My Sickness and Hospital Experiences Have Spoiled Me for a
Soldier--I Am Full of Charity, and Hope the War Will Cease--
We Have a Grand Attack--The Battle Lasted Ten Minutes--The
Rebel Angel's Brother is Captured.
I became satisfied, more each day, that my sickness, and experience in
the hospital, had spoiled me for a soldier. Being attended to so kindly
by a rebel girl and getting acquainted with her people, and hearing her
mother pray earnestly that the bloodshed might cease, sort of knocked
what little fight there was in me, out, and I didn't hanker any more
for blood. It seemed to me as though I could meet any rebel on top of
earth, and shake hands with him, and ask him to share my tent, and help
eat my rations.
The fact of being promoted to a commissioned office, didn't make me feel
half as good as I thought it was going to, and I found myself wishing I
could be a he sister of charity, or something that did not have to
shoot a gun, or go into any fight. I got so I didn't care whether my
commission ever arrived or not. The idea of respectable men going out to
hunt each other, like game, became ridiculous to me, and I wondered why
the statesmen of the North and South did not get together and agree
on some sort of a compromise, and have the fighting stop. I would have
agreed to anything, only, of course, whatever arrangement was made, it
must be understood that the South had no right to secede. Then I would
think, Why, that is all the South is fighting for, and if they concede
that they are wrong it is the same as though they were whipped, and of
course they could not agree to that. I tried to think out lots of ways
to wind the business up without fighting any more, but all the plans
I made, maintained that our side was right, and I concluded to give
up worrying about it. But I made up my mind that I would not fight any
more. I was still weak from sickness, and there was no fight in me. I
thought this over a good deal, and concluded that if I was called upon
to go into another fight, where there was any chance of anybody being
killed, I would just have a relapse, and go to the hospital again till
it was over. I had heard of fellows being taken suddenly ill when a
fight was in prospect, and I knew they were always laughed at, but I
made up my mind that I had rather be laughed at than to hurt anybody.
There was no thought of sneaking out of a fight because of the danger of
being killed myself, but I just didn't want to shoot any friends of that
girl who had nursed me when I was sick. These thoughts kept coming to me
for a week or more, and one evening it was rumored around that we were
liable to be attacked the next day. Some of our regiments had been out
all day, and they reported the enemy marching on our position, in force.
The rebels that lived in town could not conceal their joy at the idea
that we were to be cleaned out. They would hint that there were enough
Confederates concentrating at that point to drive every Yankee into the
river, and they were actually preparing bandages and lint, to take care
of the Confederates who might be wounded. If we had taken their word for
it there wouldn't be a Yankee left in town, when the Confederate boys
begun to get in their work. I went to bed that night resolved that I
should not be so well in the morning, and would go to surgeon's call,
and be sent to the hospital. But I didn't like the way those rebels
talked about the coming fight. Egad, if they were so sure our fellows
were going to be whipped, may be I would stay and see about it. If they
thought any of our fellows were going to slink out, when they made their
brags about whipping us, they would find their mistake. However, if I
didn't feel very well in the morning, I would go to surgeon's call, but
I wouldn't go to the hospital. In the meantime, I would just see if I
had cartridges enough for much of a row, and rub up the old carbine a
little, for luck. Not that. I wanted to shoot anybody dead, but I could
shoot their horses, and make the blasted rebels walk, anyway. And so all
that evening I was part of the time trying to see my way clear to get
out of a regular fight, where anybody would be liable to get hurt,
and again I was wondering if my sickness had injured my eyesight so I
couldn't take good aim at the buttons on a rebel's coat. I was about
half and half. If the rebels would let us alone, and not bring on a
disturbance, I was for peace at any price, but gol-blast them, if
they come fooling around trying to scare anybody, I wouldn't go to a
hospital, not much. I talked with Jim about it, and he felt about as I
did. He didn't want any more fighting, and while he couldn't go to the
hospital, he was going to try and get detailed to drive a six mule
team for the quartermaster, but he cleaned up his gun all the same, and
looked over his cartridges to see if they were all right. We got up
next morning, got our breakfast, and Jim asked me if I was going to the
hospital and I told him I would wait till afternoon. I asked him if he
was going to drive mules, and he said not a condemned mule, not until
the fight was over. There was a good deal of riding around, orderlies,
staff officers, etc. Artillery was moving around, and about eight o
clock some of our boys who had been on picket all night, came in looking
tired and nervous, saying they had been shot at all night, and that the
rebels had got artillery and infantry till you couldn't rest, and they
would make it mighty warm for us before night. Orders come to each
company, that no soldier was to leave camp under any circumstances, to
go to town or anywhere. I told Jim if he was going to drive mules, he
better be seeing the quartermaster sergeant, but he said he never was
much gone on mule driving, anyhow. But he said if he looked as sick as
I did he would go to the hospital too quick. I told him there wasn't
anything the matter with me. Pretty soon, over to the right, near the
river, there was a cannon discharged. It was not long before another
went off around to the left, and then a dozen, twenty, a hundred,
all along the line. They were rebel cannon, and pretty soon they were
answered by our batteries. Then there was a rattling of infantry, and
the noise was deafening. I expected at the first fire that our bugler
would come out in front of headquarters and blow for heaven's sake, for
us to saddle up, but for three hours we loafed around camp and no move
was made. It was tiresome. We started to play cards several times, but
nobody could remember what was trumps, and we gave that up. Some of our
boys would sneak up on to a hill for a few minutes, against orders, and
come back and say that they could see the fight, and it was which and
tother. Then a few more would sneak off, and after awhile the whole
regiment was up on the hill, looking off to the hills and valleys,
watching rebel shells strike our earth works and throw up the dust, and
watching our shells go over to the woods where the rebels were. Then
I found myself hoping our shells were just paralyzing the Johnnies.
Presently the ambulances began to come by us, loaded with wounded, and
that settled it. When there was no fighting, and I was half sick, and
felt under obligations to a Confederate girl for taking care of me,
I didn't want any of her friends hurt, but when her friends forgot
them-selves, and come to a peaceable place, and began to kill off our
boys, friendship ceased, and I wondered why we didn't get orders to
saddle up and go in. We were all on the hill watching things, when the
colonel, who had been riding off somewhere, came along. We thought he
would order us all under arrest for disobeying orders, but he rode up to
us, and pointing to a place off to the right a mile or so, where there
was a sharp infantry fight, he said, “Boys, we shall probably go in
right there about 3 p.m., unless the rebels are reinforced,” and he rode
down to his tent. Well, after about twenty ambulances had gone by us
with wounded soldiers, we didn't care how soon we went in there. We
watched the infantry and artillery for another hour, as pretty a sight
as one often sees. It was so far away we could not see men fall, and it
was more like a celebration, until one got near enough to see the dead.
Presently the regimental bugle sounded “Boots and saddles,” and in a
minute every man on the hill had rushed down to his tent, even before
the notes had died away from the bugle. Nothing was out of place. Every
soldier had known that the bugle _would_ sound sooner or later, and we
had everything ready. It did not seem five minutes before every company
was mounted, in its street, waiting for orders. Jim leaned over towards
me and said, “Hospital?” and I answered, “Not if I know myself,” and I
patted my carbine on the stock. I said to him, “Six mule team?” and he
whispered back, “Nary six mule team for the old man.” Then the bugle
sounded the “Assembly,” and each company rode up on to the hill and
formed in regimental front facing the battle. Every eye was on the place
where the colonel had said we would probably “go in.” There never was a
more beautiful sight, and every man in the cavalry regiment looked at
it till his eyes ached. Then came an order to dismount and every man was
ordered to tighten up his saddle girth as tight as the horse would bear
it, and be sure his stirrup straps were too short rather than too long.
To a cavalry man these orders mean business.
Then we mounted again, and a few noticed a flag off to the right
signaling. The colonel noticed it and coolly gave the order, “fours
right, march.” We went off towards the fighting, then right down by our
own cannon and formed in line behind the infantry, that was at work with
the enemy, the artillery firing over our heads at the confederates in
the woods. The noise was so loud that one could not hear his neighbor
speak; but above it all came a buggle note, and glancing to the left,
another cavalry regiment, and another, formed on our left. Another bugle
note, and to the right another cavalry regiment formed, and for half a
mile there was a line of horsemen, deafened by the waiting the command
of some man, through a bugle. If the rebels had time to notice those
four regiments of cavalry, fresh and ready for a gallop, they must have
known that it was a good time to get away. Finally, our artillery ceased
firing and it seemed still as death, except for the rattling of infantry
in front of us. The rebel artillery had ceased firing also, and a great
dust beyond the woods showed that they were getting away. The bugle
sounded “forward” and that line of cavalry started on a walk. The
infantry in front ceased firing, and went to the right of us at a
double-quick, and the field was clear of our men. While our cavalry was
walking, they kept a pretty good line, each man glancing to the
right for a guide. As we neared the place where our infantry had been
stationed, it was necessary to break up a little to pass dead and
wounded without riding over them, and when falling back to keep from
hurting a wounded comrade, a look at the line up and down showed that it
was almost a mob, with no shape, but after get-ing forty rods, we
passed the field where men had fallen, and the order to “close up, guide
right,” was given, and in an instant the line was perfect. Then came the
order to trot, and we went a short distance, until the rebels could
be plainly seen behind trees, logs, and in line, firing. We halted and
fired a few rounds from carbines, and then dropped the carbines, on
orders. For a moment nothing was done, when officers ordered every man
to draw his revolver, and when the six charges had been fired, after
near-ing the enemy, to drop the revolver in the holster, and draw
sabers, and every man for himself, but to rally on the colors, at the
sound of the bugle, and not to go too far. Talk about being sick, and
going to the hospital, or driving mules! Coward as I was, and I knew it,
there was something about the air that made me feel that I wouldn't be
in the hospital that day for all the money in the world. All idea of
being sorry for the enemy, all charity, all hope that the war might
close before any more men were killed, was gone. After looking in the
upturned faces of our dead and wounded on the field, the more of the
enemy that were killed the better. It is thus that war makes men brutal,
while in active service. They think of things and do things that they
regret immediately after the firing ceases. The next ten minutes was the
nearest thing to hell that I ever experienced, and it seemed as though
my face must look like that of a fiend. I felt like one. The bugle
sounded “forward,” and then there was an order to trot, and the
revolver firing began, with the enemy so near that you could see their
countenances, their eyes. Some of them were mounted, others were on
foot, some on artillery caissons, and all full of fight. It did not take
long to exhaust the revolvers, and then the sabers began to come out,
and the horrible word “charge,” came from a thousand throats, and every
soldier yelled like a Comanche Indian, the line spread out like a fan,
and every soldier on his own hook. Sabers whacked, horses run, everybody
yelled. Men said “I surrender,” “What you jabbing at me for when I ain't
fighting no moah,” “Drop that gun, you Johnnie, and go to the rear.”
Ones of pain and anguish, and awful sounds that a man ought never to
hear but once. The business was all done in ten minutes.
Many of our men were killed and wounded, and many of theirs were treated
the same way. Those who could get away, got, and those we passed without
happening to hit them, were prisoners, because the infantry followed
and took them back to the rear. Jim and me stayed as near together as
possible, and we noticed one young Confederate on a mule. His left arm
was hanging limp by his side, and as Jim passed on one side of him and I
on the other, he said, as he held up his right hand, “I dun got enough,
and I surrender.” The thing was about over, the bugle having sounded the
“recall,” and we turned and went back with this Confederate. He was
as handsome a boy as ever fired a gun, and while he was pale from his
shattered left arm, and weak, he said, “You gentlemen are all fine
riders, sir. You fought as well as Southern men, sir.” That was a
compliment that Jim and me acknowledged on behalf of the northern army.
He couldn't have paid our regiment a higher compliment if he had
studied a week. Then he said: “I was a fool to be in this fight. I was
a prisoner and was only exchanged last week. I might have remained at
home on a furlough, but when our army came along yesterday, and the boys
said there was going to be a fight, I took my sisters mule, the only
animal on the place, and came along, and now I am a cripple.” I looked
at the mule, and I said to Jim, in a whisper, “I hope to die if it isn't
the angel's mule. That must be her brother.” Jim was going to ask him
what his name was, when we neared the place, where our regiment was
forming and the surgeon of our regiment came along, and I said, “Doc, I
wish you would take this young fellow and fix up his arm nice. He is a
friend of mine. Take him to our regimental hospital.” Then we went
back to the regiment, the prisoners were taken away, and after marching
around through the woods for an hour we rode back to our camp, and the
battle was over. Two or three hours later I went over to the regimental
hospital and found the black-eyed confederate with his arm dressed, and
he was talking with our boys as though he belonged there. Some one asked
how he happened to be there, and the old doctor said he believed he was
a relative of one of our officers. Anyway he was going to stay there. I
gave him a bunch of sutler cigars, and left him, and an hour later the
“angel” showed up, pale as death, and wanted some one to go with her to
the battle held to help find the body of her dead brother. She said he
had arrived home from the North the morning before, and had gone into
the fight, and when the Confederates came back, defeated, past their
plantation, her brother was not among them, and she knew he was dead.
I have done a great many things in my life that have given me pleasure,
but no one that I remember of that made me quite so happy as I was to
escort the girl who had been so kind to me, to the hospital where her
brother was. His wound was not serious, and he sat on a box, smoking a
cigar, telling the boys the news from Wisconsin. He had just come from
there, where he was a prisoner, and he couldn't talk enough about the
kindness of the “people of the nowth.” His sister almost fainted when
she found him alive, then hugged him until I was afraid she would
disturb his arm, and then she sat by him and heard him tell of his visit
to Wisconsin. Before night he was allowed to go home with his sister on
parole, and Jim and I were detailed to go and help bury the dead of the
regiment.