A DAY IN CAMP.
“I hear the bugle sound the calls
For _Réveillé_ and _Drill_,
For _Water_, _Stable_, and _Tattoo_.
For _Taps_—and all was still.
I hear it sound the _Sick-Call_ grim,
And see the men in line,
With faces wry as they drink down
Their whiskey and quinine.”
[Illustration]
A partial description of the daily programme of the rank and file of the
army in the monotony of camp life, more especially as it was lived during
the years 1861, ’62, and ’63, covers the subject-matter treated in this
chapter. I do not expect it to be all new to the outside public even,
who have attended the musters of the State militia, and have witnessed
something of the routine that is followed there. This routine was the
same in the Union armies in many respects, only with the latter there was
a reality about the business, which nothing but stern war can impart, and
which therefore makes soldiering comparatively uninteresting in State
camp—such, at least, is the opinion of old campaigners.
The private soldiers in every arm of the service had many experiences in
common in camp life, so that it will not be profitable to describe each
in detail, but where the routine differs I shall be more entertaining
and exact by adhering to the branch with which I am the most familiar,
_viz._: the light artillery; and this I shall do, and, in so doing,
shall narrate not the routine of my own company alone, but essentially of
that branch of the service throughout the army as artillerymen saw and
lived it.
Beginning the army day, then, the first bugle-call blown was one known
in artillery tactics as the _Assembly of Buglers_, to sound which the
corporal or sergeant of the guard would call up the bugler.
[Music: ASSEMBLY OF BUGLERS (_artillery_).]
[Music: ASSEMBLY OF BUGLERS (_infantry_).]
It was sounded in summer about five o’clock, and in winter at six. It
was the signal to the men to get out of their blankets and prepare
for the morning roll-call, known as _Réveillé_. At this signal, the
hum of life could be heard within the tents. “Put the bugler in the
guard-house!”—“Turn out!”—“All up!”—and other similar expressions,
mingled with yawns, groans, and exclamations of deep disgust, formed a
part of the response to this always unwelcome summons. But as only the
short space of fifteen minutes was to intervene before the next call, the
_Assembly_, would be blown, the men had to bestir themselves. Most of
them would arise at once, do the little dressing that was required, and
perform or omit their toilet, according to the inclination or habit or
time of the individual.
[Illustration: A CANTEEN WASH.]
A common mode of washing was for one man to pour water from a canteen
into the hands of his messmate, and thus take turns; but this method was
practised most on the march. In settled camp, some men had a short log
scooped out for a wash-basin. Some were not so particular about being
washed every day, and in the morning would put the time required for the
toilet into another “turn over” and nap. As such men always slept with
their full uniform on, they were equivalent to a kind of Minute Men,
ready to take the field for roll-call, or any other call, at a minute’s
notice.
[Music: ASSEMBLY (_artillery_).]
[Music: ASSEMBLY (_infantry_).]
As soon as the Assembly sounded, the sight presented was quite an
interesting one. The men could be seen emerging from their tents or huts,
their toilet in various stages of completion. Here was a man with one
boot on, and the other in his hand; here, one with his clothes buttoned
in skips and blouse in hand, which he was putting on as he went to the
line; here was one with a blouse on; there, one with his jacket or
overcoat (unless uniformity of dress on line was required—it was not
always at the morning roll-calls, and in some companies never, only on
inspections). Here and there was a man just about half awake, having a
fist at each eye, and looking as disconsolate and forsaken as men usually
do when they get from the bed before the public at short notice.
[Illustration: FALL IN FOR ROLL-CALL.]
Then, this roll-call was always a powerful cathartic on a large number,
who must go at once to the sinks, and let the Rebel army wait, if it
wanted to fight, until their return. The exodus in that direction at the
sounding of the assembly was really quite a feature. All enlisted men in
a company, except the guard and sick, must be present at this roll-call,
unless excused for good reasons. But as the shirks always took pride
in dodging it, their notice of intention to be absent from it for any
reason was looked at askance by the sergeants of detachments. The studied
agony that these men would work not only into their features but their
voice and even their gait would have been ludicrous in the extreme, if
frequent repetitions had not rendered it disgusting: and the humorous
aspect of these dodgers was not a little enhanced by the appearance which
they usually had of having been dressed much as is a statue about to be
dedicated, which, at the signal, by the pulling of a single cord, is
instantly stripped of all its drapery and displayed in its full glory.
Other touches, which old soldiers _not_ artillerymen would readily
recognize as familiar, might be added to the scene presented in camp,
when the bugle or the drum called the men into line for the first time
in the day. When at last the line was formed, it was dressed by the
orderly,—now called, I believe, first sergeant,—and while at “Parade
Rest” the bugles blew.
[Music: RÉVEILLÉ.]
There were words improvised to many of these calls, which I wish I could
accurately remember. Those adapted to Réveillé, in some regiments, ran as
follows:—
I can’t get ’em up, I can’t get ’em up,
I can’t get ’em up, I tell you.
I can’t get ’em up, I can’t get ’em up,
I can’t get ’em up at all.
The corporal’s worse than the private,
The sergeant’s worse than the corporal,
The lieutenant’s worse than the sergeant,
But the captain’s worst of all.
I can’t get ’em up, I can’t get ’em up,
I can’t get ’em up this morning;
I can’t get ’em up, I can’t get ’em up,
I can’t get ’em up to-day.
These are more appropriate when applied to the infantry, where the call
was blown before the men came into line.
When the bugle ceased to sound, the orderly-sergeant of a battery said,
“Pay attention to Roll-call”; and the roll was called by the six line
or duty sergeants, each of whom had charge of twenty-five men, more or
less. These sergeants then made their report of “all present or accounted
for,” or whatever the report was, to the orderly-sergeant, who, in
turn, reported to the officer of the day in charge. If there were no
special orders to be issued for fatigue duty, or no checks or rebukes
or instructions to be given “for the good of the order,” the line was
dismissed. Any men who were absent without leave were quite likely to be
put on the Black List for their temerity.
Shortly after Réveillé, the buglers sounded forth the shrill notes of
[Music: STABLE CALL.]
Here are the words sung to this call:—
Go to the stable, as quick as you’re able,
And groom off your horses, and give them some corn;
For if you don’t do it the captain will know it,
And then you will rue it, as sure as you’re born.
This call summoned all the drivers in the company to assemble at the
grain pile with their pair of canvas nose-bags, where the stable
sergeant, so called (his rank was that of a private, though he sometimes
put on the airs of a brigadier-general), furnished each with the usual
ration of grain, either oats or corn. With this forage, and a curry-comb
and brush, they at once proceeded to the picket rope, where, under the
inspection of the six sergeants, supervised also by the officer of the
day and orderly, the horses were thoroughly groomed. At a given signal,
the grooming ceased, and the nose-bags were strapped on. Sometimes the
feed was given while the grooming was in progress.
[Illustration: AT THE GRAIN PILE.]
The only amusing phase of this duty that I now recall, occurred when some
luckless cannoneer, who would insist that he did not know the difference
between a curry-comb and a curry of mutton, was detailed to minister
to the sanitary needs of some poor, unsavory, glanders-infected, or
greasy-heeled, or sore-backed, or hoof-rotten brute, that could not be
entirely neglected until he was condemned by governmental authority.
Now the cannoneers of a battery, who constituted what was known as the
Gun Detachment, were an aristocracy. It is worthy of notice that when
artillery companies received their first outfit of horses, there were
always at least three men who wished to be drivers to one who cared to
serve as a cannoneer, the prevailing idea among the uninitiated being
that a driver’s position was a safer place in battle than that of a
cannoneer. I will only say, in passing this point, that they were much
disappointed at its exposures when they came to the reality; but the
cannoneers, taking the recognized post of danger from choice, a post
whose duties when well executed were the most showy on parade, as well as
the most effective in action, upon whose coolness and courage depended
the safety not only of their own company but often that of regiments,
were nursed by these facts into the belief that they rightfully outranked
the rest of the rank and file. The posturings and facial contortions of a
cannoneer, therefore, who cherished these opinions, when called upon to
perform such a task as I have specified, can readily be imagined; if they
cannot, I will only say that they would have excited the risibilities
of the most sympathetic heart. The four-footed patients alluded to were
usually assigned to the charge of “Spare Men,” that is, men who were
neither drivers nor members of the gun detachments, who, by use, had come
to fill the situation meekly and gracefully. There was one service that a
cannoneer _would_ occasionally condescend to do a driver. When the army
was on the march, a driver would sometimes get weary of riding and ask a
cannoneer to spell him while he stretched his legs; and just to oblige
him, you know, the cannoneer would get into the saddle and ride two or
three miles, but beyond that he kept to his own sphere.
Following close upon the completion of stable duties came Breakfast
Call, when the men prepared and ate their breakfast, or received their
dipper of coffee and other rations from the company cook-house. I can add
nothing in this connection to what I have already related in the chapter
on Rations.
[Music: BREAKFAST CALL (_in artillery_).]
[Music: BREAKFAST CALL (_in infantry_).]
At eight o’clock the bugler blew
[Music: SICK CALL (_in artillery_).]
[Music: SICK CALL (_in infantry_).]
Here are the words improvised to this call:—
Dr. Jones says, Dr. Jones says:
Come and get your quin, quin, quin, quinine,
Come and get your quinine,
Q-u-i-n-i-n-e!!!
In response to this call, some who were whole and needed not a physician,
as well as those who were sick, reported at the surgeon’s tent for
prescriptions. Much used to be said by the soldiers in regard to the
competency or incompetency of army surgeons. It was well understood
in war time that, even though an examination of fitness was required
of surgeons to secure an appointment in the army,—at least in some
States,—many charlatans, by some means, received commissions. Such an
examination had as much value as those the medicine men made of recruits
in ’64 and ’65, for those who have occasion to remember will agree that a
sufficient number of men too old or diseased came to the front in those
years—no, they did not all get as far as the front—to fairly stock all
the hospitals in the country. A part of this showing must be charged
to incompetent physicians, and a part to the strait the government was
in for recruits. The appointment of incompetent surgeons, on the other
hand, is to be condoned in a government sorely pressed for medical
assistance, and all too indifferent, in its strait, to the qualifications
of candidates.
Nothing in this line of remark is to be construed as reflecting on the
great mass of army surgeons, who were most assiduous workers, and whose
record makes a most creditable chapter in the history of the Rebellion.
There are incompetents in every class.
Every soldier who tried to do his duty, and only responded to sick-call
when in the direst need, should have received the most skilful treatment
to be had; but a strict regard for the facts compels the statement that
a large number of those who waited upon the doctor deserved no better
treatment than the most ignorant of these men of medicine were likely to
administer. Yes, there were a few individuals to be found, I believe, in
every company in the service, who, to escape guard or fatigue duty, would
feign illness, and, if possible, delude the surgeon into believing them
proper subjects for his tenderest care. Too often they succeeded, and
threw upon their own intimate associates the labors of camp, which they
themselves were able to perform, and degraded their bodies by swallowing
drugs, for the ailments to which they laid claim. I can see to-day,
after a lapse of more than twenty years, these “beats on the government”
emerging from their tents at sick-call in the traditional army overcoat,
with one hand tucked into the breast, the collar up, cap drawn down, one
trousers-leg hung up on the strap of a government boot, and a pace slow
and measured, appearing to bear as many of the woes and ills of mankind
as Landseer has depicted in his “Scapegoat.”
[Illustration: “FALL IN FOR YOUR QUININE.”]
Sometimes the surgeons were shrewd enough to read the frauds among the
patients, in which case they often gave them an unpalatable but harmless
dose, and reported them back for duty, or, perhaps, reported them back
for duty _without_ prescription, at the same time sending an advisory
note to the captain of the company to be on the lookout for them. It
was, of course, a great disappointment to these would-be shirkers to
fail in their plans, but some of the more persistent would stick to
their programme, and, by refusing food and taking but little exercise,
would in a short time make invalids of themselves in reality. There
were undoubtedly many men in the service who secured admission to the
hospitals, and finally their discharge, by this method; and some of these
men, by such a course of action, planted the seeds of real diseases, to
which they long since succumbed, or from which they are now sufferers.
I must hasten to say that this is not a burlesque on _all_ the soldiers
who answered to sick-call. God forbid! The genuine cases went with a
different air from the shams. I can see some of my old comrades now, God
bless them! sterling fellows, soldiers to the core, stalwart men when
they entered the army, but, overtaken by disease, they would report to
sick-call, day after day, hoping for a favorable change; yet, in spite of
medicine and the nursing of their messmates, pining away until at last
they disappeared—went to the hospitals, and there died. Oh, if such men
could only have been sent to their homes before it was too late, where
the surroundings were more congenial and comfortable, the nursing tender,
and more skilful, because administered by warmer hearts and the more
loving hands of mother, wife, or sister, thousands of these noble souls
could have been saved to the government and to their families. But it was
not to be, and so they wasted away, manfully battling for life against
odds, dying with the names of dear ones on their lips, dear ones whose
presence at the death-bed was in so many cases impossible, but dying as
honorable deaths as if they had gone down
“With their back to the field and their feet to the foe.”
This is one of the saddest pictures that memory brings me from Rebellion
days.
The proverbial prescription of the average army surgeon was quinine,
whether for stomach or bowels, headache or toothache, for a cough or for
lameness, rheumatism or fever and ague. Quinine was always and everywhere
prescribed with a confidence and freedom which left all other medicines
far in the rear. Making all due allowances for exaggerations, that drug
was unquestionably the popular dose with the doctors.
[Illustration: THE PICKET ROPE.]
After Sick-Call came _Water-Call_, or
[Music: WATERING CALL,]
at which the drivers in artillery and the full rank and file of the
cavalry repaired to the picket-rope, and, taking their horses, set out to
water them. This was a very simple and expeditious matter when the army
was encamped near a river, as it frequently was; but when it was not, the
horses were ridden from one-half a mile to two miles before a stream or
pond was found adequate to the purpose. It was no small matter to provide
the animals of the Army of the Potomac with water, as can be judged from
the following figures: After Antietam McClellan had about thirty-eight
thousand eight hundred horses and mules. When the army crossed the
Rapidan into the Wilderness, in 1864, there were fifty-six thousand
four hundred and ninety-nine horses and mules in it. Either of these is
a large number to provide with water. But of course they were not all
watered at the same pond or stream, since the army stretched across many
miles of territory. In the summer of 1864, the problem of water-getting
before Petersburg was quite a serious one for man and beast. No rain had
fallen for several weeks, and the animals belonging to that part of the
army which was at quite a remove from the James and Appomattox Rivers
had to be ridden nearly two miles (such was the case in my own company,
at least; perhaps others went further) for water, and then got only a
warm, muddy, and stagnant fluid that had accumulated in some hollow. The
soldiers were sorely pressed to get enough to supply their own needs.
They would scoop out small holes in old water courses, and patiently
await a dipperfull of a warm, milky-colored fluid to ooze from the clay,
drop by drop. Hundreds wandered through the woods and valleys with their
empty canteens, barely finding water enough to quench thirst. Even
places usually dank and marshy became dry and baked under the continuous
drought. But such a state of affairs was not to be endured a great
while by live, energetic Union soldiers; and as the heavens continued
to withhold the much needed supply of water, shovels and pickaxes were
forthwith diverted from the warlike occupation of intrenching to the
more peaceful pursuit of well-digging, it soon being ascertained that
an abundance of excellent water was to be had ten or twelve feet below
the surface of the ground. These wells were most of them dug broadest at
the top and with shelving sides, to prevent them from caving, stoning a
well being obviously out of the question. Old-fashioned well-curbs and
sweeps were then erected over them, and man and beast were provided with
excellent water in camp.
Fatigue call was the next in regular order.
[Music: FATIGUE CALL.]
[Music: FATIGUE CALL (_infantry_).]
The artillery were almost never detailed for fatigue duty outside of
their own company. The only exception now occurring to me was when an
artillery brigade headquarters was established near by, and an occasional
detail was made and sent there for temporary service; but that was all.
Our camp fatigue duty consisted in policing or cleaning camp, building
stables, or perhaps I should more accurately designate them if I called
them shelters, for the horses and mules, burying horses, getting wood and
water, and washing gun-carriages and caissons for inspections.
This building of horse-shelters was at times no mean or trivial
enterprise, and sometimes employed a great many men a great many days.
When the army was on the march, with no danger impending, the horses
were unharnessed and tied to the picket-rope. This was a rope about two
hundred feet long and two inches in diameter, which, when the battery was
drawn up in park, was hitched to the outer hind wheel of a caisson on one
flank of the battery, and then carried through the hind wheels and over
the ammunition-chests of the intervening caissons and made fast to a hind
wheel of the caisson on the other flank. In camp, a different plan was
adopted. If it was in the open, a line of posts was set at intervals,
such as would keep the rope from sagging low, and to them it was secured.
The earth for ten feet on either side was then thrown up beneath like a
well graded street, so as to drain off readily. Sometimes the picket was
established in the edge of woods, in which case the rope ran from tree to
tree. In summer camp a shelter of boughs was constructed over the picket.
In winter, a wall of pine-boughs was set up around, to fend off bleak
winds. Now and then, one was roofed with a thatch of confiscated straw;
and I remember of seeing one nearly covered with long clapboard-like
shingles, which were rifted out of pine-logs.
The character and stability of all such structures depended largely upon
the skill displayed by regimental and company commanders in devising
means to keep men employed, and on the tenure of a company’s stay in a
place. But at this late day I fail to recall a single instance where the
men called a meeting and gave public expression to their gratitude and
appreciation in a vote of thanks for the kind thoughtfulness displayed by
said commanders. In fact, not this alone but _all_ varieties of fatigue
were accompanied in their doing with no end of growling.
It _was_ aggravating after several days of exhausting labor, of cutting
and carting and digging and paving,—for some of the “high-toned”
commanders had the picket paved with cobble-stones,—to have
boot-and-saddle call blown, summoning the company away, never to return
to that camp, but to go elsewhere and repeat their building operations.
It was the cheapest kind of balm to a company’s feelings, where so much
of love’s—or rather _unwilling_—labor had been lost, to see another
company appear, just as the first was leaving, and literally enter into
the labors of the former, taking quiet and full possession of everything
left behind. Yet such was one of the inevitable concomitants of war, and
so used did the men become to such upsettings of their calculations that
twenty-four hours sufficed, as a rule, to wipe out all yearnings for what
so recently had been.
I will add a few words in this connection in regard to the mortality of
horses. Those who have not looked into the matter have the idea that
actual combat was the chief source of the destruction of horseflesh.
But, as a matter of fact, that source is probably not to be credited
with _one-tenth_ of the full losses of the army in this respect. It is
to be remembered that the exigencies of the service required much of the
brutes in the line of hard pulling, exposure, and hunger, which conspired
to use them up very rapidly; but the various diseases to which horses
are subject largely swelled the death list. Every few weeks a veterinary
surgeon would look over the sick-list of animals, and prescribe for such
as seemed worth saving or within the reach of treatment, while others
would be condemned, led off, and shot. To bury these, and those dying
without the aid of the bullet, I have shown, was a part of the fatigue
duty of artillerymen and cavalrymen.
The procuring of wood was often a task involving no little labor for all
arms of the military service. At Brandy Station, Virginia, before the
army left there on the 3d of May, 1864, some commands were obliged to go
four or five miles for it. The inexperienced can have little idea of how
rapidly a forest containing many acres of heavy growth would disappear
before an army of seventy-five or a hundred thousand men camped in and
about it. The scarcity of wood was generally made apparent by this fact,
that when an army first went into camp trees were cut with the scarf
two or three feet above the ground, but as the scarcity increased these
stumps would get chipped down often below a level with the ground.
After fatigue call the next business, as indicated by the drum or army
bugle, was to respond to
[Music: DRILL CALL (_artillery_).]
[Music: DRILL CALL (_infantry_).]
I will anticipate a little by saying that the last drill of any kind in
which my own company engaged took place among the hills of Stevensburg,
but a day or two before the army started into the Wilderness in ’64. From
that time until the close of the war batteries were kept in constant
motion, or placed in the intrenchments on siege duty, thus putting
battery drill out of the question; such at least was the fact with light
batteries attached to the various army corps. The Artillery Reserve,
belonging to the Army of the Potomac, may have been an exception to this.
I have no information in regard to it.
The artillery, like the infantry, had its squad drill, but, as the
marchings and facings were of only trifling importance, there was an
insignificant amount of time spent on them. The drivers were usually
exempted from drill of this kind, the cannoneers of the gun detachments
doing enough of it to enable them, while drilling the standing-gun
drill, so called,—a drill without horses,—to get from line into their
respective stations about the gun and limber, and _vice versa_. But long
after this drill became obsolete and almost forgotten, the men seemed
never to be at a loss to find their proper posts whenever there was need
of it.
So far as I know, artillerymen never piqued themselves on their skill in
marchings by platoons, keeping correct alignment meanwhile, whether to
the front, the rear, obliquely, or in wheelings. Indeed, I remember this
part of their schooling as rather irksome to them, regarding it as they
did, whether rightfully or wrongfully, as ornamental and not essential.
It undoubtedly _did_ contribute to a more correct military bearing
and soldierly carriage of the body, and, in a general way, improved
military discipline: but these advantages did not always appear to the
average member of the rank and file, and, when they did, were not always
appreciated at their worth.
The drill of light-artillerymen in the school of the piece occupied a
considerable time in the early history of each company. Before field
movements could be undertaken, and carried out either with much variety
or success, it was indispensable for the cannoneers and drivers to be
fully acquainted with their respective duties; and not only was each man
drilled in the duties of his _own_ post, but in those of every other man
as well. The cannoneers must know how to be drivers, and the drivers must
have some knowledge of the duties of cannoneers. This qualified a man
to fill not only any other place than his own when a vacancy occurred,
but another place _with_ his own if need came. This education included
a knowledge of the ordinary routine of loading and firing, the ability
to estimate distances with tolerable accuracy, cut fuses, take any part
in the dismounting and mounting of the piece and carriage, the transfer
of limber-chests, the mounting of a spare wheel or insertion of a spare
pole, the slinging of the gun under the limber in case a piece-wheel
should be disabled: even all the parts of the harness must be known by
cannoneer as well as driver, so that by the time a man had graduated
from this school he was possessed of quite a liberal military education.
Doing this sort of business over and over again, day after day, got to be
quite tedious, but it all helped to pass away the three years. One part
of this instruction was quite interesting, particularly if the exercise
was a match against time, or if there was competition between detachments
or sections; this was the dismounting and remounting the piece and
carriage. In this operation each man must know his precise place, and
fit into it as accurately as if he were a part of a machine. This was
absolutely necessary, in order to secure facility and despatch. In just
the measure that he realized and lived up to this duty, did his gun
detachment succeed in reducing the time of the exercise. One gun’s crew
in my company worked with such speed, strength, unanimity, and precision,
that they reduced the time for performing this manœuvre, including
loading and firing, to forty-nine seconds. Other batteries may have done
even better. The guns we then used were the steel Rodmans, weighing
something over eight hundred pounds, and four of us could toss them about
pretty much at will. I say four of us, because just four were concerned
in the lifting of the gun. We could not have handled the brass Napoleons
with equal readiness, for they are somewhat heavier.
[Music: BOOTS AND SADDLES.]
After cannoneers and drivers came to be tolerably familiar with the
school of the piece, field manœuvres with the battery began. The signal
which announced this bit of “entertainment for man and beast” is known to
Army Regulations as a call whose tones at a later period sent the blood
of artillerymen and cavalrymen coursing more rapidly through the veins
when it denoted that danger was nigh, and seeking encounter.
Battery drill was an enterprise requiring ample territory. When the
vicinity of the camp would not furnish it, the battery was driven to
some place that would. If cannoneers as a class were more devout than
the other members of a light-artillery company, it must have been
because they were stimulated early in their military career to pray—to
pray that the limits of the drill-ground should be so contracted that
the battery could not be cantered up and down a plain more than half a
mile in extent, with cannoneers dismounted and strung along in the rear
at intervals varying with their running capacity or the humor of the
commanding officer; or, if mounted, clutching at the handles or edge
of the limber-chest, momently expecting to be hurled headlong as the
carriages plunged into an old sink or tent ditch or the gutter of an old
company street, or struck against a stump or stone with such force as to
shake the ammunition in the chests out of its packing, making it liable
to explode from the next concussion—at least so feared the more timid of
the cannoneers, when their fears of being thrown off were quieted so that
they could think of anything else. On such occasions they appreciated
the re-enforced trousers peculiar to artillerymen, and wished government
had been even more liberal in that direction. But this mental state of
timidity soon wore off, and the men came to feel more at home while
mounted on these noisiest and hardest-riding of vehicles; or else sulked
in the rear, with less indifference to consequences.
Notwithstanding the monotony that came of necessity to be inseparable
from them, battery drills were often exhilarating occasions. It was in
the nature of things for them to be so, as when the artillery in action
moved at all it must needs move promptly. A full six-gun battery going
across a plain at a trot is an animated spectacle. To see it quietly
halted, then, at the command, “Fire to the rear.—Caissons pass your
pieces-trot-march.—In Battery,” break into moving masses, is a still more
animated and apparently confused scene, for horses and men seem to fly in
all directions. But the apparent confusion is only brief, for in a moment
the guns are seen unlimbered in line, the cannoneers at their posts, and
the piece-limbers and caissons aligned at their respective distances in
the rear.
There was an excitement about this turmoil and despatch which I think did
not obtain in any other branch of the service. The rattle and roar was
more like that which is heard in a cotton-factory or machine-shop than
anything else with which I can compare it. The drill of a light battery
possessed much interest to outsiders, when well done. It was not unusual,
when the drill-ground was in proximity to an infantry camp, for the men
to look on by hundreds. To see six cannons, with their accompanying
six caissons, sped by seventy-two horses across the plain at a lively
pace, the cannoneers either mounted or in hot pursuit, suddenly halt at
the bugle signal, and in a moment after appear “In Battery” belching
forth mimic thunder in blank cartridge at a rapid rate, and in the next
minute “limbered up” and away again to another part of the field, was a
sight full of interest and spirit to the unaccustomed beholder; and if,
as sometimes happened, there was a company of cavalry out on drill, to
engage in a sham fight with the battery, a thrilling and exciting scene
ensued, which later actual combats never superseded in memory; for while
the cavalry swept down on the guns at a gallop, with sabres flashing
in the air, the cannoneers with guns loaded with blank cartridges, of
course, stand rigid as death awaiting the onset, until they are within
a few rods of the battery. Then the lanyards are pulled, and the smoke,
belched suddenly forth, completely envelops both parties to the bloodless
fray.
As the drilling of a battery was done for the most part by sounding the
commands upon a bugle, it became necessary for cannoneers and drivers to
learn the calls; and this they did after a short experience. Even the
horses became perfectly familiar with some of these calls, and would
proceed to execute them without the intervention of a driver. Cavalry
horses, too, exhibited great sagacity in interpreting bugle signals.
Sometimes the lieutenants who were chiefs of sections were sent out with
their commands for special drill. A section comprised two guns with their
caissons. There was little enthusiasm in this piecemeal kind of practice,
especially after familiarity and experience in the drill of the full
battery; but it performed a part in making the men self-possessed and
expert in their special arm of the service. Beyond that, it gave men and
horses exercise, and appetite for government food, which, without the
exercise, would have been wanting, to a degree at least, and occupied
time that would otherwise have been devoted to the soldier’s pastime of
grumbling.
At twelve o’clock the _Dinner Call_ was sounded.
[Music: DINNER CALL.]
[Music: DINNER CALL (_infantry_).]
I can add nothing of interest here beyond what I have already presented
in my talk on rations.
There was nothing in the regular line of duty in light artillery for
afternoons which could be called routine, although there was more or less
standing-gun drill for cannoneers early in the service. In the infantry,
battalion drill often occupied the time. The next regular call for a
battery was _Water Call_, sounded at four o’clock, or perhaps a little
later. On the return of the horses _Stable Call_ was again blown, and the
duties of the morning, under this call, repeated.
At about 5.45 P. M., _Attention_ was blown, soon to be followed by the
_Assembly_, when the men fell in again for _Retreat_ roll-call.
[Music: RETREAT.]
The music for this was arranged in three parts, and when there were three
bugles to blow it the effect was quite pleasing. The name _Retreat_
was probably given this call because it came when there was a general
retiring from the duties of the day. This roll-call corresponded with
the _Dress Parade_ of the infantry. Uniformity of dress was a necessity
at this time with the latter, and quite generally too in the artillery;
but the commanders of batteries differed widely in taste and military
discipline. A company of soldiers was what its captain made it. Some
were particular, others were not, but all should have been in this
matter of dress for at least one roll-call in the day. At this parade
all general orders were read, with charges, specifications, and findings
of courts-martial, etc., so that the name of E. D. Townsend, Assistant
Adjutant-General, became a household word. At this time, too, lectures
on the shortcomings of the company were in order. The lecturer employed
by the government to do this was usually the officer of the day, though
now and then the captain would spell him. A lecturer of this kind had
two great advantages over a lecturer in civil life; first, he was always
sure of an audience, and, second, he could hold their attention to the
very close. None of them left while the lecture was in progress. Now and
then an orderly-sergeant would try his hand in the lecture field, but
unless he was protected by the presence of a pair of shoulder-straps he
was quite likely to be coughed or groaned down, or in some other way
discouraged from repeating the effort.
[Illustration: GOING TO WATER.]
The shortcomings alluded to were of a varied character. I think I
mentioned some of them in the chapter on punishments. Sometimes the text
was the general delinquency of the men in getting into line; sometimes
it was a rebuke for being lax in phases of discipline; the men were not
sufficiently respectful to superior officers, did not pay the requisite
attention to _saluting_, had too much _back talk_, were _too boisterous
in camp_, _too untidy in line_. These, and twenty other allied topics,
all having a bearing on the characteristics essential in the make-up
of a good soldier, were preached upon with greater or less unction and
frequency, as circumstances seemed to require, or the standard in a given
company demanded.
After the dismission of the line, guard-mounting took place; but this in
the artillery was a very simple matter. The guard at once formed on the
parade line were assigned to their reliefs, and dismissed till wanted.
Sometimes the guard-mounting took place in the morning, as did that of
the infantry. The neatest and most soldierly appearing guardsman was
selected as captain’s orderly. But guard-mounting in light artillery was
not always thus simple. Camp Barry, near Washington, was used as a school
of instruction for light batteries, for a period of at least three years.
During the greater part of this time there were ten or a dozen batteries
there on an average. Under one of its commandants, at least, a brigade
guard-mounting was held at eight o’clock A.M., and here members of my
company responded to the bugle-call known as the “Assembly of Guard,” for
the first and last time.
[Music: ASSEMBLY OF GUARD.]
The infantry bugle-call for the same purpose was more familiar, as it was
heard daily for months. It ran as follows:—
[Music]
This call was immediately followed by other music, either a brass band or
a fife-and-drum corps, to which the details from the various companies
marched out on to the color-line, where the usual formalities ensued,
such in substance as may be seen at a muster to-day. The guard necessary
in a single company of artillery was so small that the call with the
bugle was rarely if ever sounded, at least in volunteer companies. A
detail of cannoneers stood guard over the guns night and day, and over
the cook-house and quartermaster’s stores at night, and sometimes there
was one posted in front of company headquarters. A detail of drivers,
also, went on duty at night at the picket-rope, to assure that the horses
were kept tied and not stolen by marauding cavalrymen.
In the safe rear, where, as the men used to say, the officers were wont
to sit up late at night burning out government candles, while they
devised ways and means to keep the men exercised as well as ex_or_cised,
a guard tent was pitched in front of the camp, in which the guard were
compelled to stay when off post, much to their disgust sometimes; but
when the company or regiment was in line along the glorious front, that
unpopular lodging-house was abandoned, and each guardsmen slept in his
own quarters, on his own army feather-bed, whither the corporal of the
guard must come for his victim in the silent hours when that victim was
wanted to go on post.
With the infantry, guard-mounting took place in the morning at eight
o’clock. The guard was divided into three equal portions, called reliefs,
first, second, and third, each relief being on post two hours and off
four, thus serving eight hours out of the twenty-four. With all the
irksomeness of the detail, the guardsman enjoyed a temporary triumph as
such, for on that day, at least, he could snap his fingers at roll-calls
and all calls for fatigue duty—in short, was an independent gentleman
within certain limits.
I have stated it to have been the duty of the corporal of the guard to
seek out the members of the various reliefs in their quarters, when
the time came for them to go on post. There was more or less of lively
incident attending these explorations—not, however, with the sanction
of the corporal, to whom the liveliness was anything but amusing. Your
corporal of the guard was up to the average of ordinary officers in
intelligence, and, as he was just started on the ladder of promotions,
fully intended to do his whole duty at least; and so he was wont to
prepare himself for his nightly rounds by obtaining such a knowledge
of the local geography of the camp as would enable him to arouse and
assemble his guard with the least inconvenience to himself and the least
commotion to the camp. But the best laid plans of corporals of the guard
would frequently “gang agley,” even though they used every precaution,
and so it was the rule rather than the exception for him to get into the
wrong tent, and, after waking up all the inmates and getting the profane
to swearing, and all to abusing him for his stupid intrusion, to retreat
in as good order as possible and try again. The next time perhaps he
would get into the right one, and, after scrutinizing his list of the
guard once more, call out the name of _Smith_, for example. No answer.
There was a kind of deafness generated in the service, which was almost
epidemic among guardsmen, especially night guard; at least, such seemed
to be the case, for the man that was wanted to go out and take his post
was invariably the last one in the tent to be awakened by the summons of
the corporal; and long before that waking moment came, the corporal had
as aids on his staff all these self-same inmates who had been victims to
the assumed deafness of the man sought, and whose voices now furnished no
mean chorus to the corporal’s refrain.
[Illustration: STOCKADED SIBLEY TENTS.]
Sometimes, when the knight of the double chevron was a man of retiring
and quiet demeanor, he would save his lungs and make an effort to find
his man by stepping inside the tent, and flashing the light of his army
candle from the open side of his tin lantern upon the features of each of
the slumberers until he came to his victim, when he would shake him by
the shoulder and arouse him. The only drawback to this method occurred
when the reflections of the corporal woke up the wrong man, who, if
he happened to be one of those explosive creatures whom I have before
mentioned, was not always complimentary to the intruder in his use of
language.
Once in a while, in making his midnight rounds, when calling the name of
one of his guard through the door of the stockade, the corporal would
be politely directed by some one from within, perhaps the very man he
wanted, to “Next tent below”; and many a time this officer succeeded
in getting such an innocent and unsuspecting household completely by
the ears before being convinced of the joke which had been played on
him, when he would return to the first tent in no enviable humor; for
meanwhile the men to be relieved were chafing and sputtering away at the
non-appearance of the corporal and the relief. I think there was no one
minor circumstance which vexed soldiers more than tardy relief from their
posts, for every minute that they waited after the expiration of their
allotted time seemed to them at least ten; so that the reception which
the corporal and relief received when they _did_ arrive was likely to be
far from fraternal.
Speaking of the corporal of the guard reminds me of a snatch of a song
which used to be sung in camp to the tune of “When Johnny comes marching
home.” Here is the fragment:—
My Johnny he now a Corporal is!
Hurrah! Hurrah!
My Johnny he now a Corporal is,
You bet he knows his regular biz,
And we’ll all feel gay, etc.
At 8.30 P.M., the bugle again sounded “Attention,” followed by the
“Assembly,” about five minutes afterwards, and the tumbling-out of the
company from their evening sociables, to form in line for the final
roll-call of the day, known as _Tattoo_.
[Music: TATTOO.]
But this was Tattoo in the artillery. A somewhat more inspiriting call
was that of the infantry, which gave the bugler quite full scope as a
soloist. Here it is:—
[Music]
Ere the last tone had died away, we could hear, when camped near
enough to the infantry for the purpose, a very comical medley of names
and responses coming from the several company streets of the various
regiments within ear-shot. It was “Jones!”—“Brown!”—“Smith!”—“Joe
Smith!”—“Green!”—“Gray!”—“O’Neil!”—“O’Reilly!”—“O’Brien!” and so on
through the nationalities, only that the names were intermingled. Then,
the responses were replete with character. I believe it to be among the
abilities of a man of close observation to write out quite at length
prominent characteristics of an entire company, by noting carefully
the manner in which the men answer “Here!” at roll-call. Every degree
of pitch in the gamut was represented. Every degree of force had its
exponent. Some answered in a low voice, only to tease the sergeant, and
_roar_ out a second answer when called again. There were upward slides
and downward slides, guttural tones and nasal tones. Occasionally, some
one would answer for a messmate, who was absent without leave, and take
his chances of being detected in the act. Darkness gave cover to much
good-natured knavery.
Tattoo was blown in artillery with the company at “Parade Rest,” as at
Réveillé. The roll-call and reports followed just as before, and the
company was then dismissed. Well do I recall, after the lapse of more
than twenty years, the melodious tones of this little bit of army music
coming to our ears so consecutively from various parts of the army as
to make continuous vibrations for nearly fifteen minutes, softened and
sweetened by varying distances, as more than a thousand bugles gave
tongue to the still and clear evening air, telling us that in the time
specified a hundred thousand men had come out of their rude temporary
homes—possibly the last ones they would ever occupy—to respond to their
names, and give token that, though Nature’s pall had now overshadowed the
earth, they were yet loyally at their posts awaiting further orders for
their country’s service.
After this roll-call was over, the men had half an hour in which to make
their beds, put on their nightcaps, and adjust themselves for sleep,
as at nine o’clock _Taps_ was sounded, which in the artillery ran as
follows:—
[Music: TAPS.]
In the infantry, the bugle-call for Taps was identical with the Tattoo
call in artillery. At its conclusion a drummer beat a few single,
isolated taps, which closed the army day. At this signal all lights must
be put out, all talking and other noises cease, and every man, except the
guard, be inside his quarters. In a previous chapter I think I stated
that the Black List caught the men who violated this regulation. Some
officers enforced it with greater rigidity than others, but all must have
a quiet camp. Yet here, as elsewhere, rank interposed to shield culprits
from violations of military regulations, and, while the private soldier
was punished for burning his candle or talking to his messmate after the
bugle-signal, general, field, staff, or line officers could and did get
together and carouse, and make the night turbulent with their revelry
into the small hours, with no one to molest or call them to an account
for it, although making tenfold the disturbance ever caused by the high
private after hours.
Taps ended the army day for all branches of the service, and, unless an
alarm broke in upon the stillness of the night, the soldiers were left to
their slumbers; or, what was oftener the case, to meditations on home;
the length of time in months and days they must serve before returning
thither; their prospects of surviving the vicissitudes of war; of the
boys who once answered roll-call with them, now camped over across the
Dark River; or of plans for business, or social relations to be entered
upon, if they should survive the war. All these, and a hundred other
topics which furnished abundant field for air-castle-building, would
chase one another through the mind of the soldier-dreamer, till his brain
would grow weary, his eyes heavy, and balmy sleep would softly steal him
away from a world of trouble into the realm of sweet repose and pleasant
dreams.
[Illustration]