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[Illustration: Resp'ct Yours
Geo. T. Ulmer
Feb. 1892]
Adventures and Reminiscences
of a
Volunteer,
or
A Drummer Boy from Maine
BY
GEO. T. ULMER,
COMPANY H, 8TH MAINE VOLUNTEERS.
Dedicated to the Grand Army Republic.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1892,
by GEO. T. ULMER, in the office of the Librarian
of Congress, at Washington D. C.
PREFACE.
In submitting this little book the author does not attempt to edit a
history of the rebellion, nor does he assume to be correct in the date of
events to a day. He does not hope or expect to make a hero of himself by
writing it, for he was far from doing anything heroic, believing, as he
does, that most of the heroes of the war were killed. Perhaps the WRITING
of this book may stamp him a hero, and for his audacity in so doing some
one may kill him. But he intends to clothe his little work in homely,
rugged, commonplace language. Not striving to make it a work of literary
merit, only a truthful account of an unimportant career and experience in
the army. It may, perhaps, be interesting to some of his comrades, who
recollect the incidents or recall similar events that happened to
themselves, and thereby serve the purpose of introducing one of the
youngest soldiers and a comrade of that greatest and most noble of all
organizations, the Grand Army of the Republic.
Respectfully,
GEORGE T. ULMER.
[Illustration: _The Memorable Bombardment of Fort Sumter._]
Bombardment of Fort Sumter. This was the beginning and the first sound of
actual war which inspired me, and kindled the fire of patriotism in my
youthful breast. The little spark lay smoldering for two long years, 'till
at last it burst forth into a full blaze. When Fort Sumter was bombarded,
I was a midget of a boy; a barefooted, ragged newsboy in the city of New
York. The bombardment was threatened for several weeks before it actually
occurred; and many nights I would have been bankrupted, but that everyone
was on the "qui vive" for the event, and I got myself into lots of trouble
by shouting occasionally, "Fort Sumter Bombarded!" I needed money; it sold
my papers, and I forgave myself. When the authentic news did come, I think
it stirred up within me as big a piece of fighting desire as it did in
larger and older people. I mourned the fact that I was then too small to
fight, but lived in hopes that the war would last until I should grow. If
I could have gone south, I felt that I could have conquered the rebellious
faction alone, so confident was I of my fighting abilities.
In the fall of '61 my dear mother died, and my father who had a great
desire to make possibilities out of improbabilities, and believing a farm
the proper place to bring up a family of boys, bought one away in the
interior of Maine. The farm was very hilly, covered with huge pines and
liberally planted with granite ledges. I used to think God wanted to be
generous to this state and gave it so much land it had to be stood up
edgeways. Picture to yourself, dear reader, four boys taken from the busy
life of a great city, place them in the wilderness of Maine, where they
had to make a winrow of the forest to secure a garden spot for the house,
pry out the stumps and blast the ledges to sow the seed, then ask yourself
what should the harvest be?
Father's business required all of his time in New York City, and we were
left with two hired men to develop the farm, our brains and muscles, but
mine didn't seem to develop worth a cent. I didn't care for the farmer's
life. The plow and scythe had no charms for me. My horny, hardened little
hand itched and longed to beat the drums that would marshall men to arms.
After eight months of hard work we had cleared up quite a respectable
little farm, an oasis in that forest of pines. A new house and barn had
been built, also new fences and stone walls, but not much credit for this
belonged to me. Soon after, we received a letter from father stating that
he would be with us in a short time and bring us a new mother and a little
step-sister. This was joyous news, the anticipation of a new mother, and
above all a step-sister, inspired us with new ambition. The fences and
barn received a coat of whitewash, the stones were picked out of the road
in front of the house, the wood-pile was repiled and everything put into
apple-pie order. We did not know what day they would arrive. So each day
about the time the stage coach from Belfast should pass the corners, we
would perch ourselves on the fence in front of the house to watch for it,
and when it did come in sight, wonder if the folks were in it; if they
were, it would turn at the corners and come toward our house. Day after
day passed, and they did not come, and we had kind of forgotten about it.
Finally one day while we were all busy burning brush, brother Charlie came
rushing towards us shouting, "The stage coach is coming! The stage is
coming!" Well, such a scampering for the house! We didn't have time to
wash or fix up, and our appearance would certainly not inspire our city
visitors with much paternal pride or affection; we looked like charcoal
burners. Our faces, hands and clothes were black and begrimed from the
burning brush, but we couldn't help it; we were obliged to receive and
welcome them as we were. I pulled up a handful of grass and tried to wipe
my face, but the grass being wet, it left streaks all over it, and I
looked more like a bogie man than anything else. We all struggled to brush
up and smooth our hair, but it was no use, the stage coach was upon us,
the door opened, father jumped out, and as we crowded around him, he
looked at us in perfect amazement and with a kind of humiliated
expression behind a pleasant fatherly smile he exclaimed, "Well, well, you
are a nice dirty looking lot of boys. Lizzie," addressing his wife and
helping her to alight, "This is our family, a little smoky; I can't tell
which is which, so we'll have to wait till they get their faces washed to
introduce them by their names." But our new mother was equal to the
occasion for coming to each of us, and taking our dirty faces in her
hands, kissed us, saying at the same time, "Philip, don't you mind, they
are all nice, honest, hard-working boys, and I know I shall like them,
even if this country air has turned their skins black." At this moment a
tiny voice called, "Please help me out." All the boys started with a rush,
each eager to embrace the little step-sister. I was there first, and in an
instant, in spite of my dirty appearance, she sprang from the coach right
into my arms; my brothers struggled to take her from me, but she tightened
her little arms about my neck and clung to me as if I was her only
protector. I started and ran with her, my brothers in full chase, down the
road, over the stone walls, across the field, around the stumps with my
prize, the brothers keeping up the chase till we were all completely tired
out, and father compelled us to stop and bring the child to the house.
Afterward we took our turns at caressing and admiring her; finally we
apologized for our behavior and dirty faces, listened to father's and
mother's congratulations, concluded father's choice for a wife was a good
one, and that our little step-sister was just exactly as we wanted her to
be, and the prospect of a bright, new and happy home seemed to be already
realized.
A home is all right
With father and brother,
But darker than night
Without sister and mother.
* * * * *
The war grew more and more serious. Newspapers were eagerly sought; and
every word about the struggle was read over and over again. A new call for
troops was made, another and still another, and I was all the time
fretting and chafing in the corn or potato field, because I was so young
and small. I could not work; the fire of patriotism was burning me up. My
eldest brother had arrived at the age and required size to fit him for the
service; he enlisted and went to the front. This added new fuel to the
flame already within me, and one day I threw down the hoe and declared
that I would go to the war! I would join my brother at all hazards. My
folks laughed at me and tried to dissuade me from so unwise a step, but my
mind was made up, and I was bound to enlist. Enlist I did, when I was only
fourteen years of age and extremely small for my years, but I thought I
would answer for a drummer boy if nothing else. I found that up hill work,
however, but I was bound to "get there," and--I did.
It was easy enough to enlist, but to get mustered into the service was a
different thing. I tried for eight long weeks. I enlisted in my own town,
but was rejected. I enlisted in an adjoining town--rejected, and so on
for weeks and weeks. But I did not give up. I owned at the time a little
old gray horse and a two-wheeled jumper or "gig," which I had bought with
my savings from the sale of "hoop poles," which are small birch and alder
trees that grow in the swamps, and used for hoops on lime casks; at this
time they were worth a half a cent a piece delivered. I would work cutting
these poles at times when I could do nothing else, pack them on my back to
the road, pile them up, till I had a quantity to sell. At length I
concluded I had enough to buy me a horse and cart; the pile seemed as big
as a house to me, but when the man came along to buy them, he counted out
six thousand good ones and rejected nine thousand that were bad. "Too
small!" he said.
"Too small?" I exclaimed, "why there is hardly any difference in them!"
But he was buying, I was selling, and under the influence of a boy's
anxiety, he paid me thirty dollars, which I counted over and over again,
and at every count the dollars seemed to murmer, "A horse, a horse!--war!
war! to the front! be a soldier!" I could picture nothing but a soldier's
life; I could almost hear the sounds of the drums, and almost see the long
rows of blue-coated soldiers marching in glorious array with steady step
to the music of the band. "Thirty! thirty!" I would repeat to myself, but
finally concluded thirty wouldn't buy much of a horse, but my heart was
set upon it, and nothing remained for me to do but cut more "poles." One
day when I arrived at the road with a bundle of them, a farmer happened
to be passing, driving a yoke of oxen as I tumbled my hoop-poles over the
fence on to the pile.
"Heow be yer?" Addressing me in a high, nasal twang peculiar to the
yeomanry of Maine, and then calling to his oxen without a change of tone,
he drawled, "Whoa! back! Whoa you, Turk! Whoa, Bright!" at the same time
hitting the oxen over their noses with his goad-stick, and resting on the
yoke, he asked, "What yer goin' ter dew with them poles?"
"Sell them," I replied.
"What dew yer want for 'em?" taking in the height and width of the pile
with a calculating eye.
"Fifty cents a hundred," I said, with some trepidation.
"Don't want nothin', dew yer," coming over and picking out the smallest
pole in the pile; "Pooty durned small, been't they? What'll yer take fur
the hull lot?"
"Twenty dollars," I said.
"Twenty dollars! Whew!" Emitting a whistle that would have done credit to
a locomotive exhausting steam. "Why, thar been't more'n a thousan' thar,
be thar?"
"Oh yes, I guess there are over four thousand."
"Say!" sticking his hands in either breeches pocket and taking me in from
head to foot with a comprehensive glance, "What might yer name be?"
"Ulmer," I said.
"No? You been't Phil's son, be yer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Yer don't tell me! Wall, by gosh! I like Phil, he's a durned smart 'un.
I'll tell yer what, I'd like ter see him and Jimmie Blaine a settin' up in
them gol-durn presidential cheers; why, by gosh, they'd jist open the hull
durned treasury bildin' an let all ther gor-ramed gold an' silver role
right out inter the streets, by gosh, they would." Having delivered
himself of this panegyric, together with an accumulated quantity of saliva
resulting from the constant mastication of a large tobacco quid, he again
turned his attention to the pile of poles and said, "How much did yer say
fur the lot?"
"Twenty dollars."
"Twenty!" Drawing the corners of his mouth down and stroking his chin,
then turning to me, "Wall, more I look at yer, by gosh, yer do look like
Phil. Wall, I'd like purty well ter have them poles, but--," as if a
sudden idea had struck him,--"Don't want ter trade fur a horse, dew yer?"
"What kind of a horse?"
"Wall, a pooty durned good 'un. I hain't druve him much lately, but he
yused ter go like smoke; he's a leetle old but, will prick up his ears
like a colt when he's a mind ter."
"Well, I do want a horse, if I can trade for one," I said, trying not to
show anxiety.
"Say, got time ter get on' ter the waggin an go over to my farm and see
him, take dinner with me? Guess, the old woman'll have enough for both."
Being anxious, I accepted the invitation, and was soon on the way. He
pestered me with all kinds of questions; asked all about my family affairs
and told me all of his and every other family for miles about. Finally we
reached his house, one of those old-fashioned farm houses with several old
tumble-down sheds and out-buildings attached, near by an old barn that was
once painted red, the shingles had rotted and blown off here and there, so
you could see daylight from any portion inside. Scattered about were old
wagon boxes, odd wheels, old toothless harrows, plows, a wheelbarrow
upside down with the wheel gone, part of an old harness lying across it;
bits of harness were hanging on pegs in the barn. Geese, turkeys and
chickens were numerous and clucked about as if they were really pleased to
see us, and in fact, I discounted or anticipated the looks of the house
from the careless dilapidated appearance of every thing around and about
the old man's farm.
[Illustration]
He finally unyoked his oxen, dropped the yoke right where he took it off
and turned his cattle into the yard. "Now then, we'll get a bite to eat,
and I'll show you two horses, and durn me if I won't give you your choice
and a good trade." "Martha-Ann," he called, "Martha-Ann!"
In a moment a little, bright, bustling old woman came to the door and
shading her eyes with her apron, called back: "What is it, Dan'l? Did you
bring the merlasses, and candles, and the broom?"
"Yes," he answered back.
"And the salt?"
"Yes."
"And the rennet for the cheese, and the salt-pork?"
"Yes, yes, yes," he answered, "and I've brought a young man, Phil. Ulmer's
son; goin to trade him 'Dick.'"
"What?" said she, coming out to where we were. "Now, Dan'l, you are not
going to do anything of the kind."
"Yes, I be," he said.
"You shan't, I won't have my horse sold; you know he is the only one I can
drive, and he is so kind and gentle, and the only good horse you have; you
shan't sell him." And then she sat down on the cart-tongue and cried as if
her heart would break, and I began to think I was going to really get a
splendid horse at a bargain.
All through the dinner she sobbed, and when she would pass me bread or
anything, it was with a heartbroken sigh, and I began to want that horse.
Finally dinner finished, he took me to the barn. There were two horses
together standing on the barn-floor eating corn-husk. They both looked as
if they never had eaten anything else. One was a bay, and the other a
grey; they were so poor that you could mistake either for a barrel with
half the staves fallen in.
"Thar, sir, be two fine critters; you can have either; this grey one is
Dick, the one the old woman is so sot on, but he's getting too frisky for
her ter handle, he's the best dispositioned animal yer ever saw; yer do
anything with him, he's always ready. Get him with 'tother on a load at
the bottom of a big hill and he's thar every time; yer see, he's a leetle
sprung in one knee thar, he done that by pulling; it don't hurt him a bit
ter drive, and go! Why, do you know he's trotted in two minutes? You
notice, one eye's bit off color! Blue? Wall sir, that was strained a
leetle by watching over his blinder to see that no other hoss should pass
or get near him when he were druve on the race track twelve years ago, but
it don't hurt him now."
"You praise this horse," I remarked, "but don't say a word about the
other."
"Oh, he don't need it," said the old man dryly.
I was so anxious to get a horse, I concluded to take Dick. I thought, he
must be the best on Martha-Ann's account, and really there didn't seem
much choice.
"You want a harness and waggin too, don't yer?"
"Yes," I replied, "I shall have to have something to drive him in."
"Wall, I guess I can fix you out with a full rig."
So after looking through the sheds, he pulled out an old gig with one
shaft broken and without wheels. "Guess I'll find the wheels of this
somewhar. Do you know this is the same gig that very Dick yused ter haul
on the race track; he may remember it after yer hitch him into it. If he
does, you want to look out for him, and here are the wheels."
He pulled them out of a pile of old lumber and rubbish, and fitted them
on; one was badly dished in and was painted red, the other was as badly
dished out and one day had been painted yellow; but I was anxious and
didn't object; I wanted to get home.
So after getting the "gig" together, he patched a harness from the odd
pieces he found, then fitted them on to the poor horse who looked as if he
was sorry he was alive.
Finally we had everything all ready. I mounted the "gig." As I did so, I
noticed it seemed one sided, and looking at the wheels, I found one was
somewhat larger than the other, but said nothing. Taking up the lines made
up my mind to get home and fix it there. I pulled on the reins and spoke
to "Dick," but he didn't move. The old man took him by the bridle and led
him to the road remarking at the same time, "Dick never did like to go
away from home."
After we reached the road, the old man hit "Dick" with a hoe handle, and
off he started. It was four miles from his house to ours, and I reached
home NEXT DAY. Figured up what the whole thing cost me: The horse stood me
$33.50, the "gig" $7.50, and the harness, (?) 75 cents. This was my outfit
to make or break me. My brothers laughed at my trade, but I didn't care,
I had a purpose, and I was bound to accomplish it.
When I wanted to use my "rig," to harness the horse, I was obliged to take
a ladder to put his bridle on, lead him alongside of the steps to put the
saddle and breeching on, and back him up to the well-curb to put his tail
in the "crupper," and after he was hitched to the "gig," nine times out of
ten he would wait till he was ready to go.
Some time after I learned that uncle "Dan'l" was a regular horse dealer
and kept just such old plugs around him, and that they were always his
wife's favorites when the old man wanted to get one off his hands.
However, Dick and I became great friends. I fixed up the old "gig," and it
answered my purpose. I got there with it.
It became a customary daily routine for me to harness this poor animal,
start at sundown and drive all night. Where? Why to Augusta to try and get
mustered in, but I would always ride back broken hearted and disappointed,
my ardor, however, not dampened a bit. I became a guy to my brothers and
neighbors. My father and step-sister indulged me in my fancy, helping me
all they could--father by furnishing me with money, and step-sister by
putting up little lunches for my pilgrimages during the night. They
thought me partially insane, and judged it would be best to let me have my
own idea, with the hope that it would soon wear off. But it didn't. I
would not give up. The Yankee yearning for fight had possession of me, and
I could neither eat, sleep nor work. I was bound to be a soldier. I
prayed for it, and I sometimes thought, my prayers were answered; that the
war should last 'till I was big enough to be one--for it did.
I had enlisted four times in different towns, and each time I went before
a mustering officer, I was rejected. "Too small" I was every time
pronounced, but I was not discouraged or dismayed--the indomitable pluck
and energy of those downeast boys pervaded my system. I was bound to get
there, for what I didn't know, I did not care or didn't stop to think. I
only thought of the glory of being a soldier, little realizing what an
absurd-looking one I would make; but the ambition was there, the pluck was
there, and the patriotism of a man entered the breast of the wild dreamy
boy. I wanted to go to the front--and I went.
After several unsuccessful attempts to be mustered into the service at
Augusta, which was twenty-five miles from our little farm, I thought I
would enlist from the town of Freedom and thereby get before a different
mustering officer who was located in Belfast. I had grown, I thought, in
the past six weeks, and before a new officer, I thought my chances of
being accepted would improve; so on a bright morning in September I
mounted my "gig," behind my little old gray horse, who seemed to say, as
he turned his head to look at me when I jumped on to the seat, "What a
fool you are, making me haul you all that distance, when you know they
won't have you!" but kissing my little step-sister good-bye, with a wave
of my hand to father and brothers who stood in the yard and door of the
dear old home, I drove away, and as I did so I could see the expressions
of ridicule and doubt on their faces, while underneath it all there was a
tinge of sadness and fear. They did not think for a moment. I would be
mustered into the army, yet fear took possession of them when I drove off,
for they knew my determined disposition.
Well, I arrived in Belfast. Instead of driving direct to the stable and
hotel, and putting my horse up, I drove direct to the office of the
mustering officer. I did not need to fasten my trusty horse, for he knew
it would only be a few moments, and as I went to the office door, he
turned his head and whinnied as if he were laughing at me. I entered that
office like a young Napoleon. I had made up my mind to walk in before the
officer very erect and dignified, even to raising myself on tiptoe. On
telling the clerk my errand, he ushered me into an inner office, and
imagine my surprise--my consternation--when, swinging around in his chair,
I found myself in the presence of the very officer who had rejected me in
Augusta so many times.
"Damn it," said he, "will you never let up? Go home to your mother, boy,
don't pester me any more. I will not accept you, and let that end it."
I tremblingly told him "I had grown since he saw me last, and that by the
time I was mustered in I would grow some more, and that I would drum and
fight, if it should prove actually necessary."
Thus I pleaded with him for fully one hour. Finally he said, "Well, damned
if I don't muster you in, just to get rid of you. Sergeant, make out this
young devil's papers and let him go and get killed." My heart leaped into
my mouth. I tried to thank him, but he would not have it. He hurried me
through, and at 5:30 P. M., September 15, 1863, I was a United States
soldier. And when I donned that uniform, what a looking soldier! The
smallest clothes they issued looked on me as if it would make a suit for
my entire family, but in spite of the misfit, I took them and put them on,
with the pants legs rolled up to the knees, and the overcoat dragging on
the ground.
I went out of that office as proud as a peacock, but a laughing-stock for
the boys, and all who gazed at me. I think even the old horse smiled and
looked askance; he acted as if I was fooling him, and hungry as he was,
when he turned towards the stable, he dragged along as if he either were
sorry or ashamed to draw me among people; but I cared not for their jeers
and laughs. I was now a soldier and anxious to get home. I pictured the
feeling and joyous greetings of my brothers and sister as they would see
me ride up in my uniform; how the boys would envy me, and how the sister
would throw her arms about me and kiss me, and how her bosom would heave
with pride as she gazed upon the uniform that covered her hero brother.
Oh! I pictured it all in my boyish fancy, and hastened all my
arrangements, so full of joy that I could scarcely eat. I would not wait
till morning, but started home about midnight, arriving there just at
sunrise.
[Illustration]
It was on the 17th of September, 1863, one of those bright, balmy days
that we have in good old New England, seated in a "gig," might be seen the
writer of this little sketch, dressed in soldiers' clothes, covered by one
of those familiar cape overcoats that nearly covered the "gig" and poor
old horse. I felt as proud as if I was the general in command of all the
army.
Instead of giving the family a surprise, they had heard of my enlisting
from the stage-driver, and I found them all in tears. But when I made my
appearance tears changed to laughter, for the sight of me I think was
enough to give them hope. They didn't believe our government would have
such a little, ill-dressed soldier. And father said, after looking me all
over: "Well, if they have mustered you in, after they see you in that
uniform it will be muster out, my boy."
In about ten days I received orders to report in Augusta. Then the family
realized there was more in it than they at first thought, but consoled
themselves with the belief that when I reached headquarters, I would be
found useless, and sent home. I went away, leaving them with that feeling
of hope struggling behind their copious tears. And the lingering kiss of
my little step-sister, and her soft sobbing, "Don't, don't, please don't
go," as she hung around my neck, ran constantly in my mind from that time
till now. All through the nights, on the long marches, in all my troubles,
that soft, sweet voice was calling, "George, please, please, don't go."
And I could see her little form, and her ever-thoughtful face, a guiding
star and a compass that ever guided me away from the shoals and
quicksands. She was an angel companion to me all through the trials and
hardships of that awful war.
Well, I arrived in Portland, was sent to the barracks with three or four
thousand others, was allotted a hard bunk, and then for the first time did
I realize what I was doing, what I had committed myself to, and I think if
I could have caught that mustering officer I should have appealed to him
just as hard to muster me out, as I did to muster me in; but I was in it
and must stay. I will never forget the first day of my soldier experience.
With what feeling of awe and thumping of my cowardly, timid heart, I heard
the different commands of the officers. The disciplining began; the
routine of a soldier's life had really started right in Portland, far away
from the front where I had only expected to find it. I was detained in
those barracks only a few days, and the tap of the drum, and the sound of
the bugle as they sounded their different calls, had grown monotonous to
me; I no longer regarded them with awe, but with mockery. I wanted to go
to the front where the real life of a soldier was known, where glory could
be won. I wanted the reality, not boy's play.
I was glad when I was numbered among a squad of about 200 who had orders
to go to Washington. That night we marched down to the depot and were
crowded into cars. I did not care; I was overjoyed: I was delighted at the
prospects of going to the seat of war, near the front, where I thought I
might hear the booming of the cannon, and to a place where I would soon be
forwarded to my regiment. We arrived in Boston, and to my disappointment,
were laid over. We were marched to the barracks on Beach street, which in
early days was the "Beach Street Theater." The seats, benches, gallery,
stage and scenery were all there, and we were crowded into this old,
unused temple of Thespis to select a place to sleep where best we could,
on the floor, or anywhere. Here I began to grow sick of soldiering; we
were in this old musty theater with a guard over us, not allowed to go on
the street, and unable to find out how long we were to be incarcerated
there, for we were treated more like prisoners than men who had
volunteered to serve their country.
I thought it a great hardship at that time, and kicked at it loud and
hard, without any result that benefited us; but since I have been through
it all, I can see where it was absolutely necessary to use the rigid and
seemingly ungrateful discipline. Well, we were kept in the old theater
for about a week; we ware allowed out for two hours each day on passes,
and in the evening we sang songs and "acted" on the stage. Each one who
could recite or do anything did it, and it was appreciated by a deadhead
audience, something unusual nowadays. It was here in this old Beach Street
Theater that my future life was undoubtedly mapped out; from that time I
was impressed with a desire to become an actor, and there is no doubt that
the seed was planted then and grew and increased in after years.
On the 11th of November, we were ordered to Washington, and embarked on
the steamboat train via Fall River, and I shall never forget when we
arrived in New York, the demonstration, the greeting, the cheers, the
God-speeds that we received as we marched through the city to the ferry,
and it seemed to me that I was the one all this was meant for; I thought I
was a hero. It seemed that all eyes were on me, and perhaps they were, for
among all those Maine giants I belied my state, for I was a dot only, a
pigmy beside those mighty woodsmen.
We arrived in Washington without mishap. I was granted permission to go
over the city, and then to report to the commanding officer of the camp at
Alexandria. My first desire when I found myself with a privilege in the
great capital was to visit President Lincoln, have a talk with him and
also with Secretary Stanton. My admiration for those two men was almost
love, and I fancied, now that I was a soldier, that I could easily meet
them; that they would grasp me by the hand, compliment and shower me
with congratulations and advice. It is needless to say that I found out
that I had overestimated my importance; I did not discuss the war
situation with either of those gentlemen. I was a little crestfallen at
not meeting them, but contented myself by looking over the city; and
wherever I went I noticed I was scrutinized by everybody; soldiers on
guard would come to a halt, hesitate and then present arms; some officers
would pass me by, then turn and look me over from head to foot; others
would touch their caps and then turn and watch me with a kind of wondering
gaze, as much as to say, "What is it?"
[Illustration: _Our Troops Passing Through Washington to the Front._]
I forgot to mention that while in Portland I had a tailor make me a very
handsome suit of military clothes. He was as ignorant of the regulation
style as I was. He only knew the colors and knew that I wanted it nice and
handsome. He made it and so covered it over with gold braid and ornaments,
that you could not tell whether I was a drum-major or a brigadier-general;
that accounted for the salutations and looks of astonishment I received.
The first night I was tired out and started for Alexandria; arrived at
headquarters about midnight, and told the sentry I must see the colonel.
He thought I had important messages, or was some officer, and escorted me
to the colonel's quarters. I woke him up, told him I had reported and
wanted a bed.
The colonel said, "Is that all you want? Corporal, put this man in the
guard-house." He did!
That was my first experience, and I always after tried to avoid
guard-houses. The next morning I was given a broom and put to sweeping
around camp with about twenty tough-looking customers. The broom did not
look well with my uniform, and as soon as an officer noticed me, I was
summoned before the colonel in command. He asked, what I was? I told him I
didn't know yet--would not know 'till I reached my regiment. He had a
hearty laugh at my appearance; said I ought to be sent to some fair
instead of the front. However, he detailed me as his orderly. I held this
position some time, until one day there was going to be a squad of
recruits, and returned furloughed men sent on a steam-barge to the front
at City Point, where Butler was bottled up. I asked to be one of them. The
colonel told me I was foolish, and better stay with him, but I insisted;
and he allowed me to go. The barge was a kind of an open double-deck boat
without cabin or shelter, and they crowded us on to her as thick as we
could stand; we were like sardines. I secured a position against the
smoke-stack, and before we reached Chesapeake bay I was glad of it, for it
became bitterly cold, and I curled down around this smoke-stack, went to
sleep, and when I awoke in the morning I was crisp, dirty, and nearly
roasted alive. We crossed the bay in the afternoon. Oh, wasn't it rough!
This old river barge would roll and pitch out of sight at times, and we
were all wet from head to foot. Then I began to wish myself home on the
farm again; but I was in for it, and could not back out. I had one
thought that buoyed me up, the thought of meeting my brother.
That evening we passed by Fortress Monroe, up the James river. There was
not much transpired to relieve the monotony or appease our hunger or
thirst; in fact, it began to look dubious as to reaching City Point. The
monotony, however, was somewhat relieved in the morning. About daylight a
commotion was caused by the sound of distant cannonading. Every one
crowded to the front of the boat; everybody was asking questions of
everybody. Each one had some idea to offer as to the cause. Some ventured
to say it was a gunboat up the river practising. One old chap, who had
evidently been to the front, facetiously claimed that it was the corks out
of Butler's bottles. The river was very crooked at this point, and you
could not see very far; but presently we rounded a bend in the river,
which revealed to us where the cannonading came from, but for what, we
could not make out. About a mile ahead of us lay a United States gunboat,
and every few minutes a puff of smoke, and then a loud
bang--erang--erang--erang--with its long vibrations on that still morning,
awoke a sense of fear in everyone aboard that boat. No one could account
for the situation. Even the captain of the barge stood with pallid cheek,
seemingly in doubt what to do as he rang the bell to slow down; but on--on
we kept moving--nearer and nearer this most formidable war-ship, and as we
did so the shots became more frequent. Then we noticed a man on the bank
waving a flag back and forth, up and down in a wild, excited sort of a
way. I asked what that meant. An old soldier said the man was signaling
the boat to let them know they had hit the target.
Suddenly we were brought to an understanding of what it all meant, for we
could now hear the musketry very plain, and could even see the rebels on
the banks of the river. At this point a "gig" from the gunboat pulled
alongside and gave orders to the captain "to land those troops at once,"
telling him at the same time that this was Fort Powhatan landing; that
Fitzhugh Lee with his cavalry had swooped down upon the garrison, which
was only composed of two hundred negro troops, and that they must be
re-enforced. The captain protested, as the troops on board were all
unarmed, being returned furloughed men and recruits; but it was no use,
the order was imperative, and the captain headed his barge toward the
shore. There was no wharf. That had been burnt, so he was obliged to run
as far as he could onto the sand, then land us overboard. I tell you as
that boat neared toward the shore, my face felt as if it were marbleized;
sharp twinges ran up and down my whole body, and I'll bet that I was the
picture of a coward. I was not the only one. I looked them all over, every
one looked just as I felt. One man who stood near me, I know, was more
frightened than I, for he was so frightened he smelt badly. But I didn't
blame any of those poor men; it was not the pleasantest thing in the world
to be placed before the enemy as we were. However, we all landed.
[Illustration: _Battle between Monitor and Merrimack off Fortress
Monroe._]
The firing above us on the bank became more intense. An officer who was on
the boat with us, returning from a leave of absence, assumed command. He
ordered us to fall into line, and marched us into a little ravine, halted,
and told us the position and necessity of the occasion. He said the fort
was a very important position, and must be held at all hazards; that there
were only two hundred colored troops there, and they could not hold it.
Now, he proposed, as we had no arms, to go in with a rush and a yell, and
make those rebels think that re-enforcements had arrived. All this time
the musketry firing was increasing. The whizz of bullets through the air
and about our heads were becoming too frequent. I was in the front rank,
center of the line, and I tell you I think I had a little of that
frightened smell about me at this time. Whether it was that or my looks or
what, the officer probably took pity on me and told me to skirmish in the
rear. I hardly knew where the rear was, but I thought it would be safer
under the bank of the river, and there I hastened, and none too soon, for
the rebels had made a break through the lines and poured several volleys
into our poor, unarmed re-enforcements. The rebs became more cautious, and
that was what was wanted, as the only hope we had was to hold them at bay
until re-enforcements could arrive.
Well, I skirmished in the rear, and I found it hotter than the front, for
the rebs would crawl to the bank at either end of the breastworks and
kept a cross-fire up and down the river. Under and against the banking,
there was a sort of old barn; this was filled with hay. The bullets were
flying around so thickly that I squeezed myself behind this barn, and
after I was well in, the bullets just rained against that old building;
but I felt pretty secure till I looked up overhead--I saw that while I was
in safety from bullets, a worse danger threatened me. The overhanging bank
was liable to cave in and bury me alive.
The uncertainty of my position became more and more apparent. Each moment
the increased storm of bullets on the barn prevented me from even looking
out, and the constant rattling down of dirt and pebbles from above, told
me plainly what a position I was in. I tell you I wished then I had never
been mustered in. The uncertainty of my position was soon developed. I
came to myself and found I was buried to my neck; my head and face were
cut and bleeding, and a soldier was trying to wipe the sand from my eyes
and ears. I found I had not been shot, but the banking had caved in and
buried me. Gen. "Baldy" Smith, who was in command, happened to see me
behind the barn just as the bank caved in. It was he who put the soldiers
at work to rescue me. As soon as I was out, and the dust out of my eyes,
the general rode down to the beach, leading an extra horse; he called to
me. Ordered me to mount. I did so. He made me his orderly.
A new danger. I was to carry dispatches across the field, but I did not
now have the fear I did at first. I did not mind the sound of the
bullets. I became accustomed to it, and I rode back and forth all day long
without a scratch. I believe I was so small that I rode between those
bullets, and from that time forth I had no fear. I felt as though I were
bullet-proof. I felt as if it were ordained that I should go through the
war unscathed and unscarred. It did seem so, for I would go through places
where it rained bullets, and come out without a scratch. This was my
experience all through, and was commented on by comrades, who said I had a
charmed life. Well, the day wore away the rebs making feints first at one
point, then another. Finally they concentrated their forces against one
point, and would have carried it, too, but just then a steamboat loaded
with troops rounded the bend of the river. Well, the shouts that went up
from the handful of brave soldiers at the sight of that boat I never can
forget. The boys on the boat caught the sound. They took in the situation,
and answered back the shout with three long, hearty cheers. It created
consternation in the rebel lines. They knew the jig was up, but they drew
up in line, like dare-devils that they were, and with a cool deliberation,
poured volley after volley into the side of the steamer until her nose
touched the shore. Well, to see those soldiers leave that steamer was a
sight never to be forgotten. They jumped overboard from every part of her.
It did not seem five minutes from the time she touched shore until the
banks were swarming with our boys in blue. The rebels had taken to
flight--our boys followed some distance, and then returned, relieving us
and allowing us to embark again for City Point. After the rebels had
retreated, I went outside the breastworks, and the sight that met my eyes
on every side would curdle the blood of stouter hearts than mine. It
appeared that Lee, with his cavalry, had surprised the pickets, and being
negroes, every one they captured they would hang up to a tree after they
were mutilated. I saw several with fingers cut off in order to obtain a
ring quickly, and many other sickening sights which tended to make me a
hardened soldier. I was having lots of experience, even before I had
really reached my regiment, and I tell you, the heroic ardor of my boyish
dream was beginning to ooze out of me quite fast. I began to think I was
not cut for a soldier.
Well, my first battle was over, my first experience before an enemy. The
first sound of musketry had died away, and we were again steaming towards
City Point to join our regiments. We arrived there the next night about
ten o'clock. There didn't seem to be any one in command of us or any one
to direct us. It was very dark on shore, but in the distance you could see
a glaring light above the horizon, as if there was a long building on
fire. But from the occasional sound of guns from that quarter, I made up
my mind it was the advance line of our army. It was Butler's command, and
our regiment, the Eighth Maine, must be there. The Eighth Maine, Company
H, was the regiment and company to which my brother belonged, and in which
I was enlisted. I started out across the fields in the direction of the
light--on, on I tramped, into ditches, through mires, over fences. The
farther I went the faster I went. I was so impatient I could not hold
myself to a walk; it was a dog-trot all the time. I was heedless of every
obstacle, till I began to near the front. I realized the danger by the
whizzing of shell, and the zip, zip of bullets. I found myself among lots
of soldiers, and how ragged and dirty the poor fellows looked. I asked the
first man I came to where the Eighth Maine was? He looked at me in perfect
astonishment. "This is the Eighth, what's left of it." I asked him if he
knew where my brother was--Charley Ulmer? "Oh, yes," he said, and pointing
to a little group of men, who were round a wee bit of a fire; "there he
is, don't you know him?"
I hesitated, for really I could hardly tell one from the other. He saw my
bewilderment, and took me by the arm and led me over to the fire. They all
started and stared at me, and to save my life I could not tell which was
my brother; but one more ragged than the rest uttered a suppressed cry,
rushed forward, and throwing his arm about my neck, sobbed and cried like
a child. "My God! my brother! Oh George, George, why did you come here?"
His grief seemed to touch them all, for they all began to wipe their eyes
with their ragged coat-sleeves. This began to tell on me, and for the next
ten minutes it was a kind of a blubbering camp. After awhile they
reconciled themselves, and began to ply me with questions faster than I
could answer. My brother sat down with me and lectured me very soundly
for coming, as there was no need of it. He gave a graphic description of
the hardships they had endured, and I can never obliterate the picture he
presented that night. His clothes were ragged and patched, begrimed with
smoke, grease and dirt; his hat an old soft one, with part of the rim gone
and the crown perforated with bullet holes; his beard scraggly and dirty;
his big toes peeping out of a pair of old boots with the heels all run
down, in fact, he was a sight--a strong contrast to my tailor-made suit. I
will never forget the expression on my brother's face when about half an
hour after my arrival he looked up to me with his eyes half full of tears
glistening on that dirty face, and with a kind of cynical smile, asked,
after looking me over and over: "What are you, anyhow?"
I told him I didn't know.
"Well, after you have been here awhile, those pretty clothes won't look as
they do now, and you will probably find out what you are after you have
dodged a few shells."
Our conversation was brought to a climax by orders to break camp and fall
in. We learned we were going to embark somewhere on a boat; everything was
hustle-bustle now; little sheltered tents were struck, tin cups, canteens,
knapsacks were made ready, and in about fifteen minutes that begrimed,
dirty, hungry family of Uncle Sam's was on the march to the river. We were
marched on board an old ferry-boat, and crowded so thickly that we could
scarcely stand. My brother seemed now to feel that he had the
responsibility of my comfort, even my life, on his hands--and being a
favorite he elbowed me a place at the end of the boat, where we could sit
down by letting our feet hang over the end of the boat. In that position
we remained. We didn't have room to stand up and turn around. I was awful
sleepy, but dared not go to sleep for fear I would fall overboard. Finally
my brother fixed me so I could lay my head back, and he held on to me
while I slept. The next morning we landed at a place called West Point, on
the York river; why we landed there we didn't know. Of course soldiers
never did know anything of the whys and wherefores; they only obeyed
orders, stood up or laid down and got killed--they had no choice in the
matter. Well, we landed, and I tell you, we were stiff and hungry. While
they were unloading the horses, which was done by lowering them into the
water and letting them swim ashore, which took some time, they allowed us
a chance to skirmish for food. About half a mile from the river were a
dozen houses--nice-looking places. Towards these we started; they were all
closed up; they all looked deserted; there was not a sign of life, except
the cackle of hens or chickens in the hen-house. Chickens were good enough
for us, and I was one of the first to get to the pen; secured two handfuls
of chicks, and was just emerging with them when a big woman confronted me;
she stood and looked me straight in the eye, and with both hands held on
to a mastiff, that to me looked as big as an ox.
"How dare you?" said she.
"I don't," said I.
"What are you doing with my chickens, you good-for-nothing Yankee thief?"
I tried to apologize, but it was no use. Even my pretty uniform had no
more effect than my eloquence. I simply put Mr. and Mrs. Chicks down and
backed out of the yard. She was good enough to hold on to the dog, for
which I was very grateful. I think I had more respect for the dog than the
lady. However, I had to resort to pork and hard tack for my breakfast.
About noon that day we began our march. Where we were going, everybody
guessed, but none knew. I didn't care. I was now a kind of a half-settled
soldier, but from the first, I was a kind of privileged character. No one
gave me orders. No one seemed to claim me. I had never been assigned to
any company. I never had to answer roll-call. I could go and come as I
pleased. Once in awhile a guard would halt me, but not often. They didn't
know what I was, and they didn't care. All the afternoon we marched. Our
route was along the railroad, the rails of which had the appearance of
being recently torn up by the rebels. About four o'clock I was becoming
very tired. We came to a clearing, and some distance in the field was a
darky plowing with a mule. I made a break for him, and the rest of that
march I rode. No one objected, but the boys shouted as I made my
appearance on the mule; a mile or two further along we sighted a
farm-house. I drew reins on my mule and made for the house; I made the
boys glad on my return, for I secured a demijohn of applejack, a big
bundle of tobacco, and a box of eggs. That successful raid gave me
courage, and I began to think that was what I was destined for, and I
liked it first-rate, for it was a pleasure to me to see those poor, hungry
boys have any delicacy, or even enough of ordinary food.