"WENT DOWN TO JERICHO AND FELL AMONG THIEVES."
On the morning of May 23d, 1864, after a good and refreshing
sleep, we took up the line of march and moved rapidly all day in
a southerly direction, "straight for Richmond," according to our
somewhat bewildered conception of the geography of those parts.
With the exception of an occasional skirmish and some heavy
cannonading away along the horizon, we had seen and heard but
little of the enemy for several days. Where he was we did not know.
We only hoped that, after the terrible fighting of the last two
weeks, commencing at the Wilderness on the 5th, he had had enough
of it and had taken to his heels and run away--
"Away down South in Dixie's land,
Away, away,"
and that we should never again see anything of him but his back.
Alas! for the presumption. And alas! for the presumption of the
innumerable company and fellowship of cooks, camp-followers, and
mule-drivers, who, emboldened by the quietude of the last few
days, had ventured to come up from the rear, and had joined each
his respective regiment, and were marching along bravely enough,
as on the evening of this same May 23d we approached North Anna
River, which we were to cross at a place called Jericho Ford. As we
came near to the river, we found the supply and ammunition-trains
"parked" to the rear of a wood a short distance from Jericho, so
that as we halted for a while in the edge of the woods nearest to
the stream, everything wore so quiet and unsuspicious a look, that
no one dreamed of the enemy being anywhere near at hand. Under
the impression that we should probably halt there for the night,
I gathered up a number of the boys' canteens and started out in
search of water, taking my course toward an open meadow which lay
to the right and close to the river's edge. There was a cornfield
off to the left, across which I could see the troops leisurely
marching in the direction of the bridge. As I stooped down to fill
my canteens, another man came up on the same errand as had brought
me there. From where I was, I could see the bridge full of troops
and the general rabble of camp followers carelessly crossing. But
scarcely had I more than half filled my first canteen, when the
enemy, lying concealed in the woods on the other side of the river,
opened fire.
Boom! Bang! Whir-r-r! Chu-ck!
"Hello!" said I to my companion, "the ball is going to open!"
"Yes," answered he with a drawl and a certain supercilious look,
as if to intimate that few besides himself had ever heard a shell
crack before--"Yes; but when you have heard as many shells busting
about your head as I have"--
Whir-r-r! Chu-ck! I could hear the terrific shriek of the shell
overhead, and the sharp _thud_ of the pieces as they tore up the
meadow sod to the right and left of us; whereupon my brave and
boastful friend, leaving his sentence to be completed and his
canteens to be filled some other day, cut for the rear at full
speed, ducking his head as he went. Finding an old gateway near
by, with high stone posts on either side, I took refuge there;
and feeling tolerably safe behind my tall defence, turned about
and looked toward the river. It is said that there is but a step
from the sublime to the ridiculous; and surely laughable indeed
was the scene which greeted my eyes. Everything was in confusion,
and all was helter-skelter, skurry, and skedaddle. There was the
bridge in open view, full of a struggling mass of men, horses,
and mules,--the troops trying to force their way over to the
other side, and the yelling crowd of camp-followers equally bent
on forcing their way back; some jumping or being tumbled off the
bridge, while others were swept, _nolens volens_, over to the other
side, and there began to plunge into the dirty ooze of the stream,
with the evident intention of getting on the safe side of things as
speedily as possible, while all the time the shells flew shrieking
and screaming through the air as though the demons had been let
loose. Between me and the river was a last year's cornfield, over
which the rabble now came swift and full, fear furnishing wings
to flight,--and happy indeed was he who had no mule to take care
of! One poor fellow who had had his mule heavily laden with camp
equipage when he crossed over, was now making for the rear with his
mule at a full trot, but in sad plight himself; for he was hatless,
covered with mud, and quite out of breath, had lost saddle, bag,
and baggage, and had nothing left but himself, the mule, and the
halter. Another immediately in front of me had come on well enough
until he arrived in the middle of the open field, where the shells
were falling rather thick, when his mule took it into his head that
flight was disgraceful, and that he would retreat no farther,--no,
not an inch. There he stood like a rock, the poor driver pulling at
his halter and frantically kicking the beast in the ribs, but all
to no avail; while all around him, and past him, swept the crowd of
his fellow cooks and coffee-coolers in full flight for the rear.
As soon as the firing began to cease a little, I started off for
the regiment, which had meanwhile changed position. In searching
for it, I passed the forage and ammunition-trains, which were
parked to the rear of the woods, and within easy range of the
enemy's guns,--which latter fact the enemy, fortunately, did not
know. One who has not actually seen them can scarcely form any
adequate idea of the vast numbers of white-covered wagons which
followed our armies, carrying food, forage, and ammunition; nor can
any one who has not actually witnessed a panic among the drivers
of these wagons, form any conception of the terror into which they
were sometimes thrown. The drivers of the ammunition-wagons were
especially anxious to keep well out of range of shells,--and no
wonder! For if a shot from the enemy's guns were to fall amongst a
lot of wagons laden with percussion shells, the result may perhaps
be imagined. It was no wonder, therefore, that the driver of an
ammunition-wagon, with six mules in front of him and several tons
of death and destruction behind him, felt somewhat nervous when he
heard the whirr of the shells over the tops of the pines.
In searching for the regiment I passed one of these trains. A
commissary sergeant was dealing out forage to his men, who were
standing around him in a circle, each holding open a bag for his
oats, which the commissary was alternately dealing out to them with
a bucket,--a bucketful to this man, then to the next, and so on
around the circle. It was plain, however, to any observer that he
was more concerned about the shells than interested in the oats,
for he dodged his head every time a shell cracked, which happened
just about the time he was in the act of pouring a bucketful of
oats into a bag.
While I was looking at them, Page, a Michigan boy who was well
known to me, came up on his horse in search of our division forage
train, for he was orderly to our brigadier-general, and wanted oats
for his horses. Stopping a moment to contemplate the scene I was
admiring, he said,--
"You just keep an eye on my horse a minute, will you, and I'll show
you how I get oats for my horses when forage is scarce."
It was very often a difficult matter for the mounted officers to
get forage for their horses; for our movements were so many and so
sudden, that it was plainly impossible for the trains to follow
us wherever we went. Often when we halted at night the wagons were
miles and miles away from us, and sometimes we did not get a sight
of them for a week, or even longer. Then the poor hard-ridden
horses would have to suffer. But it was well known that Page could
get oats when nobody else could. Though the wagon trains were many
miles in the rear, Page seldom permitted his horses to go to bed
supperless. Though an American by birth, he was a Spartan in craft,
and had a wit as keen and sharp as a razor. It was said that,
rather than have his horses go without their allowance, he would
if necessary sit up half the night, after a hard day's march, and
wait till everybody else was sound asleep, and then quietly slip
from under the heads of the orderlies of other commands the very
oat-bags which, in order to guard them the more securely, they were
using for their pillows; for oats Page would have for the general's
horse, by hook or by crook.
"You see the commissary yonder?" said Page to me in a half-whisper,
as he dismounted and threw an empty bag over his arm and gave his
waist-belt a hitch: "he's a coward, he is. Look at him how he
jukes his head at every crack of the cannon! Don't know whether
he's dealing out oats to the right man or not. Just you keep an eye
on my horse, will you?"
Now Page had no right in the least to draw forage rations there,
for that was not our division-train. But as he did not know where
our division-train was, and as all the oats belonged to Uncle Sam
anyhow, why where was the harm of getting your forage wherever you
could?
Pushing his way into the circle of teamsters, who were too much
engaged in watching for shells to notice the presence of a
stranger, Page boldly opened his bag, while Mr. Commissary, ducking
his head between his shoulders at every boom of the guns, poured
four bucketfuls of oats into the bag of the new-comer, whereupon
Page shouldered his prize, mounted his horse, and rode away with a
smile on his face which said as plainly as could be, "That's the
way to do it, my lad!"
In the wild _mêlée_ of that May evening there at Jericho,--where
evidently we had all fallen among thieves,--there was no little
confusion as to the rights of property; _meum_ and _tuum_ got
sadly mixed; some horses had lost their owners, and some owners
had lost their horses; and the same was the case with the mules.
So that by the time things began to get quiet again, some of the
boys had picked up stray horses, or bought them for a mere song. On
coming up with the regiment, I found that Andy had just concluded
a bargain of this sort. He had bought a sorrel horse. The animal
was a great raw-boned, ungainly beast, built after the Gothic style
of horse architecture, and would have made an admirable sign for
a feed-store up North, as a substitute for "Oats wanted; inquire
within." However, when I came up, Andy had already concluded the
bargain, and had become the sole owner and proprietor of the sorrel
horse for the small consideration of ten dollars.
"Why, Andy!" exclaimed I, "what in the name of all conscience do
you want with a horse? Going to join the cavalry?"
[Illustration: "ANDY HAD BOUGHT THE SORREL FOR TEN DOLLARS."]
"Well," said Andy, with a grin, "I took him on a speculation. Going
to feed him up a little"----
"Glad to hear it," said I; "he needs it sadly."
"Yes; going to feed him up and then sell him to somebody, and
double my money on him, you see. You may ride him on the march and
carry our traps. I guess the colonel will give you permission. And,
you know, that would be a capital arrangement for you, for you are
so sick and weak that you are often left behind on the march."
"Thank you, old boy," said I with a shrug. "You always were a good,
kind, thoughtful soul; but if the choice must be between joining
the general cavalcade of coffee-coolers on this old barebones of
yours and marching afoot, I believe I'd prefer the infantry."
However, we tied a rope around the neck of _Bonaparte_, as we
significantly called him, fastened him up to a stake, rubbed him
down, begged some oats of Page, and pulled some handfuls of young
grass for him, and so left him for the night.
I do not think Andy slept well that night. How could he after so
bold a dash into the horse-market? Grotesque images of the wooden
horse of ancient Troy, and of Don Quixote on his celebrated
Rosinante charging the windmills, were no doubt hopelessly mixed up
in his dreams with wild vagaries of General Grant at the head of
Mosby's men fiercely trying to force a passage across Jericho Ford.
For daylight had scarcely begun to peep into the forest the next
morning, when Andy rolled out from under the blankets and went to
look after Bonaparte. I was building a fire when he came back. It
seemed to me that he looked a little solemn.
"How's Bony this morning, Andy?" inquired I.
Andy whistled a bit, stuck his hands into his pockets, mounted a
log, took off his cap, made a bow, and said:
"Comrades and fellow-citizens, lend me your ears, and be silent
that you may hear! This is my first and last speculation in
horseflesh. _Bony is gone!_"
It was indeed true. We had fallen among thieves, and they had even
baffled Andy's plan for future money-making; for none of us ever
laid eyes on Bony again.