On the 19th of October, 1863, General Rosecrans, in General Orders, No.
242, turned over the command of the Army of the Cumberland, to Major
General George H. Thomas, by order of the President. He had commanded us
for nearly one year. The last words in his farewell address to the army,
were: "Companions in arms, officers and soldiers, farewell, and may God
bless you." We all liked "Old Rosy," as we used to call him, and very
sorry to part with him, but we also knew the grand qualities of General
Thomas as a commander, and we received him with open arms. And here also
we received General Order, No. 1, notifying us that Major General W. T.
Sherman assumed command of the Military Division of the Mississippi,
embracing the Departments of the Ohio, of the Cumberland and of the
Tennessee. Chattanooga was made as near impregnable as it was possible
to make it. Three strong lines of defence were constructed and all the
fords of the Tennessee river were closely guarded. But we were destined
to have a hard time of it. The army would have to be thoroughly
reorganized, and refitted. The brigade to which we belonged was ordered
up to Caldwell's Ford on the Tennessee River, opposite the mouth of
North Chickamauga Creek. There we remained until the battle of
Missionary Ridge. Still the army was in a critical situation. The rebels
had taken position on Look Out Mountain and Missionary Ridge in front of
us, and were doing what they could to bombard Chattanooga, but the
shells generally fell short; and on our extended and exposed line of
communication, their cavalry were making frequent raids, and near a
place called Anderson, in the Sequatchie Valley, they destroyed between
two and three hundred wagons, about thirty of which were loaded with
ammunition, and the remainder with clothing and supplies; the mules,
which they could not run off, were shot, to the number of several
hundred.
Our regiment was now detached, as it were, from the rest of the brigade,
and the principal duty imposed upon us was guarding Caldwell's Ford. But
as all the supplies for the army had to be hauled over one line of rail
road to Bridgeport, and from there carried by pack mules to Chattanooga,
and as the rebel cavalry were constantly interrupting this line of
communication, supplies of all kinds soon began to fall very short. The
boys got irritable and peevish, they could stand a good deal of
hardship, but now their rations were cut short, and they often felt
hungry. There was still a little corn for the horses and mules of the
regiment, but it had to be guarded with an eagle eye or it would
disappear very suddenly. The boys were hungry, and were constantly
appropriating the forage of the animals whenever they could find it.
This matter at last became monotonous, especially to the field officers
of the regiment, who saw their horses day by day assuming architectural
proportions, and they ordered their colored servants to guard the feed
more closely. Colonel Harmon gave his boy orders to carry the feed for
his horse into his, the colonel's, tent, and put it under his bunk.
"They can't get it there," said the colonel with a chuckle, "without my
knowing it, you may depend, I would just like to see them try it," and
he rubbed his hands with glee, thinking that at last he had solved the
problem, and that the feed of his charger would be secure. In accordance
with his orders the darkey carried the corn into the colonel's tent, and
carefully piled it up under his bunk. The next morning when he went to
get the breakfast for the horse, what was his surprise to find that the
last vestige of corn was gone. Hurrying to the colonel, with the whites
of his eyes glistening, and his face drawn out of all shape with wonder,
he quickly stated the case: "Why, kurnel, dar aint a grain of dat ar
corn lef fur de hoss, de las grain done stole by by some one, sah—shah!"
For a moment the colonel was puzzled, and hardly knew what to say; but
the corn was gone for a fact, and it was useless to try and find it, so
turning away he carelessly remarked: "I thought I heard something
fumbling around under my bunk last night when I went to bed, but
supposed it was a mouse." This circumstance afforded us much amusement.
It seems that some fellow who had overhead the orders given by the
colonel to his servant, had gone to the colonel's tent that night, and
slyly lifting one corner of it, had thrust in his hand and quietly
stolen, right from under his bed, the colonel lying on it at the time,
the last "nubbin." There was no use trying to hide anything, it would
surely be found by some one. But the boys thought a good deal of the
colonel, and in all probability had stolen the corn just to show him
that nothing was sure in war, for from this on they did not bother him,
and the colonel's horse got all of his allowance.
The headquarters of the brigade was a short distance above our camp, and
nearly every day Colonel McCook, or some of his staff, would go riding
past, bound for Chattanooga. They would not get by the regiment,
however, without their ears being saluted with such shouts as "hard
tack," "sow belly," "give us our rations," etc., etc.; this annoyed
Colonel McCook greatly, for the comfort of his men was always uppermost
in his thoughts, and he was not at all to blame for the scarcity of
rations. We knew this, but out of a pure spirit of deviltry would salute
him every time he went by, with phrases like these. One afternoon he
came riding up from Chattanooga, returning to his headquarters, and as
he passed he was saluted with a most vigorous chorus of "hard tack,"
"sow belly," etc. Stopping his horse, aggravated sorely, as he properly
was, and perhaps at that very time thinking of the condition of his men,
he shouted back: "You may be glad to eat rubber blankets, yet." That
seemed for a moment to quiet them, but directly some fellow shouted
back: "If we do, you'll have to furnish 'em." This was too much, and the
colonel proceeded on his way; this last remark of the boys settled him.
That Colonel McCook arrived safely at his headquarters, we were soon
made aware, by the receipt of an order forbidding any more such
salutations, under penalty of severe punishment.
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