to wait for pontoons. The boys were tired and hungry. A guard was posted
to prevent any foraging, but I was a privileged character, and I bolted
through the lines. I had seen some pigs and calves scamper into the swamp
about half a mile back from where we halted, and thinking a bit of fresh
meat would be nice for the boys, I determined to have some. Cautiously I
stole away, till I arrived at the edge of the swamp; and such a jungle! It
was almost impossible to penetrate it, so I skirted the edge, hoping to
see a pig emerge. After tramping an hour I was rewarded by seeing a calf.
I drew my revolver, sneaked up and fired at poor bossy. It dropped--I was
a good shot--but when I reached the poor beast I found it was as poor as a
rail and covered with sores as big as my hand. I was disappointed, but cut
off as much as I could that was not sore, and took it to camp. We put the
kettles on the fires in short order, and my brother's company had fresh
meat broth--the first fresh meat in a month--and I tell you it was good,
even if it had been sore. After that episode Company H claimed me and
dubbed me their mascot. I accepted the position, and from that time forth
I devoted my time to foraging, stealing anything I could for my company,
and I doubt if there was a company in the whole army that fared better
than ours, for I was always successful in my expeditions.
After a long, tedious march across pontoons, over corduroy roads, we
confronted the Johnnies at "Cold Harbor." It was here that I found myself
in a real, genuine battle. I got lost in the scuffle. I found myself
amidst bursting shell and under heavy musketry fire. I was bewildered and
frightened. I did not know which way to go. I ran this way and that,
trying to find my brother and regiment. Every turn I made it seemed I
encountered more bullets and shells. Soldiers were shouting and running in
every direction, artillery was galloping here and there, on every side it
seemed they were fighting for dear life. On one side of me I saw horses
and men fall and pile up on top of each other. Cannon and caissons with
broken wheels were turned upside down, riderless horses were scampering
here and there, officers were riding and running in all directions, the
shells were whizzing through the air, and soldiers shouting at the top of
their voices. Everything seemed upside down. I thought the world had come
to an end. I tried to find shelter behind a tree, away from the bullets,
but as soon as I found shelter on one side it seemed as though the bullets
and shells came from all sides, and I lay down in utter despair and
fright. I don't know how long I was there, but when I awoke I thought the
war was over, it was so still. I thought every one had been killed on both
sides, excepting myself. I was just thinking I would try and find a live
horse, ride back to Washington and tell them that the war was over,
everybody was killed, when my brother tapped me on the shoulder and asked
me where I had been. He had gone through it all, escaped with the loss of
one toe, and had come to the rear to have it dressed and find me.
[Illustration: _Desperate Charge of Confederates to Capture a Union
Battery._]
The next morning I was sent with the "Stretcher Corps" under a flag of
truce to the battle field to help take the wounded to the rear and bury
the dead, and when we reached the scene, how well could I imagine what the
awful struggle had been. The worst of the great conflict had occurred in
an orchard, and there the sight was most appalling; dead and dying heroes
were lying about as thick as a slumbering camp would be, sleeping with
their guns for pillows the night before a battle; to many of those poor
fellows it was that sleep that knows no waking, while to others it was the
awaking from unconsciousness by the twinges of a mortal gaping wound,
awake just long enough to get a glimpse of the Gates Ajar, sink back and
start on that journey from which no traveler returns.
Blue and the gray were mingled together on this awful field of slaughter,
and both sides seemed to respect the solemnity by a cessation of
hostilities, and the hushed silence was only broken by the painful cry of
some helpless wounded, or dying groans of others. The little white cloth
we wore around our arms to denote, we belonged to the stretcher corps,
seemed to add to the sadness of the occasion, for to those poor wounded
souls we were like ministering angels, and as I moved from one to the
other with tear dimmed eyes offering water and assistance to those who
needed it I saw many incidents of bravery and self-sacrifice that went far
toward ameliorating the suffering and obliterating the bitterness of the
blue and the gray. I noticed one poor fellow who had spread his rubber
blanket to catch the dew of the night sharing the moisture thus gathered
with an unfortunate confederate who had lost a leg. Another, a
confederate was staying the life-blood of a union officer by winding his
suspenders around the mangled limb. Oh! the horror of such a picture can
never be penned--or told, and contemplated only by soldiers who have been
there.
One-half of our regiment had been killed or wounded. After this things
settled down into a siege. I employed my time foraging for the company.
One day I found an apple orchard, gathered as many apples as I could
carry, took them to the company and made apple-sauce without sweetening.
They ate very heartily of it, poor fellows. It was a treat for them; but
it was a bad find, for the next day the whole lot of them were unfit for
duty. That nearly put a stop to my reconnoitering. Our regiment lay here
in the advance line of breastworks for thirteen days. The sappers and
miners were constantly working our breastworks towards the enemy, and
every time I wanted to reach my company I found it in a new place and more
difficult to reach. The rebel sharpshooters, with their deadly aim, were
waiting for such chaps as me. However, under cover of night, I always
managed to find and reach the company with some palatable relish.
I will never forget one night; four men were detailed to go to the rear
for rations. The commissary was located about two miles to the rear, and
the wagon could only haul the rations within one mile of us on account of
jungle and rebel sharpshooters. Therefore these men were detailed to pack
the rations the rest of the way. I was one of the detail from my company.
We went back to the covered wagons that were waiting for us. The boys said
I was too small to walk, and they threw me into the rear end of one of the
wagons. We got to the commissary tent--a long tent open at both ends--and
from both ends they weighed out the rations of coffee, sugar, etc. While
the soldier who was doing the weighing on one end had his back turned, I
managed to fill my haversack from a full barrel of coffee that stood at
the end of the tent. I had two haversacks for that purpose, for I went
there with that intent; but I came away with only one filled. I could not
get a chance for the other; it was on the wrong side. Finally the rations
were all aboard, and we started back. The boys repeated the operation of
throwing me into the wagon again, and there was my opportunity. I would
fill my other haversack from the bags in the wagon; that's what the boys
expected I would do, and I did from the first bag I could get into. Each
company had its own bag.
When we arrived at the breastworks my company crowded around me for
plunder. I divided it up, and was looked upon as quite a hero, but when
the rations were issued it was found our company's bag was short about
thirty rations of sugar, but no one said a word. It was surmised that it
got spilled. Day after day our regiment lay there and our army did not
seem to gain anything. I was becoming disgusted and discouraged.
[Illustration: _My First Day in Front of Petersburg._]
One night the Johnnies made a charge on us. That was the only time I ever
fired a gun in the whole war, and I honestly believe I killed a dozen men,
for immediately after they stopped firing. It was only a few moments,
however; on they came, only to be repulsed. They kept that up nearly all
night, and I served my country by standing down in the trench, loading a
gun and passing it up to my brother to fire. I did this all night, but I
didn't see any less rebels in the morning. Our next order was to fall
back, under cover of darkness. We fell back about a mile and halted for
some reason, I thought to get breakfast. Anyway I built a little fire
behind a stone wall, put my coffee-pot on and the remnants of a pot of
beans. They were getting nice and hot; my brother and I stood waiting,
smacking our lips in the anticipation of a feast, when whizz came one of
those nasty little "Cohorn" mortor shells and it dropped right into our
coffee and beans. Then the bugle sounded, "fall in," and we started with
downcast hearts and empty stomachs, and a longing good-bye to the debris
of beans and coffee. It was a tiresome march. Of course, we didn't know
where we were going, and that made it all the longer.
We eventually brought up at White-House landing on the York river, where
we were put on board of a steam transport without being given time to draw
rations. From there we steamed down the York and up the James river to the
Appomattox, and up the river to Point of Rocks. We landed here on the
Bermuda Hundred side, in the rear of Butler's works, obtained some bread
and coffee, and then crossed the Appomattox on pontoons and pushed on
towards Petersburg. Our regiment belonged at that time to the 2nd brigade,
2nd division of the 18th corps, commanded by Major General "Baldy" Smith.
We soon met the enemy's pickets in front of Petersburg. They fled before
that long, serpentine file of blue-coats like deer. On, on we went. We
could see the rebels running in their shirt sleeves, throwing coats, guns
and everything in their mad flight. I don't think there was a shot fired
on either side 'till we reached a fort, Smith I think it was called. It
was just at dusk. This fort was located on a mound or hill with a ravine
in front of it. Our brigade was drawn up in line of battle in a
wheat-field on the right. A colored brigade was ordered to charge the fort
from the hill opposite, and across this ravine; then I beheld one of the
grandest and most awful sights I ever saw; those colored troops started on
a double quick, and as they descended the hill, the fort poured volley
after volley into them. The men seemed to fall like blades of grass before
a machine, but it did not stop them; they rallied and moved on; it was
only the work of a few minutes. With a yell they were up and into that
fort, and in less time than it takes to tell it, the guns were turned on
the fleeing rebels. Here was the greatest mistake of our greatest
commander. All of our army was brought to a standstill by some one's
foolish order. Not another move was made. We lay there waiting, and all
night long we could hear the trains rumbling along on the other side of
the Appomattox river. Lee had been outwitted. We had stolen a march on
him. We had arrived in front of defenseless Petersburg, and could have
gone right in and on to Richmond without a struggle. But that fatal order
to halt gave him all night to hurry his forces from Cold Harbor, and in
the morning we found plenty of determined rebels in front of us, and
thereby the war was prolonged months and hundreds and thousands of lives
lost. I swore all night. I kicked and condemned every general there was in
the army for the blunder I saw they were making. I only wished I could be
the general commanding for one hour. But it was no use; I couldn't be.
I was nothing but a boy. But I had my ideas. I thought, perhaps, more than
some of the officers did. I kept myself posted on facts and the topography
of the country. The dispositions of generals was a matter of grave
importance to me. I believed generals should be selected to command, NOT
for their qualifications in military tactics alone, NOT because they had
graduated well-dressed from "West Point," but for their indomitable pluck,
judgment and honesty of purpose. It did seem to me that some of our best
officers were invariably placed in the most unimportant positions and
commands. Take, for instance, "Custer's" Brigade of daring men, headed by
those intrepid officers, Alger and Towns, wasting their time and
imperiling the lives of thousands of good soldiers around "Emettsburg,"
"Gordonsville," "Bottom Bridge," carrying out the foolish orders of
superiors in command. Why could not these officers of cool judgment be
with us at this critical moment?--they made THEIR victories, what would
they have done had they the great opportunities that were presented to
others who failed?
All night about the camp-fire the boys would delight in nagging
me--getting me into arguments and debates. They called me the "midget
orator of the Army of the Potomac." I will never forget one night soon
after the advance on Petersburg; we were clustered about with coffee cups
and pipes; an argument waxed warm in regard to the possibilities of the
war lasting two more years; finally I was called upon for my views.
"Midget," said Col. McArthur, "if you had supreme command of our army,
what would you do?"
What would I do? If Uncle Sam would give me one regiment from each State
in the Union--give me Grant, Burnside, Sherman, Sheridan, Custer, Alger,
Hooker, Hancock, Thomas and Siegel to command them, I would take Richmond
and settle the rebellion before they had time to wire and ask Stanton if I
should. This was received with cheering and applause. But my boyish
fancies and ideas were never gratified; I never had the pleasure of seeing
my ideal army together, and Richmond was not taken for many months
afterward.
A few days after our regiment was drawn up in line of battle in a
wheatfield. It was just nightfall. I was lying down on the bank of a ditch
waiting for the move-forward. Suddenly a shell came over my head and bust
right in the center of my company. I thought I saw legs and arms flying in
all directions.
I started on the dead run for the rear. I believed I was going right, but
it seemed as if the shells were coming from our own guns in the rear. I
thought they had mistaken us for the enemy. I could see the shells coming,
and every time they would fire, I would fall on my stomach, and thought
they all went just over my head. I was soon, however, out of range, and
began to feel easy, when a new fear took possession of me. What if I had,
in my bewilderment, run into the rebel lines? I saw just ahead of me an
old-fashioned southern mansion, with a high board fence all around it, and
in the inclosure several small cabins used for the slaves to live in. I
could not remember seeing this before, so I made up my mind I was actually
inside rebeldom. However, I decided to make the best of it, and if I were
or were not I would see if I could find something to eat. With fear and
faltering steps I moved toward the big gate, swung it open, and it gave an
awful squeak as it swung on its old rusty hinges. There was not a sign of
life in or about the place, and that gave me hope and courage. In the
center of the yard was a large hen-house. Cautiously toward this I
crawled, heard the cackle of fowl, went first on one side then on the
other, looking for the door; and imagine my surprise, the fear that took
possession of me--my hair stood on end; for sitting there on a bench back
of this hen-house were two big Johnnies. I couldn't speak, I couldn't
move, till one of them said, "Good evening, sar; got anything to eat?"
"Yes, yes," I stammered, "I have some hard-tack." Finally, one of them
seeing I was most scared to death, spoke up and said, "Don't be alarmed;
we are only deserters and want to give ourselves up; show us to
headquarters." I was brave now. I gave them what hard-tack I had, and
marched them ahead of me back to the rear, till we found headquarters.
Afterward, I was offered a furlough for capturing two of the enemy. I
never told this before; I took the credit. But I was not satisfied; I'd
rather have some of those chickens than live rebels. So back I went and I
got five; started back to the rear, put a kettle on a fire and boiled
them, kept them three days, till I found my brother and the remnant of the
regiment. When I did find them I made their hearts glad by showing them
the boiled chickens. They were awful hungry and set to eating with a
ravenous appetite, but they could not eat them, hungry as they were. I had
no salt, and so put a big chunk of salt beef in the pot instead of salt,
consequently the chickens were saltier then Lot's wife.
I think I felt more disappointed than anybody, so I determined to make up
for it in some other way. The regiment finally brought up in the first or
advance line of breastwork, and I was still skirmishing in the rear for
anything that I could find that was good.
I had tramped back to the rear about three miles, my mind bent on securing
anything that would please the heart and eye, or tickle the palates of the
brave fellows who had gone to face the enemy and do the real work of our
country. About a quarter of a mile to the left of me I espied a covered
wagon moving toward the front. I wondered what it was and where it was
bound for, as from the frequent halt it made, it seemed the driver was
lost to himself. I bore down toward him and found it was a sanitary wagon,
loaded with good things sent out by the ladies of the north. The driver
was an old man--one of those long, lanky individuals who might be taken
for a parson or a horse dealer. He reminded me of the "Arkansaw Traveler."
His clothes were of the salt and pepper homespun goods, a little worse for
wear and very ill fitting, they looked as if he had lost fifty pounds of
flesh since he started from home; his pants were tucked into a pair of old
cow-hide boots; his hat was a cross between a stove pipe and a derby; his
hair was red, very long and sprinkled with grey; his eyebrows were shaggy,
nearly meeting over the nose and hanging down over a pair of faded blue
eyes. So wrinkled was his skin that you would think his face was a frozen
laugh; a little strip of red hair ran down the side of his face in front
of his ears and almost met under his chin; the space left open in his
whiskers, evidently an outlet for the tobacco juice that trickled down
from each side of his mouth. As I approached he pulled up his mules and
called to me in a rather cracked voice, "Say, Major, or Sergeant, or what
ever you are, whar's the field hospital?"
"Three miles from here," said I, pointing backward.
"What's that firin I hear? Ain't no rebs 'round yere, be thar?"
"Yes," I replied; "there's a long row of them about half a mile in front
of us, and you had better halt right where you are. What's your cargo?"
"Wall, I got most anything that is needed by you poor fellows--useful
things. I'm sent here by a society called the Northfield First Methodist
Ladies' Relief and Sanitary Association. They selected me for my courage
to go to the front and distribute this load. But I guess I'll have to go
too near that row of rebs if I'd give them out in person. I'll unhitch
here and feed my mules. You don't think thar's any danger of them
grey-coats disturbing me, do you? I should hate to have all these good
things fall into their hands."
I inquired what he had, to which he replied with apparent amazement:
"Shirts, stockins, bakin' powder, condensed milk, canned apples, peaches,
Boston beans, tobacco, hair oil, tooth powder, cathartic pills, Jamaiki
ginger, and fine tooth combs----Whoa thar--stop your infernal kickin. Them
durned mules are worse than two-year-old heifers."
The wearied animals had become all tangled up in the harness, and I
thought I'd steal some of the eatables for my company while he was freeing
and feeding the mules. He gave me a better opportunity however. There was
a patch of peanuts or groundnuts a short distance away. He asked me to
mind his mules while he went to see what they were and how they grew. When
he left me I got into the wagon and loaded myself down with everything
until I could carry no more. Then I conceived an idea, and if he would
only remain away long enough I could carry the thing out. I found a small
hatchet in the wagon, and with my tin cup began digging a hole near the
wagon. I worked like a beaver for awhile, at the same time keeping my eye
on the peanut patch. The size of the receptacle would be determined by the
length of time the old man remained away. Finally I got a hole made about
the size of a bushel basket, and thought I'd take no more chances. I
scrambled into the wagon and threw out cans of milk, etc., until the hole
was completely filled. I had just nicely covered it up when my friend
returned and asked:
"What YOU been diggin' for thar--them durned things too? Why, durn them,
I'd just as lieve eat raw beans."
I looked up in a guilty sort of way and told him, "I was digging for a
shell that lit there while he was gone."
"Ge-whiz! I guess I'd better get out of this place as quick as I can. I
say, Mister, whar's your Comp'ny?"
"What's alive of them are at the front, suffering from want and hunger," I
replied in a strong manner, thinking perhaps he would drive nearer and
distribute his load. But he was bent on going back. As he climbed to his
seat he said, "I'll tell you, Mr. Sergeant, you kin take a few of these
things to the men that are sick in your company."
"They are all sick," I said quickly, for I was greedy and wanted all I
could get. He pulled out a hospital shirt and tied up the neck. Having
filled it with condensed milk, tobacco, and other things, he asked me if I
could carry it. "Could I! I could carry all there's in your cart," I
replied. I found my load was a little heavier than I had expected it to
be, but I wouldn't say there was too much, but helped him to hitch up his
mules and he started off, after giving me a warm hand-shake. I watched him
until he disappeared from view, and then thought I would open up the
treasure I had buried and deposit some of the shirtful which he had so
kindly given me after I had robbed him. It would lighten the load and I
could return for the balance next day. I had just started to dig, when I
looked up and saw him driving back as hard as he could drive, "Say, young
fellow, I--I--I," in a wild, excited manner, reigning his mules up with a
jerk and a "Whoa, thar," loud enough to be heard in Petersburg, "I--I
thought I'd drive back and dig up that darned shell. It'll be a great
curiosity. When I get home I can show the folks the dangerous position I
was placed in while distributing these things."
I didn't stop to hear any more, but hurried away with my shirtful. I ran
hard and fast, and didn't dare to turn and look round. The shells began to
whiz pretty thickly just at this time, and I prayed and hoped that the old
man would get scared and not dig for that shell, for I wanted the boys to
have it.
[Illustration: _The Great Mine Explosion in Front of Petersburg._]
This was on the day fixed for the great mine explosion, every soldier on
the entire line was waiting with bated breath for the signal or prolonged
rumble of that expected explosion. It did not come, however. The suspense
was broken by the appearance nearly a half a mile away, of a soldier with
something white on his back, that made a good target for the rebel
sharpshooters. Down the railroad I came. I reached the first line of
earthworks. For a short distance I would keep on top. In this way I kept
on, on, first running one breastwork then another, till I reached the
front line. On top of this I ran the whole length, heedless and unmindful
of the rebel bullets that pelted about me. I almost flew along. The
soldiers shouted to me to keep down, but I heeded them not. Finally I
reached the place where my regiment was, jumped down as coolly as if I had
run no risk, deposited my bag, received the congratulations of my company,
who examined me all over to see if there were any wounds. They found none,
however, but on opening the shirt every can of milk had a bullet hole
through it, and condensed milk, extract of beef, and tobacco had to be
eaten as a soufflee.
The next day found me at the rear again. I looked for the buried
treasure--found it. Evidently the old gent had been frightened away, for
about half the dirt had been removed from the top, and the stuff was not
uncovered. There was a desperate fight going on at the right of our line.
I was pressed into the service of the stretcher corps, which is usually
composed of drummer boys. I did duty at this all the forenoon. The
onslaught was terrible, and many poor fellows did I help carry off that
field; some to live for an hour, others to lose a limb that would prove
their valor and courage for the balance of their lives.
[Illustration]