Comic Scenes -- Importation of Yankees -- Wouldn't Go Round
-- Major Boynton and the Chicken -- Monotony of Camp Life --
Experience on a Scouting Expedition -- Larz Anderson, Esq.,
in Camp -- A Would-be Secessionist Caught in his Own Trap --
Guthrie Gray Bill of Fare for a Rebel "Reception" -- Pic
Russell among the Snakes.
Army of the Cumberland, Third Division,
Camp near Triune, Tenn., _May 2, 1863_.
"What will become of all of us women?" said an excited female to
Colonel Vandeveer, one morning. "The States-rights men 'scripted all
the young men, and you are drivin' all the old away. What will we
ladies do?"
"Import Yankees," was the gallant Colonel's reply.
"We are raising a big stock especially for this market, and can spare
any quantity."
"O! but Yankees don't suit us; we'd rather have our own people," was
Secesh's reply.
"O! if that's the case, you women had better use your influence to get
the traitors to lay down their arms and return to their homes, and
behave themselves as honest men should, and that will end this little
dispute, and you can have all the men you want."
"Well, Colonel, we are all tired of this war, and would be mighty glad
to know our kinfolks were on their way home; but it will be mighty
grindin' to 'em to have to come back and acknowledge that they
couldn't lick you Yankees."
Deserters from the rebel army, I am told by citizens, are fast making
their appearance wherever they can get the protection of our forces,
and as we advance they will no doubt increase.
The provost-marshal of the division was kept busy administering the
oath to those who came in from the surrounding country to Triune. Many
very laughable incidents occurred at the swearing-in.
One long, lean, lank specimen of the rebel order came up to Captain
Stinchcomb, who was proposing the oath.
"Hallo, mister, are you the captain of these ridgements around here?
Dr. Wilson, my neighbor over across Spring Bottom, said I must come
over to the feller what swored in folks, and get the Constitution, and
keep it as long as you folks staid around here."
WOULDN'T GO ROUND.
Captain Airhardt, who was well known as the Topographical Engineer of
this division, and one of the best-natured men in the world, was
engaged in strengthening the fortifications around the camp near
Triune, and in doing so had occasion to use some fifty men from the 2d
Minnesota. As the boys had worked faithfully for four hours, the
Captain thought he would issue a ration of whisky to each, and, not
having any himself, he borrowed some from General Steadman's tent,
without leave, from a keg the General had been keeping for his own
medical purposes. He drew off about a gallon. The boys were drawn up
in line, and the Captain commenced the issue, and as each man
received his portion he was ordered to fall out. They did so, however,
seeking the first opportunity to retire to the other end of the line,
and again resume a position in the ranks. The Captain went after
reinforcements of the _creature comfort_ from the before-mentioned
keg, and the _reinstated_ members of the ditch-diggers were again
ready for active service.
This state of things continued as long as the whisky lasted, and as
the Captain handed the last ration, he looked at the few remaining
boys, whom he supposed would have to go without any, and expressed his
sorrow that he _hadn't enough to go round_. The fact was, every body
had had at least three drinks.
I spent a very pleasant evening among a party of ladies who reside
near our camp. Our officers are very attentive to them, and the ladies
seem thankful for the protection. The house was furnished in elegant
style. We had music, songs, and an elocutionary entertainment; every
thing passing off pleasantly. As I am above suspicion myself, I may
remark that I fear for the hearts of several of this brigade. Mine is
already engaged; had it not been, I could not swear to the
consequences of that visit. One really pretty specimen of Secesh sang
"The Bonnie Blue Flag," by particular desire. She acknowledged she
used to go it strong for dissolution, but let us hope she is becoming
enlightened.
[Illustration: Runaway scrape in Virginia. See page 76.]
MAJOR BOYNTON AND THE CHICKEN.
Miss Mollie Jordan is a peculiar specimen of _ye Southern maiden_. I
heard a good story illustrative of her rebellious nature some time
ago:
Our troops were then stationed at Concord Church, and, in their
peregrinations for fodder, came out this way, and, among other things,
took off several contrabands belonging to Miss Mollie. Some time
afterward she rode into camp and inquired for Colonel Vandeveer, and
riding right up to him, she said, "How do, Colonel?" The Colonel
tipped his hat, _a la militaire_, in token of recognition. "Colonel,
you've been out our way and stole all my niggers, and I've just ridden
into camp to see if you would be magnanimous enough to lend me my
blacksmith to shoe this horse?"
The Colonel assisted her in alighting; had her boy hunted up, and the
horse shod.
Dinner being ready, the lady was invited to partake of the repast;
and, as she noticed a chicken upon the table almost as large as a
turkey, she looked across at the Colonel, and then at the good-looking
Major Boynton, and inquired whom she was dining with.
"O, with the Major, Miss. Why did you ask?" said the Colonel.
"I merely wished to know who stole my chickens; for those were
particular pets of mine, and the only ones of that breed in the
country."
The reader can imagine the laugh that took place at the Major's
expense. As a matter of course, neither the Major nor the Colonel knew
any thing as to where the servant-man had _bought_ the fowls.
The Tennessee cavalry were out again yesterday, with Colonel Brownlow,
and touched up the Alabamians. They brought in six prisoners. The
rebels massed their men and undertook to charge us, but our Tennessee
boys stood their ground, and the rebels backed out. They outnumbered
us three to one; but they were not aware of that, or perhaps they
would have given us fits. Now Brownlow is a daring, dashing fellow,
and, in fact, all the officers and men seem made of the same material.
I suppose you will begin to think I've got cavalry on the brain, I
talk so much of those boys; but they, at present, are the only ones
out this way doing the fighting. When this bully division of infantry
does go in, you can depend upon it somebody will get hurt.
All the regiments are quartered in elegant little pup-tents, as they
call them. These tents are handsomely sheltered with evergreens and
various bushes, presenting a picturesque appearance. The Lancaster,
Chillicothe, and Cincinnati boys are vieing with each other as to who
shall have the neatest camp.
A chicken-fight is to take place this evening between two game-cocks.
One is owned by the fat boy of the 35th, the other by the new
grocery-keeper of this brigade--he with the yellow vest and
spectacles. Spectacles can whip fat boy, sure, so I must hurry up to
see it done. We are striving our best to break up this love of cruel
sports, but fear our efforts will be fruitless.
The weather is delightful; garden truck is progressing finely; the
wheat and oat-fields are waving delightfully, while the corn is
becoming like a man drinking whisky--_elevated_. With the above horrid
joke I close.
Yours, dismally, till I see my love,
Alf.
REMINISCENCE OF CAMP LIFE IN VIRGINIA, IN 1861.
Camp Beverly, Va., _July 31, 1861_.
A soldier's life becomes irksome when he is encamped for any great
length of time at any one point. A change of scenery, or the busy
bustle of a march, wearisome though it be, makes the hours pass
lightly. This is our eighth day at this place, and beautiful though
the surroundings are, yet they begin to weary the eye. The boys want
action, and if no prospect of a fight is here, they wish for still
further progress.
The chief product of this never-ending and infernal mountainous region
seems to be rain and ignorant people. It rains from Monday till
Saturday, and commences fresh on Sunday; and if you put a question of
the most commonplace order, the only answer you are likely to receive
is the vacant stare of those you speak to. The first relief to this
monotony occurred a few days since. Captain Bracken, editor of the
Indianapolis _Sentinel_, who is in command of a splendid cavalry
company, sent me an invitation to accompany him upon a scouting
excursion, as a number of houses in the vicinity needed a little
examination; so, accompanied by his two lieutenants and our gallant
Major, Alex. Christopher, together with the ever-affable Andy Hall,
the scouts, mounted upon as fine horses as could be selected by
Captain Bracken, started jovially on duty. "_Now up the mead, now down
the mead_," and then over hill and dale they sped. Soon the outer
pickets were passed, and we were in the enemy's country, where, 'tis
said, the faster your horse travels the less likelihood there is of
being shot by guerrillas. In the course of the afternoon we visited
several houses, at one of which quite a quantity of contraband stuff
was found, _which was placed in our canteens_.
At dusk we commenced a homeward tramp; and having to pass a house in
which I had previously enjoyed the hospitality of its inmates, I
alighted to refresh myself with a cool drink of water, the balance of
the party going on. I had but just mounted my horse, when he took
fright, and in a moment he was beyond control. Your humble servant
clung with tenacity to the brute, and although I told him to "whoa,"
he wouldn't do it. Now he takes a by-road; away he flies with
lightning speed; 'tis getting dark, and the _fool horse_ is running
further and further from camp. I tried kicking the animal so as to
induce him to believe that it was me that was forcing him to his
utmost speed, but 't was no go. Then, as I came near falling, I
"_affectionately_" threw my arms around his neck, thinking, if life
was spared, what a fine item this runaway would make. In vain I tried
kicks, seesawing, jerks, coaxing, whoaing; in despair, I gave a loose
hold of the reins to the runaway, hoping he would get tired,
endeavoring, however, to keep him in the middle of the road. He jumped
ditches, turned curves, until I began to think I would make a good
circus performer, and eventually hire out to John Robinson, if safely
delivered from this perilous expedition. At last he took me off my
guard: turning abruptly to the left on a by-road, your correspondent
went to the right, heels up in the air for a brief space--in fact, a
balloon ascension; the balloon's burst was the next vivid thing in my
mind, for I remembered scratching in the air, and then an almost
instantaneous collision with mother Earth, alighting upon the right
side of my head, from which the blood gushed in a slight attempt at a
deluge. As luck would have it, some friendly folks came to my rescue,
and bathed my head with camphor; I remounted, and, in a few minutes,
met my companions, who were in search for me. They wet my lips with
some of that stuff in the canteens. On arriving at camp, and sending
for a surgeon, my wounds were dressed. A broken bone in my right hand,
a terrific black eye and disfigured forehead, a sprained leg and
battered side were the result of my excursion. This is the first
letter I have been able to write since.
Last Saturday the whole regiment was in the finest spirits at seeing
among us the kindly face of Cincinnati's universally-beloved citizen,
Larz Anderson, and it did one good to see the hearty shake of hands
our gallant officers and men gave him. He leaves for home to-day,
laden with, no doubt, messages of love to many. God bless and speed
him on his journey.
Captain Burdsall arrived to-day from Cheat Mountain. His command will
remain here a few days, acting as mounted scouts. The Captain received
a serious kick from his horse a week or two ago, and has been confined
to his bed ever since. This company has been a very valuable auxiliary
to the brigade, both at Cheat River Mountain and this place. We are
sorry to hear of their intended return to Cincinnati in a few weeks.
The battle-field of Rich Mountain is about four miles from this place,
and to-day I met with an old veteran, upon whose ground they fought.
He is a thorough Union man, and was a prisoner in the hands of the
Secession party. The rebels, to spite the old veteran, dug a trench
around his house, for burying their dead, only eighteen inches below
the surface. They also ruined his well by throwing in decayed
horse-flesh--in fact, ruined his old homestead, by cutting down his
fruit-trees, and various other specimens of Vandalism.
An incident occurred during the preparation for that battle worth
mentioning. Mr. ----, an old man of this town, a Representative in the
Legislature, one who was elected as a Union candidate, and then basely
betrayed his constituents, and afterward was re-elected as a
Secessionist--this man, on the eve of the battle, having partaken
freely of liquor, heard of the advance of our army, and, mounting his
horse, rode hastily to the rebel camp, to inform them of the intended
attack. He passed the outer pickets, but was halted by a full company
of Georgians, who, hearing of the advance of our men, had been thrown
out to reconnoiter. He, much frightened, supposing he was mistaken and
was in the Union men's camp, begged them not to shoot, exclaiming, "_I
am a Union man._" Scarce had the lying words passed his lips when a
dozen balls pierced his body.
An announcement, made last night, that the rebels were advancing upon
this post, put the boys in excellent humor. Every piece was put in
order, and preparations made for a warm reception of the rebel gentry.
Extra pickets were sent out by Colonel Bosley, who has entire command
of this post, Captain Wilmington being field-officer of the day. The
_guests_, however, did not arrive, thus greatly disappointing the
boys, who had a magnificent _banquet_ in store for them. The bill of
fare consisted of
Bullet Soup--with Gunpowder Sauce;
Bayonets--drawn from Scabbards;
Minie Muskets--nicely _ranged_;
Twelve Six-pound Dumplings--U. S. on the margin;
2,600 Harper's Ferry Clickers;
besides numerous little delicacies in the way of Colt's "Revolving
Pudding-hitters" and "_Derangers_," lightning-powder, Bowies,
slashers, etc.
But as they refused the banquet, why, we will keep it, for the time
being, ready for them in case of an intended _surprise party_.
A serenade in camp is sweet music, indeed. Last night the Guthrie
Serenading Club, consisting of E. P. Perkins, W. B. Sheridan, Charlie
Foster, Captain Wilmington, Zeke Tatem, W. Craven, and S. B. Rice,
gave the denizens of this town and camp a taste of their quality. The
hills resounded with sweet sounds.
"Music soft, music sweet, lingers on the ear."
Captain Pic Russell had an acquisition to his company a few evenings
since--in fact, a Secession emblem: a snake seven feet long--a regular
"black sarpent"--quietly coiled himself in the Captain's blanket. He
was, as soon as discovered, put to death. This region, of country
abounds in serpents, the rattlesnake being a prolific article.
I must close, as the mail is about to start.
Yours,
Alf.