Yearnings for Military Fame--What I Want is a Chance--I Feel
I Could Crush the Rebellion--My Chance Arrives--I am
Crushed--The Rebellion Remains Pretty Well.
As I could get no one to accept my resignation as corporal, which I
tendered after my first service in that capacity, unloading a steamboat,
I decided to post myself as to the duties of the position, so I borrowed
a copy of “Hardee's Tactics,” and studied a good deal. Every place
in the book that mentioned the word “corporal,” had a particular and
thrilling interest for me, and I soon got so it would have been easy for
me to have done almost anything that a corporal would have to do. But
I was not contented to study the duty of a corporal. I read about
the “school of the company,” and the “school of the regiment,” and
“battalion drills,” and everything, until I could handle a regiment, or
a brigade, for that matter, as well as any officer in the army, in my
mind. This led me to go farther, and I borrowed a copy of a large blue
book the colonel had, the name of which I do not remember now, but
it was all military, and told how to conduct a battle successfully. I
studied that book until I got the thing down so fine that I could have
fought the battle of Gettysburg successfully, and I longed for a chance
to show what I knew about military science and strategy. It seemed
wonderful to me that one small red-head could contain so much knowledge
about military affairs, and I felt a pity for some officers I knew who
never had studied at all, and did not know anything except what they
had picked up. I fought battles in my mind, day and night. Some nights
I would lay awake till after midnight, planning campaigns, laying
out battle-fields, and marching men against the enemy, who fought
stubbornly, but I always came out victorious, and then I would go to
sleep and dream that the President and secretary of war had got on to
me, as it were, and had offered me high positions, and I would wake
up in the morning the same red-headed corporal, and cook my breakfast.
Sometimes I thought it my duty to inform the government, in some round
about way, what a bonanza the country had in me, if my talent could only
be utilized by placing me where I would have a chance to distinguish
myself, and bring victory to our arms. I reflected that Grant, and
Sherman, and Sheridan, and all of the great generals, were once
corporals, and by study they had risen.
There was not one of them that could dream out a battle, and a victory
any better that I could. All I wanted was a chance. Just give me men
enough, and turn me loose in the Southern Confederacy, with that head of
mine, and the result would be all an anxious nation could desire.
My first chance came sooner than I expected. The next day a part of
the regiment went out on a scout, to be gone a couple of days, and my
company was along. I was unusually absorbed in thought, and wondered if
I would be given a chance to do anything. It seemed reasonable that if
any corporal was sent out with a squad of men, to fight, it would be
an old corporal, while if there was any duty that was menial, the new
corporals would get it. The second day out we stopped at noon to let
our horses rest, when little scouting parties that had been sent out on
different roads during the forenoon, began to come in. Many of them had
picked up straggling rebels, and brought them to damp, and they were
carefully guarded, and the major, who was in command of our party, was
asking them questions, and pumping them to find out all he could. I
went over and looked at them, and they were quite a nice looking lot
of fellows, some being officers, with plenty of gold lace on their gray
suits. They were home from the Confederate army on a leave of absence,
probably recruiting. After talking with a rebel officer for a time the
major turned to the adjutant and said, “send me a corporal and ten
men.” The adjutant started, on, and I followed him. I used to know the
adjutant when he taught a district school, before the war, and I asked
him as a special favor to let me be the corporal. He said the detail
would be from my company, and if I could fix it with the orderly
sergeant of my company it was all right. I rushed to my company and
found the orderly, and got him to promise if there was a detail from the
company that day, I could go. Before the words were out of his mouth the
detail came, and in five minutes I reported to the major with ten men.
The major simply told me that a certain rebel captain, from Lee's army,
was reported to be at home, and his plantation was about four miles
east, and he described it to me. He told me to ride out there, surround
the house, capture the captain, and bring him into camp.
No general ever received his orders in regard to fighting a battle, with
a feeling of greater pride and responsibililty than I did my orders
to capture that rebel. We started out, and then for the first time I
noticed that there was another corporal in the squad with, me, and
at once it occurred to me that he might claim a part of the glory
of capturing the rebel. I had heard of the jealousy existing between
generals, and how the partisans of different generals filled the
newspapers, after a battle, with accounts of the part taken by their
favorites, and that the accounts got so mixed, up that the reader
couldn't tell to whom the credit of success was due, and I decided to
take prompt measure with this supernumerary corporal, who had evidently
got in by mistake, so I told him he might go back to the regiment. He
said he guessed not. He had been detailed to go on the scout, and he was
going, if he knew himself, and he thought he did. He said when it come
right down to rank, he was an older corporal than I was, and could take
command of the squad if he wanted to. I told him he was mistaken as to
his position. That if the major had wanted him to take charge of the
expedition, he would have given him the instructions, but as the major
had given me the instructions, in a low tone of voice, nobody but myself
knew where we were going or what we were going for, and that I was
responsible, and the first intimation I had from him that he wanted to
mutiny, or relieve me from my command, I would have him shot at once.
I told him he could go along, but he must keep his mouth shut, and obey
orders. He said he would obey, if he felt like it. We moved on, and I
would have given a month's pay if that corporal had not been there. In a
short time we were in sight of the house, and at a cross road I told the
corporal to take one man and stop there, until further orders, and if
any rebel came along, to capture him. He was willing enough to stay
there, because there was a patch, of musk melons just over the fence. I
moved my remaining eight men to a high piece of ground near the house,
and halted, to look over the field of battle. Pulling a spy glass from
my pocket, which I had borrowed from the sutler, I surveyed, as near
like a general as possible, the situation. On one side of the house
was a ravine, which I decided must be held at all hazards, and after
studying my copy of tactics a moment, I sent an Irishman over there to
hold the key to the situation, and told him he might consider himself
the Iron Brigade. The lay of the ground reminded me much of pictures I
had seen of the battle of Bull Run, and the road on which I had left
the corporal and one man, was the road to Washington, on which we would
retreat, if overcome by the enemy. To the right of the ravine, which was
held by the Iron Brigade, I noticed a hen-house with a gate leading back
to the nigger quarters, and I called a soldier and told him to make a
detour behind a piece of woods, and at a signal from me, the waving of
my right arm, to charge directly to the gate of the hen-house, and
hold it against any force that might attempt to carry it, and to let
no guilty man escape. Fifteen years afterwards Gen. Grant used those
self-same words, “Let no guilty man escape,” and they became historic,
but I will take my oath I was the first commander to use the words,
when I sent that man to hold the gate of the hen-house. That man I
denominated the First Division. Farther to the right was a field of
sweet potatoes, in which was a colored man digging the potatoes. I sent
a Dutchman to hold that field, with their right resting on the left of
the First Division, located at the gate of the hen-house, whose right
was supposed to rest on the left of the Iron Brigade, the Irishman who
commanded the ravine. Then I turned my attention to the left of the
battle-field, placed one man at the milk-house, with his left resting on
the right of the Irishman, and a man at the smoke-house. This left three
men, one of whom I appointed an aid de camp, one an orderly and the
other I held as a reserve, at a cotton gin. When I had got my army into
position, I sat under a tree and reflected a little, and concluded that
the Iron Brigade was in rather too exposed a position, so I sent my aid
de camp to order the Iron Brigade to move forward, under cover of the
ravine, and take a position behind a mule-shed. The aide soon returned
and reported that the Iron Brigade had taken off his shirt and kanoodled
a negro woman to wash it for him, and would not be able to move until
the shirt was dry.
This altered my plans a little, but I was equal to the emergency, and
ordered my reserve to make a detour and take the mule-shed, and hold it
until relieved by the Iron Brigade, which would be as soon as his shirt
was dry, and then to report to me on the field. Then I took my aide and
orderly, and galloped around the lines, to see that all was right. I
found that the First Division, holding the gate of the hen-house, was
well in hand, though he had killed five chickens, and had them strapped
on his saddle, and was trying to cut off the head of another with his
sabre. He said he thought I said to let no guilty hen escape. I found
the Iron Brigade dismounted, his shirt hung on a line to dry, and the
colored woman had been pressed into the Federal service, and was frying
a chicken for the Brigade. I told him to get his shirt on as soon as it
was dry, and move by forced marches, to relieve the force holding the
mule-shed, and the Iron Brigade said he would as soon as he had his
dinner. I found the Division composed of the Dutchman, stubbornly
holding the sweet-potato field, and he was eating some boiled ham and
corn-bread he had sent the nigger to the house after, and he had a
bushel of sweet-potatoes in a sack strapped to his saddle. The force
at the milk-house had a fine position, and gave me a pitcher of
butter-milk, which I drank with great gusto. I do not know as there is
anything in butter-milk that is stimulating, but after drinking it
my head seemed clearer, and I could see the whole battle-field, and
anticipate each movement I should cause to be made. I was so pleased
with the butter-milk, on the eve of battle, that I ordered the second
Division to fill my canteen with it, which he did. Then I rode back to
my headquarters, where I started from, having ridden clear around
the beleaguered plantation. Presently the reserve returned to me and
reported that he had been relieved by the Iron Brigade at the mule-shed,
whose shirt had become dry, and who had given the reserve a leg of
fried chicken, and a corn dodger. I took the leg of chicken away from my
reserve, eat it with great relish, and prepared for the onslaught, the
reserve picking some persimmons off a tree and eating them for lunch.
I was about to order the different divisions and brigades of my army to
advance from their different positions, and close in on the enemy, when
a colored man came out of the house and moved toward me, signalling
that he would fain converse with me. I struck a dignified attitude, by
throwing my right leg over the pommel of the saddle, like a hired girl
riding a plow-horse to town after a doctor, and waited. When he came up
to me, he said, “Massa wants to know what all dis darn foolishness is
about. He says if you all don't go away from here he will shoot de liver
outen you all.” I told the negro to be calm, and not cause me to resort
to extreme measures, and I asked him if his master was at home. He said
he was, and he was a bad man wid a gun. He had killed plenty of men
before the war, and since the war he had killed more Yankees than enough
to build a rail-fence around the plantation. I did not exactly like the
reports in regard to the enemy. I told the colored man to take a flag of
truce to his master, and tell him I would like an interview. The colored
man went to the house, and I sent for the Iron Brigade to report to
me at once, in light marching order, and the Irishman came riding up
without any shirt on. I caused the Brigade to put on his shirt, when I
sent him to the house, to follow the nag of truce and feel of the enemy.
He went to the house, and was evidently invited in, for he disappeared.
I waited half an hour for him, and as he did not show up, I called the
Second Division, and sent the Dutchman to the house. The Second Division
went in, and did not come out. I ordered the whole right wing of my army
to deploy to my support, and the fellow at the hen-house gate came, and
I sent him in after the Irishman and the Dutchman. He didn't come back,
and I sent an orderly after the force stationed at the milk-house, and
he came, and I sent him, with the same result. It was evident I was
frittering away my command, with no good result, so I looked at my
tactics, and decided to hold a council of war. My aide, orderly, and
reserve, three besides myself, composed the council of war. We three
were in favor of ordering up the other corporal and man from the
cross-roads, but I opposed it. I did not want the other corporal to have
any finger in the pie. So I decided that the four of us would go in a
body to the house and demand the surrender of the rebel captain. We
rode down the lane where the other men had gone, and it was a question
whether we ever came back alive. I thought they had a trap door in the
house, which probably let the soldiers down suddenly into a dungeon.
Certainly unless there was something of the kind my men would have come
back. As we dismounted at the door; and walked up the steps, the door
opened and a fine looking rebel officer appeared smiling.
“Come in, Captain, with your men, and join me in a glass of wine,” said
the rebel.
I had never been called “Captain” before, and it touched me in a tender
spot. The rebel evidently thought I looked like a captain, and I was
proud. He had probably watched my maneuvers, and the way I handled my
men, and thought I was no common soldier.
“Well, I don't care if I do,” said I, and we walked into a splendid old
room, and were bidden to be seated.
“Hello, Corp,” said my Iron Brigade, as he took his legs down from a
table, and poured out a glass of whisky from a bottle near him, “This is
the divil's own place for an aisy life.”
“Gorporal,” said my Dutch fellow soldier, as he poured out a glass of
schnapps, “Led me indroduce you mit dot repel. He is a tasy, und
don'd you forgot aboud it. Mishder repel, dot ish der gorporal fun my
gumpany.”
The rebel smiled and said he was glad to see me, and hoped I was well,
and would I take wine, or something stronger. I took a small glass of
wine, but the rest of the fellows took strong drink, and my Iron Brigade
was already full, and the Dutchman was getting full rapidly. Finally I
told the rebel officer that I did not like to accept a man's hospitality
when I had such an unpleasant duty to perform as to arrest him, but
circumstances seemed to make it necessary. He said that was all right.
In times of war we must do many things that were unpleasant. We took
another drink, and then I told him I was sorry to inconvenience him,
but he would have to accompany me to camp. He said certainly, he had
expected to be captured ever since he saw that the house was surrounded,
and while at first he had made up his mind to take his rifle and kill
us all from the gallery of the house, he had thought better of it, and
would surrender without bloodshed. What was the use of killing any more
men? The war was nearly over, and why not submit, and save carnage. I
told him that was the way I felt about it. Then he said if I would wait
until he retired to an adjoining room and changed his linen, he would be
ready. I said of course, certainly, and he went out of a door. I waited
about half an hour, until it seemed to me the rebel had had time to
change all the linen in the state of Alabama. The Iron Brigade had gone
to sleep on a lounge, and the German troop was full as a goat, and some
of the others were beginning to feel the hospitality.
“I beg your pardon for intruding,” said I, as I opened the door and
walked into the room the rebel had entered. “Great Scott, he is gone!”
My army, all except the Iron Brigade and the Dutchman, followed me, and
the room was empty. A window was up, through which he had escaped. We
searched the house, but there was no rebel captain. On going to the
front door I found that the horse belonging to the iron brigade was
gone, and that the saddle girths of all the other horses had been
unbuckled, so we would be delayed in following him. The Irishman was
awakened, and when he found his horse was gone, he sobered up and went
to the pasture and borrowed a mule to ride.
It took us half an hour to fix our saddles, so we could ride, and then
we sadly started for camp. How could I face the major, and report to
him that I had met the rebel captain, talked with him, drank with
him, enjoyed his hospitality, and then let him escape? I felt that my
military career had come to an inglorious ending. “We rode slow, because
the Iron Brigade was insecurely mounted on a slippery bare-backed mule.
As we neared the corporal and one man, that I had left to guard the
cross-roads, I noticed that there was a stranger with them, and on
riding closer what was my surprise to find that it was the rebel
captain, under arrest. So the confounded corporal, whom I had left there
so he would be out of the way, and not get any of the glory of capturing
the rebel, had captured him, and got _all_ the glory. I was hurt, but
putting on a bold military air, like a general who has been whipped, I
said:
“Ah, corporal, I see my plan has worked successfully. I arranged it so
this prisoner would run right into the trap.”
“Yes,” said the corporal, throwing away a melon rind that he had been
chewing the meat off of, “I saw his nibs coming down the road, and I
thought may be he was the one you wanted, so I told him to halt or I
would fill his lungs full of lead pills, and he said he guessed he
would halt. He said it was a nice day, and he was only trying one of
the Yankee cavalry horses, to see how he liked it.” “Here, you murdherin'
divil, get down aff that harse,” said the Iron Brigade, who had got
awake enough to see that the rebel was on his horse. “Take this mule,
and lave a dacent gintleman's harse alone.”
The rebel smiled, dismounted, gave the Irishman his horse, mounted the
mule, and we started for camp. I was never so elated in my life as I was
when I rode into camp with that rebel captain beside me on the mule. The
object of the expedition had been accomplished, a little different, it
is true, from what I had expected and planned, but who knew that it was
not a part of my plan to have it turn out as it did? I reflected
much, and wondered if it was right for me to report the capture of the
Confederate and say nothing about the part played by the other corporal.
That corporal was no military strategist, like me. It was just a streak
of luck, his capturing the rebel. He was leaning against the fence where
I left him, eating melons, and the rebel came along, and the corporal
quit chewing melon long enough to obey my orders and arrest the fellow.
By all rules of military law I was entitled to the credit, and I would
take it, though it made me ashamed to do so. How-ever, generals did
the same thing. If a major-general was in command, and ordered a
brigadier-general to do a thing and it was a success, the major-general
got the credit in the newspapers. So I rode into camp and turned my
prisoner over to the major as modestly as possible, with a few words of
praise of my gallant command. Hello, Jim, said the major to the rebel.
Hello, Maje, said the rebel.
“Better take off them togs now, and join your company, said the major.
“I guess so,” said the rebel, and he took off his rebel uniform, and the
major handed him a blue coat and pair of pants, and he put them on.
I was petrified. The fact was, the rebel was a sergeant in our regiment,
who had been detailed as a scout, and had been making a trip into the
rebel lines as a spy. I had made an ass of myself in the whole business,
and he would tell all the boys about it. I went back to my company
crushed.