SPECIAL RATIONS.—BOXES FROM HOME.—SUTLERS.
Can we all forget the bills on Sutler’s ledger haply yet,
Which we feared he would remember, and we hoped he would forget?
May we not recall the morning when the foe were threatening harm,
And the trouble chiefly bruited was, “The coffee isn’t warm”?
PROF. S. B. SUMNER.
[Illustration]
If there was a red-letter day to be found anywhere in the army life of
a soldier, it occurred when he was the recipient of a box sent to him
by the dear ones and friends he left to enter the service. Whenever it
became clear, or even tolerably clear, that the army was likely to make
pause in one place for at least two or three weeks, straightway the
average soldier mailed a letter home to mother, father, wife, sister,
or brother, setting forth in careful detail what he should like to have
sent in a box at the earliest possible moment, and stating with great
precision the address that must be put on the cover, in order to have it
reach its destination safely. Here is a specimen address:—
Sergeant JOHN J. SMITH,
_Company A., 19th Mass. Regiment_,
SECOND BRIGADE, SECOND DIVISION, SECOND CORPS,
ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,
STEVENSBURG, VA.
_Care Capt. James Brown._
As a matter of fact much of this address was unnecessary, and the box
would have arrived just as soon and safely if the address had only
included the name, company, and regiment, with _Washington, D. C._,
added, for everything was forwarded from that city to army headquarters,
and thence distributed through the army. But the average soldier wanted
to make a sure thing of it, and so told the whole story.
The boxes sent were usually of good size, often either a shoe-case or a
common soap-box, and were rarely if ever less than a peck in capacity. As
to the contents, I find on the back of an old envelope a partial list of
such articles ordered at some period in the service. I give them as they
stand, to wit: “Round-headed nails” (for the heels of boots), “hatchet”
(to cut kindlings, tent-poles, etc.), “pudding, turkey, pickles, onions,
pepper, paper, envelopes, stockings, potatoes, chocolate, condensed
milk, sugar, broma, butter, sauce, preservative” (for the boots). The
_quantity_ of the articles to be sent was left to the discretion of
thoughtful and affectionate parents.
In addition to the above, such a list was likely to contain an order for
woollen shirts, towels, a pair of boots made to order, some needles,
thread, buttons, and yarn, in the line of dry goods, and a boiled ham,
tea, cheese, cake, preserve, etc., for edibles. As would naturally be
expected, articles for the repair and solace of the inner man received
most consideration in making out such a list.
How often the wise calculations of the soldier were rudely dashed to
earth by the army being ordered to move before the time when the box
should arrive! And how his mouth watered as he read over the invoice,
which had already reached him by mail, describing with great minuteness
of detail all the delicacies he had ordered, and many more that kind
and loving hearts and thoughtful minds had put in. For the neighborhood
generally was interested when it became known that a box was making
up to send to a soldier, and each one must contribute some token of
kindly remembrance, for the enjoyment of the far-away boy in blue. But
the thought that some of these good things might spoil before the army
would again come to a standstill came upon the veteran now and then with
crushing force. Still, he must needs endure, and take the situation as
coolly as possible.
It was a little annoying to have every box opened and inspected at
brigade or regimental headquarters, to assure that no intoxicating
liquors were smuggled into camp in that way, especially if one was
not addicted to their use. There was many a growl uttered by men who
had lost their little pint or quart bottle of some choice stimulating
beverage, which had been confiscated from a box as “contraband of war,”
although the sender had marked it with an innocent name, in the hope of
passing it through unsuspected and uninspected. Yet the inspectors were
often baffled. A favorite ruse was to have the bottle introduced into a
well roasted turkey, a place that no one would for a moment suspect of
containing such unique stuffing. In such a case the bottle was introduced
into the bird empty, and filled after the cooking was completed, the
utmost care being taken to cover up all marks of its presence. Some would
conceal it in a tin can of small cakes; others inserted it in a loaf of
cake, through a hole cut in the bottom. One member of my company had some
whiskey sent for his enjoyment, sealed up in a tin can; but when the box
was nailed up a nail was driven into the can, so that the owner found
only an empty can and a generally diffused odor of “departed spirits”
pervading the entire contents of food and raiment which the box contained.
It was really vexing to have one’s knick-knacks and dainties overhauled
by strangers under _any_ circumstances, and all the more so when the box
contained no proscribed commodity. Besides, the boxes were so nicely
packed that it was next to impossible for the inspector to return all
the contents, having once removed them; and he often made more or less
of a jumble in attempting to do so. I think I must have had as many
boxes sent as the average among the soldiers, and simple justice to those
who had the handling of them requires me to state that I never missed
a single article from them, and, barring the breakage of two or three
bottles, which may or may not have been the fault of the opener, the
contents were always undamaged. Sometimes the boxes were sent directly
from brigade headquarters to the headquarters of each company without
inspection, and there only those were opened whose owners were known to
imbibe freely on occasion.
[Illustration: A WAGON-LOAD OF BOXES.]
The boxes came, when they came at all, by wagon-loads—mule teams of the
company going after them. I have already intimated that none were sent to
the army when it was on the move or when a campaign was imminent; and as
these moves were generally foreshadowed with tolerable accuracy, the men
were likely to send their orders home at about the same time, and so they
would receive their boxes together. In this way it happened that they
came to camp by wagon-loads, and a happier, lighter-hearted body of men
than those who were gathered around the wagons could not have been found
in the service. I mean now those who were the fortunate recipients of
a box, for there was always a second party on hand who did not expect a
box, but who were on the spot to offer congratulations to the lucky ones;
perhaps these would receive an invitation to quarters to see the box
unpacked. This may seem a very tantalizing invitation for them to accept;
but, nevertheless, next to being the owner of the prize, it was most
entertaining to observe what some one else was to enjoy.
I think the art of box-packing must have culminated during the war. It
was simply wonderful, delightfully so, to see how each little corner and
crevice was utilized. Not stuffed with paper by those who understood
their business, thus wasting space, but filled with a potato, an apple,
an onion, a pinch of dried apples, a handful of peanuts, or some other
edible substance. These and other articles filled the crannies between
carefully wrapped glass jars or bottles of toothsome preserves, or boxes
of butter, or cans of condensed milk or well roasted chickens, and the
turkey that each box was wont to contain. If there was a new pair of
boots among the contents, the feet were filled with little notions of
convenience. Then, there was likely to be, amid all the other merchandise
already specified, a roll of bandages and lint, for the much-feared but
unhoped-for contingency of battle. It added greatly to the pleasures of
the investigator to come now and then upon a nicely wrapped package,
labelled “From Mary,” “From Cousin John,” and perhaps a dozen other
relatives, neighbors, school-mates or shop-mates, most of which
contributions were delicious surprises, and many of them accompanied by
notes of personal regard and good-wishes.
There were some men in every company who had no one at home to remember
them in this tender and appreciative manner, and as they sat or stood
by the hero of a box and saw one article after another taken out and
unwrapped, each speaking so eloquently of the loving care and thoughtful
remembrance of kindred or friends, they were moved by mingled feelings
of pleasure and sadness: pleasure at their comrade’s good-fortune and
downright enjoyment of his treasure, and sadness at their own lonely
condition, with no one to remember them in this pleasant manner, and
often would their eyes fill with tears by the contrast of their own
situation with the pleasant scene before them. But these men were
generally remembered by a liberal donation whenever a box came to camp.
Still, there were selfish men in every company, and, if they were selfish
by nature, the war, I think, had a tendency to make them more so. Such
men would keep their precious box and its precious contents away from
sight, smell, and taste of all outsiders. It was a little world to them,
and all their own. “Send for a box yourself, if you want one,” appeared
in their every look, and often found expression in words. As a boy I have
seen a school-mate munching an apple before now with two or three of his
less favored acquaintances wistfully watching and begging for the core.
But the men of whom I speak never had any core to their apples; they
absorbed everything that was sent them.
I knew one man who, I think, came uncomfortably near belonging to this
class of soldiers. The first box he ever received contained, among other
delicacies, about a peck of raw onions. Before these onions had been
reached in this man’s consumption of the contents of his box a move was
ordered. What was to be done? It was one of the trying moments of his
life. Nineteen out of every twenty men, if not ninety-nine out of every
hundred, would at this eleventh hour have set them outside of the tent
and said, “Here they are, boys. Take hold and help yourselves!” But
not he. He was the hundredth man, the exception. So, packing them up
with some old clothes, he at once expressed them back to his home. But,
as I have intimated, such men were few in number, and, while war made
this class more selfish, yet its community of hardship and danger and
suffering developed sympathy and large-hearted generosity among the rank
and file generally, and they shared freely with their less fortunate but
worthy comrades.
[Illustration: WE DRANK FROM THE SAME CANTEEN.]
Nothing, to my mind, better illustrates the fraternity developed in the
army than the following poem, composed by Private Miles O’Reilly:—
WE’VE DRANK FROM THE SAME CANTEEN.
There are bonds of all sorts in this world of ours,
Fetters of friendship and ties of flowers,
And true lover’s knots, I ween.
The girl and the boy are bound by a kiss,
But there’s never a bond, old friend, like this—
We have drank from the same canteen.
It was sometimes water, and sometimes milk,
And sometimes apple-jack fine as silk.
But, whatever the tipple has been,
We shared it together, in bane or bliss,
And I warm to you friend, when I think of this—
We have drank from the same canteen.
The rich and the great sit down to dine,
And they quaff to each other in sparkling wine,
From glasses of crystal and green.
But I guess in their golden potations they miss
The warmth of regard to be found in this—
We have drank from the same canteen.
We have shared our blankets and tents together,
And have marched and fought in all kinds of weather,
And hungry and full we have been;
Had days of battle and days of rest;
But this memory I cling to, and love the best—
We have drank from the same canteen.
For when wounded I lay on the outer slope,
With my blood flowing fast, and but little to hope
Upon which my faint spirit could lean,
Oh, then I remember you crawled to my side,
And, bleeding so fast it seemed both must have died,
We drank from the same canteen.
But I will now leave this—to me deeply interesting theme—and introduce
THE ARMY SUTLER.
This personage played a very important part as _quartermaster
extraordinary_ to the soldiers. He was not an enlisted man, only a
civilian. By Army Regulations sutlers could be appointed “at the rate of
one for every regiment, corps, or separate detachment, by the commanding
officer of such regiment, corps, or detachment,” subject to the approval
of higher authority. These persons made a business of sutling, or
supplying food and a various collection of other articles to the troops.
Each regiment was supplied with one of these traders, who pitched his
hospital tent near camp, and displayed his wares in a manner most
enticing to the needs of the soldier. The sutler was of necessity both a
dry-goods dealer and a grocer, and kept, besides, such other articles as
were likely to be called for in the service. He made his chief reliance,
however, a stock of goods that answered the demands of the stomach. He
had a line of canned goods which he sold mostly for use in officers’
messes. The canning of meats, fruits, and vegetables was then in its
infancy, and the prices, which in time of peace were high, by the demands
of war were so inflated that the highest of high privates could not
aspire to sample them unless he was the child of wealthy parents who kept
him supplied with a stock of scrip or greenbacks. It can readily be seen
that his thirteen dollars a month (or even sixteen dollars, to which the
pay was advanced June 20, 1864, through the efforts of Henry Wilson, who
strove hard to make it twenty-one dollars) would not hold out a great
while to patronize an army sutler, and hundreds of the soldiers when the
paymaster came round had the pleasure of signing away the entire amount
due them, whether two, three, or four months’ pay, to settle claims of
the sutler upon them. Here are a few of his prices as I remember them:—
[Illustration: A SUTLER’S TENT. FROM A WAR-TIME PHOTOGRAPH.]
Butter (warranted to be rancid), one dollar a pound; cheese, fifty cents
a pound; condensed milk, seventy-five cents a can; navy tobacco, of the
blackest sort, one dollar and a quarter a plug. Other than the milk I
do not remember any of the prices of canned goods. The investment that
seemed to pay the largest dividend to the purchaser was the _molasses
cakes_ or _cookies_ which the sutlers vended at the rate of six for a
quarter. They made a pleasant and not too rich or expensive dessert when
hardtack got to be a burden. Then, one could buy sugar or molasses or
flour of them, though at a higher price than the commissary charged for
the same articles.
The commissary, I think I have explained, was an officer in charge of
government rations. From him quartermasters obtained their supplies for
the rank and file, on a written requisition given by the commander of a
regiment or battery. He also sold supplies for officers’ messes at cost
price, and also to members of the rank and file, if they presented an
order signed by a commissioned officer.
[Illustration: COOKING PANCAKES.]
Towards the end of the war sutlers kept self-raising flour, which they
sold in packages of a few pounds. This the men bought quite generally to
make into fritters or pancakes. It would have pleased the celebrated four
thousand dollar cook at the Parker House, in Boston, could he have seen
the men cook these fritters. The mixing was a simple matter, as water
was the only addition which the flour required, but the fun was in the
turning. A little experience enabled a man to turn them without the aid
of a knife, by first giving the fry-pan a little toss upward and forward.
This threw the cake out and over, to be caught again the uncooked
side down—all in a half-second. But the miscalculations and mishaps
experienced in performing this piece of culinary detail were numerous and
amusing, many a cake being dropped into the fire, or taken by a sudden
puff of wind, just as it got edgewise in the air, and whisked into the
dirt.
Then, the sutler’s pies! Who can forget them? “Moist and indigestible
below, tough and indestructible above, with untold horrors within.” The
most mysterious products that he kept, I have yet to see the soldier who
can furnish a correct analysis of what they were made from. Fortunately
for the dealer, it mattered very little as to that, for the soldiers were
used to mystery in all its forms, and the pies went down by hundreds;
price, twenty-five cents each. Not very high, it is true, compared with
other edibles, but they were small and thin, though for the matter of
thickness several times the amount of such stuffing could have added but
little to the cost.
I have said that these army merchants were dry-goods dealers. The only
articles which would come under this head, that I now remember of
seeing, were army regulation hats, cavalry boots, flannels, socks, and
suspenders. They were not allowed to keep liquors, and any one of them
found guilty of this act straightway lost his permit to suttle for the
troops, if nothing worse happened him.
I am of the opinion that the sutlers did not always receive the
consideration that they deserved. Owing to the high prices which they
asked the soldiers for their goods, the belief found ready currency that
they were little better than extortioners; and I think that the name
“sutler” to-day calls up in the minds of the old soldiers a man who would
not enlist and shoulder his musket, but who was better satisfied to
take his pack of goods and get his living out of the soldiers who were
doing his fighting for him. But there is something to be said on the
other side. In the first place, he filled a need recognized, long before
the Rebellion, by Army Regulations. Such a personage was considered a
convenience if not a necessity at military posts and in campaigns, and
certain privileges were accorded him.
In the second place, no soldier was compelled to patronize him, and yet
I question whether there was a man in the service any great length of
time, within easy reach of one of these traders, who did not patronize
him more or less. In the third place, when one carefully considers the
expense of transporting his goods to the army, the wastage of the same
from exposure to the weather, the cost of frequent removals, and the
risk he carried of losing his stock of goods in case of a disaster to
the army, added to the constant increase in the cost of the necessaries
of life, of which the soldiers were not cognizant, I do not believe that
sutlers as a class can be justly accused of overcharging. I have seen
one of these merchants since the war, who seemed seized with the fullest
appreciation of the worth of his own services to the country, and, with
an innocent earnestness most refreshing, applied for membership in the
Grand Army of the Republic, into which only men who have an honorable
discharge from the government are admitted.
[Illustration: SERVING OUT RATIONS AT THE COOK’S SHANTY.]
There undoubtedly were Shylocks among them, and they often had a hard
time of it; and this leads me to speak of another risk that sutlers
had to assume—the risk of being raided—or “cleaned out,” to quote the
language of the expressive army slang. This meant the secret organization
of a party of men in a regiment to fall upon a sutler in the darkness of
night, throw down his tent, help themselves liberally to whatever they
wanted, and then get back speedily and quietly to quarters. It did not do
to carry stolen goods to the tents, for the next day was likely to see
a detachment of men, accompanied by the sutler, searching the quarters
for the missing property. Sometimes this raiding was done in a spirit
of mischief, by unprincipled men, sometimes to get satisfaction for
what they considered his exorbitant charges. Sometimes the officers of
a regiment sympathized in such a movement, if they thought the sutler’s
exactions deserved a rebuke. When this was the case, it was no easy task
to find the criminals, for the officers were very blind and stupid, or,
if the culprits were detected, they were quietly reminded that if they
were foolish enough to get caught they must suffer the penalty. But
sutlers, like other people, profited by the teachings of experience, and,
if they had faults, soon mended them, so that late in the war they rarely
found it necessary to beg deliverance from their friends.
The following incident came under my own knowledge in the winter of
’64, while the Artillery Brigade of the Third Corps lay encamped in the
edge of a pine woods near Brandy Station, Virginia. Just in rear of the
Tenth Battery camp, near company headquarters, the brigade sutler had
erected his tent, and every wagon-load of his supplies passed through
this camp under the eyes of any one who cared to take note. A load of
this description was thus inspected on a particular occasion, and while
the wagon was standing in front of the tent waiting to be unloaded, and
without special guarding, an always thirsty veteran stole up to it,
seized upon a case of whiskey, said to have been destined for a battery
commander, and was off in a jiffy. Less than three minutes elapsed before
the case was missed. At once the captain of the company was notified, who
immediately gave his instructions to the officer of the day. The bugler
blew the _Assembly_, summoning every man into line; and every man had
to be there or be otherwise strictly accounted for by his sergeant. What
it all meant no one apparently knew. Meanwhile, two lieutenants and the
orderly were carrying on a thorough search of the men’s quarters. When
it was completed, the orderly returned to the line, and the company was
dismissed, in a curious frame of mind as to the cause of all the stir.
This soon leaked out, as did also the fact that no trace of the missing
property had been discovered. All was again quiet along the Potomac,
except when the culprit and his coterie waxed a little noisy over
imbibitions of _ardent_ mysteriously obtained, and not until after the
close of the war was the mystery made clear.
It seems that as soon as he had seized his prize he passed swiftly down
through the camp to the picket rope, where the horses were tied, and
there, _in a pile of manure thrown up behind them_, quickly concealed the
case, and, at the bugle signal, was prompt to fall into line. Under cover
of darkness, the same night, the plunder was taken from the manure-heap
and carried to a hill in front of the camp, where it was buried in a
manner which would not disclose it to the casual traveller, and yet leave
it easily accessible to its unlawful possessor, and here he resorted
periodically for a fresh supply, until it was exhausted.
I have quoted a few of the prices charged by sutlers. Here are a few of
the prices paid by people in Richmond, during the latter part of the war,
in Confederate money:—
Potatoes $80 a bushel; a chicken $50; shad $50 per pair; beef $15 a
pound; bacon $20 a pound; butter $20 a pound; flour $1500 a barrel; meal
$140 a bushel; beans $65 a bushel; cow-peas $80 a bushel; hard wood $50
a cord; green pine $80 a cord; and a dollar in gold was worth $100 in
Confederate money.
[Illustration]