KILLED, WOUNDED, OR MISSING?
Andy was nowhere to be found.
All along the line of battle-worn men, now gathered in irregular
groups behind the breastworks, and safe from the enemy, I searched
for him--and searched in vain. Not a soul had tidings of him. At
last, however, a soldier with his blouse-sleeve ripped up and a
red-stained bandage around his arm, told me that, about daylight,
when the enemy came sweeping down on us, he and Andy were behind
neighboring trees. He himself received a ball through the arm, and
was busy trying to stop the flow of blood, when, looking up, he saw
Andy reel, and, he thought, _fall_. He was not quite sure it was
Andy, but he thought so.
Andy killed! What should I do without Andy?--the best and truest
friend, the most companionable messmate, that a soldier ever could
hope to have! It could not be! I would look farther for him.
Out, therefore, I went, over the breastworks to the picket-line,
where the rifles were popping away at intervals. I searched among
trees and behind bushes, and called and called, but all in vain.
Then the retreat was sounded, and we were drawn off the field, and
marched back to the fortifications which we had left the day before.
Toward evening, as we reached camp, I obtained permission to
examine the ambulance-trains, in search of my chum. As one train
after another came in, I climbed up and looked into each ambulance;
but the night had long set in before I found him--or thought I had
found him. Raising my lantern high, so as to throw the light full
on the face of the wounded man lying in a stupor on the floor of
the wagon, I was at first confident it was Andy; for the figure was
short, well-built, and had raven black hair.
"Andy! Andy! Where are you hurt?" I cried.
But no answer came. Rolling him on his back and looking full into
his face, I found, alas! a stranger--a manly, noble face, too, but
no life, no signs of life, in it. There were indeed a very low,
almost imperceptible breathing and a faint pulse--but the man was
evidently dying.
About a week afterward, having secured a pass from corps
headquarters, I started for City Point to search the hospitals
there for my chum. The pass allowed me not only to go through all
the guards I might meet on my way, but also to ride free to City
Point over the railroad--"General Grant's Railroad," we called it.
Properly speaking, this was a branch of the road from City Point
to Petersburg, tapping it about midway between the two places, and
from that point following our lines closely to the extreme left of
our position. Never was road more hastily built. So rapidly did the
work advance, that scarcely had we learned such a road was planned,
before one evening the whistle of a locomotive was heard down the
line only a short distance to our right. No grading was done. The
ties were simply laid on the top of the ground, the rails were
nailed fast, and the rolling-stock was put on without waiting
for ballast; and there the railroad was--up hill and down dale,
and "as crooked as a dog's hind leg." At only one point had any
cutting been done, and that was where the road, after climbing a
hill, came within range of the enemy's batteries. The first trains
which passed up and down afforded a fine mark and were shelled
vigorously, the enemy's aim becoming with daily practice so exact
that nearly every train was hit somewhere. The hill was then cut
through, and the fire avoided. It was a rough road, and the riding
was full of fearful jolts; but it saved thousands of mules, and
enabled General Grant to hold his position during the winter of the
Petersburg siege.
I was obliged to make an early start, for the train left General
Warren's headquarters about four o'clock in the morning. When I
reached the station, I found on the platform a huge pile of boxes
and barrels, nearly as high as a house, which I was informed was
the Fifth Corps' share of a grand dinner which the people of New
York had just sent down to the Army of the Potomac. Before the
train arrived I had seen enough to cause me to fear that a very
small portion of the contents of those boxes and barrels would ever
find its way into the haversack of a drummer-boy. For I had not
been contemplating the pile with a wistful eye very long, before a
certain sergeant came out of a neighboring tent with a lantern in
his hand, followed by two darkies, one of whom carried an axe.
"Knock open that bar'l, Bill," said the sergeant.
Bill did so. The sergeant, thrusting in his hand, pulled out a fat
turkey and a roll of butter.
"Good!" said he. "Now let's see what's in that box."
Smash went Bill's axe into the side of the box.
"Good again!" said the sergeant, taking out a chicken, several
tumblers of jelly, and a great pound-cake, which latter made me
feel quite homesick. "Now, Bill," continued the sergeant, "let's
have breakfast."
City Point was a stirring place at that time. It was General
Grant's headquarters, and the depot of all supplies for the army;
and here I found the large hospitals which I meant to search for
Andy, although I scarcely hoped to find him.
Into hospital-tents at one end and out at the other, looking from
side to side at the long white rows of cots, and inquiring as I
went, I searched long and almost despairingly, until at last--there
he was, sitting on his cot, his head neatly bandaged, writing a
letter!
Coming up quietly behind him, I laid my hand on his shoulder with:
"Andy, old boy, have I found you at last? I thought you were
killed!"
"Why, Harry!--God bless you!"
The story was soon told. "A clip in the head, you see, Harry, out
there among the trees when the Johnnies came down on us, yelling
like demons,--all got black before me as I reeled and fell. By and
by, coming to myself a little, I begged a man of a strange regiment
to help me off, and so I got down here. It's nothing much, Harry,
and I'll soon be with you again,--not nearly so bad as that poor
fellow over there, the man with the black hair. His is a wonderful
case. He was brought in the same day I was, with a wound in the
head which the doctors said was fatal. Every day we expected him
to die; but there he lies yet, breathing very low, conscious, but
unable to speak or to move hand or foot. Some of his company came
yesterday to see him. They had been with him when he fell, had
supposed him mortally wounded, and had taken all his valuables out
of his pockets to send home--among them was an ambrotype of his
wife and child. Well, you just should have seen that poor fellow's
face when they opened that ambrotype and held it before his eyes!
He couldn't speak or reach out his hand to take the picture; and
there he lay, convulsed with feeling, while tears rolled down his
cheeks."
On looking at him, I found it was the very man I had seen in the
ambulance and mistaken for Andy.
Before returning to camp on the evening train, I strolled along the
wharf and watched the boats coming and going, lading and unlading
their cargoes of army supplies. A company of colored soldiers was
doing guard duty at one point along the wharf. They were evidently
proud of their uniforms, and big with importance generally. By and
by two officers came leisurely walking toward the wharf, one of
whom I at once recognized as General Grant. He was smoking a cigar.
As the two stood on the edge of the wharf, looking up the river and
conversing in low tones, one of the colored guards came up behind
them and tapped the general on the shoulder.
"Beg pardon, Gen'l," said the guard, giving the military salute,
"but dere ain't no smokin' allowed on dis yere warf."
"Are those your orders?" asked the general, with a quiet smile.
"Yes, sah; dem's de orders."
Promptly taking his cigar from his lips, the general threw it into
the water.
On my return to camp late in the evening, I found that the comrade
with whom I was messing during Andy's absence had already "turned
in" for the night. Leaning upon his elbow on his bunk, as I was
stirring up the fire, in order to make a cup of coffee, he said,--
"There is your share of the dinner the New York people sent down to
the Army of the Potomac."
"Where?" inquired I, looking around everywhere in all the corners
of the tent. "I don't see it."
"Why, there on your knapsack in the corner."
On looking toward the spot indicated, I found one potato, half an
onion, and the gristly end of a chicken-wing!
"You see," continued my messmate, "the New York people meant well,
but they have no idea how big a thing this Army of the Potomac
is, and they did not stop to consider how many toll-gates their
dinner would have to pass in order to reach us. By the time corps,
division, brigade, regimental, and company headquarters had
successively inspected and taken toll out of the boxes and barrels,
there was precious little left for the high private in the rear
rank."