Confessions of a Fat Man -- Home-guard -- The Negro on the
Fence -- A Camp Letter of Early Times -- "Sweethearts"
against the War.
CONFESSIONS OF A FAT MAN--HOME-GUARD.
The moment the flag was threatened, large bodies of men were called
upon to rally to its defense. Being large and able-bodied, I enrolled
with the home-guard. The drill was very severe in hot weather, and I
wanted an attendant, a fan, and pitcher of ice-water.
I am constantly reminded that one of the first requirements of a
soldier is to throw out his chest and draw in his stomach. Having been
burned out several times, while occupying an attic, I have had
considerable practice in throwing out my chest; but by what system of
practice could I ever hope to draw in my stomach? I can't "dress up;"
it's no use of my trying. If my vest buttons are in a line, I am far
in the rear. If I toe the mark, a fearful bulge indicates my position.
Once we had a new drill-sergeant, who was near-sighted. Running his
eye along the line, he exclaimed sharply:
"What is that man doing in the ranks with a base drum?"
He pointed at me; but I hadn't any drum; it was the surplus stomach,
that I couldn't, for the life of me, draw in. I am the butt of
numberless jokes, as you may well suppose. They have got a story in
the Guards, that, when I first heard the command "order arms," I
dropped my musket, and, taking out my notebook, began drawing an
_order_ on the Governor for what arms I needed. They say I ordered a
Winans steam-gun, with a pair of Dahlgren howitzers for side arms!
Base fabrication! My ambition never extended beyond a rifled cannon,
and they know it!
Although, in respect to size, I belong to the "heavies," my preference
is for the light infantry service. My knapsack is marked "Light
Infantry!" One evening the spectators seemed convulsed about
something, and my comrades tittered by platoons, whenever my back was
turned. It was a mystery to me till I laid off my knapsack. Some
wretch had erased the two final letters, and I had been parading, all
the evening, labeled, "LIGHT INFANT!"
The above is one of the thousand annoyances to which I am subjected,
and nothing but my consuming patriotism could ever induce me to submit
to it. I overheard a spectator inquire of the drill-sergeant one day:
"Do you drill that fat man all at once?"
"No," he returned, in an awful whisper; "_I drill him by squads!_"
I could have _drilled_ him, if I had had a bayonet.
Specifications have been published in regard to my uniform, and
contractors advertised for; the making will be let out to the lowest
bidder. In case the Guards are ordered to take the field, a special
commissary will be detailed to draw my rations.
[Illustration: The fat volunteer. See page 143.]
That reminds me of a harrowing incident. On last night's drill an old
farmer, who dropped in to see us drill, took me aside, and said he
wanted to sell me a yoke of powerful oxen.
"My ancient agriculturist," said I, smiling at his simplicity, "I have
no use for oxen."
"Perhaps not at present," quoth he, "but if you go to war you will
want them."
"For what?" said I, considerably annoyed.
"Want 'em to _draw your rations_!"
The Guards paid me a delicate compliment at their last meeting:
elected me _Child_ of the Regiment, with the rank of a First
_Corpulent_. I was about to return thanks in a neat speech, when they
told me it was no use; that a reporter, who was present, had got the
whole thing in type--speech and all--and I could read it in the
evening paper. I got his views, and held my own.
Yours for the Union, including the Stars, also the Stripes.
Fat Contributor.
"What are you going to do, you bad woman's boy?" said Mrs. Wiggles, as
her youngest son passed through the kitchen into the garden.
"Down with the Seceshers!" he shouted; and she looked out just in time
to see the top of a rose-bush fall before the artillery-sword of her
son, that the youngster held in his hand.
"You had better go to Molasses Jugtion, if you want to do that," she
said, restraining his hand as 't was lifted against a favorite
fuschia, that she had trained with so much care.
"Dear me!" she murmured, half to herself; "what a terrible thing war
is, when children show signs of such terrible consanguinity!"
THE NEGRO ON THE FENCE.
"Hearken to what I now relate,
And on its moral meditate."
A Wagoner, with grist for mill,
Was stalled at bottom of a hill.
A brawny negro passed that way,
So stout he might a lion slay.
"I'll put my shoulder to the wheels,
If you'll bestir your horse's heels."
So said the African, and made
As if to render timely aid.
"No," cried the wagoner, "stand back!
I'll take no help from one that's black;"
And, to the negro's great surprise,
Flourished his whip before his eyes.
Our "darkey" quick "skedaddled" thence,
And sat upon the wayside fence.
Then went the wagoner to work,
And lashed his horses to a jerk;
But all his efforts were in vain;
With shout, and oath, and whip, and rein,
The wheels budged not a single inch,
And tighter grow the wagoner's pinch.
Directly there came by a child,
With toiling step, and vision wild,
"Father," said she, with hunger dread,
"We famish for the want of bread."
Then spake the negro: "If you will,
I'll help your horses to the mill."
The wagoner, in grievous plight,
Now swore and raved with all his might,
Because the negro wasn't white;
And plainly ordered him to go
To a certain place, that's down below;
Then, rushing, came the wagoner's wife,
To save her own and infant's life;
By robbers was their homestead sacked,
And smoke and blood their pillage tracked.
Here stops our tale. When last observed,
The wagoner was still "conserved"
In mud, at bottom of the hill,
But bent on getting to the mill;
And hard by, not a rod from thence,
The negro sat upon the fence.
A CAMP LETTER OF EARLY TIMES.
Our camp is alive; our camp is exuberant; our camp is in a _furore_.
"Who's that man with 'Secesh' clothes?" says one; and "Who's that
big-faced, genial, good-natured looking feller?" says another. "Are
they prisoners?" "Maybe it's the paymaster; and that short, chunky man
is here to watch the other feller, and see that the money is paid all
on the square." "No, it aint one nor t' other--'tis Cons Millar, the
ever-vigilant and hard-working Cons, of the _Commercial_; and the
good-natured looking feller is INVISIBLE GREEN, or, as he is
familiarly called, Bill Crippen, of the _Times_." They have brought
sunshine into camp, for a merrier set of soldiers the sun never shone
on than are the Guthrie Grays to-night. Cons has just had supper, and
Bill is "spreading devastation" over the table of Captain Andrews.
They have both been up inspecting intrenchments, which are _in statu
quo_, the brave Lee having retreated some sixteen miles, or, more
politely speaking, "fallen back." So I suppose we will soon have to
creep up on the gallant gentleman once more, and see if he can not be
induced to fall still further back.
The news of the gallant conduct of our Cincinnati boys at the late
fight under Rosecrans sent a thrill of pleasure to the hearts of all
our men, and a feeling of envy that we were not with them to share the
glory of that day. Colonel Lytle, Stephen McGroarty, and the other
brave fellows' names, are on the lips of all, and a fervent "God bless
them" is frequently uttered. Our encampment now may be said to extend
over four miles, a brigade of twelve thousand; and I can assure you
they make a formidable appearance. Three splendid batteries, three or
four fine cavalry companies, and any quantity of men, are yet on the
way.
One of the best Secesh tricks I have heard of was attempted, a short
time since, by a rebel telegrapher. When Lee was about to advance upon
this point, wishing to ascertain the number of troops here, he sent
out this operator, with pocket implements, to attach to our wires. So,
carefully picking his way through the woods, Mr. Operator came upon a
secluded part of the road; climbing the pole, he attached his battery,
and "click, click, click," he inquires of our operator at
head-quarters, "How many troops have you altogether, that can, at any
pressing event, be sent to aid us if we attack Lee?" Just as he
concluded the query, one of the ever-vigilant pickets of the Indiana
regiments, who infest the woods and roads in every direction, espied
the gentleman, and brought him into camp with his non-confiscated
horse. A minute more and the fellow, doubtless, would have been fully
informed, as he had guarded against cipher-telegraphing by
telegraphing that the cipher-operator was out, and the general wanted
an immediate answer.
Our boys continue to scour the woods, and constantly are finding
Secesh documents. The following _beautiful poem_ is from the pen of
Miss M. H. Cantrell, of Jonesboro, Tennessee, and was found in the
pocket of a "Secesher," who had invaliantly fled, dropping his
overcoat and love-epistles. It is entitled:
SWEETHARTS AGAINST WAR.
O Dear! its shameful I declare
To make the men all go
And leive so manny sweetharts here
Wit out a single bough.
We like to see them leave 'tis true,
And wold not urge them stay;
But what are we poor girls to do
When you are all away?
We told you we cold spare you here
Before you had to go,
But Bless your Harts, wernt aware
That we would miss you sow.
We miss you all in manny ways,
But troth will ware out;
The gratest things we miss you for
Joy going withe out.
On Sunday when we go to church,
We look in vane for sum
To mete us smilin on the porch,
And ask to see us home.
And then we dont enjoy a walk
Since all the bows have gone;
For what the good to us plain talk
If we must trip alone?
But what the use talkin thus
We will try to beecontent
And if you cannot come to us
A message may bee cent.
And that one comfort any way
Although we are Apart,
There is no reason why we may
Not open hart to hart.
We trust it may not ever come
To any War like test,
We want to see our Southern home
Secured in peaceful rest.
But if the blood of those we love
In freedoms cause must floo,
With fervent trust in Lov Above
We bid them onward go.
Written By your friend,
M. H. Cantrell.
I inclose you the original document. I suppose the aforesaid lovyer
did "onward go," and, no doubt, is still going, if he has not already
reached the town of Jonesboro, and met his gal upon "the porch" as she
returned from church.
Snake-hunting has given way to trout-fishing. As a matter of course,
the noise of camp has driven all trout four miles from our present
abode; but scarcely a day passes but our men return with a nice string
of these delicious denizens of the brooks hereabouts.
I have often, heretofore, thought I would like much to be a cavalry
soldier, but I'll swear I wouldn't like to be a cavalry horse; for, of
all the hay-forsaken, fleshless-looking animals eyes ever gazed upon,
the horses out here take the premium. Well, 'pon my word, I took
Captain Bracken's horse (the roan I once rode) a quart of oats, sent
from Beverly; well, the horse wouldn't eat them; he didn't know what
they were! and I had to break or smash some of them so that he might
smell the "aroma," to facilitate his knowledge, and he was too weak to
inhale air enough to inflate his nostrils, so that he could smell the
dainty meal I had in my kindness brought him. Captain Bracken promised
to have them parched and made into a tea for the animal.
_September 30._--What a jump of time! Well, I'll tell you the cause.
The morning I intended to post this letter the entire regiment was
ordered to make an advance upon Mingo Flats, a Secession hole fifteen
miles from this place. They were accompanied by Howe's battery and an
Indiana regiment. The boys were not more than fairly started when a
terrific rain-storm set in. O! what a pitiless, deluging rain! The
very thought of that _sprinkle_ of twenty hours of unceasing torrent
makes me, even now, feel as if I should forever have an antipathy
against drinking water. Onward the boys trudged, seemingly not caring
a cuss if school kept or not. The Elkwater soon assumed a rather
formidable appearance; night came on, and with it an increase of the
flood. We stood up against trees to rest; some crawled in
fence-corners; a few, more lucky, found an old log stable and a
smoke-house; these were quickly filled from "pit to dome," as Fred
Hunt would say, for some slept on rafters, cross-beams, etc. Still it
poured down; still the fountains of heaven gushed _forth_, fifth,
tenth, or twentieth; anyhow, it continued to rain, and at daybreak it
rained yet, and the regiment moved on to Mingo Flats; drove in the
rebel pickets; heard the Secesh varmints beat the long roll; knew they
were scared; _and still it rained_! Colonel Sullivan, of the Indiana
regiment, was in, command: sent out a big gun; boys went on a big
hill; found the enemy were eight or ten thousand strong; big gun
ordered back, and as we only had two thousand men, remembered the
axiom about "discretion being the better part of valor;" obeyed the
aforesaid axiom. _Still, recollect, it kept raining in torrents_;
dripping down Quarter-master Shoemaker's pants into his boots; running
over Colonel Anderson's back. Major Christopher looked dry, in order
to get a drink: but that was a failure. Captain Westcott looked sad;
in fact he said it was the wettest time he ever knew or heard tell
of--wondered if old Noah ever explored these big hills.
Captain Russell picked out a fine hill to locate upon, if this really
intended to be another deluge. Captain Clark observed he was fond of
_heavy wet_. Jules Montagnier said it was _due_ time to _dry up_.
_Still it rained._ The regiments were ordered to fall back. Well, the
mud was so infernal slippery it was very easily done; some fell
forward in the vain endeavor to fall back. After killing seven or
eight poor, pauper-looking, "Secesh varmints," the boys set fire to
Marshall's store, the enterprising proprietor being away from his
business--a very notorious Secessionist, having donated $25,000 to
the C. S. A. The building made a _beautiful_ fire, and our boys
brought away a fine lot of saws, augers, and various other articles of
_dry goods_. The loss of the augers, Colonel Anderson says, will be a
great _bore_ to Marshall. _Please don't forget how infernal hard it
was raining all this time._
Well, they reached the first ford on their return trip; a sad misnomer
now, for it was an unfordable ford. The water of old Elkwater was
rearing and plunging, and furiously wild. Every mountain (and there
are myriads) was sending out its wet _aid_ to swell the raging
torrent; the regiment, at this time, only three miles from the
Secessionists. A bold front had to be put on, as it was a sure thing,
if the rebels found out the weakness of our force, we were goners.
There was no doubt, however, but that they were terribly frightened,
as they had heard we were twenty thousand strong. Anxiously the boys
waited the falling of the mighty waters. _It had now rained twenty-six
hours._ Large trees came whistling by with lightning speed; the river
seemed wild with delight, and the waves clapped their hands, leaping
higher and higher; but, _as you know_, (no reflection meant,) Mr.
Editor, a drunken man will get sober if not supplied with more liquor,
so the river will _subside_ if not furnished with the "aqueous fluid."
Colonel Anderson was the first to cross the stream. His horse plunged
in boldly, but was within an ace of being carried away by the still
almost resistless current. There goes "Shoemaker," the easy,
good-natured "Ned," as he is called. Yes, sure enough, there he does
go, for his horse has plunged, and the torrent is too wild, for they
are both beyond their depth, and the horse is going down, down. Every
eye is bent upon "Shoe." He is carried further and further. He grasps
a tree and pulls himself up, looking the picture of despair. The major
says, "H-o-l-d, b-o-y-s! d-o-n't b-e i-n t-o-o m-u-c-h h-u-r-r-y;" but
they, eager to get back, walked a foot-bridge of rough timber and old
logs, very narrow. Several crossed upon this, Captain Russell making a
very narrow escape with his life. Colonel Anderson, perceiving the
danger, ordered that no more should cross, threatening to shoot the
first man who should disobey the order. This, as a matter of course,
was done to deter the men from hazarding their lives needlessly.
Colonel Anderson had but just given the order, when Frank Guhra, a
private in Captain Clark's company, made the attempt, reached the
middle of the stream, lost his balance, fell, and in a moment was
whirled out of sight, the current running at the rate of twenty miles
an hour. Several lost their guns. It was three or four hours before
they succeeded in crossing.
Upon their return to camp an unwelcome sight was presented; the water
had swept nearly every thing away. The tents had been, many of them,
three and four feet in water; some had to take to trees to save life.
The water had subsided, leaving a nasty slime, a foot thick, all over
the camp-ground. Camp-kettles, knapsacks haversacks, and numerous
floatable, light articles, had passed down stream--Captain Wilmington
losing every thing. I saw the Captain trying to borrow a pair of
pantaloons, he running around in his drawers. An old resident of this
locality (Mr. Stonnicker) says this is the biggest flood ever known in
this region. By the by, Mr. Stonnicker has a beautiful daughter, Miss
Delilah, who seems to be fairly "the child of the regiment,"
especially of the officers. I will not mention names, as the wives at
home would be jealous.
I see you talk of sending out a gentleman to take money home to the
families of the volunteers. But cuss the paymaster, "or any other
man." Why don't the paymaster come? Send _me_ some papers. I can't get
any without a peck of trouble.