LIFE IN TENTS.
“Sir, he made a chimney in my father’s house, and the bricks
are alive at this day to testify it.”—KING HENRY VI.
[Illustration]
In the last chapter I described quite fully the principal varieties of
shelter that our troops used in the war. In this I wish to detail their
daily life in those tents when they settled down in camp. Enter with
me into a Sibley tent which is not stockaded. If it is cold weather,
we shall find the cone-shaped stove, which I have already mentioned,
setting in the centre. These stoves were useless for cooking purposes,
and the men were likely to burn their blankets on them in the night, so
that many of the troops utilized them by building a small brick or stone
oven below, in which they did their cooking, setting the stove on top as
a part of the flue. The length of pipe furnished by the government was
not sufficient to reach the opening at the top, and the result was that
unless the inmates bought more to piece it out, the upper part of such
tents was as black and sooty as a chimney flue.
The dozen men occupying a Sibley tent slept with their feet towards the
centre. The choice place to occupy was that portion opposite the door,
as one was not then in the way of passers in and out, although he was
himself more or less of a nuisance to others when he came in. The tent
was most crowded at meal times, for, owing to its shape, there can be no
standing or sitting erect except about the centre. But while there was
more or less growling at accidents by some, there was much forbearance
by others, and, aside from the vexations arising from the constitutional
blundering of the Jonahs and the Beats, whom I shall describe later,
these little knots were quite family-like and sociable.
[Illustration: SIBLEY TENT.—INSIDE VIEW.]
The manner in which the time was spent in these tents—and, for that
matter, in all tents—varied with the disposition of the inmates. It was
not always practicable for men of kindred tastes to band themselves under
the same canvas, and so just as they differed in their avocations as
citizens, they differed in their social life, and many kinds of pastimes
went on simultaneously. Of course, all wrote letters more or less, but
there were a few men who seemed to spend the _most_ of their spare time
in this occupation. Especially was this so in the earlier part of a
man’s war experience. The side or end strip of a hardtack box, held on
the knees, constituted the writing-desk on which this operation was
performed. It is well remembered that in the early months of the war
silver money disappeared, as it commanded a premium, so that, change
being scarce, postage stamps were used instead. This was before scrip was
issued by the government to take the place of silver; and although the
use of stamps as change was not authorized by the national government,
yet everybody took them, and the soldiers in particular just about to
leave for the war carried large quantities away with them—not all in
the best of condition. This could hardly be expected when they had been
through so many hands. They were passed about in little envelopes,
containing twenty-five and fifty cents in value.
[Illustration: WRITING HOME.]
Many an old soldier can recall his disgust on finding what a mess his
stamps were in either from rain, perspiration, or compression, as he
attempted, after a hot march, to get one for a letter. If he could split
off one from a welded mass of perhaps a hundred or more, he counted
himself fortunate. Of course they could be soaked out after a while,
but he would need to dry them on a griddle afterwards, they were so
sticky. It was later than this that the postmaster-general issued an
order allowing soldiers to send letters without pre-payment; but, if I
recollect right, it was necessary to write on the outside “Soldier’s
Letter.” I recall in this connection a verse that was said to have
appeared on a letter of this kind. It ran as follows:—
Soldier’s letter, nary red,
Hardtack and no soft bread,
Postmaster, please put it through,
I’ve nary cent, but six months due.
There were a large number of fanciful envelopes got up during the war.
I heard of a young man who had a collection of more than seven thousand
such, all of different designs. I have several in my possession which
I found among the numerous letters written home during war-time. One
is bordered by thirty-four red stars—the number of States then in the
Union—each star bearing the abbreviated name of a State. At the left end
of the envelope hovers an eagle holding a shield and streamer, with this
motto, “_Love one another_.” Another one bears a representation of the
earth in space, with “United States” marked on it in large letters, and
the American eagle above it. Enclosing all is the inscription, “_What God
has joined, let no man put asunder_.” A third has a medallion portrait
of Washington, under which is, “A SOUTHERN MAN WITH UNION PRINCIPLES.” A
fourth displays a man sitting among money-bags, on horseback, and driving
at headlong speed. Underneath is the inscription, “FLOYD OFF FOR THE
SOUTH. _All that the Seceding States ask is to be let alone._” Another
has a negro standing grinning, a hoe in his hand. He is represented as
saying, “Massa can’t have dis chile, dat’s what’s de matter”; and beneath
is the title, “_The latest contraband of war_.” Then there are many
bearing the portraits of early Union generals. On others Jeff Davis is
represented as hanged; while the national colors appear in a hundred or
more ways on a number—all of which, in a degree at least, expressed some
phase of the sentiments popular at the North. The Christian Commission
also furnished envelopes gratuitously to the armies, bearing their stamp
and “Soldier’s letter” in one corner.
Besides letter-writing the various games of cards were freely engaged
in. Many men played for money. Cribbage and euchre were favorite games.
Reading was a pastime quite generally indulged in, and there was no novel
so dull, trashy, or sensational as not to find some one so bored with
nothing to do that he would wade through it. I, certainly, never read so
many such before or since. The mind was hungry for something, and took
husks when it could get nothing better. A great deal of good might have
been done by the Christian Commission or some other organization planned
to furnish the soldiers with good literature, for in that way many might
have acquired a taste for the works of the best authors who would not
have been likely to acquire it except under just such a condition as they
were then in, viz.: a want of some entertaining pastime. There would then
have been much less gambling and sleeping away of daylight than there
was. Religious tracts were scattered among the soldiers by thousands, it
is true, and probably did some good. I heard a Massachusetts soldier say,
not long ago, that when his regiment arrived in New York _en route_ for
the seat of war, the men were presented with “a plate of thin soup and a
Testament.” This remark to me was very suggestive. It reminded me of the
vast amount of mistaken or misguided philanthropy that was expended upon
the army by good Christian men and women, who, with the best of motives
urging them forward no doubt, often labored under the delusion that the
army was composed entirely of men thoroughly bad, and governed their
actions accordingly. That there were bad men in the army is too well
known to be denied if one cared to deny it; and, while I may forgive,
I cannot forget a war governor who granted pardon to several criminals
that were serving out sentences in prison, if they would enlist. But the
morally bad soldiers were in the minority. The good men should have
received some consideration, and the tolerably good even more. Men are
only children of an older growth: they like to be appreciated at their
worth at least, and the nature of many of the tracts was such that they
defeated the object aimed at in their distribution.
[Illustration: STOCKADED A TENTS.]
Chequers was a popular game among the soldiers, backgammon less so, and
it was only rarely that the statelier and less familiar game of chess was
to be observed on the board. There were some soldiers who rarely joined
in any games. In this class were to be found the illiterate members
of a company. Of course they did not read or write, and they rarely
played cards. They were usually satisfied to lie on their blankets, and
talk with one another, or watch the playing. Yes, they did have one
pastime—the proverbial soldier’s pastime of smoking. A pipe was their
omnipresent companion, and seemed to make up to them in sociability for
whatsoever they lacked of entertainment in other directions.
Then there were a few men in every organization who engaged in
no pastimes and joined in no social intercourse. These men were
irreproachable as soldiers, it may have been, doing without grumbling
everything that was expected of them in the line of military or fatigue
duty, but they seemed shut up within an impenetrable shell, and would lie
on their blankets silent while all others joined in the social round;
or, perhaps, would get up and go out of the tent as if its lively social
atmosphere was uncongenial, and walk up and down the parade or company
street alone. Should you address them, they would answer pleasantly,
but in monosyllables; and if the conversation was continued, it must be
done in the same way. They could not be drawn out. They would cook by
themselves, eat by themselves, camp by themselves on the march,—in fact,
keep by themselves at all times as much as possible. Guard duty was the
one occupation which seemed most suited to their natures, for it provided
them with the exclusiveness and comparative solitude that their peculiar
mental condition craved. But these men were the exceptions. They were few
in number, and the more noticeable on that account. They only served to
emphasize the fact that the average soldier was a sociable being.
One branch of business which was carried on quite extensively was the
making of pipes and rings as mementos of a camp or battle-field. The
pipes were made from the root of the mountain laurel when it could be
had, and often ornamented with the badges of the various corps, either in
relief or inlaid. The rings were made sometimes of dried horn or hoof,
very often of bone, and some were fashioned out of large gutta-percha
buttons which were sent from home.
The evenings in camp were less occupied in game-playing, I should say,
than the hours off duty in the daytime; partly, perhaps, because the
tents were rather dimly lighted, and partly because of a surfeit of such
recreations by daylight. But, whatever the cause, I think old soldiers
will generally agree in the statement that the evenings were the time of
sociability and reminiscence. It was then quite a visiting time among
soldiers of the same organization. It was then that men from the same
town or neighborhood got together and exchanged home gossip. Each one
would produce recent letters giving interesting information about mutual
friends or acquaintances, telling that such a girl or old schoolmate was
married; that such a man had enlisted in such a regiment; that another
was wounded and at home on furlough; that such another had been exempted
from the forthcoming draft, because he had lost teeth; that yet another
had suddenly gone to Canada on important business—which was a favorite
refuge for all those who were afraid of being forced into the service.
[Illustration: DRAFTING.]
And when the draft finally was ordered, such chucklings as these old
schoolmates or fellow-townsmen would exchange as they again compared
notes; first, to think that they themselves had voluntarily responded to
their country’s appeal, and, second, to hope that some of the croakers
they left at home might be drafted and sent to the front at the point
of the bayonet, interchanging sentiments of the following character:
“There’s A⸺, he was always urging others to go, and declaring he would
himself make one of the next quota.”... “I want to see him out here with
a government suit on.”... “Yes, and there’s B⸺, who has lots of money. If
he’s drafted, he’ll send a substitute. The government ought not to allow
any able-bodied man, even if he has got money, to send a substitute.”...
“Then there’s C⸺, who declared he’d die on his doorstep rather than be
forced into the service. I only hope that his courage will be put to the
test.”—Such are fair samples of the remarks these fellow-soldiers would
exchange with one another during an evening visitation.
Then, there were many men not so fortunate as to have enlisted with
acquaintances, or to be near them in the army. These were wont to lie
on their blankets, and join in the general conversation, or exchange
ante-war experiences, and find much of interest in common; but, whatever
the number or variety of the evening diversions, there is not the
slightest doubt that home, its inmates, and surroundings were more
thought of and talked of then than in all the rest of the twenty-four
hours.
In some tents vocal or instrumental music was a feature of the evening.
There was probably not a regiment in the service that did not boast at
least one violinist, one banjoist, and a bone player in its ranks—not
to mention other instruments generally found associated with these—and
one or all of them could be heard in operation, either inside or in a
company street, most any pleasant evening. However unskilful the artists,
they were sure to be the centre of an interested audience. The usual
medley of comic songs and negro melodies comprised the greater part of
the entertainment, and, if the space admitted, a jig or clog dance was
stepped out on a hard-tack box or other crude platform. Sometimes a real
negro was brought in to enliven the occasion by patting and dancing
“Juba,” or singing his quaint music. There were always plenty of them
in or near camp ready to fill any gap, for they asked nothing better
than to be with “Massa Linkum’s Sojers.” But the men played tricks of
all descriptions on them, descending at times to most shameful abuse
until some one interfered. There were a few of the soldiers who were not
satisfied to play a reasonable practical joke, but must bear down with
all that the good-natured Ethiopians could stand, and, having the fullest
confidence in the friendship of the soldiers, these poor fellows stood
much more than human nature should be called to endure without a murmur.
Of course they were on the lookout a second time.
[Illustration: THE CAMP MINSTRELS.]
There was one song which the boys of the old Third Corps used to sing in
the fall of 1863, to the tune of “When Johnny comes marching home,” which
is an amusing jingle of historical facts. I have not heard it sung since
that time, but it ran substantially as follows:—
We are the boys of Potomac’s ranks,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
We are the boys of Potomac’s ranks,
We ran with McDowell, retreated with Banks,
And we’ll all drink stone blind—
Johnny, fill up the bowl.
We fought with McClellan, the Rebs, shakes and fever,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Then we fought with McClellan, the Rebs, shakes and fever,
But Mac joined the navy on reaching James River,
And we’ll all drink, etc.
Then they gave us John Pope, our patience to tax,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Then they gave us John Pope, our patience to tax,
Who said that out West he’d seen naught but Gray _backs_.[1]
He said his headquarters were in the saddle,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
He said his headquarters were in the saddle,
But Stonewall Jackson made him skedaddle.
Then Mac was recalled, but after Antietam,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Then Mac was recalled, but after Antietam
Abe gave him a rest, he was too slow to beat ’em.
Oh, Burnside then he tried his luck,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Oh, Burnside then he tried his luck,
But in the mud so fast got stuck.
Then Hooker was taken to fill the bill,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Then Hooker was taken to fill the bill,
But he got a black eye at Chancellorsville.
Next came General Meade, a slow old plug,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Next came General Meade, a slow old plug,
For he let them away at Gettysburg.
[1] An allusion to a statement in the address made by Pope, on
taking command of the Army of Virginia, “I have come to you
from the West where we have always seen the _backs_ of our
enemies.”
I think that there were other verses, and some of the above may have got
distorted with the lapse of time. But they are essentially correct.
Here is the revised prayer of the soldier while on the celebrated “Mud
March” of Burnside:—
“Now I lay me down to sleep
In mud that’s many fathoms deep;
If I’m not here when you awake,
Just hunt me up with an oyster rake.”
It was rather interesting to walk through a company street of an
evening, and listen to a few words of the conversation in progress in
the tents—all lighted up, unless some one was saving or had consumed
his allowance of candle. It would read much like a chapter from the
telephone—noted down by a listener from one end of the line only. Then to
peer into the tents, as one went along, just time enough to see what was
going on, and excite the curiosity of the inmates as to the identity of
the intruder, was a feature of such a walk.
While the description I have been giving applies in some particulars
to life in Sibley tents, yet, so far as much of it is concerned, it
describes equally well the life of the private soldier in any tent. But
_the_ tent of the army was the shelter or dog tent, and the life of the
private soldier in log huts under these tents requires treatment by
itself in many respects. I shall therefore leave it for consideration in
another chapter.
[Illustration]