Cutting Down a Rebel's Reserved Timber -- Home again --
Loomis and his Coldwater Battery -- Secession Poetry --
Heavy Joke on an "Egyptian" Regiment.
Just after General Schofield took command of the Third Division, Roddy
Patterson, aided by a division of infantry, made his appearance near
our camp, and, as we were weak in numbers, fortifications were erected
in every direction, trenches dug, and efforts made to place the troops
in the best trim to give the rebs a "fine reception."
There was one splendid piece of timber-land that might possibly come
in possession of the rebels and do us much mischief. General Schofield
ordered it cleared, and soon twelve hundred axes were resounding
through the vast forest, and Abe's rail-splitters were at work forming
"abatis" from the fallen trees, while earthworks commanding the
position were soon erected.
Captain Stinchcomb was the provost-marshal of the division, and old
man Jordan was in the habit of going to him with all his grievances.
The soldiers had made an awful gap in his _reserved_ timber before he
found it out; but, as soon as he did so, he made for head-quarters,
and found the Captain at dinner.
_Scene I--Act 1--Enter Old Man._
"Look a-heah, Gineral Stinchcomb, them boys of yourn is cuttin' all my
timber down!"
Captain Stinchcomb, affecting great surprise, exclaimed, "Is it
possible! is it possible!"
"Y-a-a-a-s; all my _resarve, too_! There! there! do you hear that?
Them's trees a-fallin', and them's the boys yellin' as they fall."
"What are they cutting them for, Mr. Jordan?"
"God only knows! I don't. I think just for to be doin' mischief.
_Nauen_ else in this world."
"Why didn't you stop them?" inquired Stinchcomb.
"O! kase I was afeared. There! there! do you hear that agin? Them's my
trees!"
"Well, you'd better go right down and order them to stop."
"O, no, Gineral. It wouldn't do a bit of good. Them there boys would
_just cuss the life out of me_. They only laugh at me. Won't you
please go and have it stopped? Won't you?"
Suffice it to say, when Captain S. got there _it was too late_.
There are many little incidents connected with the army, which, being
jotted down in my "day-book," during service, belong to the public.
"Home Again" is a song ever joyous to the soldier, and I remember a
little incident in relation to that song and a serenading party of
"young and festive cusses" belonging to Uncle Sam's service.
There is residing near Murfreesboro a Secession family consisting of a
rebel widow and four sprightly daughters.
Now, our "blue-coats" are proverbial for their gallantry in presence
of the ladies, and the Secesh girls smile as benignly upon a Federal
soldier, if he be good-looking, as they would upon the most ultra
fire-eater of the South. The mothers don't like this--but mothers
can't help themselves in many instances. Our boys will visit and enjoy
a lively chat with the girls whenever occasion offers. A quartette, of
fine vocal abilities, belonging to the gallant Rousseau's division,
had practiced several beautiful ballads, preparatory to a grand
serenade to the daughters of the buxom widow.
Night threw her mantle o'er the earth just as the serenaders started
upon their expedition. Arriving in dew course of time, they commenced
their melodies. The moon was peeping out from behind the far-distant
hill as they commenced,
"Roll on, silver moon,"
at which I suggested to the party there should be a big premium, just
now, on "_silver_ moons." The serenaders smiled grimly, in token of
admiration of the "_goak_," and commenced--
"Thine eyes, like the stars that are gleaming,
Have entered the depths of my soul."
Now, the repetition of "my soul" sounded to me exactly like mice-hole,
and I suggested the propriety of substituting a rat-hole, at which
several became wrathy, and proposed a mustard-plaster for my head.
The young ladies, aroused from their nocturnal slumbers, glided like
sylphs to the windows, and threw several bouquets to the "gallant
choristers," after the reception of which, and sundry pressures to
fond hearts of the "beautiful flowers," the quartette commenced the
song of "Home Again," etc., and
"O, it fills my soul with joy, to meet my friends once more."
This brought the widow to the window, who, hastily flinging back the
shutter, screamed out, at the top of her voice: "If it will give you
Yankees any greater joy to get home than it will me, I hope to
gracious you'll stop your confounded noise and go home and meet your
friends, for you've got none here."
This was a bomb-shell thrown right at the party, and such a crouching
down and gradual sliding off you can scarcely imagine. To be led, as
't were, to the seventh heaven of bliss by the fair daughters'
presentation of beautiful bouquets, and then to have all their hopes
blasted by the termagant voice of the mamma! If any of my readers ever
visit Rousseau's division and inquire for the serenaders, my word for
it, the gentlemen concerned will have no recollection of the serenade.
Colonel Loomis, whose name is now engraven in history, and whose
battery is mentioned with pride everywhere in the Army of the
Cumberland, was, during the Virginia campaign, _Captain_ Loomis. He
was late Chief of Artillery upon Rousseau's staff. Captain Loomis,
with his train, arrived in Cincinnati one Sunday morning, on his way
to the Army of Virginia. Upon each caisson and every piece of
artillery was plainly painted "Coldwater Battery."
Services in a church on Sixth Street were just concluded, and the
warlike array attracted the congregation's attention, and the rather
splendid figure of the young though "venerable-looking" Captain Loomis
demanded a large share of attention. The pastor of the church
introduced himself, spoke with admiration of the fine appearance of
the Captain's men, etc., and, with a hearty pressure of the hand,
remarked:
"Captain Loomis, yours is a noble motto; stick to that, stick to that,
my young soldier. You have many hardships to undergo, but your
glorious motto of COLD WATER will carry you safely through."
Loomis, for the first time, caught the idea of the parson, but was too
courteous to undeceive the preacher by informing him that his battery
was raised in the town of Coldwater, Michigan. I have spent many a
pleasant hour with the Captain, but never could "see" the "cold water"
part of his battery.
A very pretty and pathetic little poem was handed me by one of
Secessia's daughters, upon a prolific theme, entitled
THE DYING SOLDIER.
My noble commander! thank God, you have come;
You know the dear ones who are waiting at home,
And O! it were dreadful to die here alone,
No hand on my brow, and my comrades all gone.
I thought I would die many hours ago,
And those who are waiting me never could know
That here, in the faith of its happier years,
My soul has not wandered one moment from theirs.
The dead were around; but my soul was away
With the roses that bloom round my cottage to-day.
I thought that I sat where the jessamine twines,
And gathered the delicate buds from the vines.
And there--like a bird that had folded its wings,
At home, 'mid the smile of all beautiful things,
With sweet words of welcome, and kisses of love--
Was one I will miss in yon heaven above.
By the light that I saw on her radiant brow,
She watches and waits there and prays for me now.
My captain, bend low; for this poor, wounded side
Is draining my heart of its last crimson tide.
Some day, when you leave this dark place, and go free,
You will meet a fair girl--she will question of me!
She has kissed this bright curl, as it lay on my head;
When it goes back alone, she will know I am dead.
And tell her the soul, which on earth was her own,
Is waiting and weeping in heaven alone.
MY MOTHER! God help her! Her grief will be wild
When she hears the mad Hessians have murdered her child;
But tell her 'twill be one sweet chime in my knell,
That the flag of the South now waves where I fell!
It is well, it is well, thus to die in my youth,
A martyr to Freedom and Justice and Truth!
Farewell to earth's hopes--precious dreams of my heart--
My life's going out; but my love shall depart,
On the wings that my soul has unfurled,
Going up, soft and sweet, to that beautiful world.
A JOKE ON AN "EGYPTIAN" REGIMENT.
A well-known commander was drilling a brigade at "Kripple Kreek," a
short time since, and in it was a slim portion of the "1159th"
Illinois. Quite a large number of this regiment have deserted upon
every occasion offered, the men generally being very inattentive. The
commanding officer of "all that is left of them" was severely
censured, the other day, for dereliction of duty. The General swore by
the Eternal he wished the Colonel of the "1159th" would "_go home_ and
join his regiment."