LIFE IN LOG HUTS.
Then he built him a hut,
And in it he put
The carcass of Robinson Crusoe.
OLD SONG.
[Illustration]
The camp of a regiment or battery was supposed to be laid out in regular
order as definitely prescribed by Army Regulations. These, I may state
in a general way, provided that each company of a regiment should pitch
its tents in two files, facing on a street which was at right angles
with the color-line of the regiment. This color-line was the assigned
place for regimental formation. Then, without going into details, I
will add that the company officers’ tents were pitched in rear of their
respective companies, and the field officers, in rear of these. Cavalry
had something of the same plan, but with one row of tents to a company,
while the artillery had three files of tents, one to each section.
All of this is preliminary to saying that while there was in Army
Regulations this prescribed plan for laying out camps, yet the soldiers
were more distinguished for their breach than their observance of this
plan. Army Regulations were adopted for the guidance of the regular
standing army; but this same regular army was now only a very small
fraction of the Union forces, the largest portion by far—“the biggest
half,” to use a Hibernianism—were volunteers, who could not or would
not all be bound by Army Regulations. In the establishing of camps,
therefore, there was much of the go-as-you-please order of procedure. It
is true that regiments commanded by strict disciplinarians were likely
to and did keep pretty close to regulations. Many others approximated
this standard, but still there then remained a large residuum who suited
themselves, or, rather, perhaps did not attempt to suit anybody unless
compelled to by superior authority; so that in entering some camps one
might find everything betokening the supervision of a critical military
spirit, while others were such a hurly-burly lack of plan that a mere
plough-jogger might have been, and perhaps was, the controlling genius of
the camp. When troops located in the woods, as they always did for their
winter cantonments, this lack of system in the arrangement was likely to
be deviated from on account of trees. But to the promised topic of the
chapter.
Come with me into one of the log huts. I have already spoken of its
walls, its roof, its chimney, its fire-place. The door we are to enter
may be cut in the same end with the fire-place. Such was often the case,
as there was just about unoccupied space enough for that purpose. But
where four or more soldiers located together it was oftener put in the
centre of one side. In that case the fire-place was in the opposite side
as a rule. In entering a door at the end one would usually observe two
bunks across the opposite end, one near the ground (or floor, when there
was such a luxury, which was rarely), and the other well up towards the
top of the walls. I say, _usually_. It depended upon circumstances. When
two men only occupied the hut there was one bunk. Sometimes when four
occupied it there was but one, and that one running lengthwise. There are
other exceptions which I need not mention; but the average hut contained
two bunks.
The construction of these bunks was varied in character. Some were built
of boards from hardtack boxes; some of barrel-staves laid crosswise on
two poles; some men improvised a spring-bed of slender saplings, and
padded them with a cushion of hay, oak or pine leaves; others obtained
coarse grain sacks from an artillery or cavalry camp, or from some wagon
train, and by making a hammock-like arrangement of them thus devised to
make repose a little sweeter. At the head of each bunk were the knapsacks
or bundles which contained what each soldier boasted of personal effects.
These were likely to be under-clothes, socks, thread, needles, buttons,
letters, stationery, photographs, etc. The number of such articles was
fewer among infantry than among artillerymen, who, on the march, had
their effects carried for them on the gun-carriages and caissons. But in
winter-quarters both accumulated a large assortment of conveniences from
home, sent on in the boxes which so gladdened the soldier’s heart.
[Illustration: INSIDE VIEW OF A LOG HUT.]
The haversacks, and canteens, and the equipments usually hung on pegs
inserted in the logs. The muskets had no regular abiding-place. Some
stood them in a corner, some hung them on pegs by the slings.
Domestic conveniences were not entirely wanting in the best ordered of
these rude establishments. A hardtack box nailed end upwards against
the logs with its cover on leather hinges serving as a door, and having
suitable shelves inserted, made a very passable dish-closet; another such
box put upside down on legs, did duty as a table—small, but large enough
for the family, and useful. Over the fire-place one or more shelves
were sometimes put to catch the _bric-à-brac_ of the hut; and three- or
four-legged stools enough were manufactured for the inmates. But such a
hut as this one I have been describing was rather _high-toned_. There
were many huts without any of these conveniences.
A soldier’s table-furnishings were his tin dipper, tin plate, knife,
fork, and spoon. When he had finished his meal, he did not in many cases
stand on ceremony, and his dishes were tossed under the bunk to await the
next meal. Or, if he condescended to do a little dish-cleaning, it was
not of an æsthetic kind. Sometimes he was satisfied to scrape his plate
out with his knife, and let it go at that. Another time he would take
a wisp of straw or a handful of leaves from his bunk, and wipe it out.
When the soft bread was abundant, a piece of that made a convenient and
serviceable dish-cloth and towel. Now and then a man would pour a little
of his hot coffee into his plate to cleanse it. While here and there one,
with neither pride, nor shame, nor squeamishness would take his plate out
just as he last used it, to get his ration, offering no other remark to
the comment of the cook than this, that he guessed the plate was a fit
receptacle for the ration. As to the knife and fork, when they got too
black to be tolerated—and they had to be of a very sable hue, it should
be said—there was no cleansing process so inexpensive, simple, available,
and efficient as running them vigorously into the earth a few times.
For lighting these huts the government furnished candles in limited
quantities: at first long ones, which had to be cut for distribution;
but later they provided short ones. I have said that they were furnished
in limited quantities. I will modify that statement. Sometimes they
were abundant, sometimes the contrary; but no one could account for a
scarcity. It was customary to charge quartermasters with peculation
in such cases, and it is true that many of them were rascals; but I
think they were sometimes saddled with burdens that did not belong
to them. Some men used more light than others. Indeed, some men were
constitutionally out of everything. They seemed to have conscientious
scruples against keeping rations of any description in stock for the
limit of time for which they were drawn.
[Illustration: ARMY CANDLESTICKS.]
As to candlesticks, the government provided the troops with these by the
thousands. They were of steel, and very durable, but were supplied only
to the infantry, who had simply to unfix bayonets, stick the points of
the same in the ground, and their candlesticks were ready for service. As
a fact, the bayonet shank was _the_ candlestick of the rank and file who
used that implement. It was always available, and just “filled the bill”
in other respects. Potatoes were too valuable to come into very general
use for this purpose. Quite often the candle was set up on a box in its
own drippings.
Whenever candles failed, _slush lamps_ were brought into use. These I
have seen made by filling a sardine box with cook-house grease, and
inserting a piece of rag in one corner for a wick. The whole was then
suspended from the ridge-pole of the hut by a wire. This wire came to
camp around bales of bay brought to the horses and mules.
The bunks were the most popular institutions in the huts. Soldiering is
at times a lazy life, and bunks were then liberally patronized; for, as
is well known, ottomans, lounges, and easy-chairs are not a part of a
soldier’s outfit. For that reason the bunks served as a substitute for
all these luxuries in the line of furniture.
I will describe in greater detail how they were used. All soldiers were
provided with a woollen and a rubber blanket. When they retired, after
tattoo roll-call, they did not strip to the skin and put on night-dresses
as they would at home. They were satisfied, ordinarily, with taking off
coat and boots, and perhaps the vest. Some, however, stripped to their
flannels, and, donning a smoking-cap, would turn in, and pass a very
comfortable night. There were a few in each regiment who never took off
anything, night or day, unless compelled to; and these turned in at night
in full uniform, with all the covering they could muster. I shall speak
of this class in another connection.
There was a special advantage in two men bunking together in
winter-quarters, for then each got the benefit of the other’s blankets—no
mean advantage, either, in much of the weather. It was a common plan with
the soldiers to make an under-sheet of the rubber blanket, the lining
side up, just as when they camped out on the ground, for it excluded
the cold air from below in the one case as it kept out dampness in the
other. Moreover, it prevented the escape of animal heat.
I think I have said that the half-shelters were not impervious to a hard
rain. But I was about to say that whenever such a storm came on it was
often necessary for the occupants of the upper bunk to cover that part of
the tent above them with their rubber blankets or ponchos; or, if they
did not wish to venture out to adjust such a protection, they would pitch
them on the inside. When they did not care to bestir themselves enough
to do either, they would compromise by spreading a rubber blanket over
themselves, and let the water run off on to the tent floor.
At intervals, whose length was governed somewhat by the movements of the
army, an inspector of government property put in an appearance to examine
into the condition of the belongings of the government in the possession
of an organization, and when in his opinion any property was unfit for
further service it was declared condemned, and marked with his official
brand, I C, meaning, _Inspected Condemned_. This I C became a byword
among the men, who made an amusing application of it on many occasions.
In the daytime the men lay in their bunks and slept, or read a great
deal, or sat on them and wrote their letters. Unless otherwise forbidden,
callers felt at liberty to perch on them; but there was such a wide
difference in the habits of cleanliness of the soldiers that some
proprietors of huts had, as they thought, sufficient reasons why no
one else should occupy their berths but themselves, and so, if the
three-legged stools or boxes did not furnish seating capacity enough for
company, and the regular boarders, too, the r. b. would take to the bunks
with a dispatch which betokened a deeper interest than that required
of simple etiquette. This remark naturally leads me to say something
of the insect life which seemed to have enlisted with the soldiers for
“three years or during the war,” and which required and received a large
share of attention in quarters, much more, in fact, than during active
campaigning. I refer now, especially, to the _Pediculus Vestimenti_, as
the scientific men call him, but whose picture when it is well taken,
and somewhat magnified, bears this familiar outline. Old soldiers will
recognize the _picture_ if the _name_ is an odd one to them. This was the
historic “grayback” which went in and out before Union and Confederate
soldiers without ceasing. Like death, it was no respecter of persons.
It preyed alike on the just and the unjust. It inserted its bill as
confidingly into the body of the major-general as of the lowest private.
I once heard the orderly of a company officer relate that he had picked
_fifty-two graybacks_ from the shirt of his chief at one sitting.
Aristocrat or plebeian it mattered not. Every soldier seemed foreordained
to encounter this pest at close quarters. Eternal vigilance was _not_ the
price of liberty. That failed the most scrupulously careful veteran in
active campaigning. True, the neatest escaped the longest, but sooner or
later the time came when it was simply impossible for even them _not to
let the left hand know what the right hand was doing_.
[Illustration: PEDICULUS VESTIMENTI.]
The secretiveness which a man suddenly developed when he found himself
_inhabited_ for the first time was very entertaining. He would cuddle all
knowledge of it as closely as the old Forty-Niners did the hiding-place
of their bag of gold-dust. Perhaps he would find only _one_ of the
vermin. This he would secretly murder, keeping all knowledge of it from
his tent-mates, while he nourished the hope that it was the Robinson
Crusoe of its race cast away on a strange shore with none of its kind at
hand to cheer its loneliness. Alas, vain delusion! In ninety-nine cases
out of a hundred this solitary _pediculus_ would prove to be the advance
guard of generations yet to come, which, ere its capture, had been
stealthily engaged in sowing its seed; and in a space of time all too
brief, after the first discovery the same soldier would appoint himself
an investigating committee of one to sit with closed doors, and hie away
to the desired seclusion. There he would seat himself taking his garments
across his knees in turn, conscientiously doing his (k)nitting work,
inspecting every fibre with the scrutiny of a dealer in broadcloths.
The feeling of intense disgust aroused by the first contact with these
creepers soon gave way to hardened indifference, as a soldier realized
the utter impossibility of keeping free from them, and the privacy
with which he carried on his first “skirmishing,” as this “search for
happiness” came to be called, was soon abandoned, and the warfare carried
on more openly. In fact, it was the mark of a cleanly soldier to be seen
engaged at it, for there was no disguising the fact that everybody needed
to do it.
[Illustration: (K)NITTING WORK.]
In cool weather “skirmishing” was carried on in quarters, but in warmer
weather the men preferred to go outside of camp for this purpose; and
the woods usually found near camps were full of them sprinkled about
singly or in social parties of two or three slaying their victims by the
thousands. Now and then a man could be seen just from the quartermaster
with an entire new suit on his arm, bent on starting afresh. He would
hang the suit on a bush, strip off every piece of the old, and set fire
to the same, and then don the new suit of blue. So far well; but he
was a lucky man if he did not share his new clothes with other hungry
_pediculi_ inside of a week.
[Illustration: “TURNING HIM OVER.”]
“Skirmishing,” however, furnished only slight relief from the oppressive
attentions of the grayback, and furthermore took much time. Hot water was
the sovereign remedy, for it penetrated every mesh and seam, and cooked
the millions yet unborn, which Job himself could not have exterminated by
the thumbnail process unaided. So tenacious of life were these creatures
that some veterans affirm they have seen them still creeping on garments
taken out of _boiling water_, and that only by putting salt in the water
were they sure of accomplishing their destruction.
I think there was but one opinion among the soldiers in regard
to the graybacks; _viz._, that the country was being ruined by
_over-production_. What the Colorado beetle is to the potato crop they
were to the soldiers of both armies, and that man has fame and fortune
in his hand who, before the next great war in any country, shall
have invented an extirpator which shall do for the _pediculus_ what
paris-green does for the potato-bug. From all this it can readily be seen
why no good soldier wanted his bunk to be regarded as common property.
I may add in passing that no other variety of insect life caused any
material annoyance to the soldier. Now and then a wood-tick would insert
his head, on the sly, into some part of the human integument; but these
were not common or unclean.
[Illustration: BOILING THEM.]
I have already related much that the soldier did to pass away time. I
will add to that which I have already given two branches of domestic
industry that occupied a considerable time in log huts with a few,
and less—very much less indeed—with others. I refer to washing and
mending. Some of the men were just as particular about changing their
under-clothing at least once a week as they would be at home; while
others would do so only under the severest pressure. It is disgusting
to remember, even at this late day, how little care hundreds of the
men bestowed on bodily cleanliness. The story, quite familiar to old
soldiers, about the man who was so negligent in this respect that when
he finally took a bath he found a number of shirts and socks which he
supposed he had lost, arose from the fact of there being a few men in
every organization who were most unaccountably regardless of all rules of
health, and of whom such a statement would seem, to those that knew the
parties, only slightly exaggerated.
[Illustration: A WOOD-TICK.]
How was this washing done? Well, if the troops were camping near a brook,
that simplified the matter somewhat; but even then the clothes _must
be boiled_, and for this purpose there was but one resource—_the mess
kettles_. There is a familiar anecdote related of Daniel Webster: that
while he was Secretary of State, the French Minister at Washington asked
him whether the United States would recognize the new government of
France—I think Louis Napoleon’s. Assuming a very solemn tone and posture,
Webster replied: “Why not? The United States has recognized the Bourbons,
the French Republic, the Directory, the Council of Five Hundred, the
First Consul, the Emperor, Louis XVIII., Charles X., Louis Philippe,
the”—“Enough! enough!” cried the minister, fully satisfied with the
extended array of precedents cited.
[Illustration: CLEANING UP.]
So, in regard to using our mess kettles to boil clothes in, it might be
asked “Why not?” Were they not used to boil our meat and potatoes in, to
make our bean, pea, and meat soups in, to boil our tea and coffee in,
to make our apple and peach sauce in? Why not use them as wash-boilers?
Well, “gentle reader,” while it might at first interfere somewhat with
your appetite to have your food cooked in the wash-boiler, you would soon
get used to it; and so this complex use of the mess kettles soon ceased
to affect the appetite, or to shock the sense of propriety of the average
soldier as to the eternal fitness of things, for he was often compelled
by circumstances to endure much greater improprieties. It would indeed
have been a most admirable arrangement in many respects could each man
have been provided with an excellent Magee Range with copper-boiler
annex, and set tubs near by; but the line had to be drawn somewhere, and
so everything in the line of _impedimenta_ was done away with, unless it
was absolutely essential to the service. For this reason we could not
take along a well equipped laundry, but must make some articles do double
or triple service.
It may be asked what kind of a figure the men cut as washerwomen. Well,
some of them were awkward and imperfect enough at it; but necessity
is a capital teacher, and, in this as in many other directions, men
did perforce what they would not have attempted at home. It was not
necessary, however, for every man to do his own washing, for in most
companies there was at least one man who, for a reasonable recompense,
was ready to do such work, and he usually found all he could attend to in
the time he had off duty. There was no ironing to be done, for “boiled
shirts,” as white-bosomed shirts were called, were almost an unknown
garment in the army except in hospitals. Flannels were the order of the
day. If a man had the courage to face the ridicule of his comrades by
wearing a white collar, it was of the paper variety, and white cuffs were
unknown in camp.
In the department of mending garments each man did his own work, or left
it undone, just as he thought best; but no one hired it done. Every man
had a “housewife” or its equivalent, containing the necessary needles,
yarn, thimble, etc., furnished him by some mother, sister, sweetheart, or
Soldier’s Aid Society, and from this came his materials to mend or darn
with.
Now, the average soldier was not so susceptible to the charms and
allurements of sock-darning as he should have been; for this reason he
always put off the direful day until both heels looked boldly and with
hardened visage out the back-door, while his ten toes ranged themselves
_en échelon_ in front of their quarters. By such delay or neglect good
ventilation and the opportunity of drawing on the socks from either end
were secured. The task of once more restricting the toes to quarters
was not an easy one, and the processes of arriving at this end were not
many in number. Perhaps the speediest and most unique, if not the most
artistic, was that of tying a string around the hole. This was a scheme
for cutting the Gordian knot of darning, which a few modern Alexanders
put into execution. But I never heard any of them commend its comforts
after the job was done.
[Illustration: A HOUSEWIFE.]
Then, there were other men who, having arranged a checker-board of
stitches over the holes, as they had seen their mothers do, had not the
time or patience to fill in the squares, and the inevitable consequence
was that both heels and toes would look through the bars only a few hours
before breaking jail again. But there were a few of the boys who were
kept furnished with home-made socks, knit, perhaps, by their good old
grandmas, who seemed to inherit the patience of the grandams themselves;
for, whenever there was mending or darning to be done, they would sit by
the hour, and do the work as neatly and conscientiously as any one could
desire. I am not wide of the facts when I say that the heels of the socks
darned by these men remained firm when the rest of the fabric was well
spent.
There was little attempt made to repair the socks drawn from the
government supplies, for they were generally of the shoddiest
description, and not worth it. In symmetry, they were like an elbow of
stove-pipe; nor did the likeness end here, for, while the stove-pipe
is open at both ends, so were the socks within forty-eight hours after
putting them on.
Cooking was also an industry which occupied more or less of the time of
individuals; but when the army was in settled camp company cooks usually
took charge of the rations. Sometimes, where companies preferred it,
the rations were served out to them in the raw state; but there was
no invariable rule in this matter. I think the soldiers, as a whole,
preferred to receive their coffee and sugar raw, for rough experience
in campaigning soon made each man an expert in the preparation of this
beverage. Moreover, he could make a more palatable cup for himself than
the cooks made for him; for too often their handiwork betrayed some of
the other uses of the mess kettles to which I have made reference. Then,
again, some men liked their coffee strong, others weak; some liked it
sweet, others wished little or no sweetening; and this latter class
could and did save their sugar for other purposes. I shall give other
particulars about this when I take up the subject of Army Rations.
It occurs to me to mention in this connection a circumstance which
may seem somewhat strange to many, and that is that some parts of
the army burned hundreds of cords of green pine-wood while lying in
winter-quarters. It was very often their only resource for heat and
warmth. People at the North would as soon think of attempting to burn
water as green pine. But the explanation of the paradox is this—the
pine of southern latitudes has more pitch in it than that of northern
latitudes. Then, the heart-wood of all pines is comparatively dry. It
seemed especially so South. The heart-wood was used to kindle with, and
the pitchy sap-wood placed on top, and by the time the heart-wood had
burned the sappy portion had also seasoned enough to blaze and make a
good fire. These pines had the advantage over the hard woods of being
more easily worked up—an advantage which the average soldier appreciated.
[Illustration: THE CAMP BARBER.]
Nearly every organization had its barber in established camp. True,
many men never used the razor in the service, but allowed a shrubby,
straggling growth of hair and beard to grow, as if to conceal them from
the enemy in time of battle. Many more carried their own kit of tools
and shaved themselves, frequently shedding innocent blood in the service
of their country while undergoing the operation. But there was yet a
large number left who, whether from lack of skill in the use or care
of the razor, or from want of inclination, preferred to patronize the
camp barber. This personage plied his vocation inside the tent in cold
or stormy weather, but at other times took his post in rear of the tent,
where he had improvised a chair for the comfort (?) of his victims. This
chair was a product of home manufacture. Its framework was four stakes
driven into the ground, two long ones for the back legs, and two shorter
ones for the front. On this foundation a super-structure was raised which
made a passable barber’s chair. But not all the professors who presided
at these chairs were finished tonsors, and the back of a soldier’s head
whose hair had been “shingled” by one of them was likely to show each
course of the shingles with painful distinctness. The razors, too, were
of the most barbarous sort, like the “trust razor” of the old song with
which the Irishman got his “Love o’ God Shave.”
One other occupation of a few men in every camp, which I must not
overlook, was that of studying the tactics. Some were doing it, perhaps,
under the instructions of superior officers; some because of an ambition
to deserve promotion. Some were looking to passing a competitive
examination with a view of obtaining a furlough; and so these men, from
various motives, were “booking” themselves. But the great mass of the
rank and file had too much to do with the practice of war to take much
interest in working out its theory, and freely gave themselves up, when
off duty, to every available variety of physical or mental recreation,
doing their uttermost to pass away the time rapidly; and even those
troops having nearly _three years_ to serve would exclaim, with a
cheerfulness more feigned than real, as each day dragged to its close,
“_It’s only two years and a but_.”
[Illustration]