The War Literature of the “Century” is very Confusing--I am
Resolved to tell the True Story of the War--How and Why I
Became a Raw Recruit--My Quarters--My Horse--My First Ride.
For the last year or more I have been reading the articles in the
_Century_ magazine, written by generals and things who served on both
the Union and Confederate sides, and have been struck by the number of
“decisive battles” that were fought, and the great number of generals
who fought them and saved the country. It seems that each general on the
Union side, who fought a battle, and writes an article for the aforesaid
magazine, admits that his battle was the one which did the business.
On the Confederate side, the generals who write articles invariably
demonstrate that they everlastingly whipped their opponents, and drove
them on in disorder. To read those articles it seems strange that the
Union generals who won so many decisive battles, should not have ended
the war much sooner than they did, and to read the accounts of battles
won by the Confederates, and the demoralization that ensued in the
ranks of their opponents, it seems marvellous that the Union army was
victorious. Any man who has followed these generals of both sides, in
the pages of that magazine, must conclude that the war was a draw game,
and that both sides were whipped. Thus far no general has lost a battle
on either side, and all of them tacitly admit that the whole thing
depended on them, and that other commanders were mere ciphers. This is
a kind of history that is going to mix up generations yet unborn in the
most hopeless manner.
It has seemed to me as though the people of this country had got so
mixed up about the matter that it was the duty of some private soldier
to write a description of _the_ decisive battle of the war, and as I was
the private soldier who fought that battle on the Union side, against
fearful odds, _viz_: against a Confederate soldier who was braver than
I was, a better horseback rider, and a better poker player, I feel it
my duty to tell about it. I have already mentioned it to a few veterans,
and they have advised me to write an article for the _Century_, but
I have felt a delicacy about entering the lists, a plain, unvarnished
private soldier, against those generals. While I am something of a liar
myself, and can do fairly well in my own class, I should feel that in
the _Century_ I was entered in too fast a class of liars, and the result
would be that I should not only lose my entrance fee, but be distanced.
So I have decided to contribute this piece of history solely for the
benefit of the readers of my own paper, as they will believe me.
It was in 1864 that I joined a cavalry regiment in the department of the
Gulf, a raw recruit in a veteran regiment. It may be asked why I waited
so long before enlisting, and why I enlisted at all, when the war was so
near over. I know that the most of the soldiers enlisted from patriotic
motives, and because they wanted to help shed blood, and wind up the
war. I did not. I enlisted for the bounty. I thought the war was nearly
over, and that the probabilities were that the regiment I had enlisted
in would, be ordered home before I could get to it. In fact the
recruiting officer told me as much, and he said I would get my bounty,
and a few months' pay, and it would be just like finding money. He said
at that late day I would never see a rebel, and if I did have to join
the regiment, there would be no fighting, and it would just be one
continued picnic for two or three months, and there would be no more
danger than to go off camping for a duck shoot. At my time of life, now
that I have become gray, and bald, and my eyesight is failing, and I
have become a grandfather, I do not want to open the sores of twenty-two
years ago. I want a quiet life. So I would not assert that the
recruiting officer deliberately lied to me, but I was the worst deceived
man that ever enlisted, and if I ever meet that man, on this earth, it
will go hard with him. Of course, if he is dead, that settles it, as I
shall not follow any man after death, where I am in doubt as to which
road he has taken, but if he is alive, and reads these lines, he can
hear of something to his advantage by communicating with me. I would
probably kill him. As far as the bounty was concerned, I got that all
right, but it was only three-hundred dollars. Within twenty-four hours
after I had been credited to the town from which I enlisted, I heard of
a town that was paying as high as twelve-hundred dollars for recruits.
I have met with many reverses of fortune in the course of a short, but
brilliant career, have loaned money and never got it back, have been
taken in by designing persons on three card monte, and have been beaten
trading horses, but I never suffered much more than I did when I found
that I had got to go to war for a beggerly three-hundred dollars bounty,
when I could have had twelve hundred dollars by being credited to
another town. I think that during two years and a half of service
nothing tended more to dampen my ardor, make me despondent, and hate
myself, than the loss of that nine-hundred dollars bounty. There was not
an hour of the day, in all of my service, that I did not think of what
might have been. It was a long time before I brought to my aid that
passage of scripture, “There is no use crying for spilled bounty,” but
when I did it helped me some. I thought of the hundreds who didn't get
any bounty.
I joined my regiment, and had a cavalry horse issued to me, and was
assigned to a company. I went up to the captain of the company, whom I
had known as a farmer before the war commenced, and told him I had come
to help him put down the rebellion. I never saw a man so changed as he
was. I thought he would ask me to bring my things into his tent, and
stay with him, but he seemed to have forgotten that he had known me,
when he worked on the farm. He was dressed up nicely, and I thought he
put on style, and I could only think of him at home, with his overalls
tucked in his boots, driving a yoke of oxen to plow a field. He seemed
to feel that I had known him under unfavorable circumstances before the
war, and acted as though he wanted to shun me. I had drawn an infantry
knapsack, at Madison, before I left for the front, and had it full of
things, besides a small trunk. The captain called a soldier and told him
to find quarters for me, and I went out of his presence. At my quarters,
which consisted of what was called a pup-tent, I found no conveniences,
and it soon dawned on me that war was no picnic, as that lying
recruiting officers had told me it was. I found that I had got to throw
away my trunk and knapsack, and all the articles that I couldn't strap
on a saddle, and when I asked for a mattress the men laughed at me. I
had always slept on a mattress, or a feather bed, and when I was told
that I would have to sleep on the ground, under that little tent, I felt
hurt. I had known the colonel when he used to teach school at home, and
I went to him and told him what kind of a way they were treating me,
but he only laughed. He had two nice cots in his tent, and I told him
I thought I ought to have a cot, too. He laughed some more. Finally I
asked him who slept in his extra cot, and intimated that I had rather
sleep in his tent than mine, but he sent me away, and said he would see
what could be done. I laid on the ground that night, but I didn't sleep.
If I ever get a pension it will be for rheumatism caught by sleeping on
the ground. The rheumatism has not got hold of me yet, though twenty-two
years have passed, but it may be lurking about my system, for all I
know.
I had never rode a horse, before enlisting. The only thing I had ever
got straddle of was a stool in a country printing office, and when I
was first ordered to saddle up my horse, I could not tell which way the
saddle and bridle went, and I got a colored man to help me, for which I
paid him some of the remains of my bounty. I hired him permanently, to
take care of my horse, but I soon learned that each soldier had to take
care of his own horse. That seemed pretty hard. I had been raised a pet,
and had edited a newspaper, which had been one of the most outspoken
advocates of crushing the rebellion, and it seemed to me, as much as I
had done for the government, in urging enlistments, I was entitled to
more consideration then to become my own hostler. However, I curbed my
proud spirit, and after the nigger cook had saddled my horse, I led the
animal up to a fence to climb on. From the remarks of the soldiers, and
the general laugh all around, it was easy to see that mounting a cavalry
horse from off the top of a rail fence was not according to tactics,
but it was the only way I could see to get on, in the absence of
step-ladders. They let me ride into the ranks, after mounting, and then
they laughed. It was hard for me to be obliged to throw away all the
articles I had brought with me, so I strapped them on the saddle in
front and behind, and only my head stuck out over them. There was one
thing, it would be a practicable impossibility to fall off.
[Illustration: Mounting a horse from the top of a rail fence 021]
The regiment started on a raid. The colonel came along by my company
during the afternoon, and I asked him where we were going. He gave me an
evasive answer, which hurt my feelings. I asked his pardon, but told him
I would like to know where we were going, so as to have my letters
sent to me, but he went off laughing, and never told me, while the old
soldiers laughed, though I couldn't see what they were laughing at.
I did not suppose there was so much difference between officers and
privates, and wondered if it was the policy of this government to have
a cavalry regiment to start off on a long raid and not let the soldiers
know where they were going, and during the afternoon I decided to write
home to the paper I formerly edited and give my opinion of such a fool
way of running a war. Suppose anybody at home was sick, they wouldn't
know where to write for me to come back. There is nothing that will give
a man such an appetite as riding on a galloping horse, and along about
the middle of the afternoon I began to get hungry, and asked the orderly
sergeant when we were going to get any dinner. He said there was a hotel
a short distance ahead, and the colonel had gone forward to order dinner
for the regiment. I believed him, because I had known the orderly before
the war, when he drove a horse in a brickyard, grinding clay. But he
was a liar, too, as I found out afterwards. There was not a hotel within
fifty miles, and soldiers did not stop at hotels, anyway. Finally the
orderly sergeant came along and announced that dinner was ready, and I
looked for the hotel, but the only dinner I saw was some raw pork that
soldiers took out of their saddle bags, with hard tack. We stopped in
the woods, dismounted, and the boys would cut off a slice of fat pork
and spread it on the hard tack and eat it. I had never supposed the
government would subject its soldiers to such fare as that, and I
wouldn't eat. I did not dare dismount, as there was no fence near that
I could use to climb on to my horse, so I sat in the saddle and let the
horse eat some grass, while I thought of home, and pie and cake, and
what a condemned fool a man was to leave a comfortable home to go
and put down anybody's rebellion. The way I felt then I wouldn't have
touched a rebellion if one lay right in the road. What business was it
of mine if some people in the South wanted to dissolve partnership and
go set up business for themselves? How was I going to prevent them
from having a southern confederacy, by riding an old rack of bones of a
horse, that would reach his nose around every little while and chew my
legs? If the recruiting officer who inveigled me into the army had
come along then, his widow would now be drawing a pension. While I was
thinking, dreaming of home, and the horse was eating grass, the fool
animal suddenly took it into his head to lay down and roll, and before I
could kick any of his ribs in, he was down, and I was rolling off, with
one leg under him. The soldiers quit eating and pulled the horse of
me, and hoisted me up into the space between my baggage, and then they
laughed, lit their pipes and smoked, as happy as could be. I couldn t
see how they could be happy, and wondered if they were not sick of war.
Then they mounted, and on we went. My legs and body became chafed, and
it seemed as though I couldn t ride another minute, and when the captain
came along I told him about it, and asked him if I couldn t be relieved
some way. He said the only way was for me to stand on my head and ride,
and he winked at a soldier near me, and, do you know, that soldier
actually changed ends with himself and stood on his head and hands in
the saddle and rode quite a distance, and the captain said that was the
way a cavalry soldier rested himself. Gracious, I wouldn t have tried
that for the world, and I found out afterwards that the soldier who
stood on his head formerly belonged with a circus.
I suppose it was wrong to complain, but the horse they gave me was the
meanest horse in the regiment. He would bite and kick the other horses,
and they would kick back, and about half the time I was dodging the
heels of horses, and a good deal of the time I was wondering if a man
would get any pension if he was wounded that way. It would seem pretty
tough to go home on a stretcher, as a wounded soldier, and have people
find out a horse kicked you. I never had been a man of blood, and didn't
enlist to kill anybody, as I could prove by that recruiting officer,
and I didn t want to fight, but from what I could gather from the
conversation of the soldiers, fighting and killing people was about all
they thought about. They talked about this one and that one who had been
killed, and the hundreds of confederates they had all shot or killed
with sabres, until my hair just stood right up. It seems that twelve or
fifteen men, more or less, had been shot off the horse I was riding, and
one fellow who rode next to me said no man who ever rode that old yellow
horse had escaped alive. This was cheering to me, and I would have given
my three hundred dollars bounty, and all I could borrow, if I could get
out of the army. However, I found out afterwards that the soldier lied.
In fact they all lied, and they lied for my benefit. We struck into the
woods, and traveled until after dark, with no road, and the march was
enlivened by remarks of the soldiers near me to the effect that we would
probably never get out of the woods alive. They said we were trying to
surround an army of rebels, and cut them off from the main army, and the
chances were that when tomorrow's sun rose it would rise on the ghostly
corpses of the whole regiment, with jackals and buzzards eating us.
One of the soldiers took something from his pocket, about the size of
a testament, pressed it to his heart, and then kissed it, and I felt as
though I was about to faint, but by the light of a match which another
soldier had scratched on his pants to light his pipe, I saw that what I
supposed to be a testament, was a box of sardines the soldier had bought
of the sutler. I was just about to die of hunger, exhaustion, and fright
at the fearful stories the veterans had been telling, when there was
a shout at the head of the regiment, which was taken up all along the
line, my horse run under the limb of a tree and raked me out of the
saddle, and I hung to the limb, my legs hanging down, and