " I have the honor, sir." 
 
 "Were you not ordered to respect private prop- 
 erty?"
 
 ^4 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "I was, sir." 
 
 " And yet you and all your men are crunching tur- 
 nips. I arrest you, sir. Send your sword to my 
 headquarters." 
 
 I think, however, that was the last of the affair, 
 yet other transactions might be related as ridiculous 
 as that. 
 
 Sometimes the orders were very strict; but a 
 drove of shoats or a few fine wethers were too tempt- 
 ing to escape slaughter, at any period of the war. 
 Moving on, with a, train of wagons, escorted by a 
 company of cavalry for protection, coming to an 
 eminence and looking over the plains beyond, we 
 discern one, two, yes, three horsemen, galloping 
 as in a steeple-chase, or as if pursued by an enemy. 
 One has discharged his carbine. "We can scarcely 
 hear the report, it is so far away, but the little puff 
 of smoke informs us. Now another, and then an- 
 other. Some of the timid wagoners think we have 
 come in sight of the enemy, and become so nervous 
 that they are on the point of leaping from the near 
 wheel-mules each is astride, and, allowing their 
 teams to take care of themselves, fly to the woods 
 for safety. But the wagon-master knows their 
 thoughts as well as his business. This is not his 
 first experience. He was in the Mexican war, and 
 has taken half a dozen trains across the plains to
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. rf* 
 
 California. He sees at a glance that that party of 
 racing, shooting horsemen, are a squad of our own 
 escort, who have put out from their comrades to 
 scour the plantations for fresh meat. 
 
 They have found a dozen shoats ; but as the 
 young porkers can run, for a short time, nearly as 
 fast as the horses, and as they can tack and double 
 in half the time of their pursuers, it is not a very 
 easy matter to run them down, and, besides, the 
 young carbineers have scarcely got the hang of their 
 weapons. Hunting pigs on horseback is a science 
 they have not studied. It was not taught in their 
 school-room, in singing-school, or at the Commercial 
 College ; and even the drill-sergeant never gave them 
 any instruction in this practice. The situation is 
 both novel and exciting, both conditions being un- 
 favorable to success. . But before the horses are 
 entirely out of wind, and the ammunition has been 
 exhausted, one eighty-pound porker falls an unwil- 
 ling sacrifice to his country, and the places that knew 
 him will know him no more. Slinging him, as a 
 hunter does a buck, when he has a horse to sling him 
 on, the troopers return, proud of their trophy, little 
 dreaming of the jokes they have got to submit to 
 at supper from those whom they have taken so much 
 pains to feed. 
 
 Dressing pork in the army is not the momentous
 
 1 66 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 occasion it is in the country farm-house at home. 
 There is no rising from bed before daylight, getting 
 out the cauldron-kettle from its long resting-place, 
 filling it with water, and putting under it a huge pile 
 of wood ; there is no turning the grindstone, to 
 sharpen the long, hideous knives ; there is no hurry- 
 ing among the women folks to get the breakfast out 
 of the way, and the children off to school, to avoid 
 hearing that fearful death-wail that comes from the 
 stye on slaughter-day ; but, quite unpoetic, and very 
 business-like, the trooper finds the two sharpest 
 knives in the Company, selects the most expert assist- 
 ant, and in half an hour the thick hide, with the 
 bristles still on, has been separated from the flesh, 
 the internal parts and head left as a delicious treat 
 for the first flock of crows that visit our camping- 
 ground, and the meat is being cooked in half a dozen 
 camp-kettles. 
 
 "John," says one, addressing the one who claimed 
 to have shot the pig, "this meat would be first-rate, 
 but for one fault." 
 
 " What is the matter with the meat ? I pronounce 
 it capital." 
 
 " Why, it is shot all to pieces ! " the joke lying 
 in the fact that it had but one mark on it. 
 
 " I wonder what breed this pig belonged to ? " 
 
 " Racers ! " is the answer.
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. iCj 
 
 " Why did you not bring the rest of the drove ? " 
 
 "Our cartridge-boxes do not contain but forty 
 chambers, and we came back to refill them." 
 
 " Did you see the old rebel who owns the shoats ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did he speak to you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 " He said we were welcome ; that he could raise 
 them faster than we could kill them; and that he 
 hoped we were going to stay in his neighborhood, 
 for he should miss us if we left. He said he liked 
 sport, and it was the first he had enjoyed since the 
 war commenced." 
 
 "Was that all he said?" 
 
 "He did just remark, as we left him, that he had 
 a boy in the rebel army, and hoped he would 
 never meet us in battle, for if he did, and the 
 news should reach home, all would go into mourn- 
 ing without waiting to hear the boy's fate." 
 
 "What shall we call the man who killed this pig?" 
 
 "A fratricide ! because he killed his brother." 
 
 "And the ingrates who eat it, cannibals ! " replied 
 the man at whom the last thrust was aimed. 
 
 In many sections of the country, particularly in 
 Tennessee, foraging was a heavy duty. A regiment, 
 escorted by a battalion of cavalry, and one or tw
 
 l6S AV CAMP AXD HOSPITAL. 
 
 guns from a battery, would start early in the morn- 
 ing, taking all its wagons, and push out from five to 
 fifteen miles, for forage. Coming to corn, or any- 
 thing else that would help subsist the animals, the 
 cavalry would be thrown out ahead, to give warning 
 if the enemy approached, and the guns placed in such 
 position as to command the approaches, and defend in 
 case of attack ; the w T agons were soon filled, and the 
 farmer despoiled of his golden harvest. If he were 
 gentlemanly in his deportment, the officer in charge 
 would probably give him a certificate, stating the 
 kind and estimated quantity of the property taken. 
 If the owner proved sulky and insulting, he would 
 get nothing to show. It was not uncommon, as late 
 as February or March, to find a field of fifty acres of 
 corn standing just as it grew, ready for our foragers. 
 Sometimes it would be found in the shock, unhusked, 
 of course; at others, in the crib, and it was not un- 
 common to find a mine of it carefully buried in the 
 earth, one or two thousand bushels, to keep it 
 from falling into our hands. 
 
 After the summer of '62, there was but little hay 
 sent to the Army. At one time the Pamonkey was 
 completely filled with vessels for two miles, and 
 many of these were laden with pressed hay ; but it 
 was found too bulky an article for transportation, and 
 after McClellan left the defences of Richmond there
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 169 
 
 was little hay sent to the army, the animals subsist- 
 ing mostly on corn, with some oats. 
 
 The army lived much better than the citizens 
 among whom it quartered. The poorer class of the 
 South, before the war, never lived so well as the 
 same class North. There were certain dishes com- 
 mon there that I marvel have never been introduced 
 among us as daily food; one of these is hominy, 
 which we call hulled corn, and which is by no means 
 an every-day, or every-week dish, in many sections 
 of the North. Corn-cake is not nearly so common 
 with us as with them ; and I think no one can excel 
 a Southern darky woman in cooking a chicken, if she 
 is not limited as to dressing. But the omnipresent 
 ham, the poor and poorly-cooked potatoes, the inev- 
 itable hoe-cake, and the mean butter, always make a 
 Northern man sigh for a " square " meal. During 
 the war, many of the Southern people were reduced 
 almost to starvation. 
 
 A few weeks after the battle of Stone Eiver, worn 
 down by hospital service, and nearly sick, I felt the 
 need of a change of diet, and a roof to shelter me 
 from the rainy and freezing nights, as well as the 
 snow and severe cold, which came once in a while, 
 for a change. Calling on a lady, who had- out a sign 
 "Bourders Wanted," I found she had a good two-story 
 brick house, with four large rooms, and six or eight
 
 170 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 smaller ones. She was a lone war-widow, with two 
 little children, her husband fighting for " the bounie 
 blue flag," and she keeping "bourders," when she 
 could obtain any guests at her hotel, as aspiring 
 boarding-house keepers call their places. I told her 
 I was almost sick, and wanted a temporary home, 
 and if she could accommodate me, should be most 
 happy to patronize her establishment for a season. 
 
 "You are a Northern man, I reckon." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am ; but that will make no difference, so 
 long as I conduct myself like a gentleman, and pay 
 my bills." 
 
 " That is so ; but you said you were sick. I can- 
 not have my house turned into a hospital. You are 
 not coming down with measles, small-pox, or any- 
 thing like those, are you ? " 
 
 "No, ma'am, I have had all the contagious diseases, 
 but matrimony, already, and I do not think there will 
 be any danger of taking that till the war is over." 
 
 "Well, you would be in poor quarters to have that 
 here. Men are troublesome creatures to take care 
 of when anything ails them, but when they have got 
 the matrimonial fever, they are regular pests. I 
 reckon they had better have chills, shakes, intermit- 
 tent and swamp fevers, and anything but hydro- 
 phobia. And of all men, matrimony makes the big- 
 gest fools of old men. No, sir, T do not want any
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. iji 
 
 candidates for the pest-house, mad-house, or hymen's 
 altar to board with me." 
 
 "But, ma'am, your blade is too sharp for me, I 
 see at once. To come back to business will you 
 take me to board?" 
 
 "That will depend upon circumstances. I shall 
 wish to know how you would like the room I could 
 give you?" 
 
 Taking me to a large chamber, finished in good 
 style, though the walls were without paper, she 
 asked if it would suit me. 
 
 "It will suit me perfectly. What is the price ? " 
 
 " General Bragg's army has been here all winter. 
 Some of the officers had this room, and they paid me 
 a dollar a meal, and a dollar a day for room-rent ; 
 but if you will pay me in silver or gold, you shall 
 have it for fifty cents a meal, and the same per day 
 for room-rent." 
 
 "It is cheap enough, and I will pay you a week in 
 advance, and take the room as soon as it is in readi- 
 ness for me." 
 
 "But there are some preliminaries to be consid- 
 ered. I am a lone woman; or, in other words, my 
 husband is in our army, and, for appearances at least, 
 I prefer to take two or three men into my house in 
 preference to one. Could you not find some one to 
 occupy the room with you? or, what would be a
 
 172 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 great favor to ine, could you not find three wishing 
 board, so that both of my chambers might be occu- 
 pied? In that case, I could make your board half- 
 price." 
 
 "I think that number can be easily found. At any 
 rate, I would like to come as soon as my bed can be 
 got ready." 
 
 "I have no bed for the room." 
 
 "What ! take boarders and lodgers without a bed?" 
 
 "I expected you would find your own. Our men 
 found theirs." 
 
 She noticed my look of astonishment, and con- 
 tinued, 
 
 "Why, man, not only our spare beds, but our car- 
 pets have gone to support the cause. I do not know 
 what your people up North have done; we have 
 given our all ; no spare beds or carpets while one is 
 wanted in the hospital." 
 
 "Luckily I have a cork bed and a pair of blankets, 
 and shall be all right when once installed in this nice 
 room. But allow me to ask, if you please, about 
 the living. Can you give me fresh meat once a 
 day?" 
 
 "If you get it twice a week you may think your- 
 self fortunate. When I can get it for myself, you 
 shall have it also." 
 
 "Can you give me flour-bread and hot biscuit?"
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 '73 
 
 "I have no flour ; but if you will buy a sack of 
 your folks, I will pay you." 
 
 "You can furnish coffee for breakfast, and tea for 
 supper?" 
 
 "I have neither ; but if you will procure them I 
 will pay for them, though, for myself, I like rye 
 coffee as well as any." 
 
 "Have you sugar and lard?" 
 
 "Why, no ; did you reckon I kept a hotel? I can 
 give you better fare with what I have, and a few 
 such articles as you could procure for me of your 
 people, than our officers had; and, with my cook- 
 ing, if I do say it, you would find a table good 
 enough for anybody in war times like these. Now 
 if you think this will not suit you, you had better 
 try somewhere else." 
 
 Thanking her for her trouble, and telling her she 
 should hear from me again in a short time, I went 
 farther, received much better promises, made a bar- 
 gain, carried my bed and blankets to my new quar- 
 ters, and was soon reckoned a new boarder. But at 
 every visit to the table, I wished I had made terms 
 with the lone war-widow. She might have been, 
 and probably was, a cook. My present landlady was 
 not only a mean cook, but a slattern and a snuff- 
 clippei . Bah ! nastiness ! Why do men drink and 
 chew, and women snuff, dip, and smoke? Brute
 
 ifo IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 beasts have no similar habits. Here is an enigma 
 wiser heads than mine have never solved. But there 
 was something at the house worth seeing and hear- 
 ing, if the victuals were dirty. A sutler's wife had 
 come down from Michigan to make her husband a brief 
 visit, and this was her temporary home. She brought 
 with her their hopeful son, about five years old. His 
 name was Napoleon; but his pet name was "Little 
 Nappie." Whatever we had for breakfast, we always 
 had "Little Nappie." No matter what subject we 
 wished to introduce or discuss, "Little Nappie" was 
 the principal one. The mother seemed to remember 
 all he had said and done since the previous meal, and 
 it must all be related. Nappie had a gun that shot 
 with a spring instead of powder, and carried peas in- 
 stead of bullets, and he had hit the dog six times, 
 and the cat four times, and, as an evidence of his 
 great smartness, he had said that he should like to 
 shoot Jeff. Davis with his gun. He was put through 
 his catechism of who is President, and who is Gov- 
 ernor, and who who was the first man, etc., etc., at 
 about every meal. He was* the "autocrat of the 
 breakfast-table," and his silly mother an unmiti- 
 gated bore. She evidently brought him clown to 
 show, more than anything else. Nothing on the 
 table suited him : "Will Nappie have some nice meat 
 and sweet potato?"
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 '75 
 
 "No !" with a shake of the head. 
 
 "Will Nappie have a piece of this nice corn-bread, 
 with some new butter on it?" 
 
 "No ! I tell you ; I won't have no old corn-bread. 
 I'll have some of father's canned peaches, or I won't 
 have anything. I want a treat." 
 
 "And so you shall have them. Nappie ain't used 
 to Tennessee living," said his mother ; and his father, 
 to avoid a scene, went out and got the peaches. 
 
 One morning, the mother was a little unwell, and 
 Nappie came to the table with his father, who was 
 going to take charge of the young man in absence 
 of the head of the family. A mince-pie was within 
 reach, and before any one had been helped to any 
 food, little Nappie had run his knife under a piece 
 of the tempting pie, and had nearly removed it from 
 the plate, when his father saw him, and with a sharp 
 voice, and a stern look, ordered him to put it back. 
 Eyeing the man who had not given any orders to 
 him for a year, a moment, and seeing that he must 
 yield, he withdrew the knife, but looked daggers at 
 all of us. Hoping to mollify him a little, I said, 
 
 "Sonny, do you go to school when you are at 
 home?" 
 
 "No I don't !" 
 
 "Don't you love to go to school?" 
 ' "No I don't!"
 
 176 'IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 The poor "parient" was terribly mortified. So he 
 said, in some anger, 
 
 "Napoleon, what do I tell you to say when you 
 answer yes, or no?" 
 
 "You tell me to say yes, sir-ee bob ! That's what 
 you tell me to say, you old crab-apple ! " 
 
 The mother heard the trouble, and coming to the 
 head of the stairs, called out: "Come to your 
 mother, Nappie darling. Let your father attend to 
 his sutlering. He don't know how to bring up 
 children." 
 
 The foregoing incident reminds me of a very pleas- 
 ing feature in the habits of speech of many Southern 
 people, which no Northern visitor or sojourner can fail 
 to notice. It is particularly noticeable among the 
 women and children. It is a peculiar softness and 
 sweetness of voice, with the most endearing expres- 
 sions, many of which, though common there, would 
 be pronounced absurd and flat here. " Pa ! " says my 
 little girl hi Boston, ending the word short, with a 
 bit of falling inflexion, simply wishing to call atten- 
 tion to what she is about to say. If her father does 
 not answer immediately, and she is obliged to repeat 
 her call two or three times, her "Pa ! " will end ab- 
 ruptly, and in such a tone that one will see that she 
 is angry, and almost defiant. But my little girl of 
 Chatanooga, Memphis, or even Baltimore, calls oui
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 I 77 
 
 "Pa-r!" "Pa-r!" with a rising inflexion, and a 
 tone so dependent and persuasive, that it would 
 seem none could resist it. And the females, both 
 white and black, are ever saying to their friends : 
 "Don't do this, honey," and "I know you will do 
 that for me, honey." A few of the Southern phrases, 
 and^some of the habits of Southern children, might be 
 imported among us, to great advantage. 
 
 The Southern women are much more dependent 
 than their Northern sisters. I do not remember to 
 have met one of the strong-minded south of the Poto- 
 mac or the Ohio, I did, indeed, see women more or 
 less masculine, but never an advocate of Woman's 
 Rights. They cling to man, and feel it a disparage- 
 ment not to have some male to look to for support. 
 When th.ey are driven to it, I think they evince as 
 much heroism and ingenuity to adapt means to ends 
 as Northern women ; but a Southern woman, if she 
 pretends to keep house, is never so poor as to be 
 without a negro of some sort. It is the same now as 
 during and before the war. A rich woman must 
 have three or four colored females, and one or two 
 colored boys ; but the poor widow must have at 
 least one little black girl. It costs but little to 
 feed, and next to nothing to clothe her. They fear 
 Mrs. Gruudy more than poverty. It is not work 
 they dread so much as loss of caste, a fear that is
 
 j^S IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 a malady of almost universal prevalence among the 
 human race. 
 
 At Harper's Ferry, the Army took quite a long 
 rest, after the battle of Antietam. Many of the citi- 
 zens found it difficult, at that time, to procure food. 
 The orders were so strict, it was almost impossible 
 to obtain anything from the Virginia side. A well- 
 known Union man might obtain a pass to go beyond 
 Bolivar Heights, to purchase a load of wood, or a 
 few bushels of wheat, if any farmer was so lucky as 
 to have it to spare ; but there were many families 
 that found it difficult to keep from starving, living 
 principally by charity. I became acquainted with 
 one such. It consisted of a woman of middle age, a 
 daughter of twenty, and two boys of thirteen and fif- 
 teen, of large size for their years. They lived prin- 
 cipally on the gifts of the family with whom I board* d. 
 The mother was such a bitter rebel, she would 
 scarcely speak to me ; the boys shunned me, refusing 
 all the presents offered them ; but the young woman 
 accepted all kindness with gratitude. In a short 
 time she watched for my return at night, and found 
 something substantial, such as meat, rice, and coffee, 
 to carry home. She called me her Northern uncle, 
 and wished she could go to my home. 
 
 One day I told her I had a plan that would relieve 
 the family from want, while the Army should remain
 
 IN CA/IP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 179 
 
 there, if she would be willing to adopt it. Opening 
 her eyes to the widest tension, she said, 
 
 "I hope you are not going to propose anything 
 dishonorable." 
 
 "Nonsense ! You are entirely out of food, and 
 have been for two weeks or more, except what you 
 have received from your friends, and have no means 
 of procuring any. I understand that to be the situ- 
 ation of your famity at this time ? " 
 
 "Yes sir; but bad as it is, we would not do any- 
 thing dishonorable. We would starve first." 
 
 " Is there a large oven in the house ? " 
 
 "Not in the house, but in the yard." 
 
 "Have you an iron kettle that will hold five or 
 six gallons ? " 
 
 "We have not : but this lady has, and we can bor- 
 row it. But what are you scheming at now? We 
 cannot take in washing with a six-gallon kettle ! " 
 
 "Hear me a minute without interruption. Procure 
 a sack of flour, twenty pounds of lard, some dried 
 apples, and twenty pounds of sugar, and you and 
 your mother go to baking in the oven, and frying in 
 the kettle, apple-pies for the soldiers." 
 
 " But we have no money to buy the articles you 
 name, nor have we credit ngw 7 though we used to 
 have/' '
 
 I So IN CAMP AND JW'SPITAL. 
 
 " I will furnish the money, and you can pay when 
 the pies shall have been sold." 
 
 "Thank you. I like the plan, and mother shall 
 come right down, and talk it over with you. I will 
 do my part. But we shall be obliged to have a sign, 
 and let the soldiers know we have pies to sell. 
 But that will not be bad. Who shall we get to make 
 the sign?" 
 
 "That is not the plan. You will need no sign. 
 Those brothers of yours will sell them on the hill, 
 among the troops." 
 
 "But that will make peddlers of them. I do not 
 know as they would be willing to become peddlers ; 
 and I do not know as mother would be willing to 
 have them come down to that ; but I will tell her." 
 
 I had wounded their pride. She never watched 
 for my coming afterwards, nor called me her North- 
 ern uncle, nor received from me any more presents.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WOMEN IN THE ARMY. 
 
 THE reader may think, by the title of this chapter, 
 that he is to find it filled with romance. All of us have 
 heard much of vivandiers, and daughters of the regi- 
 ment. In France, the former are allowed as a kind of 
 sutler, selling the soldiers wine and some kinds of 
 food. The nearest approach to this class it was my 
 privilege to see in the Army, was a Vermont woman 
 at the Chickahominy, busy, from morning till night, ' 
 over a kettle of hot fat, cooking ; turnovers for 
 those who wanted to buy a poor substitute for hard- 
 bread. I saw the eagle of the regiment, that Wis- 
 consin bird, whose fame is known throughout the 
 land ; but- 1 do not recollect to have seen a single 
 specimen of this poetic character, "La Fille du 
 Regiment" It is said there was a woman with the 
 first Michigan Cavalry, who was known as Irish 
 Biddy ; but if there was, she wore the dress, did 
 the work, and drew the pay of a soldier. Instead 
 of the daughter of the regiment, she was a bmild 
 (181)
 
 iS ' IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 soger boy. Some famous exploits were told of the 
 wife of General Turchin, but having heard them all 
 second-hand, I prefer not to print them. 
 
 I doubt not that most of what has been reported 
 in the books and papers about the heroic conduct of 
 women in the field, is true ; but as but little of it 
 came under my notice, I must refrain from obser- 
 vations. 
 
 The great bulk of women's work in the war was 
 in the city hospitals, not at the front. Washington, 
 Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, Frederick City, 
 Memphis, Louisville and Nashville, could each fur- 
 nish sufficient material for a book on this subject, 
 that would eclipse any of Dickens' novels, provided 
 we had a Dickens to write it, and he would not be 
 under the necessity of resorting to fiction. I regret 
 not having seen more of her work in the hospi- 
 tal ; but I could not be in two places at the same 
 time, front and rear. Had I the same great drama 
 to witness again, I should see more of woman in the 
 sick-room that sphere in which she shines with 
 preeminent lustre. If man does claim superiority 
 in mastering abstruse sciences, elaborating ideas, and 
 bringing to light hidden relations ; if there never was 
 a female Newton, Copernicus, Columbus, or Ra- 
 phael, any man who was ever really sick two weeks, 
 and under the care of a man the first, and a woman
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 183 
 
 the second, knows that in the sick-room she is 
 in her sphere, while man is "out of his. Of course 
 there are exceptions. There are men who are good 
 wherever placed, and there are women who are good 
 for nothing, in whatever situation. 
 
 A noticeable incident occurred during the battle of 
 Malvern Hills. The gunboat Susan Small arrived a 
 few hours before the battle opened. She was laden 
 with hospital-stores, and had on board a number of 
 nurses ; among whom were two, perhaps more, fe- 
 males. Gathered in a field on the north bank of the 
 James, were a large number of sick and wounded, a 
 part of the disabled in the battles of the three or four 
 previous days ; and as soon as the fighting at the Hills 
 above commenced, the number of wounded rapidly 
 increased. Two women from the gunboat above men- 
 tioned, with tin cups, accompanied by two men. car- 
 rying four 'pails filled with refreshments, two with 
 beef-tea, one with black-tea, the fourth with lemon- 
 ade, made their appearance among the sufferers, to 
 dispense their comforts. They did not come to dress 
 wounds. They spoke few words with their mouths, 
 but many and eloquent ones with their eyes ; but 
 the sight of them then and there did the heart 
 good. 
 
 It seemed as though the spirit of our wives, 
 mothers, and sisters at home were incarnated in these
 
 !4 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 women. Their very few words were woman's words, 
 but they had a power man's do not. When we saw 
 them moving about, distributing the contents of 
 those pails, it needed but a little stretch of the im- 
 agination to make them seem beings of another 
 sphere. We hardly knew whether they were young 
 or old; whether they had black tresses, auburn 
 ringlets, or chestnut-brown curls ; whether their eyes 
 were blue, black, or hazel. It was enough that they 
 were women. Their presence was proof that women 
 cared for us, and were willing to brave danger, and 
 come even within range of the fearful shells to min- 
 ister to those from whose wounds the warm blood 
 was still flowing. In their presence, men could suf- 
 fer with more fortitude, and die with more resigna- 
 tion. If we could not look upon our dear ones at 
 home, we could upon their representatives. How 
 often did I wish that mothers, who had reared two 
 or three boys, could come to the front and dress 
 wounds for a month after a battle ; and yet many 
 of these would be unfit for such duty. Some of the 
 men who were helpers in hospitals would have been 
 better employed in a butcher's shof . Who does not 
 know the difference between one who knows how to 
 dress a painful wound, and a bungler? One touches 
 you in just the spot where it will give you the least 
 pain, takes up the bandage carefully, watches the
 
 /AT CAMP AND HOSPITAL. ^5 
 
 dressing as it cleaves from the wound, using a little 
 tepid water when it is needed, then, with nice suds, 
 and the softest sponge, washes the filthy matter from 
 the reddened but unbruised flesh, showering, with 
 the cleansing liquid, the parts that are too sensitive 
 to be sponged ; then, carefully covering the injured 
 part with some healing salve on the softest linen, she 
 seizes the bandage, and binds up the suffering 
 part most neatly, making the linen bear evenly 
 on every part, every manipulation being that of an 
 artist. Her touch is full of magnetism that thrills 
 you, and, painful though your wound may be, 
 you long for her coming to dress it again. But how 
 different the other ! She has but just touched you, 
 and you groan with pain. Her hands seem filled 
 with needles' points. She slips the bandage, chafes 
 and reopens the wound, sets it to bleeding afresh, 
 uses too much or too little dressing, gets the band- 
 age too loose or too tight, puts a needle through 
 the flesh instead of the cloth, and, before she is done 
 with you, most likely lets the salve-box, or a piece 
 of soap, drop on the most sensitive part. When 
 she is through you are glad, not only for her sake, 
 but for your own. There were men in hospital ser- 
 vice who were fit assistants to the surgeons ; but 
 where there was one who was, there were many who 
 were not. Women always, for hospital service, when
 
 !86 W CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 they can be had. The great Father knew whether 
 the male or the female would make the best nurse, 
 when He gave her, instead of him, the care of in- 
 fants and children. 
 
 But there was enough of noble work to be done 
 where women could go, and most nobly did they do 
 it. Every town has some, and every city many, 
 who are pointed out now, and will continue 
 to be mentioned, long after they are dead, as the 
 women who did so much for the soldiers. Tens of 
 thousands, whose domestic duties were such that 
 they could not give all their time, went every day, 
 or at least every week, with little presents to boys 
 in the hospital. Many a mother, with two or three 
 mouths besides her own to provide for daily with her 
 needle, found a spare hour, and a spare quarter, with 
 a bunch of flowers, for the soldier-boy on his couch. 
 The school-mistress, whose head ached with the care 
 of a hundred children, was not too weary to carry 
 some oranges, and cheering words, and sweet, encour- 
 aging smiles to somebody's sick brothers. The sew- 
 ing-girl, also, and the poor widow, gave their mites. 
 
 Though I saw but comparatively little of women 
 in the sick-room in the Army, yet that was enough 
 to notice the difference between men and women 
 when they visited hospitals. Where one of the for- 
 mer wpnt, there were five, yes, ten of the latter.
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 187 
 
 Men went with their wives or friends, if needed, but 
 most of them went more for curiosity than to show 
 their sympathy. Few stood over the cots, took the 
 hand and held it, wiped the forehead with their own 
 handkerchiefs, and talked of home. But women did 
 this. And why did not men? Because they are 
 not women. 
 
 And then the Soldiers' Aid Societies, what a 
 work did they perform ! It is astonishing that there 
 was no lack of funds to carry on a war of such huge 
 proportions. Though gold and silver were out of 
 use, we built, in a few years, one of the most power- 
 ful Navies of the world, paid such bounties as no 
 other nation ever paid its soldiers, fed them bounti- 
 fully, clothed them amply, and, with few exceptions, 
 paid them promptly ; and, during all the time of war, 
 towns thrived, cities grew rapidly, and when we 
 needed funds we had credit, at home and abroad, for 
 at least three thousand millions of dollars. This 
 seems marvellous. But when we think of the money 
 raised, the clothing manufactured, the fruit and other 
 comforts contributed by the loyal women of the 
 North, we are amazed. If a million of dollars is 
 wanted in one year, if women have little executive 
 ability compared with men, they are equal to this 
 emergency. Where is there a town in all the North 
 that had not a Soldiers' Aid Society; and where
 
 X S8 IK CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 is the woman that was so poor that she contributed 
 nothing ? 
 
 As I write, a picture comes before me of a woman 
 and her boy, twelve years of age, residing, in '62, 
 in Georgetown, D. C. The husband and father held 
 a small-paying office in the Treasury Department, 
 but his family Expenses took nearly all of his earn- 
 ings. I cannot give the name, but they were rela- 
 tives of Ex-Governor N. P. Talmadge, o*f Wisconsin, 
 who was a boarder there at the time referred to. 
 Being a boarder myself, I was an eye-witness of 
 what I am going to relate. She had a spare bed, and 
 every night, just before dark, this boy would go to 
 the nearest corner, and watch the crowd of passing 
 soldiers. Some were on business ; some were in 
 health, and others ought to have been in the hos- 
 pitals. Seeing one whose walking indicated feeble- 
 ness, the lad approached him, and said, 
 
 "Good-evening, soldier ; you seem sick or weary." 
 
 "I am not feeling very well to-night, sonny, but 
 think I shall be all right in the morning." 
 
 "Have you a good place to sleep to-night?" 
 
 "Pretty good, when I get to it." 
 
 "My mother, who lives in that Tiouse, sent me to 
 ask you to come to supper, and stay over night." 
 
 "You must be mistaken. I am a stranger here, 
 and I am sure your mother never saw me."
 
 fN CAMP AND HO SPIT AL. ^9 
 
 "That makes no difference. She sent me out here 
 to find two feeble or sick soldiers, to come and eat 
 and sleep in her house to-night, without pay, and I 
 would like to have you go, for one." 
 
 "Why, sonny, the sight of such a woman would be 
 worth a month's pay, and I will go. I did not know 
 they had such women about Washington." 
 
 That woman had a spare bed, and at every meal 
 placed two extra plates on her table, for such soldiers 
 as her little boy could find to make use of them. 
 They did not eat at a second table, or in the kitchen, 
 but with the family ; and Governor Talmadge was as 
 happy to talk with them as with Members of Con- 
 gress, many of whom called to see him. It mattered 
 not whether they were bankers' clerks or rich men's 
 sons, or uneducated and unpolished, they came to 
 protect the flag from dishonor, and that was a free 
 table, and all who sat around it were equal. 
 
 In writing of the heroism of our Northern women, 
 we ought not to forget that the Southern women 
 were as devoted to their cause as our mothers and 
 wives to theirs. Elegant houses were appropriated, 
 converted into stables during heavy storms, and yet 
 the mistresses often bore the cross without a tear, 
 the love of their cause deepening as their sacrifices 
 multiplied. 
 
 Some time in February, '63, the raiding rebels at-
 
 !C)o '!& CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 tacked a train from Nashville to Murfreesboro', threw 
 the cars from the track, disabled the engine, and so 
 injured the road that it was a number of days before 
 the cars could run. Transportation in the mean- 
 time was, of course, done by animals. For some 
 reason, the sick and wounded among the rebel pris- 
 oners, taken at the battle of Stone Eiver, were sent 
 to Nashville, at least a considerable portion of them, 
 ambulances being used for the purpose. The road 
 is a macadamised pike, and was in pretty good order, 
 BO that the train could move at a pace of four or five 
 miles an hour. 
 
 I started out with the train, on horseback; but 
 not being able, from an injury of long standing, to 
 ride faster than a walk, fell behind. I had been 
 out, perhaps, an hour, when I heard, a cantering 
 horse on the hard road in the rear. Turning my 
 head, I beheld a most comical object, mounted on a 
 diminutive white pony, urging the sweating beast to 
 its utmost speed. I had seen a similar exhibition at 
 a circus; but never before outside the ring. My 
 first thought was that a soldier had found a little 
 pony among some of the farmers, and was out for a 
 show. But then, the rider was too small for a sol- 
 dier, though it might be a drummer-boy ; and as to 
 the show, there was no one to see the sport, if it 
 was intended for sport, but me. But I had not
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 191 
 
 much time for conjecture. The speed slackened as 
 they approached me, and the rider seemed almost 
 as much out of breath as the horse. I saw that the 
 strange being was a female ; not a frolicksome girl 
 out for an excitement, nor a gay, young widow to 
 show her charms, nor a "woman fat, fair and forty," 
 but one old enough to be a grandmother, and one of 
 the most ill-shapen of women. Horse and rider 
 were well matched as to size. Both, on the scale to- 
 gether, would hardly turn six hundred pounds. There 
 were but three articles of clothing visible an old 
 black bombazine dress, a bonnet as much like that 
 of a Quakeress, without being one, as possible, and 
 a pair of coarse socks in place of shoes. 
 
 "Stranger, I reckon some kerriges has passed this 
 yere road jest neow, with a heap of Southern sick 
 boys. Could yer tell me anything about 'em?" 
 
 "I should think they might be two miles ahead, 
 ma'am. But what is the trouble ? Have they taken 
 anything that belongs to you?" 
 
 "Indeed, sir, they has ; my boy, my wounded boy. 
 He has been where I could see him 'once in a while, 
 and now, without giving me a hint, he has been 
 toted off, I knows nothing where, and I want to give 
 him some money. Why, the poor boy has not a 
 cent of money, and my pony has een-a-most jist 
 gin out."
 
 T Q2 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "I wish I could help you out of your trouble. 
 You will probably have to go to Nashville before 
 you can see him. You cannot overtake the train." 
 
 "But my pony is so little ; he isn't so good as a 
 sheep, to run, and his wind is poor." 
 
 tc Are you a good rider, ma'am ? " 
 
 " I reckon not very ; could do better when I was a 
 
 gal." 
 
 "If you could ride my horse, you might overtake 
 the train in half or three-quarters of an hour." 
 
 " Stranger, I reckon you would not let me have 
 your horse." 
 
 "Most certainly, but for the fear that some acci- 
 dent might befall you. Do you think you would 
 dare to ride him? He is very gentle." 
 
 " Why, sir, it is only a little higher up, and a little 
 longer leap. I am not afeard, but would like to have 
 my saddle. It 'pears like I am used to that." 
 
 "Well then, there is no time to lose. Wait a 
 minute, till I can help you off, and we will see if we 
 can exchange the saddles." 
 
 But she had reached the ground before me, having 
 but a few feet to slide. Her saddle was ungirthed, 
 but we saw it was of no use. Both of us caught the 
 same idea at the same instant. " Change the girths, 
 but let the saddles remain ! " It was done in less 
 than a miuute, and the little woman in the black
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 193 
 
 bombazine dress, and the Quaker-style bonnet, was 
 cantering away like some Mrs. John Gilpin. Hers 
 was a common man's saddle, but she had ridden on 
 it, more or less, for thirty years ; and though she was 
 on a strange horse, she seemed to feel much at home. 
 As I plodded on behind her the last line of a nursery 
 rhyme kept ringing in my ears, - 
 
 " And Gill came tumbling after." 
 
 I did not think what I should have to pay the Col- 
 onel of the 38th Illinois for his horse the old lady was 
 riding away, provided she did not return it. My 
 situation seemed comical, and I could but wonder 
 what my wife at home would say if some clairvoyant 
 had told her he saw her husband swapping a large 
 brown horse, worth two hundred and fifty dollars, 
 for a little wind -broken pony, of no value, in the 
 woods near Lavergne, Tennessee, with a rebel woman 
 he had seen but five minutes, and whom he might 
 never see again. But I knew the horse and rider 
 would return, if no accident should befall them ; and 
 in less than two hours I had possession of my horse, 
 and she of her pony. She had found the ambulance 
 and her boy, and given him the purse of gold and 
 silver, and was comforted, if not happy. It is the 
 only horse-trade I ever made without being cheated. 
 13
 
 194. IN" CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 In this case, both parties were gamers. Besides 
 enabling her to give her boy some money to take to 
 his prison hospital, both of us had increased our stock 
 of confidence in human nature. 
 
 Just previous to the battle of Williamsburg, in the 
 spring of '62, 1 was lying on a gun-carriage, at Fort- 
 ress Monroe, one morning, when a little woman was 
 seen to mount a pile of boxes close by, larger than a 
 common haystack, but not more than half as high. 
 It was a novel sight. She knelt down, so as to 
 assume as modest a position as possible, and pulled 
 over the boxes, one after another, and occasionally 
 passed one down to a negro man, who stood on the 
 ground. At length she had handed down half a 
 dozen boxes, and a few bundles, or rather bags, and 
 that was the last I saw of her that morning. But 
 shortly the negro came with an ambulance and took 
 the articles away. The next time I saw the party 
 they were in the vicinity of Williamsburg, some dis- 
 tance from the river, hurrying on in the direction of 
 some heavy skirmishing. They had come to a small 
 creek in a field they were crossing, without any road, 
 and I had the pleasure of lifting at the wheel and 
 helping them get their ambulance and its contents on 
 the other side, after which "all went marching on." 
 
 I learned that she was a wealthy woman from 
 Philadelphia, and that this negro was her hired man ;
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 '95 
 
 that she made occasional visits to the Army to carry 
 such articles as she deemed most needful, while 
 she distributed and administered them with her own 
 hands. I have looked through a number of books, 
 but have seen no reference to her. Her name is 
 Bailey, or Bailies, or one similar in sound. What 
 she accomplished by her journey is unknown to me, 
 but it was a sight most interesting as well as novel, 
 a woman of refinement and a negro man, with a pair 
 of mules and ambulance, pushing out across fields and 
 creeks to reach a battle-field. 
 
 But before leaving the subject, I feel constrained 
 to present some pictures not so pleasant. 
 
 If woman was first at the sepulchre, she was also 
 conspicuous in the Eden transaction. If the Dorcases 
 and Marthas came to see the soldiers, so did the 
 Delilahs and Magdalenes. Every city where the 
 Army, or any considerable portion of it, quartered 
 for any length of time, swarmed with courtesans. 
 Every rendezvous was crowded with them. Weak 
 men, who did not drink up their money, spent it on 
 bad women. Sometimes they obtained passes, and 
 reached to the front. This one had a dear uncle 
 there, and it was necessary she should see him. 
 Courtezans went thither as the wives of officers, 
 and one man winked at the shortcomings of his 
 neighbor ; for he, too, lived in a glass house. But
 
 196 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 how could they obtain passes ? There were Provost- 
 marshals who could be corrupted as easily as other 
 officers. There is scarcely any mischief that a crafty, 
 vicious woman cannot accomplish. Her power is 
 felt in every walk of life ; in a neighborhood, in the 
 school, in the sewing-circle, in the church, and in 
 the senate. Could the Army escape it? It did not. 
 Nor did Soldiers' Aid Societies, or the hospitals. 
 Bedding and fruit collected for the sick were some- 
 times stolen before they left the town where they 
 were collected, and sometimes even by those who 
 collected them. If a surgeon ever misappropriated 
 hospital comforts, which I doubt not, most likely he 
 did not enjoy them alone alone, but had the compan- 
 ionship of some frail sister like them who help spend 
 the money of every man-thief in high or low life. 
 
 Every soldier in the Army of the Potomac, in the 
 winter of '61-2, remembers the Virginia mud; and 
 not only the mud, but the constant alternation of rain 
 and cold weather, not severe enough to freeze the 
 mud wholly, but just enough to make a crust that 
 would not bear the animals, and seldom the men. 
 With mud alone, the travelling was bad enough, but 
 with this mud-crust it was exceedingly annoying. 
 
 One foggy morning I saw a stout woman ap- 
 proaching the camp. It was not common to see a 
 woman within the lines ten miles from Washington,
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 197 
 
 and it seemed very extraordinary indeed that one 
 should be wading through the mud-crust at an early 
 hour. But my gallantry being aroused, I went for- 
 ward to meet her. She was making her way across 
 a field, having left the road, when I called out to her 
 to make a slight detour to the right, to avoid a deep 
 slough. Sometimes the crust would bear her up, at 
 others she would go down. Saluting her with " Your 
 servant, madam," I continued, "It is shocking travel- 
 ling, but what brings you here and on foot ? If you 
 had waited till afternoon, you might have come in 
 some of the wagons." 
 
 "I have a son in some of these regiments, and I 
 hear that he is sick. I have come to see him." 
 
 "O, I expected as much; nothing but sickness of 
 a son would bring a woman here in such travelling, 
 I am sure. Please go into one of these tents, where 
 there is a stove, rest yourself, and dry your feet, 
 give me the name of your son, and I will find him. 
 Do you know Avhether he is in hospital, or out on 
 duty?" 
 
 "No ; I only heard that he was sick, and I could 
 not rest till I came to see how bad he is." 
 
 "Is he in this regiment?" 
 
 "I do not know ; but a young man told me that 
 he is in one of the regiments on this hill." 
 
 "What is his name?"
 
 I9 8 12V CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "There is where the trouble is. He ran away and 
 enlisted, and I do not know whether he gave the 
 right name or not. His right one is Thomas 
 Sparhawk, but I do not know what name he bears 
 here." 
 
 "How did you learn he is here?" 
 
 "I accidently met a young man in Washington, 
 who told me he saw him a month ago in one of the 
 field hospitals on this hill. But I never thought 
 to ask whether he had changed his name." 
 
 "Please describe him." 
 
 I took the description, and hunted for him a day. 
 It was one of the worst days of that winter, and she 
 remained in the tent. As my search proved fruit- 
 less, I told her to go with me to the nearest house, 
 and I would procure entertainment for the night, and 
 try my luck next day. But she did not keep me 
 hunting long the second day, but went, as I sup- 
 posed, to hunt him up herself. A week or two 
 afterwards I met her again, but she did not recog- 
 nize me ; in fact, she gave me the cut direct. I met 
 her once more, near Fall's Church, when she treated 
 me the same as before. 
 
 I was then satisfied she was a spy. She was 
 finally reported as a suspicious person, and searched, 
 when it was found she had papers from Lee, John- 
 ston, and others ? Not at all ; but she had a skirt
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 199 
 
 of a pattern never seen out of our Array, so con- 
 structed with steel hoops, with one stout one at the 
 waist, that she could carry ten canteens. These she 
 filled with whiskey at Washington, Georgetown, or 
 Alexandria, as was most convenient, at a cost of one 
 dollar a-piece. Taking them to the front, and ped- 
 dling them slyly to the boys at two dollars and a 
 half each, she made fifteen dollars on the round trip. 
 This was the woman who had set me to hunting up 
 her son, and who felt so badly that her poor boy 
 should be so sick, and have no mother to take care 
 of him. Here was a vivandier, not described in 
 Prescott or Macaulay, or even Abbott's "Napoleon." 
 However they may dress in France, in America they 
 wear steel petticoats.
 
 200 Brother, when will you come back ? 
 
 By E. W. Locke. 
 
 1. The shad - ows of even-lug bring home to the hearth The 
 
 2. The cold winds of win - ter sweep down from the hills, With 
 
 3. There's ma - ny a sol - dier lies si - lent a - lone, Un - 
 
 loved ones who pa-tient have toiled through the day; 
 wail - ings more dis - mal than ev - er be -fore; 
 cof-fin'd, uushroud-ed, be- neath the damp clay; 
 
 glad be the greet - ings, and heart - y 
 think of the blast that our sol - dier 
 
 kin - drcd search vain - ly 
 
 -> H- 
 
 the mirth, Our 
 boy chills. And 
 or stone, Or 
 
 
 hearts ev - er turn to the 
 sigh to di - vide him our 
 some oue to tell where bis 
 
 Broth - er a - way ; We 
 
 bus - ket and store. We 
 life ebbed a - way. Though 
 
 ask. Is he pac - ing the sen - tl - nel's beat. In - 
 know that but iit - tie he heeds his hard lot; His 
 sad be the tid - ings from fields red with gore, And 
 
 tent for a sign of the near lurk - Ing foe? Or 
 long, wea- ry march - es; His coarse, scan - ty fare; The 
 Death reaps a har - vest of brave and true men, Dear 
 
 wearied with marching through mud, rain and sleet, He 
 
 camion's loud thunder, the death - deal - ing shot. But 
 
 Broth - er, stand firm till the con - test is o'er, Then 
 
 lies in his blank - et, his pil - low the snow? 
 nerve him to suf - for, to do, and to dare, 
 rush to the arms that will clasp you a - gain.
 
 201 
 
 Broth-er, dear Brother! when will you come back 
 
 Back to the hearts cv - er lov- ing and true? While your 
 
 1- i> \J \J L^ "[/-- ^J J- I 
 
 camp-fires are burn-ing our fond hearts are yearn -Ing: 
 
 *. **(j & -0 ^\ 
 
 
 
 Broth-er, dear Broth-er! we're pray-ing for you; While your 
 
 
 
 camp-fires are burD - ing, our /bud hearts are yearn -in^; 
 
 
 Broth - er, dear Broth - er, we're pray - ing for you.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CHAPLAINS. 
 
 PROBABLY there are few ministers who woult. de- 
 sire the berth of Army Chaplain a second time. At 
 the beginning of the war there were more applicants 
 than places. It was thought that many of the 
 churches must be closed, and the flocks scattered, and 
 a great number of pastors turned their eyes to the 
 Army for .a field of usefulness, not from choice, but 
 as the preferable alternative to a temporary abandon- 
 ment of the profession. I know of no class more 
 slighted and abused than they. 
 
 Few of them were men of popular talents. There 
 are but few of this class in this or any other country, 
 and all of these are appropriated by wealthy congre- 
 gations, and were the supply three times as great, 
 no doubt the demand would soon absorb it. I do 
 not mean that there were but few good preachers 
 among the Chaplains, every soldier knows better 
 than this, but the Beechers, Chapins, Bellows, 
 Collyers, and Hurrays were not Army Chaplains, 
 (202)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 203 
 
 and more is the pity. "The children of this world 
 are wiser than the children of light." So said the 
 Master eighteen hundred years ago, and so it is to- 
 day. In a political campaign the managers know what 
 course to pursue. The first step is to raise an im- 
 mense fund for mass-meetings. These are appointed 
 at every convenient locality, and the most stirring 
 speakers procured, to interest the crowds that assem- 
 ble. It is not expected that the speakers will in- 
 struct, so much as edify and create enthusiasm. What 
 a field, and what an opportunity for the right kind 
 of preaching did the Army present ! Had the most 
 popular men gone there, and preached a few months, 
 as they might, there would have been witnessed such 
 gatherings for religious services as were never seen 
 in this country. I would not have it inferred that 
 there were not numerous revivals, and that there 
 were not many most excellent ministers, and many 
 glorious meetings. Of course there were. But still 
 there was a great field for usefulness that was shame- 
 fully neglected. The Army had a large proportion 
 of men who cared but little about preaching, simply 
 because it is one of God's ordinances ; but had a man 
 who has the rare power of stirring the soul to its 
 depths gone among them, and preached as he might, 
 and as he could, with such audiences and such sur- 
 roundings, the men would have gathered to hear him
 
 204 ^ v CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 by brigades. Say what we may of the irreligious 
 tendencies of the unconverted, there is no man who 
 can draw, and continue to draw, the masses like a 
 popular -preacher. His subjects are so numerous and 
 diverse, the field for his illustrations so ample, the 
 hearts of his hearers so receptive to anything inter- 
 esting, that he wields a power almost like a monarch 
 till his light wanes, and his magnetism is lost. 
 
 When the Army lay in winter quarters, many min- 
 isters visited it, and preached a few sermons ; but there 
 was no organized effort, such as there might have 
 been, to afford the men at the freiit the opportunities 
 of the greatest of intellectual luxuries sermons from 
 God's most gifted servants. Not even were they 
 treated to first-class lectures, and other amusements, 
 except in rare instances. 
 
 The Chaplain's duties are so unlike those of any 
 other officer, there was no common bond of sympa- 
 thy for mutual attachment. The Colonel can talk 
 with his Lieutenant, Major, and .Adjutant, about 
 the business of the regiment ; but the Chaplain has 
 nothing to do with it. He will preach, visit the 
 hospitals once or twice a day, attend the funerals, 
 furnish the boys with postage-stamps, write letters 
 for those who cannot write themselves ; but if the 
 Colonel is a coarse, swearing man, he hates the sight
 
 AV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 205 
 
 of the Chaplain. He cares not for him, though he 
 is obliged to treat him with passable respect. 
 
 If, on the other hand, the Colonel is a man of 
 heart- culture, as well as of head, his Chaplain will 
 be likely to be his most constant and preferable com- 
 panion. It may be that the commanding officer is 
 not technically a professor of religion, yet if his 
 tastes are refined, and he have a sincere reverence 
 for holy things, he enjoys the company of his Chap- 
 lain. The latter is perhaps full of anecdotes, and is 
 the liveliest man above the officers of the line. I 
 remember instances where the friendship of these 
 two officers seemed like that of David and Jona- 
 than. 
 
 Many of these officers were so fettered, they 
 could do but little. They had no power, and 
 generally received small assistance in their religious 
 duties. Some attempted too much, while others did 
 too little. One came to an open rupture with his 
 Colonel, because he was determined to make the 
 regiment repeat the Lord's Prayer at dress-parade. 
 Every religious person will concede that such an act, 
 performed in the right spirit, would have been most 
 impressive. But he who proposed it knew but little 
 of human nature, or, at any rate, of soldier nature ; 
 and his persistence in attempting to execute his
 
 206 fff CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 plan, manifested more obstinancy than good sense or 
 piety. 
 
 I became acquainted with one Chaplain, whose 
 name I would give but for injuring the feelings of 
 his family, most of whom do not approve of his 
 course, who it seemed to me was as true a follower 
 of his Master as any being with human infirmities 
 can well be. He was indeed meek and lowly of 
 heart, and his meekness was not manifested by sanc- 
 timonious bearing, while he sought the company 
 of the high, and shunned the companionship of the 
 lowly. He was seldom seen in one of the officer's 
 tents. If they wished to see him, they called upon 
 him for that purpose. If you tapped at his tent, 
 and received no answer, you might be sure that he 
 would be in soon, or that he was down at the hospi- 
 tal. If you wanted paper, envelopes, or postage- 
 stamps, he had them, if any were in the regiment. 
 He never asked your name but once, and always 
 called you by your right one ever after, when he 
 met you. He knew every man in the regiment. 
 When a recruit came, he was the first to call on him. 
 lie was not so forward to make a convert of him 
 against his will, as to win his confidence and esteem, 
 and thus, like the olden law, serve as a school-master 
 to lead him to Christ. When the regiment was on 
 the march, the Chaplain seldom rode in the place his
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 207 
 
 rank entitled him to. He might be there on the 
 start ; but in the course of a few miles he would be 
 found in the rear, with a couple of knapsacks at- 
 tached to his saddle, and walking, while a boy, who 
 ought to be in an ambulance, and would have been 
 but for the surgeon's prejudice and peevishness in 
 the morning, is mounted in his place. 
 
 If he went to Washington, Alexandria, or any 
 place where soldiers and officers were allowed to 
 make occasional visits, and found one or more intox- 
 icated, he never left the unfortunates, but clung to 
 them till he could persuade them to return to camp 
 with him. If he found a drunken man in the streets, 
 he took him to a place of safety, and, like the Good 
 Samaritan, paid his bill. I could fill a chapter of 
 his works of this kind, in the Army and out, and 
 yet his nearest relatives would not thank me for 
 thus making his acts public. There is a feeling 
 in our selfish race that such conduct is just a little 
 silly. Women, who arc proud that their husbands 
 made a fortune in shoddy-clothing, would-be ashamed 
 if their partners were such Christians as this Chap- 
 lain. 
 
 This man managed to learn who gambled and who 
 drank, and he was so shrewd that he could always 
 find an opportunity to give good advice when alone 
 with the party that needed it. He was quite a geolo-
 
 208 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 gist, and once in a while took tramps over the hills 
 after specimens, and if he had anything special to 
 say to any boy, he invited the delinquent to accom- 
 pany him. 
 
 When speaking of this man to others, many have 
 inquired, "Why did we not have more of them?" 
 For the best of reasons a few appointments would 
 exhaust the supply. "Well," they continue, "why 
 do not more such men go into the ministry?" For 
 a good reason the people do not want them. This 
 man was not a popular pastor. He was always doing 
 something that displeased some of the fault-seekers. 
 Most people want a minister to be proud of. The 
 largest church, the tallest steeple, the most popular 
 minister, the most fashionable singing, the best 
 dressed congregations ; these are what the people 
 want, and what they will have, if they can obtain 
 them. I have related scarcely anything second- 
 hand ; but a gentleman now settled over one of the 
 Baptist churches near Boston, informed me that ho 
 watched a chaplain who had just entered upon his 
 duties near Norfolk, Virginia, who tried a full half 
 hour to saddle his horse. He actually did not know 
 which was front and which rear, and my informant 
 was obliged, after pretending for half an hour to bo 
 asleep, while he was really ready to burst with 
 laughter, to go and place the saddle upon the beast,
 
 /2V CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 309 
 
 and assist the poor man to mount. Possibly this 
 man made a good chaplain, but the chances against 
 him are ten to one. Men who know only books 
 may get on passably at home, but they could do no 
 good in the Army. 
 
 . Some of these men were very efficient laborers for 
 the cause of temperance, and many a wife and mother 
 have reason to bless them as long as they live ; for it 
 was through their efforts that their loved ones were 
 saved from the pit of drunkenness. 
 
 There were soine who thought themselves so elo- 
 quent and entertaining, that they seldom invited 
 others to preach for them, but generally a visiting 
 brother was pressed into the service immediately. 
 Sometimes men who were not clergymen, but accus- 
 tomed to public speaking, were invited to occupy the 
 time of the sermon. A gentleman from Maine, well 
 known in the Army, was present one Sabbath near 
 Brandy Station, in the spring of '04, at a Sabbath ser- 
 vice, and was invited to address the men. Having 
 been present, I am enabled to give the substance of 
 the address : 
 
 " Soldiers : Your chaplain has kindly consented 
 to give me the time for the sermon this morning. It 
 is a courtesy for which I hope I am suitably grate- 
 ful. But at the same time the question comes up, 
 can I so speak as to satisfy him, you, and my own
 
 2io IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 conscience? Not being a clergyman, you will not 
 expect me to take a text and deliver a sermon, but I 
 should be ashamed to be found standing in this neat 
 chapel, on this holy day, occupying the time of one 
 of God's servants, with nothing of importance to say. 
 
 "Having been with this Army from the first, min- 
 gled much more with the common soldiers than 
 the officers, slept and taken my meals mostly in 
 their tents, I think I know something of the feelings 
 of this great class of the Army. And my address, 
 at this time, will touch upon some points frequently 
 discussed among yourselves, and which serve more 
 than anything to make you discontented with your 
 lot. 
 
 " It seems unjust to some of you that young men 
 should be taken exclusively for soldiers, instead of 
 the young and old together. You ask is not life 
 as sweet to the young as to the old? Should not 
 both share the perils of defending the country 
 equally, when both have an equal interest? The man 
 of fifty can do as much labor in the field, at the 
 forge, or bench, as one of twenty-five. He has more 
 experience, and knows better how to preserve health, 
 aiid would be likely to shun most of the follies and 
 vices to which young men are liable ; and why should 
 he be exempt from military service ? 
 
 "In attempting to answer these queries, I will ask
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 21 1 
 
 you to remember that inasmuch as among all nations, 
 in all ages, most of the warriors have been young 
 men, it is presumable that there are good reasons 
 for this arrangement. 
 
 "In the first place, young men are more willing to 
 enlist than old ones. By the time a boy is eighteen, 
 if he is in good health, his blood begins to be fever- 
 ish. His native hills look tame, the streets of his 
 village are dull. He has read of other places, and 
 his imagination makes them a paradise. He has 
 read of Leonidas, of Napoleon,. and of Washington, of 
 the Spartan, the French, and the American common 
 soldier, and he is desirous of distinguishing himself, 
 and winning glory in battle as well others. He sees 
 nothing of poor fare, exhausting labors in the trenches 
 and on the fortifications ; nothing of marching in the 
 hot sun, sleeping in the mud and snow ; nothing 
 of the sickness, sufferings, and hardships of camp 
 life; but everything in his eyes is glorious, 
 the inspiring music, the serried hosts in battle- 
 line, the roaring cannon, the musket volleys, the 
 wild scream of the charging hosts, the shouts of 
 the victors, all these, and more, rise before his 
 imagination, and make him ready to become a 
 soldier. And then, the hope of promotion. What 
 so fascinating to many men as the hope to be able 
 some day to ride at the head of a column of armed
 
 212 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 warriors, each man but an instrument to do your 
 bidding ? 
 
 " The youuig man of spirit thinks there is some- 
 thing better than anything he has seen. Talk to 
 him in his New England home of the Western prairie, 
 and he sees it covered with richest verdure, and the 
 most beautiful flowers. It can be cultivated with 
 just enough of labor for pleasurable excitement, and 
 he has but to go thither, appropriate as much as he 
 chooses, and in a few years become one of the lords 
 of the West. Not so with him of forty and upwards. 
 He sees no poetry in war. He can go to the field if 
 necessary. He loves the flag more, if possible, than 
 the young man, for he knows better the value of free 
 institutions. But it is a duty he would evade if he 
 could do it in honor. He knows what war is, as 
 you, my boys, who have been here long have learned, 
 and that is, that to a person of right feelings, most of 
 its features are abhorrent. Hanging out a flag at the 
 recruiting quarters, sending a squad with fife and 
 drum through the streets in a pleasant evening, 
 promises of but little to do, a jolly time, the privi- 
 lege of seeing the world, and a chance for promotion, 
 do not captivate him. His blood is sluggish, his 
 nerves fail to thrill, and he is Milling for others to 
 take his place. 
 
 "Again : Woman, in consideration of the hardships
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 213 
 
 and duties peculiar to the sex, are exempt from mili- 
 tary duty. Men at forty-five years of age, in con- 
 sideration of what they may be supposed to have 
 done for the country in twenty-five years, are also 
 exempt. They have stood their chances for a long 
 time to do a share of the fighting for their country, 
 and is there any injustice in giving them exemption 
 now? In the Revolution, our great-grandfathers 
 stood their turn, in the war of '12 our grandfathers 
 took theirs, in the Mexican war our fathers theirs, 
 and are we such cowards that we shrink from our 
 lot? Can it be possible that any one is so unmanly 
 as to whine because he is called upon to stand in 
 places once occupied by the heroes of Lexington and 
 Bunker Hill? O, who is so mean that he is not 
 proud that he is accounted worthy to' stand in the 
 places of the honored dead patriots of our land ! 
 
 " O, soldiers : I have seen men attempt to deceive 
 the examining surgeon, and make him believe they 
 had some disqualifying physical weakness. I have 
 known some men to maim themselves to escape a 
 draft ; but can you conceive of a meaner creature in 
 the human form? Call him a man, who will not de- 
 fend his own? Why, a goose will do as much as 
 that. Call him a man, who is willing that others 
 shall fight for his rights, while he shrinks away out 
 of danger? O, his blood must be whiter than milk,
 
 214 IN CAMP AND SO SPIT AL. 
 
 and he should be aproned, furnished with a whistle 
 and a rattle, instead of soldiers' weapons, and sent 
 to the nursery to sing simple rhymes to the children. 
 "Another consideration : In war, a great amount 
 of money is needed, as well as men. This, as a gen- 
 eral rule, is held by the elderly men. It represents 
 their sweat and their toil. Next to their lives, and 
 the lives of their families, this is the dearest of all 
 things. Though I hope I may except principle in 
 some instances. You peril your life with more than 
 an even chance that it will be spared, while he parts 
 with his money, knowing that it is gone forever. 
 Many an old man, who loves his money like a miser, 
 would gladly take your place in the ranks, if he could 
 keep his property. The news of a victory sometimes 
 makes him generous for a few minutes ; but, as he 
 sees his taxes accumulating, and his profits diminish- 
 ing, he is apt to grow disheartened and misanthropic. 
 I think, my boys, hard as you sometimes think your 
 lot is, you would a thousand times rather be a young 
 soldier for a few years, than an old man, constantly 
 growing older, were you ever so rich. Do not mur- 
 mur, I beseech you, that the fighting has to be done 
 by young men. Let the old men but know that by 
 taking your places they could have your lithe limbs, 
 your sparkling eyes, your ruddy cheeks, your buoy-
 
 CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 215 
 
 ant spirits, your warm blood, and you would not have 
 to wait for a substitute. 
 
 "One of the hard facts that often come up to stare 
 the common soldier in the face, and make him dis- 
 satisfied with his lot, is the disparity of pay between 
 officers and men. Sixteen dollars a month for a 
 private, and a hundred and thirty, forty, or fifty, for 
 a Captain, strikes many a soldier as so manifestly 
 unjust that he sometimes feels like turning his back 
 on a country that can make such a distinction. But, 
 my boys, you cannot expect the Army to be gov- 
 erned by different principles from those that obtain 
 in civil life the world over. The higher the position 
 the greater the pay. The President has twenty-five 
 thousand dollars a year; the Vice-President about 
 one fifth as much ; lawyers charge from ten dollars 
 to ten thousand for making a plea ; a popular clergy- 
 man has five thousand dollars or more for his yearly 
 salary ; a physician, who can make forty calls in a 
 day, charges two dollars each ; a successful mer- 
 chant thinks he is doing but a small business if his 
 profits are not ten thousand a year ; a successful public 
 lecturer, or reader, receives two hundred dollars for 
 less than two hours' service ; and yet the toiling 
 masses are paid for their daily service scarcely more 
 than enough to meet necessary expenses. Not. till 
 the world has advanced more than it has from the
 
 2i6 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 earliest history of the human race, will right pre- 
 vail over might. Power, enterprise, knowledge, 
 skill, appropriate the lion's share. 
 
 "But, soldiers, good and evil frequently go hand- 
 in-hand ; and this enhanced pay, of a higher grade, 
 serves as an incentive to strive for a higher position. 
 A young man who has no ambition to rise is in a 
 dangerous and pitiable position. Many a man is 
 now within a prison simply because he was without 
 ambition. A worthless companion, a low, grovelling 
 man, was just as good an associate for him as one 
 with higher tastes. Whether at home, or in the 
 Army, a man who strives not to rise, lacks true 
 nobility. There is the lead of his baser qualities 
 always weighing him down, and without ambition 
 to rise, what hope is there for him?' 
 
 "My boys, you cannot all be Captains, or Lieuten- 
 ants ; but I believe that a man with average capacity 
 can hardly be in our service three years without 
 rising above the ranks, if he is willing to qualify 
 himself by application. I know men who have 
 spent time enough in saloons and other places of 
 resort to have mastered any common trade, or to 
 have fitted themselves for college. And yet these 
 same men complain because others are above them, 
 and draw twice, three, or five times their pay. You 
 will not live to see this earth a Paradise, and even
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 217 
 
 if you should, you might not find all men paid 
 equally for an equal amount of labor. But it will 
 be wise to take such measures as will insure the 
 largest possible share of the comforts of life. 
 Money properly used, next to health, is one of the 
 greatest of earthly blessings ; and if for nothing else, 
 I urge you to qualify yourselves for promotion. 
 
 "Do you say, 'There is no time'? Do you give 
 no time to cards ? Are you ever seen sitting like a 
 turtle on a log, your minds a vacuum ? Do you say, 
 'O, there will be no chance for promotion ! Some- 
 body's father is rich, mine is poor! Others have 
 friends, and I have none ' ? If you are determined to 
 find some excuse for your lack of exertion, you de- 
 serve to remain as you are, and you always will. 
 The country wants live men, and it is willing to pay 
 for them. If you prefer to be a common soldier, it 
 will continue to pay you sixteen dollars a month. 
 But it pays the Sergeants, the Lieutenants, the 
 Captains, and all the others much more than you, in 
 the hope that you will soon develop into a higher 
 grade, and receive more pay. It will pay you a 
 hundred dollars a month as cheerfully as it now pays 
 sixteen. 
 
 "Once more : Another burden, that sometimes cuts 
 you like an iron, is the distinction between officers 
 and men. But this is inevitable. Every order, from
 
 2l8 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 the Colonel's 'Forward, battalion,' the Drill-Ser- 
 geant's 'Mark time,' are to be implicitly obeyed. 
 Selfish and bad passioned men will be found among 
 officers, as well as privates ; and when a bad man 
 gets into the position of an officer, it requires but a 
 short time to bring out his qualities ; a commission - 
 draws them, like a plaster, to the surface. He shows 
 them when he least expects to, and, inasmuch as you 
 cannot return his insults in kind, and as he is so 
 much nearer the throne than yourself, that there is 
 little hope for redress, you feel that there is noth- 
 ing to do but nurse your hatred. 
 
 "This is a poor course. A soldier who is moody 
 over his wrongs will not be worth much in the ranks. 
 When called for any duty, he is sullen, moves 
 slowly, makes his officer lose his patience and chide 
 him ; is a bad companion, but little more agreeable 
 than a howling dog ; his tent-mates loathe him, and, 
 if stricken in battle, no one in his company mourns 
 his loss. 
 
 " But, in no walk, whether in army or civil life, can 
 you escape the rudeness and ungentlemanly bearing 
 of superiors. When you become a Sergeant, you 
 find the Lieutenants looking down upon you ; a Lieu- 
 tenant, and the Captain thinks his two straps entitle 
 him to assume superiority ; a Captain, and then your 
 Colonel, is the man whom you are to fear most; a
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 219 
 
 Colonel, and you have to meet the criticism of a 
 Brigadier. If you go to dress-parade with thin 
 ranks, if any of your men are without gloves or pol- 
 ished boots ; if your battalion makes the least mis- 
 take in evolution, likely you are treated to a volley 
 of curses, in presence of five hundred men and 
 officers, till you are angry enough to strike the in- 
 sulting man from his horse, were it not for the fear 
 of consequences ; a Brigadier, and the corps or divis- 
 ion commander abuses you ; a Corps-commander, and 
 the Chief abuses you, perhaps when you are in the 
 right ; a Commander-in-chief, and for a grave mistake 
 you are dismissed in disgrace. 
 
 " And what better is it in civil life ? You are ever 
 encountering uncivil superiors. The neighbor who 
 lives in a better house, and has a carriage, while you 
 have none ; who follows a better-paying and a more 
 genteel business, is sometimes insulting to you ; or, 
 if he is not, his children will insult your little brothers 
 and sisters, and his wife put on airs ; the man whom 
 you vote into office forgets you after election-day, 
 and so it is, the world over. Your only sure course 
 is to try to rise, and, having risen, see that power and 
 position do not destroy your manhood. 
 
 "Your chaplain often urges you, no doubt, to be- 
 come soldiers of the cross. I, also, urge you to en- 
 list under the Great Captain, the only one you can
 
 220 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 serve who will never give you treatment you 
 do not deserve. But you should remember, that 
 merely professing religion is not taking up the 
 cross. There are those, I. am sorry to say, who 
 make a profession merely to be on the popular 
 sicle. This is no cross to them. There are those 
 who make their boasts that they belong to this or 
 that popular church. There are those who think 
 they take up the cross by advocating religion in pub- 
 lic. They cannot do it acceptably, but do not know 
 it. Taking up the cross, for them, would consist in 
 keeping still. You who profess to love the cause of 
 Christ must not feel that you are soldiers of the cross 
 because you have experienced religion and been re- 
 ceived into the church ; but if you have those trou- 
 bles to which I have alluded, you must gather up 
 your strength, lift the cross upon your shoulder, and, 
 if you have really the spirit of the Great Captain, 
 you will glory in bearing it. 
 
 "Soldiers : do you not remember that, when in 
 battle, after the first shudder passed away, some- 
 thing seemed to lift you out of your normal condi- 
 tion ; that your life seemed valueless, and that you 
 could die as readily as to return to your tents ? In- 
 sulting, harsh, incisive words from those more favor- 
 ably circumstanced, neglect and want of sympathy 
 by those from whom we deserve the greatest of kind-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 2 2I 
 
 ness, are hard to bear ; but we can so discipline our- 
 selves, if we are true soldiers of the cross, that we 
 can rise so far above them as to make them seem but 
 trifles. Worthless is our coat of mail, if such tri- 
 fles can penetrate it. 
 
 "I fancy that I see before me a true soldier. I can- 
 not tell whether he is yet in the ranks, or has been 
 promoted. At the first stroke of the reveille he is 
 out of his tent, his toilet made, his breakfast pre- 
 pared and eaten, ready for any duty, with a pleasant 
 'good morning' for every one he meets, congratu- 
 lating this one on his return from hospital, that 
 one from prison, and a third for his promotion. 
 When he salutes superiors, he does it with grace 
 and cheerfulness, showing that while he is proud of 
 his own position, he is willing to give honor to others. 
 To his inferiors, he is kind, but dignified, careful 
 that no word that can wound shall escape his lips. 
 He never grumbles that his turn for distasteful du- 
 ties comes too often. If a tent-mate is a little un- 
 well, he is a ready substitute. If there are dangers 
 to be encountered, he never flinches. His presence 
 is like sunshine. A merry laugh, an enlivening 
 story, a stingless joke, a willingness to do even more 
 than his duty, make him a treasure. He is marked 
 for promotion. Eising one step prepares him for 
 another ; and with proper application, and escape from
 
 222 Df CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 sickness and death, there are few positions that he 
 may not attain. 
 
 w A true soldier is never heard sighing for the term 
 of his enlistment to expire. He loves his home, and 
 would start for it with a bounding heart could he go 
 in duty ; but duty to him is more than home or life. 
 He is in the field for service, and nothing can make 
 him neglect it, and he will give place to no feeling 
 that shall make that service irksome : 
 
 'In the world's broad field of battle, 
 In the bivouac of life, 
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle, 
 Be a hero in the strife. 
 
 ' ' Lives of great men all remind us 
 We can make our lives sublime, 
 And departing leave behind us 
 Footprints on the shores of time ; 
 
 : ' Footprints that, perhaps another 
 Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother 
 Seeing, shall take heart again I
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 223 
 
 'Let us then be up and doing, 
 With a heart for any fate ; 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 Learn to labor and to wait."' 
 
 In the winter of '64, near the Eapidan, a chaplain 
 of one of the New York State Regiments received a 
 letter from a young woman with whom he had a slight 
 acquaintance, asking his advice about attempting to 
 find two letters that her husband had sent home, con- 
 taining, in all, some fifty dollars. She was destitute, 
 and thought he might be able to find the letters, 
 if any one could. But as soon as he read the epistle 
 he knew where the money went. Her husband and 
 one of his tent-mates were two of the most inveterate 
 gamblers in the regiment. He answered the letter, 
 telling the sorrowing wife that he would do what 
 he could. He first went to the husband and told 
 him plainly, but kindly, that he had lost the money, 
 and then wrote his wife the lie to prevent her from 
 thinking him a heartless brute. He denied it, and 
 was angry, accusing the kind man of being a busy- 
 body, asserting that few in the regiment were his 
 friends, and threatening if he did not attend entirely 
 to his own business he would suffer for it. 
 
 A mouth or less after this the Chaplain, on going t
 
 22 4 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 look at his horse one morning, found some miscreant 
 had removed nearly all the hair from the poor beast's 
 tail. The whole regiment was indignant, and few 
 but the owner had any suspicion of any one. He 
 felt sure that he knew the wrong-doer, but knowing 
 it would be impossible to prove it, he disclosed his 
 thoughts to no one. The officers made up a gift 
 sufficient to buy another, but he declined it, saying 
 that the man who could do such a deed once would 
 not scruple to do it again. In a short time the 
 tent-mate of the suspected one died ; the Chaplain 
 attended the funeral, and so loving and touching 
 were his words that the man who had been so rude 
 to him when reproved for gambling, wept like a child. 
 Pay-day coming shortly after, the Chaplain was sur- 
 prised to find fifty dollars enclosed in an envelope, 
 in his tent. There was no letter accompanying the 
 money, but simply a scrap of paper with these words, 
 " From the man who sheered your horse." 
 
 This money was forwarded by the Chaplain to the 
 woman who had written the letter, with the request 
 that she should say nothing about it, till she should 
 hear from him again. The wife could not keep the 
 secret. She wrote to her husband, and told him that 
 the Chaplain had found the missing money, requesting 
 him not to mention it until she heard from the dear 
 man again. The man saw that he was known, nd
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 325 
 
 taking the first opportunity, made confession, and 
 begged the good man's pardon. Nor was this all : he 
 became converted, and was a most exemplary man 
 the remainder of the service. But he did not escape 
 the odium of his misconduct. The whole affair 
 became known in camp, and to the last he was called 
 the horse-tail convert. Spending an evening in this 
 Chaplain's tent, I said, "I suppose if you are spared 
 to go home at the end of the war, you will continue 
 in the ministry the same as before you came to this 
 field of labor?" 
 
 " I shall continue to work in my Master's service, 
 but not as before the war. I am not fitted for a 
 pastor. There is something inexpressibly beautiful 
 in the relation which a good man bears as a pastor to 
 his people ; no wonder he is likened to a shepherd. 
 Human nature is such, that the pastoral relation is a 
 necessity. Men and women, in any affliction, want 
 some one to fly to, and to whom may they go for 
 sympathy like the faithful.minister? But much as I 
 nonor the position, I shall never be a pastor again. 
 I never occupied one field of labor long. My ser- 
 mons were always acceptable, but I have peculiari- 
 ties of organization which make me unacceptable. 
 One is my faithfulness in telling those near me their 
 hurtful faults, while I request them to do the same by 
 me. But scarcely anything is so delicate. You
 
 226 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 may praise mankind as long as you please, and if they 
 know that the praise is unmerited, they love to hear 
 it, but the mildest censure, though the faults be glar- 
 ing, is dangerous to administer. I lost three pastor- 
 ates where it seemed that nothing but a matter of 
 the gravest magnitude could disturb our relations, 
 by trifles that seem too insignificant to relate. 
 
 " Losing my wife a year before the beginning of the 
 war, I went to board with the most influential family 
 of my church. I had noticed that the sister, who 
 was mistress of the house, was always late at 
 morning church service ; her husband and children 
 came early, but she never till the Scripture lesson 
 was nearly or quite through. It seemed very strange, 
 but I did not think it worth while to make any re- 
 marks. By accident I made the discovery that she 
 remained at home to watch the people who went to 
 church, and particularly the women. Residing on 
 the principal thoroughfare of the city, and near a 
 number of churches, she^had but to take her seat at 
 the window, having previously closed the blind, and 
 peek between the slats, and she could see how a thou- 
 sand females were dressed. She knew when any 
 woman had a new bonnet, dress, or shawl, and dress 
 was her hobby. She sometimes came to the com- 
 munion service, and the preparatory lecture, in such 
 expensive and showy garments, that her presence
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 22 
 
 destroyed all my good feelings. When I have 
 looked upon her thus dressed, I have felt that she 
 was a lump of vanity, and that, though from her 
 husband's property, she was one of the most influen- 
 tial members of my church, she had no right to a 
 seat at the table of our lowly Master. After discov- 
 ering her habits, I took occasion to administer a 
 gentle reproof. I could not do less. And how do 
 you think she received it? Her eyes flashed, her 
 lips were compressed, her face reddened, but her 
 .only reply was, ' If you will give your attention to 
 your sermons rather than minding what does not con- 
 cern you, I think it will be for the interest of both 
 yourself and the parish.' From that moment I was 
 a doomed pastor. The prayer-meetings lost their 
 interest, teachers in the Sunday-school gave up their 
 classes, the congregation began to diminish, the 
 elders became uneasy and dissatisfied ; the climax, 
 which was dismission, was soon reached. I am a 
 Chaplain in the Army, in consequence of a gentle 
 reproof to that peeking woman. 
 
 "I shall never be a pastor again. If I am spared 
 to return to civil life, I shall preach the Gospel to 
 the poor. And do they not need it ? Think of what 
 it costs annually for a seat in a moderately fashion- 
 able church. From ten to twenty-five dollars. . Why, 
 a man with a wife and three children needs more pay
 
 228 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 than an ordinary mechanic or laboring man can get, 
 to pay this and support his family. Not half the 
 people of any city I was ever in attend church regu- 
 larly. I grant there are many who have no desire 
 to go, yet there are a great many who might be in- 
 duced to honor God's day and ordinances if it did 
 not cost so much. 
 
 "Henceforth I shall collect no money for foreign 
 missions. Not that my heart does not yearn for 
 those who have never heard the blessed Gospel of 
 the Son of God ; but I shall concentrate my efforts 
 on Home Missions. When I think that New York 
 is probably as wicked a city, according to popula- 
 tion, as there is in the world ; when I think there 
 are in that city alone upwards of ten thousand prof- 
 ligate women, and yet there is little or no effort 
 made to reclaim them ; when I think that sixty 
 thousand druimards die in our country annually, and 
 yet the leading people in the church, as well as out, 
 make no earnest, persistent, self-sacrificing effort to 
 save them ; when I think that when a person comes 
 from prison, or a youth is found guilty of a crime, 
 few come forward to befriend and aid the unfortu- 
 nate wrong-doer, I am amazed, and ask if others 
 have learned Christ as J have, I read that the Good 
 Samaritan is the higher type of a Christian. In
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 229 
 
 prison, and ye came unto me; this is one of the tests 
 of true discipleship. The sanctimonious Pharisee, 
 with broad phylacteries, who paid tithe of mint, anise, 
 and cummin, is the character to be avoided. But 
 he is too often the most honored man in the church. 
 "But God forgive me for finding fault with my 
 brethren. I am sure that many of them are better 
 than I ; but I will try to live according to my pre- 
 cepts. Most of my pay as Chaplain has been saved. 
 This I shall appropriate to procure a little home ; 
 and henceforth I am to be an apostle to the poor. 
 Already I have done a great work in the field of 
 temperance. I will do much more if my life and 
 health are spared. The prisoners shall hear from me 
 more than ever. And while I think of it, let me 
 say that in the fifty prisons I have visited, I remem- 
 ber but two high officers, one a Warden and the 
 other his Chaplain, who came up to my ideal of 
 such officers. The berth of Warden is usually 
 given as compensation for political services, without 
 regard to Christian fitness, and the selection of 
 Chaplain is usually a matter of favor. Why, I have 
 seen in a New England prison, an old Chaplain 
 spend the entire hour and a half of the Sabbath- 
 school session without speaking to a prisoner. I 
 wondered what his report would be at the last day.
 
 2-o IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Did you visit me in prison? He did, bodily, and 
 got good pay, but he left his Christ-spirit, if he had 
 any, at home. But I am traducing others. It is 
 easier to find fault with others than to do right our- 
 selves. I will do my best to be a faithful apostle to 
 the poor."
 
 232 THE LONG NIGHT IS ENDING. 
 
 By E. W. Locke. 
 
 y-g^^^Eg 
 
 "The long night is ending, the clouds break away, The heart of the nation beats 
 
 Jtt 
 
 ::iLt 
 
 joy-oua a- gain; Our foes, long ex-ultant, turn back in dis-may, And 
 
 fly to their covers as wolves to their den. In fair Shenan-do - ah, In 
 
 g~T ^fr-cp-v *~r t-*3P ii^i-it 
 
 en-nessee, By Georgia's broad rivers clear down to the main, Our 
 
 warriors are keeping a grand Jubilee, And binding the monster with Abraham's 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Vic - to - ryl Vic - to - ry! trum-pcts the breeze; 
 
 I 
 
 1 s XNW-J > JM^ 
 ^B53E!fflfcS;^SH 
 
 Vic - to - ry! flashes along the charged wires; Victo-ry ! thunder the
 
 233 
 
 clouds and the seas! Traitors grow dumb, and Rebellion ex-pires. 
 ^tt**Z*=~*^ 
 
 We mourn o'er the heroes who sleep in their graves, 
 
 Who gave to their country their patriot blood ; 
 We're awed in the presence of unselfish braves, 
 
 Who've borne our dear banner through war's flame and flood; 
 But now, while we sorrow, there bursts on the ear 
 
 Such heart-thrilling tidings of victories won, 
 We sing, as if Prophets, " The end draweth near ! 
 
 The dread work of carnage will shortly be done." 
 
 CHO. Victory! &c. 
 
 3. 
 
 Spring forth, ye sluggards ! strike one manly blow : 
 
 Spring forth at the closing of war's deadly strife ; 
 Though Death gains new victims, the record will show, 
 
 Who so loved his country, he gave her his life ; 
 Spring forth now, or never ; for never again 
 
 AVill glory and honor invite as to-day ; 
 Go stand in the phalanx of blue-coated men, 
 
 And conquer or perish as proudly as they. 
 
 CHO. Victory! &c.
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 BOXES AND LETTERS FEOM HOME. 
 
 IT is early in March, 1863. The Army that won 
 the decisive and all-important battle of Stone River 
 is yet encamped at and near Murfreesboro'. The 
 ground is becoming settled, the peach trees are in 
 bloom, new regiments, and recruits for old ones, are 
 arriving. Massive earth- works, surmounted by ri- 
 fled cannon, and mostly surrounded by abbattis, 
 have been raised by the unremitting labors of 
 thousands of men for many weeks ; the surrounding 
 country, for fifteen miles, has been stripped of 
 forage; scouting parties, consisting generally of 
 one brigade, are raiding over the country, a distance 
 of fifty to a hundred miles from the main Army ; 
 many regiments of infantry are being mounted, and 
 receiving the repeater-rule ; fresh horses are arriving 
 from the West in great numbers; Tennesseeans, 
 clothed in their butternut suits, (home-made cloth, 
 with cotton warp and woollen woof, colored with the 
 bark of butternut,) are daily pouring into camp, 
 (234)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 235 
 
 some begging to be fed, others willing to work, and 
 a few to enlist ; six infantry regiments of East Ten- 
 nesseeans, and two cavalry from the central part of 
 the State, did good service in the late battle, and 
 are ready for further duty. Kentucky has three or 
 four good regiments in this Army, but most of the 
 troops are from Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, 
 and Wisconsin. Pennsylvania has two or three. 
 Iowa's troops are mostly down the Mississippi, and 
 Minnesota's in different departments ; but I think 
 none are here. 
 
 I have just returned from the North, and have a 
 little message to deliver to a soldier in the 38th 
 Ohio. I find the regiment in or near General 
 Rousseau's command, on the elevation at the right of 
 the pike, a mile or more south of the town. I enter 
 the camp while a number of the boys are sweeping 
 the ground with brooms of bound twigs, under the 
 direction of the officer of the day, who is a Captain 
 or first Lieutenant, his badge of office being a large 
 sash, long enough to encircle the waist twice, and 
 bearing long fringed ends pendant at the side, making 
 him the most conspicuous, if not the most important 
 personage of the camp. 
 
 I ask the pleasantest boy to be seen if he knows 
 Frederick Johnson, giving the letter of his com- 
 pany.
 
 236 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "I do, sir; do you wish to see him? I will call 
 him if you do." 
 
 "Please do so." 
 
 Throwing his broom over his shoulder, he starts 
 off, and is soon heard shouting, 
 
 "Fred. Johnson ! Company G. I say, Fred. 
 Johnson ! " 
 
 "Here I am. What's the matter? Do you wish 
 to borrow some stamps, or get me to take your 
 place on picket?" 
 
 " Dry up, if you aiu't drunk. Somebody over La 
 Company H wishes to see you." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 Soon the said Frederick Johnson makes his ap- 
 pearance, when I hand him a note from his mother, 
 telling him, at the same time, he will find some 
 reference in it to a box which she sent by me, and 
 which is now down at the express office for safe keep- 
 ing. " This is but a note ; you will find letters in 
 the box." 
 
 "All well?" 
 
 "All well three days since." 
 
 " But about the box ; just step with me to the 
 Colonel's tent, and I will introduce you, for I must 
 have a pass before going to the town." 
 
 Declining the introduction, I nevertheless go near
 
 7JV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 237 
 
 enough to hear the interview between the boy Fred- 
 erick and his Colonel. 
 
 In the Eastern Army, at this stage of the war, 
 there was generally a sentinel pacing back and forth, 
 night and day, in front of the Colonel's tent. But 
 in the West this custom never prevailed so exten- 
 sively. There was never so great an attempt at 
 show, except among a few organizations, in the West 
 as in the East. Some of the regiments that came to 
 Washington in '62, seemed to think more of making 
 a fine appearance at dress-parade than of gaining a 
 victory. 
 
 Timidly the boy taps at the tent-door. " Come 
 m ! " But these two short words , spoken with a louder 
 tone than is necessary, set the young man's nerves 
 in a nutter. He is a recruit, has been in the ranks 
 scarcely ten weeks. He was reared in the country, 
 is familiar with no society but that of farmers. Tho 
 Colonel is the greatest man he has ever approached, 
 and he has never spoken even to him. There is such 
 a distance, in his eyes, between a private in blue 
 pants and blouse, and a Colonel with the finest of 
 broadcloth, glittering buttons, a scarlet sash, and a 
 silver eagle on his shoulders. Why, the Corporal is 
 greater than himself, a raw private, and the Sergeant 
 greater than the Corporal, the Orderly greater than 
 the Sergeant, and the Second Lieutenant greater than
 
 238 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 he. Higher up is the First Lieutenant, and above 
 him the Captain. He is a sort of viceroy over a 
 hundred men. He wears fine broadcloth, a strap with 
 two bars, and a scarlet sash. He has a servant who 
 lives better than the private. But there are, at least, 
 four officers who are higher than the Captain. Pass- 
 ing by the Chaplain and Surgeon, there are the Ad- 
 jutant, the Major, the Lieutenant-Colonel, and this 
 Colonel, who, in Frederick's eyes, is a monarch, and 
 he has said to the trembling boy, " Come in," em- 
 phasizing and greatly prolonging the last word. The 
 Czar of Russia could not put more dignity into these 
 two words than some of the Colonels, and even the 
 Captains did. But, in this instance, the officer 
 only infuses just enough of dignity to avoid undue 
 familiarity. 
 
 " I wish to obtain a pass to the town." 
 
 What do you wish to go to the town for ? " 
 
 "Mother has sent me a box of things, and I wish 
 to go and get it." 
 
 "Oyes!" 
 
 The sternness of the officer is gone in a moment. 
 That quality gives place to the kindness and tender- 
 ness of the man. 
 
 "Adjutant, write this boy a pass! Can you be 
 back at four o'clock, at dress parade? " 
 
 " Yes sir."
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 239 
 
 Thanking the Colonel, who is at heart one of the 
 best of men, and whose imperiousness, like that of 
 most of the officers, came with his military coat, and 
 will be laid aside with that garment, the soldier-boy 
 is leading the way, impatient to get hold of the 
 treasure at the express office. It is soon found, and, 
 without examining the contents, he shoulders it, 
 insisting that I shall return with him to dinner. 
 Taking turns at the burden, we are soon in camp. 
 His box is heavy, but his heart is light. He has two 
 tent-mates, both of whom have had boxes from home, 
 and he has shared their liberality. Now his turn 
 has come ; a hatchet is. found, the box is opened, and 
 the contents examined. Having brought the box, I 
 must constitute one of the mess while we have a din- 
 ner of a mixture of army and home-fare. The 
 army portion is a nice wheaten loaf, brought up 
 from town this morning. It was baked last night in 
 a huge sheet-iron oven, and it is as good as most of 
 the mothers at home could make. There is the best 
 of coffee in that little bag in his haversack. The home 
 part of the feast is a can of condensed milk for his 
 coffee, a quart of canned chicken, a can of peaches, 
 another of apple-butter, a six-pound cake of maple 
 sugar, a large ball of fresh-made butter, a pint of 
 honey, a quart of maple syrup, and a five-pound 
 fruit-cake. Here is a meal fit for a king. Our
 
 2 4 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 table is four cracker-boxes, laid on the ground, the 
 cloth my rubber poncho, the carving-knife is prob- 
 ably lost, the silver forks locked up, and the key 
 lost. For some reason the polished table-knives are 
 missing, so we must go to our pockets for substi- 
 tutes. If any one of the company is without, he 
 will borrow of his neighbors, or use his iron spoon. 
 Here is a Thanksgiving dinner, though it is eaten in 
 spring-time. There are no toasts drank. In fact, 
 there is no drink but coffee. But there is all the 
 food the daintiest stomach could crave. 
 
 The dinner over, we will see what else that box 
 contains. There are two pairs of cotton drawers, 
 and two pairs of nice socks, made of the firmest 
 yarn, and carefully run at the heels. Here is a pair 
 of thin undershirts. "It is coming summer, why 
 did mother send them, and the drawers?" Here are 
 a little package of black tea, one of envelopes, a 
 quire of note-paper, a dollar's worth of postage- 
 stamps, a dozen pens, half a paper of pins, a knot 
 of best linen thread, some needles, and some but- 
 tons. But this is not all. There are letters ; and as 
 there is no privacy, Frederick will allow me to copy 
 them, that the reader may see what the soldier some- 
 times has to cheer him in camp. The first is from 
 his little sister Carrie :
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 2 4 ! 
 
 DEAR BROTHER FREDDIE : 
 
 Mother and father have written some letters 
 to send with the box, and mother says I must write 
 too. If I could see you, I could chatter and chatter 
 all the day, and all the night too, I think, without 
 being sleepy; but when I try to write, my thoughts 
 get all mixed up. I have written two letters already, 
 but they seemed such poor things, I have burned 
 them, and I do not expect this will be any better. 
 But mother says if I do as well as I can, you will be 
 just as glad to read it as if it was ever so nice. 
 Jennie Gould, who is only a year older than I, writes 
 such nice letters, and she reads some of them to 
 me. They are so good, they sound, as she reads 
 them, just like talking. Some of them make me cry, 
 and laugh, too. I wish I could write as Jennie can. 
 I would not tell you anything to make you cry, but 
 try to make you laugh. We got terribly frightened 
 the other evening. Father heard that lots of Ohio 
 boys had been taken prisoners, and he was sure, 
 from what he heard, that the rebels had got you. 
 You -can't think what a solemn night it was. Mother 
 sat in the corner, threw her apron over her head, 
 looked straight at the fire all the evening, and did 
 nothing but sigh, and say, every little while, "Poor 
 Fred." Father felt bad, but I guess he was so mad 
 that he could not grieve much. He kept saying, 
 
 10
 
 242 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "The fools! the fools!" but I don't know what 
 he meant. But, when we heard it was not your 
 regiment that was captured, I danced all over the 
 room for joy. Mother made me stop ; for, she said, 
 it was somebody's brothers that had been taken ; and, 
 if sorrow had been removed from our home, it had 
 gone somewhere else. 
 
 O, I wonder when this war will be over; and 
 why God lets people act so ! I should think, if any- 
 body fights, it ought to be them that makes the war. 
 You did not make the war, nor did Henry Gould and 
 the rest of the boys, but they have to go and fight. 
 I can't tell you how much I want to see you ; but I 
 must tell you, that that lump of maple sugar I made 
 for you myself. 
 
 You know that tree that stands by the rocking 
 rock ? Father tapped it, and said it should be called 
 Freddie's tree, and that all the sap should be made 
 into sugar, and sent to you ; and that I should gather 
 the sap, and make the sugar. I gathered the sap, 
 and also the wood. I did all ; mother just helping 
 me a little in boiling it. I have another bigger 
 square than the one sent; you shall have it next 
 time. When you eat a piece, will you think that 
 "Little Carrie" made it? I wonder folks call me 
 "Little Carrie,"for I am as big as my mates, and no- 
 body calls them little ? I must tell you that, sinc
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 243 
 
 you went away, Mary Gould has taken a great liking 
 to me, and she talks more about you than about her 
 brother, who has been gone a year. I did not know 
 as she cared for you. All the boys send love. 
 
 LITTLE CARRIE. 
 
 P.S. I forgot to tell you that Johnny Damon's 
 father gave him a drum, but he won't let Johnny 
 beat it in their yard, but tells him to go some- 
 where else. Father is glad to have him come into 
 our yard, and beat it aa long as he pleases : I guess 
 Mr. Damon don't like drums. 
 
 (Mother's Letter.) 
 
 DEAR FREDERICK: 
 
 I send you a box of luxuries and comforts, 
 which I hope may reach you in good condition. I shall 
 ask your father to write what news there is, while I 
 appropriate my pages to telling you what burdens my 
 mind most ; you know very well that I always made 
 my words of advice as few and impressive as I well 
 could. I do not intend to write a long letter now, 
 but I have heard some things about army-life that 
 I was ignorant of when you went away ; and I feel 
 that I must write a few words of warning, whether 
 you may need them or not ; at any rate, they can do 
 you no harm, and they may do good ; I know you
 
 244 IN C AMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 will appreciate them. An Army Chaplain lectured in 
 our church last Sunday evening, and he said there is 
 as much to be feared from the vices of camp-life, as 
 from the bullet. He told us that he knew a great 
 many who at home were active in the church, in 
 Sabbath-schools, in the missionary cause, and at 
 temperance meetings, but who, in the Army, are 
 profane, dissolute, whiskey-drinkers, and even gam- 
 blers ; and he said, furthermore, that when parents 
 wrote to their sous, they might give just as many 
 expressions of love, and just as good advice, as 
 possible, but the points he wished us not to omit were 
 their health, and the dangers of strong drink. He said 
 that one of the afflictions of the Army of the Cum- 
 berland a month ago, was chronic diarrhoea, and he 
 presumed it was the same then. He said that one 
 of the principal causes of this fearful disease is badly 
 cooked food, and especially badly or not sufficiently 
 cooked beans. I do not know as you can have any 
 choice in food, but I urge you to use discretion. If 
 possible, have all your food cooked sufficiently. If 
 you can, avoid beans entirely. But above all, avoid 
 vice in every shape. He said that swearing was al- 
 most a universal habit in the army ; that though the 
 rules forbade it, those who did not swear were ex- 
 ceptions ; that Generals swear at the Colonels, the
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 245 
 
 Colonels at the Captains, the Captains at the men, and 
 the men at each other. 
 
 I have always been impressed that though thous- 
 ands have fallen, and thousands more are to fall, you 
 will be spared. This is a great comfort to me ; for 
 when I am troubled with a presentiment of evil, it is 
 almost certain to come in some shape. And, on the 
 other hand, when I can seem to see light beyond or 
 under the cloud, it is almost sure to be there. But, 
 Frederick, my boy, if you are to come back, as I 
 trust you are, I pray God you may come the same in 
 heart as you went away. I know you never drank 
 nor gambled, and I always felt certain your language 
 and habits were pure. Can you be beguiled into the 
 belief that it is discourteous to refuse when you are 
 invited to drink, or play at games of chance with 
 your companions ? Or will you quail at the derision 
 of men who would entice you to go with them to 
 ruin? Need I say anything to save you? Do not 
 think I distrust you. It is a mother who writes this, 
 and no heart is so solicitous a hers. The approach 
 of vice is so insidious, and the voice of the tempter 
 has such a charm to the youthful ear, I can but feel 
 the utmost solicitude. 
 
 Even many of those who have never been exposed 
 to extraordinary temptations, meeting their parents' 
 eyes at every daily meal, kneeling with them twice a
 
 246 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 day at the family altar, are seized with a strong arm, 
 and borne away to destruction in the sight of their 
 nearest relatives. How can I avoid thinking of you, 
 when I see so many. young men falling? It was but 
 last week that John Hookins died with mania a/potu, 
 and since you left, the four boys in jail for house- 
 breaking have been sentenced to prison, the crime 
 having been committed under the stimulus of strong 
 drink. I can only ask you to peruse that Book of 
 books I gave you at parting, and ponder on every 
 passage you read that seems in the least applicable to 
 you. I commit you again to Him who holds the 
 sparrows in His hands, and alloweth not one to fall 
 without His notice. 
 
 Your affectionate mother, 
 
 CAROLINE JOHNSON. 
 
 (Fatluefs Letter.) 
 DEAR FRED : 
 
 Your mother has a quantity of articles to send 
 you by an acquaintance, and I will devote this even- 
 ing to a letter to accompany them. We are as well 
 as usual. It seems, from all accounts, that the differ- 
 ent departments of the Army remain in statu quo. I 
 wish I could see any signs of the end. One fact 
 staggers me : in nearly all the battles, except the first
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 247 
 
 Bull Run, we claim to have been victorious, yet we 
 seem to have gained nothing. It was denied that 
 McClellan was defeated before Richmond, yet the 
 army of the Potomac is fifty miles farther from Rich- 
 mond than it was last summer. If Lee was routed 
 with great slaughter at Antietam, why was he allow- 
 ed to recross the Potomac with all his trains and 
 equipage ? Grant was to have taken Vicksburg, but 
 the prospect of success is as gloomy as ever, so far as 
 I can see. The papers assert that Bragg was badly 
 defeated at Stone River, and really, as far as I can 
 understand, it does look like a defeat. Now I do 
 not suppose you can learn much that will throw any 
 light on the subject, but it seems to me that the men 
 who fought the battle know whether it was a victory 
 or not. Talk with the men, and write me the result 
 of your inquiries. One fact cannot be denied : Bragg 
 retired as Rosecrans advanced. 
 
 The enemies at home are as bitter as ever. In fact, 
 the prolongation of the struggle, uud our discour- 
 agements, embolden them; and I sometimes fear we 
 old men at home will have to fight the enemy in the 
 rear. I think a little incident that occurred in town 
 last week, will interest you : Esquire Anderson, 
 who lives in the north part of the town, and whom 
 you have seen, has two boys, neither of whom is lia-
 
 ^48 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 ble to military service. Father and boys are true to 
 the Union; but the old gentleman has a second 
 wife, who is a rebel not a secret, but an open one. 
 In fact, she is the meanest copperhead in town. She 
 resolved on having a male copperhead party at her 
 house on Thursday evening, and sent out a hundred 
 invitations. No ladies were invited. The house, 
 though a large one, would not hold them. There 
 was to be a grand supper, yet I think some hidden 
 political scheme was to be developed on the occa- 
 sion. Oysters were procured, turkeys, chickens, 
 and pigs cooked, doughnuts by the bushel, and pies 
 and cakes enough for three ordinary weddings baked, 
 and everything was in readiness for the feast. The 
 day came, and it was pleasant. Extra help was to 
 come in the afternoon. The lady had occasion to 
 go to a neighbor's, a mile away. The husband sent 
 the female help off in another direction, while he 
 and his boys loaded the articles for the feast on a 
 wagon, and sent them off into the woods. 
 
 When the lady returned, there was a scene. But 
 she thought herself equal to the occasion ; so she 
 took the gun, and after loading it, marched out into 
 the field, and' demanded the provisions. The men 
 feigned ignorance. She threatened to leave her hus- 
 band at once, if he did not tell her what had become
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 249 
 
 of the eatables. But he thought she would not, or 
 if she did, he might be able to endure the separa- 
 tion. Then she pointed the gun, first at one, and 
 then at another ; but each told her to blaze away, 
 and they were glad there was one copperhead that 
 was not afraid to handle a gun. But she did not 
 find her turkeys and pigs. 
 
 One item more. There was a fracas in the church 
 last Sunday. Some copperhead girls came into the 
 church, displaying, with a very taunting manner, 
 some pins and ear-drops made of butternuts. A 
 Union girl foolishly snatched two of the pins from 
 their owners' dresses, and a grand female fight was 
 the immediate result, and in a few minutes the 
 whole congregation were engaged in the melee. But 
 the Union party was the stronger, and came off vic- 
 torious. You remember that it is the Union people 
 mostly who attend church. Had the fight been 
 among a party at a saloon, I doubt not the copper- 
 heads would have carried the day. I hope you are 
 not annoyed by this class in the- Army. A rebel is a 
 gentleman, compared with one of these varmints. 
 Be careful of your health. Good-by. 
 Your father, 
 
 AMOS JOHNSON.
 
 250 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 OTHER LETTERS. 
 
 One of the pastimes of many of the lower grade 
 of officers, as well as privates, was corresponding 
 with unknown females, in different parts of the coun- 
 try, commenced by a call in the newspapers. I 
 need not present any of these. Every reader saw 
 them, but not many saw the answers. Having seen 
 hundreds of them, I am enabled to present copies 
 of a few. If some of the females could have fore- 
 seen what sport was to be made of their letters, they 
 would have been at least more careful in spelling, 
 language, and sentiment. Many of these answers 
 were written by men, and copied by females, and 
 some were in a disguised hand ; but most of them 
 coming under my observation were unmistakably 
 the composition of females, and while many were 
 indifferent, and some flat, very many were most ex- 
 cellent in style and matter. I will copy two only : 
 
 (Specimen No. 1.) 
 
 LYNN, Mass., Aug. 4, 1864. 
 
 ME. DARIUS LOVEGOOD : 
 
 Dear Sir, Noticing your call for correspondence 
 in a stray number of the Cincinnati Commercial. I 
 take the liberty to reply. This is done after long
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 2 ^l 
 
 hesitation, and many misgivings. I fear somewhat 
 that I am engaging in a hazardous enterprise. But 
 there was something in the form of your call that 
 not only excited my curiosity, but won strangely 
 upon my confidence. 
 
 Were any one but a soldier, perilling his life for a 
 common good, for me and mine, equally with him- 
 self, thus calling for correspondence, I should never 
 have dreamed of writing a letter to a stranger. I 
 feel towards our soldiers as I might towards a sailor 
 who had leaped into the ocean to save a drowning 
 brother ; I had almost said mother. I used to read 
 works of fiction, but they have been discarded for 
 something about the war. 
 
 How gladly would I leave home for a season for a 
 berth in the hospital, without money and without 
 price. I am not much of a nurse, it is true, but I 
 have the reputation of being an excellent reader, 
 and it seems to me I might be of immense service in 
 reading to the convalescent. I am a passable singer, 
 and play a guitar accompaniment, and who knows 
 but my songs might be of as much service as the 
 surgeon's medicines ? But here I am, writing as to 
 an old acquaintance, when Mr. Lovegood may be a 
 myth. 
 
 If you see fit to write to me, I wish you to in- 
 form me as much about the duties of Army life as
 
 2 5 2 
 
 CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 possible. If not romantic, there is a true heart dic- 
 tating this letter, capable of appreciating true man- 
 hood, wherever found. Yet I am a very practical 
 girl, given to speaking and writing plain facts, with- 
 out much fancy. 
 
 Trusting to hear from you in the same spirit in 
 which this is written, I subscribe myself, 
 The Soldiers' Friend, 
 
 ADA PARKER. 
 
 (Specimen No. 2.) 
 
 RICHMOND, IND., Dec. 5, 1863. 
 
 MR. ALEXANDER BRAINARD : 
 
 Dear $ir, I take the libert5 T to answer your ad- 
 vertisement in the Chicago Tribune. I do not know 
 what kind of a correspondent you want. If you 
 will be kind enough to let me know the style of cor- 
 respondence you prefer, I will endeavor to accommo- 
 date you. I am versatile, and will write in any vein 
 you may choose, provided it be proper. If you are 
 fond of the sentimental, I will write like a novelist ; 
 if you are fond of historic sketches, or poetry, I will 
 do my best to please you. For myself, I will only 
 say that, inasmuch as I was born a woman and not a 
 man,, as I wish I had been, I embrace any opportu- 
 nity to appropriate the occupations of the opposite
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 253 
 
 sex. I have been tempted many times to enlist, as 
 others have done, and would do it now, but for the 
 fear of exposure. My character is above reproach, 
 but I am brimful of energy, and have no way to 
 employ it. When I have seen some of the boys go- 
 ing to the army, unfit as children, I have longed to 
 take their places. Now that you know something 
 of me, write in just such strain as you may choose, 
 provided, of course, it shall be proper, and I will 
 exert myself to be edifying in my next. 
 Yours, etc., 
 
 EDNA GREEN.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 NIGHT AND DAY TRAMPS IN TENNESSEE. 
 
 ABOUT the 20th of December, 1862, the Army of 
 the Cumberland struck tents and moved from its 
 camping-grounds, a mile or two south of Nashville, 
 on two nearly parallel pikes, in the direction of Mur- 
 freesboro', where Bragg's Army had lain a number 
 of months. The division under Jeff. C. Davis took 
 the Franklin pike, while most of the troops took the 
 Murfreesboro'. The first advance was but about six 
 miles, at which point it remained^ a few days, the 
 relative position of the different divisions being the 
 same as before leaving Nashville. 
 
 It appeared as though Rosecrans had some fear of 
 an attack from Bragg, for he moved slowly, and with 
 great caution. Except when on the march, the whole 
 force of some fifty thousand men could have been 
 thrown into line of battle in a few minutes. And those 
 troops were not wholly inexperienced ; most of them 
 had seen some fighting in Kentucky and Tennessee. 
 They did not dread to meet Bragg's Army. They had 
 (254)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 255 
 
 been matched with his troops, in small engagements, 
 and felt that, in an earnest struggle for supremacy, 
 they should come out victors. Most of them were 
 eager for a great battle, in which they could demon- 
 strate to the world the difference between Eastern 
 and Western troops. Both officers and men held the 
 Army of the Potomac in contempt. Each knew by 
 heart the stories of Bull Run, Fair Oaks, Games' 
 Mill and Fredericksburg ; and of McDowell, Mc- 
 Clellan, Burnside, and John Pope. Talk to them of 
 the Army of the Potomac, and their expressions, 
 though various, according to tastes and education, 
 all meant one thing contempt. 
 
 "I say, old fellow," said one, "are you from the 
 Army of the Potomac?" 
 
 "I left it two weeks ago yesterday." 
 "Have the boys got over the whooping cough?" 
 "Pretty much through with that, I think." 
 "Getting ready for the measles and canker-rash, 
 most likely?" 
 "Nearly ready." 
 
 "Do any of them begin to see down on their 
 chins?" 
 
 "The down comes on finely ; some are just nursing 
 their first whiskers." 
 
 " Surprising ! Who knows but they will be men
 
 256 nr CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 yet? How's McClellan? Has he got the shoes he 
 waited for so long?" 
 
 "He is all right ; his men are now well shod." 
 
 "Has he sold his Quaker guns?" 
 
 "No; he has just shipped them for the home- 
 guards of Kentucky." 
 
 Nothing could be learned of the intentions of 
 Rosecrans. The camp was continually alive with 
 rumors. One morning the story was that Bragg was 
 but two miles away, and that a battle must ensue 
 within two hours. Another time, the rumor was 
 that the foe was massing on the Franklin pike, and 
 that it was his intention to strike our right wing with 
 an overpowering force, before our troops could be 
 concentrated, turn back that wing, and reach Nash- 
 ville before us, destroy our stores, and thus almost 
 annihilate us. 
 
 After a halt of a few days, we make another ad- 
 vance of perhaps six miles. Starting early in the 
 morning, with a clear, cool day, and the roads in 
 fine order, it is a very easy day's march. Having 
 had, on former occasions, some unpleasant experi- 
 ences in keeping with the van of a moving army, I 
 determined, this time, to remain with the rear. To- 
 wards sun-down I called at a house and asked for 
 entertainment. The family consisted of an old man , 
 his old wife, and a young negro woman with a baby.
 
 7.2V CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 257 
 
 The house was situated on the Franklin pike, per- 
 haps ten miles from Nashville, a one-story frame, 
 with a log porch. The main house had two large 
 rooms, a pantiy and a bed-room. The porch was 
 simply a kitchen, with space to sleep in the attic. 
 There was not a book or a newspaper in the house ; 
 and it was not a very easy matter to determine how 
 to use up the interval before bed-time. I tried to 
 make the old man talk, but he either would not, or 
 was like the Irishman's parrot, that kept up a divil of 
 a thinking. Only two items could be drawn from 
 him; one, that "before the war he owned twenty 
 niggers, and raised a right smart crap, but now they 
 is all done gone but the gal in the kitchen and her 
 baby." The other, that w the gal's husband lived 
 over on yon hill two miles away, comes here once a 
 week, stays Sunday night, and totes hisself off be- 
 fore sunrise Monday morning." 
 
 The old man sat in one corner, his wife in the 
 other. No doubt the farm, house, negro-girl and 
 baby were held by the joint ownership of husband 
 and wife, but there were two articles to which each 
 held exclusive title. These had not been handed 
 down from generation to generation. Neither was 
 a family heir-loom. Neither had a family coat of 
 arms. Nor was either strikingly beautiful. These 
 were not two knives, or two forks, or two plates, 
 17
 
 258 W CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 nor two chairs, each peculiarly adapted to the varying 
 shapes of the old couple ; but two cob pipes, vener- 
 able, not with age, but use. His uncouth instrument 
 of solace belonged, when not in his mouth, on one end 
 of the mantel, hers on the other. Hardly had it 
 been deposited in its place of momentary rest, and 
 the bowl become cool, before it was seized again by 
 its old nervous proprietor, stuffed to the brim with 
 the delicious weed, lighted at the fifth or sixth 
 attempt, and was doing service in making life endu- 
 rable to an old man or woman who never thinks. 
 Their principal happiness came through a pipe- 
 stem. The old lady had the advantage of her hus- 
 band. She had two sources of enjoyment. She 
 smoked as much as he, but had also a secret luxury 
 he had not learned to enjoy. She had the gums 
 constantly lined with snuff. It required careful ob- 
 servation to discern it, for she, who was not 
 ashamed to be seen smoking nearly all the time, 
 used her finger and dipping-stick on the sly. 
 
 Just'as I was going to bed, the old lady came into 
 the room, much agitated, and addressed me for the 
 first time : 
 
 "Stranger, it 'pears that two of your Northern 
 soldiers is in the kitchen troublin the colored gal, 
 and as they have their guns, we are very much
 
 IN -CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 259 
 
 afeard. It 'pears like if you would go out and speak 
 to them they would not harm her." 
 
 " With pleasure, ma'am." 
 
 Opening the door, and meeting the young men, I 
 said, with the air of a familiar acquaintance, " Good- 
 evening, boys ! " They seemed greatly astonished 
 to find a man in the house. "Good evening," came 
 back, but there was something in their looks that 
 was unpleasant. " What regiment do you belong 
 to?" 
 
 " Don't you see by the number on our caps that we 
 belong to the 94th ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I did not know whether it was the 94th 
 Illinois, Indiana, or Ohio?" 
 
 "Well, it don't make much difference. But who 
 are you?" evidently ready to pick a quarrel with 
 one who had interferred with their purpose to have a 
 chat with the negro girl, and, perhaps, do her 
 harm. I hardly knew what answer to make. They 
 were crossed in their purposes. It was evident 
 they mistook me for a Southerner. I saw that I 
 must use a little circumspection, to get rid of them 
 without trouble ; so, without answering their ques- 
 tion directly, I said, "Do you not know me?" 
 
 "Of course not. Are you a Yank, or a Johnny 
 Reb?"
 
 260 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "Why, boys, I am one of the Army Postmas- 
 ters!" 
 
 "Army Postmaster ! That is a new officer. 1 
 have seen all kinds of fellows in the army who don't 
 fight Chaplains, Surgeons, Paymasters, Quarter- 
 masters, Sutlers, Wagon-masters, Mule-drivers, 
 Telegraphers, Railroaders, and Nurses, but I never 
 saw an Army Postmaster before. Well, that is 
 good. If Uncle Sam has appointed some, he has 
 done a good thing. Have you got just a few of 
 those little three-cent pictures we use on letters 
 about you?" 
 
 Presenting each of them with twenty-five, I bade 
 them " Good-evening," and thought I had got out of 
 a scrape cheaply. But I was far from being out. 
 Shortly after my leaving the room, the soldiers took 
 their guns and went into the yard. The old man, 
 opening the door sufficiently to hear their conversa- 
 tion, soon learned their purpose. They were satis- 
 fied I was a spy, and determined to have me, dead 
 or alive. He heard one of them say, "He is prob- 
 ably armed, so we must load up, and be ready for 
 him." 
 
 The old mail had heard enough. Coming into my 
 room, and springing to the window leading to the 
 back yard, he said, " Stranger, these soldiers are 
 loading their guns to take you. They think you are
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 2 6l 
 
 a spy, and I am afeard they will do you harm. You 
 have no time to lose. Take hold of the window- 
 sill, and drop into the yard, and then take to the 
 woods. You need not be afeard. You are safer in 
 the woods than here." 
 
 I was soon in the yard, and he threw my knap- 
 sack after me ; but instead of starting for the woods, 
 I took the back track towards Nashville. The night 
 was dark, with no moon, and a little mist. I could 
 keep the road without difficulty ; but before proceed- 
 ing far, I heard some one, ten rods ahead, call out, 
 'Who comes there?" 
 
 "A friend, without the countersign.** 
 
 "Stand, as you are, till I report!" 
 
 In a little while he inquires, "Are you armed?" 
 
 "I am not." 
 
 "You may advance." 
 
 In a few minutes I was with those who knew me. 
 I had found friends, but no place to sleep. This 
 was a picket-guard to watch the road during the 
 night. It consisted of a Lieutenant and three men. 
 A temporary shelter had been constructed with some 
 rails, and two ponchos thrown over them, so that 
 some of the falling mist was kept out. It was near 
 the close of December, but the weather was not very 
 cold. One man stood by the road-side on guard two 
 hours, and then came to chat with the rest of the
 
 262 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 squad, while another took his place. There were 
 four of us wrapped in blankets, sitting closely as pos- 
 sible for warmth, (for we could have no fire,') with 
 nothing to take up our time for the night. Stories 
 were in order. Songs were excluded, if any of us 
 had felt like singing. There must be no noise. If 
 a story causes a laugh, we must laugh low. But 
 there is no lack of them. Soldiers, like sailors and 
 lumbermen, have a fund of them. One told, another 
 is ready. One of the squad was full of Indian, 
 prairie, wolf, and panther legends. His great-grand- 
 parents were pioneers in Illinois, and he knew every 
 family legend for three generations back. Another 
 knew the exploits of Western Banditti, and gave us 
 a circumstantial account of the murder of Colonel 
 Davenport, and of the career of the Longs ; also, 
 the particulars of the shooting of Mr. Campbell, 
 near White Eock, in Ogle County, Illinois, by a 
 band of horse-thieves. They were apprehended, 
 tried by a self-constituted court of farmers, adjudged 
 guilty, and shot on the spot, there being a father and 
 two sons among the victims ; also, of a man who 
 came to Lane, Illinois, in the first year of the war, 
 and attempted to burn the town ; but being arrested, 
 and brought before a justice for preliminary exami- 
 nation, a crowd of citizens tilled the court-room, 
 and while there was a brief recess, ostensibly for
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 263 
 
 dinner, ran a piece of scantling from the window 
 and suspended the suspected person by the neck till 
 he was dead. 
 
 One of our number was a Lieutenant, and his 
 story being both true and interesting, I will give it 
 as nearly as possible. Addressing me, he said, 
 
 "Were you ever in Kockport, Massachusetts ? " 
 
 "I know the place very well." 
 
 "Do you remember a little school-house almost 
 over to Pigeon Cove, near Mr. Beniah Coburn's?" 
 
 "I remember the school-house." 
 
 "Well, in the winter, of '46, '47, or '48, I forget 
 which, I was standing in that school-house door one 
 morning, just before the master called his scholars 
 to order, looking out upon the still waters of Ipswich 
 Bay, when I beheld a hundred or more Cape Ann 
 fishermen in their little wherries, each boat contain- 
 ing but one man, dotting an area of many thousand 
 square miles. Suddenly, and without any warning, 
 the air thickened with mist, immediately followed 
 by snow. A violent wind sprung up almost instan- 
 taneously, and sweeping from the shore, struck the 
 tiny crafts with a force seemingly sufficient to swamp 
 them at once. 
 
 "To raise the killock, and ship the oars, was but 
 the work of a minute. But it required sinewy arms, 
 good lungs, and a cool head, to reach the shore.
 
 264 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Now, fishermen, pull for your lives, or you perish 
 within a league of home. The wind blew a tornado, 
 the snow was blinding, men ran to the shore With 
 horns, to let the struggling men know which way to 
 direct their boats. 
 
 w One, two, five, ten, twenty, forty, have reached 
 the shore. But more than a score of them are yet 
 in the boiling waves. What is to be done? The 
 staunchest whale-boat in the Cove is selected, four 
 of the most lion-hearted men of all the fishermen of 
 the place step forward ready to face the surging 
 waves, in as wild a day as ever was seen from a 
 north wind on Ipswich Bay. The snow has ceased, 
 but the clouds above and the waters below are black, 
 as with anger. ' Hoist and reef the foresail ;' down the 
 narrow cove the boat glides like a porpoise-. 'Down 
 tiller ! ' 'Steady, now, while she fills on the other 
 tack.' The winds whistle, one man in the bow 
 with a glass, to use, if possible, in the lull of the 
 blasts, one at the foremast, grasping the foresheet to 
 bring down the sail at a word from the helmsman, 
 the fourth sitting by the helmsman, with the double 
 duty of watching the waters for signs of the missing 
 men, and attending to any call for assistance from 
 dim at the tiller, and at the i^remast. 
 
 "One hour passes, an^ bothing seen. 'Port your 
 helm ! ' cries the may in the bow. ' Steady ! ' 'A
 
 IN GAMP AND HOSPITAL. 265 
 
 wherry ! and I think a man in her ! ' ' Pay out the 
 sheet a little, Mr. Poole,' says the helmsman. 'All 
 right!' On, on, like the fearless gulls! 'But 
 there is another, and still farther on is another!' 
 says the man at the bow. 'Ah! this man is alive, 
 but with our boat speeding away at'ten knots, how 
 shall we rescue him? He sees us, and knows our 
 mission. He is not yet wholly benumbed, for see 
 how well he handles the oars.' 'Down sail ! Coil 
 the line carefully, and mind how you throw it ! 
 Steady ! Throw ! ' The wherryman has caught it, 
 and making it fast to his killock-line for a few 
 moments, while he can transfer a few little valuables, 
 he is soon safe in the larger boat, and, cutting tho 
 line that holds the little shell that has saved him 
 from death, the mainsail goes up again, and our 
 fisherman looks first at the companion they are now 
 making for, and then at the dear, staunch wherry 
 now fast receding, and querying if he shall ever see 
 it again. 
 
 " Night is coming on ; nearly a dozen have been 
 thus picked up, more or less frost-bitten, but none 
 seriously injured. The boat has returned to the Cove 
 just as the darkness has fairly set in. Men, women 
 and children have gathered to hear the tidings. 
 There were blessings, and tears, and thanks, and 
 'God bless you for your noble deeds.' But seven
 
 2 66 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 were missing still. Hunting over the sea in a 
 moonless night was out of the question. It was 
 a sad night for all of that little village. But 
 seven households were in sorrow words cannot de- 
 scribe ; wives and mothers pacing the floor, peering 
 out into the dark-, watching the sky, praying that the 
 clouds might break away, looking into the almanac 
 to learn what time the moon rose, calling up the old 
 fisherman in the adjoining cottage to ask what time 
 they might expect the moon to ' wear away ' the 
 clouds, and if he were ever out in such a night as 
 this, and if he thought their husbands' wherries as 
 good as those that saved the other men, and many 
 more similar questions. 
 
 "No one watched the heavens that night more faith- 
 fully than myself. Coming from the Cove with the 
 story of the rescued men in my heart, I resolved that, 
 at the first breaking of the clouds, and the appearance 
 of the moon, which was nearly at its fall, I would be 
 one of a night-crew to search for the missing men. 
 By eleven o'clock the change came, and the wind 
 moderated a little. I must have three trusty men, 
 and whom shall they be? Who will go? A lit- 
 tle fisherman, scarcely more than five feet high, 
 nor weighing more than one hundred and twenty 
 pounds, whose religion consisted mostly of hu- 
 manity, for he was a regular come-outer, was my
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 267 
 
 man. He lived in the other village, Rockport 
 Proper ; his name, James Grifjin. Hurrying over to 
 his house, I soon made him comprehend the situa- 
 tion. He did not say he had no boat that was fit to 
 use, or that he could not find any men to go with us, 
 or that he had been almost sick for two or three 
 days, or that if the men had lived so long, they could 
 live till morning, or that, if we should be lost, who 
 would take care of our families ; but he was proud 
 that I had thought of him first of all the fishermen 
 among the hundreds in town. 
 
 " Go? of course I will go. But the first thing is 
 a boat. Mine is not large enough, but I can take 
 Uncle Elwell's. And then a crew : brother Joe will 
 go for one ; Sam Tarr, for another ; and Uncle Harry, 
 for another that makes a crew.' 
 
 "In half an hour, the crew were on board, the 
 moorings cast off, and the boat, with both sails double 
 reefed, was speeding off by Salvages, in the direc- 
 tion of George's Shoals. But the men persisted in 
 leaving me behind. 'Why so 9 ' 'Because you are 
 no sailor, and will be of no use.' 
 
 "Sheltering myself in a fish-house, wearing away 
 the slow hours of the cold night by stamping my feet, 
 and going to the wharf occasionally, and looking 
 out for a returning sail, I waited till the day was 
 breaking, when the boat returned, bearing three
 
 2 68 /A" CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 more of the missing men, picked up as the others 
 had been the previous afternoon. 
 
 "They had been blown off fifty miles or more, but 
 as soon as the moon came out, and the wind ceased 
 its fearful blowing, they had hoisted their little sails, 
 and, steering by the moon, were making, by long 
 tacks, their way homeward. And even had our boat 
 not gone after them, possibly they might have been 
 saved, though, when found, one had nearly perished 
 with cold. The following morning was clear and 
 still. Looking out over the bay, we could see a 
 white signal on Straitsmouth Island. Sending a boat 
 thither, two more of the missing men were found 
 there. They had made the light, after sailing most 
 of the night. Each was ignorant of the presence of 
 the other. One was enabled to make his way to the 
 house of the light-keeper, the other must have per- 
 ished but for the watchfulness of the keeper's dog, 
 which aroused its master. The last two men made 
 their way to Milk Island, near Salem, and thus all 
 of that large number of imperilled fishermen were 
 saved." 
 
 This was the Lieutenant's first story ; his second 
 was the following : 
 
 "In Nashville, I witnessed something that does not 
 occur every day. A gentleman had a valuable cow, 
 that furnished our company with milk for their cof-
 
 IN CAMP AXD HOSPITAL. 269 
 
 fee. Suddenly the supply ceased, much to the sor- 
 row of our coffee-drinkers. The owner was in great 
 trouble. The cow was not only sick, but no one 
 knew what ailed her. There was no lack of physicians 
 in the city. There were Allopaths, Homosopaths, 
 Electropaths, Eclectics, Botanies, Clairvoyants, and 
 what not, to heal humanity ; but no professional, or 
 even empirical, cow-doctor. Neighboring farmers 
 were consulted, but whether the disease was horn- 
 ail, murrain, swallowing the cud, gastric-fever, or 
 cow cholera, no one could determine, or, which was 
 more discouraging, no one could prescribe a remedy 
 that did the poor beast any good. 
 
 "I told the owner there was a teamster up in one 
 of the regiments from Michigan, not more than a 
 mile away, who pretended to cure all the diseases 
 that horseflesh was heir to, and that the teamsters 
 had great faith in him. 
 
 '"Will you ask him to come and see my cow?' 
 
 "'I think you had better apply to him your- 
 self. He is a little sensitive. He has had some 
 jokes played upon him, and is a little shy. He is 
 really a most excellent man, but if he is weak in any 
 one point, it is in his medical pretension. Take 
 your carriage and go up with me, and, if he is in 
 camp, I will guarantee that he shall come.' 
 
 "We were soon in camp, and the doctor was feed-
 
 270 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 ing his mules. Introducing my friend, and telling 
 the professional what was wanted of him, I said, 
 'You will go, of course?' 
 
 "'I will tell you in a minute.' 
 
 "Shutting his eyes, turning his face upward, as if 
 in prayer, gyrating with his thumb and first finger, 
 he delivered himself something like this : 
 
 "'O, me-no-kish-nu-pa-pe-ri-non-sappe no.' 
 
 "'Yes, I will go and cure your cow.' 
 
 " My friend was about to leave in disgust, thinking 
 I had brought him to see a crazy man, or a fool ; 
 but on my asking him to give the man a trial, he 
 took him into his carriage, and started back to the 
 stable as speedily as possible, evidently ashamed 
 of his undertaking. 
 
 "Not so with the doctor. To be sure, he was not 
 riding in a professional gig, and he had no saddle- 
 bags, and every one he met did not say, 'Good- 
 morning, doctor ;' and the good ladies did not throw 
 up their windows, and ask their neighbors if they 
 knew who was sick, for the doctor had just gone by. 
 Little children did not run in and tell their mothers 
 that the doctor that brought the little babies had 
 gone by ; but he felt his importance, nevertheless. 
 True, he was not going to doctor the Mayor of the 
 city, nor one of the Aldermen, or a rich man ; but 
 never mind. If he could relieve suffering, it was
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 2 7 1 
 
 enough ; but then, who of all his fellow-teamsters had 
 had such honors? But could he cure the cow? Of 
 course he could, no matter what the malady. The 
 great medicine-spirit, whom he had consulted before 
 consenting to go, had promised to give him the heal- 
 ing power for the occasion. 
 
 "Entering the barn where the suffering animal 
 stood, not tied in a stall, but having the range of 
 the broad threshing-floor, he saw her trembling form, 
 and met her great eyes looking pleadingly into his 
 own, and heard her moan for relief. 
 
 "'So! so! moolly! Don't be afraid, and I will 
 help you.' 
 
 "Taking off his mittens, and rolling up his sleeves, 
 with the air of an M. D. making his first diagnosis, 
 and issuing his first call for two cups, a teaspoon, 
 and some fresh water, his first order is, 
 
 "'Bring a pail of fresh water!' 'Now a forkful 
 of the brightest hay ! ' 'Now retire ! ' 
 
 '"What is that for?' inquires the astonished owner. 
 
 '"No matter what it is for ! Retire at once, or I 
 will not cure your cow !' 
 
 "Obeying the doctor's orders, as is customary, the 
 interested owner peeked through a crevice, and saw 
 something like this : Placing the left hand on the 
 animal's forehead, shutting his eyes, turning his face 
 upward, stretching his right arm upward to the IV,"
 
 272 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 thest tension, he exclaims, 'O, mish-na tau-ne ! a 
 nap - e - cu - no - se - ma - ton - rik - su -no-mas-from-capo- 
 capo-lon!' 
 
 "'Come in, neighbor, your cow is cured.' And 
 cured she was. 
 
 "My friend gave the doctor a ten-dollar greenback, 
 and took him back to the regiment in his carriage ; 
 but whether his cow was cured by sorcery, or witch- 
 craft, or magnetism, he pretends not to know. His 
 only remark was, 'Some of you Yankees are queer 
 fellows. There is no telling what you may do. If 
 the devil helps any man, it is a Yankee. ' " 
 
 A little adventure occasioned by selling postage- 
 stamps shall close this chapter, though it did not 
 happen in Tennessee. One of the two years' regi- 
 ments from New York State had just arrived in 
 Virginia, and gone into camp some three miles from 
 Alexandria, on the right of the railroad to Eichmond. 
 Having spent an afternoon and evening with them, 
 giving my accustomed entertainment of song, story, 
 and plea for temperance, I started for the city about 
 nine o'clock, not dreaming of danger. 
 
 The night was cloudy, and in the gloomiest spot 
 in all the distance, I was met by a soldier, who 
 commanded me to stop in these pleasant words, 
 "Halt !" an oath, "or I will put this through you ! "
 
 AV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 2 73 
 
 I saw I had to deal with a robber instead of a picket- 
 guard. Pulling out my tin cylinder containing 
 stamps, and pointing it at him, I assured the gentle- 
 man that if he advanced a 'step towards me I would 
 shoot him him at once. It was lucky for me that 
 it was dark, for he could not see that I was unarmed. 
 We were evidently both scared. But having a stout 
 pair of lungs, I cried "Murder!" so loudly, that I 
 was heard a mile. "Where?" answered a guard a 
 long distance away. " Here ! " The robber took to 
 his heels, and I followed. But, fortunately, he went 
 in the direction of another guard, who halted and 
 secured him. He proved to be a member of the 4th 
 IT.- S. Artillery, doing duty at the time at Fort 
 Ellsworth. He was taken before Col. Wells, of 
 Massachusetts, then Military Governor of the dis- 
 trict, when he confessed his crime and begged for 
 mercy. He had seen me selling stamps, and knew 
 I must have money, and had lain in wait for me. He 
 was sent to prison. 
 
 A month after this, I saw a thousand men come 
 from Libby prison, and they reminded me of my 
 soldier. Receiving permission to visit him, I found 
 the poor fellow in but little better condition than the 
 boys who had just come fro'm rebel keepers. He 
 was literally covered with vermin. Hastening back 
 18
 
 274 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 to the Colonel, I begged of him to release the poor 
 fellow, and let him go to his regiment. The last I 
 ever saw of him was at his prison-door, when he 
 gave me his hand, and said, " I know you forgive 
 me, or you would not have got me out of this. I 
 will remember you as long as I live."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BRANDY-STATION, MARCH, 1864. 
 
 THE third winter of the war has closed, yet as 
 late as the first of the month, twelve inches of snow, 
 besides the large amount that melted, accumulated 
 between 4 p. M. and 8 A. M., remaining less than 
 two days. A bird's-eye view of the Army of the 
 Potomac may pay the reader for his time. During 
 the past winter there have been six corps, but now 
 they have been consolidated into four. McClellan 
 had been removed, reinstated, and re-removed. 
 Burnside and Joe Hooker had attempted to win 
 victories, without any striking results. John Pope, 
 with his " headquarters in the saddle," had made his 
 splurge. Though if the verdict in the Porter court- 
 martial was just, this officer, more than Pope, is re- 
 sponsible for the second Bull Run disaster. This 
 Army has lost, one way and another, upwards of a 
 hundred thousand men, and yet it now has from 
 eighty to a hundred thousand in the field for another 
 "On to Richmond."
 
 376 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 But who is to lead the panoplied hosts this time ? 
 Back on the rising ground, a mile south of the Rap- 
 pahannock, and three-fourths of a mile from Brandy- 
 Station, are the headquarters of a tall, stooping, 
 round-shouldered, very plain mail, with much more 
 than ordinary brain, but with so little assurance, 
 craft, and magnetism, that he wins but moderate 
 confidence. None sing his praises. He is expected 
 to do well always, but never great deeds. The 
 glory of Gettysburg is scarcely seen. Many think 
 that a greater General would have captured Lee's 
 army. Yet, who of all the commanders of that 
 army have done so well as Meade ? He had met with 
 no disaster, never changed his base, like McClellan, 
 and never attempted impossibilities, like Burnside. 
 He had never made any boasts that his headquarters 
 would be iu his saddle. If they were, one thing is 
 certain, his saddle was always to be found, and its 
 crupper was never towards the enemy. 
 
 Perhaps Sedgwick is to be the leader this time. 
 His headquarters are two-thirds of a mile north of 
 Meade's, and he is still in command of the Sixth 
 Corps. On the left of the railroad, and farther in 
 advance, is Hancock, with his famous Second Corps. 
 Some say he is to be the leader. But, brave and ca- 
 pable as are both of these men, they have no record 
 like Gettysburg to inspire confidence. Burnside
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 277 
 
 was thought equal to a corps, but not to a Com- 
 ma nder-in-Chief. Meade is to be the leader, at least, 
 so most of the Army wish ; yet the papers that are 
 brought iuto camp tell us that the hero of Shiloh, 
 Pittsburg-Landing, and Vicksburg, is coming hither 
 for that purpose. 
 
 But whoever assumes that position, will find a 
 large part of the troops are veterans. True, in every 
 regiment there are many recruits ; but all are not raw, 
 as in the swamps of the Chickahominy. In the 
 Sixth Corps are the th, 6th, and 7th Maine, 
 the 33d, 43d, 49th, and 121st New York, the 62d 
 and 9Gth Pennsylvania, and the famous Vermont 
 Brigade of five regiments. In the Fifth Corps 
 are tha 2nd, 6th, and 7th Wisconsin, the 19th 
 Indiana, the 20th Michigan, and the 16th Maine. 
 In the First Corps are the 3d, 4th, and 17th Maine", 
 the Sharpshooters, and other equally excellent and 
 experienced regiments. Hancock's Second Corps 
 being the largest of the four, is thought to be at 
 least equal, if not superior, in fighting qualities to 
 any in this army. It contains the famous Irish 
 Brigade, which, in the larger part of the battles 
 fought thus far, has been held as reserves, doing 
 noble service on many occasions. We hear that 
 Burnside is coming up from Norfolk, with his Ninth 
 Corps, to swell our numbers, ere the long roll is
 
 278 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 beaten. The Fifth Corps, under Warren, guard the 
 railroad from Alexandria to Mitchell's Station, a 
 point near the north bank of the Rapidan. At this 
 place there is a brigade, apparently to watch the 
 movements of the enemy, and check him, should he 
 attempt to cross the river for an attack. The cav- 
 alry are somewhat scattered ; but a considerable 
 portion of them are encamped near this station. 
 Yonder, across the river, on the hills, are the tents 
 of Lee. One of his heavy guns could throw a shell 
 into our camp at pleasure ; -but there is little fear of 
 it ; for shooting for fun ceased on both sides long 
 ago. There is horror enough in battles, without 
 maiming and killing men in wantonness. 
 
 But word has reached us that a new Commander 
 is already in Washington, and will come to the front 
 in a few days. But who cares? The soldiers have 
 hurrahed, and thrown up their caps for McClellan, 
 and all the other chieftains in turn. Every one but 
 Meade had proved a failure, and now they -are going 
 to wait. They know of Grant's achievements. There 
 is not a boy in all the ranks but can tell us of the 
 victories he has gained. But Vicksburg and Shiloh 
 are a long distance off. "What is Pemberton 
 compared with Lee ? Let him measure strength with 
 this long-headed old rebel; let Grant circumvent 
 him, and then we will hurrah as loud as the loudest."
 
 IN" CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 279 
 
 General Grant is to be here in the next train, and 
 yonder it is coming, slowly crossing the Rappahan- 
 nock. Five minutes more, and he is here. There 
 are but two passenger coaches, one containing a 
 guard, the other the General and one or two of his 
 staff. He is smoking, and that is nearly all there is 
 noticeable about him. His- dress is very plain, eyes 
 half closed, he takes little or no notice of anything, 
 and could we have seen him for the first time, with 
 a crowd of Brigadiers belonging to this Army, he is 
 the last man we would have selected for the Com- 
 mander-in-Chief. 
 
 But how does the Army receive him? How do 
 the crowd of curious soldiers welcome him ? Cannot 
 tell ; for there is no crowd. A small fight between 
 two negroes would call out twice as many as have 
 come to see General Grant make his first appearance 
 in the Army of the Potomac ! Did General Meade 
 turn out the Hawkins Zouaves, encamped at his 
 headquarters, to receive him? Was the finest band 
 in the Army detailed to honor him with "Hail to the 
 Chief," and the " Star-Spangled Banner " ? Not at 
 all. A verv few officers, and as many men, came, 
 took a hasty glance, and have now gone back to 
 their quarters, most of them shaking their heads, 
 and some saying, "Big thing." The only noticeable 
 remarks I heard were one from a soldier, and one
 
 2 So IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 from an officer of the 6th Cavalry. "I guess he has 
 got something hefty in his head, by the way it has 
 settled into his body. At any rate, I would like to 
 swap my pipe for 1 his cigar. He smokes like a 
 judge of the weed." 
 
 " General Grant will do well enough if he is not 
 strangled with red tape at Washington, as Little 
 Mac was ; but he is a West Pointer, and it is some 
 satisfaction that a booby from the Volunteers is not 
 placed over us." 
 
 Phil. Sheridan has been here a week or more, 
 with headquarters at that house near the Rappahan- 
 iiock. The Quartermasters are busy as bees issuing 
 clothing, squads of recruits are being drilled twice a 
 day, every ravine in the neighborhood is appropri- 
 ated for rifle-practice, and from 10 to 12, also from 
 2 to 4, the General's orderly, cantering his horse as 
 if the rebels were upon us, and the camp-follower, 
 with his traps, had best give these ravines a wide 
 berth ; for "ping-e" comes a pointed bullet so close to 
 your face that you feel the wind --f it. In a moment 
 there is another of different sound, but equally 
 dangerous. It has struck a stone, and its shape is 
 altered, and it comes spluttering by, striking a 
 tree twenty rods beyond. Notices are posted at tho 
 Provost-Marshal's tent (Gen. Patrick) , warning all 
 persons, not members of the Army, or connected
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 2 Sl 
 
 with the Sanitary or the Christian Commission, to 
 leave on or before the 16th inst. All persons found 
 within the lines after this date will be arrested and 
 put to hard labor. The watch-pedlars and repairers, 
 the Daguerreians, the memorial agents, the station- 
 ery-pedlars, the officers' wives, and the females in 
 general, the visitors, the clergymen who have come 
 down to spend a week in sight-seeing and preaching, 
 all are getting ready to leave ; for the Army is soon 
 to move. Dear wife, tarry as long as you can, but 
 you must go at last. You have tried to leave with 
 a brave heart, and keep back the tears when you 
 gave the parting kiss ; but when the tree from 
 which your husband has just plucked that peach- 
 branch in bud shall drop its ripened fruit, you Avill 
 have been for months a widow. Give your most 
 loving kisses, for they will be his last on earth. 
 How blessed that the future is veiled ! You have as 
 much as your woman's heart can bear now, but a 
 blow is coming that will crush you for a time. 
 
 Falling in with Col. Walker, of the 4th Maine, he 
 invites me to sleep in his tent for the night. We 
 are ready to move, at a few hours' notice. We shall 
 not be astonished to hear the long-roll at any hour 
 after midnight. The rebels may come upon us, but 
 the probabilities are that we shall move on them. It 
 is midnight, or past. No sound but that of the
 
 282 IN" CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 slow-pacing sentinel, near the Colonel's tent, and of 
 changing the camp-guard every two hours. All are 
 sleeping, some in oblivion, others dreaming of home, 
 or, perhaps, living over again the war scenes of the 
 past, when suddenly every sleeper springs from his 
 couch, peers out into the dark, and endeavors to 
 learn what has happened. Are the rebels upon us? 
 Whence came that bomb, that startled the camp from 
 its slumbers ? Who is killed ? or who hurt ? But a 
 loud laugh comes from a group around a heap of live 
 embers, and soon the mystery is solved. Half a 
 dozen hungry fellows thought a meal of baked beans 
 would be a great luxury ; so, while others slept, they 
 prepared the article, properly accompanied with 
 water, meat and salt, securely protected from ashes in 
 a Dutch oven, and collecting the dryest limbs from 
 the grove where we are encamped, made their fire 
 about the tempting meal, and meditated on the 
 next morning's breakfast. "Anybody could have 
 beans, if not too lazy too cook them. Sleep away, 
 sluggards ! Will not they wish to be invited to 
 breakfast to-morrow morning? We can bake beans, 
 but it takes our mothers to make the brown bread, 
 and, of all mothers, mine makes the best. But, 
 blast the fire ; it don't work right. It is either too 
 hot, or not enough of it. Not a stone within half a 
 mile, to keep the coals about the oven. Ah ! now I
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 283 
 
 think of just what we want. Up by the sutler's 
 tent there are some old shells, and they will serve as 
 well as stones. Here are four ; now we are all right, 
 and we will doze a little while the beans are cook- 
 ing." The first dream is hardly finished, and, bang ! 
 goes a twelve-pound shell ; the beans, pork, water, 
 fragments of the Dutch oven, embers, half-burnt 
 sticks, and ashes are scattered on the luckless cooks, 
 two are slightly wounded, the camp is aroused as if 
 the enemy were upon us, and the night-watchers 
 around that oven have lost their appetite for pork 
 and beans. 
 
 Near by is the mansion of John Minor Botts. It 
 is an old-style, square house, painted white, about 
 the size of the larger class of farm-houses in New 
 England and New York. On the north and west, 
 and a few rods distant, are small houses, mostly of 
 logs, but some of frame, perhaps eight or ten in 
 number, occupied by the colored people. The plan- 
 tation consists of a few hundred acres, the land of 
 most excellent quality, though cursed with garlic. 
 It is quite level, and the lawn, a short distance from 
 the house, makes a splendid field for reviewing a 
 division. When this takes place, the proprietor is 
 usually present, riding with the officers, and treated 
 with much consideration. If he is not in full accord
 
 284 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 with the general sentiment of the Xorth, he is no 
 rebel. 
 
 Not far from Botts' house is a temporary long 
 building, occupied by some accomplished officers, 
 every one of whom prides himself on having gradu- 
 ated at West Point. To have been educated in this 
 institution, at the people's expense, seems to have 
 been a matter of great pride among all whom I had 
 an opportunity to sound. Said a Sergeant, in my 
 hearing, "I had rather be a Sergeant in the regular 
 army, and feel that I have a thorough military edu- 
 cation, than a Brigadier of volunteers." Know- 
 ing we are to make an advance shortly, the aforesaid 
 officers have invited a large number of their com- 
 panions to a sort of banquet. None but AVest Point- 
 ers are invited. There are twenty-five, perhaps 
 more, at the supper. ' Servants, not black, but 
 white, and armed, stand outside, holding their own 
 and their masters' horses. It is hardly such a ban- 
 quet as would be prepared in Washington. There 
 is no roast turkey, roast pork, or plum-pudding. 
 There are not oysters stewed, fried in crumbs, and 
 raw. But if not a great variety of food, there 
 is a plenty of drink. 
 
 The first thing to be emptied is a keg of beer. 
 As it holds but eight or ten gallons, the dispensing 
 of this requires but little time, and Julius, the col-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 285 
 
 ored boy, is ordered to roll in another, and knock 
 out the head. But there are some who want some- 
 thing stronger, and there are demijohns of whiskey, 
 in readiness for them. 
 
 "But," says the reader, "why are you present? 
 You are neither an officer nor a reporter." The 
 reader will please bear in mind that when anything 
 out of the ordinary course takes place in civil life, 
 the singer or musician is wanted. If a President, 
 Governor, or even Mayor, is chosen, or if a person 
 of distinction is married, or there is a feast, the musi- 
 cian is wanted. I am at the banquet because I can 
 sing. 
 
 The feast proceeds. Was there ever a more po- 
 lite class of men assembled ? It is said that women 
 are necessary to prevent the display of coarse man- 
 ners on occasions like this. Not a bit of it. Po- 
 lite, suave, using great care to select the proper 
 prefix in addressing each other, as, "Shall I have the 
 honor, Major?" And "Will you allow me, Cap- 
 tain ?" And, "Gentlemen, it gives us great pleasure 
 to welcome so many of our companions in arms 1 " 
 ' You are hardly doing justice to our humble fare, 
 Lieutenant ; but I trust you will find us better pre- 
 pared when the cloth is removed !" 
 
 If there is one topic more prominent than any 
 other, it is General McClellan. Says one, alluding,
 
 2 S6 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 of course, to General Grant, "We have good and 
 noble superiors. We have had them before. But 
 first and last, give me Little Mac. Fill your cups, 
 gentlemen. Now, a bumper for Little Mac. ! a man 
 who knows the difference between a military and a 
 saw-mill education. Hurrah for Little Mac. !" 
 
 "Gentlemen, allow me, if you please. Julius, 
 fill the eiips! Here is to our hosts for their boun- 
 tiful cheer, for their unwavering friendship, and for 
 their esprit du corps/ " 
 
 All drain their cups, followed by a brief speech 
 from some one in reply to the compliment. 
 
 " Gentlemen, another bumper, if you please, to 
 General George B. McClellan ! " The cups are 
 emptied, and three times three given for the old 
 and loved Commander. 
 
 "Now for a song. Give us 'Marching on to 
 Eichmond.' Let us have the music, and we will all 
 join in the chorus ! " 
 
 Giving them the song, I had their help on the 
 chorus, and with twenty voices we made the build- 
 ing ring, 
 
 "Then tramp away, while the bugles play, 
 We're marching on to Richmond ; 
 Our flag shall gleam in the morning beam, 
 From many a spire in Eichmond."
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 287 
 
 "Three cheers for the song and singer! Now 
 give us 'McClellan is our Man,' and we will give 
 you the chorus strong ! " This is sung with enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 I was about to retire, when one of them inquired : 
 
 "Have you the countersign?" 
 
 "I have not." 
 
 "Then you had better remain, or you may get into 
 some of the guard-houses, in picking your way to 
 the station." 
 
 There was no choice for me ; I must remain in statu 
 quo. Songs were sung, stories told, and both were 
 good ; and I wondered why I was invited to sing, 
 when others present could excel me. But soon a 
 good story and a good song were not satisfactory. 
 The drinking continued. One became noisy, and 
 wished to fight ; another struck a servant not his 
 own, and this offended the master, and a quarrel was 
 imminent. More drink. It is now two o'clock. 
 The servants outside are impatient, but they must 
 remain. They are hired to wait upon their em- 
 ployers, drunk or sober. A small party retire, but 
 the most drunken ones remain. Obscene stories and 
 songs follow. Staggering men try to march. If one 
 cannot march alone, he will try it with a comrade. 
 At length a large box is brought in ; and what is 
 wanted of this? O, it is to represent a pulpit, and
 
 288 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 the foulest-mouthed man in the party shall be a min- 
 ister. Will he pretend to preach or pray? Not 
 quite that ; but he will recite the most vulgar lines 
 he can think of, and all will pretend to sing them. 
 
 But what a scene is this, and each man proud of his 
 education ! Proud that he is a soldier, and a grad- 
 uate of West Point ! Photographs of some of these 
 men hang in parlors, and grace albums, revered by 
 parents whose sons are intrusted to their care, and 
 loved by truest souls who never wake or sleep with- 
 out thought of their soldier-lover. And these are 
 the men who are expected to set an example to our 
 private soldiers ! And think of the situation ! Yon- 
 der on the hills, across the Rapidan, are Lee's tents, 
 flashing in the moonbeams. Is that army so insignifi- 
 cant that our officers can hold drunken orgies almost 
 within shell-range? What if Lee sees fit to attack 
 with the morning light ? Are these men fit for ser- 
 vice? Fit? Indeed, in one hour many of them are 
 like dead men ; and, if a battle shall come in the 
 morning, it will be well for them, and those under 
 them, and the cause they are here to defend, if they 
 shall be left to sleep. Drunken men in battle are 
 worse than none. 
 
 From that night to this day, I have been deeply 
 prejudiced against West Point. Many of those edu- 
 cated with the people's money ignore religion, the
 
 Z2V CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 289 
 
 Sabbath, Sunday-schools, and despise the people who 
 pay their bills. It is gratifying to know that many 
 noble men were educated there, conspicuous among 
 whose names are those of Sedgwick, McPherson, 
 Kearney, Phil. Sheridan, Thomas, Sherman, and 
 Grant. But any word I may write will be of no 
 avail; so I will simply say that, when the move- 
 ment already inaugurated for a proper observance 
 of the Sabbath in that institution shall have become 
 a success, I hope that the drinking habits of the 
 cadets may be looked after. I saw enough in the 
 Army, among those educated at the nation's military 
 school, to convince me that abstemiousness, or even 
 moderate drinking, among the graduates, is the ex- 
 ception rather than the rule. 
 
 But there is time to see something more before 
 the long-roll is beaten. Going up to the 17th Maine, 
 we find one of the most convenient chapels in the 
 Army. It is not kept for show, but use, and we 
 will have a temperance meeting here to-night. In the 
 morning we will go down among the Pennsylvania 
 regiments, across the railroad, and attend their 
 prayer-meetings. They have had a revival season, 
 and hundreds have been converted. Twice a day, 
 and every evening, the chapel, a temporary aifair, 
 constructed of logs, and large enough to accommo- 
 date three hundred, is filled with praying and singing 
 19
 
 290 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 men. They have found the Great Captain of their sal- 
 vation, and he is precious to their souls. To-morrow 
 evening we will go and see that model Chaplain, Rev. 
 John Adams, of Gorham, Maine. He was appointed 
 to the office the first of the war, in the 5th Maine, 
 and nobly has he discharged his duties. A minister 
 of the Congregational Church, not remarkable for 
 brilliancy, or power, or, in fact, any element which 
 gives a man distinction in the eyes of the world, but 
 a man eminently qualified for his position. Boom- 
 ing cannon, screeching shells, whistling bullets, do 
 not terrify him. Tireless at his post, not only 
 praying, but watching with the sick ; not only earnest 
 in the prayer-meeting, but a chief worker in the 
 regimental temperance society, he is a man, a brother, 
 a Christian. Noble man, how unlike many I could 
 name ! 
 
 But let us call a few minutes at the tent of the 
 Provost-Marshal. We shall not be likely to see 
 General Patrick, unless our business is special, and 
 of importance ; but his most efficient officer, Captain 
 Beckwith, is present, also another young officer, 
 either of whom will answer any question. The 
 former is small in stature, with a keen eye, and a 
 talent for expediting business. If you wish to go to 
 Washington, your pass will be ready in two minutes. 
 If you have just arrived at the front, and wish your
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 291 
 
 pass countersigned, so that you may visit any corps 
 without molestation, you will have to wait but a few 
 minutes, unless some extraordinary business takes 
 up his time. 
 
 But who comes here? A muscular man, forty 
 years old, in irons, not simply in handcuffs, but his 
 limbs bound together, so that he can scarcely walk. 
 
 And such a countenance ! and such an eye ! Ho 
 is not a Northern man ; you see this at a glance ; 
 nor a Kentuckian, though the large black eye might 
 indicate it. He is .short, broad-shouldered, reso- 
 lute, undaunted, unquailing, with head erect, and 
 ready for any ordeal. Captain Beckwith raises his 
 voice to a high pitch, and with as much harshness as 
 he can assume, commences, 
 
 "How came you here?" 
 
 "I was brought here, sir, in these irons, as you 
 see." 
 
 "Do you belong in Virginia?" 
 
 "No sir." 
 
 "Why are you in Virginia?" 
 
 "I came, sir, on business." 
 
 "On what business?" 
 
 "To find a Mend." 
 
 "What is that friend's name?** 
 
 "Abraham Von Coit, sir." 
 
 "Where does he reside?"
 
 2 9 2 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "I find he is dead ; but I did not know it till I 
 reached his late residence." 
 
 "Where did he live?" 
 
 "About three miles from Culpepper Court House, 
 East." 
 
 "Where do you reside?" 
 
 "In the city of New York." 
 
 "Have you a pass?" 
 
 "I have, sir." 
 
 "Do you mean to say you are a Northern man?" 
 
 "I am now, sir; but I formerly lived in Texas. 
 I am partly Spanish, on my mother's side ; but I am 
 as loyal a man as you are." 
 
 Turning to the men who brought him in, the Cap- 
 tain inquires, "Why is he ironed, if he had a pass?" 
 
 "We found him visiting a rebel family ; and not 
 answering us respectfully, in fact he was insulting 
 in his answers, we arrested him as a spy." 
 
 I did not hear the decision. He may, or may not, 
 be a spy ; but now the scene shifts, and another 
 character approaches. A tall, gaunt Virginian, of 
 sixty, enters the office, with a polite and deferential 
 bow, and commences somewhat in this strain : 
 
 "Your Honors ! An impudent negro boy, whom 
 I have treated with unmerited kindness for thirty 
 years, has not only run off himself, but has taken 
 the best mule on the place, and the best female
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 293 
 
 house-servant I ever had. I do not ask you to as- 
 sist me in recovering him, but I am anxious to re- 
 cover Eliza and the mule." 
 
 Before Captain Beckwith can make any reply, the 
 very same darkey, who has been at the door all the 
 while, and heard all that has been said, puts in his 
 appearance, and claims to be heard. His left leg is 
 at least four inches shorter than the right. He is ill- 
 looking, but resolute. "I say, tnas'r, what dis old man 
 say am part true, and part not true. As to mysef, 
 I owns up to runnin away. But I did dat more nor 
 a year ago. And when he cum arter me he promise 
 to pay me wages. I's worked fai'ful more nor a 
 year, and not a cent can I get. And when I axes 
 him for de money, he calls me a sassy nigger, and so 
 I jes takes rnysef off again. And, now, about his 
 house-servant, why bress his ole soul, Lize is my 
 wife. I didn't run away wid her. She went off wid 
 me. I did not help her at all. If he had paid me, 
 as he promise, he would hab me, and Lize too. But 
 dat mule ! I reckon dat was de mose valublest mule 
 yer ever did see. Why he am always so poor it 
 take till August to git his ole coat off, and he got so 
 ole he can't holler for corn. Dat mule ! what does 
 he specks Lize and I want ob his ole half-blind 
 mule ? I knows nuffing at all about it. But, not to
 
 294 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 be hard, I jes says now, if de old man will pay me 
 what he owe me, Lize and I will go back." 
 
 The poor old Virginian finds no consolation. The 
 Army has given up the business of catching and re- 
 turning negroes, and the lame darkey and his wife 
 can do as they please about returning with the old 
 man. 
 
 The work of preparation is done. The men are 
 clothed, every wagon and ambulance in order, there 
 is a spare wheel for every gun-carriage, and a plenty 
 of ammunition for every arm of the service. Look 
 where you may, and everything is in readiness. Ere 
 the day dawns the long-roll is heard in every camp. 
 " Fall in, four rank ! Forward, march ! " Far be- 
 hind us are our homes, but a few leagues in front we 
 are going to blood, carnage and death.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MONEY-MAKING IN THE ARMY. 
 
 IN looking at a field of growing grass or grain, if we 
 observe one portion with a much greener and ranker 
 growth than the rest, we invariably conclude that 
 the noticeable spot has had an application of vege- 
 table or animal substances in decomposition. That 
 rich grain we so much admire is the substance of 
 other forms that have disappeared. The cow that 
 came nightly to yield her milk, the sheep that every 
 summer gave their fleeces for clothing, the horse 
 that carried the heavy burdens of a family for a 
 fifth of a century, are dead, but perhaps their con- 
 stituent parts are seen in that growing grain of 
 deepest green. In every city and town in our 
 Northern and Western country, many of the most 
 costly dwellings grew out of the war. Hundreds of 
 thousands perished, but not a few were enriched. 
 
 Yonder is a private residence that cost a hundred 
 thousand dollars. Ten years ago the proprietor was 
 a small dealer in ready-made clothing. Now he is 
 (295)
 
 296 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 worth half a million, keeps his coachman and foot- 
 man, and scarcely knows the man who gave him 
 credit on his first bill of goods. He obtained an 
 army-clothing contract, through a politician, and, 
 dividing the profits, both made fortunes. The owner 
 of a shoddy mill, the brogan manufacturer, the pro- 
 vision contractors, the cattle, horse and mule-brokers, 
 the powder, ball and shell manufacturers, the sta- 
 tioners and printers, and the middle-men of all 
 classes, made money out of the war. 
 
 A mass meeting is called, men and women, old 
 and young, rich and poor, assemble. Eloquent men 
 go on the rostrum, and by every art of the orator, 
 and by appeals to the holiest sentiments of the hu- 
 man heart, the people are stirred to the very depths 
 of their souls. They who have money give, and 
 they who have sons pledge them, and they who have 
 neither give themselves. And yet, in this very as- 
 sembly, there are at least a dozen sharp-eyed men 
 watching for plunder. The bounty-brokers swarm. 
 They have learned a trick or two which the people 
 will not be the wiser for for some time. They have 
 invented a system of paper credits, which shall de- 
 fraud the army of men, and put thousands of dollars 
 in their pockets. Men in high positions are in league 
 with them, and there is but little risk of exposure. 
 Once in a great while, one of these swindlers gets
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 297 
 
 into prison, but money draws prison-bolts. If the 
 history of the bounty frauds in but one State could 
 be published, the people would be astonished ; and, 
 could the rascalities of many men in high positions 
 be exposed, the public would say, "Who can be 
 trusted?" But persons who did not go to the war 
 know as much about these things as those who did. 
 I will pass inside the lines, and endeavor to see how 
 men made money there. 
 
 For a time, peddling watches in the camps was a 
 great business ; they were made almost expressly 
 for the Army, showy, cheap as possible, and if they 
 would only run for a short time, it mattered little 
 whether they would keep time or not. But will the 
 soldier, who in the first year of the war gets but 
 eleven dollars a month, spend twenty dollars for a 
 watch, and especially without knowing whether it is 
 good or worthless ? Those only who are ignorant of 
 the tastes of . young people will ask this question. 
 Of course he will, unless he thinks he wants some- 
 thing else more. Trinkets have a strange fascination 
 for undeveloped minds, everywhere. Some wear 
 jewels in the nose, others in their ears, some on 
 their ankles, and others on their arms and breast. 
 The Sioux Squaw is satisfied with a tin-pail cover 
 for her bosom ornament, if she can find nothing 
 bettor. But the boy of civilization must have a
 
 298 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 watch. If he be an apprentice, he will commence 
 with one that costs five dollars. If one's father is 
 able to send him to school and college, he must have 
 a first-class silver-cased hunter, or a full-jewelled 
 gold chronometer, according to the funds or liber- 
 ality of pater familias. But watch-peddling was a 
 business in the Army not to be sneered at. One 
 Jew, who has been dodging in and out of the tents 
 of one regiment all day, has sold twenty-seven be- 
 fore sundown, and he will sell many more before 
 tattoo. They are all of one pattern, and very taking 
 to the eye. They may run a month or a year, and 
 they may keep tolerably correct time. But they 
 were made more for sale than service, and they sell. 
 This Jew has obtained twenty dollars apiece for 
 the twenty-seven, making five hundred and forty 
 dollars, the prime cost being about six. and a half 
 each, being upwards of three hundred and sixty 
 dollars net profit for the day. This watch-peddling 
 will retain these enormous profits for only one or 
 two weeks after pay-day, as the funds will run low 
 in that time, and the peddler had better retire until 
 another pay-day, or go into another department, 
 where the Paymaster is distributing greenbacks. 
 
 It is not strange that we see few Jews in the 
 ranks. There are whole regiments, yes, brigades, 
 of Irish and Germans, and one, the 15th AYiscon-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 299 
 
 siii, of Norwegians, but none of Jews. They 
 are peddling watches, smuggling pistols, needles, 
 quinine, and buying cotton. No wonder that 
 General Grant issued that famous order which made 
 the Israelites squirm so. 
 
 Among the most useful of the camp-followers were 
 the picture-makers. This business continued in the 
 camp, with short intervals of exclusion, to the end 
 of the war; and the number was small, indeed, who 
 did not send home likenesses. If the friends at 
 home Lave not seen the boy in soldier-clothes, he is 
 anxious to show them how he looks. If he has been 
 promoted to a Corporal, with two stripes on his arm, 
 or a Sergeant, with three, or an Orderly, with stripes 
 and a square, the picture sent home will tell the 
 story better than a letter. Jealous neighbors can- 
 not gainsay the ambrotype. The Lieutenant, the 
 Captain, the Major, the Colonel, all must go to 
 the artist as soon as they receive the insignia 
 of their promotion. It is not necessary to write 
 that a Lieutenant has become a Captain, those 
 two bars on that shoulder-strap ' tell the news. 
 Some of the artists made considerable money, but 
 they earned all they received. It sometimes hap- 
 pened that a shell, or other missile, would come 
 whizzing along, while the operator was adjusting the
 
 300 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 lenses. Squinting at his man, through the camera, 
 suddenly his apparatus is non est. 
 
 Often the picture taken in camp is the last and 
 most precious memento the home-circle has of him 
 who sleeps they know not where. These mementos 
 exist in every town and hamlet in our country. 
 
 Another most useful class of camp-followers were 
 the soldiers' memorial agents. We see these signifi- 
 cant lithographs hanging in many a house. When 
 my eye catches one of them in a stranger's house, I 
 know at once that family had a near friend in the 
 war. There is one name on that paper, perhaps 
 more, very precious to them. It is five years since 
 the war closed ; the memorials begin already to look 
 old ; but there they hang as when first brought 
 home, and there let them hang by the side of Lin- 
 coln, and Grant, and other heroes. The day will 
 come when they will be to many families precious as 
 a coat of arms. A hundred years hence, and they 
 will be shown with pride, and exultant men will say, 
 "That was my grandfather's brother, or that was my 
 great-uncle. He died for the flag." 
 
 Every one has seen these memorials ; but all do 
 not know how they were prepared. A lithographer 
 executed the design on stone, leaving blank space 
 for printing in the names, company, regiment, and 
 other items of interest, such as time of enlistment,
 
 CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 301 
 
 discharge, or death. The lithograph, as it comes 
 from the stone, is as good for one regiment as 
 another. Agents visit the camp, and obtain all the 
 necessary items for printing, take orders, at perhaps 
 a dollar and a half each, return to have the printing 
 done, and, in due time, probably soon after pay- 
 day, reappear in camp to furnish the subscribers 
 with the coveted memorial. If a battle has oc- 
 curred in the agent's absence, many of his orders 
 are worthless. ''Fell in battle." An asterisk at 
 their names directs to these fearful words. At one 
 time this was a largely-paying business. 
 
 Taking butter to the Army was, at times, a prof- 
 itable speculation. If the trader was shrewd, he 
 would time his shipment so that it would reach the 
 camp about pay-day. I do not remember, however, 
 to have met any one who made a fortune in this 
 business. 
 
 Many made considerable money in purchasing 
 the hides of the slaughtered cattle. But there were 
 rings in the Army, as there are out ; and if you 
 were not in the ring, you could not purchase hides. 
 
 An enterprising, but not very shrewd Yankee, 
 visited Chatanooga, in the winter of '64, and seeing 
 the great number of hides that were daily accumu- 
 lating, endeavored to buy them ; but some were
 
 302 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 was out. He would then purchase the tallow. "O, 
 yes ; he could have the tallow ; " for as yet there was 
 no tallow-ring, and speedily there is a large candle- 
 factory in operation, not in Chatanooga, Murfrees- 
 boro', or Nashville, but in the brain of the specu- 
 lator. He has learned the price of candles, and is 
 not long in coming to the conclusion, that with 
 tallow at two, and candles at twelve cents per 
 pound, there is a moderate fortune in the business. 
 Hurrying to Nashville for a quantity of moulds, 
 some large kettles, and one or two experts to assist 
 in the new speculation, he soon has his plans well 
 matured. But it requires time to make the moulds, 
 and before the army candle-factory is completed, the 
 short evenings have come, the Army is ready to 
 move, and the anticipated fortune vanishes. 
 
 While the Army lay in winter quarters, it was a 
 good field for theatrical and minstrel troupes. I 
 know one man who made thirty thousand dollars in 
 two seasons, in this line. Just how he did it, I am 
 not^ able to say ; but this I know, he went there with 
 nothing, and came away at the end of the second 
 winter with that amount of money. 
 
 Many made a great deal of money by circulating 
 bills of worthless banks. I met one man who had a 
 thousand dollars in notes of the Bank of Tccumsch, 
 Michigan. They, of course, were worthless at
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 3 O 3 
 
 home ; but I doubt not they brought him their face 
 in whatever he wished to buy. Notes of broken 
 banks were sent to the Army, and sold to shrewd, 
 unscrupulous men, as counterfeit money is sold, and 
 the dealers made small fortunes. "But how could 
 this be done to any extent?" If one had a nominal 
 thousand dollars in these notes, he could easily sell 
 them at half price, it answering as well as good 
 mone}' to purchase anything the Southern people or 
 negroes had to sell. For a year after greenbacks 
 were issued, the Southern people preferred notes of 
 State banks, whether good or not, to them. It some- 
 times happened that our troops would advance on a 
 place, as, for example, Winchester, hold it -a short 
 time, retire for a season, and then reoccupy. If 
 they had distributed greenbacks at the first occupa- 
 tion, at the second there was an opportunity to 
 gather them in exchange for State bills. Then was 
 the time for the dealer in notes of broken banks. 
 
 The most cruel swindles were perpetrated on the 
 Southern people and negroes, after the issue of fac- 
 simile Confederate notes. These could be bought 
 for a trifle. At times the -negroes made quite a busi- 
 ness of washing, baking hoe-cakes, picking cherries, 
 and other fruit, and bringing sweet potatoes to camp. 
 It was cruel to pretend to pay them for their 
 hard toil in this worthless stuff, yet the quantity
 
 304 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 thus disposed of no doubt amounted to a million of 
 dollars. "But were Union soldiers as bad as that?" 
 Could we expect soldiers in an enemy's country to 
 treat the people better than the people at home treat 
 each other? The number who will pass worthless 
 money, knowingly, is fearfully large. Of any 
 thousand men or women we may select, how many 
 would not scruple to pass a worthless note ! Men 
 and women will do this who would not steal ; for 
 they think the victim may keep it moving. 
 
 If I knew the mysteries of cotton-buying, I could 
 make this chapter intensely interesting. I saw it 
 brought in by ten, twenty and fifty bales, but never a 
 pound sold. Here was a ring that only the favored few 
 could enter. Expeditions failed through the avarice 
 of the leading officers. Men preferred making five 
 hundred thousand dollars to gaining a victory. 
 
 I always noticed when cotton was brought in, that 
 some of the officers connected with the Provost-Mar- 
 shal's Department took special interest in it. I no- 
 ticed, furthermore, that when a citizen of the North 
 came to the Army with funds, and the hope of buying 
 this article, there was always something in the way. 
 The authorities at Washington were not granting 
 permits, or the Army was to advance shortly, or it 
 would be extremely hazardous to attempt to move it. 
 1 u-ns told by one of these citizens thrtt he was in-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 35 
 
 formed by one of the officers who stood very near 
 the General commanding, that he could not only ob- 
 tain a permit to buy cotton, but have the exclusive 
 privilege of the department, by furnishing the re- 
 quisite capital, taking all risks, and dividing the 
 profits. Knowing all the parties, I believed, and 
 still believe, his statement. In my younger days, 
 I thought men who were honored with positions of 
 trust and great responsibility must be good, but I 
 have learned that temptations conquer the high as 
 easily as the low. What is there to discredit the 
 statement of this citizen ? We know that many 
 officers went to the Army poor., and came home rich ! 
 But, while the many made money, some lost. 
 One man from Indiana has eight tons of butter that 
 he has purchased in Ohio, at thirty-five cents per 
 pound. He has shipped it for Nashville, and ob- 
 tained a permit to take it to the Army. The article 
 is needed, the men have been paid, and he is only a 
 few hours short of the completion of a grand specu- 
 lation. Three thousand dollars, clear profit, looms up 
 in his mind, as the cars roll along. It is a great deal 
 of money for a month of labor and less than five 
 thousand dollars outlay. Hurry up the train ; it is 
 yet fifty miles north of Nashville. The engine re- 
 quires wood and water. Suddenly twenty-five rifles 
 flash, and send their deadly bullets into the cars and
 
 3 o6 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 engine. There is a guard of twenty armed men with 
 the train, but they are assaulted so 'suddenly that 
 they are discomfited, and goods, passengers, freight 
 and train are in possession of guerillas. Passen- 
 gers are robbed of money and valuables, the express 
 and freight cars plundered, but the butter is too 
 heavy for horsemen to carry. Uncoupling the engine 
 and tender, and running them forward a mile, the 
 self-appointed engineer reverses the action, turns on 
 a full head of steam, leaps off, and away they dart, 
 accumulating momentum at every revolution, till they 
 strike the cars with a terrible crash, and engine, 
 tender, cars and heavy freight are a mass of worth- 
 less debris. That butter speculation is ended. The 
 three or four thousand dollars profit is on the wrong 
 side of the sheet. 
 
 Many persons made money by smuggling quinine, 
 and other articles which brought a great price. In 
 taking my trunk to the depot at Louisville one 
 morning, I noticed a woman of middle age, dressed 
 in black, standing by her trunk, waiting, as we all 
 were, to have our baggage carefully inspected, before 
 it could be taken aboard the train for Nashville. In- 
 specting the articles in due order, the officer comes 
 to the lady's trunk, which she has already opened, and 
 proceeds to examine dresses, skirts, and other articles 
 of female apparel, which, having done to his satis fac-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 307 
 
 tion, he locks the trunk, and politely hands her the key. 
 Turning it on end to mark it, his suspicions are aroused, 
 and he demands the key again, opening it, running his 
 cane down inside, then measuring to the floor, he sees 
 that the trunk has a false bottom. The articles are 
 removed, the thin board split out with his cane, and 
 there are needles enough to supply a good sized 
 town for a year ; neither she nor her trunk went to 
 Nashville on that train. The last I saw of her she 
 was turning a corner with an officer, who was escort- 
 ing her to the office of the Provost-Marshal. How she 
 expected to get these needles through the lines, and 
 how much profit there would have been on the sales 
 had her enterprise been successful, I know not. 
 Judging from what I saw of the people where we 
 went, I should think needles were the last things to 
 smuggle. The articles most needed were wheat and 
 soap. 
 
 But next to the cotton-buyers the Sutlers had the 
 greatest opportunity to make money. It required 
 much shrewdness to be a successful Sutler, but with 
 that, and ordinary good luck, a moderate fortune was 
 within his grasp. Supplying from three hundred to 
 a thousand men with cakes, butter, cheese, apples, 
 tobacco, canned meats, and canned fruits, at a profit 
 of fifty to a hundred per cent., and whiskey at one 
 hundred to three hundred, what was to prevent
 
 308 IN 1 CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 getting rich ? But, Mr. Sutler, you must be very care- 
 ful not to get the ill-will of the boys, or some night, 
 after you have sold them more whiskey than they can 
 digest, and before the guard can come to your assist- 
 ance, you will have received a very unceremonious 
 call, and there has been a general distribution of your 
 traps. If you have saved your greenbacks you are 
 lucky. But why did not the guard hear your call 
 for help, and come to your assistance ? For the best 
 of reasons ; they, too, have been drinking your whis- 
 key, and scarcely know their beat. 
 
 But,* if there is money in the Sutler's berth, I think 
 few men would care to hold it long. Everybody but 
 him has some friends in camp. The Colonel or a 
 Captain may be surly, waspish, negligent, or what 
 not, he has a clique who like him. But the Sutler is 
 the butt of every one's curse. If he refuses credit, 
 the man who wants it curses him ; if he refuses to 
 furnish whiskey, he is cursed ; and if he does fur- 
 nish it, those who buy of him curse him as soon as 
 they are sober, for letting them have it ; if he is out 
 of an article wanted, they upbraid him ; if he gives 
 credit, and cannot get his pay, no one is sorry ; if 
 the guerillas gobble up his team and a thousand dol- 
 lars' worth of goods, they laugh over it as a good 
 joke, and say he deserved it. Any berth but an
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 309 
 
 army Sutler's. If his hand is not against every man, 
 every soldier's hand is against him. 
 
 Yet, let me do some of them justice. I really 
 saw some as good men among the Sutlers as were to 
 be found in any capacity ; even better men than some 
 of the Chaplains that could be named. Some had 
 broken down in business, and took this position to 
 avoid poverty. They were men of character, and 
 the good officers seeing it, gave them sympathy and 
 support; and, being good men when they became 
 Sutlers, they were good men when they returned to 
 their homes. 
 
 The gamblers must be mentioned in this chapter. 
 There was scarcely a regiment but had more or less 
 of these pests in it. If any one is to be excepted, 
 it is the 73d Illinois : I am very certain that is the 
 number. I refer to the Methodist regiment in the 
 Army of the Cumberland. The professional gam- 
 blers were not so numerous in the East as in the 
 West, but they were a scourge everywhere. In 
 the Eastern Army, they usually obtained some 
 berth, so that they had, ostensibly, some respectable 
 occupation. One was a Sutler's clerk, or had a 
 berth in the Quartermaster's department, or repaired 
 watches, but gambling was his occupation, and many 
 a boy who wrote home that his- money had been
 
 3io 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 stolen, would have made a lie the truth if he had 
 added, "by the gamblers" ; and many a soldier's wife 
 who watched the mail for a remittance, watched and 
 watched in vain, for the gambler had taken the 
 money. 
 
 I cannot say there were gamblers there who made 
 fortunes. Men of this descriptien are rare any- 
 where. I know men who have spent a hundred 
 thousand dollars in this vice, but none who have 
 made and kept one-tenth of this sum. They are 
 generally poor. They have plenty of friends to 
 help them spend their money. The drinking men 
 are the gambler's friends, and, as he made his money 
 easily, he must pay their bills. Vicious women are 
 his friends, and they claim a large share of his gains. 
 But, no matter what he does with it, the fools who 
 play with him are robbed, and not only they, but 
 their friends, suffer. 
 
 The question arises : "Why were these things per- 
 mitted? Why did not some one inform the com- 
 manding officer what was taking place ? Why was 
 he allowed to remain in camp? The true-hearted 
 and sweet-spirited Hutchinsons were ordered out of 
 the Army for singing the songs of liberty, and could 
 the vile wretch who is stealing the bread from tho 
 wives and children of soldiers, be allowed to remain,
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 311 
 
 and carry on "his terrible work?" He was well 
 known. Every one knew his business, and yet he 
 was not driven out. But why are not these persons 
 arrested at home? They have been robbing hus- 
 bands and fathers of money needed by themselves 
 and families for daily subsistence, yet no one arrests 
 them. They do no labor, wear fine clothes, have 
 money for their daily wants, and are addressed re- 
 spectfully by genteel and respectable people. They 
 abound in every city and large town, and small 
 towns, even, are not without them. But who shuns 
 and despises them as they deserve ? Who says to 
 his children, as one of these pests pass his house : 
 "There goes a villain who lives by others' toil, a po- 
 lite, cowardly brother of the thief, both of whom, 
 like the owl and beasts of prey, do their work 
 by night, and in places shunned by the.ir betters !" 
 These, and other human vampires, prey upon the 
 community, and few raise any objection. But war 
 is their season of harvest. 
 
 O, War ! frightful, ghastly War ! How marvellous 
 that poor humanity must purchase Liberty and many 
 of her most cherished blessings through instrumental- 
 ities such as thine ! Falsehood and base ingratitude, 
 theft and plunder, sacking and pillaging, murder 
 and ravishment, and everything that is devilish,
 
 3 I2 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 and all that should make angels weep, and crimes 
 that should make devils stand aghast, all these, and 
 more than these, are thy concomitants, and pure as 
 refined gold is he who hath withstood for a long time 
 the temptations of army life without contamination.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SPIES play an important part in every war. To 
 be a successful one requires a rare combination of 
 good qualities courage that never quails, intuitive 
 knowledge of human nature, tact to manage conver- 
 sation so adroitly that your talker shall tell just what 
 you wish to know, ability to read in the coun- 
 tenance the evidence of truth or falsehood, the most 
 profound discretion, love of adventure, endurance, 
 and integrity. There are other qualities that are 
 useful ; but lacking any of these, the spy is a failure. 
 
 In the early part of the war, some of the best of 
 men fell under suspicion. I have heard that General 
 Spinner was one of this class. It may not have been 
 so ; but if not, how shall we account for the follow- 
 ing incident: Among the letters advertised as re- 
 maining in the Portland, Maine, Post-office, jn 1862, 
 was one for a well-known lady of that city, whose 
 husband was with the Army. On sending for it, the 
 messenger was told that the letter was important,
 
 3 r 4 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 and must be delivered to the party in person. Won- 
 dering who had sent her a letter of so great value, 
 that it could not be intrusted to even her daughter ; 
 thinking over her small list of uncles, aunts, and 
 other relatives, who possibly might have died, and 
 left her a legacy ; and then of her husband, who 
 might be a prisoner in Belle Isle, or some other 
 horrid place, she hurried to the post-office and asked 
 for an advertised letter addressed to her name. 
 
 "Major Dole has it, and you will be obliged to go 
 to the Postmaster's room to obtain it." 
 
 Wonder increases to agitation. Timidly the lit- 
 tle woman approaches the tall official, when the fol- 
 lowing conversation occurs : 
 
 "I wish for an advertised letter, directed to ," 
 
 giving her name. 
 
 "Are you the lady bearing that name?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "Are you a married woman?" 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " How long have you resided in this city?" 
 
 "Nearly all my life," 
 
 "What is your husband's name ?" This was given. 
 
 "I understand. He is in the Army." 
 
 "Yes sir." 
 
 "Has your husband any business relations with 
 General Spinner?"
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL 315 
 
 "I do not know that he has." 
 
 "Are you acquainted with that gentleman?" 
 
 "I never met him." 
 
 " This letter bears General Spinner's frank. Do 
 you know any reason why this gentleman should 
 write to you ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Will you please tell me the reason ? " 
 
 "I do not know that I am obliged to tell Major 
 Dole, simply because he is Postmaster, the subject 
 of correspondence between myself and any one, even 
 though he be an officer of the Government." 
 
 "I shall be obliged to open and read this letter." 
 
 " I can tell you what it is about." 
 
 "What is it about?" 
 
 " A Pine-tree shilling." 
 
 " A Pine-tree shilling ! Darker and darker ! What 
 about a Pine-tree shilling ? " 
 
 "Well, sir, I noticed in a paper that General 
 Spinner wished to purchase antique coins, and, hav- 
 ing a Pine-tree shilling, I sent him a description av,i 
 invited a proposition to purchase. If that letter is 
 from him, I presume it is in reply." 
 
 As he opened and perused it, a sharp eye might 
 have seen a look on the Major's face as good as an 
 advertisement that he would sell his commission as 
 spy-huntor cheap. Comment is unnecessary.
 
 316 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 At Bowling Green, Kentucky, in 1863, 1 saw a man 
 moving about among the troops on horseback, selling 
 papers. He had a pleasant word for every one, and 
 seemed able to epitomize in a few sentences all the 
 important* matter of the papers. " Here is the 
 Louisville Journal, with the copperhead account of 
 the battle of Gettysburg, and here is the paper that 
 is loyal in every column, line and word, the old Cin- 
 cinnati Gazette. Here you will find that Lee is 
 badly whipped and has run away across the Potomac, 
 while that bully Pennsylvanian, General Meade, is 
 resting on his laurels." He seemed to be hi a busi- 
 ness beneath his qualifications. The next seen of 
 him .by myself he was in Louisville, flitting about 
 with no visible business. Watching him for a season 
 without speaking to him, I came to the conclusion 
 that he was a spy. I called to see the Colonel who 
 had charge of the military affairs of the city, but 
 not finding him in his office, communicated my sus- 
 picions to his assistant. On telling him what I had 
 seen, and whither I had followed the suspected per- 
 son, and asking for instructions and authority in 
 taking further measures, his reply was: "The man 
 has done nothing that will warrant his arrest. If both 
 of you are going to Nashville, manage to go when he 
 does, if you can. If there is anything to arrest him 
 for, you may find grounds before long. I am not
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 3*7 
 
 authorized to make you any promises, but of this 
 you may rest assured, if you can detect a spy you 
 shall lose nothing, but be amply rewarded." 
 
 Boarding at the same hotel, I was able to keep 
 my eye on him without attracting his attention. 
 Coming from his room one morning with a valise in 
 hand, passing out of the door quickly, he was seen 
 making his way rapidly to the levee, as if to take 
 the steamer then ready to start down the river. 
 Just then, I felt like taking a trip on the same boat. 
 Eighty miles in some six hours, for the river was at 
 freshet height, and the stops were few, and we were 
 at Evansville, Indiana. But as he did not stop there, 
 neither did I; twelve miles farther and we reach 
 Hendersonville, Kentucky, as full of rebels as a 
 little town like that could be. That was his landing- 
 place, and it was mine. Having noticed his eyes di- 
 rected towards me a number of times, I was not 
 perfectly at ease. If he were a spy, and suspected 
 my purposes, there might be a very easy method 
 adopted to get rid of me. A cord and a stone, with 
 the Ohio and a dark night at hand, were quite suffic- 
 ient for him and his friends. The night passed without 
 incident. In the morning I began to watch for a chance- 
 boat up the river. Noon came, and no boat. The sun 
 was but an hour high, and yet no boat. While I 
 was waiting anxiously at the levee, the stranger came
 
 3 iS IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 past me, and without appearing to notice me placed 
 a bit of paper in my hand, which read as follows : 
 "Mind your tongue ! you are watched. Start up the 
 river after dark, and I will meet you. " 
 
 Here was trouble. But I felt it was best to trust 
 him, and obeyed his injunction. He was promptly 
 on hand, having watehed in a hiding-place for my 
 coming. "Stranger," said he, "if you can trust me, 
 I think I can take you out of danger. I am known 
 here to most of the people. They have been told I 
 am a Union scout, and are disposed to do me harm 
 to-night. -Any stranger coming here, without known 
 business, is suspected. Our coming on the same 
 boat has placed you in their eyes as my confederate. 
 This is not conjecture. There is, at least, one 
 Union man who is true as the needle to the pole, and 
 who, though very quiet, is not often ignorant of any 
 devilish scheme the Henderson rebels may concoct." 
 
 "But what are we to do?" 
 
 "I have arranged to have a skiff brought to a 
 point a mile above, and we are to cross the river, 
 then foot it to Evansville." 
 
 "The travelling is bad. Can we obtain horses?" 
 
 "Never mind the horses ; but let us get into a 
 hiding-place, and watch for the skiff." 
 
 In less than an hour the little boat had been 
 brought, and with fifteen minutes' rowing we were
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 3*9 
 
 in Indiana, and starting out for Evausville. The 
 water covered the roads in many places, and the 
 mud was deep and adhesive everywhere. No hu- 
 man being but ourselves seemed to be astir on 
 that lonesome road. The houses were from a fourth 
 to half a mile apart, and from every one of these 
 we received attention from one or more dogs. I 
 importuned my new friend to stop till morning, hav- 
 ing no fear of being followed. "Wait till we make 
 another mile," said he, when we were, perhaps, half- 
 way to the city, "and we will find a stopping-place." 
 Striking out at the left across the field, and making 
 a fearfully long mile, through the mud, and wading 
 the watercourses, we came to a little farm-house 
 where my friend was known, and where we might 
 feel safe. A hot fire, warm drinks, some cold meat 
 and bread, dry socks, and, in due time a warm bed, 
 and we were soon happy companions for the night. 
 Once warm in bed, he was ready to tell me who he 
 was. As I suspected, from a hint before dropped, 
 he was a Union scout. He had already made six 
 trips within Bragg's lines, without being suspected. 
 "But," sqid he, "my business in this section is ended. 
 I came to Henderson merely to ascertain whether I 
 am suspected. I am, and cannot venture again. 
 Probably a description of my person, and maybti 
 my likeness, is in every town in Middle and West
 
 3 20 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Tennessee. There is a price set on my head, and 
 I should have been spirited away to-night but for 
 that old Union man I told you of. And no doubt 
 they would have taken us both together. This is 
 not the best of beds, and the fare we have had not 
 the most sumptuous, but I hope we are safe. This 
 is a log-house, and the old people are both familiar 
 with firearms. There are not less than five guns, 
 besides my pistols and yours, if you have any, in 
 the house, and if these Henderson rebels dare to mo- 
 lest us, some of them will meet their deserts. 
 This house is almost as good as a citadel." 
 
 "Almost every scout meets with more or less ad- 
 ventures. I presume you have had many." 
 
 "No sir ; nothing worth relating. I have been as 
 much excited, and in as much danger to-day, as ever 
 since I engaged in the business. In my opinion, 
 most of the scout stories are pure inventions, and 
 most that I ever heard have not the semblance of 
 truth. The most interesting incidents I could re- 
 late are of Union prisoners making their escape. 
 Hiding about in the woods, as I have done, 
 I have often seen these poor fellows fed, and 
 otherwise aided by the negroes. When reading 
 wonderful scout stories, I have often wondered why 
 other men should meet with such marvellous adven-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 33 z 
 
 tures, and I none. Nothing has happened, in my 
 experience, to make me a hero." 
 
 "Tell me something of interest, for my blood is 
 too hot to sleep at present." 
 
 "I met a Colonel Hand, over on the Tennessee 
 River, whose experience interested me. I will 
 relate it, because it is true; and also, because 
 it shows the stuff that Union men of the South are 
 made of. Before the war, Colonel Hand held a com- 
 mission in the militia of his State, and thereby re- 
 ceived his title. Talking like a moderate rebel, and 
 holding a Colonel's commission, he could hardly sat- 
 isfy his acquaintances for not joining the Southern 
 Army. But he made excuse that his wife was too ill. 
 This answered for a while ; but at length his neigh- 
 bors said : ' The Colonel's wife neither dies, nor grows 
 worse. Other men have wives in feeble health, yet 
 they take part in gaining our independence. The 
 Colonel sets a most pernicious example. He talks 
 well, indeed; but as for his doing, a Union man 
 might do as much for our cause as he.' 
 
 "One afternoon, his only negro boy came into the 
 room, exclaiming : ' Mas'r Hand, I's heard bad 
 news from Jake, what libs up by de Court-Hus. lie 
 say de people specks you is a Union man, and dey is 
 gwine to do someting desperd.' A hint was suf- 
 ficient. He had been expecting it, and was pre-
 
 3 23 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 pared. Less than a mile from the house, in the 
 woods, was a cave, and thither he had carried a bed, 
 and other comforts, for an emergency. Five min- 
 utes' start, and he would ask no odds of the Regu- 
 lators. They came to his residence many times, hut 
 no one had seen Colonel Hand for many mouths. 
 At length, it was generally believed he had left 
 the country ; but his wife and little boy remained. 
 In that cave he lived six mouths, without ever seeing 
 his family. Every night a trusty negro carried his 
 daily food, first by one route, and then by another. 
 After taking Fort Henry, the gunboats came up 
 the Tennessee, and, when the wife saw them, she 
 sent her little boy to the cave to call her husband, 
 for the child knew his hiding-place. Coming to the 
 spot, and crawling down through the brush, he called 
 out : ' Par-pa! you can come out now, for the Union 
 gunboats have come.' 
 
 "'Who says so?' inquires the doubting father. 
 ' Mar and I have seen them; they are right down to 
 the Landing,' says the overjoyed child.' 
 
 "I was on one of these boats when the Colonel, his 
 wife, their little boy, and the faithful negro made 
 their first appearance. He talked, sung, hurrahed, 
 caught a flag and wound it about his body, kissed it, 
 and manifested so much joy, that the little boy was
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 323 
 
 frightened, and wondered if his father was not 
 drunk." 
 
 "Are you a Kentuckian?" 
 
 "I should hope not, though I have been among 
 them a great deal, first and last. I am a native of 
 Woodstock, Vermont, but have spent most of my 
 life in Kentucky." 
 
 "What do you think of the Kentuckians?" 
 
 "Good and bad, same as other people. But if 
 you wish to know what I think of the loyalty of that 
 people in general, I must say that most of them 
 are the meanest rebels I have ever seen. If you 
 will go to Louisville, or Lexington, you will hear 
 leading men laying down the principles that ought 
 to govern the North in prosecuting the war. . Some- 
 times you would think, from the boasts of the peo- 
 ple of that State, that Kentucky furnished as many 
 troops for the Union Army as Ohio. I think I read 
 in Prentice's Secesh Journal, of Louisville, that she 
 had furnished forty thousand Union troops. If so, 
 I wonder where they are ? Did you ever see any 
 of them in the Eastern Army?" 
 
 "Only a very few. I believe there was one under 
 Shields, or, rather, Banks, in the Shenandoah Val- 
 ley. Possibly I may have seen one other regiment, 
 but I do not remember any other now." 
 
 "Neither do I know of any other in the Eastern
 
 324 
 
 CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Army. Are they iiithe Army of the (Cumberland? I 
 grant there are a few ; but there is no Kentucky Brig- 
 ade, as East Tennessee has. There are five fine reg- 
 iments from that section of the State, and others from 
 Western and Middle Tennessee. I tell you that it 
 would have been just as well for the North if this ar- 
 r6gant State had seceded with the others. There 
 would have been some satisfaction in thrashing the 
 conceit out of the Kentucky rebels." 
 
 "Give all credit to every loyal Keutuckian in or 
 out of the Army. But I assure you, friend, that for 
 every loyal man that State has in our Army, she has 
 three, if not more, fighting against our flag, and also 
 many of those who are for us would' desert our cause 
 instantly if they thought the negro was to be made 
 free. It is often charged that New Englanders have 
 'nigger' on the brain, but Keutuckians have 'nigger' 
 in the pocket. Talk to a Union man about this war, 
 and he will be as eloquent as a stump orator ; ana- 
 thematizing Jeff. Davis and his satellites, pointing 
 to the devastation and ruin left through his State by 
 the moving and contending troops, but he usually 
 ends with the 'nigger' and the abolitionist. 
 
 "These people remind me of an incident in the ex- 
 perience of old Father Streeter, of Woodstock. It 
 is a long time since I heard him relate it, and there- 
 fore I may not give it with perfect accuracy. Hefore
 
 7.V CAMP AXD HOSPITAL. 325 
 
 fairly entering the ministry, he went to spend the 
 Sabbath with the old eloquent preacher of his de- 
 nomination then settled in Portsmouth, New Hamp- 
 shire. It w r as at the time that Hosea Ballou, then a 
 young and very prominent brother in the same faith, 
 was causing not a little commotion in this country, by 
 his views on the Atonement. The Portsmouth man 
 was almost, if not quite, a Trinitarian, and regarded 
 Ballou as little, if any, better than an Infidel. His 
 first duty, as they were sitting by the fire Saturday 
 evening, was to sound young Streeter, and ascertain 
 whether he had become infected by the Ballou 
 heresy. Then, for two hours, he poured forth such 
 a stream of abuse and anathemas on the man who de- 
 nied Vicarious Atonement, and yet dared to call him- 
 self a Christian, that the poor half-fledged minister 
 was speechless with amazement. Looking up at the 
 clock, the venerable minister said : 'Brother Streeter, 
 it is nine o'clock. It is time for prayers. Will you 
 read and pray T This was too much. Streeter was 
 not in a suitable frame of mind, after listening to 
 what had been said. But the old man was equal to 
 the occasion, and occupied a full half-hour in pour- 
 ing forth one of the eloquent prayers for which he 
 was distinguished. This ended, all took seats but 
 the minister, who remained in the position occupied 
 in prayer, with one hand still on the chair before
 
 326 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 him. Raising his right hand to his head, and insert- 
 ing his long, bony finger into one of his ears", he 
 broke the silence, which had continued for a minute 
 or so after the 'Amen,' *As I was saying about Bal- 
 louj and gave him another excoriation, keeping 
 Streeter from bed an hour longer. So with these 
 Kentuckians : 'As we were saying about the nig- 
 ger.' 
 
 " Kentucky loyalty ! if you and I had not escaped 
 from Hendersonville to-night, we should have had a 
 specimen of their appreciation of Union men before 
 morning, and, as it is, I keep listening for their 
 coming." But he listened in vain, and we finally 
 found sleep as well as rest. 
 
 For a few weeks previous to the battle of Games' 
 Mill, I slept almost every night hi an ambulance 
 near the tent of General Sickles, half a mile to the 
 left of the railroad. It was not in use, and made a 
 capital bed. But it was wide enough for two ; the 
 two seats extended along the sides, and were so 
 constructed that by raising some pieces attached to 
 them by hinges, and making use of the spare cush- 
 ion, there was a bed much better than most of 
 those in ordinary boarding-houses. One night, very 
 late, I was awakened by some one who wished to 
 share quarters with me. He said he had been 
 out on a little wake, in one of the regiments down
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 327 
 
 to the left, and it was too late to get across the 
 river over to the 4th Michigan, where he belonged ; 
 and seeing this ambulance, he thought he would put 
 up for the night. 
 
 Telling him that he could have lodgings on the 
 same terms as myself, which were simply to get 
 inside and occupy as much room as needful, I soon 
 had my soldier-boy for a companion, and in five 
 minutes we were asleep. In the morning, he said it 
 was the best bed he had had in a month, and wished 
 to know how I happened to have the use of it. All 
 I could say was that it was mine by sufferance. 
 
 "Do you occupy this every night?" 
 
 "I have done so for a week or two, but may be 
 deprived of it any moment." 
 
 "If I am out this way again, to see my friends in 
 the 2d Rhode Island, and get belated, may I call and 
 lodge with you again?" 
 
 "Of course ; I have no monopoly." 
 
 The next night he came and slept as before ; but 
 he was very poor company, and told me nothing 
 worth relating. Two weeks, or more, passed, and I 
 saw nothing of him, but, on the memorable Friday 
 evening of the battle at the Mills, I met him, seated 
 at a fire in the swamp, silent, and apparently indif- 
 ferent as to the sufferers, while every other one was 
 actively engaged in doing something to make the
 
 328 AV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 wounded more comfortable. As soon as our eyes 
 met, he started up and took me by the hand, and ex- 
 pressed the greatest joy. Said he, "I am completely 
 used up. I have been in the battle all day, and 
 escaped. If I could have a few hours' sleep, it would 
 do me a great deal of good. Suppose we go over 
 to our old ambulance and spend the remainder of the 
 night, out of the reach of these groans?" 
 
 Thinking his suggestion a good one, I was ready 
 to adopt it, and we picked our way through the 
 swamp, crossing the river on some logs, the location 
 of which he seemed to understand, and were soon in 
 our old bed. I could not help thinking he was a 
 poor specimen of a soldier, for neither his face nor 
 clothes were blackened with powder ; but I had seen 
 many such. There were soldiers, and even officers, 
 who, for three years, never took part in a battle, 
 though half of their comrades were shot down. A 
 shirk always finds an excuse to escape duty. If he 
 finds courage enough to go out with the regiment, he 
 runs at the first fire. I met officers with an arm in a 
 sling, or so lame they could scarcely put the foot to 
 the ground, that had heard but the whizzing of the 
 first shells from the enemy's line. But to return to 
 my companion : he manifested no disposition to re- 
 turn to his regiment, but continued with me, all the 
 time very silent, moody, and apparently unwell.
 
 72V CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 329 
 
 He had left his gun behind, but, no matter how fee- 
 ble others who accompanied us were, he never 
 offered to cany their burdens. I soon wearied of 
 his company, and wished to get rid of him, but it 
 was of no use. Arriving at the James, and seeing a 
 small boat on the shore, he jumped into it and pulled 
 out into the stream. Half way across the river, he 
 stood up in the boat, calling me by name ; and, when 
 I returned his salutation, he cried out : 
 
 "If you ever come to Richmond, call and take 
 lodgings with me, as I have done with you. Greatly 
 obliged, sir, for your hospitality, till you are better 
 paid." In less than a minute every boy on the bank 
 had a cartridge in his rifle, and fifty balls were fall- 
 ing about him. But he was soon beyond their reach. 
 My bed-fellow was a spy. 
 
 Passing down the James in a gunboat one dark 
 night, we were obliged to stop on account of the fog. 
 Suddenly all on board were aroused by the discharge 
 of two rifles in the stern. Two rebels had put off 
 from the shore with a torpedo, to blow up the boat, 
 but the watch was too sharp for them. One was 
 killed, and the other secured. 
 
 When a portion of the Army of the Cumberland 
 was near Franklin, Tennessee, a couple of officers 
 rode up to the different regiments, representing them- 
 selves as having authority to inspect the position.
 
 330 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 They had nearly made the rounds, when some one 
 was shrewd enough to suspect their character. They 
 were indeed spies, and were tried and executed at 
 once. 
 
 In Knoxville, Tennessee, while Burnside was hold- 
 ing the place, and the country was in great suspense 
 as to his ability to withstand the force that might be 
 sent against him, I had a temporary home with a cit- 
 izen who professed to be loyal. He had another 
 boarder, a woman, who was not only loyal, but rad- 
 ical. Being a person of good address, she found 
 favor with many of the officers, and obtained from 
 them many favors. Occupying, at night, a room ad- 
 joining hers, and awaking at the slightest sound, I 
 often heard a board creak in her room late at night. 
 "Watching from, my window, I thought I had the 
 glimpse of a man passing near us, stooping down for a 
 moment, then hastening away. Keeping my suspi- 
 cions to myself, I determined to watch for him. 
 There was a corn-crib near by, and in this I spent 
 three nights without making any discovery. During 
 the fourth, a little past midnight, I heard the sash 
 go up gently, and in less than half an hour a man 
 was under it, to receive something apparently passed 
 down by a line. But soon he was gone. In a few 
 minutes I emerged from my hiding-place, and went 
 to my room carefully as possible, determined to
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 33 
 
 solve the mystery in the morning. If this was a 
 lover who came to her window at night, it was none of 
 my business. But lovers are seldom content with 
 a call so brief as that. If this is not a love affair, 
 she is a spy, and that man flitting about under her 
 window at night is her confederate. She obtains the 
 information, and he bears it to the rebel General. 
 But could a woman with such warm protestations of 
 loyalty, and with such bitter hatred of the rebels, be 
 a spy? We shall see. 
 
 In the morning I hastened to the office of the 
 Provost-Marshal to tell him what had been seen, but 
 it was late before he came in, and he received my 
 statement with so much indifference, I became dis- 
 gusted, and left him. But on my return to the house, 
 the dear specimen of loyalty had departed. She 
 had probably heard me going to my room after the 
 man had called, and suspected that I had seen too 
 much to make her stay safe. 
 
 Though the Army, in all the departments, swarmed 
 with spies, very few were detected and executed. 
 It was painful, as late as '63, to notice how readily 
 disloyal persons obtained passes to visit the Army., 
 Any man or woman, however open a sympathizer 
 with the South, could obtain a pass in Washington 
 just as readily as a Union man. If the Honorable 
 Mr. A., or Judge B., or the well-known Mr. C.,
 
 332 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 would write a man or a woman an endorsement, 
 there was no trouble in obtaining a pass. In con- 
 sequence, every movement and intention of the 
 commanding officer was known to the rebels just as 
 early as to our people. And, in fact, for two years 
 rebel sympathizers were treated as kindly by many 
 of our leading men and officers in the Army as 
 those who were willing to give their lives for the 
 flag. How often did I hear members of the Army 
 say to Virginians, or Tennesseeans, with whom they 
 wished to be on pleasant terms, "I did not come 
 down here to free the 'nigger,' but to put down the 
 rebellion." Among many officers, more than the 
 men, for a long tune, there was no earnestness of pur- 
 pose, the blood had not come up to fever-heat, and 
 they did not fight with a will. Any man who wished 
 to play the spy could have done so for years without 
 detection, had he been so disposed. And some did 
 this, as I will show in the next chapter.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SPIES Continued. 
 
 RETURNING from the Western armies to that of 
 the Potomac, in the spring of 1864, my first ^/sit 
 was made to the troops of the Sixth Corps, under 
 Sedgwick. I had not been in camp five minutes 
 before almost every tent was empty. Over the hills, 
 up from the valleys, away from Sutlers' shops, aban- 
 doning all business, letter-writing, roll-correcting, 
 mending clothes, reading, lounging, "old sledge," 
 "euchre," practising new songs men by hundreds, 
 nay, thousands, Corporals, Sergeants, Lieutenants, 
 Captains, Adjutants, Chaplains, Surgeons, Majors, 
 Colonels, Quartermasters and their Clerks, Sutlers, 
 Mule-drivers, Cooks, and Waiters, came with a 
 rush that was terrific ; and all this to see me ; me, 
 who was not so high as the humblest private. What 
 did it mean ? What had I done to merit such at- 
 tention? Been fighting in the ranks, like the young 
 Chaplain who was killed at Fredericksburg ? Or on 
 my own hook, like the old Vermonter? Nothing of 
 (333)
 
 334 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 the kiud. And yet the men are here in Brigades to 
 welcome me. Cheer after cheer goes up. "Turn 
 out, Company A, Company B, and Company C, and 
 see who has come to life!" "Give us your hand, 
 old brother ; we have not seen you since you were 
 hanging on the tree at Frederick City. Well, this 
 beats all the ghost-stories, don't it? What's the 
 news from the lower world ? Or did you come from 
 above? No matter which, just tell us the news." 
 Receiving the hearty greeting of hundreds, I held 
 out my hand to an Irishman, whom I remembered, 
 and he drew back with a look of horror, exclaiming, 
 "Be off wid ye ! Divil a bit will I be afther tooch- 
 ing yer paw, till I know whether yer bes a spook, 
 or a live man." 
 
 But the reader will ask for an explanation. Pre- 
 vious to leaving the Eastern for the Western de- 
 partment, I had given a parting entertainment with 
 most of the organizations, telling all whither I was 
 going, and my intentions of returning in a few 
 months. I was scarcely out of the Army, when a 
 man from Baltimore (I think his name was Richard- 
 son) conceived the plan of taking up my occupation. 
 He knew that I had free range within the lines, and 
 this was the very privilege he coveted. Procuring 
 copies of my songs, he had an edition of them 
 printed, giving the words only, while mine con-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 335 
 
 tained the music, as well as words, procured a quan- 
 tity of postage-stamps, and a pass, and commenced 
 business on a limited scale. He gave no concerts or 
 entertainments, offered but few songs for sale, made 
 no special visits to this or that regiment, was 
 never seen within a hospital. But why did he take 
 all this trouble? You shall see. He had been a 
 spy from the first, and thought that by having 
 stamps and" songs, and playing my role in part, he 
 would be enabled to see all that was going on with- 
 out suspicion. While the Army was passing through 
 Maryland towards Gettysburg, the cavalry picketed 
 all the roads leading to Virginia. This man at- 
 tempted to pass the guards. He had a pass, and it 
 is said, though I cannot vouch for it, that it was in 
 my name. He was arrested, and searched, but 
 nothing of a suspicious nature was found on him. 
 General Kilpatrick not being satisfied, ordered that 
 he should be searched still more minutely ; and yet 
 nothing to criminate the man was found. At last, 
 his saddle was cut in pieces, and within it were found 
 all the documents that a spy would naturally have. 
 He made immediate confession, and begged for 
 mercy; but his trial took place at once, lasting but 
 a few minutes, and he was hanged at the limb of a 
 tree just outside Frederick City. After the battle 
 of Gettysburg, the returning troops marched in
 
 336 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 sight of the tree and body, for it remained in its 
 suspended position eight days, and every member of 
 that Army returned to Virginia, believing he had 
 seen my body hanging to a tree in Maryland ; and a 
 very kind-hearted man went, with sorrowful counte- 
 nance, to break the tidings to my family. 
 
 Though it seemed incomprehensible to most of the 
 troops that their old singer should prove a traitor, 
 yet they thought Southern gold might have done the 
 work, and the verdict was : " Served him right, if he 
 was a traitor." 
 
 But why did not some of the men examine the 
 body sufficiently to determine its identity? They 
 tried their best to do this, but, not seeing it for a num- 
 ber of days after death, it had become so black and 
 swollen, it looked as much like one man as another. 
 
 When the men of the Army of the Cumberland 
 shall read this, as many of them will, they will ex- 
 press the utmost surprise ; for there is not one of 
 them but knows a similar incident occurred there. 
 Leaving that Army for a season, the same as the Po- 
 tomac, I gave my parting entertainments, before 
 starting for Vicksburg. I was hardly out of camp, 
 when a spy proceeded, like Richardson of Balti- 
 more, to supply himself with my songs, but, unlike 
 him, omitting the postage-stamps. He was soon 
 moving about, from camp to camp, very quietly
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 337 
 
 making observations ; but if any one asked him his 
 business, he showed the songs, saying that he had 
 them for sale. He played his part but a very short 
 time. He was arrested, searched, and in his boots 
 were found drawings of the fortifications, the loca- 
 tion of every Division of the Army, as well as pa- 
 pers "intended to impart important information to 
 General Bragg. He was not tried on the day of 
 arrest, but confined in the Murfreesboro' jail. The 
 building not having the best of bolts and fastenings, 
 he succeeded in breaking them, and passing the jail- 
 guard, the first night. Taking the pike for Tulla- 
 homa, he encountered a picket at the bridge adjoin- 
 ing the town, and was ordered to halt. Knowing 
 that to obey was certain death, while to refuse would 
 draw the fire of but one rifle, he preferred to give no 
 heed, but run the risk of a bullet, though he was so 
 ironed he could run but little. But the guard took 
 careful aim, and, dark though it was, he was shot 
 dead on the spot, and a few hours only was needed 
 to spread the news from Division to Division that 
 the Army Poet and Balladist was shot as a spy. 
 Army correspondents sent the news to their papers, 
 and fifty of them told the strange story to a million 
 of readers. Strangely enough, it was months be- 
 fore it came to my ears, for I had gone to still another 
 department. My friends in Nashville had published
 
 338 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 a contradiction, but, while the falsehood went with 
 lightning speed, the truth scarcely got out of Ten- 
 nessee in six months. 
 
 I have been disposed to regard these incidents as 
 rather hard jokes on mysolf, but they were much 
 harder for the men who lost their lives. I would 
 here say that though not possessing the necessary 
 qualifications for a scout, and with no talent for 
 dissembling to advantage, I did once in a while have 
 an opportunity to try the art of deceiving on the 
 rebels, and sometimes with success. The following 
 incident will illustrate : 
 
 Wishing to obtain a new edition of my songs, which 
 could not be printed at Nashville, I obtained per- 
 mission of General Robert Mitchell to go to Louis- 
 ville for that purpose. On arriving at Mumfordsville, 
 Kentucky, the train was sent back in haste, for the 
 rebels had destroyed the bridges and torn up much 
 of the track. About to leave the train, I invited any 
 of my companions who saw fit to accompany me ; 
 but no one accepting the invitation, I started out 
 alone. Calling at a farm-house for information with 
 regard to the roads, I found the parties were in re- 
 ality know-nothings. Did they "know where Mor- 
 gan's men were?" "No." Did they "know when 
 the bridges were destroyed?" "No." Did they 
 "know how far it was to Louisville?" "No." Or
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 339 
 
 "to Lebanon Junction?" "No." " Or to Elizabeth- 
 town?" "No, but it was a right smart piece." 
 "Which road shall I take?" 
 
 "I reckon if you want to keep shet of Morgan, you 
 had better keep off the pike, and take the wagin 
 road that runs by the railroad, and, if you are not 
 afeard to travel in the dark, I reckon you had better 
 push on to-night, for war times is strange times, and 
 we don't know our neighbors." 
 
 Whether he was afraid of me, or afraid some one 
 would harm me, I could not determine, but concluded 
 to take his advice, and push on. The night was cool 
 and cloudy, yet some stars came out occasionally, 
 showing me that my general course was the right 
 one. Carrying nothing -but a staff, I pushed on, 
 trusting in Providence. Though not able to turn my 
 ears like a horse or mule, to catch the sounds ahead, 
 if any should come from that direction, a horseman 
 approaching from the front could be heard a goodly 
 distance ; for the ground "was just a little frozen, 
 except where there was sand. Turning into the 
 woods, or leaping a fence, took but a few minutes, if 
 I heard approaching footsteps of man or beast. In 
 that lonely tramp I made, as afterwards ascertained, 
 thirty -two miles, from sunset to sunrise ; for at the. 
 latter time I was in sight of Elizabethtown. About 
 midnight it was my purpose to stop till morning.
 
 34 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Not daring to enter a house, I looked for a barn, but 
 that is an institution not plenty on that road. There 
 was, however, a corn-crib, and this was taken pos- 
 session of, without asking leave of the owner. It 
 was not made to exclude the air, but invite it. 
 Having a blanket and my overcoat, I thought I might 
 not suffer from the cold, and get a few hours' sleep. 
 Corn-cribs may make excellent dormitories in July, 
 but they are not just the thing in December. Out- 
 side, the night was perfectly calm, but a current of 
 cold air came through the interstices of this pen, 
 penetrating my covering, and in a few minutes I was 
 shaking as with the ague. -Covering myself with 
 the corn in the ear, I found no relief, and soon a last 
 farewell was taken of the crib. 
 
 Coming in sight of Elizabethtown, I saw a great 
 amount of smoke, as if buildings were on fire, and, 
 instead of entering the town, made a detour of 
 a mile or more, and called at a house for break- 
 fast. There had been a skirmish between our men 
 and Morgan's the day before, when our force was 
 defeated and driven off, and from some cause 
 many of the buildings burned. Learning there were 
 but twelve miles more of dangerous road before ine, 
 my hopes were buoyant. If the farmer could be be- 
 lieved, he had taken no part in the " scrimmage, " as 
 he called the war. He had been at Lebanon June-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 34 I 
 
 tion the day before, and he said a large force of our 
 men had just arrived there. 
 
 Eefreshed by a good breakfast, I had made scarcely 
 six miles when I discovered a small body of troops 
 encamped in a ravine a little north of the big tunnel 
 of the railroad, some five miles south of the Junc- 
 tion. It needed but one look to know they were a 
 squad of rebels, and in all probability a portion of 
 Morgan's men. It was too late to retreat. They 
 had seen me, as soon as I them. They had horses, 
 I was on foot. They were armed, I was not. Look- 
 ing as unconcerned as possible, I passed on unnoticed 
 by the warriors, who were baiting their horses and 
 taking a lunch, till the farther limit of their camp was 
 almost reached, when one of their number rose from a 
 log by the road, presented his carbine, and pronounced 
 that very suggestive word, "Halt!" The second 
 hint was not needed. Its full meaning was compre- 
 hended at once. Not a word passed between us, but, 
 on his sending word to his superiors, two of them 
 made their appearance, when the following dialogue 
 ensued : 
 
 "Are you a citizen of this neighborhood? " 
 
 " I am not." 
 
 "Where do you belong?" 
 
 Thinking it best they should not know they had a 
 New Englander in hand, it was not convenient, for a
 
 343 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 minute, to tell my residence. Somewhat agitated, in 
 fact, more than a little frightened, I said : 
 
 " I hope you are not going to harm an unarmed 
 citizen ? " 
 
 "I asked, where do you belong? " 
 
 "In Illinois." 
 
 ' ' Where have you been ? " 
 
 " Down to the Army." 
 
 " For what purpose ? " 
 
 w To carry some comforts to boys from our neigh- 
 borhood, who are in hospitals." 
 
 " When did you leave the Army ? " 
 
 " I left Nashville yesterday ; the Army was not 
 there, and had not been for a number of weeks." 
 
 " Was there any news from the Army ? " 
 
 " Did not hear any." 
 
 "Did not you hear any news?" 
 
 " Heard there was a little brush, and that the rebels 
 got the worst of it." 
 
 " You said you lived in Illinois. In what part, 
 that is, city, town, or county?" 
 
 " I live, sir, in the town of Lane." 
 
 "Where is Lane?" 
 ."In Illinois." 
 
 "But in what part of Illinois?" 
 
 " Seventy-five miles west of Chicago." 
 
 "How do you reach it?"
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 343 
 
 " Go to Louisville, thence to Indianapolis, thence 
 to Fort Wayne, thence to Chicago, and "then take 
 the Dixou Air-Line towards the Mississippi." 
 
 " Have you any papers about you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, here is a pass, and some cards." 
 
 " Yes ; I see, this is a pass to go to Louisville and 
 return. What is the return for? If you have been 
 down to see some sick men, and are on your way 
 home, I do not see why you wished a pass to go back 
 to Nashville." 
 
 " Well, sir, I had some business in Louisville, and 
 that is the reason why I came, instead of one of the 
 fathers of the sick boys. One of these boys is very 
 low, and he may not live ; in fact, I am pretty cer- 
 tain he will not, and I am going to Louisville to 
 transact my business, and if he dies, shall return to 
 take his body home." 
 
 "I think, sir, you have more papers than these 
 about you, and shall be under the necessity of 
 searching your person. You will hand me your 
 pistol." 
 
 "Don't carry the article, sir." 
 
 He searched my overcoat, dress-coat, linings, 
 sleeves and pockets, but found nothing; vest the 
 same. "Turn your pants pockets ! I will take 
 this!" reaching his hand, and taking my wallet. 
 "Now your boots and socks! All right! Put on
 
 344 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 your clothes ! I will see you again I " lu a little 
 while he came back, handed me my pass, but forgot 
 the money. Asking him for permission to proceed, 
 I received the cool reply : 
 
 "You can act your pleasure ; you can go or stay. 
 If you prefer to remain, you shall be welcome to our 
 hospitality." 
 
 As a travelling ticket was as cheap as a staying 
 one, I took the former. I had been honored with a 
 little fright, and the loss of some twenty dollars in 
 money. But the only point that makes the story 
 worth telling is this : on nay person were ten twenty- 
 dollar notes, as good as Uncle Sam ever made, and 
 some smaller bills. During the preceding night, 
 tramping solitarily over the dismal road, one of my 
 subjects of meditation was the disposition of my 
 greenbacks, if molested. They could be placed in 
 my boot, under my waistcoat, on my shoulder, hold- 
 ing them in place by a pin under the suspender, in 
 this place and in that, but none were satisfactory. 
 Now I have it : separating the ten larger notes from 
 the smaller ones, returning the latter to the wallet, 
 and taking strips of paper to bind the notes as closely 
 as possible, sticking the strips together with postage- 
 stamps, and removing my wig, I laid the package 
 carefully in the top thereof, and, replacing it on my 
 head, it seemed as natural as ever. Though not able
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 34- 
 
 to see myself, I felt sure the proper place to hide the 
 money, in an emergency, had been selected. The 
 occasion came. The first thing, after discovering the 
 guerillas, and comprehending my situation, was to 
 transfer the two hundred dollars to my wig, which 
 was accomplished while pretending to cool my uncov- 
 ered head. I know not how costly the wigs of the 
 olden time were, but mine was of more value than 
 any now seen in the shop- windows. From its cost 
 price, it had advanced, in a short time, just two 
 hundred dollars. Eobbery by guerillas was an every- 
 day occurrence, but I know of no one, besides my- 
 self, who ever cheated them out of their intended 
 plunder by secreting it under a wig. Not proposing 
 to patent the method, I give travellers in dangerous 
 localities the benefit of my experience.
 
 346 Swinging around the circle. 
 
 E. W. Locke. 
 
 1. A bold and mighty tailor went on a Western trip, To 
 
 see his new re - la - tious. And ex er - else his lip, And 
 
 ijzr^ g p ^_ z2 
 
 though for choicest whiskey he scarcely cared a fip, Yet, 
 
 just to be in fashion, He oft - en took a nip. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 W V 
 
 Swinging round the cir - cle, Swinging round the cir - cle, 
 
 dzizz* 1 '' * IT * I ~i* -hi -h ' fr ^ i>. 1 .1* 
 
 Swinging round the cir - cle, With An - dy on the brain; 
 
 fe^iE?=*EEfe 
 
 pi e 
 
 Swinging round the cir - cle, Swinging round the cir - cle, He 
 
 -f-
 
 347 
 
 :^g._^;_^_jij._^4=S|=g-^: , 
 
 sardfri 
 
 might have still been swinging, If he had not heard from Maine. 
 
 N 
 
 
 He took his uncle Billy to help him on his way, 
 To keep him out of danger, and tell him what to say; 
 And, lest by lead or poison some wretch should try to slay, 
 He took his Parson Nasby to stand on guard and pray. 
 
 3. 
 
 The people flocked to see him as country people do, 
 To see a Gi-as-cu-tis, or any monster new ; 
 The noble Chieftain rises, the people get a view, 
 He leaves the Constitution and bids them all adieu. 
 
 4. 
 
 He heard the Western thunders peal out from state to state, 
 He saw the lurid lightnings record his coming fate, 
 But worse than fiercest lightning he found the people's hate, 
 And thought about repentance, alas ! it was too late ! 
 
 5. 
 
 Their hearts becoming shaky, they hurry o'er the rail, 
 Poor Andy's badly frightened, while Billy's deadly pale; 
 The tempest's growing fearful, the stoutest hearted quail, 
 They speed away for safety, like birds before a gale. 
 
 6. 
 
 The moments running swiftly, each man begins to sink; 
 Poor Seward takes to physic, while Andy takes more drink j 
 And ere the precious brothers have reached life's closing wink, 
 They send in haste for Beecher, who's lost his negro kink. 
 By permission of G. D. RUSSELL & Co., 126 Tremont Street, Boston.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THREE QUADROONS AND THEIR MOTHER. 
 
 IN Chatanooga, shortly after the battle of Lookout 
 Mountain, I became acquainted with five persons, 
 whom I must introduce to my readers before taking 
 leave of them. I would like to devote a few pages 
 to the battle, but it has been so often described 
 in books and papers, I will omit further mention of 
 it. Of Chatanooga at that time, I will only say, that 
 the most noted feature was the mud. If one exam- 
 ined his boots in the morning, he could tell in what 
 quarter of the city he had been the previous night, 
 for there were at least three different kinds of that 
 very adhesive article, each peculiar to certain quar- 
 ters of the town. 
 
 Being confined to a house a month, I was for- 
 tunate in having for a companion a young physi- 
 cian from Ohio, who had come to the place to gain 
 information in hospital practice. But he was taken 
 ill, and we were invalids together ; our rooms being 
 on the second floor, and adjoining. He was quite 
 1348)
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 349 
 
 young, seemed to be well read in his profession, 
 ambitious to rise, possessed of a noble nature, which 
 had been developed and refined by contact with noble 
 minds. 
 
 Our fare was not only good, but we were treated 
 almost as well as we could have been in our own 
 house. Of food, the variety was small, but the cook- 
 ing was perfect, and such care and attention are 
 seldom received from strangers. The bed-linen, 
 towels and napkins were as white, and without spot, 
 as those of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Every hour, 
 from early morning till bed-time, regularly as the 
 kitchen clock struck, a dark face and turbaned head 
 were visible at the door, when, prefaced with a light 
 rap, the question would come, "Please am any- 
 thing wanted now ? " 
 
 Not only the cooking, but all the domestic affairs, 
 were under the direction of a mulatto woman of 
 forty-five. Her face was very fair, her form straight 
 and beautiful as a statue. Her voice soft, and her 
 eyes bright and sparkling, as a girl's. Early and 
 late she was at her work, but with so little noise 
 that one would hardly know she was in the room, 
 but for a sweet low humming of some religious mel- 
 ody she always indulged in, except when taking her 
 meals, or talking. 
 
 The mistress of the house was seldom seen except
 
 350 AV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Saturday iiight, when she called for her ten-dollar 
 greenback from the young physician and myself. 
 She had a daughter who might possibly be called 
 an invalid, though it is probable her disease was 
 spleen, if anything, and the two spent most of their 
 time by themselves, while the mulatto woman was, 
 in reality, the head of the family. If there was 
 a husband, I never saw or heard of him. 
 
 But this was not all the household. The colored 
 woman had three daughters, all quadroons, and none 
 of them own sisters. The name of the oldest, and 
 by far the handsomest, was Kitty ; of the youngest, 
 Fannie ; and of the other I cannot tell. She was 
 called Meddie; but what it was a contraction of, 
 or substitute for, I know not. Kitty was, perhaps, 
 eighteen, Meddie about fourteen, and "Little Fan," 
 as her mother called her, about six. Each one was 
 so beautiful, that no one could pass her without 
 gazing with admiration ; but the oldest was the pic- 
 ture of the group. The two younger were often in 
 the yard, and their beauty was such that the soldiers 
 marked the place where they resided, and called it 
 the house of the pretty quadroons. They were al- 
 ways taken, at first sight, for white children ; but 
 their lips, and peculiar shade, as well as their kinky 
 hair, revealed the quadroon, at a moment's obser-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 35 1 
 
 vation. The teamsters, who passed the house daily, 
 always looked for them. 
 
 "What do you think of that sight, John?" 
 
 "Beautiful ; but isn't it too bad?" 
 
 "Didn't I tell you there was a sight here you never 
 dreamed of?" 
 
 "If I were in Louisville, instead of this mud-hole, 
 can you guess what I would do ? " 
 
 "You would go home, and go to farming, instead 
 of riding that saddle-mule seven days in the week 
 on Army fare and pay!" 
 
 "No sir ; I would just put these two girls into my 
 wagon, take them out of the city, put them on the 
 train for Michigan, and give them a chance for their 
 lives. A few years hence, and they will be concu- 
 bines to some infernal white scoundrel ; and I would 
 just like to steal them, and give them freedom." 
 
 No wonder the teamsters talked of them. Among 
 a thousand white children, they would have attracted 
 attention ; alone, they seemed like two fairies flitting 
 about the yard among the crocuses, daffodils, and 
 the blossoming peach-trees. But the beauty of the 
 trio was never seen in the yard. If she had been, 
 she would have been taken for a lovely daughter of 
 the proprietor of the mansion. Symmetrical and 
 graceful as a fawn, modest in every look and move- 
 ment, apparently tit to adorn a palace ; yet always
 
 .352 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 busy in some domestic duty, there was nothing but 
 the waves in the hair, and her peculiar African voice, 
 that gave evidence that she, like her less beautiful 
 sisters, was a quadroon. But I will pass her, at 
 present, for something about the mother. 
 
 On a previous page, I have referred to her coming 
 to our rooms at the end of every hour. I believe 
 that but for the task of the poor soul being so heavy, 
 we should have rung the bell often, to have her sat- 
 isfy some imaginary want. But this would not have 
 answered. No white woman had keener percep- 
 tions. Works of necessity she could find time, and 
 was always ready to do, but for no one, not even 
 her children, would she do anything unnecessary. 
 After we were able to leave our beds, we spent 
 most of the pleasant days walking about the yard. 
 The mistress spent most of her time during the 
 day, either in her room, or with an invalid sis- 
 ter out of the city. This gave us a good oppor- 
 tunity to see much of the colored family. Auntie 
 was willing we should go into the kitchen in the 
 afternoon, when there was no cooking under way. 
 She stipulated that ,we might come when she was 
 sewing; but said, "The kitchen am no place for 
 men-folks, and sartain none for white men-folks, 
 when the cookin', the washin', and the bukiii' am 
 gwine on." Her afternoon dress was a nice de-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 353 
 
 laine, good enough for any woman, with a fit 
 that was faultless. She had small feet and ankles, 
 and wore a pair of shoes she had made from a piece 
 of tent-cloth. She would have been a most agree- 
 able companion for a sick man during a lonesome 
 afternoon, even had she been a mulatto of only ordi- 
 nary intelligence. But her wisdom was much more 
 remarkable than her personal attractions. Unable 
 to read, yet anything worth remembering, read or 
 told, in her presence, was not often forgotten. If 
 we repeated a passage of Scripture incorrectly, she 
 would instantly say, "Please mas'r, I specks you 
 am jes a little wrong;" and seldom was she mis- 
 taken, even to an article or preposition. 
 
 I have tried to preserve some of her sayings, but 
 find, in attempting to write them, it is impossible to 
 do her justice. Mrs. Stowe could do it, and yet, 
 though it be a failure, I will do my best. Looking 
 into her room, and finding her alone, with her sew- 
 ing iii hand, and taking the proffered seat, I com- 
 menced the conversation : 
 
 "You have some very beautiful children, Auntie; 
 I suppose you are very proud of them ? " 
 
 "Indeed, sometimes when I looks at them, it 'pears 
 like they am beautiful ; but I specks other mothers 
 feel jes as I does. But I specks I knows the differ- 
 ence atween one flower and another, whether it am 
 23
 
 354 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 in my garden or not. I specks I am proud of them. 
 May the good Lord forgive me ; I am ever gettin' out 
 of the right way. " 
 
 "Where is your husband, Auntie?" 
 
 "O, now you knows better than that. You have 
 eyes, and ears, too. Now if you specks me to talk 
 with you, you must have no nonsense ; you must not 
 try to get anything out of me by cunnin', but jes ax 
 me what yer wants to know, and, if it am proper, I 
 will tell you. These gals am all my mas'rs' chil'ii, 
 not one's, but all different. And now I specks you 
 reckon me a bad woman, but I knows better." 
 
 " We will not talk about that. What do you think 
 of the war?" 
 
 "Indeed, I dunno ; I specks it am none of my 
 business. When I thinks how manjr poor men suf- 
 fer and die, who knows no more what it am about 
 nor I, .then I gets riled up ; but then I can jes do 
 nuffin' at all." 
 
 "But do you take no interest in being made free? 
 If the North succeeds, your people will be made 
 free." 
 
 "Indeed, I specks they will, and I am glad, for 
 my people's sake, and gladder for my chil'n's sake ; 
 but, for me, it done matter much. If I am free to- 
 day, what could I do? No house, no land, and my 
 friends jes as poor as I."
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 355 
 
 "But Government will help you." 
 
 "That may be ; but seem' am believing." 
 
 "Are you contented in your condition of servi- 
 tude?" 
 
 "Indeed I is not, all the time ; but what is the 
 use of frettin', and wantin' to change, unless you can 
 do better? I specks you am not contented, all the 
 time, with your lot." 
 
 "No ; but I am free to improve, according to op- 
 portunity and ability." 
 
 "I specks I should love freedom, and, if the Lord 
 gives it, I shall make the best use I can of it. You 
 can help us, by the 'sistance of the Lord, to be free, 
 but you cannot make white folks of black ones. We 
 has different blood." 
 
 "We will educate your people, and they will 
 greatly improve." 
 
 "That am most likely ; but the blood am not alike. 
 I specks you couldn't tell a white man's blood from a 
 black man's, but it makes different men and women. 
 I tell you, I studies a heap about the blood. I once 
 seen through a 'scope into the water, and there was 
 the horridest critters in the water we drink ; and I 
 often wonders what I would see in the blood with 
 that glass. There am strange things in some blood, 
 though we cannot see them. There am scrofula, 
 consumption, heart-disease and cancer ; there am
 
 356 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 stealin' and lyin', and hate, and false friendship, and 
 lust in the blood ; and so there am all sorts of good 
 in it." 
 
 w Why, Auntie, you are quite profound. You will 
 make a good doctress, when you and your people 
 obtain their freedom." 
 
 " Laws, indeed, and don't I doctor now ? I reckon 
 I has a heap of patients most all the time. But I 
 jes tell yer there is not sich a difference in our en- 
 joyment, after all. Dun yer hear my Kitty sing 
 every day jes like a medder lark ? I specks she have 
 not much to sing for, no father to own her when he 
 see her, no home, no nuffin', but a poor old mother 
 who love her from her head to her feet, and yet, who 
 am so happy as my Kitty? She am jes like the 
 honeycomb, all running over with sweetness. She 
 love everybody, and everybody love her. There am 
 no white gal in town half so happy as Kitty. The 
 colored folks am happier than the whites. I have 
 not hearn the Mis'ress, nor Miss Liza, nor any white 
 woman laugh loud for a year." ' 
 
 M And why is Kitty so happy ? Have you taught 
 her how to be happy ? " 
 
 "Why, bless your dear heart, she have teached 
 me every day since she were a little one in my lap. 
 It am in her blood. She am jes like her father. I 
 finds it hard teachin' folks to be good. It do every-
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 357 
 
 body some good to sperience religion, but it do some 
 a heap more nor others. I have found the Pearl of 
 Great Price. I knows my sperience have done a 
 heap for me ; but still, I am so fretful, and when I am 
 spit upon I never turns the other cheek till I spits 
 back again ; and Kitty, without a sperieuce, am better 
 nor I with one." 
 
 " Was Kitty always a good and obedient child ? " 
 
 "Indeed from a baby : as I told you, it am in her 
 blood. She need no whippin' nor scoldin'. But if 
 you wish to see fire, you can see it in Meddie. She, 
 poor chile, have her father's bad temper, and mine 
 too. When I punishes her I jes do the same as when 
 I have dirty dishes to wash. Warm water will do 
 for the cups and spoons, but when I comes to a dirty 
 platter, then I must have the hot water, so hot I 
 cannot bear my hand in it, and then I gets it clean, 
 and so with them chil'n. One can be wash clean 
 with any water, but the other must have it hot." 
 
 " I suppose you love them equally, notwithstand- 
 ing the difference in disposition ? " 
 
 "Indeed I do ! But which am the best disposi- 
 tion? Kitty am all love, ancf jes like a lump of 
 putty ; I specks something will happen to her. But 
 Meddie, though her temper come up like a flash of 
 powder, would die afore she would do wrong. I
 
 358 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 risk that chile. Only a cruel mas'r could make her 
 do wrong." 
 
 "But it seems to me you ought to desire freedom, 
 particularly on account of your beautiful children." 
 
 "Yes, you calls them beautiful, and so do every- 
 body. But suppose they were free, they have the 
 hated black blood, and slave or free, it show itself. 
 What white man what have spectable relations would 
 marry a quadroon? My chil'n may marry men of 
 their own race, but they will be more likely to 
 marry down than up. They am so handsome that 
 they will be seeked not only by their own race, but 
 by white men, as was their mother, and ruin will fol- 
 low. I tell you I have no hopes at all. What the 
 Lord do I know am right. There am a great gulf 
 atween our people and yours. No matter how little 
 of the hated black blood in the body, it am enough 
 to curse it. Not so with the red man. White folks 
 am proud that their great-grandfathers were red 
 men." 
 
 " But Christians are growing better. They will 
 learn to deal justly by your race." 
 
 "Mebbe they will* They cannot learn too soon. 
 I reckon when they see it will put money in their 
 pockets, they will do it. There am nothin' a white 
 man love like money. I specks if I were free, these 
 old hands would have to scrub the floor, and use the
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 359 
 
 wash-tub, and tend to the house -work, jes the same 
 as now. I hopes if we is gwine to be made free, 
 that we are not to be left as we are. We am poor, 
 ignorant critters. What can we be without larnin'? 
 , What am a white man without larnin' and money ? 
 We may be made free, but we shall be as we am 
 now, and as God's people of old were, 'hewers of 
 wood, and drawers of water.' " 
 
 But the poor woman was destined to meet that af- 
 fliction that comes to so many of our race. Little 
 Fannie was taken with the scarlet fever, and died 
 after a few days' suffering. The loss of this little 
 flower created a scene in that household no pen can 
 describe. The sad news took wings, and the house 
 was constantly thronged. First came the neighbors, 
 white as well as black ; for every one that knew the 
 child loved her. Then came the colored people 
 from the outskirts of the city, and from the country. 
 I dreaded to see a fresh arrival. The poor mother 
 broke out into uncontrollable wailing, and her heart 
 was wrung with fresh anguish at every new face she 
 met. But the paroxysms did not last many minutes. 
 After the tears and moans, she could tell each group 
 that came the story of Little Fannie's sickness and 
 death. Repeating it almost word for word fifty 
 times, "O, but I kuowd the chile must die. I had 
 a wision. I saw her come out of a dark prison,
 
 360 AV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 with a face that shine like the brightest gold. O, 
 yes ; bright as the sun, and I could not look at it. 
 She had no wings, but she jes soar away into the 
 sky, and she sing the sweetest song ever heard by 
 mortal ears. I call to her, and call again, but she 
 hear me not. All the time of her sickness, she tell . 
 of bein' down by a great river, and that a kind man 
 would carry her over. And then siie would see 
 sweet chil'n with garlans and flowers, and she say 
 they call her their sister. O, then I knowd that the 
 Lord was gwine to call for her her, instead of me, 
 who am not fit to die. The Lord call them that is 
 fittest first." 
 
 But the time for the funeral came, and the minis- 
 ter for the occasion was a colored man. There was 
 nothing striking in the sermon, but the prayer was 
 thrilling, and the whole assembly sobbed and moaned 
 as though the little darling in the coffin belonged by 
 the ties of blood to every one present. The tears 
 ran down his dark face, and it seemed at one time as 
 though a common frenzy had seized the assembly ; 
 but with a voice and' tone of submission never sur- 
 passed, he ended his prayer in these words : "The Lord 
 gave and the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be 
 the name of the Lord." 
 
 His address to the mother was touching in the ex- 
 treme. It is almost useless to attempt to give it.
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 361 
 
 In fact, it so overpowered me that most of the 
 substance was lost. I remember weeping, as 
 everybody else did, and thinking if he had had 
 an education he would have been a colored White- 
 field. One thought struck me with great force, 
 but I cannot give it accurately in his language. He 
 had evidently been a house-servant all his life. His 
 manner and bearing were polished, his words well 
 pronounced, and his language more like that of a man 
 of culture than of a negro. He said "he had met 
 with parents mourning, like the mother before him, for 
 a darling child, who seemed to reproach the Father 
 for giving them the little one for so brief a season 
 and then taking it away, leaving the heart to bleed 
 for a long time. But," he continued, "if this were 
 doing the little one a wrong, it would seem incompre- 
 hensible and unjust, but you must remember that the 
 road to heaven lies through this imperfect world. 
 Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Samuel, Elijah, Stephen, 
 Paul, and Mary and Martha, and, above all, the blessed 
 Saviour, were once mortals. It may be there are 
 beings in heaven that were never inhabitants of the 
 earth. But I cannot yearn for their companionship 
 as for one who has toiled, and suffered, and been 
 tempted, and fallen and risen, as I have done. The 
 blessed Saviour would not be so dear to me, though 
 He purchased me with His blood, were He not in one
 
 362 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 sense my brother as well as Saviour. Little Fan- 
 nie, then, Avas not wronged, but blest, in being 
 taken away ; and instead of allowing a wickedly 
 selfish feeling to suggest a wish that she had never 
 been given, you should thank the good Lord that He 
 saw fit, through you, to add one more to the company 
 of the immortals on high. O, what a sweet thought 
 to parents, that God should choose them to such a 
 privilege as this. And when I see parents sorrowing 
 that another little lamb has been added to their flock, 
 I think they reason like heathen or infidels. I see, 
 in the little eyes and face of the infant, an embryo 
 angel. 
 
 "And then," he continued, "my dear sister, what a 
 picture is left for you to contemplate as long as you 
 live !. You have no picture of her as white people 
 have of their children, and you need none. You 
 will see her beautiful form and sweet face a hun- 
 dred times a day ; she will come to your bed-side, 
 however dark the room, and you will see her in your 
 dreams ; and it will always be that same sweet face : 
 it will never grow old. Her songs will ring in your 
 ears as they have done since she could sing. O, I 
 have seen pictures in many a parlor which cost a 
 great sum of money, but no gentleman has one on 
 canvas so beautiful as yours. And some time, it 
 will not be long, you will meet her face to face, where
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 363 
 
 the tie of love is never severed. Will you murmur ? 
 Can you complain, when God has been so good? 
 Think of the bliss of ten thousand kisses ; of the 
 thousand times you have pressed her to your heart ; 
 of your ecstatic seasons in listening to her prattling 
 and songs ! And thank the Lord for all His unde- 
 served mercies, like a Christian woman." 
 
 The weeks passed slowly away. The poor 
 mother was as punctual to her duties as before 
 her affliction, but she sung no hymns. Often she 
 might be seen looking up at the sky, for ten or fifteen 
 minutes, perfectly unconscious of surrounding per- 
 sons .or things, as if expecting to see the darling 
 peering out from behind a fleecy cloud. But I must 
 write of something else, now, as my chapter is grow- 
 ing lengthy. 
 
 My physician friend had nearly recovered, and was 
 about ready to go to his work in the hospital, and I 
 to return North. The last week he spent nearly 
 every evening in my room. While he gained in 
 health and strength, his mind seemed much disturbed. 
 On inquiring the cause, he replied : 
 
 "I have only been waiting for something to break 
 the ice, and tell you my trouble. I am thoroughly 
 ashamed of my weakness, but I am madly in lovo 
 with Kitty, and what is a poor fellow to do?" 
 
 " You hava come to a poor adviser in such a case ;
 
 364 I& CAMP AXD HOSPITAL. 
 
 but as my head is cool, and you confess yours is not, 
 if you will state your case, I will do the best I can 
 for you. Then you are in love with Kitty? " 
 
 " That is the case, exactly." 
 
 "Well, I neither wonder at it, nor blame you. 
 She certainly is not only one of the most beautiful, 
 but also one of the most lovely girls I ever saw. 
 Does Kitty know of your love, and reciprocate it." 
 
 "Why, man, of course she knows I love her, and 
 I know she loves me." 
 
 " Have you had any private interviews with her ? " 
 
 " No ; I dare not trust myself alone with her, lest 
 I should make a promise to marry her." 
 
 " Well, if you love the girl, and you are certain 
 she loves you, why not marry her ? " 
 
 "Were I a boy of yours, would you consent to 
 my marrying a quadroon, even if it were Kitty 
 herself?" 
 
 "I confess to not having lost my prejudice against 
 the blood." 
 
 " You would not feel proud to take Kitty's children 
 on your knee, while they called you Grand-pa?" 
 
 " The picture is not pleasant to contemplate." 
 
 " But is she not beautiful enough for a queen ? " 
 
 " Most assuredly." 
 
 "Has she not the sweetest voice you ever heard?" 
 
 "It probably has not the sa*ne charm for me as
 
 Z/V CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 365 
 
 you, yet her voice is so rich, mellow, and sweet, 
 that once heard, it can never be forgotten." 
 
 "Do you not notice that the mistress treats her 
 almost as one of her children?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And the daughter welcomes Kitty to her room 
 every afternoon, and they sit and sew together like 
 two sisters. And now, what does she lack that I 
 want in a wife?" 
 
 "An education." 
 
 "A few years, with my money, will supply her 
 with that. By the time I am established in busi- 
 ness, she can have an education. What else does 
 she lack?" 
 
 "Before I answer that question, will you allow me 
 to speak to her mother? You would, of course, ask 
 the mother's consent, even if she is a slave, before 
 you would marry her child." 
 
 "That is so. Will you speak to her?" 
 
 I did not have to wait over twenty hours.. The 
 next afternoon, Auntie was at her work, and alone 
 as usual, Kitty being with Miss* Eliza, and Meddie 
 being at play in the yard. 
 
 "Auntie, I have come in to have a little talk with 
 you about the young Doctor." 
 
 "Why, laws, indeed ! What am the trouble now?
 
 366 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 You seem like father and son. What has happen to 
 the young Doctor?" 
 
 "O, nothing very strange. He has just recov- 
 ered from one sickness, and now he is taken bad 
 with another." 
 
 "Why, bless your heart, he ate his dinner well as 
 ever." 
 
 "But, Auntie, he is in love." 
 
 "Who am he in love with?" 
 
 "Your Kitty." 
 
 "O, I knows all about that these three weeks. I 
 knows when it corned on. I has got eyes; but 
 Kitty has been kep out of the way much as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 "Well, Auntie, he really talks about proposing to 
 marry her." 
 
 "O, laws, the honey must not have sich a thought. 
 Marry my Kitty ! Never ! He could not be earn- 
 est." 
 
 "He certainly is, and is almost beside himself." 
 
 "Well now, if he am love-sick he ought to know 
 what am the proper^nedicine . But I reckons he knows 
 more about the fevers, rash, and sich-like, than love. 
 But I knows what to do when folks am in love : 
 sarb them as you do them what have the measles. 
 You can do nigh about jes nuffin' at all. The best 
 med'cine for love am change of air. Tell the Doctor
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 367 
 
 old Auntie say this am a bad climate for him. He 
 best go Xorth next train." 
 
 "O, Auntie, it will not do to ridicule him. He is 
 as fine a boy as I ever met, and, to all appearance, 
 the soul of honor. If he should marry Kitty, he 
 would do it with the purest of motives." 
 
 "Indeed, indeed, the Doctor am a gen'leman and 
 a Christian, I's no doubt ; but he must not marry my 
 Kitty. So long as she am the sweet rose, he would 
 never think of her blood ; but folks grows old, and 
 everybody gets cross at times, and forgets all the 
 sweet words they use in courtin' days, and then they 
 goes spyin' 'round and huntiu' up all the weak p'ints 
 in each other, and makes 'em into a pile, and say, 
 * See there! how bad you am!' And if they cannot 
 find much in each other that am bad, they spies out 
 the rubbish of their relations, and say, 'Look at tliatl 
 See who you am!' Why, if Kitty were jes' an an- 
 gel, and the honey am jes' as near one as I want her 
 to be in this selfish world, she could not be the wife 
 of this Doctor, and live up North one year, but some 
 one would jes' 'cuse her that she am a nigger. If he 
 would always be kind to her, his mother would not. 
 I tells you, nuffin' cuts a woman more than seein' her 
 son marry in poorer blood than his. She care not 
 how high he go, but it cut her deep if he go down 
 to marry."
 
 3 68 
 
 Itf CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 "Shall I tell the Doctor you cannot consent to his 
 marrying Kitty?" 
 
 "Indeed you may. I could not wrong Kitty so, 
 nor wrong him so." 
 
 "But how will this affect Kitty? Of course she 
 knows he loves her?" 
 
 "O, that is nuffin' ! She knows that he loves her, 
 but she specks it am like the love of all white folks 
 she see here. It have not struck in deep ; I can cure 
 her. But I tell you this, the Doctor must jes' le've, 
 or Kitty must. Take one coal from the other, and 
 they will both go out ; but while they am together, 
 they will burn." 
 
 I carried my report to my suffering young friend, 
 repeating the substance of the interview, but it did 
 him no good. At times, he declared he would take 
 her, if it cost him his inheritance ; at others, he 
 would say it might be only a temporary infatuation. 
 "In conclusion," said he, "what is your advice?" 
 
 "I will advise you as I would my boy : make her 
 a substantial present, tell her you hope to see her 
 again some time, and leave for home, in the morn- 
 ing. Marriage, next to birth, is the most important 
 event in life, and we ought not to rush into it with 
 blood at fever-heat. In choosing a profession, you 
 consulted your friends, those whom you knew had 
 the deepest and most abiding interest in you. Were
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 369 
 
 your studies completed, and you were looking for a 
 permanent field of labor, you would most likely ask, 
 if you did not follow, the advice of friends. At any 
 rate, you are so young, you can afford to take time 
 for consideration. And, furthermore, you must re- 
 member that the step you propose to take is a very 
 extraordinary one. Fifty years hence, it may be 
 very common; but, all things considered, I beg of 
 you to wait. Go home in the morning. I shall re- 
 main awhile longer, and will inform you, by letter, 
 whether she lays your leaving to heart." 
 
 "I will follow your counsel. I will leave in the 
 morning, carrying clean hands and a pure heart I 
 have not trifled with her. Whatever be her fate, I 
 have done her no wrong, unless it be wrong to have 
 loved her almost to distraction." 
 
 In the morning, he was off for Ohio. Before he 
 left, Auntie and Meddie received substantial pres- 
 ents, and Kitty the promise of a package of school- 
 books, as soon as he should reach Louisville; for 
 she could read quite well. The books came, to my 
 care, in a few days, and Miss Eliza took it upon her- 
 self to be Kitty's instructress ; perhaps as ranch for 
 her own benefit as for that of her pupil. 
 
 The foregoing incident is the foundation of the 
 following song : 
 24
 
 370 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 SWEET KITTY MANEE, THE QUADROON. 
 
 [By permission of GEO. D. RUSSELL & Co., 126 Tremont Street, 
 Boston, who publish it in sheet music, with piano accompani- 
 ment. Words and Music by E. W. LOCKE.] 
 
 THE moss-rose is leaving, the peach is abloom, 
 
 The daisy is peeping so sly, 
 The spider has got his first web in .the loom, 
 
 And stretched it athwart for the fly ; 
 The blue-bird is telling his love to his dear, 
 
 They'll have them a nest in this tree, 
 And everything's telling that spring-time is here, 
 
 But O, it is winter for me ! 
 
 But O, it is winter for me ! 
 
 My heart's like the wild-surging sea ; 
 
 I dare not caress, her lips may not press, 
 
 But, darling, I love you, sweet Kitty Manee ! 
 
 Her face like the sunshine, no lily so fair, 
 
 And sweet as the rose from the bud ; 
 That voice like a flute but those waves in the hair, 
 
 They tell of the taint in her blood ; 
 I must not, I will not, but list to her song ! 
 
 Cease, birdlings, till Kitty is done ! 
 My heart, fiercely beating, shall do her no wrong 
 
 My mother*!! not blush for her son !
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 But O, it is maddening to me ! 
 
 My heart's like the wild-surging sea ; 
 
 I dare not caress, her lips may not press, 
 
 But, darling, I love you, sweet Kitty Manee ! 
 
 She's under my window, there's love in her eye, 
 
 I reel as if drunken with wine ; 
 I'd leap to her feet, were I up in the sky, 
 
 Could I but caress her as mine ; 
 But somebody's darling my Kitty will be, 
 
 Some lover will win her too soon ; 
 Come, gather the flower that blooms not for me, 
 
 Farewell to my gentle quadroon ! 
 
 But O, it is maddening for me ! 
 
 My heart's like the wild-surging sea ; 
 
 I dare not caress, her lips may not press, 
 
 But, darling, I love you, sweet Kitty Manee.
 
 372 And so will the boys in blue. 
 
 E. W. Locke. 
 
 
 1. The bn- gle call rings loud and clear. And loud the rolling drum: Our 
 
 2. Thro' gloomy years of bloody strife, We've battled side by side; "With 
 
 
 comrades haste to seek their posts. The time for work has come ; The 
 brave, true hearts and siuewy arms We've stemm'd each fiery tide. E - 
 
 beacon fires burn brizht again. They flash on ev'-ry hill. From 
 ternal Justice nerv'd us then, And gave the conqulring will, With 
 
 sea to sea the shout goes up, We march to vicfry still, 
 hearts a - flame, and God our trust, We strike for Justice still. 
 
 CHORDS. 
 
 , N I N . I _ L k . i i i N I S N I v | N S 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! for our noble cause ! Hurrah ! for our leaders true ! We ' 1 1 
 
 _* r r f f -T- ^J^LJ- * ^ 
 ^=T-r" r " I Un= L- 
 
 pE^=^^flJ^-l^z^ffg^. ^ 
 
 -5-g-Fy-*-*-"-? h-=b-p >-Fh^~ 
 
 staud by the men who stood by the flag, And so will the boys in blue. Au 
 
 so will we all, and so will we all, Our pledge we now renew; We'll 
 m '-^ ^T,^ 
 
 -=g--- < I t "---'- L4 -*'---'
 
 V 
 
 8. 
 
 Our motto, equal rights to all ; 
 
 The ballot shall be free ; 
 Who stakes his life to save the flag, 
 
 May vote with you and me ! 
 We'll ask him not his birth or kin, 
 
 Or prate about his hue, 
 But ev'ry man unstained with crime 
 
 May vote with boys in blue. 
 
 CHO. 
 
 4. 
 We'll keep the nation's sacred pledge, 
 
 Pay ev'ry dime we owe ; 
 Each loyal arm will gladly strike 
 
 Each day an extra blow. 
 Repudiate we scorn the word, 
 
 And those who use it too, 
 We are not knaves or bankrupts yet, 
 
 Nor are the boys in blue. 
 
 CHO. 
 
 5. 
 Haste, loyal men, fill up your ranks, 
 
 Bring ev'ry soldier out ; 
 This struggle ought to be our last, 
 
 And give the final rout. 
 But lo, 'they come ! a sea of men ! 
 
 Impatient for the fray, 
 They come ! they come ! in throngs so vast, 
 
 Our work shall seem but play. 
 
 Cno.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MASS-MEETING IN SPEINGFIELD, ILLINOIS. 
 
 THE reader may wonder what connection a mass- 
 meeting in Illinois, before the war, has with Camp 
 and Hospital. In answer, I reply: That meeting 
 was the first notable event in that historical series 
 with which Mr. Lincoln was connected, and ending 
 in his tragic death. At that meeting, and every 
 subsequent one, till war came upon us, the assem- 
 bled people saw that a crisis was approaching, and 
 they counselled together as to methods, and means 
 for the occasion. 
 
 The Presidential mass-meetings before an elec- 
 tion, as all know, are often of huge proportions. 
 The West, above all other sections of the country, 
 gets them up on the grandest scale. The Republi- 
 can one, at Springfield, August, 1860, was indeed 
 a mass-meeting a mass of humanity so packing 
 the town, that locomotion was almost impossible. 
 It seemed as though all the people had come to see 
 the man who possibly might become President ; not 
 (374)
 
 7iV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 375 
 
 that Mr. Lincoln had a very strong hold on the affec- 
 tions of the people at that time, for outside of San- 
 gamon County, he was little known previously to 
 taking the stump with Douglas. 
 
 This was the first time the West had ever been 
 honored with a candidate for the Presidency, and 
 now it has two. It had never even had a Vice-Pres- 
 ident. It was fitting that the Eepublicans should 
 have selected a Western man. The friends of Uni- 
 versal Liberty in the East were well organized, and 
 knew their strength ; but giving the West the nom- 
 ination, the party gained numbers and enthusiasm. 
 It was eminently judicious, for another reason ; the 
 Democrats had taken their candidate from that sec- 
 tion, and why should not the ^Republicans do as 
 much ? 
 
 The people had been stirred, of late, as never be- 
 fore. The mass of Eepublicans had not thought of 
 Emancipation as a possibility. "Thuo far, and no 
 farther," was the watchword of the young party. 
 Men who loathed the negro,, and cared little for his 
 condition of servitude, began to see that slavery was 
 a curse, not only to the South,- but the whole coun- 
 try, and they were ready to join a party which 
 would stipulate to guarantee the Southerner his 
 right to his slaves, but was determined that the can- 
 cer should extend its claws into no new territory.
 
 376 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Many a Western man, who was willing to be called 
 a Republican, hated a new England radical. Nom- 
 inating Mr. Lincoln was a concession to that part of 
 the West opposed to slavery on the one hand, and 
 New England radicalism on the other. Some of 
 the managers of political meetings, in that section, 
 were as careful in selecting speakers for the occasion 
 as a soldier in picking up scattered muskets from a 
 field the morning after a battle. Trumbull was one 
 of the "big guns" of the campaign in 1860. He 
 had one speech, which, I doubt not, he made fifty 
 times. I heard it no less than ten, and could give 
 it almost verbatim, were it worth repeating. There 
 was little in it about the injustice of slavery to the 
 negro. He was left out of the question. It was 
 merely a matter of policy, as to material interests, 
 whether slavery should be restricted or not. His 
 speech was better suited to Springfield, and south of 
 it, than further north. His meetings were large, 
 and very enthusiastic. In some of them, as the one 
 at Rock Island, his friends illustrated his speech by 
 transparencies. Douglas and his doctrines were 
 the chief points of attack. If the Little Giant was 
 supposed to have done anything very silly, when this 
 point was approached, a transparency of a mulo 
 would go up among the crowd, and then the people 
 would hurrah. If he was supposed to have done
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 377 
 
 anything wicked, a transparency of the devil would 
 go up. One would have thought that Douglas was 
 the man, above all others, that the country need to 
 fear; but Truinbull had not learned to plead the 
 cause of the slave, and I have .never heard that he 
 ever learned to do it. 
 
 Seventy thousand strangers are in Springfield. 
 Some three thousand have come from Chicago in a 
 special train. Farmers have come fifty miles in two- 
 horse farm-wagons, bringing wife, sons, and daugh- 
 ters, and not only these, but camp-kettles, coffee-pots 
 and provisions, to camp out coming and returning. 
 Towns and cities come by delegations. Every 
 road leading to the city is crowded for twenty miles 
 with vehicles. The weather is fine, a little over- 
 warm. Girls can dress in white, and bare their arms 
 and neck without danger ; the women can bring their 
 children. Everything that was ever done at any 
 other mass-meeting is done here. Locomotive-build- 
 ers are making a boiler. Blacksmiths are heating 
 and hammering their irons, the iron-founders are 
 moulding their patterns ; the rail-splitters are show- 
 ing the people how Uncle Abe used to split rails ; 
 every other town has its wagon-load of thirty-one 
 girls in white to represent the States ; bands of 
 music, numerous almost as those of McClellan on 
 Arlington Heights in '62, are playing; old men of
 
 378 AV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 the war of '12, with their old wives, their children, 
 grandchildren, and great grandchildren, are here; 
 making a procession of human beings, horses and 
 carriages, not less than ten miles in length. And yet 
 the procession might have left the town and the people 
 would scarcely be missed. 
 
 There is an immense wigwam, with galleries like 
 a theatre, but there are people enough not in the 
 procession to fill a dozen like it. Half an hour is 
 long enough to witness the moving panorama of men 
 and women, horses, carriages, representatives of 
 trades, mottoes, and burlesques, and listen to the 
 bands. 
 
 Thinking it possible to get up something that 
 would interest the waiting crowd, speaking to a sup- 
 posed friend across the street, in a tone loud enough 
 to receive some attention, I called out, " Harry I 
 Harry ! let's go to the Fair Grounds ; we have seen 
 all there is here. Corwin of Ohio is going to make 
 a speech there." Moving on to the next square , I re- 
 peat the ruse. In fifteen minutes the current has 
 been started. Hundreds, perhaps a thousand, have 
 started for the Fair Grounds. "What's up now?" 
 says one. " Going to hear Tom Corwin speak." "I 
 thought he was dead long ago," said another. " Well, 
 he was an old Henry Clay Whig, and I wonder if he 
 has become a Republican? I guess Henry himself
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 379 
 
 would be a Republican if he were alive. Most of 
 the Northern Whigs, but Fillmore and Everett, have 
 come over." Following the stream of country folk, I 
 am soon on the ground, which is scarcely a mile out 
 of the city. 
 
 But where is Corwin? Though not carrying him in 
 my pocket, or as Artemus Ward did his wax figures, I 
 have him near at hand, notwithstanding. It requires a 
 little delicate manipulation to put the speaker on the 
 stand in a proper manner. Looking over the crowd, and 
 fixing my eye on a man whose chest is broad enough 
 for a glass-blower, I say, "Friend, call out Corwin, 
 he is in the crowd, let us have a speech from him"." 
 "Oil aint used to hollerin' in meetin'. You try it, 
 and if you can't start out the tiger, I will yell a little." 
 Calling out, " Corwin ! Corwin ! " as loudly as pos- 
 sible, my voice sounded small, and I failed to raise 
 the orator. "Now, my friend, sound your bugle 
 once or twice ;" and sound he does. A stage-driver 
 could scarcely make his trumpet heard further than 
 this man does his voice. The crowd become impa- 
 tient, wondering why the Buckeye orator does not 
 make his appearance, if present. Soon a small man^ 
 of pleasant countenance, fifty-five years of age, steps 
 on the platform , and the audience is all attention : 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Corwin ; and 
 I am told that this call for a speech is to me." A
 
 380 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 few are remarking on his young appearance. They 
 thought he was certainly a much older man. One 
 thought probably it was Tom Corwin's son, but let us 
 hear his speech. "If I am the individual called for, 
 allow me to say that as you find me unprepared, I might 
 with propriety decline the honor, and perhaps save 
 myself the disagreeable reflection of having made 
 a poor speech. Yet such is the occasion, such are 
 the times, and such are the sentiments dwelling in 
 all our hearts as one, I will do myself the pleasure 
 of speaking to this intelligent and patriotic assembly 
 for a few minutes, getting compensation for my em- 
 barassment by the privilege of looking into your 
 honest faces. 
 
 "Fellow-Citizens : We are approaching one of 
 those crises through which a great people must 
 sometimes pass. No nation, of any character, 
 magnitude, or age, ever escaped them. Our grand- 
 fathers passed one in their day, we must meet one 
 in ours. In fact, it is upon us. If we, as a great 
 people, are superior to the calamities that threaten 
 us ; to the internal fires that seem ready to consume 
 us ; and if we forget not the principles of eternal 
 right and justice that God has revealed to us, all 
 will be well. I have not the eye to discern what is 
 before us, but have the heart to feel that God is 
 about to try this people as by fire. "We are to be
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 381 
 
 placed in His furnace. I hope and trust we may 
 come out refined, and not be cast away as worthless 
 dross. Though the future is portentous, I am yet 
 hopeful ; hopeful, because this new party to which 
 we have pledged our unswerving fidelity, is to suc- 
 ceed in the present political, contest. This out- 
 pouring of the people, this emptying the prairie 
 homes for a day to our common country, is glorious 
 augury for victory at the polls. We must succeed : 
 I feel it ; you feel it. It almost seems to us an 
 event accomplished. I am hopeful, also, because 
 we are to have a man of the people, honest Abra- 
 ham Lincoln, for President. Hurrah for Abraham 
 Lincoln! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! A man, a 
 true man, a tall man, if you please, but every sur- 
 plus inch is as full of integrity and patriotism as his 
 noble heart. Hurrah for the tall and true ! Hur- 
 rah! Hurrah! Hurrah! A -man who will know 
 no North, no South, no East, no West; a man edu- 
 cated in the forest, and on the flat-boat, and familiar 
 with the peoples of the various genealogies and 
 climes of this vast country. 
 
 "If any man can pacify the exasperated South, 
 and at the same time satisfy the Northern heart 
 that is true to equal rights ; in other words, if any 
 man can restore harmony to this agitated country, 
 Abraham Lincoln is the man. If there must be
 
 382 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 war, which Heaven forbid, Abraham Lincoln, though 
 his picture does not resemble that of Napoleon, of 
 Caesar, or of Alexander, will be found, like Wash- 
 ington, equal to the occasion. 
 
 "Fellow-Citizens : The future is threatening; but 
 let us, like men, prepare for the trial. Prepare for 
 the polls. If you have an absent son who is a 
 voter, be he in college, on the ocean, or in Califor- 
 nia, see that he shall be at home in November. If 
 you have a neighbor, who is almost ready, see that 
 he is quite ready to vote with you in November. If 
 money is wanted, and, mark me, it will be, it must 
 be had ; for a work like this cannot be done without 
 money. I say, if money is wanted, and there is 
 none in the trunk, or secretary, sell a horse, a pair 
 of steers, or all the fattest swine in the herd, and 
 contribute your share. Do not be afraid of giving 
 too much. This is not like a contribution you have 
 to meet every Sabbath ; nor like your annual taxes. 
 This comes but once in four years ; in fact, my 
 friends, this will be the first time in all your lives 
 you will have ever been called upon to furnish 
 money for a cause, the success or failure of which 
 involves the existence of our country. The men 
 who saw times like the present are in their graves ; 
 and shall we prove ourselves their unworthy chil- 
 dren by withholding our means?
 
 7iV CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 383 
 
 "Fellow-citizens, there is work to be done ; shall 
 we do it? There is money to be given; shall we 
 give it? Let me have one united response, We will." 
 " We will! We will!" shouted the crowd. "Xow 
 three cheers for the Republican party ! " * Hurrah ! 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! " "Now three cheers for Lincoln 
 and EQimlin I " "Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah f" 
 
 " But, Fellow-citizens, there are evils in our midst 
 to which our political troubles are as a fierce and de- 
 structive shower to a protracted, wide-spread, and 
 devastating storm. I do not refer, as some would 
 conjecture, to the influx of foreigners who are swarm- 
 ing over and occupying the most productive and 
 beautiful portions of our country. I welcome the 
 hard-toiling, warm-blooded, and impulsive Irishman, 
 the thrifty, peaceable, liberty-loving German, the 
 cunning-handed Englishman, the Scotchman and the 
 Scandinavian, and there is room enough yet for all 
 the Mongolian race who may wish to become an in- 
 tegral part of our Republic. I have no fear that 
 Homanism is to overpower and swallow up all other 
 religions of this tolerant America; The Anti-Cath- 
 olic foreigners increase among us nearly as fast as 
 the Romanists ; add to this the natural increase of 
 Protestantism ; then we must still add another ele- 
 ment, often forgotten. There are four millions of 
 negroes (few of whom will ever become Catholics,
 
 384 I*' CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 for Ilomanism is not adapted to them as to the semi- 
 civilized Indians) who are to be incorporated into our 
 body politic. Do you ask what is the danger in our 
 midst danger greater than our political troubles? 
 Need I answer ? Who, that has an eye, cannot see it ? 
 Who, that has sat at the feet of the Great Teacher but 
 for one lesson, does not feel it? The eternal and im- 
 mutable principles of right are constantly violated by 
 the masses of our people. Bad men stand a better 
 chance than good ones to become rulers. Many men 
 in high positions are easily bought with money. 
 Love of money and show, is an evil which has per- 
 meated all classes but the very lowest. Dives is the 
 leading man in the Senate, the city, the social circle, 
 and the Church. Men who fail in attempting to 
 manage their own business, are placed in charge of 
 the business and finances of the public. Hence de- 
 falcations, a polite term for thefts, are common in 
 fact, every-day occurrences. Many of our public 
 men are but genteel paupers, brothers of the men 
 who turn the crank of the organ at the street-corners. 
 Public servants are seldom selected for their intrinsic 
 worth, but obtain the coveted places by craft, per- 
 sistent and wearying importunities, and unblushing 
 impudence. Drunkenness stalks at mid-day in every 
 street, and among all classes, and is seldom rebuked, 
 even from the pulpit. Men and women build
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 3S5 
 
 churches for show, and a place of resort to meet per- 
 sons of their caste, and show their fine clothes, and 
 carnages ; the mass of our young men are becoming 
 effeminate, shunning hardy occupations which de- 
 velop brain and muscle, eschewing marriage, one 
 of the dearest boons ever vouchsafed to mortals ; 
 women teach their daughters to be genteel, while to 
 be ignorant of all useful knowledge is a matter for 
 boasting. Shame on our American people I Laugh 
 at the Chinese women for being proud of their 
 dwarfed feet 1 Our sisters and daughters are proud 
 of their, dwarfed capacities. Fellow-Citizens, there 
 are dangers within as well as dangers without. 
 The latter are evanescent, while the former are 
 abiding. We have forsaken God, and must be pun- 
 ished sooner or later. "We forget God when we en- 
 slave the negro. We forget God when we refuse to 
 give him freedom. We forget God when we honor 
 bad men. We forget God when we are too craven 
 to stand up and vindicate the right, and attempt to 
 put down the wrong ; and the Lord has said, 'Ven- 
 geance is mine, and I will repay.' God help us to 
 do our duty." 
 
 I cannot pretend to perfect accuracy in putting 
 
 this speech on paper, after a lapse of ten years. I 
 
 have run it over a hundred times in my mind since, 
 
 but without doubt my report is more or less imper- 
 
 25
 
 386 
 
 CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 feet ; still the main ideas are preserved. Howevei 
 it may appear to the reader, as it was rendered b\ 
 the speaker, every word coming from a heart that 
 charged it with magnetism, the hearers were spell- 
 bound. At the meeting, speeches, and good ones too, 
 were made by Triimbull, Lovejoy, Wilson, Ben Pren- 
 tice, and others, but none of these held the people 
 like Corwin's. It was not so much his words that 
 affected the hearers, as his manner and feelings. He 
 had the rare gift of bringing most of his hearers en 
 rapport, and swaying them at his pleasure. If he 
 saw the threatening cloud, so did they ; if he was 
 hopeful, and saw the silver lining, they saw with his 
 eyes, and felt with his heart. If he saw the furnace, 
 and was submissive to God's chastisements, they too 
 saw it, and were ready to suffer. If he was ready 
 to fight, in case of war, so were they, from the young- 
 est to the oldest. If he was ready to give more time, 
 and all that he had, to elect Mr. Lincoln, so were 
 they. 
 
 The speech was ended, and Mr. Corwin, in a min- 
 ute after, would have been surrounded by scores of 
 men, to offer congratulations, but he is not ready for 
 that. "Fellow-citizens," said he, "I will introduce a 
 friend who makes a "business of writing patriotic 
 songs, and singing them on occasions like the pres- 
 ent. While the singing proceeds, if there are any
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 3*7 
 
 present who wish copies for themselves and friends, 
 I will supply them." 
 
 Before presenting the reader with the song of the 
 occasion, I will write a few more sentences about the 
 orator. 
 
 The point of what has been written of this speech 
 and the speaker, lies in the fact that the crowd had 
 not been listening to Tom Corwin, of Ohio, but a 
 talented medal-peddler by the name of Corwiu, from 
 the same State. I knew he was a fine speaker, and 
 a true man. I also knew that, if the people were 
 told his occupation, they would not give his words 
 half the weight to which they were entitled. Had 
 they used any judgment, they could have seen that 
 the famous orator and politician must have been a 
 much older man. But, no matter, we had a good 
 speech, though a peddler made it. Yet, after it was 
 known whom they had been listening to, an old fel- 
 low, who had listened with both ears and a huge 
 mouth, suddenly came to the conclusion that the 
 speech was not worth "shucks." 
 
 I cannot leave Mr. Corwin without reporting one 
 of his adventures in the city, as it illustrates the 
 feeling of a large class of the people of Springfield, at 
 that time. Not one-half of the citizens of that city 
 had any sympathy with the principles that brought 
 that immense assembly together. All opened their
 
 388 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 houses to entertain the people, but this was done for 
 money. Mr. Corwin and myself had entertainment 
 at a small, though quite select hotel, and, after sup- 
 per, on the day of the grand meeting, we were 
 seated in the parlor, with three young men and as 
 many young women. Conversation was opened, by 
 one of the latter, in this style : 
 
 "Big show the nigger-lovers have had. I reckon 
 all there are in the State have been here to-day. I 
 wonder how they liked the looks of the homely old 
 beast?" 
 
 Another damsel chimes in, "I wish every Re- 
 publican was obliged to marry a wench, or no one." 
 
 Friend Corwin was mad to his very toes, and, 
 quickly as a flash, replied, "I should prefer a wench 
 to most of the white women of this town." 
 
 Every man and woman in the room rose to the 
 feet instantly. One of the men sprung like a tiger 
 at my friend, and aimed a blow at him, which was 
 skilfully parried. Springing between them, I urged 
 the young man not to harm a man old enough to be 
 his father, while Mr. Corwin, by my advice, went to 
 his room. But, the old lady coming in, and being 
 told what he had said, exclaimed, "Kick the wretch 
 out of the house ! It is bad enough to have a mis- 
 erable nigger-lover in the house I Go up stairs, and 
 whip the miscreant, or I will do it myself, if I am
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 389 
 
 an old woman ! " My entreaties to spare him were 
 in vain. They did offer to accept an apology. I- 
 proposed to make one for my friend, but he heard 
 me, and called out, "Not a word of apology ; all I 
 said was true, and I will stand by it." In a moment, 
 three men and four women were at his bolted door. 
 While they were consulting, for a moment, whether 
 it were best to force it, Mr. Corwin found there was 
 a back window, from which he could leap into the 
 garden, the distance being not more than twelve 
 feet. The door was forced, but the game had 
 escaped. 
 
 The poor peddler could not get over it. He felt 
 that his leaping out of the window was mean. "I 
 ought to have met them single-handed, and done my 
 best. Why, it is the meanest transaction I was ever 
 guilty of, and I shall be ashamed of myself every 
 time I look in a mirror after this. A mean pol- 
 troon ! Eun from an old hen and her brood of chick- 
 ens ! I have a miiid to go back, and have it all over 
 again. I had rather be pounded to pumice than to 
 feel so meanly as I do now." 
 
 But I told him if he would let me have half an 
 hour alone, I thought something might be done to 
 change the current of his feelings, and that he could 
 be induced to let the matter drop as it was. 
 
 On my handing him the following lines, he ran his
 
 39 o IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 eyes over them, broke into a hearty laugh, and ex- 
 claimed, "That is good, better than whipping the 
 whole tribe. But I will carry and deliver it my- 
 self to the proprietor." 
 
 "No, you will do no such thing. Uncle Sam 
 will carry it for you. Just put your name to it, 
 give him your residence, and invite him to some of 
 your hospitality when he visits Ohio." 
 
 AN APOLOGY 
 
 DEAR sir, about that must we had 
 
 A night or two ago, 
 
 I would have made apology, 
 
 But was obliged to go ; 
 
 I had no time to frame my thoughts 
 
 In shape to sue for pardon, 
 
 My haste was great, and so \ took 
 
 A leap into the garden. 
 
 But now I make my humblest bend, 
 I'm sorry that I said it ; 
 I wish you'd tell your little wife 
 That in my note you read it ;
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. -39! 
 
 I'd write to her, but that I'm sure 
 A wife of such ill-breeding, 
 Whatever her accomplishments, 
 Cannot be skilled in reading. 
 
 About the wenches I was wrong 
 
 Your wife's as good as any, 
 
 And if I had to take my choice, 
 
 I'd scarcely give a penny ; 
 
 Your wife will make the better scold, 
 
 The wench the better mother ; 
 
 But when you come to feel her lash, 
 
 You'll wish you had the other. 
 
 THE SHIP OF STATE. 
 
 [Sung at the Springfield Convention.] 
 
 HAEK ! hark ! a signal gun is heard, 
 
 Just out beyond the Fort ; 
 The good old ship of State, my boys, 
 
 Is coming into port : 
 With shattered sails, and anchors gone, 
 
 I fear the rogues will strand her ; 
 She carries now a sorry crew, 
 
 And needs a new commander.
 
 39 3 ' 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Chorus. Our Lincoln is the man 
 Our Lincoln is the man ; 
 With a sturdy mate 
 From the Pine-Tree State 
 Our Lincoln is the man. 
 
 Four years ago she put to sea, 
 
 With prospects brightly beaming, 
 Her hull was strong, her sails new-bent, 
 
 And every pennant streaming ; 
 She loved the gale, she ploughed the waves, 
 
 Nor feared the deep's commotion ; 
 Majestic, nobly on she sailed, 
 
 Proud mistress of the ocean. 
 
 Chorus. Buchanan was the man, 
 Buchanan was the man, 
 
 But his four 3 T ears' trip 
 Leaves a crippled ship 
 Buchanan was the man. 
 
 There's mutiny aboard the ship, 
 There's feud no force can smother, 
 
 Their blood is up to fever-heat, 
 They're cutting down each other; 
 
 Buchanan here, and Douglas there, 
 Are belching forth their thunder,
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 While cunning rogues are sly at work, 
 
 In pocketing the plunder. 
 Chorus. Buchanan is the man, 
 Buchanan is the man, 
 But November's sun 
 Shall complete their fun 
 Buchanan is the man. 
 
 Our ship is badly out of trim, 
 
 Tis time to caulk and grave her ; 
 She's foul with stench of human gore, 
 
 They've turned her to a slaver ; 
 She's cruised about from coast to coast, 
 
 The flying bondman hunting, 
 Until she's strained from stem to stern, 
 
 And lost her sails and bunting. 
 
 Chorus. Old Abram is the man, 
 Old Abram is the man, 
 
 And he'll trim her sails 
 As he split the rails 
 Old Abram is the man. 
 
 We'll give her what repairs she needs 
 
 A thorough overhauling ; 
 Her sordid crew shall be dismissed 
 
 To seek some honest calling ; 
 
 393
 
 394 
 
 JN CAXP AXD HOSPITAL. 
 
 Brave Lincoln soon shall take the helm, 
 
 On truth and right relying, 
 In calm or storm, in peace or war, 
 
 He'll keep her colors flying. 
 Chorus. Old Abram is the man, 
 Old Abram is the man, 
 With a sturdy mate 
 From the Pine Tree State- 
 Old Abram is the man. 
 
 HAS FATHER BEEN HERE? 
 
 By permission of G. D. RUSSELL & Co., 126 Tremont Street, who 
 publish the Song in sheet music.] 
 
 PLEASE, Mister Barkeeper, has father been here? 
 
 He's not been at home for the day ; 
 'Tis now almost midnight, and mother's in fear 
 
 Some accident keeps him away. 
 No, no, little stranger, or yes, he's been here 
 
 Some officers took him away ; 
 He's gone to the lock-up : I'm sorry, my dear, 
 
 He's done something wicked, they say. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Oh ! 'twas not my father who did the bad deed, 
 
 Tvvas drinking that maddened his brain ; 
 Oh ! let him go home to dear mother, I plead ; 
 
 I'm sure he'll not touch it again.
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 395 
 
 Please, Mister Policeman, my father is lost, 
 
 A man says you took him away ; 
 Oh ! can't he go home, sir, and what will it cost, 
 
 If mother will send you the pay? 
 Oh ! no, little pleader, your father can't go, 
 
 We put him in prison to-day ; 
 Go home to your mother, and quick let her know 
 
 What's keeping your father away. [Chorus. 
 
 Please sir, Mister Jailer, please let me go in, 
 
 They say that my father's inside ; 
 I scarcely can tell how unhappy we've been ; 
 
 We could not feel worse had he died. 
 Please, sir, it was drinking that made him do wrong, 
 
 I'm sure, sir, he will drink no more. 
 Oh ! just a few minutes, a minute's not long ; 
 
 But no one would open the door. [Chorus. 
 
 All day the young watcher stood fast by the door, 
 
 In vain with his father to speak ; 
 It creaked its great hinges twice ten times or more, 
 
 As prison-doors only can creak ; 
 Then speeding thro' darkness to home sad as death 
 
 A promise most solemn he bore ; 
 Dear mother, I'll shun it as long as I've breath, 
 
 I'll taste it and touch it no more. [Chorus.
 
 396 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 THERES A LITTLE MOUND. 
 
 [By permission of G. D. RUSSELL & Co., 126 Tremont Street, who 
 publish the Song in sheet music.] 
 
 THERE'S a fresh little mound near the willow, 
 
 Where at evening I wander and weep ; 
 There's a dear vacant spot on my pillow, 
 
 Where a sweet little face used to sleep. 
 There were pretty blue eyes, but they slumber 
 
 In silence, beneath the dark mould, 
 And the little pet lamb of our number 
 
 Has gone to the heavenly fold. 
 
 Do I dream when in sleep I behold her, 
 
 With a beauty so fresh and divine ; 
 When so close to my heart I infold her, 
 
 And feel her soft lips upon mine ? 
 When so loving those gentle eyes glisten, 
 
 That my vision is lost in my tears, 
 And bewilder'd, enraptured I listen 
 
 To a voice from the spirit's bright spheres. 
 
 There's a silence in parlor and chamber, 
 
 There's a sadness in every room ; 
 Oh ! I know 'twas the Father that claim'd her, 
 
 Yet ev'ry thing's burden'd with gloom ;
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 397 
 
 But I'll not be a comfortless mourner, 
 
 Nor longer brood over my pain ; 
 For I know where the angels have borne her, 
 
 And soon I shall see her again. 
 
 HEAVEN OUR HOME. 
 
 [By permission of GEO. D. KUSSELL & Co., 126 Tremont Street, 
 Boston, who publish it in sheet music.] 
 
 AUTUMN'S pale leaves, withered and dying, 
 
 Bloom of the lily, that lasts but a day ; 
 Mists of the morn, on the breeze flying, 
 
 Tell us how swiftly we're passing away ; 
 Beautiful things, born but to perish, 
 
 Go as the snow-flake is lost in the foam, 
 Passing away, all that we cherish, 
 
 Att things are telling that earth's not our home. 
 Heaven our home ! Heaven our home ! 
 Grasping at phantoms not long shall we roam ; 
 Heaven our home ! Heaven our home ! 
 Soon we'll be going to Heaven our home. 
 
 Beautiful earth, dearly we love it, 
 
 Though in its bosom we shortly must lie ; 
 
 Teeming with forms angels might covet, 
 Yet with the grasping they wither and die ;
 
 9 8 /A~ CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Beautiful earth ! thou canst not hold us ! 
 
 Faith, that looks upward to Heaven's high dome, 
 See outstretched arms, soon to infold us ; 
 
 How can we murmur that earth's not our home ? 
 Heaven our home ! Heaven our home ! 
 Grasping at phantoms not long shall we roam ; 
 Heaven our home ! Heaven our tome ! 
 Soon we'll be going to Heaven our home. 
 
 List the famt tones, nearer and nearer ! 
 
 Earth has no voices with music like this ; 
 Thrillingly sweet, clearer and clearer, 
 
 Angels are hymning their chorus of bliss I 
 Rapturous sight, over the river ! 
 
 Frosts cannot wither, nor age bring decay ; 
 Beautiful things bloom on forever ; 
 Nothing in Heaven is passing away ! 
 Heaven our home ! Heaven our home*! 
 Grasping at phantoms not long shall we roam ; 
 Heaven our home ! Heaven our home ! 
 Soon we'll be going to Heaven our home.
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 DOWN BY THE SEA. 
 
 399 
 
 [By permission of G. D. KUSSELL & Co., 126 Tremont Street, who 
 publish the Song in sheet music.] 
 
 THERE'S a pretty little cottage on the lawn by the sea, 
 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea ; 
 
 There's a bright-eyed little beauty, who is watching 
 
 for me, 
 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea ; 
 Homeward we're speeding, dangers unheeding, 
 Proudly our vessel careers through the brine, 
 Lov'd ones shall meet us, pure lips shall greet us, 
 Eyes that are brimming, eyes that are brimming, 
 Eyes that are brimming shall thrill us like wine. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O, that pretty little cottage on the lawn by the sea, 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea, 
 O, that bright-eyed little beauty who is watching 
 
 for me, 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea. 
 
 There's the neatest little garden near the cot by the 
 
 sea, 
 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea, 
 Where the choicest flowers blooming, keep their 
 
 fragrance for me, 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea ;
 
 4 oo 
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Vines of her trailing, creep up the railing, 
 Honey-bees cluster to sip of her flow'rs, 
 Sewing and humming, words of my coming, 
 Hoping and patient, hoping and patient, 
 Hoping and patient, yet counting the hours. 
 
 [ Chorus. 
 
 There's a shady little look-out on the knoll by the sea, 
 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea ; 
 
 Ev'ry ev'ning thro' the twilight, there she watches 
 
 for me, 
 
 Down by the sea, down by the sea ; 
 O, could I follow, swift as the swallow, 
 Paths that my fancy makes over the main, 
 Ere the first sunbeams brighten the hill-streams, 
 True as we parted, true as we parted, 
 True as we parted, I'd clasp her again. 
 
 [Chorus.
 
 IN VAMP AND HOSPITAL. 401 
 
 THE 'UNION FOREVER. 
 
 OUE country, blest land, the favored of nations, 
 
 Baptized in the blood of the brave and the free ; 
 To Him whose right hand sustains thy foundations, 
 
 Our prayers shall ascend, O, our country, for thee'! 
 O ! land of the free, how dearly we love it ; 
 
 By Treason's vile foot it shall never be trod ; 
 To die for our flag, the honor we'll covet, 
 
 Our lives for our country, our souls to our God. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 The Union, the Union, the Union forever ! 
 
 The bond of our fathers no treason shall sever ; 
 The star-spangled banner shall ever wave o'er us, 
 From fortress and steeple, re-echo the chorus, 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! the Union forever ! 
 
 Thy sunshine ha*s warmed, thy strong arm protected, 
 
 When dangers surround we will spring at the foe ; 
 Exultant our shout that we are elected 
 
 To strike for our flag, though we fall with the 
 
 blow; 
 That flag as revered as the mothers who bore us, 
 
 No star shall e'er fade from its heaven-dyed blue ; 
 The hand that would clutch shall wither before us, 
 
 And woe to the madmen who dare strike anew ! 
 
 [ Chorus.
 
 4 o2 IN dAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Bear witness, our sires, beneath the turf sleeping, 
 
 Forever your flag shall wave spotless, untorn ; 
 Your long-rusted swords from scabbards are leaping, 
 
 To follow and smite where our banner is borne ; 
 While Bunker's spire guards its patriot ashes, 
 
 While Lexington's grandsons have arms to be 
 
 nerved, 
 While foam from the sea o'er Plymouth Rock dashes, 
 
 The Union, it must be, it shall be preserved. 
 
 [Chorus. 
 
 THERE'S ROOM FOR ALL, AND ROOM TO SPARE. 
 
 WE hear them there, we hear them there ; 
 They shout amicl. their praise and prayer, 
 M There's room for all, and room to spare ! " 
 And music of delicious notes, 
 Outgushing from seraphic throats, 
 Across the dreaded Jordan floats ; 
 We hear them there, we hear them there. 
 
 We see them there, we see them there ; 
 And though their hosts more countless are 
 Than ocean-drops, there's room to spare !
 
 CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 43 
 
 With blooming cheeks and brows so fair, 
 With fadeless flowers in golden hair, 
 And beckoning us their bliss to share, 
 We see them there, we see them there. 
 
 We'll meet them there, we'll meet them there ; 
 And back to earth the tidings bear, 
 M There's room for all, and room to spare ! " 
 We'll sing with them heaven's sweetest strains, 
 And roam with them the flowery plains, 
 And tell who cleansed us from our stains ; 
 We'll meet them there, we'll meet them there. 
 
 We'll know them there, we'll know them there ; 
 
 Within our Father's mansion, where 
 
 There's room for all, and room to spare. 
 
 Long-parted friends again embrace, 
 
 Divinest joy illumes each face, 
 
 The theme of all, Redeeming Grace ; 
 
 We'll know them there, we'll know them there.
 
 44 
 
 N CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 SWEET CHILD OF THE GLEN. 
 
 OVER the meadow she skips like a fairy, 
 
 Bright as the daisies that spring in her way ; 
 Heart full of sunshine, my silver- voiced Mary 
 
 Carols her song, like a bird thro' the day ; 
 My sweet little Mary, with voice so entrancing, 
 
 I list and live over my boyhood again ; 
 My gray locks forgetting, my heart goes to dancing, 
 
 So thrilling thy music, sweet child of the glen. 
 
 Once, in my childhood, I had a dear Mary, 
 
 Guileless and sweet as a rose just abloom ; 
 Gushing with song like the blithest canary, 
 
 Fair as the fairest e'er laid iu the tomb : 
 How often it seemeth some angel's been bringing 
 
 The pet of my youth to this cold world again, 
 That over the meadow she's skipping and singing ! 
 
 But no, 'tis another, the child of the glen. 
 
 Gray locks are whitening, and time's busy fingers, 
 
 Writing life's ledger, have reached the last page ; 
 Yet in my childhood my memory lingers, 
 
 Almost forgetting the furrows of age : 
 With limbs never weary, o'er hill-tops I'm rambling, 
 
 I'm climbing to peep at the nest of the wren ; 
 I'm chasing pet lambs while I mimic their gambling : 
 
 But hushed is her song ! I'm an old man again.
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 THE PEISONER'S LAMENT. 
 
 45 
 
 [By permission of GEO. D. KCSSELL & Co., 126 Tremont Street, 
 Boston, who publish it in sheet music.] 
 
 'Tis Sabbath morn, and tolls the bell 
 
 Its invitations free ; 
 
 But why come they to my lone cell ? 
 
 They cannot be for me ; 
 
 These iron bars, these walls of stone, 
 
 To move them who shall dare ? 
 
 So I must sing my hymn alone, 
 
 Alone must breathe my prayer. 
 
 The moving throngs now heed the chimes, 
 
 And seek the house of prayer ; 
 
 Oh !. what care they for me whose crimes 
 
 Have plunged me in despair? 
 
 No one looks in with pitying eye, 
 
 No friendly face I see, 
 
 And heedlessly all pass me by, 
 
 There's no one cares for me. 
 
 See, yonder goes a happy boy ! 
 His mother by his side ! 
 Her step is light, her eye beams joy, 
 Her bosom swells with pride ;
 
 406 IK CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Oh, could I see my own sweet child I 
 And take him on my knee, 
 And hear once more his prattle wild, 
 I'd fancy I were free ! 
 
 I know my Mary loves me yet ; 
 
 Perhaps she'll come to-day ; 
 
 A heart like hers can ne'er forget, 
 
 Though e'er so far away. 
 
 She'll bring a kiss for my pale -cheeks, 
 
 And words my heart to cheer, 
 
 Such words as none but Mary speaks, 
 
 And angels love to hear. 
 
 My child will bring the choicest flowers 
 
 To deck his father's cell, 
 
 And how to spend the gloomy hours 
 
 The little prattler '11 tell. 
 
 But hush ! 'tis all an idle dream, 
 
 They'll not be here to-day ; 
 
 Though near my cell they ever seem, 
 
 They're very far away.
 
 IN CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 407 
 
 I FEEL TM GROWING OLD, LIZZIE. 
 
 [By permission of ROOT & CADY, who own Copyright. This and 
 all the preceding songs, by E. W. LOCKE, may be obtained of 
 the Publishers of this book.] 
 
 I FEEL I'm growing old, Lizzie, 
 
 My noon of life is past ; 
 The bloom has left my cheek, Lizzie, 
 
 My hair is whitening fast ; 
 But my heart beats quick and warm, Lizzie, 
 
 As when we both were young, 
 And words of truest love, Lizzie, 
 
 Are ever on my tongue ! 
 
 What though the brow be scarred, Lizzie, 
 
 And bent by age the form ; 
 What though the eye be dim, Lizzie, 
 
 The heart may yet be warm ; 
 True love fades not with youth, Lizzie, 
 
 But deepens to life's even ; 
 'Tis here an opening bud, Lizzie, 
 
 And only blooms in heaven I
 
 408 W CAMP AND HOSPITAL. 
 
 Our life is on the wane, Lizzie, 
 
 And briefer grow the hours ; 
 Though thorns be in our way, Lizzie, 
 
 We'll only pluck the flowers ; 
 We'll love as young hearts love, Lizzie, 
 
 And bravely meet each storm ; 
 And die as we have lived, Lizzie, 
 
 With hearts as true, as warm I 
 
 y 
 
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