IN CAMP AT WHITE HOUSE
“We’ve stirred up the Johnnies, boys, come on!”
It was one of the boys in blue who uttered the cry. He had forded the
little stream and now his friends came after him. Rifle shots were
sounding out up and down the water-course for a distance of several
hundred feet, and the Union soldiers pushed their way through the
hollow with care.
A minute after another detachment of Northern soldiers appeared.
They were from the Goreville Volunteers, and were headed by Nathan
Hornsby. In some manner the Goreville boys had become detached from
the remainder of their command and were “bunking” with a New Jersey
company, also detached.
Hornsby had noted the skirmish and had led forth ten men, including
Harry Bingham and Callings. He had asked Jerry Rowe to come, but Jerry
had declined, saying he was suffering from a lame foot. Jerry’s lame
foot was very much in evidence from that time on, whenever a fight was
close at hand, although it was noted he could retreat about as fast as
any sprinter present.
“Here’s a camp,” cried Hornsby, as they came in sight of the place. “If
they haven’t set fire to their hut,” he added.
“We’ll force them back,” put in Callings. “If--listen!”
He stopped short, and every man listened, his hand on the trigger of
his weapon.
“It’s a cry for help!” put in Harry. “I believe it comes from the
dugout!”
“Some poor, wounded fellow has been left behind,” said Hornsby. “Let us
rescue him. It’s awful to let anybody burn up.”
“I’m with you,” answered Harry. “But look out, it may be only a trick
of the enemy.”
Cautiously but rapidly they advanced. In the meantime the firing down
the stream became louder, showing the Confederates were massing at that
point. Soon Harry Bingham gained the dugout and kicking aside several
of the firebrands, he entered and Hornsby followed.
“Louis! Is it possible!”
“Harry! Oh, how thankful I am that you have come! Kick those firebrands
away. I am almost suffocated,” and the last word fairly choked in
Louis’s throat. His eyes were bulging from their sockets and he could
not have held out much longer. Harry did as directed, while Hornsby
drew out his jack-knife and cut the rope. Between them they took the
released one out into the fresh air, where the rain and coolness soon
revived him.
“So the Confederates captured you,” said Harry, as he continued to
support Louis.
“Do you know who it was, Harry? Sam Jacks, Caleb Fox, and their
followers.”
“Really!”
“Yes, and that’s not all. The whole crowd are nothing but common
thieves,” and in a few brief words Louis related what had occurred.
“I’m mighty glad they don’t belong to our side,” he concluded.
“Such rascals don’t belong to either side, Louis,” answered Harry,
gravely. “Why General Johnson, or Longstreet, or Hill, or any of those
Confederate leaders would shoot ’em on sight, you know that as well as
I do.”
There was no time to say more, for some of the Union men were coming
back, shouting that the rebel force were too much for them. Limping
painfully, Louis followed his friends back to the camp of the Goreville
Volunteers, and was not long in getting to bed. A desultory firing was
kept up all night, but no further raids upon either side were attempted.
On the following morning a discovery awaited the Union leaders. During
the blackness of the night and the noise of the storm the greater
part of the Confederate forces had withdrawn from Williamsburg, thus
continuing their retreat towards Richmond. The way was now once more
clear to the Union forces. On the 8th of May the onward march was
resumed, not directly for Richmond, but towards White House, which
was to be the base of supplies during the final advance upon the
Confederate capital. The march to the great plain before White House
occupied, in one way and another, a week, and during that time a branch
of the army, as before stated, fought and sent the Confederates flying
from West Point, not many miles distant.
The march, on account of the miserable weather and the wretched
condition of the roads, was a weary one and was not totally devoid
of peril. On the way the baggage train sought to take a side road,
thinking to find a better bottom for horses and wagons. The train was
barely out of sight of the regular troops when some Confederate cavalry
and soldiers dashed down upon it, sending all in confusion. Andy took
part in this raid, and it is but proper that we should tell here of
what happened to him.
He was resting flat on his back on a bed made of brush when the order
came, “To horse--we move in five minutes!” Weary still from a long,
stubborn fight on the road north of Williamsburg, where the Montgomery
Grays had handsomely repulsed a regiment of Union soldiers in their
fierce struggle to outflank them, Andy leaped up and made ready to
leave. Leroy had warned him, although Andy had heard the bugle, in a
half-dreamy way, being on the verge of dropping to sleep.
“Where are we going, Leroy?”
“After the Yankees’ baggage train, Andy. The general got wind of it
somehow that we may be able to steal some of their wagons. That will be
sport--if we can get hold of anything good to eat.”
“I reckon they haven’t anything much better than ourselves,” said Andy,
as he buckled on his saber and saw to it that his trappings were secure
and Firefly was in proper fettle.
The Montgomery Grays were soon on the road, splashing through the mud
at the rate of eight miles an hour. They had to make a detour, past a
little hut where several women folks were busy dressing chickens.
“They don’t dare to leave them running around any more,” laughed Leroy.
“I declare, I believe some of the boys would rather capture a chicken
than a Yankee.”
“I’m one of that sort--sometimes,” Andy laughed in return. “Um! how
good a nice broiled chicken would taste,” and he smacked his lips.
The Union baggage train had passed New Kent when it was sighted on
the road by the Montgomery Grays. A battery of the Confederates had
also come up, and this opened fire immediately, throwing the train into
great confusion.
“Forward, boys!” shouted Captain Montgomery, and away went the Grays,
down a slight slope at terrific speed. The teamsters in the wagons
nearest to them yelled in alarm, and four of them forsook the two
wagons they were driving and ran for their lives.
“Hurrah! Here are two wagons, Leroy!” shouted Andy; then as Captain
Montgomery dashed by he continued, “Captain, can I drive one of the
wagons off before they can recapture it?”
“Yes,” was the short answer, for now some Union regulars were seen
in the distance. “Take another man with you, and don’t lose your own
horses.”
“We won’t, sir. Come on, Leroy, here’s a lark!” and hopping from
Firefly, Andy leaped up on the seat of the nearest turnout and whipped
up the team. Leroy caught hold of Firefly and rode close alongside,
looking back occasionally in order to cover the rear.
Up along a side road Andy lashed the animals, over sticks and stumps
and through mud a foot and more deep. Once he glanced into the wagon
and saw that it was well filled with some articles carefully covered
with an oiled canvas. “Something worth having in there, I’ll wager a
fortune,” he said to himself. “I hope it’s food. Won’t the Grays have a
feast, if it is!”
The thought was so pleasant it made him smile and he urged forward the
horses again while he shouted out on the side of the covering:
“Anybody coming, Leroy?”
“Some infantry over to the left,” answered his friend. “I can’t make
out if they are Yankees or our own fellows.”
“We won’t run any chances. Phew! won’t those Yanks be mad when they
find we have run off with one of their wagons.”
“I see a box sticking out labeled canned peaches,” went on Leroy. “And
there is another labeled catsup. We’ve struck it rich and no mistake,
Andy.”
“We’ll divide with the boys to-night, Leroy--it will help ’em to
remember this capture so much longer,” concluded Andy, and a vision of
a heaped-up plate of canned peaches loomed up most appetizingly before
his mind. The catsup he did not care so much about, although it would
go very well with pork and beans.
On and on they went until a down grade was gained. By this time the
firing which had begun in the distance had ceased, and they heard the
tramp of cavalry behind them. A quarter of an hour later the Montgomery
Grays came up. Some United States regulars had appeared to protect the
wagon train and the object of the Confederate raid was very largely
defeated. But they had one wagon, and of this Andy felt very proud.
“Canned peaches and catsup and lots of other good things, boys!” he
sang out, as they continued on their way, and he promised to share and
share alike all around as soon as camp was reached, providing Captain
Montgomery was willing, and the captain was.
Sundown found them safe within the Confederate lines again. A motley
collection of infantry, cavalrymen, and artillerists gathered around.
“Now for some of them canned peaches and some catsup!” cried somebody,
and the oiled canvas was hauled aside and the boxes were lifted
carefully to the ground. The covers were partly loose and were speedily
wrenched off.
“Great gumboils!”
“It ain’t canned peaches at all; it’s only axle-grease!”
“Axle-grease and wagon hardware! Well, I swan!”
What a howl went up! Then the crowd turned to poor Andy and Leroy.
But that pair had nothing to say. They sneaked out of sight with all
possible speed. It was a long while before either heard the last of
that “canned peaches and catsup.”
The passing of the cannon ball and the peril endured in the dugout had
weakened Louis a good deal, and the march through Williamsburg and New
Kent Court House proved a wearisome one to him.
“I’m glad we are to rest at last,” he remarked to Harry, when they came
into sight of the camp on the plain previously mentioned. “Another day
on the road would do me up.”
“I never saw so much mud in my life, Louis; but see, I think we are
going to have a fairly good camping place, well up the side of yonder
slope. That will mean a whole lot in this beastly weather.”
By noon guns had been stacked, lines formed, and tents had been
pitched. It took the army two days to enter and take possession of the
plain, and this vast body of men occupied a territory about four miles
square. When all were settled it was a most imposing sight. There were
miles after miles of “dog” tents, with here and there a high marquee
for the officers, standing up like church steeples in a big city.
There were line after line of cannon and ammunition carriages, a vast
collection of wagons, and thousands upon thousands of horses, while the
blue uniformed soldiers filled every “street” and crossway. Back on the
river loomed up the gunboats of the navy and hundreds of transports,
and everything was alive, bustling and “chock full of business,” as
Harry declared. It was a scene worthy of the greatest painter in the
world. If this great and superb army could not conquer, it was only
because they met, not enemies, but brothers worthy of their steel.
Nearly a week was spent in the Cumberland camp, as it has been called
by many, and that week, despite the fact that the army was doing no
fighting, was a busy one, although now all of the soldiers got their
proper time to rest. The sun came out once more, the ground began to
dry up, and as Louis said, “life was once more worth living.”
Near to where the Goreville Volunteers were situated flowed a small
stream, and in this the soldiers went bathing and washed their
clothing. It was rather a comical sight to see hundreds of men
squatting down by the water’s edge, or sitting upon flat rocks, rubbing
and soaping and rinsing away like so many washer-women. Even the
soldiers had to laugh at themselves, and many were the jokes passed
about getting a job in a laundry when the war was over. Some few were
too lazy to do much work of this sort, but the majority would go a
long way to be clean and comfortable. Of course mending went with the
washing, and even Louis sat for hours, threading a needle that seldom
would thread, and sewing on buttons and mending socks.
Mail day was an event, and the soldier who did not get at least
one letter from home was the object of genuine sympathy. After the
communications were delivered there were always a certain number left,
mute reminders of war’s terrors, for those letters were addressed to
those who had died on the field of battle.
There was other reading, too, for the newspapers from New York, Boston,
and Philadelphia could be had, if one wanted to pay the price, which
was from ten cents to “two shillings” apiece, and these and the big
pictorial weeklies were read by one and another until the pages would
no longer hold together. There were also many religious books and
tracts, supplied by the various religious societies of the North,
reading that brought many a poor sinner to the realization of his
condition.
Among the letters was one from home for Louis, stating his last had
been received. Mr. Rockford mentioned the fact that he had had another
call from Samuel Hammer and the fellow had threatened him with a suit
at law to gain possession of the farm unless he was paid the three
thousand dollars he demanded.
“I have put him off as best I could,” wrote Mr. Rockford. “And in the
meantime I have learned that when Theodore Faily left this neighborhood
he went to Richmond, Virginia, to live. Were it not for the war I
should communicate with Faily at once and see if I could not get him
to settle this Hammer claim. But, as matters now stand, my hands seem
to be tied. I wish the war was over and we could get this matter
straightened out. It worries your mother greatly.”
“This is certainly too bad!” murmured Louis. “If Faily went to Richmond
we won’t be able to get at him, no matter how hard we try--at least for
the present. I wish I could help father out of this trouble.”
Thus far during the campaign the Goreville Volunteers had lost six
men. Besides this, nine were in the hospital, four wounded, and five
down with the swamp fever and other sickness. For the sick ones, the
boys did all they possibly could, buying them delicacies and the like,
and sitting by them and reading the news in a low tone, so as not to
disturb others.
So one day after another went by until the time mentioned had passed.
Then came the orders to strike tents, and once more the army was set in
motion, with its face turned towards Richmond, about ten miles distant.
The great crisis of the peninsula campaign was at hand.