But in looking back over the time we staid there on those "everlasting
hills," memory recalls to us one stormy night, when neither moon nor
star gave forth its light, when the heavens were draped in the blackest
of darkness, when the wind blew with the force of a hurricane, and our
corn stalk shelters were scattered far and wide; when the elements
seemed to have combined to extemporize, for us, an entertainment of the
grandest description, but which was to be enjoyed vastly more by the
in-dwellers of good substantial houses, than we who had for our only
covering a roof of corn stalks. But amid all this din and clash of the
elements, came the order for an additional force to strengthen the
picket guard. It was rumored about that the rebel Gen. John Morgan was
in the neighborhood and was going to make a dash on our lines. Whether
it was the fact, whether it was a "camp-rumor," or whether it was an
_honest_ alarm, we never found out. But there was the order all the
same, and it must be complied with. The order called for a detail of
three men from each company. The writer and two comrades were the ones
who were called on from Co. "B." Gathering our guns and accoutrements
was but the work of a moment, and away we went to report at Regimental
Headquarters. The night was so dark that we could not discern our file
leader, and so an attachment was made to the coat tail of the fellow in
front. Down the hill we went, stumbling, and falling, over rocks and
clods, until we reached a road. On this we were stationed, three men on
a post, with orders for one of us to keep awake. The three to which the
writer belonged were stationed at the foot of a large tree; the
countersign given us in a whisper; the remainder of the detail marched
off; and there we were! on picket! and to our excited imagination the
enemy in countless numbers all around us. The night, as we have before
stated, was intensely dark, but down on this road, at the foot of the
high hills on which we were stationed, the wind did not strike with such
fury, and any unusual noise could be plainly heard. There we stood at
the foot of that large tree, determined, as we agreed among ourselves,
to do our whole duty if matters came to the worst. Suddenly on the night
air came the sound of a foot-fall, near; nearer; we held a short
consultation, it might be an enemy, no doubt it was; well, we must find
out. "Halt!" rang out on the night air. "Who comes there?" back came the
answer, "A Friend." This was an assurance most acceptable to us.
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign," and up came Capt. Fellows,
of Co. "C," who was the officer of the guard. A short whispered
consultation, a reminder from the Captain of how to perform our duty,
and he passed on down the road to the next post. He had been gone but a
little while when "bang" went a gun, and the bullet went whistling over
our heads. What did that mean? We cocked our rifles and stood on the
defensive, and it would have been terrible trouble for any one who had
come our way just then. The whiz of the bullet died away, naught was
heard, and we uncocked our guns and sat down, but not long, for again we
heard the foot-fall on the road, coming from the direction which the
Captain had taken when he left us; nearer it approaches, and again the
word "Halt!" rings out on the night air. Back comes the response, "It's
all right, don't act the fool as the man did on the post below." We
brought our guns down and up came the Captain. "What gun was that Cap?"
was our first enquiry. "Why," he replied, "the man on post below you was
laying on the ground, and when he heard me coming, cried 'Halt!' and
banged away, he came near hitting me too." Of course the usual amount of
expletives were indulged in by each of us, making them as strong as the
case seemed to require, and the Captain passed on. The articles of war
declare that death shall be the penalty for that soldier who goes to
sleep while on post; we knew it, it had been told to us, but if John
Morgan, with his command, had driven in our pickets in the early gray of
that morning, we are strongly inclined to the opinion, that at a certain
post on that picket line the guard would have been found sleeping the
sleep of the innocent and just. Yes, it is a fact Morpheus had wooed to
his embrace, the entire three who occupied the picket post at the foot
of that large tree. The reader who scans these pages must please bear in
mind that we were "babes" in the art of war, at this time; we had come
from our homes and from our farms only a few short weeks before, and the
scenes in which we were now playing a part were of the veriest newness
to us. We had entered into the service of our country in good faith, we
had sworn allegiance to our flag under any and all circumstances, more
as a form than anything else as far as our hearts were concerned, but we
had not as yet arrived at that period in a soldier's life, when he finds
that eternal vigilance is not only the price of liberty, but of his own
life also. Morning came at last and with the rest of our comrades we
were marched back to camp. We came as "conquerors come," we had stood
during the night as an invincible band against our foes. That was,
perhaps, what was thought of us in camp, but we knew how we had stood,
and were going to keep it to ourselves most decidedly, at any rate we
were willing to let "some of you fellows" try it the next time. We had
been in camp now on those "everlasting hills," that is, as near as the
writer can explain his sentiments about them, for several weeks, but it
was not for the business merely of laying on top of them and basking in
the sun that the Government had called for our assistance, and which we
had almost come to believe was the extent to which the Government had
invoked our aid. Oh! no, the Government meant business, and so
accordingly one afternoon we received orders to "strike tents," that is
what the bugle said, but we had no tents to strike; true there was a
remnant of our corn-stalk homes, but the most of them had been scattered
by the winds. Well, any way, the bugle call was to us the notice to pack
up and fall into line. This we did, and away we marched, leaving our
hills, our corn-stalk castles and many other remembrances behind us.
Down the "pike" we went to the music of our band, to the steamboat
landing, where we found two steamers waiting for us. But we have omitted
one incident of our soldier days, when in camp at Covington, and if we
had not gotten down to the boats we would have left it out, perhaps,
altogether, and if we had, the historical record of the 125th Ills.
would have been very incomplete, and so in order that it may be a true
record, as near as we can make it, we must not omit this part of it. We
have reference to the transportation outfit of the Regiment. Of course
when we arrived at our camp at Covington, the only transportation there
was, consisted of each man carrying on his back whatever earthly goods
he was the possessor of. We had no animals of any kind, excepting the
horses of the Colonel and his staff, but here at Covington we were to
obtain that most useful, and at the same time most singular quadruped,
the _mule_. If I thought myself able I would write an eulogy on that
animal, but it is useless to think of that, I can not do it; suffice it
then to say that in our humble opinion, the mule with all his
eccentricities, played a most important part in the war of the
rebellion. A willing servant; too much so we often thought, ready at all
times to do his part, whether in pulling in the collar, or packing on
his back, strapped on so tight that it was as much as he could do to
obtain his regular amount of air necessary for breathing purposes, an
almost innumerable amount of blankets, tin pans, pots, roosters, niggers
and all the paraphernalia of camp life, or of sending by a quick and
powerful discharge of his hind feet a warrior to the hospital, or to the
happy hunting grounds, the mule will ever bear an honorable name in the
records of the great war. So much for the mule, he was honest, and we
must be. But to our narrative. An order came, one morning, to detail
from each company a man to drive the company team of six mules. What
visions of ease opened up to our minds. "What! is that all they want a
fellow to do, drive a team? I'm in for that, here Cap., I'll go, yes so
will I and I and I." Thus the strain rang out, until it was much to be
feared that the 125th were mule drivers, not only by inclination, but by
"previous condition of servitude." Well, at length the detail was
complete, and two men from each company, in charge of a commissioned
officer, proceeded to Covington to procure the number of mules necessary
for the transportation of the Regiment. Twenty men, in the vigor and
prime of life, refusing numerous offers of ten dollars apiece for their
job, with hearts elate and with buoyant feelings trudged off down the
pike rejoicing in their opportunities. The sequel, kind reader! They
returned, yes they returned in the evening the maddest set of men that
Covington's green hills had seen for many a day; the maimed, the halt,
the lame, and we were going to say the blind, but the storm had not been
quite that severe. Every mule in each team, with the exception perhaps
of one to the team, were as ignorant of restraint as when in blissful
happiness it sucked its dam in the old home pasture. The men who had
been detailed for teamsters found the animals in a "corral," the
Quartermaster of the Post, with his helpers, in attendance. The mules
were as wild as buffaloes on their native plains, and were caught by the
lasso, and dragged out, and turned over to the man who had been detailed
to drive and care for them. When the whole number necessary for our use
were secured the receipt of our Regimental Quartermaster paid the bill.
The next question and the most intricate one, perhaps, that had ever
stirred the souls of these detailed warriors was, what shall we do with
them? There was the harness, there was the Government wagons, with their
broad tires and a lock chain on each side. The question was solved, they
must be hitched to those wagons and hitched they were, and up to camp
they came, with every wagon wheel locked and two men to each mule. The
word soon spread through the camp, the teams are coming! our teams! and
we all flocked to the road side to see them. We will carry this thing no
farther, but will leave the reader to imagine the rest. We can see them,
as we pen these lines, as they appeared to us the next morning, as we
stood by and witnessed the harnessing of these Government mules. Their
shoulders were a little sore from pulling the heavy wagons, with locked
wheels, up to camp, and their ears were chafed by the bridles, and the
general sensation was something new to them altogether, and perhaps
visions of the old pasture lot at home, where they had kicked up their
heels in mulish joy, flashed before their eyes; at any rate, whatever
may have been the cause, the hills of Covington never before, and we
will venture the assertion, never will again echo back the like of the
noise that was made there on the morning when the teamsters of the 125th
Ills. essayed to hitch up the teams, which the Government had furnished
to transport us and our belongings into the land of the Southron and the
chivalry. The braying of the mules, the curses of the drivers, the
cracking of the whips, all combined, served to make a noise the like of
which had never been heard before in those parts.