General Steadman Superseded by General Schofield, of
Missouri -- Colonel Brownlow's Regiment -- His Bravery -- A
Rebel Officer Killed by a Woman -- Discontent in East
Tennessee -- Picket Duty and its Dangers -- A Gallant Deed
and a Chivalrous Return.
Camp near Triune, Tennessee, _April 24, 1862_.
I arrived in camp day before yesterday, and immediately reported for
duty.
Last night General Schofield took command of this division, General
Steadman having been assigned to the Second Brigade. General Schofield
comes to us with the highest recommendations for gallant daring, and
his appearance among the boys was the signal for a neat ovation. He
was serenaded by a crowd of singers, and, upon the conclusion of a
patriotic song, he came to the front of his head-quarters and made a
telling speech, which was enthusiastically received by his command.
General Steadman being called for responded, regretting to part with
his old command, but rejoicing that he had been superseded by a
gentleman and a soldier so worthy of the position that had been
assigned him. General Steadman assured the General that he had as fine
a set of soldiers as were to be found in the Army of the Cumberland;
men who had been tried and never found wanting; men whom he assured
General Schofield would go wherever ordered, and against any foe.
After the adjournment of the public demonstration, the two generals,
with their staffs, were handsomely entertained by Captain Roper, where
song, sentiment, and recitation were the order of the evening--Colonel
George, Colonel Vandeveer, Colonel Long, and other notables being
among the guests.
While thus enjoying ourselves, the General received a telegraphic
dispatch from head-quarters, announcing the capture of McMinnville by
our forces.
The command of the Third Division, we feel confident, is in vigilant
hands. Brigadier-General Schofield has heretofore proved his
efficiency in Missouri. His staff consists of Major J. A. Campbell, A.
A. S.; W. M. Wherry, Aid-de-camp; A. H. Engle, Aid-de-camp and Judge
Advocate; Captain Kirk, Quarter-master; Captain Roper, Commissary;
Captain Budd, Inspector of Division, and Doctor Gordon, Medical
Director.
The East Tennessee Cavalry still continue to prove their gallantry. I
spent a pleasant afternoon with them yesterday, and paid a visit to
their hospital. I saw six of the noble fellows who were wounded in a
late fight. About ten days ago, Colonel Brownlow, a regular "chip of
the old block," took a part of the regiment out some twelve miles from
camp, toward Duck River, and, coming upon a large party of secesh,
gave them a "taste of his quality." A short time after, the Colonel,
with nine of his men, became detached from the main body, and found
themselves completely surrounded by the rebels, and were within thirty
yards of the foe, who ordered the Colonel to surrender. A moment's
parley with his men, and the Colonel, with the boys, rode toward the
rebels, and, with a few adjectives, quite _unparliamentary_ to ears
polite, much to their surprise, dashed through their line. This
audacity saved them; for, before they had time to recover from their
surprise, Brownlow and his men were beyond their reach. I was told, by
one of the prisoners, that, at one time, twenty rebels were firing at
that "little cuss in the blue jacket," as they called the Colonel,
during the day's performance. Several splendid charges were made by
these Tennesseeans.
James Mysinger, of Company I, from Green County, after being mortally
wounded--the noble fellow--fired three shots. The Colonel dismounted
to assist the dying soldier, who, with tears in his eyes, said:
"Colonel, I've only one regret--that I am not spared to kill more of
those wretched traitors. Tell me, Colonel," continued he, "have I not
always obeyed orders?"
"Yes, Mysinger, you are a noble fellow, and have always done your
duty," said the Colonel, patting him on the cheek, and brushing the
cold sweat from his brow.
"Now, Colonel," said he, "I am ready to die."
Oliver Miller, Company C, received a severe wound in the arm. He is
only seventeen years of age. John Harris received three balls. Robert
Adair was wounded in the head. William Riddle was completely
_riddled_, receiving one ball and four buck-shot. David Berry had his
thigh broken, jumping from his horse. Berry's father was murdered by
rebels at Cumberland Gap. His head was placed upon a block and cut
off, by order of Colonel Brazzleton, of the 1st East Tennessee rebel
cavalry. Nearly all these men have not only their country's wrongs to
avenge, but the wrongs heaped upon their fathers, mothers, and
sisters. I spent an hour in conversation with these wounded men, and
all were laughing and talking in the best of spirits. Such men are
invincible.
A brother of Colonel Brownlow, who is now on a visit to this camp,
informs me that he had it from the most reliable source, that the
rebels in and around Knoxville were actually suffering for food. An
order was issued by the rebel commander at Knoxville, a few days
since, to seize all the hams, sides, and bacon belonging to private
parties, leaving only fifty pounds for each family. A Mrs. Tillery, of
Knox County, residing twelve miles from Knoxville, when her house was
visited for the purpose of being pillaged, in the fulfillment of this
order, expostulated with the lieutenant in command. She told him that
fifty pounds would not keep her family two weeks, and she had no way
of obtaining more. Notwithstanding her entreaties, the rebel
lieutenant ordered fifty pounds to be weighed and given to her. He had
scarcely given the order when Mrs. Tillery drew a pistol and shot the
lieutenant through the heart. The rebel detail left the meat, and took
off the corpse of their commander. The spirit of discontent is
manifesting itself in various ways among even the most ultra rebels.
They are getting tired of seeing their country devastated by the two
armies, and are anxious for a settlement; and it only awaits the
_daring of a few_ to inaugurate a "rebellion within a rebellion,"
which, if once started, will spread like wild-fire.
PICKET DUTY AND ITS DANGERS.
Of all the duties of a soldier, outpost duty is the most trying and
dangerous. Courage, caution, patience, sleepless vigilance, and iron
nerve are essential to its due performance. Upon the picket-guards of
an army rests an immense responsibility. They are the eyes and ears of
the encamped or embattled host. Hence, if they are negligent or
faithless, the thousands dependent upon their zeal and watchfulness
for safety, might almost as well be blind and deaf. The bravest army,
under such circumstances, is liable, like a strong man in his sleep,
to be pounced upon and discomfited by an inferior foe. For this reason
the laws of war declare that the punishment of a soldier found
sleeping on his post shall be death.
But although the peril and responsibility involved in picket duty are
so great, the heroes who are selected for it rarely receive honorable
mention in our military bulletins. Their collisions with the enemy are
"skirmishes." The proportion of killed and wounded in these collisions
may be double or triple what it was at Magenta or Solferino, but still
they are mere "affairs of outposts." "Our pickets were driven in," or
"The enemy's pickets were put to flight," and that is the end of it.
Presently comes the news of a brilliant Union victory; and nobody
pauses to consider that if our pickets had been asleep, or faithless,
or cowardly, a Union _defeat_ might, nay _must_, have been the
consequence.
We forget what these men endure--their risks, their privations, their
fatigues, their anxieties, _their battles with themselves_, when
sleep--more insidious than even the lurking enemy in the bush--tugs at
their heavy eyelids, and their overwearied senses are barely held to
their allegiance by the strongest mental effort. The soldier who
rushes to the charge at the command of his officer is animated by the
shouts of his comrades, inspirited by the sounds of martial music, and
full of the ardor and confidence which the consciousness of being
intelligently led and loyally supported engenders. He sees his
adversaries; he fights in an open field; his fate is to be decided by
the ordinary chances of honorable war. Not so the picket-guard. He is
surrounded by unseen dangers. The gleam of his bayonet may, at any
moment, draw upon him the fire of some prowling assassin. If he hears
a rustling among the leaves, and inquires, "Who goes there?" the
answer may be a ball in his heart.
A GALLANT DEED AND A CHIVALROUS RETURN.
In the recent movement of Stoneman's Cavalry, the advance was led by
Lieutenant Paine, of the 1st Maine Cavalry. Being separated, by a
considerable distance, from the main body, he encountered,
unexpectedly, a superior force of rebel cavalry, and his whole party
were taken prisoners. They were hurried off as rapidly as possible to
get them out of the way of our advancing force, and, in crossing a
rapid and deep stream, Lieutenant Henry, commanding the rebel force,
was swept off his horse. As none of his men seemed to think or care
any thing about saving him, his prisoner, Lieutenant Paine, leaped off
his horse, seized the drowning man by the collar, swam ashore with
him, and saved his life, thus literally capturing the captor. Paine
was sent to Richmond with the rest of the prisoners, and the facts
being made known to General Fitz-Hugh Lee, he wrote a statement of
them to General Winder, Provost-Marshal of Richmond, who ordered the
instant release of Lieutenant Paine, without even parole, promise, or
condition, and, we presume, with the compliments of the Confederacy.
He arrived in Washington on Saturday last. This act of generosity, as
well as justice, must command our highest admiration. There is some
hope for men who can behave in such a manner.
But the strangest part of the story is yet to come. Lieutenant Paine,
on arriving in Washington, learned that the officer whose life he had
thus gallantly saved had since been taken prisoner by our forces, and
had just been confined in the Old Capitol prison. The last we heard of
Paine he was on his way to General Martindale's head-quarters to
obtain a pass to visit his imprisoned benefactor. Such are the
vicissitudes of war. We could not help thinking, when we heard this
story, of the profound observation of Mrs. Gamp: "Sich is life, vich
likevays is the hend of hall things hearthly." We leave it to casuists
to determine whether, when these two gallant soldiers meet on the
battle-field, they should fight like enemies or embrace like
Christians. For our part, we do not believe their swords will be any
the less sharp, nor their zeal any the less determined, for this
hap-hazard exchange of soldierly courtesy.