A BIVOUAC FOR THE NIGHT.
If from any cause whatsoever one happened to have lost his command,
or to have strayed away from or to have been left behind by his
regiment, he could usually tell with tolerable certainty, as he
trudged along the road among the men of another command, what
part of the army he was with, and whether any of his own corps or
division were anywhere near by; and he could tell this at a glance,
without so much as stopping to ask a question. Do you ask how? I
answer, by the badges the men wore on their caps.
[Illustration: ARMY BADGES.]
An admirable and significant system of badges was adopted for the
entire Union army. The different corps were distinguished by the
_shapes_, the different divisions by the _colors_, of their several
badges. Thus the First Corps wore a round badge, the Second a
clover-leaf, the Third a diamond, the Fifth a Maltese cross, the
Sixth a Roman cross, the Ninth a shield, the Eleventh a crescent,
the Twentieth a star,[3] and so on. As each corps usually included
three divisions, and as it was necessary to distinguish each of
these from the other two, the three good old colors of the flag
were chosen for this purpose,--red, white, and blue,--red for the
First Division of each corps, white for the Second, and blue for
the Third. Thus a round red badge meant First Division, First
Corps; a round white, Second Division, First Corps; a round
blue, Third Division, First Corps; and so on for the other corps.
Division and corps headquarters could always be known by their
flags, bearing the badges of their respective commands. As the men
were all obliged to wear their proper badges, cut out of cloth or
colored leather, on the top of their caps, one could always tell
at a glance what part of the Army of the Potomac he was with.
In addition to this, some regiments were distinguished by some
peculiarity of uniform. Our own brigade was everywhere known as
"The Buck-tails," for we all wore buck-tails on the side of our
caps.
[3] Later in the service the Twelfth Corps wore the star.
It was in this way that I was able to tell that none of my own
brigade, division, or even corps were anywhere near me, as, late
one evening about the middle of May, 1864, I wearily trudged along
the road, in the neighborhood of Spottsylvania Court-house, in
search of my regiment. I had lost the regiment early in the day,
for I was so sick and weak when we started in the morning, that
it was scarcely possible for me to drag one foot after the other,
much less to keep up at the lively pace the men were marching.
Thus it had happened that I had been left behind. However, after
having trudged along all day as best I could, when nightfall came
on I threw myself down under a pine-tree along the road which led
through the woods, stiff and sore in limb, and half bewildered by
a burning fever. All around me the woods were full of men making
ready their bivouac for the night. Some were cooking coffee and
frying pork, some were pitching their shelters, and some were
already stretched out sound asleep. But all, alas! wore the red
Roman cross. Could I only have espied a Maltese cross somewhere,
I should have felt at home; for then I should have known that the
good old Fifth Corps was near at hand. But no blue Maltese cross
(the badge of my own division) was anywhere to be seen. As I lay
there with half-closed eyes, feverishly wondering where in the
world I was, and heartily wishing for the sight of some one wearing
a buck-tail on his cap, I heard a well-known voice talking with
some one out in the road, and, leaning upon my elbow, called out
eagerly:
"Harter! Hello! Harter!"
"Hello! Who are you?" replied the sergeant, peering in amongst the
trees and bushes. "Why, Harry, is that you? And where in the world
is the regiment?"
"That's just what I'd like to know," answered I. "I couldn't keep
up, and was left behind, and have been lost all day. But where have
you been? I haven't seen you this many a day."
"Well," said he, as he brought his gun down to a rest and leaned
his two hands on the muzzle, "you see the Johnnies spoiled my
good looks a little back there in the Wilderness, and I was sent
to the hospital. But I couldn't stand it there, wounded and dying
men all around one; and concluded to shoulder my gun and start out
and try to find the boys. Look here," continued he, taking off a
bandage from the side of his face and displaying an ugly-looking
bullet-hole in his right cheek. "See that hole? It goes clean
through, and I can blow through it. But it don't hurt very much,
and will no doubt heal up before the next fight. Anyhow, I have the
chunk of lead that made that hole here in my jacket pocket. See
that!" said he, taking out a flattened ball from his vest-pocket
and rolling it around in the palm of his hand. "Lodged in my mouth,
right between my teeth. But I'm tired nearly to death tramping
around all day. Let's put up for the night. Shall we strike up a
tent, or bunk down here under the pines?"
We concluded to put up a shelter, or rather, I should say, Harter
did so; for I was too sick and weak to think of anything but sleep
and rest, and lay there at full length on a bed of soft pine
shatters, dreamily watching the sergeant's preparations for the
night. Throwing off his knapsack, haversack, and accoutrements,
he took out his hatchet, trimmed away the lower branches of two
pine-saplings which stood some six feet apart, cut a straight
pole, and laid it across from one to the other of these saplings,
buttoned together two shelters and threw them across the
ridge-pole, staked them down at the corners, and throwing in his
traps, exclaimed:
"There you are, 'as snug as a bug in a rug.' And now for water,
fire, and a supper."
A fire was soon and easily built, for dry wood was plenty; and
soon the flames were crackling and lighting up the dusky woods.
Taking our two canteens, Harter started off in search of water,
leaving me to stretch myself out in the tent and--heartily wish
myself at home.
For soldiering is all well enough so long as one is strong and
well. But when a man gets sick he is very likely to find that all
the romance of marching by day and camping by night is suddenly
gone, and that there is, after all, no place like home. For one,
I was fully conscious of this as I lay there in the tent awaiting
the sergeant's return. The sounds which came to my ears from the
woods all around me,--of strong men's voices, some shouting and
some conversing in low tones; the noise of axes and of falling
trees; the busy, bee-like hum, losing itself amongst the trees and
in the far distance; the bright glare of the many fires, and the
dancing lights and shadows which seemed to people the forest with
ghostlike forms,--all this, although at another time it would have
had a singular charm, now awakened no response in me. One draught
of water at the "Big Spring" at home, which I knew at that very
moment was gushing cool and clear as crystal out of the hillside,
and on the bottom of which I could in vision see the white pebbles
lying, would have been worth to me all, and more than all, the
witchery of our bivouac for the night. And I would have given more
for a bed on the hard floor on the landing at the head of the
stairs at home--I would not have asked for a bed--than for a dozen
nights spent in the finest camps in the Army of the Potomac. But
the thought of the Big Spring troubled me most. It seemed to me I
could see it with my eyes shut, and that I could hear the water as
it came gushing out of the hillside and flowed down to the meadow,
plashing and rippling----
"I tell you, Harry," said the sergeant, suddenly interrupting my
vision as he stepped into the circle of light in front of our
little tent, and flung down his canteens, "there isn't anything
like military discipline. I went down the road here about a
quarter of a mile and came out near General Grant's headquarters,
in a clearing. Down at the foot of a hill right in front of his
headquarters is a spring: but it seems the surgeon of some
hospital near by had got there before the general, and had placed
a guard on the spring to keep the water for the wounded. As I came
up, I heard the guard say to a darky who had come to the spring for
water with a bucket,--
"'Get out of that, you black rascal; you can't have any water here.'
"'Guess I kin,' said the darky. 'I want dis yere water for Gen'l
Grant; an' ain't he a commandin' dis yere army, or am you?'
"'You touch that water and I'll run my bayonet through you,' said
the guard. 'General Grant can't have any water at this spring till
my orders are changed.'
"The darky, saying that he'd 'see 'bout dat mighty quick,' went up
the hill to headquarters, and returned in a few moments declaring
that
"'Gen'l Grant said dat you got to gib me water outen dis yere
spring.'
[Illustration: "GENERAL GRANT CAN'T HAVE ANY OF THIS WATER!"]
"'You go back and tell General Grant, for me,' said the corporal
of the guard, who came up at the moment, 'that neither he nor any
other general in the Army of the Potomac can get water at this
spring till my orders are changed.'
"Now, you see," continued Harter, as he gave me a tin cup on a
stick to hold over the fire for coffee, while he cut down a slice
of pork, "there's something mighty fine in the idea of a man
standing to his post though the heavens fall, and obeying the
orders given him when he is put on guard, so that even though the
greatest generals in the army send down contrary orders to him,
he'll die before he'll give in. A man is mighty strong when he is
on guard and obeys orders. Though he's only a corporal, or even
a private, he can command the general commanding the army. But I
don't believe General Grant sent that darky for water a second
time."
Supper was soon ready, and soon disposed of. Then, without further
delay, while the shadows deepened into thick night in the forest,
we rolled ourselves up in our blankets and stretched ourselves out
with our feet to the fire. Dreamily watching the blazing light of
our little camp fire, and thinking each his own thoughts of things
which had been and things which might be, we both soon fell sound
asleep.