SERVICE IN WASHINGTON AND GEORGETOWN, D.C., 1861-1862.
When I awoke on my first morning in Washington, I hastened out of
doors to have a look around. The first prominent object I saw was the
great white capitol building, the steel ribs of its unfinished dome
strongly outlined against a clear sky. I took a long look at
everything in view and then answered roll-call and had breakfast in
the "Soldiers' Rest," after which we formed ranks in the street, where
we "stacked arms" and waited for orders, watching meanwhile the
arrival of some volunteer troops who had just come in on the cars and
marched into the "Soldiers' Rest." Troops were beginning to arrive
daily in large numbers in response to the President's call for "four
hundred thousand more." About ten o'clock in the forenoon we received
orders to "fall in" and the four companies separated, being sent to
quarters in different parts of the city.
My company marched up Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House. On
the way some ladies presented each man with a Havelock, which is a
cover for the forage cap and was made of white muslin and with a hood
to protect the back of the head and neck from the sun's rays. They had
been much worn by English soldiers in India during Major-General Sir
Henry Havelock's time, and looked very fine when an entire regiment
wore them on parade; but in less than a year their use was abandoned,
as they were too conspicuous and kept the air from our necks. Our
march ended at a house on the north side of K, near Eighteenth Street,
which was to be our quarters. It was a three-story and basement
private dwelling of the usual type and was devoid of any furniture. It
belonged to a secessionist and, like a number of others, had been
taken charge of by the Government. We drew rations and did our cooking
in the basement and used the upper floors for sleeping, at night
spreading our blankets on the bare floor. We had only light duties to
perform, which left us plenty of time to wander about the city, visit
the capitol and other public buildings. Only the principal streets in
Washington were paved at this time, the remainder were mud roads
rendered almost impassable in rainy weather by the artillery and army
wagons.
It was the first week in August; most of the three-months' warriors
had left for their homes and order was being restored. The streets
were patrolled by regulars and all soldiers found in the city without
permission were arrested, taken to a central guard-house and then
returned to their respective commands. General George B. McClellan had
been called to Washington immediately after the battle of Bull Run and
placed in command of the Army of the Potomac. He was busy with his
staff in organizing a great army. Our quarters being but a short
distance from the headquarters of General McClellan, I had frequent
opportunities of seeing him there and also riding through the streets,
followed by a brilliant staff, among whom were a number of foreign
officers in showy uniforms adorned with decorations and much gold
lace. I also saw President Lincoln on the avenue a few times and saw
his boys in Zouave uniforms "playing soldier" with some companions on
the lawn in front of the White House.
There were probably not more than fifty thousand troops in and about
Washington upon our arrival, but they soon began to come in at a rate
of forty thousand a month, so that by the first of November, 1861, the
numbers had reached one hundred and seventy thousand. They were young
men who enlisted for three years or the duration of the war; they were
patriotic and earnest and were not tempted to enlist by the payment of
bounties. These soldiers became the flower of the Army of the Potomac
and, I think, were not equaled by any subsequent levies.
A thousand regular soldiers had preceded our small command to
Washington and about eight hundred of them had been in the engagement
at Bull Run, including some marines. Among them were also the two
companies of our regiment previously mentioned. From them we learned
many details of what occurred on that disastrous day. This small body
of eight hundred regulars and marines were unaffected by the panic and
covered the retreat of the Federal Army. Many of the regulars were
quartered near the then outskirts of the city on the north side in
hastily constructed wooden buildings, which were called Kalorama
Barracks. There were at that time six companies of my regiment in
Washington, also the regiment headquarters and the band. Four other
companies were with the western armies and remained there throughout
the war. During my entire ten years' service I never saw more than six
companies of the regiment together at one time.
After a stay of about two weeks in the K Street house in Washington my
company (D) and Company A were ordered to Georgetown and quartered in
Forrest Hall, a large sized building on the corner of what were then
called High and Gay Streets. This building is still standing at this
date (1913). There was a large entertainment hall on the second floor
with a raised stage at one end and many wooden benches on the floor.
Company A occupied this apartment, while my company took the third
floor, which was divided into rooms. We slept on the bare floors, as
we had done in K Street, but had the additional comfort of some of the
wooden benches to sit on. The first floor was used for a guard-house
with a large room for prisoners brought in by the patrols; the
basement, which had an alley on the rear leading out into Gay Street,
was used for our kitchen.
On the hot day that we moved into this building a severe thunderstorm
broke out in the afternoon and the rain fell in torrents. We thought
this a good opportunity to get a refreshing bath, and as the high roof
of the building could not be overlooked from any of the houses in the
neighborhood, a number of us took off our clothing and ascended to the
roof and remained there until the storm was over; later on we took our
baths in Rock Creek and our swims in the Potomac above the Aqueduct
Bridge.
It was the custom then in the regular army for every private soldier
to serve a term of two weeks as company cook. There were two cooks to
each company, a head cook and an assistant. After serving as assistant
for a week, one then became chef, unless the chef was satisfactory and
desired to remain longer. It often happened that both of the cooks
remained for months; they got no extra pay, but were relieved from all
other duties and had some perquisites in selling soap-grease, if there
was a market for it. It was my hard luck to be detailed as assistant
cook after we arrived at Forrest Hall, much to my disgust. After a
week's service I was declared to be a failure and returned to company
duty.
A few days later a vacancy occurred and I was promoted to corporal
with two dollars per month additional pay, making fifteen dollars per
month, for the pay of the army had been raised from eleven to thirteen
dollars per month for a private soldier. About this time we received
four months' pay in greenbacks with coupons attached to the larger
notes--the ten and twenty dollar bills, I think. Heretofore we had
always been paid in gold and silver.
We were busy while in Georgetown; we kept a main guard with a sergeant
at the hall in charge of the prisoners, a corporal and six privates at
the Aqueduct Bridge, and the same at the foot of High Street, where
there was a flat-boat rope ferry to Analostan Island in the Potomac
opposite Georgetown. The two companies in Georgetown did not have
their full complement of men; some had been detailed as clerks in the
War Department, and others as orderlies at army headquarters on "extra
duty," as it was called. This made us somewhat short on the "present
for duty" number and caused a tour of twenty-four hours on guard every
three days or less. We also did considerable drilling in company and
skirmish drills, sometimes brigade drills and a few reviews for
General McClellan and staff. We had to patrol the streets of
Georgetown from eight A.M. till ten P.M. for two hours on and two off.
The patrol was a squad of eight privates under a sergeant or a
corporal, often accompanied by an officer in the daytime. This patrol
had authority to enter saloons and other places and search them for
soldiers and demand their passes; every soldier on the street was
halted, and if he had no pass or a poor excuse he was told to fall
into the ranks and march with the patrol until it repassed or returned
to the main guard, where he was turned over to the sergeant, who
recorded his name, company and regiment and then locked him up. There
was, however, considerable leniency both on the part of the officers
and the non-commissioned officers in command of the patrol; if the
soldier were sober and had some sort of a plausible excuse, he was
often simply ordered to get out of town quickly and return to his
camp. It was the drunks that gave us trouble, when we tried to march
them in the ranks. In some extreme cases we took them to the
guard-house in a borrowed hand-cart. One day the patrol arrived just
in time to save the "Eagle Bakery," where a drunken soldier was
wrecking the place because he failed to get a baked eagle he had
ordered.
About this time a very young officer named William Kidd, who belonged
to a prominent New York family, joined my company as second
lieutenant. He was a civil appointee and knew very little about drill
or military matters in general, but was trying to learn. He was well
liked by the men for his genial nature. Often when I was on patrol
with him he would say, "Now, Corporal, you head her in any direction
you like and don't march too fast." He let many a soldier off with a
reprimand such as, "If I catch you in town again without a pass I'll
have you court-martialed and shot before sunrise." Sometimes he
stopped at a cigar store and bought cigars for the patrol, which he
handed to us when we were dismissed. Lieutenant Kidd, to our great
regret and sorrow, was killed in less than a year at the second battle
of Bull Run.
One evening I received word from a friend, a sergeant of a New York
regiment which was encamped a short distance from Georgetown on the
Tennalytown road that he had been arrested by the patrol and wished me
to try and have him released so that he might return to his camp that
night, as he feared that if he was returned to his regiment from the
central guard-house it would mean the loss of his sergeant's stripes
and reduction to the ranks. I implored the sergeant of our main guard
to release him, but he refused as he had just reported the number of
his prisoners to the officer of the day. He agreed, however, to make
an exchange with me if I brought him another prisoner when I went out
on patrol from eight to ten that evening. I started out with my squad
at the appointed time. It was a stormy night, the wind howled and the
rain beat fiercely upon us; the streets seemed deserted and there were
no soldiers in sight. Instead of resting at times in a sheltered
place, as we were accustomed to do in bad weather, I kept my patrol
moving and visited most of the places where soldiers were in the habit
of congregating, despite the grumbling of my squad. Our time was
nearly up and I had encountered but two or three soldiers, whom I
could not arrest as they showed me passes. I was in despair, when
suddenly, while passing along Bridge Street on our return to the
guard-house, I caught a glimpse of a blue uniform in the back room of
a saloon, through a partly opened door. I halted my squad and went
into the saloon, where I found a soldier asleep on a chair. I shook
him and demanded to see his pass. He was mildly inebriated, but
managed to explain that he was on duty as a nurse in the hospital
close by and did not require a pass in Georgetown, but not having a
pass was enough for me. I took him out, put him into the ranks and
turned him over to the sergeant of the guard in exchange for my
friend, who hurried off to his camp. The man I arrested was soon
released by the sergeant when he satisfied him as to the truth of his
story.
Every morning at eight o'clock when the guard was relieved, the old
guard was obliged to take the prisoners picked up during the
twenty-four hours and march them to the Central Guard-House in
Washington, situated just off Pennsylvania Avenue near the market.
This was a long and tiresome tramp after a night on guard. We often
had a couple of dozen prisoners, some of them unruly and others
scarcely able to march after their spree. After our return from the
Central guard-house the old guard was excused from duty and rested
until retreat that evening. The men whom we arrested in the streets
were volunteer soldiers, almost without exception, from the different
camps about Washington.
Occasionally I was corporal of the main guard at Forrest Hall and was
surprised to observe the effect of drink on the prisoners at different
times. They were all locked up together in one large room with a
sentinel outside of the door. The prisoners from our own command, when
we had any, were confined in a smaller room. In the large room the
prisoners were sometimes hilarious and noisy with laughter, while at
other times they were sad and melancholy, many of them crying for
"home and mother," and others shedding silent tears. At still other
times they seemed to have imbibed fighting whiskey and were
quarrelsome, fighting fiercely among themselves or against the guard
who had to go in and separate them; some we could only subdue by tying
their limbs. It was a job we did not relish. Some of them threw
bottles at the guards and other objects which had escaped the
sergeant's search at the time of their admission.
Our two companies had the free run of Georgetown to go where we
pleased when not on duty, but if we crossed the Rock Creek bridge and
went into Washington without a pass, we were in turn liable to be
arrested by the provost-guard's patrol and put into the Central
guard-house. We were well posted on the time and route of the patrols
and knew how to elude them.
Another of our duties was to furnish an escort to the cemetery for all
the soldiers who died in what was called the Seminary Hospital located
at Georgetown. The cemetery was in the grounds of the Soldiers' Home,
a long way from Georgetown, a very tiresome march over a poor road. At
these funerals there was no music or ceremony of any kind; no one but
the escort of eight privates and a corporal marched with the ambulance
which carried the corpse. On the arrival at the cemetery we found only
grave-diggers constantly busy digging graves for the many soldiers who
died in the hospitals or camps in or about Washington. The coffin was
unloaded and left on the ground beside the grave to await the leisure
of the grave-diggers; the escort fired the three customary rounds of
blank cartridges over the coffin and hurried away. At some distance
from the cemetery, where the road was lonely, we climbed into the
ambulance and rode to the outskirts of Georgetown. During the winter
when the weather was bad and the mud ankle-deep on the road, the
escort took their chances and halted the ambulance near a road-house
about half-way, fired the three rounds and waited at the road-house
playing cards until the driver, whom they bound to secrecy, passed on
his return. This went on for some time until one day a firing squad
was discovered at it and punished.
Towards the close of 1861 many changes had taken place among the
officers of my regiment. Aside from the few who had resigned to join
the Confederate army, nearly all were advanced in rank; colonels and
majors and some captains became brigadier-generals or colonels of
volunteers. The twelve new regiments added to the regular army
absorbed many of our captains and first lieutenants who gained a step
in rank by the transfer. The lower grades were filled mainly by
civilian appointments, many of them through influence more than any
adaptability for a military life, as was demonstrated later on. The
Government began to make some appointments from the ranks and later on
increased them. These men, appointed from the ranks, as a rule made
efficient and reliable officers, whom the rank and file could respect.
Dixon S. Miles became colonel of my regiment and remained so until he
was killed at Harper's Ferry in 1862, but we never saw him, as he had
a higher volunteer rank. All of our former field officers were
promoted and replaced by others, some of whom we never saw. The
regular army, small in numbers, was stripped of many of its best
officers. All through the war, companies were largely in command of
first lieutenants and regiments were often commanded by senior
captains. My company was particularly unfortunate at this time in
having for its captain, and serving with it, the lieutenant who had
joined the regiment in 1857 at Fort Randall whom we had dubbed our
"Alcoholic Lieutenant," and whose name I withhold because I cannot say
anything to his credit. He had gained the rank of captain by seniority
because of the general promotions at this time. Our first lieutenant
was William H. Jordan of the Ninth Infantry, who had never as yet seen
his own regiment in the West since he left West Point in 1860. He was
an estimable officer, who remained with my company until he was
severely wounded at the battle of Gaines' Mill in 1862. Our second
lieutenant was William Kidd, who was killed in battle, as previously
mentioned. Major William Chapman was in command of the six companies
of my regiment in Washington at this time; he was well along in years
and retired early in the war. He was a good disciplinarian and an
excellent drillmaster.
In the late fall of 1861 the regular troops in Washington, old and new
regiments, had been augmented to nearly three thousand and were formed
into a brigade under the command of Major George Sykes of the
Fourteenth Infantry, who held the rank of brigadier-general of
volunteers and later on became a major-general. I think he was one of
the best tacticians in the army and a very capable officer. He drilled
the brigade in line of battle manoeuvres occasionally on a large field
near the Kalorama Barracks. We made a fine appearance in full uniform,
marching down Pennsylvania Avenue and out Seventh Street to the drill
ground, with our bands playing and colors flying. I liked this parade
and drill; when we turned the corner of Fifteenth Street and I looked
down the avenue and saw a great mass of bayonets glittering in the sun
ahead of me it was impressive--a sight I had never witnessed in my
previous service. Major Chapman, who commanded our battalions, never
made an error in executing General Sykes's commands in these brigade
drills, but, alas! some of the new fledglings of first lieutenants in
command of companies often got tangled up; this angered the major and
caused him to say sharply, "Mr. Long, face your company to the front!
Mr. Freeman, bring your company on the right by file into line! Mr.
Goodrich, you are obliquing your company to the left instead of to the
right," etc., all of which was very annoying to me, for it destroyed
the movements of other companies and hurt the pride I always had in
marching and drilling correctly. Our first sergeants were able to
coach the inexperienced officers and did so quietly on parade.
Fortunately for my company, our captain never appeared at brigade
drills and Lieutenant Jordan put us through our paces very creditably.
The brigade drills ended with a "Pass in review!" before General Sykes
and his aides-de-camp. This movement was often executed in "double
quick time," which gave rise to a story that the general made us
double quick because his little daughter used to say to him, "Pa, make
'em twot!" which amused her greatly. The general lived with his family
in a house overlooking the parade ground where they could see all the
manoeuvres of the troops. We were also reviewed on the same parade
ground by General McClellan and staff, but upon that occasion did not
have to _trot_.
I was often on guard at the Aqueduct Bridge and at the Ferry and liked
that duty much better than guarding prisoners. The Chesapeake and Ohio
canal crossed the Potomac river here on its way to Alexandria,
Virginia, by means of the Aqueduct Bridge. At the breaking out of the
war the water had been shut off and the bridge solidly planked over to
serve as a roadway for pedestrians and vehicles. A small guard room
had been built for the shelter of the six men and corporal composing
the guard on the Georgetown side. A sentinel was stationed on each
side of the entrance to the bridge. Our orders were to permit no
soldier to pass or repass the bridge without a properly signed and
countersigned pass, and no civilian without a pass from the
provost-marshal's office in Washington. Officers unaccompanied by
troops were also to show passes, except those of high rank who were
supposed to be known to us.
We were also to search for and to prevent the smuggling of liquor to
the soldiers encamped on the opposite side of the river; but I am
afraid we were somewhat lax in carrying out that part of our orders,
as we did not like to act as customhouse inspectors, considering that
unmilitary. If the person halted carried a package or basket we
generally took his or her word for it that it contained no liquor and
passed them on without examination, except in cases of inebriety or
when they were insolent to the guard.
I think women did more smuggling of liquor than the men. Many got
passes from the provost-marshal to visit their soldier relatives or
friends encamped on the other side of the river. They generally came
on foot and carried baskets or packages containing food and articles
of clothing for the soldiers, as they invariably informed the guard,
and some became indignant when they were asked the usual question
about liquor. One day as I was examining the pass of a large,
good-natured-looking woman with a fine broad smile, I heard a tinkling
sound with every movement she made and noticed that she wore unusually
large hoop skirts which made her look like an animated haystack from
the waist down. I asked her if she carried any liquor about her and
was met by an emphatic denial. I put my hand on her waist and gave the
skirt a shake which caused an audible jingle of bottles, and asked
her, "What's that, Mama?" "Whisth! Sergeant, dear, shure it's
sody-wather for the bys!" she said laughingly. I was in a dilemma. She
evidently had bottles of liquor strung all around her waist beneath
the large hoops she wore; but I could not take them from her without
undressing her, which was inconvenient at the time and place; besides
it was such a clever trick that it deserved success, and I let her
pass.
Some sutlers had permits to carry liquor for officers' messes in their
wagons; others carried barrels which they declared contained beer or
cider, which we were allowed to pass, as we had no means of testing it
anyway.
We got to know many of the sutlers by sight; their wagons bore the
regimental designation to which they belonged and, as we knew they had
passes, we did not always halt them. Occasionally some of them tossed
a package to the guards containing cigars, tobacco, crackers and
cheese or a can of preserved fruit. The sentinels halted every
passenger and vehicle, with this exception, looked at the pass and in
cases of doubt called on the corporal of the guard for his decision of
the case.
Sometimes General McClellan, who, since General Scott's retirement,
was commander-in-chief of the United States Army, passed over the
bridge with his staff to review troops or examine defences on the
other side. It was here that I first saw the Orleans princes, the Duc
de Chartres and the Comte de Paris, who were aides on his staff. The
Duc was a very young looking man.
The Fourteenth New York Volunteers, better known as Colonel Fowler's
Fourteenth Brooklyn Regiment, were encamped on Arlington Heights and
guarded the Virginia end of the bridge. We became acquainted with many
of them and were on friendly terms, often letting some of them pass
into Georgetown at night, cautioning them to look sharply for the
officer of the day on their return.
When my guard was relieved in the morning, we discharged our rifles
into the river, firing at some floating object, instead of drawing the
charges; sometimes I threw an empty bottle into the river and
frequently knocked off the neck with a ball from my rifle.
While on guard at the bridge I had many opportunities to observe the
uniforms, arms and equipments of the volunteer soldiers who crossed
and went into camp on the other side. A few of the regiments were
armed with Springfield rifles, as we were, but the greater part of
them had arms of foreign manufacture; there were English rifles,
Belgian and Austrian muskets and even some of the old "smooth-bores"
of the Mexican War time, which the traitor, Secretary of War Floyd,
had not deemed worthy of removal from the Northern arsenals. The
Government had hastily purchased these arms abroad and as all the
calibres differed, serious confusion resulted sometimes through
issuing the wrong ammunition. It was more than a year before there was
anything like uniformity in the arms of the infantry regiments. Their
uniforms were also diversified; many still wore the gray uniforms
issued to them by the states they came from; some had a sort of German
uniform; and the Garibaldi Guard, an Italian one; the Fifty-fifth New
York Volunteers, Colonel De Trobriand, wore a distinctly French
uniform, including the red breeches and "kepi." Another distinct
uniform was that of the Chasseurs d'Afrique, and there were others;
also a number of Zouave regiments, some with red breeches and some
with blue, some wearing white turbans and some only a red Fez cap on
their heads. In the course of a long time this was remedied and all
wore the regulation uniform, except some of the Zouave regiments, who
were permitted to retain theirs to the end of their term of service.
In the month of September at Fall's Church, Virginia, one of our gray
uniformed regiments was fired into by another of our regiments who
mistook them for "graybacks" (rebels) and sixty or so were killed and
wounded before the mistake was discovered. Lamentable errors like this
occurred in various parts of the country at this time.
The neatness of the uniforms, the polished buttons and the bright
looking arms of the regular soldiers was often a matter of interest to
the volunteer officers. One day while on guard an elderly captain, who
unquestionably hailed from one of the New England states, said to me,
"Where be you men from? I see you all got brand new guns!" I explained
to him that we were regular soldiers and had used these guns on the
frontiers for years. He exclaimed, "Dew tell! Our boys got new guns
but they're all rusty. What do you clean yours with?"
In October happened the unfortunate engagement with the Confederates
at Ball's Bluff, some distance up the Potomac, where Colonel Baker was
killed, and we lost nearly a thousand men--killed, wounded and
prisoners; also by drowning. After the battle corpses floated down the
river, some of them being washed ashore at Georgetown.
We preferred to do guard duty at the ferry to Analostan Island at the
foot of High Street because it was easy, as it took the rope ferry
boat a good while to make a trip and the traffic was small. This spot
was the landing place for fishing boats and small sloops which brought
oysters and vegetables to the Georgetown market from down the river.
The watermelon season was still on and sloops came in loaded with
them. We watched the boats for the owners at night and in return they
gave the guard all the melons they could eat, and they were delicious.
It was the same later on with oysters; and last came the sweet
potatoes, the real Virginia or Maryland sweet potatoes, which we
roasted and feasted on.
One day when I was corporal of the guard at the ferry, the sentinel
called out, "Turn out the guard for the commanding general!" and
immediately the general replied, "Never mind the guard!" He did not
seem to care for my little command of six men. General McClellan was
in a carriage along with his chief of staff, General Randolph B.
Marcy, his father-in-law, but without any escort. Although I knew them
both, I went to the side of the carriage, saluted and said, "Passes,
gentlemen?" to which the General, returning the salute, replied, "I am
the commanding general." I said, "Pass on, General," which ended the
only conversation I had with him during the war. The General had to
wait for about ten minutes before the carriage could be driven on the
boat. During that time I could observe him closely, while he conversed
earnestly with General Marcy.
A miserable looking tramp passed our little guard-house at the ferry
one day and seeing a pair of old buckskin gloves belonging to me,
which I had left on a bench outside, promptly appropriated them. The
sentinel saw him and called me. He ran, but I caught him, took the
gloves from him and was about to give him a kick and let him go, when
one of the town constables came up and insisted on arresting the man.
Since the town had been policed by the soldiers, the few constables
had had little to do and had grown rusty. This one seemed glad to have
a case and would not let his prisoner go, although I entreated him to
do so as the old gloves had no value. Next day I received a subpoena
to appear as a witness at the court house at Four-and-a-half Street in
Washington the following morning, and with the subpoena I was handed a
dollar and a half, which was a godsend to me, as I hadn't another cent
at the time. I blessed that tramp! I was provided with a pass for all
day, gave my evidence in court and heard the poor tramp sentenced to
thirty days in the workhouse; then I started in to regale myself
royally on the dollar-fifty. I had an oyster fry at Harvey's on the
avenue, and something to drink and smoke. I spent the afternoon in the
streets and I fear I was rather more extravagant than a man in my
company who sometimes said, "Give me two cigars for five cents. I'm on
a spree and don't care how I spend my money."
My captain resided with his family in a house on Bridge Street; the
unmarried officers boarded around town; the married soldiers had
located their wives and children in cheap apartments where some of
them remained to the end of the war. Some wives never saw their
husbands again after we went into Virginia. The captain in his
capacity of commanding officer sometimes visited the guard late at
night and had it turned out for him and put us through the usual
formalities. I was always thankful that he omitted the inspection of
arms, for at times I would have hated to trust him with the handling
of a loaded gun. He sent for me occasionally to report to him at his
house and when I appeared he put me through a kind of catechism
commencing with, "Who made you a corporal?"
"The captain," I replied.
"Why did I make you a corporal?"
To which my answer was, "Because I was in the line of promotion, I
presume."
"No! because I then believed you to be a good and reliable soldier. I
see by the guard report that you were corporal of the guard at the
ferry on Tuesday night when a lot of common soldiers were drinking in
a saloon on Cherry Street and wrecked the place. Why didn't you go
there and arrest them?"
"I could not hear the disturbance, it was too far away; besides, the
regulations for the army forbid my leaving the guard without orders."
"I am the provost-marshal of this town and I make the regulations.
Don't let this happen again. I will not allow any more common soldiers
to go into saloons and will issue an order to that effect. Remember, I
can break you. Go back to your quarters!"
He never issued that order--he couldn't; neither did he break me,
although he used to send for me if there was any scrape in town; no
matter if I didn't have the remotest connection with it, he suspected
I was concerned in it.
A tragedy happened while we were quartered in Forrest Hall. A soldier
of Company A was on post No. 2 on the Gay Street side of the building
one winter night when Sergeant Brennan of his company, who was the
sergeant of the main guard that night, went out of the guard-room and
passed around the corner of the building towards sentinel No. 2. In a
few minutes a shot was heard, and some of the guard running out found
Sergeant Brennan on the sidewalk, dead, with a bullet through his
heart, while the sentinel, with his gun in his hands, calmly stood
there awaiting arrest. What transpired between them during the few
minutes they were alone never became known. The soldier admitted
shooting the sergeant, but made no explanation. It was well known,
however, that there was a bitter enmity between them dating back to
the time when they were on the frontier service. The body was carried
up into the Hall and laid out on some benches on the second floor
among the sergeant's sleeping comrades. A screen was erected around
the body next morning and some nuns from Georgetown watched and prayed
by it, until the next day when the funeral services were held in the
Catholic church. The murderer was incarcerated in Washington and was
speedily tried by a general court-martial which sentenced him to be
hanged. A few weeks after the tragedy the entire regular brigade
marched to a field on the north side where many of the finest houses
are now built and formed a square about an elevated gallows which had
a flight of steps leading up to the platform. The hangman (a soldier)
was there adjusting and soaping the rope. Presently the prisoner
arrived in a closed carriage, accompanied by a priest and a cavalry
guard. The culprit mounted the steps unassisted, and when he reached
the platform he stood erect, waved his right hand and exclaimed in a
firm voice, "Good-bye, soldiers! Good-bye!" His limbs were quickly
bound and a black cap drawn over his face; the trap was sprung and we
saw the contortions of the lower part of his body. In a few minutes
his struggles ceased and the soldiers marched silently back to their
quarters.
We found the winter climate of Washington mild and agreeable, as
compared with our experience in Nebraska and Dakota Territories. Our
food was fairly good. We drew bread from the Government bakeries;
fresh beef was issued to us at the foot of the unfinished Washington
Monument, where all the beef cattle for the troops in or about
Washington were slaughtered. Other provisions we drew from the general
commissary depot.
During our stay of about five months in Georgetown we had become well
acquainted with every nook and corner of it and got along well with
such of the citizens as were not Southern sympathizers. At some of the
houses to which we had been invited we played games with the girls. At
one house in particular where a few friends and I called for a while I
flattered myself that I was the daughter's favorite visitor; but,
alas! "fair and false was she!" for she placed her young affections on
a drummer of the band whose more gaudy uniform seemed irresistible to
her.
About the end of January, 1862, my company was ordered to leave
Forrest Hall and occupy a vacant two-story and attic house on
Pennsylvania Avenue between Eighteenth and Nineteenth Streets, facing
a small triangular shaped park. This house is still standing (1913)
and is now numbered 1806. We lived there as we did in the K Street
house. Our duties were much easier than in Georgetown; the only guard
duty we had was one post in front of our own quarters. We picked up a
few recruits in Washington and I had to drill them sometimes in the
little park, to my chagrin and much to the amusement of the
spectators, as one of them named Davis was as awkward a man as I ever
tried to instruct.
Since the battle of Bull Run, the preceding July, the Army of the
Potomac had been assiduous in drill and had gained much in discipline
under that admirable organizer, General McClellan, all except the
volunteer cavalry regiments. Many of the men could not ride horses
when they were enlisted. The horses were untrained and were as green
as their riders. In a few slight skirmishes with the enemy on
reconnaissances the horses ran away at the first fire, in spite of the
efforts of the troopers to make a stand. It was a standing joke in the
army at that time that there was a reward of five dollars for any
soldier who had seen a dead cavalryman. It takes a long time to drill
cavalrymen and horses. It was not until after the second year of the
war that they became really effective and after that they did splendid
service.
The Northern papers were clamorous for the Army of the Potomac to make
a move on the enemy. "Why doesn't the army move?" was the cry. In the
West there had been some success; General U.S. Grant had captured Fort
Donaldson, Tennessee, together with Generals Buckner and Tilghman and
thirteen thousand prisoners. President Lincoln, impatient at General
McClellan's delay and unwilling to agree to the General's plan of a
campaign, appointed February twenty-second as the day for a general
movement of all the land and naval forces; but nothing was done. We
observed the day by hanging out a flag and by burning a lot of candles
in the front windows of our quarters at night. We were tired of
garrison duty and wanted to see some field service. Up to this time
the small regular army had had but little representation in any of the
conflicts and no share in what little glory there had been. All seemed
eager for real service, even the man in my company who used to declare
that he "enlisted to fight but was not quarrelsome."
We knew that a campaign of some sort would soon take place and began
to prepare for it. All of our fancy uniforms and articles of no
service in the field were packed into cases, turned over to the
quartermaster's department and placed in storage in the then
unfinished Corcoran Art Gallery, situated on Pennsylvania Avenue near
our quarters, and none of us ever saw them again. Shelter tents were
issued to us. They were an imitation of the "tent d'Abri" used in the
French army and consisted of a piece of thin canvas supposed to be
rain-proof. It was about six and a half by five feet and had buttons
and buttonholes along the edges, so that two or more pieces could be
joined together and stretched across a ridge pole supported on two
posts, and the sides fastened to tent-pins driven into the ground.
This formed a small A-shaped tent, a "pup-tent," as the soldiers
called it, but was open at the front and back. Generally three men got
together and used the third piece of canvas to cover one of the open
ends--the one to windward. The little tents were so low it was
necessary to crawl into them on hands and knees and we could barely
retain a sitting posture. Tent and ridge-poles of light wood, made to
telescope in convenient lengths, and small hardwood tent-pins were
also issued to us. All this had to be strapped to our knapsack and
increased the load to be carried on our back very considerably. The
poles and pins we threw away after a few days' trial in the field and
trusted to chance to pick up forked sticks and ridge-poles in the
woods. For this purpose I provided myself with a small hatchet, and to
even up loads my bunkie carried a frying pan for our use.
On March eighth Centreville was discovered to have been evacuated by
the Rebels. Painted logs (Quaker guns) were found mounted in the
enemies' earthworks. Manassas was also found to be evacuated; at last
the Army of the Potomac was forced to move. General McClellan was
relieved from the supreme command of the United States Army and
appointed to command the Army of the Potomac. We received orders to
cross the Potomac into Virginia. The six companies, headed by the
band, formed on Pennsylvania Avenue in the forenoon of the tenth of
March and marched to the "Long Bridge" by way of Fourteenth Street,
after more than seven months in Washington and Georgetown. The day was
clear but cold. It was my hard luck to be corporal of the guard
bringing up the rear of the column with a few prisoners and some
drunks who had been unable to resist the temptation of a final
debauch. I had some trouble to keep them from frolicking with the
negro wenches who had lined up on the sidewalks in large numbers to
hear the band play and see us marching off. The captain, much to our
satisfaction, did not accompany us. He managed to get a medical
certificate excusing him from field service and remained in Georgetown
on easy duty.