wmmm&m0»mmm»ammmmmmk^^ ■ I THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY THE WILMER COLLECTION OF CIVIL WAR NOVELS PRESENTED BY RICHARD H. WILMER, JR. SMLMERCOU-fcCauN THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER A RECORD OF THE EXPERIENCES OF A PRIVATE SOLDIER. BY JOSEPH E. CROWELL, Late Private Company K, 13th N.J. Volunteers and Lieutenant Veteran Reserve Corps, F. TENNYSON NEELY, PUBLISHER, LONDON. NEW YORK. Copyright, 1S99, by F. Tenn'sson Nkuly in United States ami Great Britain, All Rights Ueserved. TO MY LIFE-LONG FRIEND, CAPTAIN CHARLES CURIE, (Late of the gth and 178th Regiments, N. Y. Volunteers) A BRAVE SOLDIER, A GALLANT, A CONSIDERATE OFFICER, A LOYAL VETERAN, A WORTHY CITIZEN, AN UPRIGHT MAN, AND, ABOVE ALL, A TRUE FRIEND IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD, THIS BOCK IS HEARTILY AND RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. 602793 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/youngvolunteerreOOcrow PREFACE. What is army life during the time of war like, as seen by "the rank and file" — the men who compose the great majority? To give an idea of the experiences and everyday ex- istence of the private soldier was the main object in writing this story. The world is full of books written from the standpoint of the officers, giving the movements of troops and gen- eral accounts of great battles, and describing the maneuvers as witnessed from headquarters. They are histories, it is true, as seen by the writers, but they do not portray the life, hardships, trials and sufferings of that portion of the army known as "the men." There is a great dividing gulf, military and social, between "officers" and "men," and they see the same things with vastly different eyes. There are very few works relating to the actual ex- periences of the private soldier, giving his troubles and his joys, and presenting the dark and the bright sides of his life in the army. Hence this story covers a some- what unbeaten field, and its novelty will proportionately add to its interest. The story is historically correct, so far as it goes. It is part of the history of the Thirteenth Kegiment, New Jersey Volunteers, in the War of the Rebellion. But it is only so in part, for it is merely carried far enough to give the reader an idea of a private's life in the army. v { PREFACE. To extend it further would be largely a repetition o£ the same experiences, for, with topographical and cli- matic variations, all marches and battles are similar — to the private soldier. Most of the names used are gen- uine and a majority of the incidents portrayed are the actual experiences of the author; hence for the nearly two years covered it is history. It may be confidently asserted that nothing has been exaggerated or overdrawn. Nor is there anything in it especially remarkable. Practically it relates the experi- ence of nearly every private soldier who served in the civil war. Thousands and thousands of others could refer to it as their own history, for their experiences were identical with it. To give the youth of the country a faint idea of real war and real army life ; to instil in them sentiments of patriotism ; to impress upon them the magnitude of the task of preserving the Union ; and to cause them all the more to appreciate the blessings they now enjoy through the patriotism, sufferings and privations of their fathers and grandfathers, were also objects which instigated the story of "The Young Volunteer." THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER I. ENLISTING. "Say, Joe, won't you carry this package of cheese around to Mr. Pennington's? The boj^s are all out, and I promised to send it some time ago." The speaker was Henry B. Crosby, who kept the big grocery store in Main Street. He was variously known as "The Grocer King" and "The Cheese Prince" — the latter appellation resulting from his custom of buying cheese by the cargo and selling it a lower price than any one else. If I had known then what I afterward knew, I would probably have said "Cheese it," and forthwith "skipped," instead of being a "skipper." If it hadn't been for that pound of cheese I might never have been in the army, and the war might have been going on yet! Aaron S. Pennington's big stone mansion was a fine old residence and stood on a high hill. The ground was then on a level with what is now the second story, and to this day you can see the former big front door up there in the air. It was surrounded by spacious grounds. Aaron S. Pennington, like all the old gentlemen of that day, generally did his own marketing. You could see him walking down among the hucksters on Main Street every morning, with a big market basket on his arm. Few of the grocers and butchers had wagons in those days. People bought their own provisions and generally carried them home themselves. How Mr. Pennington came to leave that pound of cheese to be sent home I never knew. 8 THE TO Vm VOLUNTEER. I did not work in the grocery store. I was employed in the Guardian office. In the forenoon I set type. In the afternoon I wrote down the war news at the only telegraph office in the city, which was in the old Erie depot. "Jack" Dunning was telegraph operator. "Tune" Dougherty, who was then a wee bit of a fel- low, was the sole messenger boy. In the afternoon when the paper was out, I carried a route and sold papers on the street. In the evening I tended office and helped on the books, for I understood bookkeeping. Wages one dollar and fifty cents per week. Still, my hours were not ironclad, and I had time left to go around a little to pick up local items, and Crosby's grocery store was one of my "loafing" places. There was a considerable degree of familiarity between the boss grocer and myself, and that is how he asked me, as a favor, to carry around the cheese to Mr. Pen- nington. This introduction is given, therefore, not only as an historical fact, but as an example to show by what insignificant events a man's life is frequently swerved. Many a time afterward I hurled boundless anathemas at that pound of cheese, and wondered why Aaron S. Pennington wanted cheese for supper on that particular afternoon. I well remember the day. It was Wednesday, Au- gust 18, 1862. And right here let me interpolate a little historical data. It was, so far as the feelings and apprehensions of the North were concerned, the most critical period of the war. The Army of gthe Potomac had retreated from a position whence they could actually see the seven hills of Richmond, back to Harrison's Landing, on the James River. General Lee was marching with the Confederate army close behind, and even Washington was threatened. The North was, as a consequence, precipitated into a genuine ppmic. It looked as if, be- fore another month, the Confederates would be in pos- session of the National Capital. President Lincoln issued a call for three hundred thousand additional vol- unteers. If enough could not be obtained voluntarily, a draft was to be ordered. It should be stated that the first rush to arms, in 1861, THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. had been spontaneous. The first term of enlistment was but for three months. Then it became apparent that the rebellion was not going to be suppressed in three months, and three years' men were called. The ambitious, impulsive j'ouths who are ever on the watch for adventure, constituted the first spontaneous outpour- ing of robust young patriots, but in 'G2 it was different. Things had become serious. The people of the country had suddenly awakened to a realization of the fact that they had a real war on hand. And not only a war, but probably a long and stubborn one, against an enemy equally brave, almost as strong, and, perhaps, still more determined. It would be impossible for the present generation to form the slightest conception of the excitement that pre- vailed. Public meetings were held everywhere, and the most potent orators in every locality, were urging upon the young men to do their duty by flying to the defense of their country. I was one of the "flyers." And it was all through that pound of cheese. As I came back from Mr. Pen- nington's, I saw a big crowd of people in front of the old "bank building in Main Street. There was a big stone piazza or vestibule on a level with the second story, which was reached by flights of stone steps on each side. On that piazza some one was making a speech. It was Henry A. Williams, the mayor of the city. He told of the imperilled country and urged on the young men to enlist. Socrates Tuttle, a prominent lawyer, described what a glorious thing it was to fight for one's native land. Colonel A. B. Woodruff, Gen- eral Thomas D. Hoxsey and others spoke in a similar strain. The result of it all was that half the boys in the crowd couldn't get to the nearest recruiting office quickly enough. It is a very singular thing that of all these impas- sioned orators who said it was such a glorious thing, but one enlisted himself! But then, perhaps, it was necessary to have some one remain home to do the talk- ing! One of them, however, who was subsequently drafted, nobly fougbt and died — by proxy. He sent a substitute, at a cost of eight hundred dollars. 10 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. And that reminds me of a thing that has perhaps been forgotten. So afraid were some of the leading citizens that they might be drafted, that they formed a "mutual substitute insurance company." It cost at that time eight hundred dollars to get a man to take your place. (Later in the war the price advanced to fifteen hun- dred and two thousand dollars.) Well, eight men would chip in one hundred dollars each into a general fund, and if any one of the eight was drafted the money would be used to "buy a substitute." If two of them were drafted, the extra money was raised by an addi- tional assessment ; but the drafting process was like a lottery, and as a matter of fact there was seldom more than one "prize" in an association of eight men. I might mention the names of quite a number of well- known citizens still living who belonged to these sub- stitute insurance companies. At political meetings I have often heard some of them shouting "how we saved the Union!" But we poor chaps, who couldn't raise one hundred let alone eight hundred dollars escaped the draft by enlisting. It wasn't fear of the draft, however, that influenced us. I was just past eighteen years old, and "liable," but so far as I was concerned I never once thought anything about being drafted. Why I, and the other fellows, came to enlist, is some- thing I never could explain. I think I am safe in say- ing that, at the moment, genuine patriotism hardly entered into the question. Of course there were some who enlisted from patriotic motives; but when one comes down to the bottom facts, I believe a majority of the boys were induced to go from other motives. Most probably it was the general excitement of the times. It was simply a furore to go to the war. To many it was a change from the ordinary humdrum of life. To others it was looked upon as a picnic. And then in every boy's heart there is an inherent spirit of adventure. The orators on the steps of the old bank building had said the reason the war had lasted so long already was because there were not enough soldiers at the front. But now all that would be attended to in short order. With the great army that was about to be organized. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. li the war couldn't possibly last more than three months longer By cold weather it would all be over. As said before, what particular motive I had in enlisting, be- yond an impulse, I don't know, and many of my com- panions frequently expressed a similar opinion. But enlist we did. Hugh C. Irish was forming a company for the Thir- teenth New Jersey Volunteers. It is in his memory that Camp No. 8 of the Sons of Veterans of Paterson is named. Mr. Irish had been my employer, as one of the proprietors of the Guardian. For some reason Mr. Irish sold out his interest in the Guardian and embarked in the grocery business. He had been there but a few months when he became convinced that it was his duty to go to war. Mr. Irish was one of the men who entered the service out of pure loyalty and patriotism. In his case the motive was unquestionable. Mr. Irish had been authorized to raise a company for the Thirteenth Regiment, then forming at Newark, under the president's call, and he was to be the captain. His grocery store was transformed into a recruiting office. The recruits signed the roll on the bottom of a soap box. It was to this place I hastened after hearing the patriotic speeches from the steps of the old bank building. Whatever hesitation I might have had on the way thither was completely knocked out by the tune of "The Girl I Left Behind Me," which was being played on a cracked drum and wheezy fife by two "musicians" in baggy clothes who had just enlisted themselves. They stood in front of the store banging and blowing away for dear life. Under ordinary circumstances such music would have been rotten- egged. As it was, it was but a noisy echo of the spirit of the times, and filled the heart of the listener with patriotic emotions that were simply irre- sistible. No one, hearing such martial strains, could resist the war influence ! I couldn't. In a very few moments I had signed an eagle-headed sheet of paper which bound me, "stronger than ropes and cords could bind me, " to the service of the United States of America, "for the term of three years unless sooner discharged." I had scarcely signed before I began to be sorry. For 12 THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER. the first time I realized what I had done and began to be frightened. But the sight of so many of my friends and companions around me soon dissipated that feeling. There was "Rats" and "Curt" and "Liv," besides Captain Irish, ail from our office. "Rats" was David Harris. "Curt" was Curtis Bowne, whose tragic and singular death at the battle of Antietarn will be noticed later on. "Liv" was E. Livingston Allen, now a Methodist minister. He is the only one of the lot who went into the ministry. All those mentioned were printers. Then there were James G. Scott (afterward captain) and Hank Van Orden, Jim Dougherty, Jack Stansfield, Heber Wells, "Ginger" Clark, John Butter- worth, "Lem" Smith, John Snyder (with the big nose), "Slaughter House Ick," Dan Wannamaker, John J. Carlough, Sandy Kidd, John Nield, John An- derson, "Dad" Bush, Reddy Mahar, George Comer, William Lambert, Archy McCall, ArchyTodd, "Jake" Engel, "Jake" Berdan, W. J. Campbell, W. J. Car- lough, John Farlow, Thomas Hardy, Joseph H. Pewt- ner, Theodore S. Perry, James H. Peterson, and a whole lot of other fellows I had known, and some of whom will come in for further reference during the course of this story. The immediate association of all these — the fact that so many old acquaintances had enlisted together and would go to war together, relieved the event of the lonesomeness and awfulness of the step. It was simply impossible to remain lonesome and downhearted in com- pany with such a crowd — and many others whose names are now beyond memory's call. And when one comes to look at them, they must have been physically a tough set, for many of them are yet alive, and some of them do not look much older than they did during the war. There were a number who felt dubious about enlist- ing in a regiment which was to bear the unlucky num- ber "13," but it wasn't a superstitious crowd, and that was soon forgotten. Nor was it an aristocratic crowd. Nearly all were poor working boys. A sort of pride fills the heart of the new recruit. He imagines that he has already done something brave. TEE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. 13 and rather looks down on those who have not signed the roll. When I went to see my girl that night I felt con- siderably puffed up. As it was a good-by call, I asked for her picture. "What,'' exclaimed she, "and have some stranger take it out of your pocket if you are killed? I guess not." That wasn't very pleasant. Getting killed wasn't in the bargain. I didn't feel a bit comfortable at such a gloomy possibility. But when I left the house I had the picture of a very pretty girl in my pocket. The girls of those days were patriotic, and he indeed was a poor soldier who had not in his pocket a picture of "The Girl I Left Behind me. ' ' THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER II. IN CAMP. A day or so later a squad of recruits for Company K, Thirteenth Regiment of New Jersey Volunteers, pro- ceeded to Camp Frelinghuysen, Newark. The camp was along the canal, in the higher portion of the city. There was no railroad then between Paterson and New- ark, and our contingent went down by Barney Demar- est's stage, reaching camp shortly after noon. Many others had preceded us. When the stage started from Paterson it wasn't a very jolly crowd. Many an eye bore a redness indica- tive of recent tears, for the hardest part of enlisting is the parting with one's dear ones at home. There was many an affecting scene in many a home the previous night. Not that parents and sisters and sweethearts were not patriotic; but it was with copious tears that mothers and sisters, while admitting that the sacrifice was loyal and right, bade good-by to the dear foys they might never see again. The mother's tears that had dropped on the soldier's coat sleeves were hardly dry when the boys rode over the Main Street cobblestones in Barney Demarest's rickety old stagecoach, and the influence of the last embrace and farewell kiss was still upon nearly all. But human nature is buoyant. Perhaps it was to offset the gloomy farewell that the boys soon became boisterously merry, and they made the morning air resound with their shouts and their hurrahs and their song of " We're coming Father Abraham Three hundred thousand more. " The stage was gayly decked with flags, the crowds in THE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. 15 the streets shouted a hearty farewell, and all sorrowful thoughts were soon drowned in the noise and racket that was too loud to permit any one to think. A similar noisy demonstration greeted us at "Acquackanonk" (Passaic), Bloomfield and Newark, and a hurrah arose from the throats of the already arrived recruits as we drove past the guards at the entrance to Camp Freling- huysen. The armed guards and picket line around the camp was another evidence that we were no longer free men ; but we did not fully appreciate that fact until later. And yet the camp presented a picturesque appear- ance. The colonel's tent stood at the top of the hill. It was a large and commodious canvas house. Near by were similar but smaller tents for the lieutenant-colonel, major, adjutant and quartermaster. Still further down was a long row of still smaller tents, occupied by the captains and lieutenants. Running at right angles from the latter was a row of large, circular tents, oc- cupied by the "enlisted men" of each company. These were known as "Sibley" tents, and resembled an Indian tepee, with a ventilator at the top. These tents would accommodate fifteen or twenty men. In our innocence we supposed that we were to have these tents right along all through the war. For all that we knew, all the soldiers in the army had the same commodious and comfortable quarters. We were undeceived on this point, however, in the course of a very few days. Shortly after our arrival we were taken before the regimental surgeon for examination. The surgeon was Dr. J. J. II. Lo-ve, one of the most brusque-appearing and yet most kind-hearted men that ever lived. Until his recent death he was one of the most respected and prominent residents of Monte lair. "Strip," oidered the doctor. There were five or six examined at a time. "We boys, who never had a pain or qualm in our lives, thought it was a needless formality, but were told that it was '"according to the regulations." Then the doctor punched us and pinched us, rubbed his hands down our legs as if we were so many horses, seized us in the groin and told us to cough, and finally said: 1Q THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "Let's see youi teeth?" "What do you want to see my teeth for?" I asked. "Are we to bite the enemy?" "Something tougher than that," good-naturedly an- swered Dr. Love. "You will have to bite hard-tack and chew cartridges, and I guess you will find both tougher than any rebel meat you ever will see." I didn't know then that hard-tack was the stuff sol- diers were mainly fed upon; but I found out before long. For the information of the reader I will explain that a hard-tack is the most deceptive-looking thing in the world. Its general appearance is that of a soda cracker, but there the resemblance ends. You can bite a soda cracker. A hard-tack isn't tender. Compared with it a block of granilite paving stones would be mush. That is the sort of pastry the government fed its soldiers upon. Hard -tack must have been referred to in that part of the Bible where it says "he asked for bread and they gave him a stone. " A further corrob- oration of this conclusion lies in the positive fact that every box of hard -tack that ever arrived in the army was marked: "B. C. 348,764," the variation being only in the figure. The "B. C." was on every box. And judging from the antediluvian toughness of some of the crackers, the prehistoric ancient who stencilled on the figures either accidentally or wil- fully post dated the box several thousand years. What "chewing cartridges" meant, I hadn't the slightest conception of, but learned that subsequently. That my teeth were apparently equal to the emergency of both biting hard-tack and chewing cartridges, how- ever, must have been a matter satisfactory to Dr. Love, for I successfully passed the ordeal of a "surgical exami- nation. ' ' The next thing was to go to the quartermaster's and get our uniform and equipments. What a lot of things there were! There were undershirts and drawers and thick stock- ings, all supposed to be of wool, but apparently mainly composed of thistles and sticks — the coarsest things a THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 17 man ever put next to his skin. And it was midsummer at that ! Then there were a pair of light blue trousers, a dark blue blouse, a dark blue dress coat, a heavy, caped light blue overcoat, a knit cardigan jacket, a for- age cap, a heavy woolen blanket, a thick rubber blanket, and a pair of heavy brogans. These were the clothes. Added, to this were a knapsack, a haversack, a canteen, a cartridge belt, a bayonet belt, and an Enfield rifle. As the men were called up, the clothing, etc., were thrown in front of each one in a pile, and utterly re- gardless of fit or size. When the recruits repaired to their tents and donned the uniform, they presented a ludicrous appearance. "How do I look, boys?" asked Hank Van Orden, as he emerged from his corner. "Hank" was a sight to behold. Nature had been generous with him as to legs and arms, and as luck would have it, he had got a small-sized suit. The bot- tom of his trousers didn't come down to his shoe tops, while his arms stuck several inches beyond the end of his blouse sleeves. The shoes were too tight and his cap was stuck on the back of his head in a comical fashion. "Don't laugh at me. Look at Heber," said Hank. There stood Heber Wells, dressed up in a suit Van Orden ought to have had. His trousers were turned up at the bottom like a dude's of the present day, while the sleeves of his coat fit like a Chinaman's. His cap came down to his ears. Kobust Abe Godwin couldn't button his clothes about him, while slim Johnny Nield had twice as much uni- form as he wanted. In fact, while there were different- sized suits, no man had got a suit anywhere near fit- ting, and a more incongruous lot of noble soldiers could not be imagined. Falstaff 's army was simply nowhere. But the difficulty was in a measure overcome by ex- changing suits, an operation that took nearly all the afternoon. Still they didn't fit. But nobody but a raw recruit would spend more than a moment thinking about the fit of his uniform. The clothes were awfully uncomfortable. The ab- 58 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. souce of a vest was particularly noticeable. "Enlisted men" in the army never wear vests. There was a nasty smell of dye-stuff. The coarse underclothes tickled and irritated, the heavy brogan, for men who were used to gaiters and Oxford ties, were disagreeably clumsy. And, above all, the wearing of woolen stockings a quarter of an inch thick, in the August dog days, fairly capped the climax. "Fall in for your rations." Such was the cry we heard for the first time, about 6 o'clock. None of us knew what "fall in" meant; but Heber Wells, who had been selected as orderly ser- geant, told us it was to get into a line, one after the other. "Forward march!" said Heber. It is the rule in the army to step off first with the left foot, but we didn't know that. Some started with the left and some with the right, and the whole line came near stumbling over each other. After going to the lower end of the company street, the new orderly cried out: "File left." Heber took hold of the leading man and twirled him to the left, and the rest of us followed. Otherwise none of us would have known what to do. "Where did he learn so much military?" was the question everybody was asking about Wells. We at once began to look to him as a marvel of tactical knowledge. The fact is this was all the tactics Heber knew, and he had just been told that much ! The "cook hou.se," where we went for our rations, wasn't a house at all. It was all outdoors. A couple of forked pieces of wood held a horizontal pole, and on this were three or four big sheet-iron pails or kettles, under which a cordwood fire was burning, with much smoke. There was a similar "cook house" at the lower end of each company street. As each man filed past he was given a tin cup, filled with black coffee (no milk) already sweetened, a tin plate filled with beans and pork, and a hunk cl bread. We were told to take care of our "crockery," and bring them to the cook house whenever "rations" were called. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEPAl. 19 "Where's the knife and fork and spoon?" John But- terworth wanted to know. "You're a nice fellow," replied Jake Engle, "to think soldiers have forks and spoons. Use your fingers — they were made before forks." Neither were there any napkins. The men took their rations and sat down about their tents to eat their first meal as real soldiers. Coffee without milk was not very palatable, at the start, but from that time on, for many, many months, the major- ity of these soldier boys never saw such a thing as milk. Milkless coffee isn't so bad when one is once used to it, and coffee was the mainstay of the army. What a soldier in active service would do without his pint of coffee three times a day, is a serious question. It was also awkward to eat pork and beans without knife, fork or spoon. But with the aid of pocket knives, and wooden spoons made out of a sliver from a board, the recruits soon learned to eat soldier fashion, and thej- soon found out, also, that beans spread upon bread was a fair substitute for butter. What a picnic it was ! What a free, airy life ! Who wouldn't be a soldier? To tell the truth, the novelty of the thing was interesting. After supper we heard some sort of a commotion up by Captain Irish's tent. There was a crowd of men standing there, from the midst of which, at frequent intervals, there was a momentary glimpse of a man being projected a considerable height into the air. It was "initiation." "Come, Joe, you're next," was the salute I got, and before I could remonstrate I was seized bodily and thrown headlong upon a big blanket, surrounded by the men who were holding it. The blanket hung slack in the middle. "One! Two! Three! Hip!" The men pulled the blanket taut, and up I was pro- jected, ten or fifteen feet into the air. Coming down, one landed head first or feet first or side\va3 T s, just as it might happen, and then, up again ! Three times was the ordeal, and the "candidate" was "initiated." Every man in the company had to go through it. 20 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "Now for the captain," cried Hank Van Orden, who seemed to be the ringleader. "Oh, no," replied Lieutenant Scott, with dignity. "The officers are exempt." "Guess not," said Hank, and over went Scott into the blanket. Captain Irish good-naturedly offered no resistance,, and he was tossed also. Poor fellow, he little knew that in less than a month his dead body would be in possession of the enemy in one of the bloodiest battle- fields of the war. The same "initiation" was being enacted all along the line, and as there were seven or eight hundred recruits in camp, it may be imagined that it was a lively scene. Then the boys gathered around their tents, or the cook fire, smoked their pipes, told stories and sang songs, until 9 o'clock, when the "tattoo" roll was called and half an hour later a few single strokes on the drum indi- cated "taps," and lights were ordered out. My chum that night was John Butterworth, and when he prepared for "bed" he created a yell of laugh- ter by saying: "Say, boys, I forgot to bring my night shirt." The most of us, however, slept in all our clothes, except our coats and shoes. With a blanket under us and a blanket; over us, and knapsacks for pillows we were quite comfortable as to warmth, but goodness, how hard the ground was ! It was the first time I had ever slept on the ground, and there was an uncomfor- table dampness that came from it that was not pleasant, even in midsummer. Through the flaps of the tent and the ventilator at the top one could see the bright stars, and there was a peculiar outdoor "looseness" to the sensation that was quite uncanny. As for sleeping ! Well, with the cat calls and shouts and yells, the snatches of song, and cries of "Get on your own side of the bed," and "Give me half of the sheet, will you?" and such things, the hullabaloo was kept up until long after midnight. And after that the snoring began. All sorts of snores. Double bass, tenor, baritone. Snores like a grandfather bull frog THE YOUITG VOLUNTEER. 21 and snores like a sick calf's bleat, Snores that would awaken the dead or make the devil laugh. You never heard such a miscellaneous job lot of snores in your life. But all things have an end, and even the outrageous snoring finally produced such a soporific effect that we all slept soundly. 22 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER III. "fall in." We were aroused at an outlandishly early hour by an indescribable conglomeration of discords outside somewhere. All the boys, as they tried to untangle their stiffened limbs from the blankets, rubbed their eyes in an uncertain, mystified way that was very comical. It was a strange feeling. Where were we? What noise was that? What makes the bedroom look so mar- velously unfamiliar this morning? Are we dreaming? Who are all these men lying and stretching about? And all in bed with their clothes on — blue clothes. Is it a dream? Is the dim remembrance of doing something unusual — of entering into a new life — actual reality, or have we had the nightmare? Let's see. Did we enlist into the army yesterday, or didn't we? The other men are kicking off the blankets, reaching for their shoes, rubbing their half -opened eyes, and grunting and groaning from the stiffness caused by the hard bed and damp earth, and again there is that discordant racket outside. It is the first attempt of the new fifer and drummer to sound the reveille — the "get up bell" we were des- tined to hear every morning for three years — "unless sooner discharged." No wonder such an outrageous musical attempt woke us up. It was enough to awaken the dead. "Reveille— Fall in for roll call." It was the voice of Heber Wells, the orderly sergeant. "Refillee? Vot'sdot, alretty?" asked John Ick, who was destined to become the funniest Dutchman, most awkward recruit, unceasing and chronic kicker in the company, and yet one of the bravest of soldiers in action. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 23 Poor fellow, he fell early, pierced by a rebel bullet. But John was as ignorant as the rest of us on military orders, and "reveille" was something new. "I tole you vot dot vash," said he. "Dot vas brek- fasht." And he got his tin plate and cup, and piled out with the crowd. A lot of others were similarly equipped, to the intense astonishment of Captain Irish, who had turned out to see the first reveille roll call. "Fall in — fall in according to size," was the order. This meant that the men should get in a line, with the tallest man at the head of the class and the shortest one at the foot. Hank Van Orden thus stood at the right of the line and Sandy Kidd at the left, and the captain told us that ever after we were to get ourselves together in that shape whenever we heard the order to "Fall in." The roll was called. It was a sleepy looking crowd — 'there were about ninety — and as a matter of fact the soldiers were always a sleepy lot at reveille roll call. Before dismissing the company, after finding all the members ■" present or accounted for,'' Orderly Wells picked out ten men to do "police duty." The rest of us were for the present dismissed. A matutinal ablution is naturally one of the first duties of every man. Soldiers are no exception. Then we began for the first time to experience the utter inad- equacy of the toilet accommodations supplied by Uncle Sam to his brave defenders. There were not many houses provided with the luxury of a bathroom in those days ; but the most of us at least had become used to the accommodations of a washbowl and pitcher and a clean towel. We hadn't even the towel. The canal at the foot of the camp, however, afforded an all-sufficient supply of water, and the tails or sleeves of our coats served as towels. Johnny Nield had a pocket comb, and that was passed around. We went up to see hew the new policemen were get- ting along — the ten men who had been picked out to do "police duty." We naturally supposed that meant to stand guard around the camp and look fierce; but it wasn't. To "police" a camp means to clean it up. 2-i THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. You've seen the street department gang with their brooms and hoes cleaning the dirt out of the gutters. Well, that, in army parlance, is fe' police duty." If a real policeman were called upon to perform that "duty" he would kick like a steer. Whoever heard of a police- man working? The new recruits "kicked," too, hut it was no use. There was a bookkeeper from one of the mills, two Main Street dry goods clerks with soft hands, a printer and a cotton manufacturer working for dear life in the "chain gang" as thej* were dubbed, and bossed by a sergeant who used to sell beer in a Dublin gin mill. Oh, but it was galling. That was one of the hardest features of army life — to fall under the command of an officer who was in every way — except for his straps or stripes — your inferior. Such men, feeling for the first time the pleasures of autocracy, were the most cruel and relentless taskmas- ters. But they had to be obeyed. Such was discipline. The first duty of a soldier is obedience — no matter if your "superior officer" be an ignorant, boorish bully you wouldn't have recognized in civil life. My old employer had said it was a good thing for me to go into the army, because I needed discipline. I would never recognize a "boss," and was the most independent young American in the United States. That was some- thing the army life would cure me of. My old em- ployer was right. I soon had the independence knocked out of me. I was soon thoroughly "disciplined." But in that respect, doubtless, I have since retrograded. "Fall in for rations," was the next order, and John Ick made another dive for his_ tin plate and cup. He was perennially hungry, was John. "Itsch 'vail in' ail de times," said he, "but I don'd mind him a little ven dot means some tings to eat, ain't it?" The breakfast was like the supper the night before, with the exception that boiled beef was substituted for the pork and beans. Somehow it didn't seem very tasty. We missed the customary muffins and chops and eggs, and the cream in our coffee. But still it went. It had to. It was that or nothing. No sooner was breakfast over than it was again : THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER, 25 "Fall in, Company K!" This time it was to pick out a detail for guard duty, and the ten men selected were instructed to be ready to fall in again a little before 9 o'clock, "fully armed and equipped." I escaped this "draft," but with the others anxiously awaited the time to see the first "guard mount." A little before 9 o'clock a drum beat called out the guard detail — and there appeared the ten men "fully armed and equipped." They had on everything the government had given them. Although a midsummer evening, they perspired under their heavy overcoats. They had their knapsacks, haversacks and canteens, their belts and ammunition boxes and their muskets — ■ all ready to go to war. It was a funny sight. Some of the knapsacks were perched upon the shoulders like the hump of a hunchback, while others hung at the bottom of the back, like a "Grecian bend.'' Two of the men carried their haversacks in their left hands, as if- they were satchels. Even the captain had to laugh. He explained to them that they only required their blouses and arms, and told them to leave their knapsacks, haversacks, and canteens in the tents. After some coaching they were finally arranged right and formed into line. "Now," said Sergeant Wells, "all you have got to do is to follow your file leader." "Yot vash dot vile leeder, Mr. Wells?" asked John Ick. "Don't talk while in the ranks. Don't you know better than that?" asked Wells, with a comical as- sumption of insulted dignity. "Dot's all ri-et, Mister Wells. Dot's all riet; but how in du.nderwedder we don't know some tings ven we don't ask nobotty already?" Without deigning to reply the orderly gave the order to "right face,." and twirled Hank Van Orden around to the right. Then began the command : ' ' Forward, march ! ' ' And taking Hank by the elbow, he led him as he would a team of oxen, around the head of the company street and toward the place in the middle of the camp £G THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. where a fife was tooting and a drum beating, and an already assembled crowd indicated that something was going on. The appearance of Company K's guard detail on that occasion was like a crowd of political heelers marching toward a barroom on the invitation of the candidates. There would be just about as much military precision in the latter as there was in the former. Here let me explain. The Thirteenth Regiment was recruited in Newark, Orange, Belleville, *Montclair, Bloomfield, Caldwell, Mill burn, Jersey City and Pater- son. There were two companies from Paterson — Com- pany C, commanded by Captain Ityerson, and Com- pany K, by Captain Irish. Not more than two com- panies were from one place, so that to a great degree the men were strangers to each other. The extent of friendship from previous acquaintance was consequently limited, but nine or ten hundred men who were thus brought together soon became quite well acquainted with each other. Ten men from each of the ten companies, one hun- dred altogether, had been detailed for guard duty that day. The other eight hundred or so gathered around as spectators. Colonel Carman stood on one side of the field, gor- geously attired, with a ferocious look on his face. He had already served some time in an official position in another regiment, and was regarded as a veteran. Be- fore the war Colonel Carman was an humble clerk in some New York store. So he was, I understand, after the departure of his military glory ; but he has since then been honored by being made commissioner in charge of the Antietam battlefield. But the colonel certainly looked ferocious and brave enough that morning to whip the whole rebel army alone. A short distance in front of him was Adjutant Charles A. Hopkins (now New England agent of the Mutual Life Insurance Company, and worth half a million, it is said). Now there is always something fussy and featherish about an adjutant, and Lieutenant Hopkins was no exception; but under his showy ex- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 27 terior there was as true and brave and sympathetic a heart as ever beat against the padded breast of a mili- tary officer. The adjutant is usually the boss of a guard mount. The presence of the colonel, occasionally, is to add im- pressiveness and dignity. In actual service his place is usually substituted by the red-sashed officer who has been detailed as "officer of the day." He is the general superintendent and high-cock-a-lorum of the camp for the twenty-four hours for which he is appointed. An inferior officer, usually a lieutenant, is similarly selected as "officer of the guard." But the "guard mount" was about to begin, and we watched the proceeding with all the eyes we had. 28 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER IV. GUARD MOUNT AND DRILL. This chapter does not purpose to be an accurate de- scription of the details of military tactics. I will only describe the "guard mount" as I then saw it — as it would appear to any person for the first time. The positions of the principal officers were described in the preceding chapter. Down in the field further, drawn up in a line, were ten fifers and ten drummers playing for dear life. It was the first time they had played together, and the orchestral effects were any- thing but harmonious. These musicians seemed to be the central cluster or nucleus around which the others were to gather, like a lot of bees swarming. From every company street there marched, or rather straggled, a squad of ten soldiers, commanded — perhaps I should say led — by a sergeant. The first gang marched around until it came to the musicians. Then another ten would come along until it reached the tail end of the first, and so on, until the whole ten times ten were standing in a row or string. It would have made an old army officer drop dead to see the way the men were carrying their muskets. They had had no drill. Half of them had never before seen, let alone handled, a rifle. Some carried them on one shoulder and some on the other. Here you would see a gun held up stiff and straight like a flagstaff, and the next man would hold it jauntily in the crook of his elbow. The "line" was about as near being straight as a horseshoe. Somebody yelled : "Front!" One of the boys who had once served in a hotel office was at the point of rushing forward, but he could see no counter to run to. No one else stirred. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 29 "Front!" again commanded the adjutant. But still nobody moved, except to look helplessly at his com- panion. Many of them thought maybe it was the army way of saying grace, or something of that sort. No one had ever heard "Front" before. The adjutant became excited. "All turn this way, and look at me," shouted the adjutant. "Vy dond you say dod pefore," cried out John Ick. "Silence in the ranks. When I say 'Front,' you turn to the front, that's all." "Dot's all ri-et, Mister Hopkins," replied John Ick. "I'se a lookin' at you, don't it?" "Silence!" yelled the officer, "or you'll go to the guardhouse." "Can't a man say nottings all the time?" murmured Ick. Poor John ! He was marched off to the guardhouse, whatever that meant. None of us knew. It must be something awful. "Dress up!" Not a man stirred. "Dress up, I say. Dress to the right!" commanded the adjutant, and stepping up to the end of the string he looked along the edge and gave the order again: "Eight— dress!" Every man looked carefully over himself. Every- body seemed to have on his right dress ! They were all dressed right. They were looking everywhere except to the right. "What a lot of idiots," shouted Lieutenant Hopkins. "Just turn your eyes this way and get into a straight line." A general shuffle was the result. There was some sort of a commotion in Company K's detachment. "What's the matter here?" asked the adjutant, com- ing over. "Why don't you get in a straight line?" "Can't," replied Davy Harris. "Just look at John Snyder's nose!" "Silence in the ranks!" "See here," asked Lem Smith, "am I to take my bearings from Pop Farlow's fat belly, or from that spindle-shanked Anderson?' ' 30 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "Silence in the ranks, or you'll go to the guard- house," was the only reply. Silence resulted. One man was already in the guard- house, and an awful ignorance of what sort of horrible torture he might at that moment be undergoing made the warning sufficient. Finally the adjutant got the men tolerably straight, and then the drummers and fifers marched down in front of the line, turned around and marched back again, playing "When Johnnie Comes Marching Home Again" the while. Then the adjutant stepped for- ward, turned on his heel, turned to the left, marched along to the middle of the parade, turned on his heel to the right, marched a few paces toward the colonel, and then turned completely around as if on a pivot. He gave the order to "Present arms!" But no pretense was made of obeying it, inasmuch as no one in the ranks knew the difference between present arms and a lame leg. But just as if it had all been done according to Hoyle, or rathor according to Hardee, the adjutant turned around facing the colonel, and bringing his sword up to his nose, dropped it with a curving sweep, like a farmer with a scythe. The adjutant said something to the colonel and the colonel said something to the adjutant, and some orders were given which no one understood. Then with much confusion and trouble the men in the line were twisted around into platoons and marched past the colonel in about the order of a mob coming out of a circus, and then off to the guardhouse. As a mili- tary maneuver it was simply atrocious. Had Kaiser Wilhelm been there he would have thrown himself into the canal with ineffable disgust. But the spectators thought it was grand. When the Thirteenth Regiment got to the front and the enemy saw what they could do, the rebellion would be speedily ended ! Indeed, had the Confederates witnessed a guard mount like that they would have thought it some new sort of tactics they didn't understand, and would doubtless have immedi- ately surrendered. The guards were put on duty around the camp. In the army the men go on guard duty for two hours and THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Si have a four-hour rest, and then go on again, and so on for the twenty -four hours. The duty of the guards was to let no one out of the camp, without a pass, and no visitors in — except at the gates. We fellows who were not on guard were congratula- ting ourselves with having nothing to do when suddenly there was another drum beat, followed by the order : "Fall in, Company K, for drill!" The men hastily put on their belts, picked up their guns, and ran out to "get into a string," which we had learned by this time was the proper thing to do on hear- ing the order to "fall in." A sergeant who had served three months already and was therefore supposed to know all about war, was detailed to instruct us. He was an arrogant brute, as such men usually are, and gave his orders as if we were slaves. Many a man's face flushed at being called "fool," "idiot," and worse names, when the sergeant became angry with our clumsiness and awkwardness. When we started we thought a "file" was something used by machinists, a "wheel" was part of the running gear of a wagon, and that when the order was to "shoulder arms," it meant to hold our guns on our shoulders, in- stead of holding them straight up at our sides. It*bad been "carry" arms, under the "Hardee" tactics, but Casey's revision was just being introduced, and the same movement was designated as "shoulder arms." But how that relentless sergeant did drill us ! He made us handle the guns in different shapes until they seemed to weigh half a ton, and our arms ached. And he marched us up and down and hither and thither until we were completely tired out with the unwonted exercise. It was in dog days, too, and the hot clothing and thick, scratchy shirts made us perspire until we were soaked. Being a soldier wasn't so much fun after all. We were glad enough when finally, at noon, we were dismissed for our dinner. With the exception of soup for the main dish, dinner was similar to the other meals. We were beginning to get it through our heads that the prospects were bad for any very great variety in the menu. But it "went," for we were hungry, and our post prandial briar wood 32 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. pipes were hugely enjoyed. Just as we were thinking of 'crawling into the tent for a snooze, again came that everlasting order : "Fall in for drill!" This was too much ! What, drill twice a day? We would speak to the captain about it. But the afternoon drill was worse yet, for it was a regimental drill — that is a drill of the entire regiment together. The colonel, who had seen some service, bossed this job. Now in a regimental drill a fellow has to walk about ten times as much as in a company drill, and we were soon so tired that we couldn't go any more. The colonel saw this, and gave us some more instruc- tion in the manual of arms, and for the first time showed us how to load the guns. "Load in nine times — load." Such was the order. We had been served with blank cartridges, and were told to simply go through the motion of loading. But Sandy Kidd failed to hear this, and before he was discovered he had loaded his guns nine times — that is, put nine cartridges into the barrel. What the nine "times" meant was the nine different motions that are necessary in loading a gun according to the tactics. During the latter part of the drill the colonel thought he would see how the regiment would do in an actual shoot. So he marched us around by the canal and once more went through the process of "load- ing in nine times." Then I discovered why Dr. Love had so carefully examined our teeth. One of the orders was to "tear cartridges. " Now the cartridges of those days were not the metallic affairs used at the present time. Breech- loading guns had hardly been introduced and our old muskets were loaded at the muzzle, like an old-fashioned shotgun. The cartridges containing the powder were made of paper. It was a thick brown paper, as tough as is used in a hardware store. One had to insert the end of the cartridge between the teeth and tear it open. Nothing but the stoutest teeth could stand this ordeal. And, ugh ! how salt and nasty the powder tasted ! But we are finally loaded, cocked and primed. In order to make a grander effect for the assembled audi- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 33 ence, we were strung along the towpath of the canal. Then the colonel gave the order : "Ready! Aim!— Fire!" Now I had never shot off a gun in my life. I only knew you had to hold it up to the shoulder and pull the trigger. When the colonel said "aim" my hands shook in a manner that would have made it perfectly safe for a man to stand directly in front of the muzzle. When the order came to "fire" I shut my eyes tight and pulled the trigger ! Bang! Was I kicked by a mule? A stinging blow on my right shoulder nearly knocked me off my feet, and I thought my arm was dislocated. For a moment I feared I was shot myself. I never knew before that a gun "kicked." It was simply the "kick" of the musket on being discharged. But it was a surprise party for me. The first man to "fall in an engagement" in the Thirteenth Regiment was Sandy Kidd. When the rackety "volley," about as simultaneous as a pack of exploding firecrackers, had stopped, there lay Sandy Kidd, sprawling on his back at the bottom of the tow- path. He had shot off all the nine cartridges in his gun at once! 34 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER V, MUSTERED IN — DESERTED. Before the regimental drill was dismissed, Colonel Carman had announced that "dress parade" would be dispensed with that afternoon. Goodness, was there anything more? Is a soldier'3 work never done? No, never. From that time on, during all the years of service, whenever in camp, there was that same ever- lasting routine of guard mount, and squad or company drill in the morning, and a regimental or "battalion" drill (as it was mora commonly called) in the afternoon, winding up with the perennial dress parade at 4 or 6 o'clock. A "dress parade" is a guard mount on a larger scale, and is the formal display of "the pomp and panoply of war." But so many people are familiar with "dress parades" that it is unnecessary to describe them. We were awfully tired that night; but we were aroused to interest by the announcement that on that evening we would "elect our officers." What a farce! No one in the army ever has a chance to vote for officers. The "election" simply consisted in the reading of a pronunciamento or order that Hugh C. Irish had been elected captain; James G. Scott, first lieutenant, and so on, and that the captain had selected "the following sergeants and corporals." And at the end of it was "Approved — Ezra A. Carman, Colonel Commanding; Charles A. Hopkins, First Lieutenant and Adjutant." That is the way we "elected" our officers. There was little variation in camp life for several days. It was the same old routine of guard mount and drill, and "fall in for rations." We began to get used to the unwonted exercise and the outdoor air and work THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 35 was hardening the muscles and improving the general health. There was a constant stream of visitors, including many ladies; and the latter came around to the tents and chatted to "the boys" with an unconventional familiarity and sisterly affection utterly unknown in ordinary life. This was a new phase of existence that was very interesting. They brought us many luxuries, and some of the boys received big boxes from home, containing pies and cakes and other toothsome things that greatly enhanced our bill of fare. And there was a continuous round of pranks and practical jokes and song singing and amateur entertainments in the even- ing, till at last we were constrained to exclaim: "Well, this is a picnic!" On August 24, 1862, the announcement was made that on the following afternoon the Thirteenth Regi- ment would be "mustered in." This was something new, and created great excitement. When a man "enlists ' he, so to speak, gets into his coffin. When he is "mustered," Undertaker Uncle Sam has put on the lid and screwed it down. When a man deserts the service after being "mustered in" he is shot. About 3 o'clock the next afternoon the regiment was drawn up as if in dress parade. While somewhat im- proved in military movements from the four or five days drill, yet it was anything but an imposing spectaclo from a professional point of view. The line was strag- gling and broken and uncertain, and there was a pain- ful absence of that self-possessed nonchalance that char- acterizes the experienced soldier. But there we stood, 037 of us — 38 officers and 899 non-commissioned officers and privates, at parade rest, with the perspiration trickling down our faces and we forbidden to wipe it off! From the knot of officers gathered at the flank of the parade stepped forth one more gorgeous, more self- possessed, more airish than the others. Ah ! he was a man who understood his business! He must be a major-general at least ! Bah ! The single strip of bullion at the end of his 36 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. shoulder straps indicated that he was nothing but a first lieutenant ! And yet he was a First Lieutenant with a capital *'L" and a still bigger "F." Maybe you don't understand the awful dignity that surrounded a "mustering officer," like a dazzling halo! As the drum-major of a band is more gorgeous in make-up than the colonel of a regiment, so is a muster- ing officer more indescribably magnificent in general bearing than the commander of the whole army. The chief qualification of a mustering officer seemed to be his capacity for putting on airs. The more airs he could put on the better. No soldier ever heard of a plain, unassuming, courteous mustering officer. It is his business to be otherwise. The irridescent specimen of military grandeur that dazzled our eyes and filled our hearts with apprehension, as if we were the serfs and he the czar, was, we were told, ' ' Louis D. Watkins, First Lieutenant, Fifth United States Cavalry." A regular officer. Phew! A West Point graduate, perhaps. And a cavalry officer too. The cavalry officers always considered themselves so much higher than infantry officers. In reality they were, in the march — about five feet higher — when mounted. Behind him was a private soldier with his rifle and another carrying the rolls of the regiment, on which was every man's name, the color of his eyes and hair, his height, complexion, color, age, and "previous con- dition of servitude." "At-ten-shun!" commanded he, with that peculiar inflexion only attainable after considerable service. "Hats off!" "Hands up!" When, after much confusion, it was arranged that each man held his hat in his left hand and upheld his right, the mustering officer began : "Eepeat after me the following oath: I, Louis D. Watkins " "I, Louis D. Watkins," came the grand chorus from the assembled thousand. I don't know how they ever came to do it so well in concert. It sounded as if it- came from one gigantic throat. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 37 "No — no — no," interrupted the mustering officer. "Each man say his own name. Now, I, John Smith — or whatever it may be." A low murmur of many names followed, as each man pronounced his own, followed by "whatever it may be." John Ick was slow of comprehension, and he came out behind all the rest, and it made everybody laugh to hear his "May pe!" Lieutenant Watkins pretended not to notice this un- necessary addition to the oath, but went on : "Do solemnly " "Solemnly," chorused the regiment. — "Emly," from John Ick. "Swear that I will bear — " continued the mustering officer. The regiment responded, while loud and husky came John Ick with his —"Bear." "True faith and allegiance." The nine hundred responded on schedule time — all but John Ick, who nearly upset the whole business with his ringing : "Vatty elegance." "To the United States of America," continued the mustering officer. The regiment responded, and so it went on with the rest of the oath, viz: — '"Against all her enemies whatsoever: That I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and of the officers appointed over me, according to the rules and articles of war. So help me God." And John Ick came in at the tail end about three words behind as usual. But as if that wasn't enough he added something of his own in the shape of a loud "Amen." He naturally imagined that anything so near like a prayer was not quite complete without an "amen" at the end of it. The oath, although as ironclad as the whole power and force of the United States government can make it, isn't in itself very long, but the slow process of repeti- tion had necessitated our holding up our hands for what 58 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. seemed an age, and our arms ached. It was with intense satisfaction and relief therefore that we received the orders : ' ' Hands down ! Hats on !" The pompous mustering officer, with a show of dig- nity that would have done credit to a czar or a kaiser, then formally and awfully announced, that he, he— with a big H, Louis D. Watkins, by the authority with which he was vested (and otherwise clothed), then and there and here and now did declare that the officers and men of the Thirteenth Regiment of New Jersey Volun- teers were duly mustered into the service of the United States, to serve for the period of three years unless sooner discharged. The nail was clinched. The colonel then stepped forward and ordered the officers to approach, which they did, and when standing in front of him in a tolerably straight line, he addressed them in a few words that the rest of us could not hear. As the officers came back to lead their companies to their streets, something on their faces told us all that there was something unusually important on hand. There was. Before the companies were dismissed the captain informed the men that the situation of affairs at Washington was so precarious that the presi- dent had ordered the Thirteenth Regiment to come on at once. Similar orders had been sent to every regi- ment in the country in process of formation. "Captain," said one of the men, "we were to have a furlough before we started ; we wanted to take our citi- zens' suits back home and bid our families good-by, and we want to get a few articles to take along with us. Wasn't this understood?" "Yes," replied Captain Irish; "but in times of war any programme may be changed and all that we have to do is to obey orders. ' ' "Is that fair?" asked John Snyder. "Don't talk in the ranks," said the captain. "No, you," said John Ick knowingly, "dond you talk by the ranks, or you'll go by the garthous; ven you carry a stick of dot ^ord wood up and down for an hour, alreaty, you don talk no more by the ranks, by gum." THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 39 "Silence!" shouted the captain. "Gimntinney," said Ick, sotto voce, "I pelief I vas talking mine own selluff, and didn't know it." The recruits broke ranks with much kicking. They had fully expected a furlough before going to the front. There were ominous whispers and knowing winks that night. Something was up. In the morning there were not a dozen men in camp. Even the guards had disappeared, leaving their guns sticking bayonet down, in the ground. Practically the entire regiment had deserted! What an inglorious end to our career as soldiers! And not mustered in half a day yet. How it all happened the next chapter will relate. 40 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER VI. THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. As stated in the preceding chapter, the entire Thir- teenth Regiment of New Jersey Volunteers had deserted, almost in a body, at the very first intimation of active service. Not that they were like that famous character : "First in peace, last in war." Nor even like that historical militia organization whose first by-law read : "Resolved, that in case of war, riot or other unpleas- ant disturbance, this company immediately disbands." No, it wasn't that. It wasn't cowardice. The boys simply "wanted to go home." (They wanted to go home many another time before their three years were up, but didn't have the opportunity.) And we believe it is an historical fact that this was the only instance during the war where eight or nine hundred men de- serted and were not only not punished, but were not even reprimanded. It could hardly be called desertion. The boys simply wanted to go home, and they went. They could hardly be blamed. All had enlisted and hurried off to camp with quite a distinct understanding that they should have a furlough long enough to fix up things at home, and this idea of being so suddenly and unceremoniously projected to the very scene of conflict completely upset them. The regiment deserted, so to speak, in squads. We had previously arranged our respective coteries; "Davy" Harris, "Pop" Snyder and I were one of the groups arranged in trios, and along toward midnight we marched out of camp. One of Company C's men was on guard at the post we had to pass. It did not THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 41 take him long to stick his bayonet in the ground and join us. We took the towpath and walked up to Paterson along the canal bank, arriving there at 4 or 5 o'clock in the evening. It took about twenty-four hours to arrange our affairs and say good- by to our friends for the last time. It didn't take me long to settle up my affairs. I deposited with a relative the new suit of clothes I had just bought, and wrote a letter to my father, who lived in another State, that I had enlisted. Let me tell you about that suit of clothes. It was in the latest fashion. The cost was of a Prince Albert pattern, but it came down to about halfway between the knees and heels. It was black and white, in squares, each one of the squares being as big as the square of a checkerboard. The length of the coat was something like the dude fashion of the present time. But during the four years I was away fashions had changed to plain, dark colors, and the coat tail had been abbreviated. Had I appeared on the streets in that suit after the war, I would have been mobbed. The changes in fashions are so gradual that they are hardly noticed. But bury .yourself, mentally, for four years, and the change will be startling. We think nothing of the absurd wings the ladies wear now, but had that ridiculous fashion been projected upon us in all its ugliness without an evolutionary endurance — like cutting off a dog's tail by inches — we should have been startled, to say the least. So that stylish suit, which had cost me twenty-one weeks' wages, was utterly useless after the war was over. But this is a digression. I didn't have to save my money for clothes now. Uncle Sam furnished them. As the late Tune Van Iderstine used to say, there was "Plenty for to eat (usually) plenty for to drink (that is, soft drinks) and nothing for to pay." Besides all this we were paid the munificent wages of thirteen dollars a month — which usually went to sutler or poker, of which more anon. We straggled back to camp, and in two days every man was back again. We expected to be at least scolded, if not actually punished; but not a word was said to us about our "desertion." 42 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. There was a more serious look on the men's faces this time than there was the first time they left home. The farewell had been more sorrowful, for it was known to be the last time they would meet their loved ones for many months— perhaps years — perhaps forever. Some- how it had at first been a sort of picnic— a few days' , excursion. Now we began to realize that it really "meant business." But a soldier's downheartedness doesn't last long. We were kept busy with the final arrangements. We "men" expected to be ordered to start every moment. We were kept in ignorance, in accordance with "army discipline." Only the officers knew we were not to start before Sunda}'. On Friday we went through that pleasant and delusive experience that all regiments went through. We were presented with a flag by the ladies. Flag presentations were too common in those days to indulge in silk. It was an ordinary everyday bunting flag. A clergyman made the speech for the ladies and the colonel responded for the regiment. I think I felt then my first thrill of patriotism. The stars and stripes never before looked as they did then. As the breeze rippled through the folds it seemed as if a patriotic luster emanated from the ensign, and a vague idea that I would some clay see that flag dimly outlined through the smoke and fire of battle made the blood jump through my veins. And the ladies, God bless them! They looked so pretty and sweet, so loyal and yet so tender, that it aroused one's manhood to a sense of duty in defending them. I never was a hero. I was naturally a coward. But I felt brave just then and mentally resolved that I would never do aught to be ashamed of. A similar feeling must have pervaded the entire regi- ment, for it gave vent to loud and enthusiastic cheers at the conclusion of the presentation. "I never saw the flag look so beautiful as it did to- day," said John Stansfield, as he unbuckled his belt. "Dott all ri-et, you," said John Ick. "But it dond look so beautiful one of dese daj T s, I dond tink. I vash thinking dot plue is like how plue we vill all pe pefore THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 43 ve gits home alretty, and de ret stripes — dot vash plood. We vas all going to ein schlaughter haus." Despite this sanguinary prediction, Ick's remarks created a laugh, and from that time on, forever after- ward, he was called ' ' Slaughter House Ike. ' ' On Friday it began to look like business; about one hundred men were yet missing and patrols were sent out to capture them, wherever found, and bring them in. The announcement in the Newark Advertiser that the Thirteenth was about to start brought crowds of visitors to camp, a large proportion of them being ladies. On Saturday evening, August 30, 1862, the boys re- ceived word that they would start the next (Sunday) morning for the front ! Immediately the camp became a scene of great ex- citement and hilariousness. 44 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER VII. OFF FOR THE FRONT. When "reveille" sounded in Camp Frelinghuysen on Sunday morning, August 31, 1862, no one was awak- ened. Everybody was already up and filled with ex- citement over the approaching departure for "the front." A busy scene was enacted. Everybody was packing up. The men were wondering how to get into their knapsacks besides the clothing Uncle Sam pro- vided them, such things as canned preserves, towels, looking-glasses, shaving outfits and a hundred and one other things from loving ones at home — even to em- broidered slippers! It was no go. The knapsack would scarcely hold the regular outfit, let alone other things. The parsimony of the government in providing such limited "trunks" was vigorously criticized, little knowing that before long we should be more than convinced that the knap- sacks were altogether too large and too heavy. But the problem was solved by packing the superflu- ous luxuries into barrels and boxes. We had a vague idea that they would come along with the baggage. Innocent souls that we were. Somebody must have had a feast. We never saw those things again. We filled our haversacks with "grub" from the "cook house" and our canteens with water from the canal, and when everything was in readiness we tried on our "things." Phew ! Here was another thing we hadn't counted upon. That we were to be "pack mules" had never entered our heads. Contemplate the array : First, our thick clothes (with the scratchy shirt and THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 45 stockings); then a broad leather belt extending from the right shoulder to the left hip ; then a body belt, upon which was a leather percussion cap box on the front and a heavy cartridge box on the right hip — a box con- taining forty rounds of ball cartridges in a tin case — the whole weighing several pounds. Then there was the bulgy haversack, on the right hip, hanging by a strap from the left shoulder, while on the reverse side was the canteen, suspended from a strap which ran over the right shoulder. Then came the knapsack, like the hump on Pilgrim's back, hanging from straps over both shoulders and steadied by another strap that extended over the breast. On the equipments were brass eagles and brass plates with "U. S," upon them. The knap- sack was packed as full as it could be, and in straps on the top were the rubber and woolen blankets tightly rolled, while the overcoat was strapped to the back. This was "heavy marching order." Add the rifle, weighing about nine pounds, and you have the complete soldier. All you can see is his face and legs, and a lot of straps and bundles and bags with a gleaming bayonet sticking up alongside the right shoulder. Thus arrayed and equipped, the load that a soldier had to carry was about sixty pounds. Imagine yourself walking thirty miles a day and carrying sixty pounds of baggage. A momentary trial of this load was enough. Every man threw off his knapsack completely discouraged. We were confronted with a condition utterly unfore- seen. Had there been an opportunity to test this lay- out in Captain Irish's recruiting office, the probability is that not a single man would have enlisted! Poor John Ick expressed the sentiment of Company K when he threw his knapsack down on the ground and exclaimed : "Mine gott, poys. Dot vash de camel vot proke de straw's pack. I vash going heim. I don'd vant to be a soldier sometimes any more, alretty. ' ' But it was too late to go home now. We were going away from home, and the evidences of our departure were too painfully apparent all around us. Solemn-faced men were embracing and kissing crying women and children all over the camp, and even some 46 THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER. of the men were crying, not so much, perhaps, on their own account, as from sympathy with the really be- reaved wives, mothers and daughters. No man likes to see a woman cry, but under ordinary conditions it affects different men in different ways. A woman's tears, to some men, is a signal for immediate capitula- tion. To others it has an irresistibly irritating effect. Bat when a woman cries from pure grief — and not from petulance, anger or hysteria — then it strikes a sympa- thetic chord in the male breast, and he whose eyes are not moist under such circumstances is a brute. In the economy of nature it is only a brute that cannot laugh or cry. So it was not unmanly to see great, strong men weep, because their wives, their mothers, their sweethearts wept. No one knew when they should meet again. Perhaps never. To some, it was never. But there is no time for long-drawn-out sentiment in war. The final farewells were terminated by the order to— "Fall in!" In a short time the regiment was formed and the order was given to march. A wild huzza arose from several thousand throats as the Thirteenth New Jersey filed out of the entrance to Camp Frelinghirysen, which the soldiers were to see for the last time. The regiment was marched down through Orange Street to Broad, followed by an immense crowd of people. It was a Sunday, but it was totally unlike an ordinary Sunday in Newark, for the whole city was out as if on a holi- day. A short halt was made at Washington Park, for a little rest. And "green" troops that we were, we greatly needed it. The day was atrociously hot. The sun poured down its pitiless rays until the backs of our necks were blistered. The straps from our knapsacks and accouterments had begun to cut into the uncal- loused flesh of our shoulders, and the awful load we carried fatigued us greatly. The cobble stones with which Broad Street was then paved seemed unnaturally high, round and uneven. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 47 We were marched to the Chestnut Street depot, where the train was supposed to be ready. It wasn't. No one ever knew of an army train being on time. It was a special, made up of the cheapest, dirtiest, oldest cars of the road — "The New Jersey Railroad and Transpor- tation Company" — a part of the "Camden and Amboy" system. The "Pennsylvania" was as yet unheard of — at least in New Jersey. There were more farewells. Venders of knickknacks, and particularly of cool drinks, did a thriving business. A milkman came along, and soon his cans were empty. As my father handed me an overflowing glass of milk, I loosed upon his face for the last time. Before the war was ended he had given his life to his country. It was a solemn crowd. The first boisterousness had disappeared. The sorrowful, tearful farewells had a depressing effect. The news from the front was not cheerful. Even at that moment a great battle was in progress, and not very many miles from Washington. And yet there were laughable scenes. I will tell you one. It relates to James O. Smith, afterward connected with the New York Commercial Advertiser. Smith was a Newark boy, a jolly fellow, as he is to this day. He is one of those men who never grow old. Well, Smith's mother and his best girl and her mother were looking around for Jim to bid him a last good-by, and Jim was watching for their expected appearance. Just then a beautiful little German girl came up, and in- tently gazing upon Smith for a moment, stepped up and asked : "Vas you going to go avay?" "Yes," answered Jim, "I am going to the front." "Yell," answered the little German girl, "I vas so sorry." And thereupon she put her hands on Smith's shoul- ders, and leaning her face down upon them, began to cry as ifher heart would break. Now James O. Smith said then, and he says yet, that he would pledge his word of honor as a man, as a gen- tleman and as a soldier, that never in the whole course of his life had he ever laid eyes on that pretty little German girl before, But imagine his predicament 48 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. when, just at that particular moment, up stepped his own, his genuine best girl, with her mother! And before Jim could explain the truth the order was received to board the the train. With a yell, a hurrah and a general racket the mem- bers of the Thirteenth climbed upon the cars. E very- window was closely shut, and the air was stifling. As usual, the windows were stuck fast and could not be budged. Then, as if seized with the inspiration that a soldier's duty was to destroy, smash went every window in every one of the fourteen or fifteen cars composing the "special" train. It was done with the butt ends of the rifles. There was plenty of air after that. The officers tried to expostulate, but it was too late. It took a long time to get on the "baggage" and other things necessary and in the meanwhile the boys were chatting through the broken glass windows with their friends outside. Jim Smith was apparently having much difficulty in convincing his real girl that his en- counter with that pretty little German girl was only an accidental meeting. Whether he succeeded in putting himself right no one ever knew. A long blast of the whistle. A last, superfluous cry of "all aboard.'* A slight movement of the train. We were off. "Hurrah for the Thirteenth Regiment!" said some one in the crowd. A wild hurrah from six thousand throats arose in the torrid atmosphere of that hot Sun- day noon of August 31, 1862. "Hurrah for the ladies of Newark!" shouted a sol- dier. And the cars quivered with the shout. The people shouted again in chorus, and the air was filled with Godsends and "good-by, Johns" and "good- b} r , Bills," while outside the cars pandemonium reigned supreme. And thus it was, with a whoop and a shout, that the Thirteenth Regiment of New Jersey Volunteers started off for that mysterious, that awful, that unknown desti- nation comprehensively termed "The Front." Alas ! If some of them had known what they had to go through ere they again saw the city of Newark, they would have felt disposed to have thrown themselves under the car wheels and been crushed to jelly. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 49 CHAPTER VIII. WASHINGTON AND LINCOLN. Those who have been on a target excursion know what sort of a scene is enacted on the cars going to and returning from a day's pleasure. I can liken that journey of the Thirteenth Regiment from Newark to Philadelphia, to nothing but a gigantic excursion. Per- haps there was the more indulgence in boisterousness as a sort of offset to the gloomy features of the farewell. All the songs that the boj T s knew, and some that they didn't know, were sung, and when the supply was ex- hausted they were sung over again. There were anec- dotes and stories told, practical jokes perpetrated, and whenever any one began to look sober and solemn he was selected as a victim. It seemed as if we had cut loose from everything, as it were — from the world, the conventional routine of life, from restraining influences, from civilization. And so it was to a greater extent than we knew then, for the fact must be told that away from the influence of society, of woman, man becomes a brute. He loses all the little niceties and amenities of humanity and quickly deteriorates into a savage. Another proof of Darwinism. Who knows, were we all turned out into the woods, how long it would be before tails began to sprout ! No such philosophical turn, however, entered the minds of the boisterous crowd that kept up the racket all the way to the southern boundaries of the State. The train went through Trenton and Bordentown, and entered Philadelphia via Camden. It was about dusk when we crossed the Delaware in ferry boats that sailed between the two halves of Smith's Island, and were at last in the city of Brotherly Love. 60 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ' ' Philadelphia. " " Brotherly Love. ' ' How sweet are the memories that hover around these names to every old soldier. No city loved the soldier more, or did more for the soldier, than Philadelphia. Every building large enough was already an hospital. Every fire engine had its ambulance, in the gorgeous decoration of which vehicles the different companies vied with each other until their ingenuity for something more handsome was exhausted. One of the institutions of Philadelphia was "The Soldiers' Rest." It was a large structure, as big as the train shed at a railroad terminus. When a new regi- ment passed through the city on the way to the front, it was provided with a meal little short of a banquet. The men were seated at tables provided with table cloths and crockery — real crockery, not tinware. The soldiers were waited upon by young ladies, pretty ones too. "Oh, my jimminey, put I vas glad I come to de war!" enthusiastically exclaimed John Ick. John expressed the sentiment of all of us. We began to think that, if the further south we went the better we fared, by the time we reached the front we would have a regular picnic. Alas, we didn't stop to remember that the last thing done to a Thanksgiving turkey is to gorge him with chestnuts. But, seriously, the old soldier will never forget Phila- delphia hospitality. But it was the jumping off place. Between the City of Brotherly Love and Baltimore there was a gap, a chasm. For right there was located somewhere the dividing line, on one side of which a sol- dier was considered a patriot, a gentleman, and on the other side regarded merely as a soulless machine. We bade adieu to Philadelphia late that night with a salvo of cheers. Alas for human consistency. The last man to get on the cars was Jim Smith. In fact he came near being left in consequence of his lingering flirtation with a pretty Philadelphia girl. And so soon after his en- counter with his own true love — and that beautiful little German girl. The ride to Baltimore was through the night, At; THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 51 Havre de Grace the cars in those days crossed on a big ferryboat. There were no bridges yet. The switches were choked with troop-laden trains, and we had to wait three hours for our turn on the ferry-boat. And, by the way, it was the first time for nearly all of us to see a locomotive and train cross a wide river on a boat. It was morning when we reached Baltimore. Here we had breakfast. Breakfast? Ugh ! We had passed the "dividing line." We were in a State only semiloyal. Indeed bloody riots had occurred in the streets of Baltimore, caused by rebel sympathizers attacking passing regiments. As we disembarked we were quietly ordered to load our rifles — with bullets ! It began to look like business. But that breakfast ! It was in a shed. The coffee was black and nasty — about as much flavor to it as mud. We had soft bread that was slack-baked — half -dough. And the meat! We were formally introduced to "salt horse!" "Vot sort of meat you calls that?" asked the irre- pressible John lck, who wanted to know everything. The waiter was a soldier who had seen some service. "Salt junk," replied he. "Salt yunk. Vot vas dot, alretty?" asked John. "Dot looks like old dried -up liverworst." John attempted to take a mouthful. There were no knives or forks, and he held it in his hand. It was tougher than sole leather. It was what Rider Haggard would call "biltong." "Ugh!" exclaimed John, spitting out the salty stuff and pushing the unsavory mess away from him. ' ' Take it avay. Bring me some peefsteaks." "Eat that or nothing," said the soldier. "I no eat dot," replied lck angrily. "You vas ein shysterpoop. You vas a old seseshel, and py gimmeny I can lick you quicker'n " John had [got up to fight. Sergeant Wells came to see what the disturbance was about. "Dot old schweinigel, Mister Wells, he told me to eat dot or nothing. I doand like dot, alretty. Look by dot meat, dot — vot he callem — salt yunk. Und ven I 52 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ask him to pring me some peefsteaks, he tole me to eat dot or nothing, ain't it." "You must keep quiet, John," said Wells. "That's the regulation army food." "Idon'd vant no reggellashen grub, I vanfrsome peef- steaks, dot's vat I vant." "There's no beefsteak here, John. You keep quiet, or you'll get in trouble." "I'll go straight heim, dot's vot I vill." "Keep still." "Vait vounce till I get you outside, you old pumper- nickel," shouted the irate Ick, shaking his fist across the table. Then he quieted down, rather to everybody's surprise. John Ick only expressed the feelings of the others. Oh, for a good, tender, juicy beefsteak. Salt horse, muddy coffee and black bread ! What a menu ! The coffee was served in tin cups. The bread and meat were laid on the bare board that served as a table and which had evidently not been washed since it was made. The "Soldiers' Retreat," as this inhospitable place was called, was near the depot. We were compelled to sit or stand around there all day. Armed guards pre- vented our going out "to see the town." We had to take our dinner and supper — both of which were similar to the breakfast — in that miserable place. About dark we were told that the train was ready. And what a train ! Hitherto we had traveled in pas- senger cars, poor though the}' were. Now we were piled into old freight cars. We were getting to a part of the country where war was war and a soldier noth- ing more than an animated piece of the machinery of war. It was simply "anyway to get there," now. Rough board seats were built across the cars and we were huddled in like so many sheep. Auger holes bored through the sides afforded what little ventilation there was. As it was, we were nearly stifled. With a series of stops and jerks as the bumpers of the old-fashioned coupled freight cars jammed together, we passed a miserable, restless, sleepless six hours, dur- ing which the rebels, the army, the government, the railroad, the officers and everything else were unspar- TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. S3 ingly anathematized, and we kicked ourselves that we were ever such fools as to enlist. Only for the irresist- ibly comical vigor of the curses of John Ick, which somewhat amused us, we would have died. Washington ! We arrived at last. Our first impressions of the great capital were anything but pleasant. It was in the middle of the night. We were marched through and over a lot of switches and sidings, and finally entered what seemed to be a large freight house. Here we spread our blankets and lay down. We were so tired out that we couldn't help sleeping soundly. I was awakened early, as were my comrades. We found that the place was another of those "Soldiers' Retreats." The breakfast was served a la Baltimore. After breakfast I obtained permission to be absent from camp for two hours and with three or four comrades went to see that Mecca of every true American, the capitol building. The capitol was scarcely like what it is now. The grounds were in a state of chaos. The dome was but partially completed; on its top was a gigantic derrick, just as the workmen left it when the government had other calls for its money than erecting marble buildings and glass domes. I climbed up into the rotunda, that was compara- tively finished — partially in the same shape as now, except that only a portion of the pictures were painted — those pictures that subsequently became so familiar on the back of the national currency. With opened-mouthed wonder, and mind filled with historical recollections thus so plainly brought face to face, I was gazing up toward the unfinished dome, when I felt a hearty slap on my shoulder. "Good-morning, my boy!" I turned to look. I was almost paralyzed. It seemed as if the dead had come to life. Did the reader ever ex- perience the sensation of meeting for the first time some great man whose picture was as familiar as a dining- room clock? It seems as if you had encountered an apparition. Mind you, it was 6 o'clock in the morning. I was 54 THE TOTING VOLUNTEER. "only a private." But there at that early hour, stand- ing in front of me, was a tall, gaunt figure whose feat- ures were familiar to every man and woman, every boy and girl, in the country. It was no less a personage than Abraham Lincoln, the President of the United States ! TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 55 CHAPTER IX. president and private. President Lincoln! Now any one who has been in the army knows that it is a rather extraordinary thing for a mere private soldier to come face to face with the President of the United States, the great commander of the whole army and navy. And it was more extraordinary that such an encounter should occur almost at the moment the afore- said private soldier arrived in Washington — and at 6 o'clock in the morning at that. I had, of course, never seen Lincoln before, but his face was as familiar through popular portraits as Gen- eral Grant's subsequently was. Besides hadn't I, in the fall of '60, fed into the press at the Guardian office over forty thousand election tickets bearing the picture of Abraham Lincoln? There he stood, tall, gaunt, pale, in a somber suit of black. His face wore an anxious look that accentuated that familiar wart on his cheek. And he was indeed anxious. The rebels were, so to speak, almost at the very gates of the national capital. There wasn't much sleep for anybody. The president had hurriedly tele- graphed for every available volunteer. He was on hand to see how many had come. He was like a boy who cannot wait for daylight on Christmas morning, but surreptitiously gets up in his nightshirt to take a glance at his stocking by the mantelpiece. This explains why President Lincoln, with one or two other men — I don't know who they were — was at the capitol so early that Monday morning, Sep- tember 1, 1862. "Good -morning, my boy," said he as I turned to see who had slapped me so familiarly on the shoulder. 56 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. And as I turned and instantly recognized him, as just explained, I was almost paralyzed with amazement, I might say, terror. Who wouldn't be under the cir- cumstances? u G-g-good- morning," I stammered, "are — aren't you the p-p-president?" ''Yes, my hoy," said he, encouragingly, seeing my embarrassment, and taking me kindly by the hand, as a grave smile passed over his pale face. "Yes, I am the president — the president of a distressed country. We want you now, my lad, and a good many like you. You are from New Jersey?" "Y-y-yes, sir." "The Thirteenth New Jersey?" "Yes, sir," I answered, the surprise that he should know the number of my regiment somewhat over- shadowing my embarrassment. "Who is your colonel?'' he asked. "Colonel Carman." "Oh, yes, I remember," said Mr. Lincoln. And that he should know or remember the name of our colonel, when there were so many colonels and regi- ments gave me another surprise. "How sti'ong is your regiment?" "About nine hundred, I believe, sir." "Are there any more troops on the way?" "Yes, sir; lots of them; but I don't know how many, sir." "You don't know where they are from, I suppose?" "No, sir," I replied, "but I heard some of them call- ing each other 'Hoosiers' and 'Suckers,' so that I sup- pose they are from Indiana and Illinois." The president laughed, and a quizzical look passed over his face as he asked : "So they call the men from Illinois 'suckers, ' do they?" "Yes, sir," I replied, proud of my knowledge of State nomenclature. "Well, you know I'm from Illinois?" I thought I would sink through the marble floor of the rotunda. "Oh — oh — M-m-mister President," I stammered, THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 57 while I felt the hot blood rushing to the roots of my hair, "I d-d-didn't mean " "That's all right, my boy," he said, with a reassur- ing smile. "I was only joking." I had of course heard a good deal about "Abe" Lin- coln's jokes; but I never thought he would work one on me. I didn't laugh at it a little bit — at least not just then. Mr. Lincoln then asked my name, residence and oc- cupation, and seemed to take a remarkable interest in an obscure stranger — nothing but a common private. He took my hand for a good- by, when I reminded him that there were several other Jersey boys standing be- hind me, who would no doubt feel honored to shake hands with the President of the United States. "I did not intend to miss them," said Mr. Lincoln. "Every soldier is my friend and my brother. We are all soldiers now, in a common cause. God bless you all." Then he shook hands and said a pleasant word to every blue-coated recruit in the rotunda. A couple of distinguished-looking officers came in and interrupted proceedings, and after a word or so with them he started off in their company. We followed him to the top of the then unfinished eastern stairway, down which he went and walked over toward the old Capitol Prison. The familiar, friendly way in which the President had greeted us had captivated us entirely. The mag- nificent, though unfinished capitol building had no attractions for us after that. We had seen and spoken to a real, live president, and from that moment every one of us felt like giving his life, if necessary, in defense of a country with such a ruler. There is that in every citizen that enhances his loyalty at the sight of his ruler's person. We hurried back to the "Retreat" to tell of our ad- venture. Every word of that conversation was im- pressed on my mind and it is there to-day as fresh as it was on the day it took place. Of course it created a sensation among my comrades. We told it to Com- pany K, and then Captain Irish sent for us and we had to repeat it to him. Then we received a message from 58 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. the colonel, and were required to relate it all over again for his information. "The boys who talked with the president" were the heroes of the day. As for myself I think I grew about two inches taller. I thought I ought to be promoted at once, and imagined the colonel would make me a corporal at least. But he didn't. I met President Lincoln personally several times after that. I would have felt sad just then had I known that the last service I should be called upon to render him would be to stand guard over Abraham Lincoln's mur- dered body. I did. I was soon brought down from my sublime height of imaginary importance by hearing Sergeant Heber Wells' order: "Fall in, boys. We're ordered to go over to Virginia at once." THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 59 CHAPTER X, IN OLD YARGINNT. There was a good deal of humbug and mild decep- tion in the army, as ever} r where else, and one example is the way in which the innocent credulity of nearly every volunteer was played upon. Probably there never was an Eastern regiment that did not start out with a sort of understanding, either tacit or expressed, that it was to be specially favored. It was generall}' to the effect that the colonel had "a pull" with the powers that were, and that that particular regiment, instead of long marches and hard fighting, was to be detailed for guard duty at Washington or some similar snap, relieving some other regiment of more experience. Such an impression prevailed in the Thirteenth Regi- ment, aad there seemed to be some ground for it, for surely the government would not send to the front a lot of men who had had scarcely any drilling and the most of the members of which hardly knew how to load aud fire a gun. But all this dreamy, pic-nicky prospect was scattered to the four winds by the peremptory order to get ready to march over into Virginia. '"Dot is a shame," exclaimed the irrepressible John Ick. "I'll no go. Dose fellers don't get me by no schlaughter-haus, py hooky." "Oh, you're always a-croakin' ! ye cranky old Dutch- man," retorted Reddy Mahar; "shut up wid ye?" "Whose a granky old Deutschman?" 'answered Ick angrily, "you are a old Irish red head, dot's vat you vash, und I don't care, needer." "Ye're afraid, that's phwat ye are,^ said Reddy. "You vash anudder, alretty." "Ye're a coward, ye spalpeen." "Whose a gowyard, Irish? Don' you gall me dot py jimminy," 60 THE TOUNG VOLUNTEER. "That's phwat ye are," reiterated Reddy, "always prating about slaughter house and sich. Ye must ha' been dhrunk when ye 'listed, or ye wouldn't been here." "You vas von liar." Reddy dropped his knapsack and went for "Slaughter House" Ick. The latter had got his arm twisted up in the strap of his knapsack somehow, and was caught at a disadvantage. He was helpless and could not parry the blow that Reddy landed between his eyes. Ick, handicapped as he was, threw himself bodily upon Reddy, and the two went down together. In falling the two belligerents tumbled against Sandy Kidd and the three went down into a heap. Then the others gathered around to witness an exceedingly lively rough-and-tumble fight. Hank Van Orden and some others jumped in to interfere and for a moment it re- sembled a riot. Captain Irish rushed up to the scene, furious. 1 It was the first case of disorder that had occurred in the regi- ment, and he regarded it as an ineffable disgrace to Company K. He was too angry to listen to details, and ordered under arrest not only Ick and Mahar, but Van Orden and Kidd as well, in spite of the latter's protests. The two innocent men were subsequently released, but Ick and Mahar had to carry two muskets for the rest of the day as a punishment. And any old soldier will tell you that it is no fun to carry two heavy rifles, in addition to all the legitimate baggage of a private. When the matter was reported to Colonel Carman he laconically remarked : "They'll get over that nonsense. They'll have all the fighting they want before they are home again, I guess. ' ' "But you can put down the fact, colonel," replied Lieutenant Scott, "that Company K was the first in a fight." The colonel smiled, shifted his "chew," and strode away. Soon after w T e were on the march; Our orders were to proceed to "Fort Ward," wher- ever that might be. None of us knew, of course, except that it was over in "Old Varginny." We marched THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 61 through some back streets of the capital city until we came to the famous "Long Bridge." And let me say that Washington was not then the magnificent city that it is now. The streets were paved with cobble stones or were mere dirt — not with the asphalt of to-day. What is now the beautiful park back of the White House was then nothing but a swamp. The Wash- ington monument was not half completed. Work had been stopped on it for a great many years. Visitors to the capital now can tell its height then by the dirty ap- pearance of the stone on the lower half. The upper and more recently completed part looks whiter and cleaner. We crossed the Long Bridge and during the afternoon made our first foot tracks in the dusty roads of Virginia's sacred soil. The general color of Virginia soil is brick red. In summer it is an impalpable dust. In winter it is mud — and such mud ! The possibilities of its depth are limitless, while its consistency ranges from paste to dough. When we arrived the dust season was at its height. We didn't go to Fort Ward, but to Fort Richardson. But it didn't matter. The difference was only in name. It was simply a row of embankments, hastily thrown up. It was on Arlington Heights, just across the river from Washington. These so-called fortifications (still there) were made for the protection of the capital, the idea being then that the enemy was close at hand and that it would be the scene of a battle in a day or so. It was close enough to the city for visitors and fakirs. The latter's name was legion. They sold all sorts of useful and useless things to the soldier, the only one of which that was any good being a combined pocket knife, fork and spoon. No soldier ever had cause to regret buying one of these useful articles. All the other things were humbugs. The tintype fiend was also numerously in evidence, and there were few who didn't have "their pictures took" in warlike array to send home to admiring and awestruck friends and relatives. But where was the baggage? Where were the tents? Not a sign of them, and night was approaching. Jakey Engle cooked our beans and made our coffee on time. 62 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER but there were do signs of sleeping accommodations. There was a general ''kick." The Thirteenth Eegi- ment then and there began the kicking that they kept up till the end of the war. There was an old saying in the army that a soldier who didn't kick was no good. In that particular sense there was no regiment in the army that filled the requirements of good soldiers to a greater extent than the Thirteenth New Jersey. For the first time in the lives of the most of us we went to bed outdoors on the bare ground, with nothing over us except the stars. It is a singular sensation to wake up in the night, chilled to the bone, and see the bright stars overhead. Many a man wished that night that he was between the sheets of his comfortable bed at home. Patriotism was at ebb tide, and at heart there were very few who were not sorry they had enlisted. "Wouldn't you rather be_setting type for an extra in the Guardian office?" asked Davy Harris. I honestly confessed that I would indeed. "Don't get downhearted, boys," said John Stansfield. " We have only 1,087 more days to serve." "What's that?" "I say we have only 1,087 more days to serve. You see we enlisted for three years. That is 1,095 days. We have been mustered in eight days. That leaves 1,087 yet to serve." "Oh, but you know," said Harris, "that we enlisted 'for three years unless sooner discharged,' and as the war won't last three years " "Don't calculate too much on that," interrupted Stansfield. ' ' I believe it is going to take more than three years to settle this thing." This was a dampening remark. I don't believe a single one of the men imagined when he enlisted that the war would last one year, let alone three. Such language was not calculated to make us very cheerful. And yet John Stansfield was pretty near right. It lacked only a few weeks of three years when the Thir- teenth Regiment was mustered out because their "serv- ices were no longer required." As to Stansfield's calculations: I don't believe there THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 63 was a soldier in the army who did not, every night, mentally count up how many days had elapsed since his enlistment, and "how many more days he had to serve." This phase of the case certainly shows that army life was not as enjoyable as some people think it was. They counted the days yet remaining before they would be discharged, the same as a convict does the remaining days of his imprisonment. As we lay there on the hard Virginia soil that night, with the sky for a counterpane and the bright stars for night lamps, not one appreciated the magnitude of the struggle. Not one dreamed that the North would re- quire 1,500,000 soldiers before the rebellion was sup- pressed; that there would be 300,000 men killed; that there would be between 400,000 and 500,000 wounded; that the number who died from disease or exposure or were included under that] wonderful and mysterious heading of "missing," would aggregate some 300,000 more! These are frightful statistics, but they are approxi- mately true. So sleep on in ignorance of the awful times to come ! Dream of home, soldier ! And so we slept. 64 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER* CHAPTER XL A RETREATING ARMY. In the morning we were awakened by the mighty tread of a moving army. And what an army! Thou- sands upon thousands of men, whose dirty, filthy clothes made a sorry contrast with our bright new uniforms ; men with dirty, unkempt hair, worn out and pinched. None of them carried knapsacks — nothing but a rolled blanket hanging over one shoulder and tied under the arms on the other side with a string. They resembled horse collars. We wondered why this was done — why they had discarded their knapsacks. We learned that later. There were troops and troops of cavalry and mounted officers. There was an apparently interminable string of flying artillery. And as for the army wagons, each drawn by six braying mules, there was simply no end of them. But there was something else ! Blood ! Hundreds of two-wheeled ambulances came along; glancing in we saw the form of a motionless soldier, or perhaps two of them, and each one wearing a blood stained bandage somewhere. There were soldiers minus legs, soldiers minus arms, soldiers whose heads were so swathed that only the eyes could be seen. On foot were, seemingly, myriads of soldiers less severely wounded, with bandages on their heads, with their arms in slings, and not a white bandage could be seen without the stain of blood oozing through. John Ick's remark about a "slaughter house" was verified. We encountered some Paterson boys in the passing army — boys who had enlisted in the earlier regiments. They were already veterans. Many had "smelled powder." They had seen a battle. In fact they had THE YOUWG VOLUNTEER. 65 been in a battle, and had been wounded. The privates didn't know it, but the army was even then on the re- treat, and falling back on Washington. The very- capital was threatened. Soldiers who participate in a battle don't know where they are or what it is named. Historians give names to battlefields. The one that had just taken place is now known as "The Second Bull Run." Twice the Army of the Potomac had been defeated on the same ground at Manassas. This battle was fought on August 29 and 30, 1862. It was this battle that caused the peremptory tele- graphic order for us to leave Camp Frelinghuysen at once. And on Monday night, September 1st, while we were on the way the maneuvering of the armies precipitated a second conflict between Hill's and Ewell's divisions of Stonewall Jackson's troops on the Confederate side, and the Union commands of Reno, Hooker and Kearny. It was what was subsequently called the battle of Chan- tilly. History tells us that one of Reno's divisions was forced back in disorder, whereupon the intrepid Kearny sont Birney's brigade to repair the break. A gap still remained on Birney's right, and Kearny galloped for- ward to reconnoiter. It was here that the gallant Phil Kearny lost his life. He had already lost an arm in a previous battle, and more than once the soldiers saw him leading a charge with his sword between his teeth, and guiding his horse with his only hand. He was courageous to the degree of recklessness. Unknowingly he penetrated the enemy's lines and was killed. In grateful remembrance of his services the State of New Jersey erected a handsome bronze monument, which for a time stood in the State House at Trenton, but which now stands in one of the parks on Broad Street, Newark. After the battle of Chantilly the Army of the Potomac fell back within the fortifications of Washington. It was this "falling back" that the Thirteenth Regiment encountered a day or so after they had left their muster- ing camp in Newark. It was expected then and there that General Lee and 66 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. his whole army would be upon us in a few hours, and we raw recruits were told that we would likely have a battle soon. Was I frightened? Wasn't I? I can't speak for the others, but as for myself I thought surely that my days were numbered. When I enlisted I had a remote idea that I might possibly, some day in the far-off future, see a real battle; but this suddenness was too much, and I was completely upset. The sight of the vast retreating army ; the awful spectacle of the blood stained wounded ; the prospects of an immediate battle — well, it scared the whole lot of us. "Scared," is the correct word. We were thoroughly scared. And let me say right here that the man who says he was not scared on the eve of a battle is a liar. "You'll be sick of it before you're in it long," said one of the veteran Jerseymen. "We're sick of it already," was the reply. And we were. If there had been any back way to sneak home, I believe the whole lot of us would have sneaked. Why did we enlist? Why were we such fools? As for myself, I looked back over the previous few days and traced it to the pound of cheese I had carried around to Mr. Pennington's house. I never looked at a piece of cheese without thinking of it. My war experience and cheese are indissolubly connected. But General Lee and his army didn't chase us clear into Washington. Lee turned his face northward in search of new fields to conqiier. Day after day passed, and no enemy appeared, no fighting was done. Doubtless the "big guns" knew what was going on, but we privates were in ignorance. Privates never know anything. They simply do as they are told. From the moment they enlist they are shackled slaves, and some of the officers were worse slave-drivers than ever cudgeled a plantation negro. The first scare soon wore off. It is always so with an averted or delayed danger. For several days we had things easy. Our belated Sibley tents arrived from somewhere, the weather was fine, and we were comfor- table, to say the least. We mingled with the old Jersey soldiers and listened to their stories with interest — and consternation. They soon convinced us that our enlist' THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 67 ment was not likely to be "a season of pleasure and victorious conquest," but that we were about to undergo hardships and sufferings then unknown to all but veterans. Congress was in session, then day and night, and some of us went over on passes and saw the lawmakers at work. I became acquainted with Senator McDougall,previousl3 r governor of California. I don't remember exactly how it was, but somehow he took a notion to me, and after- ward proved a friend. It was not all play, however. We were put through much drilling, and kept at work with the pick and shovel throwing up earthworks until our soft hands were blistered. It is a big jump from setting type to digging trenches. "Sure'n I didn't 'list for this," said Reddy Mahar, one afternoon, "I 'listed to fight the Johnny Rebs, and not to dig holes in the ground. Be jabers, oim going to sthrike!" Lem Smith was of similar opinion. John Ick thought it was a little better than a slaughter house anyway. Jack Butter worth said it was harder than turning bob- bins in Daggers & Row's shop. Curt Bowne thought it a shame. Discontent ruled the whole line. So an "indignation meeting" was held, and a com- mittee appointed to "wait on the colonel." The colonel said he had nothing to do with privates ; all complaints must come through the captain. That was "according to regulations." The committee then waited on the captain. "Go back to work, or you'll go to the guardhouse," said he. "A soldier has nothing to do except obey orders. Your orders are to dig that trench." "But," said the spokesman, "we enlisted for soldiers, not to " The sentence was interrupted by a peculiar drum beat. The officers hurried to the colonel's tent. In a moment Captain Irish returned and ordered Company K to fall in. The whole regiment assembled in dress parade. Looking to the other camps we could see all the regi- ments doing the same thing. The adjutant read an 68 THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER. order. It was to the effect that General George B. McClellan has been reassigned to the command of the Army of the Potomac. We all cheered. I didn't know why. Perhaps be- cause all the other regiments were cheering. A mighty chorus of hurrahs arose from the assembled army. The raw recruits were not aware of the fact that McClellan, no matter how much he might be in disfavor with the ''heavy weights" at the head of the government was the idol of the older soldiers. His reassignment to com- mand filled them with enthusiasm, and they cheered; we cheered to be in fashion, if for nothing else. But there was another order. It involved dropping the pick and shovel, and so it ended Company K's threatened "strike." It was an order to be in readiness to move at a moment's notice. That afternoon, Saturday, September 6, 1862, it got out somehow that Lee with his whole army had skirted Washington and was over in Maryland making his way as fast as he could toward Pennsylvania. Unless stopped the enemy would soon be through Delaware and in New Jersey, on the way to New York. Instinctively every man thought of his home and family. "Why didn't they keep us at Newark?" asked Jack Butterworth. ' ' We would have been of more use there. ' ' "Oh, I guess we'll head them off," answered John Stansfield. "Besides I'd rather be along with the rest of the army than fighting the whole Southern Confed- eracy with a single regiment." So thought I. Besides, I rather liked the idea of Lee and his army marching up Main street, Paterson. I'd like to see an attack on the man who ordered that pound of cheese. And I wondered how those patriotic citizens who had induced me to enlist would act when they got a dose of their own medicine. We talked the matter over that night and speculated on coming events till we v/ere tired, and finally went to bed on our blanket mattresses in the comfortable Sibley tents. But not to sleep. We had scarcely closed our eyes, when once more that infernal drum began beating in a way we'd never heard it beat before. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. r 69 "What is that?" we asked. "It's the long roll," said Sergeant Heber Wells, as he stuck his head through the flap of our tent. ^The long roll? what does that mean?" "It means to pack up, boys," replied the sergeant, with considerable agitation manifested in his voice. 'Pack up at once, get ready for a long march. And be quick about it. There's no time to lose." What could it mean? Was the enemy unexpectedly upon us, after all? 70 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XII. A MARCH IN THE DARK. Like the Arab of old we stole away in the night. But not "quietly." It was with a noise and a clatter, with cheer and jest, as if it were a moonlight excursion. We were loaded like pack mules. Our haversacks were stuffed with three days' rations. Our canteens were filled to the brim. In our cartridge boxes were forty rounds of ammunition, forty ounces of which were leaden bullets. Our knapsacks were packed like Sara- toga trunks, and the straps fairly cracked. All went smoothly enough for a while, and we kept a pretty good line as Ave crossed the aqueduct bridge into Georgetown. And by the way Georgetown with its surroundings looked then pretty much as it does now. I remember well my last glance at Washington. In the far distance was the Capitol, all lighted up, for Congress was holding one of its usual night sessions. In the rear of the "White House was a camp. I think it was the Tenth New Jersey, which was detailed for guard duty. Lucky Tenth ! Unlucky Thirteenth ! When I returned to Washington next, it was also in the night. But I didn't see much of it. I was only a wounded soldier, en route for the hospital. Never mind now. That comes later, and much comes before it. Unused as we were to marching, loaded down as we were with superfluous weight, it soon began to tell on us. One by one the raw and soft recruits began to fall by the wayside, utterly exhausted. We were beginning to appreciate the fact which all old soldiers knew by experience, that if there is any one thing worse than a battle it is a long march. Indeed for long-continued suffering, for indescribable agony, both physical and mental, for everything except the horror, marching is vastly worse than fighting. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 71 To the veterans it was comparatively easy. They were hardened, toughened. A thoroughly trained athlete can run live, ten, or even fifteen miles. An un- trained man would be fatigued at as many rods. We were like a bicyclist when he starts to ride in the spring, after a winter's rest. And the boys dropped from the ranks like drops from an icicle in the sun. I was young and wiry and stuck it out. But I was glad enough when about midnight were: marched into a big field ; our guns were stacked, and we threw ourselves down on the ground, just as we were, for a few hours' needed rest and sleep. Everybody was too tired to jest, too tired to talk. We needed no rocking to sleep. "Wake up, Joe, wake up! There's no rest for the wicked." It was John Stansfield, who was lying alongside me. "What in thunder are you doing?" I demanded angrily; "can't you let a fellow sleep?" "Get up," he repeated, giving me a punch in the ribs, "we've got to tramp again." It was too true. We were ordered to fall in ; and we hadn't rested an hour. It was a sleepy crowd that formed the crooked line of men comprising Company K. But it was dark and no one to see us. Furthermore the officers were as sleepy as we were. Now company officers march the same as the "men;" but they have to carry no baggage. That is carried in the wagons. All the foot officers have to carry is their swords — and, generally, a flask! The officers higher than captains rode horseback. What we were aroused for unless to make us more tired, I don't know. But we were marched up the road and down the road and back again, halted and counter- marched, until finally we were once more told to " break ranks" in a field adjoining the first one, and once more wa threw ourselves on the ground almost dead. To a private soldier these mysterious movements were always inexplicable. Every veteran can recall thou- sands of such experiences which then seemed and seem now to have been utterly unnecessary, and concocted for no other purpose than to fatigue and annoy. The misery, torture and suffering caused by these unexplained maneuvers could never be described. 72 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. The next day was Sunday. "I guess they'll give us a rest to-day," said John Butterworth to me. "Why?" I asked. "Because it is Sunday. We haven't heard the chap- lain yet. You know he's to preach every Sunday, and of course we can't march and go to church at the same time." I had forgotten the chaplain. He was Rev. T. Romeyn Beck. He is still living, and is pastor of a church in California. He was a nice sort of a fellow, but didn't do much preaching, if I remember correctly. The chaplain wore a uniform of solemn black, even to the buttons. He rode with the colonel and major and altogether had quite a soft snap of it. Chaplains didn't do much fighting. They were sup- posed to administer spiritual consolation on the battle- field; but as a usual thing they, like the old war-horse, "smelled the battle from afar." The rate of mortality among the chaplains was not high. I don't think the life insurance companies classed them as "extra haz- ardous." I don't say our chaplain was never in a bat- tle ; but I can say I never saw him in one. But then perhaps I was generally too scared to see anybody in particular. But nevertheless Chaplain Beck was a nice man and kind to us soldier boys. The chaplain was usually the regimental postmaster. I forget whether Chaplain Beck or the one who succeeded him was the victim of a cruel joke late in the campaign, which I might as well tell here as anywhere. There had been no mail for several weeks and the boys were getting impatient to hear from home. They fairly pestered the life out of the chaplain to know when the mail would be in. He couldn't go anywhere or at- tempt to do a thing without meeting some one with the inquiry about mail. There is a limit to the endurance even of clergymen. Getting tired of answering questions the following notice was posted outside the chaplain's tent: "The chaplain does not know when the mail will be in." THE TO UNO- VOLUNTEER. 73 The boys didn't like this. It was shutting them off too summarily . Finally a wag got a piece of charcoal and made an addition to the sign. All the bo} r s tittered when they saw it, but sneaked out of sight when they saw Colonel Carman approach- ing. He gave one glance at the sign in front of the tent, and then stuck his head in the opening. "Say, cap," said he, addressing the chaplain, "what sort of a notice is this you have out here?" "Oh," replied ho, "the boys are bothering me so much about the mails that I thought I would post a general answer, so that they may all read it." "But isn't the language rather rough?" inquired the colonel. "It's all right, isn't it?" "Just look at it and see how it reads, cap." The chaplain stepped out, bareheaded, and this is the sign that met his astonished gaze : "The chaplain doea not know when the mail will be in — neither does he care a damn!" That sign came down, and never again did anything of the kind appear in front of his tent. But this is a digression. We will dismiss the chap- lain by saying that we had no religious services that day, nor for many a long day. Neither were we allowed to have a rest. Tired and stiff as we were, with our legs cramped and sore, with blood in our shoes from chafed feet, wo were relentlessly ordered to fall in to resume the pitiless march. And never shall I forget that day ! 74 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XIII. SUNSTRUCK. No, never shall I forget that day — that hot Sunday, September 7, 1862. The sun rose like a red, burnished copper globe. Not a breath of air was stirring. The atmosphere was torrid, stifling, enervating. It was pitilessly hot. And we were stiff, sore, and filled with strange pains and aches from the previous night's march. But what mattered that? What were the personal suffering of individuals in a vast army! Cruel and re- lentless it seemed to us, raw recruits that we were, fresh from the customary considerations of civil life, that we should be forced to resume the terrible march. And here let me state a curious fact. Any one would naturally imagine that the men who best stood the rigors of an army march would be those who filled the hardest positions in civil life. An express- wagon driver, accustomed to lifting heavy boxes; a back wood sman, inured to hardships and exposure; a blacksmith or a day laborer — these are the men one would imagine the best toughened for soldier life. But such was not the case. The men who stood it out the best were those who were accustomed to the lightest work at home. Bookkeepers, dry goods clerks, men who never lifted anything heavier than a ledger or a roll of calico — these were the men who could endure the most hardship and fatigue. Any old officer of the army will tell you that this is so. It is a singular fact. It was often discussed and commented upon, but no explanation was ever given. It was simply so and that settled it. And so it was on this hot September morning. The men who had been regarded, the most hardy seemed to THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 75 suffer the most. Those who had had the hardest phys- ical labor at home were the stiffest, the sorest, the most complaining. Although I had never had hard work in the printing office and was not naturally robust, I prob- ably suffered as little as anybody, as far as physical ailment was concerned, except for the intolerably raw blisters on my feet, caused by the unpliable brogans and thick coarse stockings, the latter being so much too large that they were as full of wrinkles as the skin of a hippopotamus. There was one thing that worried me that morning, however. It was the heat, and threatened promise of what we now call "a scorcher." I never could stand the fierce rays of the summer sun ; but never dreaded it so much as I did that morning. Was it a presentiment of what was to happen? Who knows? That morning was our first experience with "hard- tack." Hitherto we had had fresh bread; but that "soft stuff" had run out, and we were compelled to draw upon the rations in our haversacks. Now, as ex- plained in a previous chapter, a hard -tack is an innocent- and soft-looking thing. But he who tackles one finds that he is a victim of misplaced confidence. They look like soda crackers. But they are not soda crackers. When I struck the first one I thought that I had en- countered an unusually ancient specimen. I could make no more impression on it than a missionary could on the heart of a Fiji cannibal. I turned to my comrade, Heber Wells, and saw him trying to pull a tooth. At least so it seemed. He was only trying to get a bite out of the hard-tack. "How does it go?" I asked. "Don't go at all," he replied. "How do you eat these things, anyhow?" "I tell you how I did it," said John Stansfield. "I smashed mine between a couple of stones." "By jimminey," said John Ick, "I tried that, and by jimminey I proke dose stones alrettj 7 , and never proke dot, vat you callem, dot hart-tack. ' ' Jake Engle had, however, got a pointer from^one of the older soldiers, who had taught him how to made "lobskouse." Now what bread and butter is to a person 76 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. at home, that is "lobskouse" to the soldier. Here is the way to make the great army dish. Take a bit of fat pork and melt it over the fire in a frying-pan or tin plat9. Break up the hard-tack into small pieces and drop it into the frying fat. Let the whole mess sizzle together until the cracker is saturated with the fat and the result is a product that looks and tastes like pie crust. It is quite palatable. The crack- ers are softened and you can eat the stuff, and over a million men could testify that it would sustain life. Where all other supplies were unattainable, "lobskouse" was generally available, and scarcely a day passed but that it did not form the principal dish for at least one meal. Indigestible stuff, you say? Well, who ever heard of a soldier having dyspepsia? Of all the ailments that came along to make the soldier's life miserable, indi- gestion was one of the things he never complained of. Ye dyspeptics, who swallow nostrums and patent med- icines by the barrel, consider the ways of the soldiers and be wise. Go to the war and be shot, and you'll have no more dyspepsia. Nor will you have any more even if you are not shot. As soon as we had gulped down our lobskouse and black coffee, we fell in and were marched down to the edge of the field near the highway. There we waited for an hour or more, watching the passing troops. Was there no end to them? The line seemed interminable. Infantry, cavalry, artillery, baggage wagons and am- bulances, in an endless row — the men and horses four abreast, the wagons and cannons two abreast. They were mostly old soldiers, and, of course, dirty soldiers. They looked like tramps. But few carried knapsacks. They carried their blankets in a roll over their shoulders. Each of the men carried a quart cup or a tomato can, tied to his haversack. These had wire handles or bales, making them into little tin pails. Each one was as black as a stovepipe from smoke. We did not know then what we learned afterward, that the tin pails con- stituted the main cooking utensil of the army. On the march and field every man is his own cook. TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 77 Some carried frying-pans. At each step the tin pails, canteens and other things rattle together with a "clink- ety -clink," "clinkety -clink" that sounded like an or- chestra of cracked cowbells. In the still of the night you could hear the clatter of the tinware of an army miles away. All this was new to us raw recruits. After an apparently interminable wait, we were finally ordered to fall in the seemingly endless proces- sion. The trouble began. Now those who have never marched in an army know nothing of the most exasperating features. When you see a company or regiment of militia marching up a street you are pleased with the regularity of the step and the nicely maintained distance between the lines. But suppose a train came along while crossing the railroad, or a street car gets into the way, there is a break and delay. When the obstruction is removed, the rear of the column has to march in quick step to close up the gap caused by the forward end keeping on the go while the rear is stopped. In the army there were such obstructions in the shape of broken wagons or caissons, narrow bridges, or brooks to cross. The front men narrowed the width of the column and marched past, while the rear slowed up. With a few men this amounted to nothing ; but when extended down and through a line of thousands or tens of thousands, those in the rear had frequent halts of half an hour or so, and then a stiff race of five or ten minutes to catch up. This was very wearing and fa- tiguing. Old soldiers knew enough to lie down every minute they could and reserve their strength and en- durance. We were ignorant. As the sun rose in the sky it grew hotter and hotter. It was a perfect broil. The perspiration fell in streams from our faces and rolled down our backs. Our thick underclothing stuck to our skin like wet sheets. Our backs began to ache. The numerous straps on our shoulders cut into the very flesh. Whatever way we carried our guns they seemed heavier than before. It was torture. Nine out of ten men were limping as if lame from the constantly increasing size of the raw blisters on their feet. •78 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. We Were in Maryland and were to march, it was said, until we reached Rockville. How far was it? we asked the first "native' ' we encountered. ' ' Right about nine mile, I reckon," he said. After marching an hour or so longer we asked another Maryland rustic how far it was to Rockville. "Right about nine mile!" And so it was. Everybody we asked, no matter how much further we went, "reckoned it were about nine mile." I saw the other fellows lightening their load and fol- lowed suit. First went an extra suit of underclothes. "Every little helps." A while later and I discarded by the wayside a comb and brush, a shaving set, a box of blacking and brush. "Every pound counts." A mile further and I pulled out two cakes of soap, a couple of towels, a pincushion and sewing case. "A little bet- ter." But no use. What the others were doing I would do. It seemed a pity to throw away the nice overcoat and blouse and dress coat, but they had to go. And finally the knapsack itself followed, leaving nothing but the rubber and woolen blankets. The heaviest thing of all, the cartridge box, we couldn't discard, for soldiers must fight. The most useful things, the haversack and canteen, we stuck to, for soldiers must eat and drink. The road for miles was strewn with things that cost the government much money. But what odds? Uncle Sam was rich, and we were only doing what every new soldier had done before us and what all soldiers will do hereafter, to the beginning of the millennium when there will be no more war. By noon we were, that is the most of us, down to the lightest marching order of the oldest veterans in the line. As I intimated, not all of us. Some sturdy fellows stuck to their loads. Sergeant Heber Wells, for in- stance, who did not discard a single article from his stuffed knapsack, nor that comical fellow "Jeff Davis," who all through the war persisted in carrying two knapsacks. The pitiless sun shortly after noon began to get in its fine work. One by one the men fell out. Hank Van THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ?9 Orden was the first of Company K to succumb. His mind suddenly grew flighty, he mumbled a few inar- ticulate meaningless words, threw up his arms, gave a yell, and fell like a log, senseless. He was rolled to the side of the road and left "for the ambulance to pick up. " A moment later Lem Smith raised his hands, clutched the air, and fell. John Snyder dropped like a bullock felled with an axe. Poor John Ick, who had quite appro- priately been prating about "slaughter nouses" and "shambles," was the next victim. Soon after fat John Farlow staggered to the side path and threw himself down in the miserable shade of a rail fence. Archy Todd reeled like a top two or three times, and fell for- ward on his face in the dusty road. And so it went. By 3 o'clock in the afternoon not thirty of the ninety members of Company K were in the line, and it was correspondingly the same in all the other companies of the regiment. There were per- haps three times as many members of the Thirteenth stretched along the roadside than there were in the ranks. Aside from the suffering from the sun and the torture from the heavy load and from our bleeding feet, there was a marked mental depression, consequent upon the sight of so many of our comrades falling out. It is a well-known fact that when one or two girls faint in a mill or in a school, a dozen will do likewise. _ Any old factory foreman or teacher will tell you this. To a certain extent the same species of hysteria affects men. I know it affected me. And as said before, I never could stand the sun. What I suffered that day no man can ever know unless he has been through the same experience. Along about 3 o'clock I guess it was, I suddenly noticed that the trees and fences were beginning to dance. The soldiers in front of me were turning rapid somersaults. There was a horrible sickness of the stomach and my head seemed about to split open ! For an instant tho air was full of stars ! Then the sky turned green ! Then black ! Then — utter oblivion ! J was sunstruck ! 80 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XIV. AT ROCKVILLE. "No, he isn't going to die. He'll come around all right." "It was a close shave, though; wasn't it, doctor?" "Yes, it was. But the danger is over now. Keep him right here under the shade of this tree, and keep the towel on his head wet with cool water. Don't give him any more of the brandy without letting me know first." This is part of a conversation I hear, in a dim, hazy sort of a way. It seems afar off, or as if in another room, through partly closed doors. Yet it is distinct, in a certain way. What does it mean? Oh, how my head aches ! Where am I? What has happened? What am I doing here, with my head done up in wet towels, lying on the grass under a tree? For a moment I think I am on my old grandfather's farm, lying in the orchard, as I used to do. But that pain in my head ! What does it mean? And I feel so sick — oh, so sick ! I open my eyes and dimly see the men moving about. Ha! There's Liv Allen and Davy Harris. It's the Guardian office. There's been an accident somehow, and I've been hurt. I'll ask. But wait. How funny they look, all dressed in blue. Where are their work- ing aprons? I can't think. It's too much. My head! My head ! I cannot rest a bit. Let me think. Where am I? "Fall in for your supper, boys." What's that I hear? "Boys?" "Supper." "Fall in!" Oh, my head! How bewildered I am ! Oh! In a minute, as if by magic, a veil seems to roll away and I recognized the voice I had heard as Jake Engle's, THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. SI Jake ! Oh, yes, Jake, who has been appointed company- cook, the cook for Company K, when in camp. It's all coming back now. I remember, I enlisted. Yes, that march. The men falling around us, like so many ten- pins. The terrible heat, I remember now. "Was I too sunstruck? With an effort I pull myself together and speak. Who was leaning over me but the captain, the kind- hearted Captain Irish — who had less than ten days more to live himself ! "How do you feel, Joe?" he asked, taking my hand. "Got a terrible headache," I replied. "But what happened? Was I sunstruck?" "Yes, but you're all right now, the doctor says." The captain then told me that I had fallen out, like the others, a little after 3 o'clock, and that it was now after 6. I had been picked up and brought along by one of the ambulances. I had been unconscious for nearly three hours, and at one time they thought I was dead. The captain told me that we were at a place called Rockville, in the State of Maryland, twenty-two miles from Washington ; we had only marched fourteen miles that day, but the sun was so hot and the boys so unused to marching that when they reached the camping-place, about 5 o'clock, there were less than two hundred of the Thirteenth present. Out of nine hundred men, only two hundred stood it out. Seven hundred men had suc- cumbed to the fierce heat of that hot September day and fallen by the wayside ! No man ever fully recovers from the effects of a gen- uine sunstroke. I have suffered from it in more ways than one, ever since. A few moments in the hot sun is sure to bring on symptoms that are danger- singals for precautionary measures. Perhaps that sunstroke has been the cause of many subsequent sins of omission and commission. I trust that my critics will bear this in mind and make allowance for shortcomings ! Captain Irish had in his hand as he spoke to me a box of some sort of salve or ointment. Noticing my inquir- ing look, he said : 82 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. " When they pulled off your shoes, I noticed that your feet were bleeding from the blisters. I had some oint- ment that Mrs. Irish made. It is from an old family receipt. I think your feet won't hurt you so much now." "But, captain," I interrupted. "You don't mean to say you have been rubbing my feet with ointment? You did not do it yourself, 1 hope:"' His answer made a lump come into my throat. "Why certainly, Joe. Why not?" I turned my head, because I did not want him to see the tears in my eyes. Just think of it ! A captain bath- ing the sore feet of a private ! How many soldiers in the army can recall a case like that? But there was only one Captain Irish. Do you wonder his men learned to worship him in the short time he lived to serve his country? Do you wonder that his old soldiers touch their hats reverently to this day, when his name is men- tioned? Not only was he a brave patriot, but a kind, tender-hearted man, beloved as a father by the men in his company. But no matter what the after effect may be, the im- mediate recuperative powers inherent in a healthy boy of seventeen or eighteen are wonderful, and with the exception of a slight headache and general played- outness, I felt quite well the next day, and went around pretty much as the others. The men who had fallen out like myself had returned to the regiment and we again assumed the appearance of a camp. To enhance our comfort our big Sibley tents arrived from somewhere unknown to us, and we were soon in as good a shape as at Camp Frelinghuysen in Newark, with the exception that there were a number who were still somewhat under the weather from the unaccus- tomed exposure and the fatigue of the march. This resulted in the introduction of, to us, a new feat- ure of army experience, the surgeon. Dr. Love and his assistant, Dr. Freeman, had put up their medical tent, and started business. And they were doing quite a business. The sick soldiers in the army are divided into three THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 83 classes. One class includes those who are confined to their tents ; the second those who are confined to the hospital ; and the third those who are able to go to the surgical headquarters for their medicine. Those in the hospital or tents were visited as often as necessity re- quired — the same as a doctor would do in civil life. With the others it was as follows : Every morning at 8 o'clock the drummer and fifer detailed at the regiment headquarters would sound the "sick call." The tune played by the fifer was some- thing like "Johnny, get your gun," but the way the boys interpreted it was this : " Come, get your blue pills, Blue pills, blue pills, Come, get your blue pills, Blue pills, blue. " The point of this was that it was a tradition in the army that the surgeons had onl} T one kind of medicine, and that was calomel; or as commonly called, "blue pills." If a soldier had a headache or a sore toe, the remedy was a blue pill. If an indiscreet forager had indulged in too much surreptitious green corn, the proper remedy was a blue pill. If in the ordinary course of events the ailment was of a contrary character, what you wanted was a good dose of blue pills. No matter what was the matter, the remedy was blue pills. I am not a doctor. Whether there was any truth in this story about blue pills being a regulation pan- acea for all the ills that flesh is heir to, I am unable to affirm. All that I can say is that it was an army tra- dition, and I appeal to veterans for verification. Hence the familiar words that the boys tacked on to "the sick call." From the indications surrounding us we privates naturally imagined that we were going to have a long stay at Rockville camp. It was a pretty spot and we were nothing loath. We did not know that it was but a temporary halt of a pursuing army. General Lee and the Confederate forces were march- ing up into Maryland somewhere ahead of us. The commanders of the Union army were, it seems, a little 84 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. at a loss as to just what point Lee was steering for. That naturally involved the route we were to take. There were several roads to select from, but the ques- tion was which one would best intercept the enemy in his northward course. The enemy's intentions were therefore an essential requisite. Such information was obtained by scouts, or by cav- alry reconnoisances. To make these investigations and bring back a non-conflicting report, occupied a day or so's time. That was what we were waiting for. The head officers knew all this, of course; but we privates did not. The rank and file of an army know no more about what they are doing, why they stop here and go there, than so many sheep. We naturally sup- posed just then that we were going to have a good rest — to "wait till it got a little cooler." In the light of history we know now that General McClellan ascertained that the enemy's objective point was the great strategic position of Harper's Ferry. Hence McClellan picked out a route that converged with that of the enemy so that the two armies would probably intersect near South Mountain. And so they did! That is just where they "intersected." While at Rockville we were "brigaded." That means that we were assigned to a particular section of the army. We were put in General Gordon's brigade of General William's division of General Bank's corps. The other regiments of our brigade were the Second Massachusetts, the Third Wisconsin, the Twenty- seventh Indiana, and the One Hundred and Seventh New York. With the exception of the latter and the Thirteenth Regiment, they were all veterans, and ranked with the best fighting troops of the army. Phew ! we didn't relish that much ! General Gordon, the brigade commander, was a West Point graduate, and former Colonel of the Second Mas- sachusetts. Colonel Ruger, of the Third Division, was also a West Pointer. He is now a major-general in the regular army. About noon on Tuesday, September 9, 1862, our hopes of a long rest were suddenly dispelled by an order to fall in at once to resume the march. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 85 This order was accompanied by instructions that seemed to mean business. It was that we would pro- ceed in ' ' light marching order. ' ' We were told to leave behind our commodious Sibley tents (which we never laid eyes on again). We were soon told to leave our knapsacks. Most of those had been left by the way- side ; but that was the order to be obeyed by those who had stuck to their "trunks." "What does this mean?" I asked one of the Second Massachusetts veterans. "It means a fight!" said he. 86 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XV. A BIVOUAC. "A FIGHT?" "Yes." "A battle?" "Yes." "What makes you think so?" "Oh," calmly replied the Second Massachusetts man, "we old soldiers know the signs. When you have been halted a day or so, and then suddenly along comes an order to get up and git, in light marching order, that generally means that you are going to get into a l scrimmage mighty soon, or somewhere pretty near it." "How does a fellow feel when he gets into a battle?" I asked, nervously. "Are you scared?" he asked. "Well, no; not exactly that. But I don't feel com- fortable." "Own up now, like a man, that you're scared." "Well— a little bit." To tell the truth my teeth were chattering. "You'll be scared a darned sight worse, I reckon," said the unfeeling bean-eater. ' ' Scared is no name for it. The man never lived that wasn't scared in a battle. Put that down. But the worst part of it is just before you go in — when you're waiting to go in." (A soldier always referred to entering a battle as "going in.") "What are your sensations then?" "Pshaw, pard, I couldn't begin to tell you, except that you're scared, awfully scared, and that's all there is about it." "Were you ever wounded?" "No; nor I don't want to be, neither. If ever I'm shot, I want to be plunked dead and be done with it. I've seen enough men wounded not to care to be THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 8? wounded myself. But it's no use o' my telling you. From the looks o' things I guess you'll know all about it yourself before long. ' ' Now this was interesting talk, wasn't it? It made the patriotism ooze out of my little toe. What with the marching ] and the hot weather and the horrible pros- pects ahead, I was rapidly becoming very sorry that I had been such a fool as to enlist. But soldiers are kept too busy to have much time for reflection, and activity is the best possible antidote for depression of spirits. The preparations for the start engrossed our attention. And after the customary pre- liminary delay we were again on the march. Quite a number of sick and disabled men were left behind to catch up with the regiment when they had recovered. In the Union army, as it started on thai Maryland campaign, there were about one hundred thousand men. General Lee's army contained about sixty thousand men. We were about five to three of the enemy. Per- haps had we known that then, we would have felt a little better. And then again, perhaps we wouldn't ! The army moved forward in three columns — that is, by three roads. History tells us that the right wing, under General Burnside, comprised the latter's own corps and that of General Hooker. This was on the right. The center column was composed of Generals Sumner and Mansfield's corps, under command of Sumner. General Franklin's corps and General Couch's division were on the left, while General Fitz- John Porter and his troops brought up the rear. We know all this now. We didn't at the time. All that we knew, was that we were part and parcel of a string of soldiers of apparently countless numbers, marching along toward some fate, we knew not what. John Ick said it was to "a slaughter house." After a march that was not so fatiguing as that to Rockville, for the weather was slightly cooler and we were getting somewhat used to it, we encamped for the night at a place called Middlebrook. Here we were initiated into the art of "every man his own cook." I don't know where all the tomato cans came from. Perhaps they were discarded relics of the officers' mess, 88 THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER. for the officers' provisions were carried in the baggage wagons and usually comprised a greater variety than the menu of the "men." Perhaps it will not be gen- erally remembered that this was before the days of canned goods. Tomatoes and sardines were about the only things put up in tin cans in 1862. Fresh vege- tables were not attainable the year round, as they are now. Some of the boys had provided themselves with little tin pails; I had not, but I was fortunate enough to find a tomato can and a piece of wire, and making a bale of the latter I soon had a little pail. These tomato cans were a good deal better than the "boughten" pails, for, the tin being thinner, you could boil water quicker, and when the can gets too much smoked and burned you could throw it away and pick up another. Taking some lessons from the older soldiers, we pre- pared our own suppers. For the edification of house- wives and cooks I'll tell you how we soldiers made coffee. Take a tomato-can pail and fill it with water from the nearest spring or brook. Take a handful of ground coffee from your haversack and sprinkle it on top of the water; the most of it will float. Get a long stick and put the pail on the end of it and hold it over the fire. Of course a dozen or fifteen other fellows are scrambling for the hottest place in the fire with their coffee pails, and you must fight for your chance. You're lucky if you don't get a plunk in the nose. After awhile the water begins to boil, and suddenly the coffee rises to the top, in a creamy sort of a chocolate color. Then quickly dash from your canteen a squirt or so of cold water. Instantly the grounds will settle to the bottom and your coffee will be quite clear. As the orthodox recipes say, "serve hot." That is the way army coffee is made and it isn't bad either. At least it is as good as coffee can be without cream. We had sugar and "sweetened to taste," and generally drank right out of the tin pail, for cups were a useless bother. With a bit of fat pork toasted in the fire on the end of a stick, and the hard-tack somewhat softened by THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 89 soaking in the coffee, it made a tolerably fair meal. And this was the average meal of the Union soldier on the march throughout the war. Somehow we got a knack of cracking the hard-tack with our teeth and they by no means seemed as hard as at first. A hard-tack is similar to the Hebrew unleavened bread of Passover times. In fact it is practically the same. No salt is used in its manufacture, and if kept dry it will last for years. Hence that brand of "B. C." wouldn't be so inappropriate after all. It must be acknowledged that there could be no more picturesque sight than an army of soldiers in bivouac after a day's march. When the order came to halt, which was generally in the vicinity of some body of fresh water, say a brook or a spring or lake, there would be a general scramble for fuel. The choicest fuel of all was a rail fence. Then the dry twigs that lay around under the trees. Then the trees themselves. Then the boards and shingles from every old house and barn in sight. An enormous flock of Nebraska grasshoppers could not create such sudden devastation. In five minutes not a vestige of a rail fence could be seen. A pretty strong guard was the only way of preventing the im- mediate demolishing of a building. In three days' time, should the army stop, nothing but stumps could be seen where there had stood a vast forest. In a friendly section certain restrictions were placed on the troops. In an enemy's country, unlimited license to destroy was the unwritten law. There were generally one or two camp fires to a com- pany, besides additional ones for the officers, and at the respective headquarters. In the one hundred thousand troops encamped that night there were perhaps two thousand or two thousand five hundred campfires. The encamping army covered ground twelve or sixteen miles square. Just imagine a grand concourse of soldiers scattered over a tract of land ten or fifteen miles square. Scatter among these two or three thousand bonfires, each one producing a big volume of smoke. Around each fire a crowd of men, cooking their suppers, smoking their 90 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. pipes, singing and laughing. Add the indescribable braying of the mules, a fife and drum here, a bugle there and occasionally a brass band (there weren't many of them) playing. Imagine all this, and you'll have a vague sort of an idea of the army as it stopped that night at Middlebrook, Maryland. And the songs the soldiers used to sing! It mattered not how little one knew how to sing, he was expected to join in the chorus. When on the march, and not too tired, the whole army would suddenty break out with that famous old song to the tune of "John's Brown's body:" " We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree, We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree, We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree, While his soul goes marching on." When sitting around the campfire a different class of songs were sung, such as "Dixie" : " I wish I was in de land of cotton Cinnamon seed and sandy bottom Look away, look away, look away to Dixie land." Or another to which an additional verse was added for each year the war continued, which ran : " In eighteen hundred and sixty-one Free-ball! Free-ball! In eighteen hundred and sixty-one Free-ball! Free-ball! In eighteen hundred and sixty-one The war had then but just begun And we'll all drink stone blind, Johnny, fill up the bowl. " The latter verse will no doubt cause a smile to appear on the lips of all soldiers who see it, for it will involun- tarity recall to their mind the text of some of the others, which would hardly look well in print ! TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. §1 CHAPTER XVI. A GREEN PICKET. In the previous chapter I told how the boj T s were sit- ting around the Middlebrook camp fires, smoking and singing. But "there were others," as the saying goes, and these were on picket duty. Every night, whether in camp or on the march, a certain number of men are detailed to do picket duty. They are to watch that the enemy doesn't get in, and that the soldiers don't get out. One of Company K's picket detail was the irrepressi- ble John Ick. The officer of the guard had a hard time instructing John Ick in the duties of a sentry. John's post, by the way, was under a tree at the edge of a wood. It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that there wasn't a "Johnny Reb" within thirty or forty miles. But John took the assignment with great dignity, with as much apparent determination to do his duty as if the woods swarmed with the soldiers of the enemy. "Now you must be very careful," said Lieutenant Scott, the officer of the guard. "You must not let any one pass without the countersign." "Vot vas the goundersign, Mr. Scott?" asked Ick. "It is a word that must be whispered 'in your ear like this — ' Brandy wine. ' That' s the countersign. ' ' "Brandywine. Oh, yes, I'll remember dot; dat is something to trink, like lager beer. I'll just think by ein glass lager beer, and don't forget dot what you call him — dot gountersign." Lieutenant Scott instructed Ick in the modus oper- andi of treating approaching friend or foe during the night, and particularly enjoined upon him not to let his gun pass out of his hands, no matter who it might be. Nor must he let any one pass without the countersign. 93 THE TOUNa VOLUNTEER. "Not even der captain?" asked Ick. "No, not even the captain." "Nobotty?" 1 ' Nobody whatever. ' ' "Now I onderstand, dot's all ri-et," said John. "Iffer everybotty comes by here vot don't des gounter- sign have, I shoot 'em, eh?" Later in the night Lieutenant Scott suggested to Cap- tain Irish that he test John Ick while he was on his post. He did so. "Who comes there, alretty?" demanded Ick. This was the correct salutation, for a wonder, except for the "alretty." "It's I — Captain Irish," was the reply. "Oh, dot's all ri-et. How you was, captain? It was a nice night, ain't it?" "Yes, a very nice night. But say, John, you are not holding your gun right. Let me show you." Ick handed the captain his rifle. "You must hold it this way," said the captain, bring- ing it to a "charge bayonet" and touching John with the point of it against his stomach. "Don't do dot captain; by gimminey, you almost stick it through me alretty." "Now look here, John," said the captain severely, "supposing I wasn't Captain Irish. Suppose I was a rebel." "But you vasn't no reppel, I know'd you was Cap- tain Irish." "Yes, but suppose it was so dark you couldn't see me, or suppose it was General McClellan?" "Dot would be all riet, not?" "But suppose it was some one else who passed him- self off under a false name, and after getting your gun, killed you?" "Mine Gott ! I dont't think py dot. " "Now, John," said the captain, kindly, "I only did this to try you. Let it be a lesson. Never let your gun out of your hands while on picket, not even if it is the President of the United States." "By gimminey, I don'd give dot gun to Kaiser Wil- helm if he comes any more." THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 93 John Ick evidently understood this part of the busi- ness now. And let me say right here that that identical test was tried on every new recruit in the army, and in five cases out of ten with a similar result. About an hour afterward the "grand rounds" came along. The "grand rounds" was a regular nocturnal visit, usually about midnight, to test the vigilance of the picket lines. Some high officer, but more generally the officer of the day, accompanied by a small body guard, performed it. As they approached John Ick they were met with the regulation salutation : ""Who comes there?" "The grand rounds." "The grand rounds," answered Ick, "I don' d know vat dot grand rounds vas, but you don'd fool me any more alretty like dot Captain Irish. I vas holdiug dot gun all ri-et, and don'd you forget it." "What nonsense is this?" asked the grand officer, stepping forward. "No you don'd do dot," exclaimed Ick. "You don'd got my gun some more, and 3-ou don'd go!; py here ober you don'd say dot gountersign. Say lager beer!" "What?" exclaimed the astonished officer. "Say lager beer." "What is lager beer? What do you mean by that, you stupid blockhead?" demanded the officer. "Dot vas de gountersign alretty. You dond pass by ober you dond say lager beer." "Who told you the countersign was lager beer?" "Mister Scott." "Who is Mister Scott?" "Vy, don't you know him? Dot vas Jim, der luff- tennant by Company K. " "Did he tell you the countersign was lager beer?" "Yah." "Didn't he say Brandywine?" "Brandywine? Oh, ya! Dot vas it. I forgot him alretty. I know'd it vas something to drink, and I thought it was lager boer, py gimminey. You shust say Brandywine. Dat's all ri-et!" "How long have you been in the service?" asked the officer. 94' TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. \ "Vot service?" "The army. How long have you been a soldier?" "Oh, about six week, alretty." "Been on picket before?" "Nein. Dot vos de first times." "I thought so," said the grand officer. And then he proceeded to explain that he must never give away the countersign ; that it must come from the person who wanted to get past, and not from the soldier on guard. Although outwardly severe, the officersmade all allow- ances for such green recruits. It was the way they in- structed them in their duties. And it made a more lasting lesson than any amount of school class tuition. John Ick learned his lesson well, and was proven to be a faithful picket on many a subsequent occasion. The incidents just related were duplicated in a thou- sand instances. The men, taken from all phases of life, were utterl} r ignorant of military duty. There was not time to put them through a regular graduated course of instruction, and they were taught in this eminently practical way. The next morning, September 10th, the Thirteenth, with its brigade companies, marched off on a line about parallel to the Baltimore and Ohio railroad. The dis- tance covered on that day and the next was short, and the marches were comparatively easy. Excitement began to be manifested, however, from the fact that we began to see evidences that the enemy had passed along that way not many days previous. There were signs of camps from the ashes where there had been fires. The rail fences had disappeared. In fact the trail of the military serpent was everywhere visible. It was evident to all that we were getting into close quarters. There were frequent consultations among the officers, and an increase in their earnestness and in the severity of their orders. A peculiar atmosphere of im- pending disaster surrounded us that was indescribable. That sensation is a familiar one to old soldiers, but it was our first experience and there was an uncanny weirdness about it that was not at all pleasant. We were not quite so close upon the enemy, however, THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 95 as we private soldiers imagined, although, as it subse- quently transpired, a couple of days more marching would bring us in sight of the ''Johnnies." On the 12th of September we suddenly came to quite a good sized stream. We were told it was the Monoc- acy River. There were no bridges nor boats ; but an army doesn't stop for a little thing like that. We were simply and coolly ordered to "cross the river," and so we did. Did you ever "ford a river"? 96 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XVII. A FREDERICK CITY GIRL. We were ordered to ford the river. The Monocacy River isn't a very formidable stream nor is it in the summer season very deep. On this oc- casion it came up about to the waist at the place picked out as a "ford," although it was deeper above and below. But it was our first experience at fording a stream, and consequently accompanied with much interest. The irrepressible and original John Ick wanted to take off his clothes and cross in a state of nature ; but to his infinite disgust that would not be permitted, as such an operation would take too much time. The government does not object, when soldiers are marching, to their discarding any superfluous weight in the shape of clothing or eatables. But when it comes to those things that absolutely pertain to war the case is different. One can't throw away guns or ammunition, no matter how heavy such things may be — and they were heavy enough. On all occasions the greatest care must be taken to keep the rifle in good order and the cartridges dry. In fording a river the cartridge and percussion -cap boxes and belts were unstrapped and fastened at the bayonet end of the guns. By carrying the rifles on the shoulder the ammunition was kept above the water and dry. No matter if the contents of the haversack were ruined. No matter if the blankets and other wearing apparel were saturated. The government cared naught for that, so long as the ammunition was intact. Even in the summer season it is not pleasant to cross a stream containing two or three or four feet of water in one's clothes. In the winter time, as many of us learned afterward, it is accompanied with little short of THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 97 torture. Id warm weather it is simply a question of discomfort. Several pounds of weight seem to be added to the sol- dier's load. The clothing, uncomfortable at the best of times, sticks closer than a brother, and clings and pulls one's legs with a force almost inconceivable. The wet stockings flop about in the coarse aloes with a "ker- sock," "ker-sock" that sounds like a suction pump, and materially assists in the development of additional painful blisters. As each man emerges on the other side of the stream, he sheds his quota of water, until the ground grows soggy and soft and the mud deeper and deeper until it is soon, not only ankle-deep, but knee-deep. With one's wet clothes increasing the weight, the climb through the sticky mud up the embankment of tho stream was a tiresome task. It was also a tedious affair, for there is always considerable delay in fording a river or creek, and then comes that inevitable, wearisome scamper to catch up with those who have gone ahead. A funny thing it was to see the ammunition mules. Each one of these stubborn but interesting animals had two large boxes of cartridges slung over his back, one on each side. The boxes just cleared the water, if everything was all right. But a mule doesn't like swiftly running water between his legs. It makes him discouraged. And when you discourage a mule his usefulness immediately departs. A discouraged mule invariably gives up and lies down, no matter where he may be. The mules had no respect for the strict orders about keeping the cartridges dry. One of them lay down in the water, rolled over, and shed his load. The other mules saw this, and at once caught on to the scheme. The practice became epidemic. Mule after mule lay down in the middle of the stream, tumbled off his two heavy cases of cartridges, righted himself again and scrambled up the muddy bank with an expression of countenance that failed to indicate the least compunc- tion of conscience. Those mules must have been in league with the enemy, for I heard one of the officers say that they had dumped enough cartridges in the 98 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Monocacy River that day to fight a good sized battle. Every cartridge that got wet was ruined, of course, for the powder covering was only paper. Fortunately for us we did not march very far after fording the river, and when we got into camp all the new soldiers took off their wet trousers and stockings and hung them on the bushes to dry. As we cooked our supper that night we resembled the bouffe soldiers in a German opera. Johnny Neild came near getting into a fight with Reddy Mahar by remarking on the cleanliDess of his pedal extremities. "I believe that is the first time you ever had your feet washed in your life," said Neild. "You're a liar!" returned Reddy. Neild was going to take it up; butJHank Van Orden stepped between them and prevented a continuation of hostilities. On the next day we reached Frederick city, and we found that we were getting closer upon the enemy than we imagined, that is, closer than we privates imagined. I suppose the officers knew all about it all along. The rebels had passed through Frederick only the day be- fore. Indeed it is said that some of their rear guards were found in the city still when our advance guard reached the place, and that a few shots were fired. I didn't hear anything of that sort, however, or perhaps I wouldn't have been so unconcerned. My remembrance of Frederick city is a very pleasant one. The place consisted in that day, essentially, of one large street. I remember being struck particularly with a wonder as to what the people did for a living. Outside of the stores, there seemed to be no business. Brought up within the sound of the hum of the busy mills of Paterson, it struck me that there ought to be some factories or other evidence of industry. But Frede- rick was a "market town" only, which was something that in those days I did not understand. Frederick is the city made famous by the poet in the beautiful poem about "Barbara Fritchie. " To be sure later historians have said that there never was a Bar- bara Fritchie in Frederick, and that the flag incident THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 99 was a pure romance. But that makes no difference ; the story of Barbara Fritchie will always remain asso- ciated with Frederick city. And by the way they say that "Sheridan's Ride" was a fake, and lots of other things are false, including tho "Charge of the Light Brigade," the flood and the ark, and Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. But we're here anyway, and we must have had ancestors, and who can dispute that there was an Adam and an Eve? I frown upon such, despicable attempts to disprove facts by new theories. If it keeps on that way, some busy- body will even throw out a suspicion that there are romances in this war story. So on general principles I stand up for all the interesting old traditions, including Barbara Fritchie! The alleged incident of Barbara and the flag occurred the day before we reached Frederick, so that we didn't see it ourselves. But we saw the house from the upper window of which she defiantly flaunted the stars and stripes. At least I saw every house in Frederick, and so can truthfully testify that I saw the Fritchie place of residence. I don't know how the citizens of Frederick treated the rebel army the day before, but I do know that they treated us "bang up." I went into a store and bought a pipe and some tobacco, and the proprietor wouldn't take a cent. The fact leaking out that cigar dealer's stock was soon completely disposed of on the same terms. The bakers gave us bread and cake. The citi- zens gave us pies and other luxuries, and prett}^ Mary- laud girls stood in their doorways with pitchers of milk. There could be no discounting the fact of the hospi- tality of the people of Frederick city. They knew the Union army was coming close behind the rebels, and had made considerable preparation for us. The women of Frederick served us with sandwiches, cakes, pies, roasted chickens, hams, and what not. During a temporary halt in the main street of the little city the boys were strung along the sidewalks, in front of the stores and residences, partaking of a lunch that was to us a regular feast. It was my good fortune to be served by a very pretty girl of about seventeen or 100 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. eighteen years. As I stood there, leaning against the fence of the little door-yard in front of the cottage, with a chicken wing in one hand and a glass of milk in the other, I ventured into a little conversation with my fair entertainer. "Did you do this for the other fellows?" I asked, feeling my ground. "You mean the rebels, I suppose," said she. "Yes; I didn't say 'rebel,' because I didn't know how you would take it." "That's all right," said she reassuringly. "That's what I call them, anyhow. No, we didn't, as a general thing, treat 'the other fellows,' as you call them, in this way. Some of the people did, but not many. You see the most of us are Union folks. Then again, when the rebels passed through they seemed to be in a big hurry. Most of the houses and nearly all the stores were closed up, till it looked like Sunday. We had been told that they were going to clean out all the stores and then set fire to the town. We were much frightened, I can assure you, and we didn't feel safe until we began to see the blue-coated soldiers." "So you're a Union girl," I remarked. "Yes, sir," she replied. "And I have a brother in the Third Maryland " "The Third Maryland," I interrupted, "why I be- lieve that regiment is in our division — General Wil- liams'?" "Yes; that's the name," she replied. "Fred wrote me that General Williams was his commander. Per- haps you may meet Fred. ' ' "Very likely," I answered. "But what is his last name?" "Summers." "Fred Summers. And what name shall I use when I say I saw his sister?" "Mabel" (with a slight blush). "Is your brother older than you are?" "No." "What, younger? He must be a mere boy." "He is neither older nor younger," was her answer, and she blushed again as she said: "We are twins — twin brother and sister." THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 101 "That's nice," said I. "And — and if he is anything like his twin sister, Fred must be a handsome fellow." I was getting along pretty well considering I hadn't known the girl five minutes. But I couldn't help it. I really meant it, you know. I never saw a girl blush so easily as Mabel Summers did. My last remarks suf- fused her face with carnation. Now I come to recall it, I don't wonder. "Have you any correspondent in the army?" I ven- tured. "Oh, yes; my brother." "Any one else?" "Oh, no." "Wouldn't you like to have one?" "What do you mean?" "I think I would make a good correspondent." Another blush on the part of Mabel. "I — I hardly think it would be proper. And," with a little show of pretty petulance, "I think your sugges- tion is a little bold, not to say somewhat impudent." "I beg your pardon, Mabel — I mean Miss Summers — but you know that soldiers must be bold, not to say impudent. ' ' This play on her words made her smile, and she asked me my name. "Joe," I replied. I don't know how much further the promising flirta- tion would have gone had it not just at this point been interrupted by a sergeant, accompanied by a file of men. The non-commissioned officers asked me what I was doing there? "Eating and talking and having a good time," said I. "What regiment do you belong to?" asked the ser- geant. "Thirteenth New Jersey." "What corps?" I told him. "Don't you know," he asked, "that your command started off some time ago? Take him in charge, men" (turning to his companions). "Who are you?" I asked indignantly, "The provost guard," 102 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. That was the first time I had ever heard of such a think as the "provost guard," but I considered that it was advisable to go along without making any fuss. I was greatly surprised to learn that my regiment had already started off. I turned to bid farewell to the pretty little Frederick city girl. A spirit of mischief seized me, and I said : "Good-by, Mabel." Mabel's blush was on schedule time, as usual, but that did not prevent her taking up the implied chal- lenge, for she coquettish^ answered : "Good-by, Joe." That was the first and last time I ever saw Mabel Summers. The reader may perhaps think we were both a little "fresh" to indulge in such familiarity on such short acquaintance; br.t the present generation does not understand the feeling that prevailed at that time toward the soldier boys. The blue uniform of Uncle Sam's service was an open sesame. No one wearing it needed an introduction to anybody. The girls seemed to regard every soldier as a hero. Perhaps it is better for the reputation of some of us that they were never undeceived. I have often wondered what became of Mabel Sum- mers. Is she living yet? Perhaps, and possibly a grandmother. But I forgot that I was in the hands of the provost guard — a prisoner! TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 103 CHAPTER XVIII. THE PROVOST GUARD. Let me introduce the reader to the "provost guard." The provost guard was what might be called the police force of the army. Their duty was to look after the recreant soldiers, stragglers, camp followers, hang- ers-on, and the like. People unacquainted with war often ask how it was that there were not more desertions. How was it that the men, suffering from the fatigue of the march, the hardships and exposures of the camp and the awful horror of the battle, did not escape through the pickets and run through the guard lines and — go home? It was the provost guard that prevented all this. Imagine a man in a battle. What is there between him and liberty? Behind him are first, the non-com- missioned officers, then the commissioned officers; then the "turkey buzzards." This consisted of a line of cavalry, generally armed with long spears, on the end of which were strips of red flannel, the latter curi- ous insignia giving them the singularly appropriate title of "turkey buzzards." You couldn't get past this line without a written pass, or a show of blood issuing from a wound. So much for a battle. At other times, and practically in fact at all times, there were regimental and corps guards and outside these the army pickets. Suppose you escaped through all these? Everywhere you went, through every city of the land, you would meet with soldiers of the provost guard, who would arrest you if you couldn't show written authority for being absent from your regiment. There were provost guards even in Paterson, where I lived, perhaps in uniform, maybe not, and more than 104 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. one deserter was arrested there and sent back. If a man hadn't a written pass he was considered a deserter. I might mention the names of several now prominent Patersonians in this connection, but will not. There would doubtless have been more if they could have similarly succeeded in getting "through the lines." Up in the mountains not many miles from many cities there were huts and caves that were utilized by deserters for months in the latter part of the war. These desert- ers were where the provost guard could not find them, and they were consequently safe. They came sneaking back to town in the night when the war was over. Not many deserters suffered the penalty prescribed for that offense — being shot. President Lincoln was very tender-hearted in this respect. Scores — I might perhaps safely say hundreds — of deserters who had been sentenced to death were pardoned or had their sentence commuted by the kind -hearted president. In all my experience I saw only two men shot for desertion. That terrible sight I will describe before long. The worst penalty suffered by a deserter was what might be called the social ostracism to which he was sub- jected on his return to his regiment. He was ignored, disrespected, and treated with contempt generally in a way that was unbearable. No one sympathized with him in sickness or trouble, he was put to the hardest duties and most menial work, and his life was made •such that the poor victim often prayed for death. I heard of two men committing suicide because they could not stand this treatment from their companions when they had returned to the regiment after deserting. It is a singular fact that some of the men who wanted to — or even tried to — desert were the most severe in their treatment of the ones who had succeeded — and been caught. If I deserted I would a thousand times rather be shot than go back to the regiment. The offense for which I had been arrested by the pro- vost guard was technically called "straggling." Any man who fell out of the ranks or otherwise got behind his regiment while on a march, unless taken sick or wounded, was called a straggler. It was the most com- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 105 mon of all army offenses. It was considered the least serious. The punishment was scarcely ever anything worse than being conducted back to your regimental headquarters, and perhaps receiving a mild reprimand from the colonel or captain. I did not know this then, however, and felt somewhat nervous as 1 was waiting my turn to be disposed of at the headquarters of the provost guard when the army halted that night. I began to think that thirteen was an unlucky number for me. I had enlisted in the Thir- teenth Begiment and here I was arrested on the 13th of September. What had I done? Had I deserted? Would I be shot? A comical incident interrupted my reverie. I was in the midst of some old soldiers. The officers were almost as dirty as the men in appearance. Most of them were in their undress uniforms and few of them wore shoulder straps or other insignia of office. A man in a dark suit, which was presumably originally black, was leaning against a tree, smoking a briarwood pipe. A tall, gawky-looking fellow of gigantic build, being over six feet high and heavy in proportion, with long, bushy, sandy whiskers, stalked up. Some of the men saluted and addressed him as "colonel," although he wore no sign of a silver eagle, the insignia of that office. The slouchy-looking man smoking the pipe did not salute and this seemingly attracted the attention of the other. The colonel, for such he was, addressed the smoker, and asked him gruffly: "What are you doing here?" "Smoking," was the laconic reply, and not very civilly at that. "Who the devil are you, anyhow?" asked the colonel. "I am the chaplain of the — th Ohio," replied he. "Now who in h 1 are you?" Such language from a chaplain collapsed the colonel and every one else who stood around. The colonel looked at the chaplain a moment and said : "Good for you, chaplain; I've got some good 'com- missary' in my tent. Come along and sample it." The colonel and chaplain walked off arm and arm to- 106 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. gether as sociably as if they had known each other for years. For the edification of the reader I will explain that "commissary" was the whisky furnished by the gov- ernment to the army for medical purposes. The staff officers were generally "sick," and this was their pro- verbial panacea and preventive. We sick privates were fed on blue pills. We never got whisky, unless we stole it — which by the way, we occasionally did. The door on the wine cellar of the officers was nothing more secure than a canvas tent flap, you know ! • When my turn came in the line of delinquents I was sentenced to nothing worse than to be sent back to my regiment under guard, and I reached Company K just as the boys were boiliug their coffee for supper. A number of others had been similarly picked up by the provost guard and brought back, and nothing was said about it. I found the boys in a state of considerable excite- ment. The Dews had leaked out among them somehow that we were close upon the rebels. There had even been some shooting further out to the front and some slightly wounded soldiers had been brought through to the rear. The pervading sentiment seemed to be that we would have a battle on the morrow. Who can describe the feelings and emotions of a soldier on the eve of an ex- pected battle? As for myself, my mental sufferings were acute. I supposed then that it was because it was my first experience, but I subsequently learned that that did not in fact make much difference. I firmly believe that with most men each subsequent battle requires more nerve to enter. "How do you feel. Rats?" I asked Davy Harris. We always called him "Eats." It was a name the boys in the Guardian office had given him. Harris was at that moment very pale. Just as I spoke there was a sound of distant musketry. It sounded like a far-off explosion of firecrackers. It was only an exchange of picket shots. We didn't know. We could fairly feel a quiver of quiet excite- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 10? ment sweep through the camps. For a moment every one stopped talking and there was a stillness so impres- sive that the crackling of the camp fires sounded like pistol shots. Then there was a low murmur of many voices. That I had turned pale myself I could feel. As soon as I could get my self -possession again, and saw that general conversation had been resumed with the cessation of the shooting, I repeated my question to Davy Harris as to his personal emotions at that par- ticular moment. Davy did not reply for a minute or so. Then he quietly arose, turned his back to me, and emphatically ordered : "Kick me!" "What?" I asked, not fairly understanding. "Kick me!" "What do you mean, anyhow?" "Kick me!" Davy answered for the third time, a la Amelie Rives when she wrote her famous three-time "Kiss Me!" Then I saw what he meant. It was his expressive way of indicating his feelings in response to my inquiry as to how he felt then and there on the eve of an ex- pected battle. He offered no explanation of his singular reply, nor was any needed. He simply wanted me to kick him for enlisting I felt the same way myself. I would have liked to have some one kick me then and there for listening to the persuasive eloquence of the patriotic orators on the steps of the old Main Street bank building in Pa Person whose speeches had induced me to enlist. I should also have liked to have kicked those self -same orators ! Some great things had happened that day, of which we privates did not know at the time, nor for a long while after, for it remained for the newspapers and the historians to tell what had taken place. Some of these things will be related in the next chap- ter. 10$ TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XIX. SIGNS OF A BATTLE. As said in the previous chapter, some great things had occurred on that day (September 13, 1862), which we did not know about at the time. Upon that day- General Lee issued an order directing Stonewall Jack- son to proceed to Harper's Ferry by the way of Sharps- burg, where he was to cross the Potomac River and thus make a rear movement, while at the same time General McLaws was to go direct, by the way of Mid- dletown, and seize Maryland Heights, while General Walker was to cross the river below Harper's Ferry and take possession of Loudon Heights. The same order of General Lee contained the information that the remainder of the Confederate army would remain in the neighborhood of Boonesborough or Hagerstown, and stay there till rejoined by the troops detailed for the capture of Harper's Ferry. Harper's Ferry was, from a warlike standpoint, a most important strategic point. It is a cleft or opening in the mountains, where two rivers join. The letter Y is about the shape of the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers. On one side of the Potomac are Maryland Heights, on the other side, Loudon Heights, and the third mountain is called Bolivar Heights. It is a natural gateway, the only passage through which is the narrow road along the side of the river. The Chesapeake and Ohio canal runs along the river on the Maryland side. It will be thus appreciated, even by the reader who has no knowledge whatever of military matters, that this was a most important strategic point. If General Lee obtained possession of this it would give him the key to an important position. That is the THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 109 reason that Harper's Ferry played such an important part in many instances during the course of the war. It is not my province here to dilate upon the cowardly manner in which Harper's Ferry was evacuated in the face of the enemy at about this time. Well, this important order of General Lee, involving the whole plan and scheme of the rebel army, in some mysterious way fell into the hands of General McClel- lan a few hours after it was issued. It was said that General McClellan had a copy of it as soon as the gen- erals on the rebel side, to whom duplicates had been addressed. How General McClellan got that order no one e^er knew. Some said that it was procured by a scout. Others that it came through the hands of a spy. Still others say that it was sold to the Northern general by a Confederate officer, the same as the secret plans of the French were recently sold to the Germans, for which the traitorous officer was sentenced to imprisonment on an island for life. If this be so, the officer in this case was never captured by the Confederates. If he had been, his bones would have long since been transformed into another shape of elementary substance of a cereal character, for those grounds are now covered with corn and wheat fields. As said frequently before, this war story is not in- tended as a military history, but rather as the experi- ence of a private soldier in the ranks; but at the same time this particular circumstance is so interesting and has such a direct bearing on subsequent events, that I thought it would not be amiss to give it. Of course we privates did not know anything about all these things at the time. Perhaps only the very highest officers in the army were acquainted with the circumstances. All that we knew at the time was that there was every in- dication of a coining engagement of some sort, for that we were in close proximity to the enemy there was every sign. General McClellan, taking advantage of the impor- tant information he had so mysteriously gained, pro- ceeded to make a movement that would head off Gen- eral Lee. He started his army immediately toward South Mountain, which was a high, rocky hill, between 110 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Hagerstown and Sharpsburg. By doing this he would cut right in the middle of the Confederate army. And there is nothing in the world that is so dangerous to an army as to be divided by the enemy. To come back to our feelings and sensations on the eve of an expected battle ! We had around our camp- fire that night some of the old veterans of the Third Wisconsin, one of the other regiments of our brigade. Naturally the conversation turned to the coming con- flict and the subject of battles generally. After our visitor had got us pretty well alarmed over the horrors of a battle, and mj'self in particular in a state of nervousness bordering on hysteria, he asked : "By the way, boys, have you formed your clubs?" We asked him what he meant by clubs? "Well, you see," replied he, "if there is a battle the chances are that some of you will be killed" (and how glibly he uttered the awful word). "In that case it is a, good thing to have a club." I wished somebody would club me. "The idea of a club is this," he continued, while we were listening with mouths and ears wide open. "The plan is to divide yourselves up in clubs of three men. The chances are that the whole three will not be killed. You give each other your names and addresses of the relatives or friends at home whom you would wish to be notified in case anything happened. Then the fellow that comes out all right can send word at once in case anything happens." "But don't the officers report all these things. Don't the newspaper correspondents send the list of names by telegraph to their papers?" I asked, with journalistic instinct. "Oh, pshaw, that don't amount to nothing," was the reply. "These fellows get all the news they can, of course; but they don't get half. In a battle everything is all mixed up. Men are killed and they are stripped of their clothes and everything in their pockets so that they do not leave a trace of who they are. Then fellows get captured by the rebs, and wounded men fall into the hands of the graybacks, and some are left on the THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Ill battlefield to die alone and no one ever hears what be- comes of them. In this case you can write to their friends that they are 'missing.' But as a general thing the three men in a club can keep track of each other, whatever happens. I tell you clubs are a good thing. In fact clubs are trumps." The idea struck me like joining a suicide club, but at the same time it could not be doubted that it was a good thing. We immediately decided to form ourselves into a club. The club to which I attached myself consisted of Sergeant Heber Wells, John Butter worth and my- self. And it is a singular fact that all three of us are alive to- day. There were soon decimations in many of the clubs, but none of our particular three had to send a letter breaking the news of a death in our trio. Two of us were, however, wounded in the battle of Chancel- lorsville, but the news of that got home quickly enough. I can't say that this club business was very pleasant. It seemed like writing one's own epitaph, or engraving one's own name on his coffin-plate. It made me very nervous and downhearted. I felt sure that I was the one of our three whose name would be the first to be sent home among the list of killed. I didn't sleep much that night. I could think of nothing but fighting and being shot. I wondered how it felt to be shot. Did it hurt much? Was the agony awful? I had never seen anything shot but a dog. A hundred times I recalled the shooting of that dog, how he yelped and writhed, kicked and struggled! Imagine a human being writhing and struggling in that way ! Imagine me — me, writhing and struggling in that way, in mortal agony ! In fitful dreams I saw the shooting of that dog again, and it seemed as if I were the dog, yelping and writhing and struggling in my death agony. Then I dreamed that I was at home, in bed, in my little front room in Fair Street, with the aquarium at the window and the canary bird in his painted cage. I dreamed that I dreamed. I dreamed that I awoke from a dream — a horrible dream — that I had been in the army, and that there was going to be a battle. I dreamed that I awoke from the horrible dream and found that 112 THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER. it was a nightmare, and that I got out of bed and knelt beside it and thanked God that it was but a dream and nothing worse. Thank heaven, that it was but a dream ! Thank heaven, I had not enlisted ! Thank heaven, I was at my home, safe and secure, and that the only warlike sound I would hear in the morning would be the bell calling me down to a breakfast of broiled chicken and muffins. Sleep on, soldier ! Pleasant be thy dream ! For the morrow ye know not ! TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 113 CHAPTER XX. NEAR A BATTLE. It was not the breakfast bell at my home in Fair Street that awoke me the next morning, but that ever- lasting drum sounding the reveille that had become so painfully familiar. After the vivid dream of home related in the previous chapter, the awakening to a sense of my surroundings was a severe shock. But there was too much excitement around camp to spend much time in gloomy reveries. It is perhaps good for the soldier that there is such incessant activity while at the front. It occupies his time and takes all his mind, so that there is not much opportunity to sit down and think. And when night comes the soldier is generally so fatigued that he sinks at once into a leaden-like slumber. It was not often that the soldier dreams as I had dreamed the night before. "I tole you fellers," said John Ick as he was boiling his coffee, "we got by dot schlaughter haus to-day, and don'd you forgot dot." Then turning to Reddy Mahar, who seemed to be his natural enemy, he added : "You don'd was so fresh yourselluf, Retty. You don'd vant to fight so much alretty, eh?" "Be jabbers and I wish I was home, that's phwat I does," answered Reddy very meekly. "No, you don'd vant to fight so much as you was by Washington, don'd it? I don'd was no cowyard now, ain't it?" "Shut up, you fellows," said John Stansfield, think- ing there was going to be a repetition of the racket be- tween these two in Washington. But there was no danger. There was no fight in either of them. John Ick seemed at the moment to be outwardly the least concerned, but it was evident that it was only put on, 114 THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER. for the occcasion. Ick apparently wanted to arouse the ire of his old adversary for the purpose of creating some sort of a diversion, but it was a failure. He might have kicked Mahar just then, and I doubt if he would have taken it up. It was not long before we heard fighting of some sort further at the front. The musket shots started in first in little spurts, two or three at a time. Then there would be a volley that sounded like a rattle — like one of those wooden concerns that the boys hold in their hands and whirl around. Then something else — more warlike than all ! Listen ! ' ' Hark ! Tis the cannon's opening roar ! " I shall never forget the first time I heard a cannon fired in the army. And this was the morning. Boom! And the hills echoed and re-echoed with the roar, like lowering thunder. Whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — ! Say it as fast as you can. Start with the voice loud and strong. Then with each reiterated "whiz" let the voice fall, diminishing in force. Try it : Whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — whiz — ! That is the sound of the rifled shell flying through the air. Then — Crash ! At it smashes through the trees, or splinters the rocks, or richochets along the ground. Then, again, another — Boom! As the shell explodes, its fragments fly in every di- rection, scattering destruction and death in its wake. And if you are near enough to where it struck, and there is any one in the way, there is another sound. It is the shrieking, the yelling, the cursing of those who have been rent asunder by those terrible fragments, and yet have enough life left to suffer. Why is it that men curse and blaspheme when wounded, instead of praying? I am describing here the first cannon shots that I ever heard. The part relative to the curse does not apply to this particular day, but to subsequent experiences. On THE TOUNQ VOLUNTBEU. 116 the day in question we were not close enough to the front to hear the cries of the severely wounded, but we did hear the roar of the cannon and we heard lots of it. Once the shooting of the cannon had commenced, there was a good deal of it. It was some distance fur- ther out in the front, but we could hear it plainly enough. It was a continual "Boom — whiz — crash!" for several hours. And it f ormod the bass and baritone for the soprano and tenor of the musket shots. Once or twice, far back as we were, we heard the peculiar singing of a rifle bullet. This can be best expressed in type this way : "Z-z-z-z-z-z-z-zip !" The"z-z-z" represents the course of the bullet through the air. The "zip" is the sound of its striking some- thing. Imagine a mosquito buzzing around, and then the slap on the cheek that puts him (and you) out of mis- ery, and you will have a fair idea, on a small scale, of the sound of a minnie rifle bullet. That all this shooting further out in the front was no Fourth of July nonsense soon began to be evident, for the wounded soldiers began to stream in. It was our first sight of the real horrors of battle. We were too close to the front for any of the wounded to be attended to by the surgeons without passing through us to the improvised field hospitals, designated by small yellow flags on staves stuck in the ground, to the rear of us. Thus it was that we saw the wounded, not with their injuries concealed by neat white band- ages, but in all their grewsome nakedness. Of course these were the men who were "slightly" wounded — those who were able to walk. A wonderful number were shot in the arm and hand. There were lacerated fingers and thumbs ; useless arms, held up by the others unhurt ; men with the tips of their noses shot off; soldiers with the fragment of an ear hanging down alongside of their necks ; men painfully limping from the effects of shots in the leg or foot; officers and pri- vates with blood streaming over their faces from scalp- wounds — the most terrible of all to look at, but in reality the least dangerous. All these hurried to the doctors in the rear. 116 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. What struck me was the utter nonchalance of the wounded. Of those able to walk, no matter how des- perately hurt they seemed to be, no matter how bloody they were, none uttered a cry or a complaint. On the contrary they seemed to be remarkably cheerful and chipper. Had those men been similiarly injured in civil life they would have indulged in vehement demonstra- tions of agony. But when a man is wounded in the army, it seems as if his system, both mental and physical, were nerved up to it. And furthermore there is a feeling of inexpres- sible exultation over the fact that one has escaped some- thing worse, and the victim is also braced up with the knowledge that for awhile at least he will have no fighting to do, and that there is a good prospect of his getting a furlough to go home and see his family. I did not appreciate all this at the moment and so was struck with the apparent unconcern of those who had been wounded. When I was wounded myself on a sub- sequent occasion, I learned to understand these things. And furthermore, when a man is shot, if it be not in a vital spot, the immediate pain is not severe. The real agony comes later, when inflammation begins to set in, and the entire system is involved with the fever that invariably follows gunshot wounds sooner or later. If you want to know how it feels to be shot through the leg, for instance, let some one throw a stone from across the street so that it will strike you. There will be a sharp sting, followed by a sort of numbness. That is almost exactly the sensation of being shot through a muscular part of the body. But afterward — when the fever begins ! Then there are long and tedious days and nights of intolerable agony. Pretty soon the more severely wounded began to come through on stretchers, carried on blankets with the sound men holding each corner ; or being lifted by the legs and arms in the most primitive way. We were lying near the town of Boonesborough. Here the wounded were taken. The churches, school- houses and even residences taken possession of as hos- pitals became at once the scenes of surgical butchery. I use this word in no offensive sense. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEEB. 117 And yet, one week previous, the people of Boones- borough had no more idea that they would be in the immediate theater of actual war than had the people of the quietest town in the country. Imagine the feelings of the women and children on seeing their homes sud- denly filled with mutilated and bleeding soldiers, spread in rows along the floor of the parlor and dining room ! And yet one week — in fact two days — before, there were no more signs of such a thing happening in that particular town than there is to-day, I might almost say. What were my feelings all this time? I can hardly describe them. We lay there momentarily expecting to be ordered into the thick of the fray ourselves ! We did not know at what minute our turn would come, or how soon some of us might swell the number of muti- lated human beings going back to the surgeon's knife. As for myself I remember that I was in a state border- ing on a panic. I was almost out of my head. In fact I was mentally and physically almost paralyzed. I moved about in a misty, hazy sort of a way, hardly knowing where I was or what I was doing. There was not much talk among the boys that day. The same listless, despairing spirit seemed to prevade all. What was going on? We didn't know. What bat- tle was it? We didn't know. All that we knew was that there was a scene of carnage being enacted some- where out there a little further in front, where human beings were being torn to pieces. And all that we thought of was that our turn to take part in the awful scene would soon come. "What do you think of it?" I asked Davy Harris as he threw himself on the grass beside me. Harris was very pale. He replied : "I think " The sentence was not completed. It was interrupted by the order : "Fall in, Thirteenth!" Davy Harris and I exchanged nervous glances. "Our turn has come, Joe," said he quietly. im THE YOUN& VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XXI. SOME AWFUL FIGURES. Of course we thought surely that our turn had come and that we were about to be precipitated into a battle. Does the reader wonder that we were demoralized? Consider the situation. We had barely entered the service. As a matter of fact it was only two weeks since we had left the mus- tering camp at Newark. The most of us had never fired a gun in our lives with the exception of the single volley over the canal at Camp Frelinghuysen in the battalion drill. We had had no experience, but little drilling, and were practically as ignorant of military movements as we were on the day we enlisted. We had entered the army with the idea of course that we would some day in the future be precipitated into an engagement, but we did not imagine that we would be thus summarily hustled from our homes to the bat- tlefield without being hardened and prepared for it by degrees, as it were. In the whole course of the war I do not believe there ever was a regiment so suddenly engaged in a battle after entering the service as the Thirteenth New Jersey. It so happened that we did not get into a fight that day, nor for a couple of days later, but the same remark holds good about the remarkably short time that existed between the time of our enlistment and our experience in actual warfare, in one of the most sanguinary of con- flicts. I believe that if we had really been ordered into a fight that day I would have fainted from terror and nervous weakness. But fortunately, at least for me, we didn't get into that battle. It was only one of those THE TOUNG VOLUNTEER. 119 mysterious movements that were so frequent — a change of position. There may have been some reason for these constant changes, and again there may not have been. I still incline to the latter idea. But nevertheless, it did seem as if we were forever changing our position and moving from this spot to that without any sense or reason whatever. That was all it amounted to on this occasion. And to our intense satisfaction and relief there was a sudden cessation of the firing in the front. Whatever had been going on, it had evidently come to a settle- ment some way. What we had heard, as we learned later, was the en- gagement that has gone into history as the battle of South Mountain. It wasn't a long engagement, but it was an important one, and had it been properly followed up and had the other departments of the army properly co-operated, the result would have been of inestimable value to the Northern army. General McClellan had captured the South Mountain passes at the engagement at Turner's Gap, although not without considerable loss. The Confederate loss in this engagement at South Mountain has been put down at about 3,000, including some prisoners. The loss on both sides in the shape of killed, wounded and prisoners, was perhaps 5,000. This is not much of a battle compared with some of the fights during the war, but it was a con- siderable one just the same, even in these days, as will be seen by comparing the number with that of some of the recent engagements between the Japs and Chinese, with all the former's advantage of improved weapons and ammunition. And by the way, is the reader of this a sufficient stu- dent of history to notice the fact that as civilization progresses and the means of killing people are facilited, the losses in battle continually decrease? The accepted theory is that eventually the instruments of wholesale slaughter and death will be so perfected that a fight be- tween two armies will mean nothing less than total annihilation of one or the other; that this will reach such a stage that war will cease to be possible, and that the differences of the future will be settled by arbitra- 120 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. tion instead of by recourse to arms. But the facts do not bear this out. Histor}^ tells us that they had a good deal more extensive list of fatalities in olden times than at present, which, if the records are correct, suggest some strange comparisons. Modern warfare has been aptly described as an im- proved and scientific way of throwing stones. In olden times a battle was more in the nature of a hand-to-hand conflict and the number of killed and wounded was undoubted l} r larger. At the battle of Cressy the arms of the English Prince of Wales were won by Edward, the Black Prince. Among the killed on the side of the French was the King of Bohemia, whose crest was three ostrich feathers and the motto "Ich Dien" (I serve). At the conclusion of the battle the crest and the motto were adopted by the Black Prince, and have ever since been worn by the Prince of Wales. I interpolate this simply as an inter- esting fact. What I wanted to say was that at that battle the French went into the fight with nearly 100,000 men and at the close of the day the French king fled with five knights and sixty soldiers. Over 40,000 men had been killed or wounded and the rest of the army had scattered in every direction. At the battle of Borodino there were 250,000 men en- gaged, and in one day 78.000, or 31 per cent., had been killed and wounded. Every woman in France wore mourning after that battle. In the Roman army of 146, 00§ men, the loss was 52,000 or 34 per cent., at the battle of Cannae. All the prisoners were massacred, and Hannibal, the victor, sent to Carthage five bushels of gold rings taken from the fingers of the enemy's knights that were killed. As the Battle of a Week, in 732 a.d., in which Martel overthrew the Saracens, there were 550,000 men engaged, of whom 375,000 were killed on the field. This was the bloodiest battle of history, and yet the arms at the time must have been of an extremely primi- tive character. Among the 140,000 who participated at Waterloo, the loss was 51,000. In the Battle of Na- tions at Leipsig in 1813, there were 320,000 men THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 121 engaged, and the loss was 111,000. Of the 320,000 en- gaged at Gravelotte, the killed and wounded numbered 48,000. At Marengo, in which 58,000 were engaged, the loss was 13,000. To afford a comparison with our late war, I will cite the battle of Gettysburg as an example. In this en- gagement there were 140,000 men opposed to each other. The loss in killed, wounded and missing during the three days' righting at Gettysburg, was — Federal, 28,898; Confederate, 37,000; total, 65,898. That is between 25 and 30 per cent. But this was not only the largest battle of the war, but the loss was proportionately the great- est. The average loss in battle, according to statistical historians who have made a study of "our late un- pleasantness," was not over 10 or 12 per cent. And yet, during the late war, compared with the armies of old times, the troops were equipped with modern and improved arms, and naturally it might be supposed that the mortality would be all the greater. The records of losses during the last war (between the United States and Spain) are not complete, so that they may be only roughly stated, viz. : Americans killed at and around Santiago, from 260 to 270 ; wounded, about 1,600. Killed in naval encounters at Bahio Honda and other points on the north coast of Cuba, 5 or 6. Killed at Porto Rico, 5 or 6 ; wounded 60 or 70. Killed in the capture of Manila and attendant skirmishes, 40 or 50 ; wounded, about 200. In addition to these, several thou- sand American soldiers and sailors died of disease in camp, the estimated number being, according to latest reports, about 2,600. A rough aggregate would make the total American loss in the war (including the de- struction of the Maine), about 3,236 killed (and died), and about 5,356 wounded. These are believed to be the outside figures. Official and complete reports would probably show a sight diminution. The Spanish losses may only be estimated, as follows : At Santiago, killed, 2,000; wounded, 6,000. Killed in the destructioruof Cervera's fleet, 600 to 700 ; wounded, 400. How many were lost by the Spanish in the other engagements will probably never be known, for no fig- ures have ever been given out of Spain's loss in the 122 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. memorable destruction of Montojo's fleet by the match- less Admiral Dewey on May 1, 1898. The last battles between the United States forces and the Filippino insurgents under Aguinaldo in the Philip- pine Islands are too recent and the information too indefinite to present very reliable figures. In the battle at Manila in February, 1899, the American losses are believed to have been about 40 or 50 killed and perhaps 250 wounded. The Filippino losses are estimated at from 1,500 to 2,000 killed and about 3,000 wounded. This was really a large battle, for there were no less than 32,000 men engaged— 13,000 Americans and 20,000 Filippinos. The total strength of the American army in the Span- ish war was 274,717. The war began on Thursday, April 21, 1898, at 7 a.m. The peace protocol was signed at Washington, D. C, on Friday, August 12, 1898, at 4: 23 p.m. The treaty of peace was signed by the joint American and Spanish commission in Paris on December 10, 1898. The treaty was ratified by the United States senate on Monday, February 6, 1899, at 3s»25 P.M. A comparison of the number of men enlisted in the war with Spain and in previous wars by the United States may in this connection be interesting. In the Revolutionary war the number did not exceed 250,000. In the civil war there were 2,320«,168 Federal troops, of whom 178,975 werecolored and 6V,000 regulars. In the war of 1812 there were 471,622, of whom 62,674 were regulars. In the Mexican war there were 116,321, of whom 42,545 were regulars. In the war with Spain our troops numbered 219,035 volunteers (of whom 10,189 were colored), and 55,682 were regulars, a total of 274,717. I interpolate these statistics here as being interest- ing and appropriate, inasmuch as they give the reader an idea of the size and extent of the battle of South Mountain. To the private soldier a battle is a battle, and it practically makes little difference to him, as an individual, whether tbe loss is 1,000 or 100,- 000. The effect on the army or the country, however, / THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 123 is more or less important, according to the numerical and strategical results The battle of South Mountain, although not a large one, as battles go, was nevertheless an important one, for it gave General McClellan the opportunity he de- sired of cutting the rebel army in two and relieving the Federal garrison at Harper's Ferry. But the disgraceful and utterly inexcusable surrender of Harper's Ferry defeated this purpose. Colonel Miles had 12,000 men, 73 pieces of artillery, and an immense quantity of military stores and supplies, and he should have defended such an important place to the last man. But he surrendered. He saw the signs of the big rebel army, and capitulated without terms or conditions. The cowardly act, however, met with instant retribu- tion. While Colonel Miles was in the very act of hoist- ing a white Hag in token of surrender, he was struck by a cannon ball and instantly killed. There is an old adage that it is not well to speak ill of the dead. But it was a fortunate thing for Colonel Miles that he was killed as he was, for it blunted the rough edge of popu- lar indignation that was expressed at his conduct. In those exciting days there was little sympathy for a com- manding officer who had the reputation of being a cow- ard. Had Colonel Miles lived long enough to have heard the criticism over his surrender of Harper's Ferry he would probably have committed suicide. Now that Harper's Ferry had been lost General Mc- Clellan changed his plans and directed his entire atten- tion to the main army of General Lee, and then com- menced the movements that a day or so later precipi- tated us into one of the great conflicts of the war — the battle of Antietam. In that bloody battle the Thirteenth New Jersey regi- ment received its "baptism of fire." 124 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XXII. EVE OF BATTLE. After the battle of South Mountain, General Lee, who saw that General McClellan meant business, found what military men would call "a strong position" on the west side of Antietam creek, and proceeded to get his army in readiness to meet the pursuing Union army. In telling this, of course, I am writing in the light of subsequent knowledge. Of course at the time we knew nothing more of what was going on, or what was com- ing, or indeed what had passed, than so many sheep in a drove. But at the same time we felt, rather than positively knew, that the army was getting into position for a great conflict. There was a hurrying and scurrying of mounted officers and messengers, an anxious look on the faces of the higher officers over us that we fre- quently met or passed, and an air of general importance and preparation, not manifest on other occasions, that gave the soldier a knowledge that a battle was immi- nent. It was evident even to us raw recruits, who had scarcely been a fortnight away from our homes. Much more were these movements and preparations under- stood by the older and more experienced soldiers. "We all knew, therefore, that we were about to be plunged into a battle, and as practically the whole of the Federal and Confederate armies of Virginia were pitted against each other, it would be a battle royal and a terrible conflict. And, by the way, speaking of Com pan y K and the other company from Paterson and vicinity, Company C, we had hardly yet become acquainted with each other. We had enlisted in haste, had been hurried off to the front so quickly, and had been kept on such con- stant movement, that there had been no chance to be- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 125 come acquainted outside of our own immediate coteries, so to speak. We were simply a big crowd of compara- tive strangers. Soldiers in the army always divide themselves into couples. Every man has his partner (usually called "pard"), and they were to each other almost man and wife. I will not go into this right here, for my present partner was one with whom I only had a comparatively short connection, and the ordinary relations between "pards" did not prevail. My partner, or bed-mate, just then was Heber Wells, the orderly sergeant of the company. I could not call him a tent-mate, for we had no tents at this time, having left our Sibleys at Rock- ville, and the "shelter" or "pup tents" had not yet been given out to us. In another stage of the story I will have something to say about the man who was essentially "my partner," John Butterworth, with whom I was thrown in accidentally, as it were, but whom I found to be one of the best of fellows and a "partner" in more senses than one. Heber Wells was the orderly sergeant. He was the busiest man in the company. He had to call the rolls, attend to all the company reports, and in other respects do the work of the commissioned officers, so that he was kept at it all the while and did not have opportunity to spend much time with the gatherings and groups of the privates. He was always a gentleman, always a good friend, always a brave man, and always carried himself with a dignity that was inborn. Then there was John Stansfield, always full of fun, but at the same time dignified. Two other characters were also already familiar to the whole company — "Slaughter House Ike" and "Reddy Mabar," the former particularly, not only on account of his peren- nial wit, but because of his everlasting penchant to get into trouble. I might also mention my old printer associates, David Harris, Liv. Allen and Curt Brown, and such men as Abe Ackerman, James J. Vanderbeck, James W. Post, John J. Carlough, Daniel S. Wanamaker, Samuel Dougherty, John Anderson, Jacob Berdan, Henry Clark, John Farlow, Alexander Kidd, Archibald Mc- 126 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Call, George Mickle, Henry Speer, Thomas Vander- beck, Charles Noble, William Lambert, and others who were acquaintances by this time, and the most of whom are living to-day. There were plenty of others in the company with whom I became acquainted afterward, but the above about comprised the limit of personal ac- quaintances at the time mentioned, and I particularly remember them as we were approaching the place where we were to engage in our first real fighting. John Ick had the "slaughter-house" fever bad just then. He broke out every five minutes with some re- mark about the "shambles" and every wounded man that came along was the signal for a fresh outbreak. But there was no reprimand or fun cast at John Ick at this time, for we all felt the same way, and to a great extent he expressed our sentiments. In speaking for myself in saying that I was in a per- petual state of nervous fright, I think I can speak for the rest. Once when a lad, I had come near drowning. I was under the water long enough to remember every- thing that I had ever done in my life. I remember to this day how the bad things stood out in the boldest relief. Things that I then considered very wicked per- haps would not trouble my conscience so much nowa- days, but the smallest offense seemed a great sin then and it was pictured before me like a panorama. So it was now. I felt as sure that I was going to be killed as I did when I was under the water when a lad. I thought over my comparatively short life and every- thing that I had done. I wished that I had not done somethings. I wished that I had lived a better life, that I was a member of the church and in other respects better. In fact I thought I was going to die, and I was afraid, not so much of the simple dying, as of the mj-s- terious hereafter. In fact I felt afraid to die, and I am sure that I mentally made up my mind that if I got through with this all right, I would lead a better life. But alas, that is the rule always. " When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be. When the devil was well, the devil a monk was he." In other words I am afraid that after the big battle THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 127 that came and passed I was wickeder than ever. Such is life. I remember plainly what Henry Spear said to me. "It is all right for you young fellows, who have no one to depend upon you. But just think of me and the others who have wives and families." "That's all right," said I, "but don't you suppose ve young fellows like to live as well as you older ones?" "Perhaps; but you have no one depending on you and that makes all the difference. I don't think of myself at all, but of my wife and children." "That's true," said Heber Wells, who had heard the conversation; "if you had a family depending on you you would feel different." "And are you not afraid for your own self?" I asked. "Of course I do not want to be killed," answered Henry Spear; "but that is nothing compared with the thought of family." I was young then. I had my doubts about it. True I had no family depending on me, but I had bright prospects and — well, I had the picture of a pretty girl in my pocket who perhaps might grieve, and perhaps might not. On the whole I didn't think she would — much. But I was scared for myself, and I honestly be- lieve the others were too. I did not have any family excuse to cover up my fear. And yet, seriously, in the light of later experience, I can appreciate the fact that this must have added materially to the mental suffer- ings of the men who imagined they were going to their death. All this time we were marching and countermarch- ing, going hither and thither, as if the commanding officers were not quite satisfied where they did want us to stand. Late in the afternoon on September 15, 1862, the advance troops of our army reached the front of the enemy and preparations were at once made for the big battle that was expected to begin the following morning. That was not a pleasant night. We were in a state of nervous expectancy, and as we sat around the camp fires we discussed the awful possibilities of the morrow. The little "club" to which I belonged gave each other the directions as to what to do in case anything hap- 128 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. pened to any one of the three. We carefully went over the addresses of each other's relatives at home, and mu- tually agreed to stand by each other in case any of us were wounded. In fact we made arrangements that impressed me as being very much like the preparations for a funeral. Which of us would be the corpse? The comrade from the Third Wisconsin who had suggested the idea had told us that there was no likelihood of all three being killed. One might. Perhaps two might. But the chances were that at least one of the three would escape. Who would it be? I hoped that I would be the one, but I had my doubts about it. Was this cowardice? Was I a coward? Perhaps I was. But I really believe that if I was a coward for feeling this way, then ninety-nine hundredths of the army were cowards. It is not natural that any man, or any animal for that matter, should not be nervous and apprehensive in the face of impending death. If this feeling was cowardice, then truly I was a coward. I guess I was never cut out for a soldier, at least the kind that have to fight. I wished that I had joined the "home guards." When the reveille sounded the next morning we all arose and looked at each other in a strange way. We did not talk much, but the glance that each man gave the other was a silent inquiry or interchange of feeling. Nearly every man was pale, and everybody's eyes bore the appearance of having passed a wakeful night. In a listless way we prepared and tried to eat a little break- fast, but there was no taste to it, and we had no appe- tite. And when the order to "fall in" came, we got into the ranks in a slow, despairing sort of way, as if we had given up all hope — the sort of way that a con- demned prisoner pulls himself together to walk to the scaffold. Let a man of that regiment say, if he truthfully can, that he felt differently from the way I have tried to describe. But we did not get into the battle that day. They say that "hope deferred maketh the heart sick." I can- not say that the delay in this made any of our hearts very ill. But at the same time it was a painful wait, THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 139 withal. When a man has an aching tooth to be pulled he wants to have it hurried through and be done with, and the same sentiment prevailed now. We thought that we would rather be plunged into the unknown horror of the battle and be done with it than have to much longer suffer this terrible suspense. I am only endeavoring to describe the feelings of a private soldier on the eve of his first battle. The de- scription is tame and unsatisfactory at the best. I feel that I have greatly underestimated the sensations. We moved that day with Mansfield's corps, to which we were attached, to the neighborhood of Keedysville, where we remained all day. The preparations for the battle were seen all around us. The troops were get- ting in line for the conflict, and even to our inexperi- enced eyes, the reasons for the movements were under- stood. The artillery was being placed on the hills, the guns unlimbered and turned toward the direction where the rebels were supposed to be. The cavalry were gal- loping hither and thither to the front. Mounted order- lies dashed up to the corps headquarters with written orders to the generals. When night came we could even hear distant drums and bugles, which were said to be those of the enemy. We were getting into close quarters and no mistake. Late in the night we received orders to move. The orders were ominous. Instructions were passed around in a whisper, to move as quietly as possible. There must be no loud talking. Our tin cans and coffee pots were to be muffled in some way so that they would not rattle. Under no circumstances must any man light his pipe or strike a match for any purpose whatever, for it was a quiet maneuver in the dark, to be made with- out letting the enemy know what was going on. That was enough. Company K wasn't going to let the enemy know where it was, not if she knew herself, and we w r ere as still as mice as we marched here and there in the dark, stumbling over almost everything in the way. We went over fences, through woods, up hill and down, past quiet farmhouses, and crossed a good- sized stream on an old bridge. We learned afterward that it was Antietam creek, made famous the next day by the bloody battle that took place along its banks. 130 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Finally we were halted in a position on the extreme right of the line, and threw ourselves on the ground for a much-needed rest. It was at that weird hour in the morning just before dawn, when it is the darkest. Scarcely had we laid ourselves on the ground than there was some very sharp shooting in front of us. The battle of Antietam had begun ! THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 131 CHAPTEE XXIII. ANTIETAM. It was the memorable day of September 17, 1862. As stated in the previous chapter, it was an hour or so before the first signs of daylight, and we had just thrown ourselves on the ground for a short rest after a tedious and fatiguing night's march. Then the shoot- ing began a little distance in front of us. Hooker's corps had been assigned the position on the right of the Union army in the hope of turning the enemy's left. Our corps was to support Hooker's. The skirmishers on our right had encountered those of the rebels on their left. They exchanged shots, and that was the firing -\ve had heard. It seems — and this was learned afterward, of course — that Stonewall Jackson's force had made a rapid march from Harper's Ferry and joined Lee during the day. Lee was one of the most able generals and astute strategists that the world ever knew. He seemed to possess a wonderful facility for learning the enemy's movements and as if by intuition knew what they were intended for. Thus by bringing his own troops into the proper position he frequently frustrated the best-laid plans of the Northern generals. In this way on this occasion he had strengthened the weakest point of the Confederate's right, where General McClellan had intended to make his most savage attack. Although but two weeks away from home, as it were, we had become quite used to the sound of musketry, but never before did the shooting seem to have the same significance 'that it d id now. We knew that we were in for it. We waited for daylight as the condemned murderer waits for the sun to rise on his last day, for 13$ TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. there was not one of us that did not regard it as his last day. "We was by dot schlaughter-haus now, sure, alretty," said John Ick, in the darkness. "Sh-h!" said Sergeant Wells. And it was the only answer to Ick's lugubrious remark, for we all felt that there was too much truth in it. Even Reddy Mahar, Ich's perennial enemy, said not a word, but hugged the ground all the closer. The minutes rolled on. Did ever time pass so slowly? Everybody was silent. Everybody was thinking — thinking — thinking! The sun would arise! Would we ever see it set? Alas, some of us did not ! The long-delayed daylight finally arrived. The first gray streaks of dawn disclosed to our eyes a vast army, lying in battle array, all ready for the fight, it seemed. The first thing done was to serve us all with a ration of fresh beef. This was the universal custom before a battle. Why was it? Was it to make us more savage, like so many animals? At all events it seemed to be the general rule. More than once I have seen an army marching into a battle with a chunk of half -roasted fresh beef in every man's hand. There used to be a tradition that the Confederates gave their men a ration of whisky and gunpowder before a fight to make them savage. I don't know whether there was any truth in this or not. We lighted fires. There was no use for secrecy now, for each army knew the proximity of the other. We stuck our fresh beef on the ends of sticks, held them in the flames of the camp fires and roasted, or rather toasted them, as best as we could. But before the meat was scarcely smoked we were ordered to change our position. The Thirteenth was formed in "close column," which is a usual way to prepare for a battle. We had never been drilled in any such movement, and to get us in the right position it was almost necessary for the officers to lead each man by the shoulders and put him where he ought to be. And to tell the truth, most of the officers knew about as little of these movements as the men. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 133 When we were in the right shape Ave were told that we might again light the fires and cook our meat for breakfast. But that breakfast was never cooked. We had scarcely got the fires started than the firing in the front began again more vigorously than we had ever heard it before. We were ordered to "fall in." Some of the men ate their beef raw. I was not used to that yet, and thrust my ration into my haversack. I didn't have much of an appetite auyhow ! Then the firing of the rifles in the front became more continuous. That was followed by the artillery. First there was a single shot, as if it were a signal. Then there was an answering roar from a far-off hill. The Union artillery responded, and the rebels answered back. The shooting of big guns extended all along the line, and the scarce risen sun was greeted with a con- tinuous salvo that sounded like ten thousand anvil choruses. The "boom — whiz — crash — boom" described in a previous chapter, was repeated and repeated a hundred, a thousand, yes, thousands of times', till the skies crashed like a thousand severe summer thunder-storms. It was simply awful! The noise was ear-splitting, and the effect on the nerves was terrible. I really believe that if it were not for the infernal noise of the artillery in a battle it would not seem half so bad. We were temporarily baited along a piece of woods ; I believe that this woods has gone into history as "The East Woods." Then every man was startled by the most unearthly yelling. None had ever before heard such demoniacal shrieks. They sounded as if they came from a lost soul in the nethermost depths of purgatory. We were all startled. It made our blood run cold. "What in the world is that man making such a noise for?" asked Sergeant Wells. "Damfino," replied Hank Van Orden, "let's go and see. ' ' Don't let the reader think that Hank meant to be pro- fane, right there in the face of death. He was so used to that expression that he would have said the same thing if spoken to by the Angel Gabriel. No one ever 134= THE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. regarded it as profanity, and even Wells did not notice it then. So we went over the edge of the woods from whence the unearthly shrieks were coming. Wells made an exclamation of horror. There was no more cool and self-possessed man in the army than Heber Wells, but the sight that he saw was enough to turn the stomach of the most hardened veterans. There lay a wounded soldier. He was a member of the One Hundred and Seventh New York, one of the regiments of our brigade, and whose face was instantly recognized. He had been struck by the fragments of a bursted shell, and both of his legs were torn off near the knees. The feet and ankles were gone entirely, but there protruded from the lacerated flesh the ends of the bones of the legs i i a most horrible manner, making a sight that was simply sickening. Nearly every man of Company K went over to take a look at the wounded man and immediately turned away with a pallid face. There were plenty of wounded men now passing through to the rear, but their injuries were compara- tively insignificant. This was the first time that any of us had seen a man mortally wounded and in the act of dying. I think that did more to upset and demoral- ize the men just at that moment than anything else in the world, and the fact that he was one of our own men, so to speak, and that the same fate was likely to over- come any one of us at any moment, made an impres- sion that was terrible. Heber Wells saw that the man was beyond hope and that all that could be done for him would be to possibly relieve his sufferings. "What do you want, man?" asked Heber, sympa- thetically. "Water, water, water!" moaned the wounded man. Wells reached for his canteen and handed it to the dying man. "No, no," he said, in a weak voice, as Heber held it to his lips. "No, not — drink. Pour — head " The man's head was bursting with the fever of the terrible anguish he was suffering. "Thank — thank — better — " painfully gasped the TSE YOVN& VOLUNTEER. 135 poor wretch, as he felt the cooling draught trickle down his forehead. An order to "fall in" ended this painful scene. The wounded man must have died a few minutes later, for he was going fast when we left him. He is probably in one of the graves in the Sharpsburg national ceme- tery marked "unknown." But the dreadful sight had made an unpleasant impression upon us, for nothing that we had yet seen had so greatly unnerved us. I don't think any member of the company ever forgot that sight. We were ordered to take a slightly changed position, to support Hexhamer's battery, which was banging away for dear life. As fast as the men could load the cannon they were sending shot and shell toward a rebel battery on an opposite hill, and the latter were sending back their shells, which were striking around us in the most reckless manner. The execution done by the enemy just then, to our intense relief, did not amount to much, for the most of the shells went over us, and exploded somewhere further in the rear. When I saw the artillerymen at work then, I began to wish that I had enlisted in that branch of the service, for it cer- tainly looked a good deal safer than the infantry or cavalry. My subsequent experience corroborated this. Let me advise the reader if there is another war, to enlist in the artillery. When an artilleryman is wounded, he is generally torn to pieces; but taken as a whole the chances of his getting out of a fight alive are a good deal better than in most of the other branches of the service and it is better in other respects. Suddenly we were ordered to lie down flat, with space between each file sufficient for some one to pass through. This strange order was soon understood, for a moment later, the Sixty -ninth New York, one of the bravest fighting regiments of the war, came running through us in the double quick. They had been ordered to charge one of the rebel bat- teries. They went down the hill on the run with their guns on their shoulders, or hanging in their arms, and when they began to ascend the other side of the valley, they brought their muskets to a "charge bayonet l" 136 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. A gallant charge they made, but they were repulsed. They were ordered back to their former position. Al- though a number of them had been killed, although there were some still in the ranks with blood streaming from their wounds, they came back through the Thir- teenth with as much regularity as if they had been in a drill, and with a discipline that excited our admiration. It was this sort of conduct that made the Sixty-ninth New York one of the most famous regiments in the war, and no historian could ever praise that regiment too much. "How do you feel, Heber?" asked Captain Irish of Heber Wells. "Hungry, just now," was Heber' s cool response. "I don't mean that. You know what I mean, Heber," said the captain. "Well, to tell the truth," was Wells' reply, "I would much rather be at home." "Do you know," said Captain Irish, "I feel as if I would never come out of this alive." "Oh, nonsense," said Wells, "you will come out all right." " No, " reiterated the captain gloomily; "I will never come out alive." Do men have presentiments of death? Inside of thirty minutes Captain Irish was a corpse ! THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 137 CHAPTER XXIV. CAPTAIN IRISH KILLED. Now comes the Thirteenth's "baptism of fire." And a bloody- one it was ! We were ordered forward ! Over eight hundred strong, in battle front, we pro- ceeded. The officers ordered us to "dress to the right," but it was a straggling line. The "z — z — z — ip" of the bullets could be heard whistling past us. And a moment later the first man of Company K fell. It was Fred King. He was mortally wounded, and died in the hospital about two weeks later. The feeling at seeing one of our own men fall out this way was indescribable. I shall not attempt to do it. But no matter who fell we must obey orders. And the pitiless, relentless order was "Forward!" The cannon balls and shell struck around us, tearing up the earth, and sometimes ricochetting or bouncing along the ground a great distance, like a flat stone skims across the water of a pond. Wounded men lay everywhere. Some were writhing and kicking. Others lay still. Some of the human forms were already quiet in death. The number of dead horses was enormous. They seemed to lie every- where. But it was still "Forward!" We climbed over a rail fence. It was a road, the old road that yet runs from Hagerstown to Sharpsburg. We did not take the road, however, for the order was still "Forward!" We climbed over the fence on the other side of the road. We marched some fifteen or twenty feet into what was then a meadow. We could not see any of the enemy, although their bullets were whistling past our heads. The rebels seemed to be in a woods on the other side of the meadow. 138 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Suddenly something occurred that seemed almost su- pernatural. A vast number of the enemy appeared to rise straight out of the solid earth, and they poured into us a deadly volley of leaden hail. It is not believed that there is another geological for- mation like that particular spot on the face of the earth. Great military men from all over the world have since inspected it, and said that it seemed as if nature, in a savage mood, had made those natural breastworks, simply for the purpose for which they were used on that particular day. Let me describe that field if I can. On one side, as before said, was a road, flanked by a post and rail fence. On the other side was a little valley, at the bottom of which was a small brook, and beyond this, a woods. About two-thirds of the distance to one side of the field, nearest the woods, there is a sudden drop in the surface of the ground, making a step of about four or five feet in height. The perpendicular side of this step is of ledgy rock. On the upper level, and on the lower level, it is tillable ground. It is as if one-third of the field had simply dropped its level about five feet. Standing over by the fence the whole field looks flat, without a break in it. No one would ever think there was such a step there. It is one of the most wonderful formations in the world. It extends from one side of the field to the other, a distance perhaps equal to two city blocks in length. It was behind this singular, natural breastworks that the rebels had concealed themselves, and quietly waited till we had got within shooting distance and then sud- denly stood up and fired into us. When standing erect, their aimed muskets were a little above the higher level. It was thus that it appeared as if the enemy had actually arisen right out of the solid earth. They fired into us a murderous volley. Surprised, demoralized, we wavered and fell back and made for the first fence, on the nearest side of the road! Does anybody wonder? Remember that we were green troops. This was the first battle we had been in. It was scarcely two weeks since we had left the muster- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 139 ing camp at Newark. Perhaps there were not half a dozen men in the regiment who knew the least thing about loading and firing a rifle. Under such circum- stances, and thus surprised by what seemed like an ap- parition of the enemy, the most experienced troops would have wavered. What wonder then that the green and inexperienced Thirteenth Regiment broke and with one accord made for the fence. Most of the officers, to their everlasting honor be it said, were marvelously cool and collected in that terri- ble scene. They succeeded in stopping the stampede. They re-formed us on the road before we had climbed the second fence, and we were again turned against the enemy. _ A cessation, for a few moments, not entirely, but par- tially, of the firing, enabled us to collect our shattered senses as we gazed over the meadow we had just left. Then we saw the murderous effect of the volley that had been fired into our ranks by the enemy concealed behind those natural breastworks. There in the meadow lay nine dead and sixty wounded men of the Thirteenth Regiment— the work of a single volley ! There was but one man there who seemed not to be wounded. It was Heber Wells, one of the bravest men in the battle that ever lived. I wish that I had suffi- cient mastery of the pen to adequately describe and give proper tribute to Heber Wells' bravery. Why had he remained behind in the storm of bullets that were whistling past him, when everybody else had fled? He had remained beside the body of his dead captain. j Captain Irish had been killed ! When the captain saw the company wavering, he raised his sword aloft and cried out the words that have made his memory famous . "Rally, boys! Rally!" And just as he said this, he fell, pierced by a bullet. Sergeant Wells saw him fall and returned to his side. Wells imagined at first that the captain had been shot in the head, but could not find the wound. "Captain," said he, "are you hurt?" 140 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "Heber, I'm killed!" Captain Irish pressed his hand on his right breast, glanced gratefully at his faithful friend Heber, gasped painfully — and was dead ! And thus died one of the bravest, kindest-hearted men that ever lived. Thus died my old friend, my old em- ployer. When the members of Company K realized what had happened they were paralyzed with horror. The poetry of war, however, had Leen verified, for the first man to be killed was the captain, while in the brave act of rallying his wavering men. Heber Wells tore open the captain's coat and shirt, and found a small wound near the right nipple of his breast. There was not a particle of blood oozing from it. But it had reached a vital spot. Wells put his ear to the captain's breast, and heard the last fluttering of his stilling heart. Then Wells searched the pockets, taking from them the captain's watch, the papers and memorandums, and unfastened his sword. He tried to get the pocket knife and other things on the other side, but could not, on ac- count of the way the body was twisted around. There was imminent danger of the Union troops being repulsed and the body falling into the hands of the rebels, and Heber did not want any of the contents of the captain's pockets to fall into the hands of the enemy. Then Wells made up his mind to rescue the body. The bullets Avere still whistling about his ears in a dan- gerous fashion, but he seemed to care naught for that. Picking up the things he had removed from the cap- tain's pockets, and his sword, he took them over to the road and called for volunteers to rescue the captain's body. There were plenty of responses of this noble, yet sad duty, dangerous though it was. Of the volunteers, Wells selected Jacob Engle, Lewellen T. Probert and Jacob Berdan, and the four carried the captain's body over the fence and laid it in the road. Word was sent home as soon as possible and a dele- gation came on and took charge of the remains. They were brought home and Captain Irish's funeral was one of the largest ever seen in Paterson. Business was sus- pended, the streets were hung with banners bearing the THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 141 last famous words of the dead captain, flags were dis- played at half-mast, all the public and many private buildings were draped with mourning, aud an immense concourse of people followed the body to the grave at Sandy Kill, where it was buried. Captain Irish was a member of the First Baptist Church of Paterson, and a handsome memorial tablet was set in the walls, and is there yet. Later, when the Sons of Veterans were organized, the first post started in Paterson was named "Captain Hugh C. Irish Cainp, No. 8." _ Captain Irish was not the only one of Company K who lost his life in that battle. The others were Frederick C. King, Curtis Bowne, John B. Doremus, Robert Gammall and Abraham JMargoff . The latter was killed instantaneously. The others were mortally wounded and died afterward. The case of Curtis Bowne was very peculiar, as will be described a little further on. Company C, the other Paterson company, also suf- fered severely, there being three who were fatally shot, namely : Peter Arlington, John M. Sheperd and George Me3*ers. All these were Paterson boys. Altogether in the regiment, however, as before stated, there were nine killed and some sixty wounded, and the whole thing occurred in that one murderous volley, which did not take more time than it does to write this sentence. The captain being dead, the command of the com- pany fell on First Lieutenant Scott. But he was liors de combat too. The lieutenant was not killed, but sick — very sick. When Sergeant Wells went to look for him, he found the lieutenant lying alongside the fence, doubled up with cramps and vomiting like a dog. Sergeant Wells ordered a couple of men to take the lieutenant to the rear, and assumed command of the company himself. But the battle wasn't over yet ! 142 THE YOVNQ VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XXV. THE REST OF ANTIETAM. Not much account of the time of day is kept during a battle, but everybody seems to agree that it was about 9 o'clock in the morning when Captain Irish was killed. The battle of Antietam lasted all day on the 17th of September, 1862. So the fighting was not over yet, by any means. On the contrary it had just fairly begun. People who are reading this story for the fun it con- tains will not find much that is very funny right here. They were certainly a good many amusing things in the army, but there were just as many that were horri- ble. All phases of war life will be given in the order in which they come, the object being to present all the different experiences of a soldier just as they are, and that these reminiscences are given faithfully and accu- rately I am sure every veteran will admit. The battle of Antietam was not over yet, nor was the part the Thirteenth New Jersey played in it. From its position on the pike the regiment was ordered back into the woods, pretty nearly the same it had occupied before proceeding down to its baptism. We had scarcely got there before the enemy made his appearance in full force on the other side of the turn- pike. Then our artillery opened up on them in good shape. This attack of the Confederates had evidently been intended to capture that battery on the hill, which was giving them a good deal of trouble. But they didn't get that battery, not by a long shot. The enemy was given a hot dose of shot and shell and shrapnel and canister (packages of bullets and slugs which burst open and mow down the ranks of the victims like a scythe), and the enemy was promptly sent back to his shelter at the edge of the woods. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 143 The Thirteenth Regiment, already demoralized by the volley down in the meadow, where Captain Irish had been killed and so many wounded, had not got over it and this second attack very much scattered them. It took some time for the officers to get them together in good shape again, but they finally succeeded in doing so. Just then an order came for the regiment to report to General Green, over by the " Dunker church, " where the enemy was massing in force and pressing the Union troops dangerouslj r . It is not often that I strike anything lucky, but I cer- tainly did just then. It became necessary to detail some men to guard some ammunition wagons that were bringing supplies to the battery on the hill, and as my name was next on the roster, I was one of the men selected for this duty. It was dangerous, of course, but nothing to be compared with ordinary fighting, and I gladly welcomed the "assignment." Some of the other fellows greeted me enviously and offered to change places with me, but I did not see it in that light. So for the rest of the day I viewed the battle from the hills, following the ammunition wagons around from one place to another on the heights as they visited the different batteries. I don't know what special use there was for a guard for the wagons, but I did not stop to inquire. Any detail that will take a man out of the very front of a battle is always a welcome one. The cannon balls and shells came pretty close at times, but I had got somewhat used to them, and nothing after all was so bad as the insidious little bullets of the rifles. The main portion of the regiment, however, was in it again for fair. They were marched down about a mile to the left, and up the hill back of the old Dunker church. This was a small brick structure, about the size of a country schoolhouse, and it was right in the thick of the battle of the afternoon. It was struck sev- eral times, and big holes were made through the walls by the shells. And by the way the church and its surroundings look about as forlorn and uncivilized now as they did 144 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. on the clay of the battle thirty-two and over years ago. The name"Dunker" arose from the fact that the church was the worshipping place of a religious sect called the Dimkards. Up back of this church the Thirteenth Regiment, led by General Green himself, came near being captured. The enemy advanced toward us with their guns held as if they were either out of ammunition or else wanted to surrender, and quietly marched down to the right as if going peaceabl} T to the rear. Adjutant Charles A. Hopkins (afterward captain of Company K), with another officer went out with a white handkerchief on a sword as a sort of truce to see what was meaut by these mysterious movements. Hopkins had got out into the open field where he was exposed to every danger, when it became evident to everybody that the crafty enemy was trying to work the dodge of get- ting in our rear, and thus putting us between two fires, which would have annihilated the Thirteenth in a few moments. The scheme was discovered by the Union troops, and the fact that it was seen through was discovered by the Confederates almost simultaneously, and the firing began at once on both sides in a very lively sort of a manner. Those who were there say that the horror of the fight that was commenced was almost offset by the sight of Adjutant Hopkins and his companion skedad- dling over that field to get out of the way of the bullets that came from both directions at once. As if by a miracle, however, neither of them was struck. This engagement lasted for an hour or so and there were a number of the Thirteenth killed and wounded. Some of those who are put down as being killed in the first volley may have been killed at this spot, as the records do not divide the encounters, the total loss being charged to the one engagement of "Antietam." The Thirteenth Regiment, however, stood its ground in -a manner extremely creditable for new troops, but they were confronted by superior numbers, and were finally compelled to fall back to a safer position. Their place was taken, later, by fresher troops, who at least suc- ceeded in holding the position, THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. H5 In the meantime there was some very hard fighting in progress on the lower side of the Dunker church, where the memorable charge of the Sixth corps took place, a portion of which I observed from my elevated position on the hill with the artillery. Although I was personally in a state of fright for fear that something might happen to necessitate my being sent to the front again, yet I could not help admiring the magnificent ex- hibitions of bravery which I saw almost every minute. Fortunately for me, however, I was kept guarding that blessed ammunition wagon for the balance of the day. Had a shell struck it and exploded, both the wagon and myself, including the driver and the mules, would have ascended skyward, but I never thought of that, even if I knew it. When an old soldier told me afterward that guarding an ammunition wagon under an artillery fire was one of the most dangerous things in a fight, I felt quite nervous over the risks I had run. But where ignorance is bliss 'tis folly to be wise, and I never knew anything about the likelihood of an ammu- nition wagon blowi?ig up. I faithfully attended to the duty of seeing that no one stole anything out of the wagon, and I supposed that was what I was there for. Certainly I could see no other reason. The Thirteenth Regiment after its retreat from the field near the Dunker church did not get into any more active fighting that day, although it was called upon several times to support other regiments and batteries. The fighting late in the afternoon was more severe fur- ther down in the direction [of Sharpsburg, particularly around the old stone bridge over Antietam creek where General Burnside made his famous stand, and which has ever since been called "Burnside Bridge." So far as I could judge the line of battle front ex- tended a distance of eight or ten miles from one end to the other, and the Hagerstown pike was practically the dividing line between the two armies all day. It is needless to say that every soldier was completely tired out when night finally came. Colonel Carman, the commandant of the Thirteenth, fell from his horse or was injured in some other way early in the engagement, and the command of the regi* 146 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ment fell to Lieutenant- Colonel Swords, and he acquitted himself with credit. General Mansfield was mortally wounded in the morning and the command of the corps fell on our division commander, General A. S. Wil- liams. In the afternoon fighting Company K was com- manded by Orderly Sergeant Wells, for there were no commissioned officers left, and so well did Sergeant Wells acquit himself that day, that just as soon as necessary preliminary red tape arrangements could be gone through with he wore the shoulder-straps of a sec- ond lieutenant, and his place as orderly sergeant was taken by Sergeant Hank Van Orden. On the whole the Thirteenth, for the first time under fire, had acquitted itself with more than ordinary credit, and this was publicly accorded in subsequent "general orders," which is the only way the rank and file ever get any premium on having more than done their duty. I am not trying to tell the whole story of the battle of Antietam. That is published in various volumes. I am only telling what I know of it. It is not much, to be sure, but it is as much as the ordinary private soldier knew about any battle in which he participated. No one had stolen the ammunition wagon and I had done my part of the duties of the day. When evening came the wagon was turned in with a lot of others to a sort of extemporized quartermaster's department, and I naturally expected to be sent back to my company. But my troubles were not yet over for that night. Something entirely out of the usual run occurred, which prevented me from getting the much-needed night's rest. TJSE YOUNG- VOLUNTEEB. 147 CHAPTER XXVI. A "slaughter house" sure. Instead of being ordered back to the regiment, I was, with some other men, sent down the road to guard some cattle that were to be killed in the morning for fresh beef. To my delight I found two other members of my company detailed on the same duty. They were Curtis Bowne and E. L. Allen, both old printing-office associ- ates, too. There were twelve cattle in the drove that we were to guard, under the charge of a corporal. We got them in a corner of a field, and divided ourselves up into three "reliefs," that is, one of us was to watch for two hours while the others slept, when our turns would be changed, so that each man would have "two hours on and four off," according to the regular custom. We lighted a fire, cooked some coffee, and had a smoke before turning in for a rest. The conversation of course turned on the events of the day, and particu- larly on the death of Captain Irish. Then we began to talk about the wounded members of Company K. "By the way," said Bowne, "I got a little dose of it myself. Look at this." He took off his cap and turned his face toward the camp*fire. In the middle of his forehead there was a small round bruise, as if it had been hit with a stone. "What is it?" I asked. "I don't know. I think I must have been hit by a spent ball that just bruised the skin without entering." "You are sure that it did not go into your brains?" I remarked laughingly. I had no more of an idea of such a thing than Curt did. "No!" he answered good-naturedly. "My brains are not as soft as that." 148 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "Does it hurt?" I asked. "Not a bit," was the answer. "It is nothing — not worth talking about." And none of us thought at the time that it was. Yet at that very moment there was a one-ounce bullet im- bedded in Curt Bowne's brain that afterward caused his death. He remained with the regiment for some days and then his head began to pain him so badly that he had to be sent to the hospital. He grew worse, but very slowly, and he actually lived until the following March, when he died from the effects of the wound which was at first supposed by all to be so trivial. This certainly was a singular case. I am told that it was duplicated during the war, but there were few in- stances like it. For a man to live from September till the following March with a large bullet imbedded in the folds of his brain is certainly something wonderful. The theory of the doctors, if I remember rightly, was that the bullet had passed between the convolutions of the brain without lacerating their coverings, that there was consequently no immediate internal hemorrhage, and that death resulted at last from slow inflammation. We couldn't get over the sad death of Captain Irish, and as two of my comrades of that night had worked with me under him in the Guardian office, we felt all the more keenly his loss. It seemed as if we had suffered the loss of a relative. I felt very moist about the eyes when I recalled how he had bathed my blistered feet with ointment only a few days before in the camp at Rockville. "What is that strange noise?" remarked Bowne; "it sounds like some one humming." We listened. There certainly was a queer noise com- ing from the direction of an old barn on the lower end of the field. But we didn't pay much attention to it then. We went on discussing the battle. During the day, in the excitement, it had appeared like nothing but a gigantic excitement — a rushing mob, with deafening thunders of cannon and rattling volleys of musketry; of crowds of men rushing hither and thither; of men and horses falling around us; of bloody soldiers hastening frantically to some quiet and safe spot. It was a nightmare ! THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER, 149 But now that it was over we began to realize what we had gone through. As each minute passed the hor- rors of the day seemed to stand out more and more vivid. With blanched faces each gave his version of the scene of the slaughter, and the merits and demerits of the individual members of Company K were dis- cussed at length. All through it all came that strange murmuring noise we had referred to. It was a low hum, like the sound of the insects on a summer's night, only less sharp. It formed a background of our whole talk. More than once we stopped to listen and wonder what it was. "Did any one see John Ick during the fight?" I asked. "Didn't you hear about him?" answered Curt. "No." "Why, he sneaked!" "Sneaked!" "That's what he did— sneaked out!" "How was that?" "Well, when the company was re-formed in the road after that sudden volley, you know," said Bowne, ex- plaining, "some one asked what had become of John Ick and Reddy Mahar. Lem Smith said that he saw them going over toward the woods on a run. One of the sergeants, I think it was Hank Van Orden, was sent to see if he could find them and bring them back to the regiment, which was just then marchiug back to the place where it had been in the morning. ' ' "Well," I asked, interrupting, "did he find them?" "The sergeant didn't find Reddy. He turned up afterward from somewhere. But Hank found Ick, and where do you think he was?" I answered that I was sure I could not tell. "Up in the woods, behind a tree," said Curt. "He had got an old rubber overcoat somewhere, which he had put on, and then squatted behind the tree. The coat was covered with mud and looked like a big stone. In fact Hank said he thought it was a rock at first. But the stone coughed, and looking a little closer, Hank discovered Ick hiding under it. Hank gave him a kick and told him to come back to the company. Ick said l£0 TIIE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. that he had had enough of the slaughter-house business and was going home. But Hank made him come along." "Did he take part in the fight in the afternoon?" I asked. "Yes," answered Curt, "and he stood up to the rack like a major. He seemed to have got over his panic of the morning." "Well, I declare," said I. "I imagined that with all his talk about slaughter houses that he would be all right when it came to a pinch. But where did Keddy come from?" "I don't know," said Curt. "He arrived in the camp just as I left the company to come here." "Did any of the other fellows of Company K sneak?" I asked. "Not a single one of them, they all " "For the love of God, don't— Oh-h-h !" This came over from the direction of the barn before referred to. It was not like a cry. It was a shriek. It was a loud -cracked voice, that seemed to come from the very depths of some human soul. I never heard such a tone of voice in my life again. It was like the shriek of a wounded horse. We listened, breathless. Then we heard that mys- terious, low moaning chorus that had attracted our attention so often. "Suppose we go over to that barn and see what it is, Joe," suggested Liv. Allen. I consented and went. I wished that I never had. The old barn was being utilized as a field hospital. It was one of those big old-fashioned Southern barns, with a large open space in the middle of a row of stalls on the two sides. The floor was covered with wounded men, lying closely side by side. On the bare floor, in a row, as thick as they could lie, were the maimed human beings that had just been operated upon. Some were conscious, but the most of them were moaning and groaning. These moans and groans arose in the night air like a chorus. It was this that we had heard from our place on the opposite side of the field where we were guarding the cattle. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 151 I passed between the rows of wounded men, many of whom would never be removed from their hard couches, except as corpses. Li v. and I stopped to look more carefully at one poor fellow whose face seemed familiar. This poor wretch — we didn't recognize him after all — had just suffered an amputation of the left arm at the shoulder joint. He looked at me appealingly, as if he wished to say something. I knelt at his side and held down my ear. He made an effort to speak, but not a sound came from his lips. On the contrary, he simply turned his head — and there ran from his mouth a stream of what looked like dark-green paint. His legs stiffened out, a convulsion passed over him, an ashen hue suffused his face. He was dead ! Horror-stricken I rushed through the barn and out of the rear side, closely followed by Liv. Allen. We had better have gone the other way, for here were horrors a thousand times worse. The surgeons were at their ghoulish work on this side of the barn. Upon a board, laid upon two barrels, was stretched a human form. Perhaps it was the same poor fellow whose yell of anguish had aroused and startled us. But he was silent now. A young medical cadet was'hold- ing a chloroform -saturated handkerchief to his nose. The doctors were about to amputate the shattered mass of flesh that was once a leg. The surgeons were in their shirt sleeves. The aprons that some ol them wore were as red with blood as if they had been butchers. Assistants held candles to light the operation. I saw the doctor give one cut into the fleshy part of the man's thigh — and fled ! But I ran straight into another amputating table — a board over two barrels. Here they were taking off an arm ! Turning, I ran against another ! In every direc- tion that I might go, I would run against one of the horrid things. Blinded with fright and terror, I tried to escape. I don't know what became of my companion. Seeing an apparently open way, I deliriously rushed in that direc- tion, but meeting some obstruction, I stumbled and fell. What had I fallen into? In grasping to steady my- 152 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. self, I caught hold of something wet and slimy! It was quite dark, but I could see! I could see all too plainly. Would to heaven I could not see ! I had fallen headlong into a heap of horrors — a pile of human legs and arms that had just been amputated. I shall not attempt to say how many there were. Were I to say there were a dozen wagon-loads of arms and legs, hands and feet, in that ghastly pile, I might not be believed ! And yet I do not believe that it would be an exag- geration. As I lay there, scrambling for a foothold in that slimy, slippery, bloody, hideous mass of cold flesh — human flesh — there arose from one of the operating tables another wild shriek: "Oh, doctor! Oh! O-h! Oh-h-h! O-o-o-o-h! . . kill me! Kill me and be done with it! Kill me, and put me out of my misery!" My overwrought brain could stand no more! I fainted ! I dropped unconscious into the slimy, slippery, bloody mass of amputated legs and arms ! The young volunteer. 153 CHAPTER XXVII. A WONDERFUL FREAK OF NATURE. The incidents related in the preceding chapter are not exaggerations. There is not a soldier living who went through several battles, but that has seen great piles of dismembered arms and legs lying around the operating tables of the surgeons. A veteran who was at the battle of Gettysburg says that he was one of a detail to bury these horrible human remnants, and he counted no less than eight hundred in the pile around the operating table of one temporary hospital. And at that battle there were a hundred of such places where a similar thing was to be seen. You pass middle-aged or old men on the streets even now, minus arms or legs. A large proportion of them were wounded in the army, and their lost limbs are mingled with the dust of some Southern battlefield. The sight of encountering such a hideous pile the first time is enough to overcome almost anybody. It over- came me, and when I fell headlong into the bloody, slimy mass, it made my stomach turn, my head swim, and; I fainted. I do not know how long I remained unconscious. When I recovered I was lying beside the rail-fence fire that had been started by my companions on the cattle guard. They revived me with a cup of hot coffee, which was the panacea for all the ills of the soldier, the same as whisky is for some people in civil life. I was very much fatigued and fell asleep. So did the others. It was Curt Bowne's turn to keep awake and guard the cattle. Like the rest of us he was tired out, and perhaps the w r ound in his head made him the more drowsy. At all events he fell asleep too, when he should have remained awake, and some time during the night, Liv. Allen awoke to find that the cattle had disappeared. There was not a single steer to be seen. 154 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Whatever became of those twelve cattle — whether they were driven off by some one when we were asleep, or whether they had some presentiment of the "slaugh- ter house" that John Ick was always talking about — none of us ever knew. All that we did know was that there were twelve steers there when we were placed in charge and none when we awoke in the night from our sound sleep. Take twelve from twelve and nothing remains. What should we do? Here we were confronted by an entirely new problem ; we had a vague sort of an idea that it was a serious matter for a soldier to go to sleep on his post, but did not know what the penalty was — at least not then. We had no excuse to offer, for the offense was self -apparent. The cattle were not there. Any one could see that — or rather they could not see it — or them ! So we held a council of war. "There is only one thing that I can see that we can do," said Li v. Allen. He wasn't a Methodist minister at that time and might perhaps make suggestions that he would not make in these days. "There is only one thing that we can do, and that is to see if we cannot find those cattle — or some others. If they are not the same ones, who can tell the difference?" We caught on. Liv.'s proposition, stripped of all sur- plus verbiage, was to get twelve cattle somehow — hon- estly if we could, but get them anyhow. So we started out on a nocturnal hunt. It has often struck me since as strange that we met no guards or pickets or other thiDgs to stop us that night and ask us where we were going, and if we had a pass. But we encountered nothing of the sort. We went right along without the least molestation. We passed through thousands of sleeping soldiers along each side of the road (it was Hagerstown pike), and more than once passed droves of cattle, but their guards were more faithful than we had been. They were awake and watchful. There were no appropriat- ing any of those herds. "If we don't strike a fat barnyard, we're lost," said Curt Bowne. We all had arrived at the same conclu- sion. _ . . THE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. 155 "And there is do use following this main road," said Liv. Allen, wisely. "Let's strike off somewhere to one side." I don't know how far we went, but we finally came to a large barn on a farm that seemed well stocked and prosperous, and carefully going around behind it we were delighted to find me yard back of the building filled with cattle. With as little noise as possible we picked out twelve (as we supposed) of the cows and corraled them. None of us apparently remembered that we had been placed in charge of steers, and these were cows. In fact I don't tli ink any one thought of that matter. In the darkness of the night it would perhaps have been somewhat difficult to distinguish anyhow. The corporal who was in charge of the guard which we three printers from the Thirteenth composed, was an old soldier — one of the Third Wisconsin boys. He had gone through the mill and knew the ropes. "This is a snap," said he, as he emerged from a small building alongside the barn, holding a big rooster by the legs. The fowl began to squawk, but that was soon stopped by seizing him by the neck. Bowne and Allen followed suit, and each came out with a fine chicken. I was about to do the same thing, when the corporal interrupted : "We have got about enough poultr} T ," said he. "In that next shed you will find some fine suckin' pigs. Get one of them.' I reached over the fence and carefully grabbed one of the little pigs from its snug bed under its mother's side. The old sow grunted, but did not seem to appreciate the loss of one of her helpless offspring. But I had not gone far before that infernal young pig began the most itrageous squealing, and all that I could do I could not stop it. "Drop it, d — n the critter," said the corporal. "Let's git. There is no time to fool around here now." And we "got." The other fellows held on to their chickens but I was empty handed except for the stick 1 had picked up to facilitate the driving of the cattle "I'm afraid we will catch it for this in the morning," 156 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. said I, when I began to appreciate the fact that we were nothing but a lot of cattle thieves. "NonseDse, pard," said the corporal from the Wis- consin regiment. "These critters will be all cut up into mincemeat by the time the old codger who owns them fiads out that they are gone. Besides this is nothing for these times. I have done this same thing many a time before. It's a darned sight better than getting hauled up for sleeping on our posts. ' ' I thought perhaps this might be so, but my conscience troubled me a little still. I was a young soldier, and hadn't got hardened to such things. Many a time I helped do similar acts afterward and never once thought about it — unless caught at it! It was nearly daylight when we got back to the place where we had been posted at sunset, and drove the cattle into the same corner and relighted the fire. And when the sun arose we sat and stood around with faces as in- nocent as if we had faithfully performed our duty and had not been away from the place at all. We had a good breakfast of broiled chicken that morning. The broiling was done by sticking parts of the fowl on the end of sticks and holding them into the flames of the fire, and I can assure the reader that that is a good way to broil chicken all the same. We did not use the whole of it for breakfast, but put what was left in our haversacks for a future occasion. At 9 o'clock the relief came along and a new guard took charge of the cattle. "How's this?" asked the officer of the new guard, of our corporal. ' ' This order says that you are to be re- lieved of the charge of twelve steers. And these are cows. And let me see — one. two, three, etc. — why, there are thirteen of them ! How's that?" We privates looked dismayed as we ran our eyes over the cattle and counted thirteen. In the darkness of the night we had stolen one too many. But no officer could throw that Wisconsin corporal off his gaard. "Don't know nothing about it, lufftenant," said he. "Them there's the critters we had turned over to us. I didn't count 'em. Guess the other fellows must have made a mistake." THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 157 "But they're cows, not steers," said the officer. "And you ought to know that the government never kills cows for beef." None of us had noticed this wonderful freak of nature. "Don't know nothing about that," replied the cor- poral. "If them was steers yesterday they must have changed during the night somehow, for they're cows now sure enough. It am a curious circumstance, 1 vow. ' ' The lieutenant evidently thought there was no use arguing the point with the corporal any further, and said nothing more. We were relieved of our charge and ordered back to our brigade. "Dash my buttons," said the corporal, when we had got out of hearing. "I wish some of you fellows would give me a good kick." "What for, corporal?" I asked. "Don't you see," he answered, "we had one critter too many, and we might ha' killed her and had fried brains for our breakfast. And then did you see them udders? We might ha' had milk in our coffee. Kick me for a fool!" He was an old soldier. And to lose such an unusual opportunity to improve the menu of a soldier was not at all "in accordance with the regulations." 158 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XXVIII. SLEEPING WITH A DEAD REB. We got back to the Thirteenth Regiment about 11 o'clock. We passed through what seemed to be many miles of soldiers, all resting. They were lying about, smoking and otherwise taking it easy. And they needed the rest, for it was the first time there had been a stop in many days, and everybody was played out from the previous day's big battle. There is nothing more fatiguing than a battle. One does not notice at the time how much marching and running about he has. When the excitement is over the reaction comes and nature demands a rest. It was the first I had seen of my company since I had left them immediately after the murderous volley that killed Captain Irish. I found the boys downhearted over the loss of the captain. The particulars of the afternoon fighting were related to me, together with many other interesting and thrilling incidents that I had not per- sonally noticed or participated in. Nothing was talked about but the previous day's experience. The boys had seen a battle. They did not care to see any more. All had had enough ! Lieutenant Scott had recovered from his sickness and was in command of the company, while Orderly Ser- geant Wells, beside his legitimate duties, seemed to be acting in the capacity of lieutenant also. What struck all the soldiers that day, and it has sim- ilarly impressed all the subsequent historians of the war, was whj T General McClellan did not follow up the enemy. The fight, as it stood, was what might be called a drawn battle. Neither party could claim a victory. From the camp occupied by the Thirteenth Regiment The young volunteer. 159 on September 18, 1862, we could see the camps of the enemy on the opposite hills. We could see their flags and their guards. We could see their cannons and their mounted officers. They seemed to manifest no disposi- tion to renew the fight; neither did we. All through that day we momentarily expected to hear a cannon shot that would be the signal for the re- newal of hostilities, but it did not come. Everything was as quiet as a country convention, except for the drums and bugles that we could hear from the camps of the rebels as plainly as we could hear our own. Toward night we could see the signal flags of the enemy wig-wagging from the hills, and we took it for granted that that was preliminary to a renewal of the fighting in the morning. When we went to sleep that night we fully believed that we would be aroused before daylight by the thunders of the artillery and that that would be another day of terrible carnage. But the battle was over. In the morning when we looked in the direction of the enemy's camp there was nothing to be seen. The rebels had quietly sneaked away during the night and had crossed the Potomac in safety. There was not one of us private soldiers but was glad that the fighting was over for the present, but at the same time there was not one who could understand why General McClellan had not followed up the advantage he had. He might have pursued the rebels that day, and, forcing them down to the banks of the river, simply annihilated them and ended the war then and there. General McClellan, in the opinion of the soldiers gen- erally, was one of the best officers the army ever had, but his conduct on that occasion was never satisfactorily explained to them. In the afternoon of the following day (the 19th) we were ordered to move, and we marched through a good part of the battlefield. Then for the first time we ap- preciated what an awful battle it had been. Blackened remains of soldiers lay scattered everywhere, gray and blue side by side, leveled in death. It was an impres- sive thing to see a dead Union soldier lying beside a dead Confederate. Both had been cut down in the act 160 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. of trying to take each other's life. How futile it all was! There lay the dead soldier in blue. By his side lay the dead soldier in gray. What was it to them now? Their life struggles were over, and what was the bene- fit? Perhaps both of them had families to support. I can tell the reader that this sight brought up many strange feelings. It touched the heart as nothing else could. Could the dispute have been left to the rank and file, how quickly would the war have been ended. The Union loss in that battle was 11,420, and that of the Confederates, 10,000. But few of the bodies had been buried. In places — "Bloody Lane," for instance — the dead bodies had been piled up six and eight high, just where they had fallen upon each other in a hand-to- hand conflict. Many Union soldiers had been stripped of their uniforms by the half -clothed rebels, and lay there stark naked, stiff and dead, in most cases with their limbs drawn up as if they had died in agony. Many of the bodies had turned so black that at first they were mistaken for negroes. Dead horses lay everywhere. Broken muskets, un- limbered cannon, wrecks of caissons and baggage wagons were scattered about. The ground seemed to be actually strewn with discarded cartridge boxes and belts, and you could pick up a vet's blanket every few feet. There were a good many stragglers. Many fell out of the ranks from sheer fatigue. I was one of them. The excitement of the past two or three days, and tho fact of having undergone so much fatigue were too much for me. During one of the stops I crawled up to the side of a fence, lay down and fell asleep. The reader will perhaps begin to think that I was a confirmed "straggler." I can't well deny the allega- tion. But I had plenty of company, for there were many others just as bad. I did not awake till some time late in the night. The last of the army had passed. I could hear the "tinkle, tinkle" of the thousands of tin cups in the far off dis- tance. There was no use of my trying to catch up with the regiment. So I decided to make myself comfortable for the balance of the night. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 161 There were plenty of other stragglers flying about. Some of them were not stragglers asleep, but dead men, although I did not know it at the time. We were still on a part of the battlefield. Although the days were warm, the nights were chilly, and I felt cold. The usual thing to do on such occasions is to seek some other soldier, lie beside him, and share blankets. The two blankets and the heat from each other's bodies keep the men warm. I soon found a fellow alone and prepared to lie beside him. Nothing was thought of such a proceeding in the army. He was awake. "Can I share your bed with you, pard?" I asked. "Sartin," was the answer. "I am a little shivery, for I've shed a lot o' blood from this wound." "Are you wounded?" I asked, in surprise. "Yes," he answered, "right through my side here. But I guess it escaped by vitals, for it don't hurt much, although it has bled considerable. What regiment be you from?" "The Thirteenth New Jersey." "Why, that's Yanks!" "Certainly, what did you think it was?" I asked. "Nothin', only I'm a Johnnie," said my companion. I involuntarily pushed back a little. "Don't be scart, pard," said he. "I'm not going to harm ye. We're all the same. If we fellers had the settlin' o' this thing, I guess it wouldn't last long, would it, pard?" "I don't think it would," I answered. "What regi- ment do you belong to?" "I'm from Galveston. I belong to the — th Texas." (I have forgotten the number of his regiment.) "How long have you been in the service?" I asked. "I 'listed in '61," he answered. "How long you bin in?" "Only about two weeks," I answered. "We got into a fight almost as soon as we got here, and lost our cap- tain in the first round." "Maybe I'm the fellow what killed him," said he. "Nobody knows. But that is all the better, isn't it, pard?" I admitted that it was. And indeed such was the 162 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. fact. If any particular soldier on either side knew pos- itively that he had killed any particular man he would feel a good deal worse over it. I don't know how long we talked together, we men who had been deadly enemies the day before. It might strike the reader as a queer proceeding, but I can assure him that outside of the battles the men on each side were brothers and friends, as many an old soldier can testify. But we finally fell asleep. It grew colder and colder toward morning. I snug- gled closer to my companion, but that did not seem to increase the warmth as it usually does. I was too sleepy, however, to make investigations. The sun was beginning to shine before I awoke the last time and threw off the blankets that covered myself and my bedfellow. "Pard," said I. "It's time to get up. The break- fast bell will ring in a moment." I shook my companion, but he did not stir. I looked closely into his face. It was ashen. I put my hand on his face. It was as cold as ice. My rebel bedfellow was dead ! /, THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 1(53 CHAPTER XXIX. "JEFF DAVIS" AND I. To say that I was startled when I found that my bed fellow for the night was a corpse, would be putting it mild. I think it would startle anybody to wake up and find the person he had last spoken to at his side be- fore going to sleep, cold and stiff in death. I sprang up in horror and involuntarily hurried from the scene. Then a second thought struck me. As a matter of common decency was it not right that I should try to see who this poor fellow was, and send word to his family? He !had said that he belonged to the — th Texas regiment, and that his home was in Galveston. That was all I knew. I decided to search his pockets. Besides the usual miscellaneous assortment of strings, knives and other things to be found in a soldier's pocket, I came across two tintypes. One of them was of a middle-aged woman and the other was of a pretty little girl about ten or eleven years of age. These I at once surmised to be the dead rebel's wife and daughter. I also found two letters that he had received, which wore addressed to "James H. Thompson, — th Regiment, Army of Northern Virginia." This is the way envelopes were addressed by the Con- federates. They called this particular branch of the army "the Army of Northern Virginia," while the Union soldiers always called it "Army of the Potomac." Letters to men in the army were thus addressed, giving the name, regiment and army, and in some mysterious way, after the lapse of two or three weeks maybe after they were written, the letters would reach the party to whom they were addressed — perhaps. The mail regu- lations in war times are anything but perfect! It may also interest the reader of the present time to 164 THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER. know that a letter sent by a soldier to friends at home did not necessarily have a postage stamp on the en- velope. It was for obvious reasons a practical impossi- bility for a soldier to go to the post'office to buy stamps, and so the letters went through just as well without them. Both of these letters to James H. Thompson were from his wife, and they were painfully pathetic and affectionate. I also found a half -written letter which was to be sent to the poor fellow's wife, which, so far as I can remember, read about as follows : "My Dear Wife: I will try to write you a few lines to let you know that I have been wounded in a fight in Ma^land, but it does not seem to amount to much, although it prevents me from marching. They left me here on the field. I suppose they thought I was dead. Our army has marched on and the Yanks are coming this way and I expect that I will be taken pris- oner. I cannot stir away from this place and they won't have much trouble in taking me, I guess. When you next hear from me it will likely be some time in a good while from some Yankee prison. But I don't care, for I am tired of fighting and marching and I hope this thing will soon be over, for I am sick of it. From the looks of things it will not last much longer, for Lee is driving the Yanks right up north and they will surely give it up. I expect to be home to see you soon. Tell Old Meigs that I will be back after my job in the shop before long. I wish you would see " Here the unfinished letter ended. Alas, how pathet- ically it read after what had happened. I was glad now that I came back to see what I could find in the poor fellow's pockets. I tore a piece of paper off the blank side of the sheet and wrote on it the name and address, "James H. Thompson, — th Texas Begiment. This man lived somewhere in Galveston." This I put back in his pocket. As soon as I got an opportunity, which was not for some days after, I wrote a letter explaining the circum- stances, and inclosing the other letters I had found and THE YOUNG- VOLUNTEER. 165 the tintypes, and sent them all addressed to "Mrs. J. H. Thompson, Galveston." I never heard a word of the matter afterward, and so could not say whether they ever reached their destination. I intended to write again to Mrs. Thompson after the war was over, but the matter was forgotten entirely until I hunted over my memorandums for the materials for this story. It would have given me considerable satisfaction to have known if the information I sent to Texas had reached its destination. I was not the only straggler from the Union army, by any means. As they say nowadays, the woods were full of them. From the worn roads, the demolished fences and other evidences, we knew what direction the army had taken, and we followed along the road in a go-as-you-please march. I here fell in with one of the most peculiar characters of the Thirteenth Regiment, and perhaps one of the most peculiar characters in the entire army. His name was Davis. I don't remember what his first name was, but the boys always called him "Jeff." "Jeff Davis" became one of the noted characters of the brigade. He never would keep up with the regiment on a march. He was a short, stout fellow, of the coarsest grain, physically, so stooped in the shoulders that he looked hump-backed. He was as strong as an ox, and about as bright intellectually as a mule. He also re- sembled the latter animal in stubbornness. He is the chap who has been already referred to as the man who would always insist on carrying two knapsacks and two haversacks, and if he had been asked to carry two guns he would not have minded it much. Davis, at the battle of Antietam, when ordered to go into the fight, stepped out of the ranks and fired off his rifle into the air. He said that he wanted to see if it was all right before wasting any cartridges on the rebels. And all through the fight he had his gun swathed in an extra overcoat. The quantity of stuff that this fellow carried was as- tonishing. He had enough equipments for the supply of an ordinary squad. He was a perfect miser so far as 166 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. accumulating necessary articles was concerned, and it did not seem to make the slightest difference how heavy a weight he had on his shoulders. As said, the officers could no more keep "Jeff Davis" in the ranks on a march than they could fly. He would take his time, walking along as he chose, and generally reaching camp two or three days after the regiment had arrived. It was always a great wonder how he escaped being gobbled up by the guerrillas. Neither would he go into a tent with the company. He always insisted in making up a bed for himself on the ground immediately behind the colonel's tent. Neitner would he drill or do any other of the ordinary duties of a soldier. He was too stupid to learn any- thing and it was not considered safe to intrust him to picket or guard duty, for the chances were ten to one that he would not remain on his post five minutes after the corporal left. He was punished in every imaginable way, but all that seemed to make no more impression upon him than pouring water on a duck's back. After all sorts of trials, he was finally assigned to the duty of caring for one of Colonel Carman's horses, and that he did well, and he was retained as hostler for the balance of his term. But old Jeff wasn't a bad companion during the time we were marching along with the stragglers, looking for the army that had left us behind. Jeff knew how to cook almost everything, and he managed to have a good supply of things in his larder (haversack) that were not included in the regular army menu. He also had tyro or three estra blankets, so that we were com- fortable. Furthermore there was a quaintness and originality about the old fellow that made him interest- ing — at least for a while. We stragglers were four or five days getting along alone before we reached the regiment in camp at Mary- land Heights. In the meantime the regiment had reached Sandy Hook, a place some distance below Harper's Ferry, and was in camp there two or three days, but we could not find them. There were over one hundred thousand men scattered about, and it was no easy matter to find a particular regiment in that crowd. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 167 When we got to Sandy Hook, we found that the regi- ment had moved down the river to Maryland Heights. It was the day after — that is, the 24th of September — ■ before we finally found them, and rejoined our comrades of Company K. Maryland Heights has already been previously de- scribed. It is located at the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah and immediately across the Potomac from Harper's Ferry. There wasn't much to Harper's Ferry in those days, although so far as the village itself is concerned it really did not look much larger on the occasion of a visit there recently. It is a historic place, particularly in regard to matters relating to the civil war, for it was here that the first act of the preliminaries to the war was perpetuated — John Brown's raid. It also figured extensively in various movements during the war, for the reasons before described of its being such an impor- tant strategic point. From our camp we could look down and take a bird's- eye view of Harper's Ferry. None of the immense rail- road bridges now there were to be seen in those days. There had been a railroad bridge, but it had been de- stroyed and the only way to cross was on a pontoon bridge. A pontoon bridge is made by taking a lot of small scows and anchoring them at regular intervals across the river. Then stout timbers are laid from one boat to the other, and across these timbers are laid heavy planks, which form the floor of the bridge. It is aston- ishing what a load these bridges will carry, even to quite large cannon and heavy baggage wagons. The boats are carried on the march on wheels and the timber and planking on wagons, and the shortness of the time required to make a bridge across the river is wonderful. These bridges are all right unless the anchors slip. Then there is trouble. The bridge goes to pieces in an instant, and whatever is upon it is precipitated into the water. I have seen this more than once. Some of the things that occurred while we were in camp on Maryland Heights I shall defer till another chapter. 168 THE YOTJNG YOLUNTEEB.' CHAPTER XXX. THE " PUP TENT." We had been in the service just four weeks. And what an exciting month it had been! We had gone through one of the hardest battles of the war up to that time, had participated in fatiguing marches, and had practically seen as much service in those respects as some regiments that had been enlisted five times as long. And yet we had never had a rest, never been in a field camp, hardly ever had any drilling. We had seta pace and beaten a record, for there was not another regiment in the army that could equal this hasty, sudden precipi- tation into active warfare. We were glad enough therefore when informed that we were likely to remain in Camp Maryland Heights for some time, and that we might proceed to make our- selves comfortable. As a matter of fact we remained there till the 27th of October, which is quite a long time for an army at a time of the year when the war might be prosecuted. Of course we did not know how long or how short a time we were likely to remain there but we proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as possible, and to do so was no easy task. We had no tents or anything else to shelter us. Our tents had been left at Rockville, to- gether with our knapsacks, and we had nothing to pro- tect us from the weather except such things as blankets, and a few overcoats, for we had been under light march- ing orders since we left Rockville. The old soldiers had "pup tents," but we had nothing. So we under- took to build some log huts. It was a long distance to the nearest forest, and that made it a difficult job to get the necessary timber to the THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 169 camp. Details were made from each company to fell trees and bring the logs to camp, but that was a slow process. In the meantime we were exposed to the weather. For a wonder, ever since we had left home we had had clear weather. We never thought of its being any- thing else. The days were warm, aud the nights cool, as they usually are in September, but it had remained clear. So when an old-fashioned rainstorm came along it introduced us to a new misery. I can't imagine a more doleful state of affairs than a camp in a rainstorm. A more forlorn set than Com- pany K it would be hard to imagine. We had erected the side walls of our little log cabins, and had plastered, the chinks with mud, but they had no covering. Some of the boys had utilized their rubber blankets for this purpose, but the most of us had foolishly thrown away our "ponchos," as they were called. So we had nothing to do but to mope around and an- swer to roll call and cook coffee in the drenching rain in the daytime, and sleep on the bare ground exposed to the deluge at night. Is it a wonder that many of the boys got sick? Is it a wonder that many of them never recovered from the effects of such exposure even after their return home when the war was over? I was "bunking" with Heber Wells, and it was at Maryland Heights that he received a box from home, filled with cakes, fresh homemade bread (fresh when it left home) and potatoes (something we did not get in the army very often) ; on the top of it all some fine smoking tobacco, which was a great improvement over the "dried chips" sold by the sutlers. ' Heber and I used that box as a cover for our heads in the rain. To be sure the rest of our bodies was out- doors, drenched to the skin, but onr heads and faces were protected and we pitied the other fellows who had no nice boxes to protect themselves with ! The rain lasted several days and I do not think there was ever more suffering and discomfort experienced by a body of soldiers during the whole course of the war. The consequences was that half the regiment was on the sick list from the exposure." V/0 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. To add to the discomfort, everybody was affected by the water. There were altogether about six thousand troops in camp on Maryland Heights, and they all had to get their supply of water from a single spring. This spring was located at the bottom of a precipitous rock, and the water was as clear as crystal, and looked all right. It also tasted as good as it looked. But it seems that the spring water was strongly im- pregnated with magnesia, or something of the sort, and the result was that every man in the whole camp was affected. The reader can well imagine what would be the result for a man to drink rochelle salts for break- fast, dinner and supper! Boiling it did not seem to make any difference. Some of the boys went half a mile or so down to the river for their water, but that was not till after the character of the spring had been discovered. There was not a well man in the whole brigade, and the deaths were so numerous that it was scarcely a day that one did not see three or four funerals. Only one case in Company K resulted fatally, however — Martin V? B. Demarest. I was one of the pall bearers at his funeral. The coffins in which soldiers in the army were buried were made of pieces of the boards from the cracker boxes, nailed together. These were carried by poles being tied at the sides. A dead soldier wears no shroud. He is simply dumped into the box in his everyday uni- form, and nailed in. In the time of battle they don't even bother with the boxes. The company is mustered, and the chaplain says a short service over the body. Then follows the parade to the grave, the lowest in rank marching first. The music is with the fife and drum, and the tune is always the same, the solemn Pleyal's hymn, or "Dead Marc; ," as it was called. At the grave six soldiers each Lie three blank cartridges over the body, and it is buried. The romains are lowered and covered, and a piece of board from a cracker box or a barrel stave is marked with the name and regiment of the deceased. Then the mourners march back to camp while the "band" plays ,the liveliest tune in its limited repertoire. THE TO UNO- VOLUNTEER. 171 As John Ick romarked, "Dey blays a solemn hym- tune by de zemmytery, un den ein dance tune back, all de times." We buried Mart Demarest at the time in a shallow grave beside the camp, but his body was afterward re- moved to the National Cemetery at Antietam, where it lies in a long row in Section 11. No one can tell the sufferings we endured at Mary- land Heights, until the arrival of our "shelter" tents, or "pup"®tents, as the boys more commonly called them. These reached the camp on the 17th of October, along with an extra supply of blankets and clothing. Had the "pup" tents been given out to us at first, im- mediately after leaving home, we should have regarded them with scorn. But after the exposures we had suf- fered, they seemed veritable palaces. We immediately proceeded to make ourselves comparatively comfortable. A "pup" tent consists of two pieces of canton flannel or thick muslin about six feet square. On one side is a row of buttonholes, and on the other side there are but- tons. These things were made by contract, and it was seldom that the location of the buttons corresponded with the buttonholes, but as most of the boys were pro- vided with needles and thread they soon overcame that difficulty. Each soldier carries one section of a tent. When they go into camp the two are buttoned together, making a piece about twelve by six feet square. Two short poles, three or four feet high, are driven into the ground about six feet apart. The upright poles must have forks on the upper end. Across these is laid a horizontal pole. This forms the apex of the tent. The sides are fastened to the ground by pegs whittled from twigs. This makes a small tent the shape of an inverted "V" with nothing at either end. Generally the soldier carried in addition to the piece of shelter tent, a rubber blanket and a woolen one. One of the rubber blankets served as one end of the tent. The other was laid on the ground, and covered with one of the woolen blankets. This formed the bed. The other blanket formed the "bedclothes," which were added to by a spare overcoat, if it was too cold. This tent was about the size of a dog house, which 172 TEE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. perhaps gave it the name of "pup" tent. Of course there was not room enough in them to stand up, or hardly to sit up, but they kept off the rain and wind and that was enough. To get in one of them the soldier had to get down on his hands and knees and crawl in like a dog. There was no protection to the lower end of the tent unless one of the soldiers carried an extra piece, which was sometimes the case. Don't laugh at the "pup" tent. It was one of the most useful things ever invented for the comfort of the soldiers. An old soldier would dispense with almost everything else before he threw away his piece of shel- ter tent, if it were in the inclement season of the year. In warm weather it did not matter so much. And the idea of two soldiers always bunking together probably begins to dawn on the mind of the reader. These two soldiers were always called partners, or rather, for short, "pards." They were to each other as husband and wife, so far as a division of personal and "domestic" duties were concerned. But I will defer a fuller description of my pard till the next chapter. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 173 CHAPTER XXXI. "my pard." "MYpard!" What a host of recollections that expression brings to the mind of every old soldier ! Nearly every soldier in the army had his "pard." When the boys first enlisted the gathering into couples was a process of natural selection. It is innate in the human breast to have a chum. The Good Book says that it is not good for man to live alone. That of course referred to Adam in the Garden of Eden, and meant that our original grandfather should have a wife. It would have been extremely inconvenient for the soldiers to be accompanied by wives, so they did the next best thing — selected a "pard." No one ever knows how this is done. There seems to be a natural affinity that draws men together. It cannot be said that it is generally on account of a simi- larity of tastes, for experience proves that men who are of the most radically opposite character get along best together. The selection of a "pard" came at the first as naturally as mating of birds in spring. The longer they were in the army the more did the soldiers appre- ciate the convenience, indeed the actual necessity of this arrangement. It frequently happened that the original selection was not amicable, and there was a change. This in army parlance was called a "divorce." But these changes were not frequent after there had once been a satisfac- tory adjustment of relations. Only by death or the absence from sickness or wounds of one of the parties was the relationship broken. The two soldiers constituted the "families" of the 174 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. army. They divided the numerous little duties of a personal nature, aside from the regular military duties. They pooled their rations, took turns at cooking and other things, and altogether made themselves more comfortable and happy. On stopping for the night, one "pard" would hasten for the nearest rail fence or to the woods for twigs to make a fire, while the other would grab two canteens and go for water; sometimes this necessitated a trip of a mile, for the flanks of the army might be a long dis- tance from the stream that had determined the camping place. One of the "pards" would then take a short trip out into the country to see if he couldn't "confisticate" a chicken or a stray pig, or even participate in the pur- loining of a calf. Not infrequently was a rabbit raised. If there was a granary or a potato mound handy, it afforded a valuable contribution to the larder. More than once these foragers came back with bird shot in their epidermis, which came from the guns of the irate grangers. I have felt the sting of small bird shot on more than one occasion. But the soldier did not mind a little thing like that. No matter what hap- pened he would not let go of his "rations," if he had been successful in getting anything. One of the cheek- iest things I remember doing was to steal a chicken from a hen roost, and j;then go to the house and borrow an iron pot to cook the chicken in and make a fricasse. And while one of the "pards" was putting up the "pup" tent the other would cook the supper. They be- fore long become good cooks too, and could make a variety of dishes out of their limited supply that would surprise a professional chef. Sometimes one of the "pards" was sick and tired out at the end of a day's march, while the other was com- paratively fresh. Then the better one would care for his "pard" as if he were a brother, and do all the work. They stood by each other in sickness or trouble. They shared with each other the'joys that came from surrepti- tious foraging, whether it be on some neighboring farm, or from the sutler's tent. At night they shared each other's blankets. Thus they kept warm. Soldiers always slept, whether in a A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 175 "bunk" in winter quarters, or alongside a fire on the march, in that peculiar shape called "spoon fashion." The reader will understand what that means. It was a convenient and practical arrangement except when one of the fellows desired to turn over on the other side. The other had to get around at the same time. When in the stillness of the night you heard some one shout out : "Attention — 'bout — face!" you knew that it meant that the two "pards" were about to turn over on their other sides to ease their positions. To keep warm in cold weather they snuggled and hugged each other in the most affectionate manner, and it was only the direst necessity that induced them to change their position if they once got comfortable. There were few men who did not have their "pards." If a soldier had a foghorn voice when he snored, it was considered a legitimate cause for "divorce." If one of the "pards" was less cleanly in his habits than the other, a bill of separation was in order. The "statutory grounds" from a soldier's point of view, was a chronic disposition to play off and shirk in the performance of a due share of duty. That was an unpardonable sin. If a soldier obtained the reputation of being a shirk in this respect, no matter how good he might be otherwise, he was doomed to live and sleep alone, with all its discom- forts. I was fortunate in the selection of my "pards." The first, as before stated, was Orderly Sergeant Heber Wells. He was the same dignified gentleman that he is now, a man of the highest instincts and most upright moral character, who never knew how to do a mean or dishonorable act. But Heber was the "orderly," and that meant no end of work. He had to attend to all the roll calls, make out the reports and be in constant com- munication with the captain or other commanding officer in regard to the different duty details. That kept him busy. B3' common consent the orderly sergeant is exempt from the ordinary menial service of camp life. So the most of the duties of a personal or domestic nature while he was "my pa?d" naturally fell upon me. Heber, however, was not "my pard' yery long, for 176 A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. he was soon appointed to the position of second lieuten- ant of Company K. That meant his removal from the ranks to the officers' tent, and a separation between us socially. The social distinction between a soldier and a commissioned officer is very great. The man with the commission belongs to the four hundred of the army, while the private is the workingman. If it were other- wise it would be detrimental to discipline, for there is no greater truism than "familiarity breeds contempt." A servant or employee has comparatively little respect for the master or employer who makes himself familiar. The high-headedness of officers in the army is galling at times, but it is necessary for discipline, and no amount of philosophizing can change this fact. My real "pard" was John Butterworth. John was an old employee of Daggers & Row, the bobbin turners. He told me all about wood turning, and I told him all about the printing business. He was married and wor- ried a good deal about his wife, which was a pain that I had not to undergo. John was not an educated man, but he was possessed of an extraordinary degree of sound common sense. He knew how to cook every- thing that could be made of pork and beans and hard- tack. The only thing in which John was lacking was in card-playing. I taught him how to play a fair game of High-Low-Jack with the greasy old pack of cards we had, but could never teach him the mysteries of poker. He conscientiously sent home every cent of his pay that had not been mortgaged to the sutler, while I had no one depending on me and so liked to indulge in the elu- sive pleasures of "draw." I found plenty of other fel- lows in the company, however, who could relieve me of my surplus cash, after a visit from the paymaster, with neatness and dispatch, and even go so far as to mort- gage future months' income. When credit in that di- rection was exhausted, blankets, overcoats and other goods and chattels went the way of all flesh frequently in consequence of overconfidence in the security of three nines or a five high full house. But other than in card-playing John Butterworth was an ideal "pard." I ne^?r heard him "kick" over the performance of a duty. X think I sometimes took ad .i A TO UNO VOLUNTEER. 177 vantage of his perennial good nature, now that I come to look back to those times. He would take the can- teens and walk a mile for a supply of water, without a word of protest. He would gather twigs and branches for bedding, raid a rail fence afar off or do any other duty asked, without a word of complaint. And he was always good natured. I never saw his temper ruffled. He was a good soldier in every respect, always ready to perform his duty with the minimum of "kicking," whether it were a battalion drill, a battle, a long march or a turn at picket. And when he had after a day's hard work succeeded in getting a few cedar boughs on a row of poles on the ground for a mattress, he would pull the blanket up to his chin and say : "Oh, I tell you, Joe, but isn't this solid comfort? There's many a poor fellow in the world who hasn't such a nice comfortable bed as this, eh?" I agreed, but I frequently did so with the mental reservation that no one but a veritable Mark Tapley could extract comfort and pleasure from such condi- tions. I shall ever remember "my pard" John Butterworth with feelings of satisfaction and pleasure, for he was a good, true friend, and there were not many men in the army so well favored as I was in the selection of a "pard." Some of the other fellows were not so fortunate. There were continual quarrelings and bickerings and even fights as to who should do this and who that. But I think the most comical thing of all was that Jonn Ick and Beddy Mahar should have been thrown together as "pards." Such, however, was the case. It would have been difficult to get two more incongruous characters together. One was German and the other Irish, and they were always quarreling. They were unlike in everything imaginable. Yet by some strange fate things hap- pened so that they should bunk together. I remember on the occasion of the first night we had our "pup" tents. My "tent" was next to theirs. "Dot vas a devil uv a ting," said Ick. "How was a fellow to get dot ting on the outside, alretty?" 178 A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "Oh, shut your blarney trap," answered Reddy. "Wait awhile till we get the hang o' this consarn. You see here are some holes — ■ — " "Und here be de buttonholes, by jimminey." "We will button thim together, that we will, be gorra." "We vill dot, ri-et away." They buttoned the two sheets of the "pup" tent to- gether and spread it out on the ground. "That is the sheet, begovra," said Reddy. Where- upon he spread it out and rolled himself up into it. After some altercation between the two as to the way to fix it, some of the other fellows showed them how to make a tent of the "sheet." When it was completed the two got on their hands and knees and crawled in. I never knew what started the trouble, but in a moment everybody in that part of the camp was attracted by the bellicose talking between Ick and Mahar, and pretty soon the} 7 became involved in a regular rough-and-tum- ble fight. Now there isn't much room in a "pup" tent to carry on a fight according to the rules of the Marquis of Queensberry, or any other British nobleman. The fight- ers rolled over to the side of the little tent, and pulled it from its fastenings. The tent was on the side of a hill, and they naturally rolled downward. The further they rolled the closer were they wrapped in the folds of the "pup" tent, and they went down that hill as if they were done up in a muslin bundle, fightiDg and snarling as they went like a couple of cats in a bag. It was one of the most comical sights I ever saw. The tent was torn to tatters. But John Ick and Reddy Mahar didn't want any tent that night. They slept in the guardhouse. I also lost my tent that same night, but in an entirely different way, although fully as comical. A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 179 CHAPTER XXXII. THE ARMY MULE. Before I pioceed to tell how I lost my "pup" tent that night, let me introduce the reader to the army mule. There was nothing in the whole army that filled such an important and unique place in the prosecution of the war as the meek and docile mule. I use these adjec- tives with an unlimited degree of mental reservation. Appearances are often deceiving. There is nothing more plainly written in nature than the sign of meek- ness and docility emhossed on the placid countenance of the mule. But woe be to him who places faith in the meek and innocent appearances of the army mule. Somewhere in the interior of the mule there lurks a latent energy, a pent-up supply of total depravity that would do credit to the arch enemy of mankind. No doubt the original delineator of Satan had been a victim of misplaced con- fidence in the hind legs of a mule, for otherwise what would have suggested the adoption of hoofs as the ortho- dox representation of the devil's feet? If the aforesaid original artist had put a paint brush on the end of Satan's tail, instead of an arrow head, there would have been no room for doubt as to where he got his model. Horses were never used in the army except by the mounted officers and soldiers. The motive power of all warlike rolling-stock was the mule. The teams con- sisted of from six to ten mules, according to the depth of the mud. They were driven by one line, the same as they are driven now through the South. The driver does not sit on the wagon, but in a saddle on the wheel mule on the near side. 180 A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. I tried once to drive a mule team, but only succeeded in getting them into inextricable confusion. How a driver guides the team to the right or to the left as he desires, with only one rein, is a mystery in equestrian dynamics that I could never comprehend. The rein and the long-lashed whip had their uses to be sure, but they were insignificant factors in the art of driving a mule team. The secret of this science lay entirely in the language used by the driver, or 'iteamster" as he was called in the army. In order to keep a mule team in motion it is necessary to carry a continual conversation. A man with a weak pair of lungs could never drive a team of army mules. Neither could a strict church member. The nature of the conversation is altogether inconsistent with orthodoxy. I have heard of men who were good and pious, and refined and discreet in their language, being appointed to the position of mule drivers. In such cases one of two things happens. Either the afore- said teamster resigned his position, or else he fell from grace to a depth of hopeless depravity that completely ruined all hopes of future happiness. I cannot describe the language a successful mule driver used to make his team start, and keep them going after they had once started. It would be entirely in- consistent with a work designed for general distribu- tion. Besides, it would likely break down the press on which it was printed. Keeping within the confines of conservative respectability, I will merely remark that when the teamster wants to start the team, he grasps the blacksnake whip in his right hand and the single rein in his left, gives the former a snap and the latter a jerk and opens the conversation : "Now, then, you ! Git up there, you why don't you pull? f *******! 1 ! ! ■ ! Gee Haw !" Looking toward the noise you see a cloud of blue smoke arising and the air is filled with a suffocating odor of sulphur. Then you are conscious of a move ment. A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 181 " She starts, she moves. She seems to feel The thrill of lif e along her keel ! " The long mule team with its cumbersome, canvas- hooded baggage wagon has started. But don't let the innocent reader imagine that the torrent of vocal sounds ceases with the beginning of motion on the part of the team. No, indeed ! The teamster must keep right on. The moment he stops the team stops. The yelling is a part of the mechanism of the motive power of the estab- lishment. It is the supply of steam that actuates the valves and pistons of the long-eared, brush-tailed, four- footed locomotives. Thus it was that when night came, and the other soldiers were tired and fatigued in their limbs, the teamsters were played out in the muscles that move the vocal chords, the lips, and the bellows apparatus of the lungs. When night came, the mule took up the refrain where it was dropped by the teamster and generally kept it up till daylight. The reader has probably heard the peculiar music rendered by the mule. It is hard to express it in type, but it is something like this : "Onk-a! onk-a! onk-a! onk-a!" The tone is a mezzo-soprano, alto, falsetto, basso com- bination, something like a bazoo. The exact intonation can only be given by a man in the last stages of diph- theria. I have heard some singers who could sing as well as a mule — but not many. Such is the natural music of the individual mule. Now the average army mule never took much stock in solos. When one began his bazoo, another answered, and a third chimed in, till at last there was a chorus of mule music. Other mules in other parts of the army would join the refrain, till a cloud of discordant mule song arose to the ambient heavens and mingled with the twinkling stars. (That's pretty bad, but I'll let it go.) The soldiers soon got used to imitating tho music of the mule with marvelous accuracy. In fact at times it was almost impossible to distinguish between the gen- uine article and the counterfeit. A mulo would begin with his indescribable "Onk-a, onk-a," and some camp wag would follow it up. Other mules (the four- legged ones, I mean) would join in the refrain, and so it would, 182 A YOUNG VOLUNTEER. go, till the entire body, mules and men, would send forth a grand chorus that was limited only by the utter- most confines of the army. The mule choruses were indescribably comical, and sometimes disastrous, as they would discover the where- abouts of the army to the enemy under circumstances that were unpleasant. I have known one man to start up the mule chorus on a quiet night till it involved every brigade, division and corps within twenty miles. There was no accounting for the vagaries of the army mules. Sometimes they would be quietly crunching their fodder, when suddenly, without the least excuse or provocation, they would stampede. They did not care what direction they took. One would think after a hard day's work they would take advantage of the opportunity to get a little rest. But a mule is never really tired. At least no matter what may have been the work of the day there is a reserve force equal to any possible or impossible extra emergency. And when the mules got loose and stampeded there was nothing to stop them except their own sweet and angelic will. I remember on one occasion in the middle of the night we were suddenly aroused from our sleep and ran for our lives under the idea that the enemy's cavalry had made a charge upon us, when it was nothing but the mules stampeding from a neighboring brigade. This same thing occurred many times, in different parts of the army, during the course of the war. There is no dependence on the friendship of the hind- leg of a mule. It may rest in quiescence for months, but finally, like a long smouldering volcano, it will break forth without any preliminar}- rumbling. It is no respecter of persons or rank, that hind-leg of the nrnile. The man who had carefully and faithfully stood by the mule in sickness and distress, in hunger and thirst, in the camp and on the march, after having been left unmolested so long that a feeling of confidence had been created, was often made the victim of the irrespon- sible viciousness of the hind-leg. No,never~put your trust in the hind -leg of a mule, no matter how innocent it may look. In other respects is a mule deceptive. His eye ia THE YOUNG VOLUNTEEB. 183 gentle and bland, but don't trust it. The more gentle and bland, the more perfect the mask over the hidden stock of total depravity lurking within that silent but busy brain. With a horse you can tell something about his inten- tions by the position of the ears. Ears slanted forward indicate alarm or extra watchfulness. Ears laid behind flat on the head indicate viciousness. A state of equine placidity is manifested by quiescent ears hanging loosely at the sides of his head. But not so with a mule. His ears generally hang senselessly beside his head. They are too heavj T to move around to express emotion. So the driver cannot take warning of the feelings of the mule or his possible intentions for good or evil at any particular moment from his ears. I doubt if the reader ever saw a dead mule. As many thousands as I ever saw alive, 1 can't remember more than half a dozen dead ones. They did not often get near enough to the front in the ordinary course of the war to be shot in battle, and they seemed impervious to all the usual influences of climate or condition. The only thing that ever kills a mule is not a physical ail- ment, but mental trouble. I give this statement after full consideration of the gravity of the assertion, and reiterate that the main cause for fatality among mule folks is mental worri- ment — in other words, discouragement. When a mule for any cause becomes discouraged, his sphere of useful- ness in this world has forever ended. He simply lies down, and without any unnecessary nonsense or fuss, quietly yields up the ghost. I never saw but one mule die. He tried in vain and faithfully to help pull a wagon out of the mire, but when he found that the task was impossible, he gently laid himself down and died. Ask any old army teamster if he ever knew a mule to die from any other cause than sheer discouragement. A word of sympathy and justice is due to the mule. All through his life he labors under the pain and disad- vantage of a questionable ancestry. No matter how otherwise bright the surrounding circumstances may be, the mule always has within his breast the knowl- edge that he is an illegitimate offspring. While horses 184 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ~~ . hold their heads high in the knowledge of a noble an- cestry, the poor mule hangs his head in shame because his genealogical tree extends back only one generation ; and in addition to that, the possibilities of future blood relations to honor his memory are so remote that it must forever be the source of carking care and mental pain. These things may possibly account for many of the vagaries of the mule that might otherwise be inex- plicable. The appetite of the mule is insatiable and omnivorous. His digestion is an object of envy on the part of many a two-legged dyspeptic. To the mule antediluvian hard- tack crackers are but as mush. Like the Manhattan- ville goat ho can digest anything short of coal scuttles. Old blankets, haversacks, newspapers, and leather belts form a sumptuous dessert for the mule ; and instead of nuts at the end of a banquet, he would any day prefer the ridgepole of a tent. And that brings me back to the introduction of this chapter. Heber Wells had received a box from home, as be- fore described. It looked like rain one night and he suggested that he keep the box under cover so that the rain would not spoil the remainder of the contents. I vacated, aud bunked that night with Hank Van Orden. In the middle of the night I was awakened by the rain- drops falling in my face, which I thought was strange, as I had gone to sleep fully protected b}^ the "pup" tent. Getting up I was surprised to find I was outdoors. The "pup" tent had entirely disappeared with the excep- tion of a small end of one of the white sheets. This was sticking out of the month of a mule ! The mule had eaten up our "pup" tent. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER, 185 CHAPTER XXXIII. GENERAL M'CLELLAN AND I. Yes, it was a fact. The mule had eaten up our tent. This was not an infrequent occurrence, for as said be- fore, an army mule liked a "pup" tent as well as a Harlem goat does a tomato can or a flesh-colored living picture on a three-sheet poster. But it was something entirely new to us, and we marveled greatly. The worst of it all was, Hank Van Orden and I were out of a tent. We were outside in the cold, and the tent was inside the mule. It did not call for a mo- ment's reflection to know that the further usefulness of that particular tent, so far as we were concerned, was at an end. What use it might have been to the diges- tive apparatus of the mule is another thing. So we consulted Orderly Sergeant Wells, and he ad- vised us to consult the captain, or rather the acting cap- tain, Lieutenant Scott. The latter made out a requisi- tion on the quartermaster for the respective two sections of "one shelter tent." We went to the quartermaster, but he had run out of a supply of tents, and he made a requisition on the brigade quartermaster and handed it to us. The brigade quartermaster sent us to the divi- sion quartermaster and the latter sent us to the corps quartermaster — all for one "pup" tent! When we got to corps headquarters, we were kept waiting a long time for the convenience of the high and mighty official who had charge of the government clothing and tailorshop for that particular branch of the army. There were a lot of other fellows from other regiments waiting their turns for various articles for which requisitions had been made. One of the men was a soldier from our own brigade, 180 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. a member of the Twenty-seventh Indiana. "We got talking together and among other things we told him about the mule eating up the "pup" tent. "Oh, that's nuthin'," said he. "Them air mewels are a curus critter, them are. Givvum a chance, 'n they'll eat a hull muskit, bayonet 'n all. But the funniest thing of 'em all is to see 'em shoot a cannon from atop a mewel's back." "What!" I interrupted; "shoot a cannon from a mule's back? What are you giving us?" "That are the dead shure fac'," was the Hoosier's reply. "I've seen it done many a time. They jis' strap the cannon — a howster (howitzer) is what they call 'em — on the mewel's back. They load the guns up, turns the head o' the mewel to the Johnny Rebs, and pulls the string." "And shoot the cannon from the mule's back?" I asked iacreduously. "Shure's you're livin'. The muzzle of the cannon are p'inted to'ards the head o' the mewel, and when the gunner gits ready for to shoot, the mewel he hangs down his head, ye know, and stretches out his four legs to the four p'ints o' the compiass, like the legs o' a saw- back, ye know. That gives the mewel a solid footin', d'ye see, so that the shootin' o' the cannon can't knock the mewel over." "How do they teach the mule to hold his legs that way?" I asked, "seeing the mule is such a stuDid beast." "They don't teach him nothin'. He hes sense enough to l'ara himself. The fust time the cannon are shot from the back o' the mewel, it jist knocks the mewel clean over. He luks around kind o' scared like, a won- derin' if that air cyclone struck any one else. Then he tries to shake off the cannon When the mewel finds that the cannon are a tight hold on his back, he gits up and kind o' concludes, cYye know, that there have been some sort of a mistake like. The secon' time he reckons, d'3 r e know, that there ain't bin no mistake. And the third time, he squars off his four huffs." "And don't get knocked over, oh?" I asked. "That's whare ye're right, parcl. And you oughter THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 18? see the 'spresshun on the mewel's eyes just then. He don't say nothin' but he jist looks as how he were say- ing to himself, 'Golly, but I fooled 'em that time for shure.' After that, every time the mewel hes sense enough for to stretch out his four legs and brace himself for the kick o' the gun. It are a queer sight I kin tell you, pard, but it air as true as the gospil, as you'll see for yourself, afore you are long in the sarvice. But come, here's a chance for to get our accuterments. " Strange as this may seem, the story given us b} T the veteran from the Twenty-seventh Indiana was literally true. Small cannon were strapped to the backs of the mules and actually fired therefrom, and the conduct of the mule on such occasions was just as described. These mule guns were called "mountain howitzers," and fired a shot of perhaps three pounds. Old soldiers have told me that the mules got so used to it that they did not stop nibbling at the twigs while the cannon was being shot from their backs ! Afterward I many a time saw a mule trudging along with a cannon strapped on his back, but I cannot say that I ever saw any of the shots fired. The cannon that I saw shot off were always on wheels. But these mule guns comprised quite an important adjunct to the army, and many a time, as said before, I have seen the ani- mals clambering over the mountains thus equipped. It is a somewhat singular thing that I never saw any mention of this fact in any of the war books that I ever read, and doubtless the statement even now will be met with incredulity on the part of some readers. But nevertheless I can assure them that it is absolutely true. After the usual delay and expenditure of red tape, Hank Van Orden and I got our new "pup" tents and made our way back to the regiment, arriving there just in time to be detailed to go on picket. I had never been on picket. I had been on guard, both around the camp and to guard wagons and cattle, but this was the first time I had been assigned to the dignity of a picket. The picket is "mounted" in about the same manner as the ordinary guards, and a guard mount was some- what imperfectly described in one of the opening chap- 188 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ters of this story. In ordinary guard duty, the head- quarters of the guard is a "guard house." In picket duty it is a little different. The officer of the guard has charge of a certain num- ber of men on picket duty. The men are divided up into squads under charge of sergeants. Each squad is composed of three times as many privates as there are posts to guard, and three corporals. The privates stand on their posts two hours, and then have four hours' rest. "Two on the four off," is the laconic way it was expressed in army parlance. The "first relief" serve from 9 to 11, the second from 11 till 1, and the third from 1 till 3, when the first relief comes on again, and so it goes throughout the twenty- four hours of the day and night. The corporals serve the same way, although they are not on post. They hang around the camp fire, ready to respond to any call from any of the men on guard. "Corporal of the guard, post No. 6," is a call fre- quently heard. It may mean anything. It may mean that the picket is confronted by the enemy, or it may mean that he wants a drink of water. It is the cor- poral's duty to wait upon him. For that reason al- though a corporal was of higher rank than the private, the former was frequently dubbed by the name of " waiter." The sergeant stayed at the headquarters of the "picket post," which usually consisted of nothing more than a good fire in some convenient place along the line. The sergeant had the command of the pickets of that particular post, which might include a dozen or more places where the privates were stationed. The corporal reported to the sergeant, and if the problem presented was more than the sergeant could solve, he reported to the officer of the guard. The difference between guards and pickets is this: Guards are merely men stationed around some internal part of the army. Pickets are the men stationed on the extreme outer edge. In other words there is nothing between the pickets and the enemy — that is if there is any enemy in that particular direction. Whether there is or not, there is always supposed to be. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 189 " I was on the second relief — that is, on duty from 11 to 1 o'clock, and my first post was on the road along the Potomac River, at the foot of Maryland Heights and about half a mile up the river from opposite Har- per's Ferry. It was a beautiful day. The rain had cleared off and the skies were bright. Any one who has been there knows that it is one of the most picturesque spots in the country. I felt good and for the first time since my enlistment seemed to enjoy the experience of being a soldier. Here I was, I thought, on the outskirts of the Union army, with nothing between me and the Confederate army. I felt and enjoyed the responsibility of reflect- ing that so many men were under my watchful care. How faithful I would be. I imagined to myself how I would defend my post if any of the enemy's pickets should make their appearance. 1 would defend it with my last drop of blood, of course. So I thought. If an enemy's picket had made his appearance I most likely would have suddenly de- camped. But the enemy did not appear. As a matter of fact there was not a rebel within miles. How easy it is to be brave under such circumstances, although of course I did not know. I had been very carefully cautioned not to let a living soul pass my post without the countersign. The coun- tersign that day was "Manassas.'' I had of course heard of the tricks played on John Ick and the other green ies, but they couldn't come any such game as that over me. Not much ! Pretty soon I heard a clanking of swords, and a largo number of brilliantly uniformed mounted officers ap- proached. Who should the head one be but General George B. McCleilan himself ! I had seen General McCleilan several times, and knew him by sight perfectly. As he approached he came up to me and I brought my rifle to a "present arms." "Do you know who I am?" he asked. "Of course I do," I answered. "You are General McCleilan." 190 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "And these officers are members of my staff," said the general. "Yon must keep your musket at a 'present arms' while they all pass." "All right, general," I responded, and I kept my rifle sticking out in front of me according to the way the tactics called for a "present arms." I looked down to the next picket, another Thirteenth boy, and saw the same maneuver enacted there, and so on till the gay cavalcade had passed around the bend of the rocks. I felt highly honored with the idea of having pre- sented arms to General McClellan. What a story it would be to tell to the boys at camp. What a story it was, indeed ! In less than half an hour after, the entire section of picket guarded by the Thirteenth's boys were relieved and marched back to camp and locked up in the log hut called the "guard house," or prison. "What is this for?" we asked indignantly. "Who ordered that we should be locked up?" "General McClellan," was the answer. "What for?" "For letting him and his whole staff pass you with- out the countersign !" "Well, I'll be d — d!" said Lem Smith, one of my companions. And so said we all of us. the young volunteer. 191 CHAPTER XXXIV. THE SUTLER. Well, wasn't this a nice predicament? After all the instruction we had received ! After all the fun we had poked at John Ick and the other fellows for being so green as to let officers pass them without giving the countersign, to think that we — we, who con- sidered ourselves more than ordinarily well posted and on the alert, should be found guilty of the same stupid- ity, was too much altogether. Of all the chagrined and ashamed lot in the guard house that day I do not think there was a single one who .thought for a moment of making any excuse for himself. We had been found remiss in one of the sim- plest duties of a soldier, and had been caught in a trap that was considered only fit for greenhorns. And we had by this time begun to look upon ourselves as veter- ans, although in the service scarcely more than a month. But we ought to have known better, that's sure enough. When a picket is given orders to allow no one to pass without the countersign, it means everybod3 r , from the lowest private to the commanding general of the army, or even of the President of the United States. As for myself I was blinded by the magnificence of General McClellan's staff. Or perhaps I imagined on the spur of the moment that of course the highest officer in the army could come and go as he chose, countersign or no countersign. Be it as it may, we all recognized the stupid blunder we had made the moment we were told why we had been arrested and by whose order. Not only the comparatively green pickets of the Thirteenth New Jersey and some of the equally green New York regiment that was brigaded with us, had 192 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. been caught in the trap, but also some of the members of the Twenty-seventh Indiana and Third Wisconsin, who certainly ought to have known more, had been hauled in for the same offense. It seems that on the retreat from the Peninsular discipline had become some- what relaxed, and it was a common occurrence for the guards and pickets to let the high officers pass without question, and ^such a thing as demanding the counter- sign from them, in spite of the strict orders that had been given, had never entered the minds of these veter- ans. So it was that they fell into the same trap. I cannot tell how many men were arrested that day for the same thing — there were a good many. It was only intended as a sort of object lesson to teach the men that orders were to be more strictly obeyed thereafter, particularly in regard to picket duty. So the punish- ment in this instance was nothing more than a repri- mand, and a warning not to be caught in the same trap again. We were kept in the guard house, however, for several hours before we were thus disposed of, and dur- ing that time we were picturing all sorts of punishment for our remissness. It was a good lesson to us all, for never again were we caught in the trap of letting any one pass without the countersign when on picket, no matter who it might be. It was while we were at Maryland Heights that we were introduced to something new about army life — the "sutler." If ever another war breaks out and I conclude to enter the service, I think I will be a sutler. At the first sign of a fight, the sutler mysteriously disappears and never turns up till the danger is over. Sutlers always got rich. They had a regular bonanza. Perhaps the majority of the readers of this do not know what the sutler was. In the midst of camp one day some men began to put up a big, square tent. It was larger than the tent oc- cupied by any of the officers. It was high and commo- dious. Wagons began to be unloaded of boxes and barrels and mysterious-looking crates. They were taken inside and the flaps of the tents drawn, while the THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 193 actors inside got the properties arranged for the per- formance. In the morning our eyes were dazzled with the lay- out. The upper part of two sides of the tent were rolled up, displaying on a sort of counter the most tempting assortment of articles. There were pipes and tobacco galore, boxes of sardines and tomatoes, butter in her- metically sealed glass jars, ginger snaps and cakes, apples, potatoes, fresh bread, herring and mackerel, dried apples, prunes and peaches, figs and dates, oranges, soda water and ginger pop, and a thousand other things that were likely to tempt the palates of soldiers. And there were various articles of wearing apparel of a finer texture than that furnished by Uncle Sam, such as better stockings, finer shoes and long-legged boots, leggings, rubber overcoats, handkerchiefs, writing paper and envelopes, and in fact no end of articles in the fancy goods line. Nearly every regiment in the army had its sutler. These things were sold to the officers and soldiers, and the trade was a good one, while the prices were some- thing outrageous. You had to patronize the sutler of your own regiment or go without, and pay whatever was charged for the articles desired. We were nearly all in need of tobacco, which was about the first thing sought for, and although it was villainous tobacco, half chips, it was better than smok- ing oak and laurel leaves, to which strait some of us had been reduced. The tobacco sold by the sutler was mostly known as the "Garibaldi" brand. It bore a gorgeous picture of the patriot in a red shirt and dark trousers, so he looked like a member of a volunteer fire department. Ask any old soldier if this description of the wrapper on the smoking tobacco used in the Army of the Potomac does not remind him of old times. The tobacco itself looked and tasted like pine sawdust, and had about as much flavor when smoked. "I'd like to have some of that tobacco," said John Butterworth to me, "but I haven't a cent." "I'm busted myself, Jack," said I, "but let's go and see if we can't stand him off for a paper of the tobacco." 194 TSE YOUNG VOLUNTEEB. Butterworth agreed to this proposition and we ap- proached the tent of the sutler. "Say, Mr. Sutler," said I, "we fellows want some tobacco, and haven't a cent. Do you trust?" "Oh, yes," was the reply. "You can have anything you want not exceeding the pay due you. You have been in the service for a month and consequently your credit is good for thirteen dollars." "Say, Jack," said I to my comrade, "this is a snap. Let's lay in a stock. He'll have a time to collect it, won't he? There's no justice of the peace or constable around here to make a levy, you know." "There's some trick about it," replied Jack, "or he wouldn't be so willing to trust. However, we will try it and see. ' ' I chose a new briar pipe, price one dollar — anywhere else twenty- five cents. For a ten -cent paper of smok- ing tobacco the price was a quarter. Fifteen cents was charged for a plug of "niggerhead" chewing plug. I also paid fifty cents for about ten cents worth of paper and envelopes. Total, one dollar and ninety cents. The butter in the jars looked tempting. I hadn't tasted butter for over a month. The butter was done up in little muslin bags, and these were placed in a glass jar, which was hermetically pealed. Altogether the butter was supposed to weigh one pound. "How much for the butter?" I asked, holding up the jar. "Twenty shillings," I was informed. "What?" "Two dollars and a half." "Two dollars and a half for a pound of butter?" "That's the price," said the sutler. And he ex- plained the difficulty of getting butter to the front and caring for it in such a convincing manner that I became satisfied that two dollars and a half a pound was not only reasonable, but, under the circumstances, very cheap indeed. I invested, thus running up a bill of four dollars and ninety cents. It was the last pound of sutler butter that I ever bought, for it was a delusion and a snare. I THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 195 guess it was nothing but colored lard — and very stale lard at that. We simply couldn't eat it — and when a thing is so bad that a soldier cannot eat it it must be bad indeed. John Ick was disgusted with the sutler because he could not supply his demand for "ein glass lager." Reddy Mahar pleaded iu vain for a little of "the old stuff," for in the rear end of the tent could be seen some bottles marked "Bourbon." The proper brand of whiskey in those days was "Bourbon." Such a thing as "Rye" was hardly ever heard of. But the sutler could not sell intoxicating liquor to the enlisted men. It was against the regulations. These regulations did not apply to the commissioned officers, and some of them took advantage of the exceptional privilege. Lieutenant Scott was good to me in that respect, however. I did not take much to whisky, but enjoyed the opportunity to get it because it was "forbid- den fruit." Not infrequently, with all these precautions, one would see a drunken soldier. How he got his liquor was always more or less of a mystery, but generally on such occasions there would be found a bottle or so miss- ing from the sutler's tent. I thought the sutler was very generous in giving the soldiers so much trust, and often wondered how he could collect all his bills. But I found out at the first pay day. We were getting two months' pay — twenty- six dollars. When the paymaster called me up for my pay I signed my name at the edge of the big sheet of paper and the clerk handed me eight dollars. "How's this?" I asked. "Here's only eight dollars, instead of twent} r -six." "That's right," answered the paymaster, with an imperious wave of the hand. "We have deducted your bill on the sutler, amounting to seventeen dollars and twenty-five cents. ' ' Ah, I had discovered how the sutler collected his bills — why he was so willing to trust the soldiers. He had the bulge on us, sure enough. That was a nice arrange- ment, wasn't it? "But hold on, major," said I, after making a hasty 196 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. mental calculation. "You say my bill at the sutler's was seventeen dollars and twenty-five cents, which amount, taken from twenty-six dollars, leaves eight dollars and seventy-five cents, and you have only given me eight dollars. That is seventy-five cents short." "Haven't time for explanations," answered the auto- crat. "Ask p your captain. Campbell" (calling the next name on the roll). "You see," said Lieutenant Scott, explaining the matter to me afterward, "the paymaster has no change and can only pay the even dollars. The seventy-five cents will go to your credit on the next pay roll." That was the rule. The sutler came first, the odd change next, and the soldier got what was left. The cash I received for my first two months' service in the army was accordingly eight dollars, four dollars a month, a dollar a week — and found ! THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 197 CHAPTER XXXV. NEWS FROM HOME. We all made up our minds that the sutler would, not get such a large proportion of our pay the next time, but these good resolutions did not amount to much when the time came. And let me interpolate that a soldier's remuneration was never referred to as "wages" or "salary," or any other term than "pay." That was the only word ever used in connection with the compensa- tion received from Uncle Sam for our services. As said, the good, resolution not to let such a large proportion of our "pay" fall into the hands of the sut- lers was easier made than kept. Mild as it was, it was the only source of dissipation within our reach. The bill of fare provided by the government was very limited, and in a short time it became extremely monot- onous. There was scarcely a day that there was not a demand for some little luxury or convenience from the sutler's tent. With us young fellows this drain on our income did not amount to much, but married men, who had fami- lies at home who needed every cent that could be sent to them, had to be more economical. And the people at home probably never had the slightest comprehension of the privation and discomfort that their husbands and fathers went through in order to save every cent. That was patriotism from a domestic economy point of view. There were some occurrences at Maryland Heights that filled us with indignation, in the shape of the resig- nations of several of the commissioned officers. A pri- vate soldier was enlisted and bound fast "for three years unless sooner discharged," but the commissioned officers had the privilege of resigning and going home whenever they saw fit, although it was generally re- 198 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. garded as arrant cowardice for one to resign on the eve of an impending battle. In such cases, however, as a general rule, the resignation would not be accepted. But there were several resignations among the officers at Maryland Heights. They "knew when they had enough' ' and ' ' wanted to go home. ' ' So did we privates, but we couldn't "go home." Of course all the resign- ing officers had "urgent business" or "sickness in the family" that required their immediate presence in the vicinity of the domestic hearthstones, but an altogether different interpretation was placed on these resigna- tions by the average soldier. Sometimes, under very extraordinary emergencies, a private could get a short leave of absence or "fur- lough," to go home, but one had to have a "pull" to obtain this inestimable privilege. It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a sewing-machine needle than it is for a private soldier to get a furlough. To their credit be it said, there were no resignations in Company K. We had at that time but one commis- sioned officer — Lieutenant Scott — and he stuck by us. He was daily expecting his commission as captain and that was another incentive for his remaining. But the mem- bers of Company K were not slow in expressing their opinions of thos9 officers that did resign. Of course our friend John Ick bobbed up serenely on this occasion. "Dey vas a lot of d — d cowyards," he said. "Dey gets us here by the front alretty, mid den dey goes back by us all the times, by jimminey. Dey drives us likes ein lot o' sheeps by the schlaughter haus, nnd then dey runs avay. Dey was cowj'ards!" The juxtaposition of "cowyards" and "slaughter houses" was a better pun than John had any idea of. But that is what he said, and he expressed the senti- ments of a good many others. These adverse comments went to such a length that there was a warning that if the boys did not keep their mouths shut on the subject they would likely be disciplined for disrespect toward their superior officers — an unpardonable sin, by the way. At Maryland Heights we began to get our first mail from home. It is impossible to describe the delight and satisfaction to a soldier to receive letters from home. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 199 I received two. One was from my uncle, and another from — well, no matter. I also received a copy of the Guardian — the paper on which I had worked — the one containing the particulars of the battle we had recently passed through. Then for the first time we learned the name of the battle — "An- tietam." We had always imagined that it would be called "the battle of Sharpsburg," because it was near that village. But the Northern newspapers and histo- rians named it after the creek — Antietam — and so it has been known ever since — throughout the North. The Southern people named it by its natural and more proper appellation, it seems to me. They have in their histories no "battle of Antietam." With them it is "the battle of Sharps burg." The theory adopted by the Northern historians was an old one. Cities and towns maybe destroyed or otherwise disappear, running streams never. The name of the location of a great event is accordiugly taken from some permanent land- mark or watermark. Hence, "Antietam," from the creek, rather than "Sharpsburg," from the village. I remember the articles about the battle in the Guar- dian distinctly. It had a lot of flaring headlines and a long list of the killed and wounded. I forget whether it was in this battle or some other one that I was reported among the killed. I had the pleasure (?) of reading my own obituary at least once in my life. I often wonder when the genuine article is published if it will be so complimentary ! It afforded an intense pleasure to read that paper from home. The local news was specially interesting. I saw that more of my old companions had subsequently enlisted in the army, in other regiments, and I began to wonder if there was anybody left at home at all. But 1 looked in vain among the list of those who had gone to the war for the names of those patriotic orators who had made the speeches from the steps of the old bank building on Main Street. Nearly all the boys had received letters from home. Some of them contained bad news, telling of trouble or sickness, and these made the recipients very down- hearted and unhappy. I was more than ever glad that 200 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. I had no one dependent upon me. The letter from my uncle told of the trouble he had to get out the Guardian, now that all his printers had gone to the war. He said that he had even to put one of the girls at work on mak- ing up the forms. I showed the letter to Davy Harris. "Joe," said he, "do you remember how I kicked at being called up from the job room to make up the forms when Joe Mosley was sick? Well, I wouldn't kick at such an order now, you bet. What fools we were to leave that job and come here. But there's no use cry- ing now. We are in for it, and that settles it. So Joe Mosley has enlisted too, has he?" "So it seems," I replied. "Guess he will find it a little different from setting advertisements and making up the forms, eh?" The conversation was interrupted by an order to fall in tor drill. And by the way, the drilling began to be incessant, and it was very tiresome. The boys were all more or less weakened from the effects of that magnesia spring, and the exposure of army life had begun to have other effects upon us. So far as I was concerned, this sort of life rather agreed with me. I had always had a rather indoor occupation — at least for some years before I en- listed — and the outdoor air was building me up. There is nothing like the fresh outdoor air for health, even with all its discomforts. With drills and picket duties we were kept busy dur- ing the time we were at Maryland Heights. And so it ran on till the 26th of October, when we were informed that a new general had been assigned to the command of our corps — General Henry W. Slocum. He was to visit us the following day, and be formally "intro- duced." In other words, we were to have a "general review." Later in the evening we were thrown into a state of still further excitement. We were told to have our uni- forms neatly brushed, our guns cleaned to the highest pitch of perfection, and the brass work on our accouter- ments polished till we could see our faces in them. "What's up? What does all this mean?" I asked Sergeant Wells. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 201 "Why, don't you know?" he replied. "The presi- dent is coming." "The president? What president?" I asked, not tak- ing it in. "The President of the United States, of course." "You don't mean to say that President Lincoln is coming to see us?" "Yes, he will be here to-morrow to review us." I hastened down through the company to spread the news. 202 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XXXVI. I SALUTE THE PRESIDENT. In the meantime Lieutenant James G. Scott had re- ceived his commission as captain, "vice Captain Irish, killed," as the rolls had it. William H. Miller, for- merly a member of the Second New Jersey, had been appointed as first lieutenant in Scott's place, and soon after Heber Wells, the orderly sergeant, was appointed second lieutenant, while our old friend "Hank" (Henry Van Orden), was made orderly sergeant. Similar changes had been made in the other com- panies. In fact so many changes had been made that the various companies were practically newly officered ; but on the whole it was an improvement, for we were getting down to the practical hard pan only reached by service and experience. At the time mentioned in the preceding chapter therefore, the Thirteenth Regiment was getting down to a pretty good shape. The men had received considerable drill and knew the difference between "present arms" and "guard mount." I appreciated the fact that I had even made some progress myself. I could shoot off a rifle without shut- ting my eyes, and in the marksmen's drill I had on at least one occasion succeeded in hitting the edge of a six- foot target. I felt if I continued to improve at this rate, it would soon be dangerous for a rebel to stand in front of my gun if it should go off, and that if I only got a chance at the enemy the war would soon be ended by the total annihilation of all the fellows on the other side. I had also received a sort of a promotion. It was not a promotion in a strictly military sense, but it was a peg higher anyhow, and it involved certain enviable THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 203 perquisites and privileges. In other words I had been dignified by the appointment of "company clerk." The clerk of a company makes out the different and apparently never-ending rolls and reports connected with the company. He is practically the captain's private secretary. He is most of the time during the day in the captain's tent, and his associates are more the officers than the enlisted men. The advantages of being a com- pany clerk consisted in being- excused from squad, company and other drills, and from guard duty, police duty, and other menial service. It did not excuse him from regimental or brigade drill, nor from picket duty, inspections or reviews. There was no excuse from these except for those on absent assignments or detached service. But the position of company clerk is altogether an enviable one, and much sought after. I received the appointment because I could write a good hand (those who see my writing now would never believe it) and because I was possessed of a certain degree of general intelligence that qualified me for the position. The place, by bringing the incumbent into close connection with the officers, gave him the advantage of certain im- portant information ahead of the general rank and file, which sometimes was a good thing. As said we had had a new general assigned to the command of our corps, General Henry W. Slocum. Our other general, Mansfield, had been killed at the battle of Antietam. "What sort of a man is this Slocum?" I asked of a member of the Second Massachusetts whom I met that morning. j "He's a rip snorter," was the answer. "He is a fighting man from way back. I tell you we will catch it now when we get into a fight." "Mine Gott und himmel," said John Ick, who stood near at the time. ' ' Ish he a more by dot schlaughter haus yeneral by dot under feller? I no likes dot. Now we gets kilt sure enough, alretty." And if it be true that General Slocum was a harder fighter than General Mansfield, it did not suit me either, not much. A man of peace would have been more to 204 The young volunteer. my liking. But we were in for it, and what was tha use? The [government did not consult the private sol- diers as to who should be their commanding officers. Perhaps if it had we would have had better ones some- times. This was not the case with General Slocum, of course, for a better genoral never lived. As General Slocum died only a short time since, and his portraits were published by many papers in connec- tion with that event, most people are familiar with his appearance. They will remember his white hair and white mustache, and a generally blond appearance. He was an entirely different-looking man in the army. He was of course much younger then. His hair was a dark brown, and he wore a full beard, trimmed short. Most of the officers wore full beards in the war, not so much on account of appearance, but because it was sup- posed to be a protection against sore throats. But the principal reason was that the barber shops were not handy and the opportune for regular shaving was not possible. I remember General Slocum as he looked then because I had a specially advantageous opportu- nity to see him close by. It was my good fortune to be detailed for guard that day, and my still better fortune to be one of the men on guard at General McClellan's headquarters. It was a scene of great activity and magnificence. Extra tents, of a large size, had been set up, one of which was a sort of lunchroom, where a table was set that contained a marvelous collection, considering the situation. There were bottles galore, and numerous baskets of cham- pagne. The idea of such a thing as champagne and glass goblets to drink it from, struck me with wonder- ment, out there "in the front." Mounted orderlies and aids were galloping hither and thither with preparatory orders, and the number of handsomely uniformed officers wearing the stars of a general on their shoulder-straps was something won- derful. Many of the officers were from the ornamental detachment on duty at Washington, whose uniforms looked as if they had just come from the tailor's shop, and whose gold lace and bullion trappings were like those worn by the militia now. This was something TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 205 oddly contrasting with the dull and dingy appearance of the uniforms and equipments of the officers who had been in active service in the front. To a soldier who had just been through hard marches and battles, there was a feeling of intense disgust for these "play soldiers," as they were called. It is said that a man with a fur-lined overcoat is always tantaliz- ing to a laborer in overalls. The same sort of a feeling seemed to overcome me and my companions at the sight of these gorgeously attired "West Pointers," with their clean and speckless uniforms, their bright golden trap- pings, and their airish eyeglasses. Soon there began to arrive some coaches. How funny they looked— coaches in the army, where the only vehicles are mule- drawn baggage wagons and cavalry saddles. But funnier still was the sight of some hand- somely dressed ladies getting out of the carriages^ Now it may seem strange, but with the exception of a vivandiere in one of the regiments of our corps, none of us had seen a woman since we passed through Wash- ington. Every man seemed to straighten himself up with dignity at the unwonted sight. I really don't know whether those ladies were handsome or not, but to our eyes they resembled angels. The bright ribbons, the dainty, flower-decked hats, the pretty wraps, and above all the bright parasols, lent an addition of color to the surroundings such as we had not seen in many a long day. These women were the wives and daughters ot the distinguished officers and officials of the govern- ment. Harper's Ferry is not such a long distance from Washington and the visit for them was a nice little ex- cursion trip. There were no rebels within miles, so that there was no earthly danger, but I imagined those women many a time after boasted about their having been "clear to the front" of the army during the war. The last of all to arrive were the commanding gen- erals of the different corps, and finally General McClel- lan himself with his brilliant staff. With these was the President of the United States, and some members of the-cabinet, all in citizens' clothes. How plain and funereal those plain black suits looked 206 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. after having seen nothing but blue uniforms for so many weeks! It must be admitted that the contrast waa rather in favor of the soldiers — or rather the officers. The president wore a silk hat, which looked woefully out of place. With an imperious air some of the staff officers led the way into the collation tent, followed by the presi- dent and the other civilians. After them came some privileged army officers, and some of the ladies. If I remember rightly, however, the most of these remained outside, watching with interest the gathering army on the parade ground. As President Lincoln passed me, on my post at the entrance of the tent, I brought my rifle to a "present arms" with a click and a snap. I purposely endeavored to attract his attention, but he never noticed me no more than if I had been a wooden Indian in front of a cigar store. The distinguished party remained in the tent for some time. I could hear the popping of corks and clinking of glasses, the lively talk and the merry laughter. Ah, thought I, it's fun for them. Little do the most of them appreciate what real war is. I thought this way in my innocence. I did not appreciate then the worry, the anxiety and sleepless, troubled days and nights that were being passed by those who directed the war. Others than soldiers fight. There are heroes who never shot a gun or wore a uniform. In the meantime the vast army had got into position for the grand review. The different regiments and bri- gades, divisions and corps, were drawn up in line on the field, which from the elevated position we occupied we could see spread out like a cosmorama. It did pre- sent a beautiful sight, the straight lines, the thousands of soldiers, the glittering bayonets, the bright flags, all spread out there on the plain below us. Then the generals commanding the different corps mounted their horses and, accompanied by their staffs, galloped to their respective commands and General Mc- Clellan and his staff, accompanied by the president and his associates, and followed by many of the ladies, went out to the place selected for them where they could have a good view of the maneuvers. .. . THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER. 207 CHAPTER XXXVII. A PRESIDENTIAL REVIEW. "Attention! Present arms!" shouted General Mc- Clellan. "Attention! Present arms!" repeated the various corps commanders. "Attention! Present arms!" reiterated the com- manders of divisions, and the commanders of the bri- gades, and the commanders of regiments, and the com- manders of companies, until the order had gone down to the furthermost soldier in the army. That is the way orders were given. It was mani- festly impossible for one man's voice to reach the whole army, so that the command went down in sections, ac- cording to rank, like the signal corps wig-wagged their messages from hilltop to hilltop. In an instant the entire army stood at a "present arms," and General McClellan turned, and with a graceful sweep of his sword, addressed the president: "Your excellency, the parade is formed." I don't know what the president said in reply, for it was in too low a tone. But he at once mounted a horse, as did those with him, and proceeded to move off. In the meantime the soldiers were ordered to bring their muskets from the uncomfortable position of a *' present" to a "shoulder" arms. According to the tactics then in use a "shoulder" was a "carry." President Lincoln, General McClellan and their bril- liant cavalcade of staff officers then galloped down toward the vast army. I will never forget the appearance of the president on that occasion. He was mounted on an enormous stal- lion, and sat in a Mexican saddle that was about four times too large for him. I think without exception he 208 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. was the most awkward-looking man on horseback that I ever laid eyes upon. He was over six feet in height, slim as a rail, and naturally ungainly. On horseback he bobbed around in the saddle in the most uncomforta- ble sort of way. His long black coat tails streamed behind comically, and his "plug hat" looked as if it would bob off with every jump the horse made. The officers rode like cen- taurs, as if they were a part of their steeds themselves, which made the contrast all the more startling. To tell the truth, I was in mortal terror that the president would tumble off his horse. But he didn't. The bands played "Hail to the Chief," according to the orthodox rule, and the presi- dent. General McClellan and the big staff of gold tin- seled officers cantered down the line and back on the rear, and along the front of the next line and around that, until the magnates had seen the front and rear of every line of troops in the vast army. Then they returned to their starting point, called the "reviewing stand" and, still mounted, stood there for the second part of the performance, the "marching in review." To the private soldier this is one of the most arduous and exasperating of all drills. The men march around the reviewing stand in what is called "company front." That is, the} r march by flank, and the idea is that when the different companies pass the reviewing stand, each one shall present a perfectly straight line. On level ground and in single ranks this was com- paratively easy. In the front, in two ranks, with the soldiers treading on each other's heels, and over uneven ground — perhaps an old plowed cornfield or something of that sort, with intercepting rocks and stumps, bushes, hillocks, and furrows — it became almost an im- possibility. But the army on this occasion did remarkably well. From the position I occupied, as one of the guards at headquarters, I could see the whole thing as plainly as the president himself. Then for the first time I got an idea of what a big army it was. I forget the exact number in that particular review, All that I remem- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 209 ber is that it was something less than one hundred thou- sand. What impressed me most was the number of cavalry- men and artillerymen, who came past after the infantry or foot soldiers. Then came the ambulance corps and the hospital brigade. Ugh! This made the cold shivers run down my back. It reminded me of the unpleasant and grewsome experience I had that night after the battle of Antietam. The grand spectacle was over at last, the assembled army broke up into its integral parts, and the president and general officers returned to the headquarters. As the president passed me for the third time that day, I again brought my musket to a "present arms" with a more vigorous movement than ever, so much so, in fact, that it attracted Mr. Lincoln's attention, and he turned and looked at me. Although I had really intended to attract his atten- tion, in order to see if he would remember that morning in the capitol rotunda well enough to recognize me, yet when I had succeeded in getting him to look in my di- rection, I was so startled that I nearly dropped my rifle. He paused and gazed at me intently, as if trying to remember something. I shook like a leaf in the wind. To say that I was embarrassed is no name for it. The incident was so marked as even to attract the attention of some of the officers, and they looked at me as if I was a culprit, for I suspect that they thought that I had been doing something wrong and had astonished the Presi- dent of the United States. I therefore felt considerably relieved when Mr. Lin- coln renewed his steps and disappeared in the tent. He evidently did not recognize me, and yet my face had apparently awakened some recollection. The corps commanders then came up and were for- mally introduced to the president and other dignitaries and to the ladies. The clinking of the glasses was re- newed, and it was still in progress when the "second relief ' came along and another soldier took my place. The president did recognize me, but could not at the time place me. The proof of this will appear later. If I could have had recognition from him then and there $10 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. it would have been of immense advantage to me. I had been in the army long enough already to appreciate the advantage of "a pull." We had become quite familiar with some of the ad- joining regiments of our brigade. Frequent calls and visits were interchanged between the men from differ- ent States at odd hours. That night I spent some time in the camp of the Third Wisconsin. "Things look ticklish," said one of them. "That review by the president warn't for nothing." "What do you mean by that?" I asked. "Well, you see, pard," said the Wisconsin man, "whenever we are reviewed by the big guns, that means to see if the army is all right for a scrimmage. I never knowed there to be a review by the head general that we didn't have to git afore long. And when the presi- dent comes to see how things are, that means more than something ord'nary. I tell you there's go in' to be a scrimmage, and afore long at that." "Why," I replied, probably in the effort to console myself, "there are no rebels anywhere around here. No enemy, no fight. We are not likely to have a bat- tle with ourselves, are we?" "Don't you fret yourself, pard," he replied; "the rebels may not be very near, and they may not be likely to come our way. But what's the matter with our going to hunt 'em up. That's what we'll likely do afore long. Mind what I say, pard, we won't be here long. You can bet your next month's pay on that." That wasn't very consoling. We had scarcely recov- ered from the effects of one battle, and that ought to be enough for some time. In fact, I had had enough to last me for the remainder of the war. It struck me as a very inconsiderate proposition on the part of the government that we should put ourselves to any trouble to bunt up the enemy so long as the enemy was not bothering us. What was the sense of seeking trouble? If the rebels came our way, all right. We would fight them. But so long as they did not molest us, what was the odds? Why should we go out of our way to get into trouble? So far as I was con- cerned I was perfectly willing to stay right there on THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 211 Maryland Heights for the whole "three years unless sooner discharged." The readers will perhaps get the impression that I was no fighter. Well, maybe not. But I can say one thing. I was not the only one. There were lots of other fellows who thought and spoke the same way that I did. Two days later we received orders to get ready to break camp. It immediately struck me that the Wisconsin veteran was right. That review meant something. The army had been found in fine condition and ready for another engagement. We were going to hunt up the enemy and give him another tussle. Some of the more restless men were glad of a change of some sort, but I would have preferred to have re- mained just then at Maryland Heights. It was not thought that we would move for several days, but on the night of the 29th of October (this was in 1862, remember) at about 9 o'clock, an order was whispered around camp hurriedly to fill in for a march. It was also reported that the rebels had made their ap- pearance at a spot a good deal nearer than any of us imagined. Certainly there must be something important on hand or the start would not have been made at that late hour of the night. But we were all surprised, after we had gone some distance, to find that we were retracing our steps, and were marching back over the same roads that we had come when we came from the battlefield of Antietam. Was there going to be another fight on the same bat- tle ground? 312 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEEH. CHAPTER XXXVIII. CAPTAIN IRISH'S BROTHER. Before leaving Maryland Heights, however, let me stop to relate one more incident that happened while we were in camp there. Captain Irish's watch, sword, papers and other effects, taken from the body by Sergeant Heber Wells, were still in Wells' possession. Heber was with the regi- ment at Maryland Heights, and Lewis Irish, the cap- tain's brother, had to make a journey thither to get them. Visitors to camp could not come and leave as they chose in those days, but were obliged to wait for cir- cumstances. Frequently they were compelled to wait in camp several days longer than they wanted to. Lewis Irish was a nervous, timid sort of a man. The deadliest weapons he had ever handled were a needle and a pair of shears. He was a man of peace and had an inborn abhorrence and horror of everything apper- taining to war. As a result he was in a state of nervous trepidation all the time he was out at the front, although as a mat- ter of fact there was really no more danger there than there was in the staid old village of Hackensack, where he resided. Mr. Irish was in a constant fear that the rebels would pounce upon the camps at any moment. One member of the family had been killed. He was the only re- maining brother. He didn't want the family name to become extinct ! At every unusual movement Mr. Irish would start. A stray shot from some soldier cleaning his gun would put him in a quiver. When the drum beat for reveille, guard mount or sick call, he would apparently imagine T&E YOUNG VOLUNTEER. -213 that it was the long roll for the whole army to fall in line of battle. While there Lewis Irish "bunked" with Heber Wells, of course. It was before the "pup" tents had arrived, and the boys had rigged up all sorts of outlandish huts "to keep off the dew," as they expressed it. Heber' s hut, like many others, was made of poles and cedar boughs. A couple of poles with notches on the ends, like clothes poles, perhaps six or seven feet in length, were driven into the ground about ten or twelve feet apart. Across these was laid a ridgepole. From this, and slanting down to one side, the other end rest- ing on the ground, were laid a lot of other poles, as close together as possible. This formed the framework for a rude sort of shed< The roof was composed of cedar branches and boughs, and the ground was covered with the same thing for a bedding. This arrangement was of course perfectly useless in case of rain, but it sheltered the occupants from the wind and was more comfortable than sleeping out-of-doors entirely. The occupants crawled in as far as possible when go- ing to bed, so that their heads were near the side where the roof came down to the ground. There wasn't much space over the heads of the sleepers. When they wanted to get out they had to carefully back out before attempting to rise. It was this peculiar characteristic of the improvised shed or hut that caused the mishap and scare that Mr. Irish sustained the last night he was in camp. It was quite a cool night, and he and Wells had snuggled them- selves tightly under the blankets in the furthermost end of the shed to escape the cold wind that was sweeping through. Either the lobscouse for supper or else perhaps some of the rich pound cake from home, had disagreed with Heber's internal department. Like Tit-Willow, maybe he "had a rather tough worm in his little inside." At all events, in the middle of the night he had a very bad attack of nightmare. All who had taken part in the battle of Antietam were still thinking of the horrible sights during the day 2H THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. and dreaming of it at night. The visit of Mr. Irish and the conversation about the death of the captain had per- haps renewed the scene in Heber's mind, and probably he fell asleep while thinking about it. When he had the nightmare he thought that he was again in the battle. Heber suddenly arose in his sleep, and throwing off the blankets, rushed to the company street and began yelling at the top of his voice : "Hello, Hank, get the men out at once! Where's Dougherty? Get the men out quick, for the rebels are right on top of us ! For heaven's sake, hurry, men, or we'll all be captured! Where's Hank Van Orden? Where's Sam Dougherty? Why don't they get out the men? Fall in, Company K!" Wells yelled this out with such a loud voice that it aroused the entire company. Hank Van Orden ran half-dressed from his hut and grasped Wells around the waist, asking what was the matter. The other men were hastily buckling on their cartridge boxes and seizing their rifles. For a few moments there was a scene of the greatest excitement, and even the members of some of the other companies were aroused by the hullaballoo. In the midst of all this Heber awakened, for he had been fast asleep all this time and did not have the slight- est idea of what he was doing, and perhaps was as much astonished as any of the rest of them till an ex- planation was made. But the funniest part of it all was the experience of Lewis Irish, the deceased captain's brother. Hearing all the noise Mr. Irish sprang from his bed and attempted to jump to his feet. In doing so his head came in contact with the low roof of the shed, and gave him such a blow that it felled him. He was nearly knocked senseless. Irish thought that we were surrounded by the enemy and that a rebel had hit him a blow over the head with the butt end of a rifle. He thought that his day had come sure. He rushed out of the hut, exclaiming : "Oh, Heber, what shall I do? Where shall I go? Give me a pistol or a gun, so that I can defend myself! Which way is the enemy coming? Where's the on© that hit me on the head?" THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 216 Wells had sufficiently recovered his sense3 to take in the situation, and undertook to pacify Mr. Irish. But he was too excited to be quieted at once. "Quick, quick, Heber!" he exclaimed. "Tell me what to do ! I can't stay here ! I am not a combatant. I am a citizen. I've no place here. Where shall I go? What shall I do? What " "That's all right, Irish," said Heber, trying to reas- sure him. "There's no danger. There are no rebels round here. I only had an attack of nightmare or something of the sort. You'd better get back to bed again, for there are no rebels within miles of here." "Yes, there is. Yes, there is," insisted Mr. Irish. "One of the scoundrels hit me on the head and almost killed me. I'm bleeding now from it." Heber lighted a candle, and sure enough the blood wae streaming from quite a serious wound on Mr. Irish's head. How it happened no one seemed able to guess at the time. A search was made around that part of the camp to see if there were any strangers lurking around, but nothing unusual could be discovered. The mystery remained unsolved until after Mr. Irish's head had been bandaged up and quiet restored, and Wells and his vis- itor pioceeded to return to bed. Then they found that immediately above the blankets where Irish had lain the poles of the low roof had been knocked out of place where Irish's head had come in contact with them. On one of the poles was a project- ing knob where a small branch had been cut off, and th?s had some hair and a particle of blood on it. The color of the hair corresponded with that on Mr. Irish's head. That was the place where he had bumped his head as he sprang from his bed. It had been a hard knock, too, for the wound on Mr. Irish's head the next morning was large and painful. But for the time being Mr. Irish thought sure that he had been hit in the head with a musket in the hands of a rebel. And no wonder. The startling yells and orders from Orderly Sergeant Wells in the middle of the night were enough to frighten almost anybody. Wells often laughed about the occurrence afterward. As for Mr. Irish, he had had enough of war. He 216 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. made up his mind that he would not remain in the front another night if he had to walk all the way to Balti- more. But, fortunately, he managed to get transporta- tion that day and left for home, and never so long as the war lasted did he again venture to the front. Many a time afterward, before he died, a few years since, he laughingly referred to the adventure, and can- didly admitted that for a little while he thought that his earthly career was at an end. He thought sure that the camp was surrounded by rebels and that one of them had hit him on the head with the butt end of a musket. "But what's the difference?" he often asked. "What difference does it make whether a man has his brains knocked out by the butt end of a musket or the gable end of a house?" THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 817 CHAPTER XXXIX. THE FIEST THING I KILLED. The march on the night that we left Harper's Ferry was one of the hardest the Thirteenth ever experienced. I could neA r er see the necessity for it. There was no need of any such hurry. We were not going to get into a fight, despite the predictions of my friend in the Wis- consin regiment. We were only going back to Sharps- burg to relieA-e the troops of General Fitz-John Porter, who were doing duty as pickets along the Potomac River opposite Sheperdstown. The entire Army of the Potomac, with the exception of the Eleventh and Twelfth corps, had crossed the river and started over into Virginia, in pursuit of the enemy, while the two corps mentioned were left behind to guard "Harper's Ferry and the Potomac River." The Eleventh corps had taken our place at Harper's Ferry, and we — that is, the Twelfth corps — were sent further up the river. That there were some rebels in that neighborhood we soon found out. But as said before there was no necessity, so far as we could ever see, for the impetuous and hasty character of that night's march. Many of the men fell out from sheer fatigue. While at Maryland Heights the most of us had got new knapsacks, and despite experience had again loaded ourselves down with various useful things in camp, but altogether too much to carry on the march. The result of this was that the road was again strewn with all sorts of things which we would soon need very much. Had we marched a little more slowly we might have retained all these necessities. There were few who stuck to their loads. When we reached our camp, 218 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. somewhere near morning, we were almost devoid of everything except our blankets and shelter or "pup" tents. And it must be remembered that the season was advancing and the nights were becoming uncomfortably- chilly. We went into camp near Sharpsburg, within but a short distance of the Antietam battlefield. Our duties consisted mainly of picket duty along the Potomac River. It was the first time we had ever been on picket immediately in front of the enemy. The rebels were on one side of the river and we were on the other ; we could see each other plainly. The river is narrow at that point, and when the water is low one can wade across, or step from stone to stone. At the time we were there the stones at the bottom could not be seen, but the river was shallow enough to wade across. On one side of the river was the Chesapeake and Ohio canal. This was the side we were on. The towpath was between the canal and the river. Between the tow- path and the river there was an embankment, and at various spots there were trees growing. Our picket posts were supposed to be on the tow-path. Where there were trees we got beh ind them. In other places we got down on the water side of the canal and behind the protection afforded by the sloping banks. There was not much water in the canal at that time, for there were no boats running then. These protections were very useful, for the rebels on the other side of the river kept popping away at us whenever they got a chance, and we fired back every time we saw an exposed head on the other side of the river. We had no change of pickets at night for a while, because of this danger. The sergeant and his squad of men would remain behind the protecting trees and em- bankment as long as it was daylight. I remember one day while on picket with John But- terworth. We were both down in the ditch of the canal. "I wonder if there are any Johnnies on the other side now, anyway," he said. The rebels were always re- ferred to as the "Johnnies," The enemy invariably called us the "Yanks." THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 219 "You'd better look out, Jack," I replied. " Don't run any risks with that cocoanut of yours." "I'm going to take a peep, anj-how," said John. And so saying he raised up his head so that his eyes were just over the level of the towpath. "Z-z-z-z-ip!" A bullet whistled by, uncomfortably close to Butter- worth's head. You would have laughed to see him dodge. His head went down as if he had been shot ! "By jingo, Joe," said he. "I could feel the wind of that bullet in my hair. I guess there are some John- nies over there after all. ' ' "No doubt of that, Jack," said I. "But say, wait a minute and see some fun." With that I took off my hat and placed it on the end of my rifle. Then I slowly lifted it up as if a soldier was taking another peep over the towpath. "Zip!" came another bullet. It came near my cap, but did not touch it. I drew the hat down quickly, as if the wearer were dodging, and a moment later stuck the hat up again. Another bullet, two, three, came whistling by, and one of them went plump through my cap. "Pretty good shooters over there, Joe," said John. "It's a good thing your head was not in the hat then, or you would have been a goner, sure." "If my head had been in that hat I wouldn't have held it there, you know. I merely wanted to see if there was any danger of those fellows hitting anybody. That settles it. I don't stick my head out there, in the daytime, you bet." "Nor I, neither," said John. I relate this to show the dangerous nature of the duty we were performing. In unguarded moments two or three of our men came near being shot, but the bullets missed their mark. It was most nonsensical sort of business, but then a soldier in the war is generally like the Irishman at Donnybrook fair. Whenever he saw a head he struck at it. In the night time one could walk along the tow path with comparative impunity. The rebels would fire 220 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER random shots occasionally, but there wasn't much danger of their hitting anything in the dark. The grand rounds visited us and the officers of the guard very sensibly inspected the outer posts in the night time. This desultory shooting at each other's pickets from the opposite sides of the river was kept up for some time, and it was a constant nuisance and bother, let alone the dangerous part of it. It was very uncomfortable to patrol a beat on the inside of a canal bank. It was ex- asperating to see the river so close and yet impossible to get down to it. The first night I was on picket here I had an adven- ture. It was after midnight and the night was very dark, For the reasons before stated there was no apparent danger then and I was walking along the tow path with my rifle carelessly hanging over my arm. All of a sudden I heard something creeping through the bushes near me. "Halt!" I cried, in the orthodox way. "Who comes there!" But not a word came in answer. On the contrary the mysterious personage kept coming toward me. I felt my hair raise in terror. "Halt!" I repeated, still more peremptorily, at the same time cocking my rifle in readiness to shoot. But it didn't halt for a cent. I imagined all sorts of things — spies, midnight assas- sins, guerrillas, rebels detailed to go around and kill in- dividual soldiers, everything horrible. That it was anything else than a man I never for a moment imag- ined. It became my plain duty to shoot. And yet then and there, under the extenuating circumstances that existed, I distinctly remember a horror at the idea of taking the life of a human being. It gave me the chills. But something must be done, and done quickly. If I didn't shoot it, it would shoot or knife me, and so there was nothing to do but to take the best aim I could and blaze away. How I managed to hit the mark in the darkness pf THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 221 the night I don't know. But I did. It rolled over, struggled a moment and was still. I was too much agitated to go and see who or what it was. I didn't want to gaze upon the creature whose death I had caused. So I yelled at the top of my voice : "Corporal of the guard — post No. 10!" "What's the matter?" asked the corporal, as he came running up, out of breath. "I — I — I've shot a man," I stuttered. "He was sneaking up to me and would not stop when I hollered 'halt' three times, and so I shot him. See if he is dead." The corporal proceeded to make an examination. "Yes, he is dead. Dead as a door nail." I thought I should faint. Dead ! I had killed a fel- low mortal. Horrible ! In battle you shot, and didn't know whether your individual gun had killed an} 7 body or not. There is a consoling uncertainty about it. But the thought ihat you, with your own gun, with your own hand, have been the cause of the death of any- body, is a terrible thing. When the corporal came toward me pulling the dead body behind him, I wanted to run away, but of course could not. "I'll share this with you in the morning, pard," said the corporal. "We will have a dandy dinner to- morrow." Dinner to-morrow! What did the corporal mean? Eat a human being? "Do you take me for a cannibal?" I asked, in aston- ishment. "A cannibal? What do you mean by that?" "I mean do you think I am going to eat the man I have killed?" With that the corporal broke out in a fit of laughter that I thought very uncalled-for under the circum- stances. "A good joke, by thunder!" said he, as soon as he could recover his voice. "And did you really think you had shot a man?" "Why, of course I did," I answered. "What else?" "Take a look at the 'man' you have killed," said he, throwing the corpse toward me, 222 r iEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. I leaned down ^,nd examined it. Then I felt of it. Then I lifted the body up, and broke out into laughter myself. I was a little hysterical, too. The sudden revulsion of feeling was the cause, for the body before me was not that of a man. It was only a 'possum ! THE TOUN& VOLUNTEER. 223 CHAPTER XL. YANKS AND JOHNNIES. Sure enough, we had 'possum for dinner the next day, in a savory stew. 'Possum tastes a little like very 3 r oung pork, but has a much finer flavor. We relished it immensely, particularly as it was the first time the most of us had ever tasted 'possum. The incident was duplicated many a time, for 'pos- sum was very plentiful in that part of the country, and scarcely a night passed but that the men on picket saw one or more. They generally traveled at night. Of course the size of a 'possum was nothing to be compared with a man, but in the darkness I could not see what it was, and I was terribly frightened and overcome for the few moments that I really thought I had killed a human being. Here let me tell the reader something strange. Experi- ence afterward made us very suspicious of a calf or a large pig creeping past us at night. Spies and scouts used to take calf hides and complete pig skins, and get- ting inside of them, crawl past the picket lines. More than one supposed pig or calf has been shot and the body of a man found inside the hide. Wolves travel in sheep's clothing, according to the Good Book. The little school geographies we had in the primary departments invariably had pictures of Indians in wolf's skin crawling toward the unsuspect- ing buffaloes In war times all such devices are re- sorted to by the scouts to get past the picket lines. About a week later I was on picket again, at pretty near the same place. The rebels had continued their popping at every Union soldier's head that they saw, and the Union soldiers had been keeping up their side in this nonsensical individual warfare. But one day £24 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. we were astonished by an unusual sign on the other side of the river. It was a white handkerchief — or rather a handker- chief that had once been white — held up on the end of a bayonet. A white flag is a "flag of truce.'" It means a cessa- tion of hostilities. If the other side agrees to the truce, an answering white signal is set. We had some trouble to find anything white enough to serve as a flag, and finally resorted to a small muslin bag that one of the boys had in his haversack to hold his sugar. A very dirty-looking rebel then stepped out, and hold- ing his hands to his mouth like a speaking-trumpet, yelled out: "Hey, Yank!" "Hey, Johnnie!" was our reply. "Will you stop shootin' if we-uns do?" "We will." "All right. We-uns' 11 send you a message." "How?" "Wait'n you'll see." We waited. We could see three or four of the dirty gray backs doing something down at the edge of the river, but could not see what it was, when something like a long, little boat started across. It was a very ingenious arrangement. A fence rail, one side of which was round and the other side flat, made something very much the shape of a boat. At intervals were stuck twigs, for masts. On the masts were sails made of paper. At the rear end of the rail was an improvised rudder. The man who concocted this arrangement, and ad- justed the sails and rudder must have been a sailor at some time in his life, for the gentle breeze that pre- vailed at the time brought it straight as if it had been manned by human sailors. We went down to the side of the river and caught the queer little ferryboat as it landed. On one of the masts was a sheet of paper folded up. Opening it, it was found to be the "message." It read, as nearly as I can remember it after so many years, about as follows : THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 225 "Yanks : If you fellers stop a-sbootin we-uns will stop a shootin. Whats the sens of us a shootin at each uther? Lets be a little sochibul. Have you fellers any coffie what you'd like to swap for some tobaccy? We- uns has plenty tobaccy but no cofee, and we-uns knows what you fellers has lots of cofee and no tobaccy. Send anser by bote. Shift the sales and the ruder tother way, and she'll come over all right. Hoping these fu lines will find you enjying good helth, we subscrib oursels yours truly. Johnny. ' ' Anything for a lark. Here was a chance seldom offered. It struck me very strangely. All along I had regarded the rebels as something in- human. I cannot exactly explain it, but all of a sudden it came to me that here were fellow human beings on the other side, who as individuals were no more con- cerned m the war than we were, who were willing to stop the practice of killing on sight, and anxious to strike a common-sense, everyday barter. The impression such an event gave to the private sol- diers was that the war was a useless and uncalled-for affair, and might as well be stopped then and there. It is impossible to convey to the reader the precise emo- tions aroused. Somehow everything that had passed slipped entirely from the memory, and awakened a dim, unaccountable, indefinable vision of the way things might be if peace were declared. But we didn't stop to reflect or moralize. We had plenty of coffee, as the rebels had surmised, and were willing to share with the enemy, especially as it was al- ways reported that the rebels had an unlimited supply of tobacco of a superior quality. So we tied up in an old piece of paper as much coffee as it would hold, each man contributing his quota, and fastened it to the "boat." We also wrote a return "message," and stuck it on one of the tiny masts. As near as I can remember the message ran something like this: "Johnnies : We send you some coffee; now send the tobacco. We will stop shooting at your hats if you will 226 THE YOUNQ VOLUNTEER. do the same. What is the use, as you say? If you fel- lows go back on your word, now, look out. "Yanks." I wrote the original of that letter, and so have a pretty clear remembrance of what was in it. I remember dis- tinctly that I signed it "Yanks," the same as they had addressed us. We adjusted the sails and rudder of the little craft as suggested and sent the comical ferryboat on its journey across the river. But somehow or other we did not fix the nautical tackle right, and instead of going across, as intended, the improvised boat suddenly turned down stream and started in the direction of Harper's Ferry in a lively manner. If that message had got into the hands of some of the officers it might have caused us trouble, for to "hold communication with the enemy" was a grave offense — a good deal more grave than any of us appreciated at the moment. But no such disaster happened. The rail boat had not gone far before one of the rebels jumped into the river and waded out to the little craft and carried it to the Virginia side of the river. The water was not very deep. It was hardly up to the "Johnny's" hips. We could see them open the message and read it, and there was a scramble between them for a division of the coveted coffee. In a little while they sent the boat back again with some smoking tobacco that was excel- lent, and which we greatly appreciated. There was no message this time. One of the rebels shouted across the water that they had no more paper. But it was not a great distance across the river and we could talk to each other in a somewhat loud voice. This sort of a conversation was not very satisfactory, however, but it ended in a somewhat startling proposi- tion from "our friends, the enemy." It was, if we would receive them in the same spirit in which they came, they would come over the river after dark and have a "chin" with us. We counseled among ourselves about thia. It was a rather risky proposition — not so much that we would THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 227 be captured by the rebels or that they would take some other advantage of it, but that we might be caught by some of the officers, with*disastrous results. But we finally decided to take the risk, and the ar- rangement was that our visitors should come over im- mediately after the "first relief" went on their posts — that is at 9 o'clock. And so the programme was carried out. The first relief had hardly taken the place of the third, when we heard the quiet splashing of the water from the little group of rebels wading over to us. 228 -. TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XLI. OUR FRIENDS THE ENEMY. For a picket post to hold communication with the pickets of the enemy is one of the things most emphat- ically forbidden by the articles of war. But that it was done many times during the course of the war is unmis- takable. There is many an old soldier who can testify to the fact from his own personal experience. If any of us thought of the magnitude of the offense he did not mention it. I know for myself, there was no idea of doing anything wrong. It was merely a little novelty that tended to relieve the terrible monotony of picket duty, and consequently simply regarded as a wel- come diversion. There were six in the party of rebels that came across the river. There were twelve or fifteen on our side, so that there was no danger of a capture or anything of that sort — at least so far as we were concerned. The greatest manifestation of trust and good faith bad cer- tainly been on the part of the "Johnnies," in the way they had put themselves in our power. They had further shown their trust by leaving their guns behind them. They were completely in our power if we had wanted to be mean. But we never thought of such a thing as that. "Hello, Yanks," said the spokesman, as he came up dripping from the water. "That was mighty good coffee you-uns sent we-uns." That was a Southern provincialism that may strike the reader as funny, but it was used almost exclusively in conversation on the part of the majority of men in the rebel army. They always said "you-uns" for "you," and "we-uns" for "we" or "us." THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 229 "Hello, Johnnies," replied one of our boys, "and that was good tobacco you sent us in return. It was the best we have had in a long while." "Yes, we know the kind of tobaccy you-uns have. It comes from Baltimore, don't it?" We told them that they had guessed right. "We-uns gets our tobaccy from Virginny crop, put up in Richmond — the best in the whole world. You- uns don't get much o' that nowadays. You-uns' tobaccy is from Maryland, I reckon." We told the spokesman that we didn't know anything about it, except that it came from Baltimore. "Where be you-uns from?" asked the rebel spokes- man. We told him. We represented several Northern States. In return they told us that they were from all the way from Virginia to Texas. We sat down on the canal bank, and lighted our pipes. There was a fire on the canal side of the bank, which we had lighted for the first time after the agreement not to indulge in any more shooting. We boiled some coffee and proceeded to have a regular picnic. Both sides were a little guarded in the conversation at first, so as not to give offense to each other. But on the general topic of the war we had a nice talk. "How long do you-uns think this thing's agoin' to last?" asked one of the rebels. "Till you fellows give up," replied I banteringly. "If we-uns had our way," replied the Johnnie, "it wouldn't be long afore that happened. We'uns is good and sick of it. If it weren't for the officers and the pol- erticians, it would be settled mighty soon, I reckon." "There is something in that," I answered. "But you all know we of the North are fighting for the Union, which you want to destroy." "We don't want to destroy nothin'," answered the rebel. "We'uns don't want to destroy the Union." "Then what are you fighting for?" I asked. " 'Cause we have to," was the answer. "You-uns don't suppose we would be here if they didn't make us come, do you? Didn't they make you-uns come to fight the same way?" 230 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "No, we didn't have to come," I replied. " We en- listed of our own accord. We volunteered, you know." "What, went into the army and didn't have to?" "That's as true as gospel." "Well, I'll be derned," exclaimed the astonished rebel. "If we'uns didn't have to come I'll reckon there wouldn't be many of us in the front. Of course there's some of 'em what came at the first because they didn't want the Northern ablishionists to free our niggers. That's what the war's for, isn't it?" Now I am willing to affirm that that is the first time I ever had any idea that the abolition of slavery had anything to do with the war. And from the exclama- tions and denials of my comrades I do not think any of them ever dreamed of such a thing. We vehemently protested against this view of the case and so told our strange guests. But they could not be shaken in their belief that the freedom of the slaves was one of the essential causes of the war. "That's what we'uns believes, anyhow," said the spokesman of the party. "Now, see here. You-uns have factories and railroads and such like. Suppose we-uns went for to destroy all them, wouldn't you fight agin it?" "I think we certainly should," I replied. "Well, then," continued the rebel spokesman, "we- uns have no factories and few railroads. We have cotton fields and sugar-cane plantations. Our niggers do the work. We own 'em, the same as the planta- tions. You want to make our niggers free, and so take aAvay all our property. Then we-uns fight agin ib, see? You would do the same thing, I reckon." The slavery part of the question had never entered my mind, and I was not prepared to argue it. But I said: "I thought you said that you are fighting because they made you, and here you are saying that you are only defending your rights and what you call your prop- erty." "I ain't talking for myself," said the rebel. "I was made to come. I don't own no niggers and never did. I worked in a grocery store in Montgomery. But I'm THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 231 only telling you-ims what we-uns heard men say, what they are keeping up the war for. So far as we-uns here are consarned, none o' us have any niggers and we don't care how soon this thing stops." "Nor which side comes out ahead," chimed in another of the "Johnnies." This conversation, so odd and under such strange cir- cumstances, was kept up for some time, and then branched off into other things more personal, mainly reminiscent of the war. They were all old soldiers and had seen some hard service, and their stories w r ere very interesting. " 'Sh-h-h! Hark!" This came simultaneously from several mouths. We listened and heard voices further down the canal. It was at the next "post." "Who comes there?" we heard. "The grand rounds," was the answer we heard. Then there was a quiet scattering. We were intensely surprised. We had gauged our time so as to keep on the lookout for the grand guards. Generally they do not come around till after midnight. And yet it was not yet 11 o'clock. We hastily but quietly directed our rebel visitors to get behind the trees growing at the foot of the canal bank, at the edge of the river. They were thoroughly frightened. " You-uns ain't agoin' to give us away?" "Never fear of that," we assured them. The sentry on the nearest post, the sergeant and cor- poral of the guard, went about their business, as if faithfully doing their duty, while the rest of us hastily pulled our blankets around us and pretended to be asleep, as we were supposed to be. The grand rounds came along and were received in the customary fashion. 'Everything all right here?" asked the officer of the day. a captain. "Everything quiet, sir," was the answer. "1 see some embers here. Have you been having a fire?" "Y-y-yes, sir," stammered the sergeant. 232 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "I thought the orders were not to light any fires on this line," said the officer. "It's rather dangerous. Put it out and don't light it again. It will draw the fire of the enemy." "They've not "been shooting at all to-day, captain," said the sergeant. "I guess there ain't any rebels on the other side now. We haven't seen any signs of them for some time." The sergeant was a good deal more correct about there not being "any rebels over there" than the captain had any idea ot. I saw through the subterfuge and could hardly keep from laughing outright. "Well, keep a strict lookout, sergeant," said the cap- tain, as he and the rest of the detail forming the grand rounds took their departure for the next post. When the way was clear we gave the signal, and the concealed rebels emerged from their hiding-places. "You-uns are a lot o' bricks," said the first one out. "You had us that time, if you wanted to go back on we-uns." "Oh, we would never do a thing like that," was the reply, "after having given our words. But, all the same, you fellows had better get across again for " This advice was interrupted by a shot from a rifle, and the bullet came whistling past us and struck into one of the trees with a characteristic "zip!" Instantly there was a scene of great excitement. Every one of our picket guards sprang to his feet and seized his rifle. Our rebel visitors sprang into the river with a loud splash ! THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 233 CHAPTER XLII. AN ALL-AROUND SCARE. Although alarming for the time being, the combi- nation of occurrences that caused all the commotion pre- vailing at the conclusion of the preceding chapter was very comical. It transpired that the man on the next post had fallen asleep, leaning against a tree, as frequently happened. It is wonderful with what ease a soldier would fall asleep, standing up, leaning against a tree, or even on the march. And he would suddenly awake at the first start, like a nodding deacon listening to the drowsy sermon from an old-fashioned minister of the " thirteenth ly" sort. The sleepy sentinel heard the approach of the grand rounds, and to his half -awake mind it probably seemed like the approach of the entire rebel army. So, in a dazed sort of a way, he raised his rifle and blazed away. The startled grand rounds, hearing the bullet whistle past them, naturally imagined that they were being sur- rounded by a scouting party from the enemy, and they retreated hastily back to the next post, where we were, which was the headquarters of that particular section of the picket line. The bullet zipping past us, and the footsteps of the running grand rounds coming toward us, made us also think that the rebels were making some sort of a flank movement around us. The rebel visitors, hearing tbe shooting of the rifle and the whizzing bullet, perhaps thought that we had laid some trap for their capture despite our promises and pledge of immunity. The splashing of the retreating visitors in the water 234 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. as they were scurrying across the river also added to the mystification of ;the officer of the day and his compan- ions of the grand rounds, and thus it was that every one of the different characters in the farce was for the time being startled, because of his ignorance of all the cir- cumstances. "Halt!" our sentry called out, at the approach of the grand rounds on their backward movement. The usual exchanges were made and the countersign given. Then we began to speculate on the cause of that shot. Every- thing was quiet in that direction now. " 'Sh !" said the captain, who was serving as officer of the day. "I think it was a rebel scouting party trying to cross the river. I thought I heard them after the shot. Did you men hear anything?" We all solemnly averred that we had not. But at the same time we knew well enough what had made that splashing in the water. "Suppose I go up and see if there is anything the matter with the man on that post?" suggested our ser- geant. "That's a good plan," said the officer of the day. "But you'd better take a file of men with you to be on the safe side." I happened to be one of three selected for this duty. "We crept cautiously and with as little noise as possible, and when we got near enough we heard sounds that we recognized as those attendant on the loading of a musket. "Hello, Jack," said the sergeant cautiously, abandon- ing the usual formula for approaching a sentry, "what's the matter?" "Nothing," he replied. "Was that the grand rounds?" "Yes." "Well, they got on to me rather suddint, and I blazed away at 'em not thinkin'." "And you nearly scared the life out of the whole of us," said the sergeant. We returned to the post station and reported that everything was all right. The officer of the day was satisfied with that part of the explanation, but he was THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 235 still dubious about that splashing in the water. He thought it strange that none of us had beard it, and it seemed to arouse his suspicions. Just then David Harris, who was with us, was smart enough to invent a story to get out of the dilemma. "I guess I can explain it, captain," said he. "There's a big iiock of ducks there feeding. I saw them before dark, and have heard them quacking several times. I guess that shot scared them, and their fluttering through the water was what we heard." Davy Harris' stupendous audacity at this ingenious invention excited my most profound admiration. "Ah," said the captain, "that must be it. But you boys must be careful for the enemy might make a feint at any time. Fall in, grand rounds." (This to his detail. ) The grand rounds then proceeded to the whilom sleepy sentry, who was wide enough awake by this time ; and was received "according to the regulations." He gave the captain some cock-and-bull story about his gun going off accidentally, but that didn't work. Official dignity had been insulted. A high-toned com- missioned officer could not be given such a scare as that with impunity. The sentinel was placed under arrest and another man put in his place. The fellow told us afterward how he had got asleep for sure, and was thoroughly startled at the approach of the grand rounds at such an unexpected hour. But we never gave him away, and beyond a few hours in the guard house he escaped punishment. In the morning we rigged up another rail ferryboat and sent a messenger over to our rebel friends on the other side, explaining the matter, as we did not want them to think that we had wilfully gone back on them. We expected to see them again, but did not. I was on picket two or three times afterward, but always at some other post. But we told the men who relieved us of what had occurred, and the nightly visits were kept up for some time. There is more than one private sol- dier of the Thirteenth who could testify to these facts to-day, and it was a pleasant and enjoyable innovation on the usual monotony of picket duty. 236 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. I don't know if any of the officers ever "caught on" to it. I am inclined to believe that they knew nothing about it, at least at the time, or they might have put a stop to it. But then the officers did not know every- thing that was going on in those daj T s — not much they didn't! It was a frequent occurrence for the opposing picket posts to come together in this sociable manner, unless it was right before an expected battle, when the men were enemies in fact as well as in name. But by no means were the private soldiers thirsting for the blood of their brethren on the other side. And I never heard of advantage being taken by either side of those who thus trusted the enemy's pickets and put them on their honor as men. Perhaps if it had been a war between two different nations there would not have been such a thing possible, for there would have been a natural enmity and antipathy that could not have been overcome. But this was a civil war, of brother against brother, and the circumstances were somewhat peculiar. At the same time it cannot be denied that it was "holding communication with the enemy," although never, to my knowledge, was an in- formation given of each other's strength or movements. These intersectional calls and visits were always merely sociable and personal. When we had been on picket we were excused from drill and other duties the next day. We were supposed to take it to rest, and we generally did, unless a march was ordered. But on other days we had no end of drill- ing and dress parades and other military maneuvers, so that we were kept pretty busy, and no one complained of the want of exercise. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 237 CHAPTER XLIII. AN INSPECTION. An inspection is one of the bugbears of the soldier. Not only is this so in an active campaign, but it is so with troops in barracks and forts, and as much so in the reg- ular army, where a man makes it the business of his life, as it is in the volunteer service in time of war, when it is only an exigency. We were always notified of the coming of the inspec- tion officer. Of course we had an inspection by our regimental officers every Sunday morning while in camp, but the visit of the official inspector was another thing. It was a very useful thing, all must admit, but at the same time it was a perfect nuisance to the aver- age soldier. Upon receiving notification that the inspecting officer was coming every soldier proceeded to put himself in presentable shape. The first thing of all was to clean our rifles. They must be taken apart and cleaned to the acme of perfection. Not a particle of dust must be found anywhere upon them, and the polished parts must shine like silverware. This, with the limited facilities at our disposal, was no easy task. There was a dearth of old rags and other material with which to clean the guns. Sapolio, silverine and other polishing materials were not furnished by the government, but a fairly good substitute was found in common dry clay, which gave a pretty good polish to the metal work of our weapons. On the cartridge box at our side and on the belt around our waist there was a big brass plate, bearing the letters "U. S. , " and on the cross over the breast there was another brass plate bearing what was supposed to 238 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. represent the great American eagle, but which in reality more resembled a turkey buzzard. I think it was John Ick who originated the name of "buzzard" in our com-^ pany, for he was always talking of the time when that bird would pick the flesh off his bones. That of course would be after he had passed through the ordeal of the "slaughter house." These brass plates had to be polished to the highest notch of perfection. And then the belts and shoes had to be blackened or polished, although at times it was hard to get blackening, and the unfair part of it was that we had to provide ourselves with this, purchasing it out of our own pockets from the sutlers. The clothes had to be neatly brushed and the entire toilet of the soldier made as respectable as possible. Not only that, but the knapsacks had to be packed in a cer- tain manner, with each piece laid in a particular part of the pack, and the blanket rolled so that the edges came in just a certain position. The whole object of this was to have everything in perfect uniform. The word "uniform" expresses the equipment of a body of troops exactly. Every man's apparel and equipment must be exactly like his fellow's. These things seem trivial, taken individually, but when it comes to a vast number of men the importance of the matter is obvious. On assembling for inspection the regiment forms in line the same as in dress parade and then wheels into companies. Then at a shoulder arms the inspecting officer and his assistants, accompanied by the staff officers of the regiment, take a hasty trip down the front of each of the ten companies in succession and then around the back. Then he starts again at the company on the right and proceeds to inspect the arms of every individual soldier. This is the crucial test. As the inspecting officer, who by the way was always a very airish and self-important official, with a strik- ingly arrogant manner, approaches each soldier, the latter holds up his gun in front of him in a certain pre- scribed manner, so that it is handy for the officer to take. The inspector seizes the gun with a snap and jump, THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 239 something as a startled mother would grab a bottle of poison from the hand of a child. I don't know why they did it in this way, but the inspecting officers cer- tainly always did so. Then the inspector takes the rifle, examines it carefully and tries the trigger, as if he were in a store examining a new gun which he proposed to buy. The inspector invariably wore spotless white gloves to begin with. On the condition of those white gloves at the end of the inspection depended the percentage of perfection. The cleaner the gloves the higher the per- centage. The more soiled they were the lower the rate of credit. The result of the inspection was accordingly decided automatically, as it were. To begin with, the inspector would rub a finger under and around the hammer to see if he could find a speck of dirt there. But the next ordeal was the worst. I forgot to say that before handing the gun to the inspec- tor the ramrod had to be drawn from its sheath and dropped into the barrel of the rifle. The inspector would give the gun a sort of upward throw that would send the ramrod up a ways and let it fall back into the bar- rel. If there was a bright, bell-like, musical result, it showed that the barrel was clean, for if there was dirt there there would be a dull sound instead of the bell-like result. If there was any suspicion of dirt or dust the in- spector would turn the ramrod around on the bottom of the barrel, and twist the end of it on the palm of his white glove. Woe to the soldier if there was any dirt on the end of the ramrod to soil that white glove. When the inspector had finished examining the gun, he would throw it back with a force that would almost knock the soldier over in his efforts to catch it. The agility with which the soldier officiated in the catcher's box on such an occasion seemed to be an important factor in the inspector's opinion of that individual soldierr As win be imagined this inspection of every individ- ual in a regimentTof seven or eight hundred men was a slow and tedious process and the fatigue of standing there in line so long was one of the reasons why the 240 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. ceremony was so much dreaded. But this part of the inspection was finally concluded. Then the soldiers had to open their percussion cap and cartridge boxes, while the inspector marched around and ascertained if they all contained the required comple- ment of ammunition. After that each soldier had to unsling his knapsack and lay it carefully on the ground behind him, open, so that the inspector could see that every article was packed according to the regulations. Every article had to lie just so, even to the manner of its folding. In times when the army was in camp, or otherwise so situated that the things discarded on the march could be replaced, every soldier had to have certain necessary articles and to show them to the officials on these period- ical inspections. This fact got John Ick and Keddy Mahar into trouble. The inspection near Sharpsburg was the first one wherein the inspector had pried into the interior of the knapsacks. On former occasions, only the outside of the "trunks" were examined. As a loaded knapsack is quite heavy, Mahar and Ick had invented an ingenious scheme to reduce the fatigue; they had done this so neatly that no one knew the difference. The knap- sacks stood out firm and plump as if they contained all the articles called for. Their ingenuity, however, on this occasion brought Ick and Mahar to grief. When the order came to "Open knapsacks," these two worthies looked at each other in a guilty fashion, and I could almost see them grow pale as they saw the nice and orderly manner in which their comrades had packed their knapsacks. Ick and Mahar held back. "Didn't you hear the order to open knapsacks," said Scott, who was in command of the company. "Now, captain, you see — " Mahar began to say; but he was interrupted by the captain : "Open your knapsacks, I said." ' " d "Mister Scott," put in Ick, who always had a funny way of addressing the officer p.3 "mister,*' "please oxcuse me. I don't vaxit to opens mine knapsack any juore alretty this time, You gee it yas— ■*»'* .., . _.,.,, , TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 241 "Open those knapsacks!" roared the captain, getting angry. The two men sheepishly proceeded to open the knap- sacks, and then the entire company saw why they hesi- tated. Both were stuffed with straw! The straight line that Company K had been main- taining was immediately broken up, for every man was nearly bent double with laughter. Captain Scott looked as if he would like to annihilate the two men on the spot, for it was a reflection on him. According to the rules he should have held a little inspection of the com- pany himself before coming out on the field, to see that everything was all right, but this he had of course failed to do. To make it all the worse, just at this moment along came the inspecting officer and his staff. That terrible autocrat seemed to take the whole thing as a personal insult and fairly roared. But even his roaring could not stop the laughter among the other members of Com- pany K. Poor Ick and Mahar rather got the worst of that scheme. They were sent to the guard house, and after the inspection were put through their punishment. The penalty prescribed by Captain Scott was appropriate. For four solid and tedious hours John Ick and Reddy Mahar marched up and down the company street carry- ing knapsacks filled with stones. When they got through with the ordeal they were nearly dead with fatigue, and the straps holding up the heavy load had cut through the flesh of their shoulders seemingly almost to the bone. 243 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. I CHAPTER XLIV. WE BUILD A HOUSE, "Iaji always suspicious of those inspections," said Joan Btansfield to me, after the conclusion of the par- ticular ono described in the foregoing chapter. "Why, John?" I asked. "Because they are not held for nothing. They mean that there is something coming off pretty soon. These things are to see that the army is in good order and ready for a move of some sort. Do you remember what that Hoosier said just before wo left Maryland Heights?" "Yes," I replied. "But that did not amount to much after all. There was no fighting after that re- view. We were only given a little march. ' ' "I don't exactly mean that we will get into a fight," answered Stansfield ; "but there'll be something — either a march or a light before long." It really seemed as if Stansfield was right. There was generally some sort of a movement after a review or an inspection of more than ordinary formality, so that the soldiers had begun to regard the sign as unfailing. Every old soldier regarded these things as the first steps toward some important change or movement. But so far as this particular affair was concerned the rule did not hold good, inasmuch as we remained in the vicinity of Sharpsburg for some little time after that. This oc- casion, however, was unquestionably an exception to the general rule. The rigors of army life and exposure, together with the approach of cold weather, began to play havoc with the soldiers of the Thirteenth New Jersey. A great many of them were taken sick, and the temporary hos- pital that had been improvised was full. Nearly two THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 243 hundred were sick, and six of these cases resulted fatally. The hospital was an old two-story frame building about a mile from our camp, and about as comfortable as the pest house on the almshouse farm. Although there were a number of the members of Company K on the sick list, yet there were no deaths among them. So far as I was concerned, my health was splendid. While we were at Sharpsburg there were also a good many promotions and other changes among the officers. George M. Hard, a Newarker — now president of one of the leading national banks of New York City — was transferred to the position of first lieutenant of Com- pany K. This made some grumbling, for the men argued that if there were any offices to fill the vacancies should be filled from among our own members. But Hard proved a good officer, and the grumbling did not last long. Furthermore he was soon afterward trans- ferred to another company. It is unnecessary in this story to refer to all the changes, but I will mention one case — that of Lieuten- ant Ambrose M. Matthews, who was promoted to the captaincy of Company I, a position he held to the end of the war, although he was entitled to a much higher position, for a better man never lived. He is now a prosperous business man of Orange, 1ST. J., and is fortunatelj 7, so situated in life that he can devote a good deal of time to the interests of the veteran soldiers, and there is no man on the face of the earth who takes a livelier interest in these matters than he does. He was an excellent officer and is to-day one of the most esteemed citizens of Orange, holding many posi- tions of trust and honor in the commercial world of that community. It was getting very cold, for it was now November, and really the temperature in that part of Maryland is not much warmer than it is here. Every morning the ground was covered with a thick white frost, and when the company was called out for the reveille roll call, the breath came from the men's mouths like a jet of steam. We suffered considerably in consequence. For a little while we were — that is a portion of Com- 244 TUB YOUNG VOLTJNTEElt. pany K — quartered in an old school building on the main street of Sharpsburg. Out of curiosity I "visited the same building a year or so ago. But we were glad not to stay there long, for it had been previously oc- cupied by some of General Fitz-John Porter's troops, and the place was so infested with "pe?idi cuius investi- menti," that it was more than an offset for the protec- tion the building afforded against the cold. Somewhere about the middle of November the regi- ment was divided into two wings, and located a couple of miles or so apart to facilitate the work we were en- gaged in — picket duty. Lieutenant-Colonel Swords was in command of one of these wings and Major Chadwick of the other. The colonel moved his head- quarters to a point about halfway between the two wings. Then the story got out that we were going to remain there all winter and we proceeded to make ourselves more comfortable. Some of the officers even sent for their wives and friends to come and visit them. My pard, John Butterworth, and I proceeded to build a log house. An army log house is worth a brief description. These houses were generally "built for two." In size they would perhaps not be larger than twelve feet long and about eight feet wide. First of all, we dug a square hole, something like a cellar, the size of the cabin. Butterworth called it "the basement." That saved just so much timber, you know. Then we cut down some trees, which were split in half and cut the length and width of the house. These were notched near the ends, and then piled up after the manner of a "corncob house," such as the chil- dren used to make. With considerable labor water was brought from the nearest stream and a sufficient quantity of mud made to fill up the chinks between the logs. The roof was com- posed of the pieces of our "pup" tents fastened together, and stretched over a ridge pole. Then came the building of the chimney, the most im- portant part. In one end of the "cellar" a hole was dug, like an oven, with a small round hole at the top, THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 245 opening into the ground above. Above this was laid a lot of split sticks, two or three feet each in length, and covered with the peculiar red mud with which that part of this glorious country abounds. Great care had to be taken to leave none of the sticks exposed, or the chimney would take fire. It was a very frequent occurrence to be awakened in the night by a small conflagration and destruction of the domicile of some comrade from this cause. I have gone through the interesting experience myself more than once, not- withstanding the fact that Butterworth was almost prof- ligate in his use of mud. The mud chimney would soon dry, and when com- pleted it filled its purpose to perfection. Few of the most scientific chimneys of the present day would "draw" better than those stick-and-mud affairs that we had in the army. On the other end of the hut was built the bunk. This was composed of poles about six or seven feet long, fastened across, and on top of these was laid a lot of evergreen or cedar boughs, which formed the mattress. The boughs were covered with a rubber blanket, and the result was a good bed that was a good deal more comfortable than would be imagined on reading this description. A spare blanket or piece of shelter tent served the pur- pose of a door, and thus housed the soldier was quite comfortable, with a big fire burning in the "fireplace" even in the severest weather. Many a pleasant hour I have spent in such a primitive residence, cooking lob- scouse or playing old sledge. We began to receive our mail quite regularly too, and this was a source of great satisfaction and pleasure. The home papers came to me about a week after being printed and with more or less regularity — generally more less than more. The local news, such as there was, interested us greatly. I say "such as there was" with all that it means. To tell the truth, there was not a great deal in the papers in those days beside war ne^^•s. And wo learned a good deal more about the war from these papers than we did otherwise. Even the very acts that we had par- 246 THE YOU KG VOLUNTEER. ticipated in were presented to us plainer hj the papers than we could see them for ourselves. Many a movement that we could not understand sim- ply because we were a part of it, was explained by the ubiquitous war correspondent. But the funniest part of all was the editorial columns. These were mainly devoted to telling how the war ought to be prosecuted. None of the generals were doing right. If they would do this or that it would be a good deal better than the way they were doing. I refer to no particular paper. All that reached us were about the same. We soon came to the conclusion that the government had made a big mistake aud put the army in charge of the wrong men. Instead of the generals in command there seemed to be little doubt that the war might have been ended in half the time if the whole business had been placed in charge of the editorial and other critics at home. We also received many interesting letters from home. It was while at Sharpsburg that I heard for the second time from "The girl I left behind me." With one exception it was the last one I received from that source. The next one was not so interesting. To while away the time I had written a letter to Mabel Summers, the pretty little Frederick city girl. At the same time I wrote one to my Paterson girl. The letter to the Frederick girl never brought an answer. She must have thought the writer crazy. The letter from the Paterson girl was a curt and dignified demand for the return of her picture. It was not till after the war was over and she had cast her lot with another and better looking man that I understood the reason for such a summary dismissal. In directing those two letters, written at the same time, I had got them mixed up! I can imagine the indignation and feelings of my Paterson girl, now that I know the reason she answered as she did, after having read the letter to the Frederick city girl, but I can't imagine how the latter received the letter that she got. And on such a brief acquaint- ance, too! THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 247 CHAPTER XLV. THE FREDERICKSBURG CAMPAIGN. But we didn't stay at Sharpsburg all winter, as we expected, after all. On the 10th of December, a bit- terly cold day it was too, we were ordered to break camp. And from the rumors prevalent, notwithstand- ing the unusual time of the year, we were likely to get into another fight soon. Some great changes had taken place during the past few days, of which we heard pretty soon. For some reason known best to the government at Washington, General McClellan had been relieved from the com- mand of the Army of the Potomac, and General Burn- side had been appointed in his place. It should be understood, that, whereas the general in command in the field was popularly supposed to have charge of the operations, all the movements were directed from Washington, and these were mainly formulated by General Halleck. He, under the advice and direction of the president, was supposed to have command of all the armies in the field. The president had his hands full about that time, and of course he had to be invariably guided by the experience of General Halleck. The soldiers always referred to Halleck as "Grand- mother Halleck," and the name in my opinion was well placed. He was the greatest fogy imaginable. The records of the departments, the histories of the war, and the State papers of Abraham Lincoln, all of which I have carefully studied, go to show that Halleck did more to prolong the war in the first part of its existence than anything else. It was not till General Grant was given command that the ostensible commanding general of the army really had that control of it that he should. "848 \ TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. Grant would take command under no other circum- stances, and he was right. The idea that a general in Washington could better direct the active movements of the army than the com- mander at the front in the presence of the troops, is absurd on the face of it. And yet that is the theory on which the first part of the war was prosecuted. General McClellan was in this manner handicapped all the time he was ostensibly in command of the Army of the Potomac. Some writers may argue differently, but I am satisfied of these facts. General McClellan was the idol of the soldiers, and there was a very gen- eral feeling that he had not been fairly treated by the powers that be, but when he was relieved there was not so much of a commotion as there might have been. The feeling among the soldiers and many of the officers was : "Well, let them see if some other general can do any better than our Little Mack." At the same time every soldier in the army had the most profound respect for General Burnside. He had been a corps commander and everybody knew that he was a good and fearless officer. The modest manner in which he accepted the command of the army was also calculated to create a favorable impression. He said that he would take the command and do the best he could, but at the same time he did not consider himself qualified to command such a large body and carry them successf ull through an important campaign. The boys heard of this and manifested a disposition to stand by him every time. General Burnside's very first move, however, ran against the political generals and others who were run- ning the thing at Washington. Burnside proceeded to make some changes and transfers among the corps com- manders, somewhat after the plan adopted by the late Superintendent B} T rnes when he gave the precinct cap- tains a "shaking up" in New York City. The approval or disapproval of the powers that be was deferred till after the conclusion of the Fredericksburg campaigns, which were then in progress. Then when Burnside insisted on having his ideas carried out or being relieved from the command of the army, the in- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 249 fluences brought to bear were too strong, and General Burnside was "relieved at his own request." This is anticipating the story somewhat, but it is stated here to explain the state of mind and other adverse circumstances that prevailed during the brief time that General Burnside was in command of the Army of the Potomac. The order which we received to march away from Sharpsburg was the beginning of the movements con- nected with the inauguration of the Fredericksburg campaign. General Burnside had taken a position with the main portion of the army at Falmouth, nearly op- posite Fredericksburg, and on the day that the Thir- teenth left Sharpsburg, the 10th of December, the Union forces were practically in a position to assault the lines of the rebels. We were marched back to Harper's Ferry, and on the following day were in camp at Loudon Heights. The next day we started again and marched through the city or town of Leesburg. And before describing further progress, I want to tell something very sensa- tional that happened at Leesburg. Before that, however, I will explain that on the same day, or about the same time, the battle of Fredericks- burg, one of the sharpest and bloodiest battles of the war, was fought. The Thirteenth, nor any part of the Twelfth Corps, did not get into that battle, but we were supposed to form a part of the movement somehow, in occupying a position that would cut off one possible line of retreat. At least that was the explanation given. The why and wherefore I cannot attempt to explain. I was only a private soldier then, and knew no more than the other private soldiers, perhaps not as much as some of them. The battle of Fredericksburg was a peculiar one. Fredericksburg is a town on the southern side of the Rappahannock River, located on a hill. On the north- ern side of the river was the little village of Falmouth. The Union troops were on the Falmouth side while the rebels occupied the city of Fredericksburg, and were strongly intrenched behind breastworks. The enemy had destroyed all the bridges, and the only way to get across the river was on pontoon bridges. 250 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. The Union troops got across. They assaulted the town. They destroyed it, burned the houses and smashed the furniture, but — were driven back in con- fusion, as might naturally be expected under such cir- cumstances. Result — nothing gained, much lost. The army that fell back across the river to Falmouth was 12,321 less in number than the army that went over the river. And the rebel loss was less than 5,300. Burnside was right in the estimation he had placed upon himself. The soldiers liked him, and he was a good corps commander, but he was never intended to have command of a large army. At the same time, after this disastrous result he was left in command, al- though still handicapped by the powers at Washington in the refusal to make the changes he had recom- mended. Perhaps the powers at Washington might have been right in this particular instance. I am getting a little "twisted" right here in trying to describe the movements of the two divisions of the army at the same time. I will return to the Thirteenth New Jersej T once more. And this brings me back to what I was going to tell of what happened at Leesburg. There had been a number of desertions from all the regiments at Sharpsburg. The cold weather had damp- ened the ardor of the troops. The position of the army was such that it made it a comparatively easy matter to get away from it. A good many took advantage of this opportunity. I am sorry to say that there were some members of the Thirteenth New Jersey amoug the deserters. Some of these were recaptured and brought back by the pro- vost guard. Others were never heard of till after the war. Of those brought back, the most were punished in different ways. First it was by fining them several months' pay. Then it was by imprisonment in some military prison or fortress. But these penalties did not seem to have the desired effect. It was decided to make a horrible example of some of the deserters in order that it might possibly have a deterrent effect on the others who might be overcome with an overwhelming degree of homesickness. r THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 251 A squad of deserters were captured, brought back, court martiaJed, and sentenced to be shot ! Now President Lincoln was the kindest hearted of men. There is no telling how many men he pardoned during the war after they had been sentenced to be shot for desertion. But advantage had apparently been taken of this leniency, and the time had come when the recalcitrant soldiers should be made to believe that the government meant business. Executive clemency was therefore withheld in the case of three of the deserters from our corps, and we were startled with the notifica- tion to fall in to witness the execution ! The entire division was marched out to witness the terrible scene of three comrades being shot to death by their associates. I don't believe there was a face in the division that was not pale, nor a pair of legs that were not more or less shaking at the knees. The details of the execution will be given in the next chapter. 252 V f THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XLVI. AN AWFUL SCENE. Three deserters were to be shot that morning and we were compelled to witness the execution ! Fain would we all have escaped the ordeal,, but it was impossible. No oue was excused. Every soldier must have indelibly impressed upon his memory that it is a heinous offense to desert. Every soldier must be made to understand that this was hereafter to be the fate of deserters. None who took part will ever forget that day. So far as the preliminary sensations and emotions were concerned it was a thousand times worse than any bat- tle. The men were subdued and silent as if going to a funeral — and indeed they were. Poor John Ick's lugu- brious expressions about a ."slaughter house" met a response in all our minds, for like nothing else than a slaughter house did it appear to us. It seemed as if the orderly sergeant was more quiet than usual in forming the company, and the tone of the captain as he ordered the company to march to the parade ground was low and sorrowful. When the regi- ment was formed there was an unusual lack of bustle and enthusiasm. A spirit of sadness, I might say of horror, pervaded the entire command. It was a beautiful day. There was not a cloud in the sky and the sun shone down on the glittering baj'o- nets till R they looked like silver spikes. The men all wore sober countenances as we marched out to the place of execution. There were three men to be shot. Two were from the Forty-sixth Pennsylvania, and the other, I regret to say, from the Thirteenth New Jersey. The latter was named Christopher Krubart, a member of Company B. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER* %& These three men were to be killed ! And we were to kill them ! Fortunately for me and fortunately for the victims I was not one of the men detailed on the shooting squad. It was fortunate for me, because I would as like as not have shot myself in my excitement. It was fortu- nate for the victim, for I would probably have hit him, if I hit him at all, in some unimportant part of the body and only help to put him in agony, without killing him. Before we started for the scene of the execution the order announcing the findings of the court martial and the approval of the sentence was read impressively to the regiment. That this had a moral effect on the men is beyond question. No one could describe the solem- nity of that event, made all the more solemn from the impressive manner in which the order was read by Adjutant Hopkins. At 13 o'clock precisely the different regiments of the brigade and division were marched out to the place selected for the execution and formed into a "hollow square." The officers gave their orders m subdued voices, and the men obeyed with impressive silence, as the rifles were dropped to the ground on the order to ' ' shou lder arms. ' ' Straight before us we could see the three graves that had been dug and into which vere soon to be consigned the dead and mutilated bodies of three fellow beings who at that moment were as alive and full of heallh and vigor as we were. It seemed as if there was an unnecessary delay in the proceedings. Everything seemed to be done with painful deliberation. This was perhaps to lend additional impressiveness to the scene. There was no use for that. The scene was sufficiently impressive as it was. Then, moving so slowly that they scarcely moved, came in the wagons containing the three coffins which were soon to contain the bodies of the unfortunates. Behind the coffins came an ambulance surrounded by armed soldiers. In the ambulance, securely manacled, were the three doomed victims of the tragedy. They were slowly, almost tenderly, assisted from the ambulance, and led to the coffins. £54 TEE TOTING VOLUNTEER. There was a coffin at the head of each of the three graves and the men were seated on the end of the coffins. Each man sat on the coffin he was to occupy ! Their eyes were blindfolded, their hands fastened to their backs, and their legs tied together. They could neither move nor see. The firing party consisted of thirty-six men in all. Eight men were detailed to shoot each deserter, making twenty-four to fire at the first order, and the other twelve v/ere held back in reserve, to finish the horrible work in case there was any sign of life after the first volley. Not a man of that detail knew whether his gun was loaded. This was a merciful provision for such cases. In each squad there was one rifle loaded with only a blank cartridge. In firing a musket, one cannot tell whether there is a bullet in the cartridge or not. If the guns were all loaded every man would have it on his mind that he had shot a fellow being. With one blank in the squad no man knew for sure whether his gun had fired a fatal shot or not. This left an uncertainty about it that was very con- soling. Every man consoled himself with the idea that he had the blank cartridge. The guns had been loaded by the officers at the division headquarters and only one or two officers knew which of the rifles were really loaded. Even they did not know long, for the guns were mixed up indiscriminately in a pile, from which each member of the firing squad picked a rifle as he was marched past. The firing squad marched to the place of execution with slow and measured tread, which served to still longer prolong the painful scene and add to the already almost unbearable impressiveness and awfulness of the event. Then the death sentence was read again, in a solemn manner. Every face in the ranks was pale, and many of the men were trembling. In fact some of their knees were shaking so that they could hardly stand on their feet. I plead guilty to being one of this class. At the same time everybody was curious enough to watch the condemned men. The handkerchiefs tied over their eyes obscured the upper parts, but the lower THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 255 portions could be seen. They were ghastly — not white, but ashen and sickly in pallor. From the furthermost parts of the "square" the men could see the unfortunate and terrified victims trem- bling. One of them was actually shivering, as if he had a severe chill. The lips of two could be seen to move slightly, as if in prayer. There is little doubt that it was really a prayer. But not one of them undertook to speak a word aloud. They had all evidently made up their minds to die with- out a flinch, without a murmur or protest. Such bravery and fortitude as this, displayed on the battlefield, would have won them a pair of shoulder straps. As it was, it was the ineffable disgrace of being shot as a deserter ! Chaplain Beck, of the Thirteenth Regiment, offered a short prayer for the salvation of the souls of the un- fortunate men, and their lips seemed to move in response to every syllable of the supplication. Glancing around furtively among my companions, I noticed tears trick- ling down many a bronzed and weatherbeaten face. The time has arrived ! The firing squad were placed in position, only a few feet in front of the condemned men — eight men to each deserter. There was a look of determination on the faces of the firing party, and yet they were all very pale. They all stood at a "shoulder arms." It is usual in giving the order to shoot, to say, suc- cessively, "Ready! Aim! Fire!" But in this in- stance a somewhat original innovation had been made to the usual rule. One of the words was omitted. This was a merciful surprise, both to the condemned men and the soldiers who were compelled to witness the execution. The officer in command of the firing party and the members of the latter themselves were the only ones who had been informed of the change in the order. Consequently it came upon us as a big surprise, I might perhaps better say, a big shock. "Ready!" So commanded the officer of the firing party. Every nerve stretched to its utmost tension as the men in front of the condemned wretches brought their pieces up to 256 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. their hips, the hammer at the same time being raised with the right hand. I felt like shutting my eyes to escape seeing what was coming next, but a horrible fascination glued my gaze intensely to the scene. And I knew of course there was another command, "aim," before the shots were finally fired. But no! With a quick, sharp command that gave us all a start, which came so unexpectedly that even the condemned deserters probably did not fully comprehend it, came the order : "Fire!" Like lightning twenty-four cocked muskets jumped up to twenty-four shoulders. The movement was made with marvelous rapidity. Before we could fully com- prehend what had happened, there was a puff of smoke and the three deserters fell over backward on their coffins, or rather I should say, almost into them. We saw the smoke from the guns before hearing the report, of course. It is alwaj^s that way. The noise of the report was heard simultaneously with the sight of the dead deserters falling backward. As the doomed men fell over they seemed to stiffen out convulsively, so that they did not go over bent in the sitting posture, but as if they had been standing up, and had fallen back like three felled trees. From the distance where I stood I could discern no signs of a struggle or even a convulsive tremor. Those who were close by failed to see even the twitch of a muscle. Their deaths must have been instantaneous. It is doubtful if they even heard the reports of the rifles that shot them, for at that distance the speed of a bullet is greater than that of sound. The effect of the tragedy on the silent witnesses was peculiar. Judging from my own sensations, it was one of intense relief that it was all over. The solemn and impressive preliminary preparations were emphatically the worst part of the whole transaction. As if a great weight had been lifted the sensation was one rather of exhilaration than of depression, for the time being. But this was not permitted to last long. ' We still bad another ordeal to pass through, perhaps still worse than anything that had preceded it. TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 257 We were marched slowly around and past the bloody bodies of the three executed deserters and compelled to gaze upon them as we went by. This was a shuddering ordeal, and all the more tended to impress the lesson the event had been intended to convey. The marksmen had performed their duties well. Each one had aimed at a bit of paper pinned over the condemned men's hearts. It will be remembered that seven only out of each eight rifles were loaded with bullets. When we examined the body of Krubart, the Thirteenth Regiment deserter, it was found that the whole seven bullets had passed through his body in the immediate vicinity of his heart. Any one of them would have caused instant death. The results in the cases of the others were the same. There was no need for the services of the reserves on this occasion. The bodies were buried like those of dogs. Not a word of burial service was said over them. The bodies were hurried into the coffins while yet warm, the coffins were lowered into the graves, and in a few moments the ground was leveled over them. No head board or other marker was placed over the grave of an executed deserter. He merely became a part and parcel of mother earth, and the precise where- abouts of his remains were never known afterward. We marched back to the spot where we were to camp for the night without much talk, but everybody was doing a good deal of thinking. What was everybody thinking about? I think the answer can be best given in the laconic remark of the ever-ready John Ick : "By jimminey, poys," said he, "des settles it. Ven you sees Yon Ick deserting some more alretty, he stays py de regiment all de times." 258 THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. CHAPTER XLVII. FLOODED OUT. It must be admitted that the lesson had a salutary effect. There was not much deserting after the execu- tion of the three men at Leesburg, and there had been a good deal before that time. It seemed hard to sacri- fice even three lives for such a purpose, but it had be- come necessary, and it practically put a stop to the practice for a considerable time. We resumed our tiresome march. Where we were going we did not know. It was nothing but getting up early in the morning, marching and halting all day long, and passing tired nights around sickly fires, half- frozen. For the weather was getting cold now. This was adding another hardship to the boys' long list of troubles. During the daytime when we were on the move it was possible to keep comfortable. It was even uncomfortably warm in the middle of the day. But the nights were very cold. Although the blankets and shelter tents and overcoats were just as heavy as ever, yet we stuck to them now, because they were absolutely necessary for comfort at night. I use the word "comfort" with some mental reservation, for I cannot say we were exactly comforta- ble at all during the night. Some one suggested that the Indians slept with their feet to the fires and that if the feet were kept warm the rest of the body would be comfortable. There was a good deal in this, as we found out from experience, but at the same time it was not sufficient. The more ordi- nary practice was to sleep with one side turned toward the fires for a while, and then turn the other side, and so on. This alternate series of freezing and roasting be- THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 259 came the universal rule, and as the boys were generally- crowded so closely together that they had to lie spoon fashion, it became a sort of a drill. When one turned over, the other had to. There are some men who are born to command, whether they hold rank or not. This soon became mani- fest in this "change side" order. By tacit consent, some one particular individual gave the word and it was obeyed. No attention was given to it if the sug- gestion came from any other source. This was a singu- lar thing, but a fact. Some one soldier, regardless of rank, would always be accepted as the leader and com- mander of these petty duties, not in the strict line of military service. Several times we had to ford creeks that were quite deep. This was not so bad when the weather was mild, but when it was cold it added suffering as well as dis- comfort. Then there was apparently a good deal of unnecessary marching. We would go for a distance along some road, and then turn and go another way, as if the leaders had lost their route. This made a good deal of grumbling. We passed through Chantilly, which had once before been the scene of a battle, and through several other places that were big enough to be honored with a name and that is about all. Finally, about the 25th of De- cember, we reached the Occoquan creek at a place called Wolf Run Shoals. Here we had an experience worth describing. During the night a tremendous storm arose. It was one of the worst I ever remember. I plainly recall my own experience that night. John Butterworth (my pard) and myself had pitched our little "pup" tent on the side of a hill at the bottom of which was a good-sized creek or brook. It was in a piece of woods that had evidently not been occupied by troops before, for the trees were stand- ing, and the ground was covered with dry twigs and leaves. The skies were overcast and the air was damp and chilly, but we did not think that there was going to be a very big storm. "I tell you, Joe," said Butterworth, "we're lucky to 260 TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. get this good place to-night. See the leaves I have gathered for a bed. It beats a spring mattress. There's many a poor fellow at home that hasn't such a good place to sleep in as this." "Yes," I replied, pulling the blanket up under my chin, "and this slope of the ground is just right. It brings our heads higher than our feet, which makes it more comfortable. I'm glad I didn't throw away my blanket in to-day's tramp, aren't you?" "You bet I don't throw away mine while the cold weather remains," said Butterworth. "It is pretty tough sometimes during the day, but they come in mighty handy at night, I can tell you." "Don't you think it is going to rain to-night?" I asked. "Wouldn't be surprised," replied John. "But then what do we care? We have a good tent, plenty of blankets, a soft bed, and even a canteen full of spring water, for I filled the canteen fresh just before I turned in." "Where is the canteen?" I asked. "I want to get a drink now." "Hanging right over your head," said he, "on the tent pole." I took a good drink of the refreshing draft, and John was right, for it was as fine a specimen of spring water as I ever tasted. We talked a little while on commonplace subjects and soon fell soundly to sleep. Soldiers were too tired out on such occasions to indulge in much talking after they were in bed, and when they once got asleep they slept soundly. Only those who have had that experience can fully appreciate the soundness of the sleep of a tired soldier. I was awakened during the night some time by the sound of the ram falling in torrents. The wind blew a gale and fairly howled through the branches of the trees over our heads. I felt uncomfortably chilly, and turn- ing over to find what was the matter, found the blankets both under and over me soaking wet. "What's the matter now, Joe?" asked Butterworth, waking up. THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 261 "I guess that confounded old canteen of yours has sprung a leak," said I, "for the blankets are all wet." We made an examination and found the canteen all right, but as we sat up, there was a very uncomfortable sensation of water trickling down our backs. "Phew!" said Butterworth, "here's a pretty mess. The tent has sprung a leak. The blankets are soaked and so am I. I am wet through." "You're no wetter than I am, I guess," I replied. "Let's get up and see what is the matter." We pulled the blankets from the ground and found a stream of water running through the tent. It was run- ning through by the pailful. It will be remembered that we were in such a "nice place" on the side of the hill, and the water was running down through the tent like a brook. We got outside. It was better to be standing out in the rain than it was to be lying there in a brook. We found the entire regiment up and standing under the trees, each man wrapped in his rubber blanket, to pro- tect himself as well as he might from the pelting rain- fall. A more forlorn and unhappy lot of men it would be hard to conceive. There we were, in the middle of the night, in a desolate woods, with the rain falling in per- fect torrents. And how it did rain ! It came down by the bucketful ! "I haf change my mind alretty," said John Ick. "I beliof I will desert alretty, so soon by I got chances." "What's the matter now, John?" I asked. "Dot's vot I said alretty," he answered. "Dose fel- lers vat vas deserted was died und don'd haf to go through by dot rain-storm all the times. Dey vash happy, und ve vas " "That's true, John," I said. "They are dead and maybe they are happy. I can't tell about that. And we are not very happy. There's no denying that. But at the same time wouldn't you rather be a live soldier than a dead soldier? And maybe perhaps those dead fellows are not happy after all. Maybe they went to the other place, where the people are not so happy, ac- cording to general belief." 282 r iHE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. "I don'd care, neider," said John. "Dose fellers vas warm if dey goes by dot under places vat you says don'd was so happy be. Dey vas warm and dry und ve vas wet und cold alretty. Ya, I wish I vas dead all the times. I change my minds. I vas goin' to desert so soon by the storm vas over." There was no getting over this argument. The exe- cuted deserters might be in purgatory, as Ick said, but if they were, it was a good dry place. And a dry place, in our present frame of mind, comprised all the essential elements of complete happiness. But John didn't desert, then or afterward. He was, as a rule, a good soldier, despite all his talk. We tried many times to light a fire, but were unable to do so Everything was so water-soaked that nothing would burn. We passed through a miserable night, and when it came daylight, although the storm let up a little, we were a miserable lot, soaked to the skin, shiv- ering, uncomfortable and hungry, for it was even im- possible to get enough o f a fire to boil coffee for break- fast. But, sleep or no sleep, wet or dry, hungry or sur- feited, the ^operations of the army must proceed. The relentless march must go on. Whatever spot we were aiming for must be reached. And so, wet and tired, hungry, listless, depressed and enervated, we mechanically obeyed the order to — "Fall in, Thirteenth!" TEE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. £$ CHAPTER XLVIII. RATHER MUDDY. But we didn't march very far that day. When night came again we were not more than two miles from where we started in the morning. And now for the first time we encountered what was a genuine specimen of "Virginia mud." We thought we had seen Virginia mud before, but all previous ex- periences were a farce in comparison. The storm had cleared off. That is, the rain had stopped falling, although the skies were still overcast. It was but a short distance from where we had camped for the night to the ford at Wolf Run Shoals, over the Occoquan creek. It was called a ford, because in ordinary seasons the water is only a foot or so deep, and the place was used for a crossing for wagons. The economical Virginia grangers never wasted county appropriations in build- ing bridges when they could find a place shallow enough to wade across. And they would go miles out of their way to reach the ford. The spot was called Wolf Run on account of a tradi- tion that in former days it used to be a favorite haunt for the wild ancestors of the domestic dog. But we saw no wolves. Neither did we see any ford. On the contrary we encountered a raging creek. Usually it was but a foot or so deep. Now it was sev- eral feet deep, and the water was rushing through with the speed of a tail race. The mounted officers rode across, although the water was high enough to have wet their feet if they had not held them up. But the main portion of the vast army was not mounted. It was not a big enough stream to use pontoon bridges, and there was not time to construct 264 THE TOTTNG YOLTTNTEEIL i c regular 'army truss bridge, for we were in a hurry. It was a part of the movement somehow or other con- nected with the Fredericksburg campaign. As things turned out it would have saved time for the officers to have stopped the entire army for a day or so and built substantial bridges. But then everybody's foresight isn't as good as his hindsight, not even an army officer's. There were plenty of large trees growing along the edge of the creek and some bright genius suggested that these trees be felled in such a way as to fall across the stream and let the troops go over these logs. I was not a general. I was not even a commissioned officer. I was "only a private." But if even with my ignorance I could not have de- vised something better than that I think I would have been ashamed of myself. The idea of marching an army of several thousand soldiers across a log over a stream of water, and in a hurry at that, was simply ridiculous. And yet that is just what was attempted. I forget how many of these primitive bridges were thrown across the creek. Perhaps eight or ten. They were big trees, eighteen inches or two feet in diameter. I saw the first two or three men cross. With their heavy rifles, their knapsacks and various accouterments, they had about all they could do to walk along a coun- try road, let alone balance themselves on something only a trifle better than a tight rope. It took perhaps a minute for a man to get over. The first three or four went across with comparative ease. Then the dripping clothes and the muddy shoes of the men began to besmear the round top of the logs, and they became perilously slippery. From that mo- ment it became something like a man trying to walk along the top of a rail fence with a pair of roller skates on his feet. About every third man slipped off into the water and of course that was not a very pleasant thing. As I said before, the stream was deep and the current was swift. The first two or three unfortunates were nearly drowned, hampered as they were with their cumber-* ... THE YOUNG VOLUNTEER. 26o some accouterments. So, below each of the log bridges, they established a cordon of cavalry, to catch and fish out the men as they slipped off. Fully one-half the men consequently got on the other side drenched to the skin. It was very tedious. We had to wait for an hour or so after reaching the stream to get a chance to cross, for it could only be done one by one, as may be imagined. And after getting to the other side we had to wait for the rest of our companions. I think of all the experi- ence I ever had in the marching line this took the premium. I felt sure that I would be one of the fellows to slip off the log and go into the water, but I didn't. Al- though I slipped and scrambled and twisted myself into all imaginable shapes in keeping my balance, I man- aged to get over somehow, and took my place with those waiting for the others to come over. Then and there we indulged in the customary kick- ing, and the army, the war and everything connected with it was cursed uphill and down. If Jeff Davis had come around just then he would have met with a warm reception from a disgusted army. The loudest in their imprecations were of course those who had tumbled into the creek and were wet to the skin and shivering with the cold, as they tried to dry themselves by the sickly fires that had been kindled. In the meantime the wagons were coming across by fording. Each wagon and team naturally brought up out of the creek its quota of water, which dropped off on the banks as they emerged from the creek. This was a little thing at first, but wagon after wagon and team after team soon had the ground saturated, not only close by the creek, but for some distance up the side of the bank. The wheels of the heavy baggage wagons, wearing into this, mixed it over and over again, till the mud got deeper and deeper. First it was a few inches deep. Then it worked down till it was a foot deep. Soon it was up to the hubs of wheels. It did not take long to work the mass till it came up to the bellies of the mules and the bodies of the baggage wagons. 266 TEE TO UNO VOLUNTEER. The mud grew thinner 'and thinner till it was of the consistency of paste. Its color was a bright red, as Virginia mud usually is. Not only did it grow deeper and deeper, but the slough extended further and further until it was fully a quarter of a mile in length, if not more. It was muddy all over that part of the country at that particular time. In the wet season the normal constit- uent of the State was mud. But I am now talking of more than ordinary mud. The sort I am trying to de- scribe is the regular old army mud, such as was only seen by the soldiers on the march. It was not long before the mud was too deep for an ordinary six-mule team to drag the wagons through. Teams from other wagons would be unhitched to help those still in the sloughs. I have seen not only twelve, but frequently twenty-four, mules, attached to a bag- gage wagon to pull it out of a mud hole, and on the par- ticular day I am talking about I saw thirty-six mules attached to one wagon, and yet unable to budge it. It was in such a place as this that the mule would become discouraged and lay himself down and die, as I have described in a previous chapter. It was in this place and on this occasion, that origi- nated the following incident, which perhaps some of my readers have heard before : Out in the middle of the road, resting apparently in a mud puddle where it had been left, lay a brand new army hat of the "slouch" pattern. A soldier whose hat was somewhat the worse for wear caught sight of this, and decided to secure it. The mud was too deep for him to wade out for the hat and so he got a long pole from the woods and reached out for the hat with the pole, as if he were fishing. As he lifted the hat on the end of the pole the soldier was astonished to see that he had exposed a human head. And not only a head, but a very much alive one at that, with the mouth in good working order. "Here you," shouted the head, "what are you about there? Put that hat right back where you got it!"