THE ARMY MULE.
“Two teamsters have paused, in the shade of the pool,
Rehearsing the tricks of the old army mule;
They have little to say
Of the blue and the gray,
Which they wore when the garments meant shedding of blood—
They’re discussing the mule and ‘Virginia mud.’”
[Illustration]
It has often been said that the South could not have been worsted in the
Rebellion had it not been for the steady re-enforcement brought to the
Union side by the mule. To just what extent his services hastened the
desired end, it would be impossible to compute; but it is admitted by
both parties to the war that they were invaluable.
It may not be generally known that Kentucky is the chief mule-producing
State of the Union, with Missouri next, while St. Louis is perhaps the
best mule-market in the world; but the entire South-west does something
at mule-raising. Mules vary more in size than horses. The largest and
best come from Kentucky. The smaller ones are the result of a cross with
the Mexican mustang. These were also extensively used. General Grant
says, in his Memoirs (vol. 1. p. 69), that while Taylor’s army was at
Matamoras, contracts were made for mules, between American traders and
Mexican smugglers, at from eight to eleven dollars each. But the main
source of supply for the Western States, where they are very generally
used, for the South, and for the government, during war time, was
Kentucky. When the war broke out, efforts were made by Governor Magoffin
of that State—or rather by the Legislature, for the Governor was in
full sympathy with the Rebels—to have that commonwealth remain neutral.
For this reason when the general government attempted to purchase mules
there in 1861, they were refused; but in the course of a few weeks the
neutrality nonsense was pretty thoroughly knocked out of the authorities,
Kentucky took its stand on the side of the Union, and the United States
government began and continued its purchase of mules there in increasing
numbers till the close of the war.
[Illustration: A SIX-MULE TEAM.]
What were these mules used for? Well, I have related elsewhere that, when
the war broke out, thousands of soldiers came pouring into Washington
for its defence, and afterwards went by thousands into other sections of
Rebeldom. To supply these soldiers with the necessary rations, forage,
and camp equipage, and keep them supplied, thousands of wagons were
necessary. Some of the regiments took these wagons with them from their
native State, but most did not. Some of the wagons were drawn by mules
already owned by the government, and more mules were purchased from time
to time. The great advantage possessed by these animals over horses was
not at that period fully appreciated, so that horses were also used in
large numbers. But the magnitude of the Rebellion grew apace. Regiments
of cavalry, each requiring twelve hundred horses, and light batteries one
hundred and ten, were now rapidly organizing, calling for an abundance
of horse-flesh. Then, disease, exposure, and hard usage consumed a great
many more, so that these animals naturally grew scarcer as the demand
increased. For certain kinds of work horses _must_ be had, mules would
not do. The horse was good for any kind of service, as a beast of burden,
up to the limits of his endurance. Not so his half-brother the mule. The
latter was more particular as to the kind of service he performed. Like
a great many _bipeds_ that entered the army, he preferred to do military
duty in the safe rear. As a consequence, if he found himself under fire
at the front, he was wont to make a stir in his neighborhood until he got
out of such inhospitable surroundings.
[Illustration: A MULE EATING AN OVERCOAT.]
This nervousness totally unfitted him for artillery or cavalry service;
he must therefore be made available for draft in the trains, the
ammunition and forage trains, the supply and bridge trains. So, as
rapidly as it could conveniently be done, mules took the place of horses
in all the trains, six mules replacing four horses.
Aside from this nervousness under fire, mules have a great advantage over
horses in being better able to stand hard usage, bad feed, or no feed,
and neglect generally. They can travel over rough ground unharmed where
horses would be lamed or injured in some way. They will eat brush, and
not be very hungry to do it, either. When forage was short, the drivers
were wont to cut branches and throw before them for their refreshment.
One m. d. (mule driver) tells of having his army overcoat partly eaten
by one of his team—actually chewed and swallowed. The operation made the
driver _blue_, if the diet did not thus affect the mule.
In organizing a six-mule team, a large pair of heavy animals were
selected for the pole, a smaller size for the swing, and a still smaller
pair for leaders. There were advantages in this arrangement; in the
first place, in going through a miry spot the small leaders soon place
themselves, by their quick movements, on firm footing, where they can
take hold and pull the pole mules out of the wallow. Again, with a good
heavy steady pair of wheel mules, the driver can restrain the smaller
ones that are more apt to be frisky and reckless at times, and, assisted
by the brake, hold back his loaded wagon in descending a hill. Then,
there was more elasticity in such a team when well trained, and a good
driver could handle them much more gracefully and dexterously than he
could the same number of horses.
It was really wonderful to see some of the experts drive these teams.
The driver rides the near pole mule, holding in his left hand a single
rein. This connects with the bits of the near lead mule. By pulling this
rein, of course the brutes would go to the left. To direct them to the
right one or more short jerks of it were given, accompanied by a sort of
gibberish which the mule-drivers acquired in the business. The bits of
the lead mules being connected by an iron bar, whatever movement was made
by the near one directed the movements of the off one. The pole mules
were controlled by short reins which hung over their necks. The driver
carried in his right hand his _black snake_, that is, his black leather
whip, which was used with much effect on occasion.
[Illustration: A CORRAL.]
When mules were brought to the army they were enclosed in what was called
a _corral_. To this place the driver in quest of a mule must repair to
make and take his selection, having the proper authority to do so. I
will illustrate how it was done. Here is a figure representing a corral,
having on the inside a fence running from A to C. AD and BE are pairs of
bars. The driver enters the yard, mounted, and, having selected the mule
he wants, drives him toward BE. The bars at AD being up, and those at BE
being down, the mule advances and the bars BE are put up behind him. He
is now enclosed in the small space indicated by ABDE. The mule-driver
then mounts the fence, bridles the brute of his choice, lets down the
bars at AD, and takes him out. Why does he bridle him from the fence?
Well, because the mule is an uncertain animal.
[Illustration: DISMOUNTED.]
In making his selection the driver did not always draw a prize. Sometimes
his mule would be kind and tractable, and sometimes not. Of course
he would saddle him, and start to ride him to camp; but the mule is
not always docile under the saddle. He too often has a mind of his
own. He may go along all right, or, if he is tricky, he may suddenly
pause, bracing his forefeet and settling down on his hind ones, as if
he had suddenly happened to think of the girl he left behind him, and
was debating whether or not to go back after her. It is when the mule
strikes such an attitude as this, I suppose, that Josh Billings calls
him “a stubborn fact.” But the driver! Well, if at that moment he was
off his guard, he would get off without previous preparation, as a man
sometimes sits down on ice, and look at the mule. If, however, he was
on the alert, and well prepared, the mule, in the end, would generally
come off second best. I have referred to the _Black Snake_. It was the
badge of authority with which the mule-driver enforced his orders. It
was the panacea for all the ills to which mule-flesh was heir. It was a
common sight to see a six-mule team, when left to itself, get into an
entanglement, seeming inextricably mixed, unless it was unharnessed; but
the appearance of the driver with his black wand would change the scene
as if by magic. As the heel-cord of Achilles was his only vulnerable
part, so the ears of the mule seemed to be the development through which
his reasoning faculties could be the most quickly and surely reached,
and one or two cracks of the whip on or near these little monuments,
accompanied by the driver’s very expressive ejaculation in the mule
tongue, which I can only describe as a kind of cross between an unearthly
screech and a groan, had the effect to disentangle them unaided, and make
them stand as if at a “present” to their master. When off duty in camp,
they were usually hitched to the pole of their wagon, three on either
side, and here, between meals, they were often as antic as kittens or
puppies at play, leaping from one side of the pole to the other, lying
down, tumbling over, and biting each other, until perhaps all six would
be an apparently confused heap of mule. If the driver appeared at such
a crisis with his black “ear-trumpet,” one second was long enough to
dissolve the pile into its original mule atoms, and arrange them again
on either side of the pole, looking as orderly and innocent as if on
inspection.
[Illustration: OATS FOR SIX.]
An educated mule-driver was, in his little sphere, as competent a
disciplinarian as the colonel of a regiment. Nor did he always secure
the prompt and exact obedience above described by applications of the
Black Snake alone, or even when accompanied by the sternest objurgations
delivered in the mule dialect. He was a terror to his subjects in yet
another way: and old soldiers will sustain me in the assertion that
the propulsive power of the mule-driver was increased many fold by the
almost unlimited stock of profanity with which he greeted the sensitive
ears of his muleship when the latter was stubborn. I have seen mules,
but now most obdurate, jump into their collars the next moment with the
utmost determination to do their whole duty when one of these Gatling
guns of curses opened fire upon them. Some reader may prefer to adjudge
as a reason for this good behavior the fear of the Black Snake, which
was likely to be applied close upon the volley of oaths; but I prefer to
assign as a motive the mule’s interest in the advancement of good morals.
In all seriousness, however, dealing only with the fact, without
attempting to prove or deny justification for it, it is undoubtedly true
that the mule-drivers, when duly aroused, could produce a deeper cerulean
tint in the surrounding atmosphere than any other class of men in the
service. The theory has been advanced that if all of these professional
m. d.’s in the trains of the Army of the Potomac could have been put
into the trenches around Petersburg and Richmond, in the fall of 1864,
and have been safely advanced to within ear-shot of the enemy, then, at
a signal, set to swearing simultaneously at their level-_worst_, the
Rebels would either have thrown down their arms and surrendered then and
there, or have fled incontinently to the fastnesses of the Blue Ridge.
There may have been devout mule-drivers in Sherman’s army, but I never
saw one east. They may have been pious on taking up this important work.
They were certainly impious before laying it down. Nevertheless, in these
later days, when they are living better lives, any twinge of conscience
which they may occasionally feel must be relieved by the knowledge that
General Grant has given them credit for being able to swear a mule-team
out of the mud when it could not be moved by any other process.
I have stated that the mule was uncertain; I mean as to his intentions.
He cannot be trusted even when appearing honest and affectionate. His
reputation as a kicker is worldwide. He was the Mugwump of the service.
The mule that will not kick is a curiosity. A veteran relates how,
after the battle of Antietam, he saw a colored mule-driver approach
his mules that were standing unhitched from the wagons, when, presto!
one of them knocked him to the ground in a twinkling with one of those
unexpected instantaneous kicks, for which the mule is peerless. Slowly
picking himself up, the negro walked deliberately to his wagon, took
out a long stake the size of his arm, returned with the same moderate
pace to his muleship, dealt him a stunning blow on the head with the
stake, which felled him to the ground. The stake was returned with the
same deliberation. The mule lay quiet for a moment, then arose, shook
his head, a truce was declared, and driver and mule were at peace and
understood each other.
Here is another illustration of misplaced confidence. On the road to
Harper’s Ferry, after the Antietam campaign in 1862, the colored cook
of the headquarters of the Sixtieth New York Regiment picked up a large
and respectable looking mule, to whom, with a cook’s usual foresight and
ambition, he attached all the paraphernalia of the cook-house together
with his own personal belongings, and settled himself down proudly on his
back among them. All went on serenely for a time, the mule apparently
accepting the situation with composure, until the Potomac was reached
at Harper’s Ferry. On arriving in the middle of the pontoon bridge
upon which the army was crossing, from some unexplained reason—perhaps
because, on looking into the water, he saw himself as others saw him—the
mule lifted up his voice in one of those soul-harrowing brays, for which
he is famous—or _in_famous—and, lifting his hind legs aloft, in the next
moment tossed his entire burden of cook and cook-house into the river,
where, weighted down with mess-kettles and other utensils of his craft,
the cook must have drowned had not members of the regiment come to his
rescue. Not at all daunted by this experience, the cookey harnessed the
mule again as before, led him across the remaining portion of the bridge,
where he remounted and settled himself among his household goods once
more, where all was well till the Shenandoah was reached. Here, with
another premonitory blast of his nasal trumpet, the mule once more dumped
his load into the rapid rolling river, when the cook lost all confidence
in mules as beasts of burden, and abandoned him.
[Illustration: DUMPED INTO THE POTOMAC.]
Josh Billings says somewhere that if he had a mule who would neither kick
nor bite he would watch him dreadful “cluss” till he found out where his
malice _did_ lay. This same humorist must have had some experience with
the mule, for he has said some very bright and pat things concerning him.
Here are a few that I recall:—
“To break a mule—begin at his head.”
“To find the solid contents of a mule’s hind leg, feel of it clussly.”
“The man who wont believe anything he kant see aint so wise az a mule,
for they will kick at a thing in the dark.”
“The only thing which makes a mule so highly respectable is the great
accuracy of his kicking.”
“The mule is a sure-footed animal. I have known him to kick a man
fifteen feet off ten times in a second.”
These are a few samples, most all of which have reference to his great
ability as a kicker. Unquestionably he had no equal in this field of
amusement—to him. His legs were small, his feet were small, but his
ambition in this direction was large. He _could_ kick with wonderful
accuracy, as a matter of fact. Mule-drivers tell me he could kick a fly
off his ear, as he walked along in the team, with unerring accuracy.
This being so, of course larger objects were never missed when they were
within range. But the distance included within a mule’s range had often
to be decided by two or three expensive tests. One driver, whom I well
knew, was knocked over with a mule’s hind foot while standing _directly
in front of him_. This shows something of their range.
I have remarked, in substance, that the mule was conquered only by laying
hold of or striking his ears. It may be asked how he was shod if he was
such a kicker. To do this, one of two methods was adopted; either to
sling him up as oxen are slung, then strap his feet; or walk him into
a noose, and cast him, by drawing it around his legs. Of course, he
would struggle violently for a while, but when he gave in it was all
over for that occasion, and he was as docile under the smith’s hands as
a kitten. Being surer-footed and more agile than a horse, of course he
gets into fewer bad places or entanglements; but once in, and having
made a desperate struggle for his relief, and failing, he seems utterly
discouraged, and neither whip nor persuasion can move him. Then, as in
the shoeing, the driver can handle him with the utmost disregard of
heels; but when once on his feet again, stand aside! He has a short
memory. He lives in the future, and his heels are in business, as usual,
at the old stand.
I need not comment on the size of the mule’s ears. Of course,
everybody who has seen them knows them to be abnormal in size. But
disproportionately large though they may be, there is one other organ in
his possession which surpasses them; that is his voice. This is something
simply tremendous. That place which the guinea-fowl occupies among the
feathered bipeds of the barn-yard in this respect, the mule holds _facile
princeps_ among the domestic quadrupeds. The poets who lived in the same
time with Pericles said of the latter that “he lightened, thundered,
and agitated all Greece,” so powerful was his eloquence. So, likewise,
when the mule raised his voice, all opposition was silent before him,
for nothing short of rattling, crashing thunder, as it seemed, could
successfully compete for precedence with him.
[Illustration: THE REAR GUARD OF THE REGIMENT.]
In addition to his great usefulness in the train, he was used a good deal
under a pack-saddle. Each regiment usually had one, that brought up the
rear on the march, loaded with the implements of the cook-house—sometimes
with nothing to be seen but head and tail, so completely was he covered
in. They were generally convoyed by a colored man. Sometimes these
strong-minded creatures, in crossing a stream, would decide to lie down,
all encumbered as they were, right in the middle, and down they would
settle in spite of the ludicrous opposition and pathetic protests of
the convoy. Of course, it was no balm to his wound to have the passing
column of soldiers keep up a running fire of banter. But there was no
redress or relief to be had until his muleship got ready to move, which
was generally after every ounce of his burden had been stripped off and
placed on terra firma.
When the army was lying in line of battle in such close proximity to the
enemy that the ammunition wagons could not safely approach it, two boxes
were taken and strapped on a mule, one on each side, “to keep his balance
true,” and thus the troops were supplied when needed.
At the terrible battle of Spottsylvania, May 12, 1864, a steady line of
pack-mules, loaded with ammunition, filed up the open ravine, opposite
the captured salient, for nearly twenty hours, in that way supplying our
forces, who were so hotly engaged there.
Rations were furnished in the same manner under similar circumstances.
But now and then a mule would lie down under his burden, and refuse to
budge.
Grant says (vol. i. p. 106): “I am not aware of ever having used a
profane expletive in my life, but I would have the charity to excuse
those who may have done so if they were in charge of a train of Mexican
pack-mules at the time,” alluding to an experience in the Mexican War.
I believe I have stated that the mule much preferred to do military duty
in the safe rear; but if there was anything which the war proved with the
utmost clearness to both Yanks and Rebs, it was that there was surely no
safe rear. This being so, the vivacious mule did not always have a plain
and peaceful pilgrimage as a member of the wagon-train. I vividly recall
the enjoyment of my company, during Lee’s final retreat, whenever our
guns were unlimbered, as they were again and again, to be trained on the
columns of retreating wagon-trains. The explosion of a shell or two over
or among them would drive the long-ears wild, and render them utterly
unmanageable, and the driver’s best and often his _only_ recourse was to
let them go if there was room ahead. But one demoralized, disorganized
six-mule team would sometimes so effectively block the way, when the road
was narrow, and the pursuit close, as to cause the capture of that part
of the train behind it. Were any ex-Johnny m. d. to read this chuckling
over the misfortunes of his craft, and not quite appreciate my enjoyment,
I should at once assure him that there are some Yank m. d.’s who can
heartily sympathize with him, having had a like experience.
[Illustration: MULES LOADED WITH AMMUNITION.]
From what I have stated, it will be seen that the mule would be very
unreliable in cavalry service, for in action he would be so wild that
if he did not dismount his rider he would carry even the most valiant
from the scene of conflict, or, what was just as likely, rush madly
into the ranks of the enemy. The same observations would suit equally
well as objections to his service with artillery. On the 5th of April,
1865, during the retreat of Lee, we came upon a batch of wagons and
a battery of steel guns, of the Armstrong pattern, I think, which
Sheridan’s troopers had cut out of the enemy’s retreating trains. The
guns had apparently never been used since their arrival from England.
The harnesses were of russet leather and equally new; but the battery
was drawn by a sorry-looking lot of horses and mules, indiscriminately
mingled. My explanation for finding the mules thus tackled was that
horses were scarce, and that it was not expected to use the guns at
present, but simply to get them off safely; but that if it became
necessary to use them they could do so with comparative safety to the
mules as the guns were of very long range.
I should have pronounced these particular mules safe anywhere, even under
a hot fire, if extreme emaciation had been a sure index of departed
strength and nerve in this variety of brute. But that is not mule at all.
The next day, at Sailor’s Creek, my corps (Second), after a short, sharp
contest, made a capture of thirteen flags, three guns, thirteen hundred
prisoners, and over two hundred army wagons, with their mules. And such
mules! the skinniest and boniest animals that I ever saw still retaining
life, I sincerely believe. For a full week they had been on the go, night
and day, with rare and brief halts for rest or food. Just before their
capture they would seem to have gone down a long hill into a valley, a
literal Valley of Humiliation as it proved, for there they were compelled
to stay and surrender, either from inability to climb the opposite hill
and get away, or else because there was not opportunity for them to do
so before our forces came upon them. And yet, in spite of the worn and
wasted state of those teams, it is doubtful if their kicking capacity was
materially reduced by it.
The question frequently raised among old soldiers is, What became of all
the army mules? There are thousands of these men who will take a solemn
oath that they never saw a dead mule during the war. They can tell you of
the carcasses of _horses_ which dotted the line of march, animals which
had fallen out from exhaustion or disease, and left by the roadside for
the buzzards and crows. These they can recall by hundreds; but not the
dimmest picture of a single dead mule, and they will assure you that,
to the best of their knowledge and belief, the government did not lose
one of these animals during the war. I recently conversed with an old
soldier who remembered having once seen, on the march, the _four hoofs_
of a mule—those and nothing more; and the conclusion that he arrived at
was that the mule, in a fit of temper, had kicked off his hoofs and gone
up. Another soldier, a mule-driver, remembers of seeing a mule-team which
had run off the corduroy road into a mire of quicksand. The wagon had
settled down till its body rested in the mire, but nothing of the team
was visible save the ear-tips of the off pole mule.
[Illustration:
“BUT THE NOBLEST THING THAT PERISHED THERE,
WAS THAT OLD ARMY MULE.”]
As a fact, however, the mules, though tough and hardy, died of disease
much as did the horses. Glanders took off a great many, and black tongue,
a disease peculiar to them, caused the death of many more. But, with
all their outs, they were of invaluable service to the armies, and well
deserve the good opinions which came to prevail regarding their many
excellent qualities as beasts of burden. Here is an incident of the war
in which the mule was the hero of the hour:—
[Illustration: CHARGE OF THE MULE BRIGADE.]
On the night of Oct. 28, 1863, when General Geary’s Division of the
Twelfth Corps repulsed the attacking forces of Longstreet at Wauhatchie,
Tennessee, about two hundred mules, affrighted by the din of battle,
rushed in the darkness into the midst of Wade Hampton’s Rebel troops,
creating something of a panic among them, and causing a portion of them
to fall back, supposing that they were attacked by cavalry. Some one in
the Union army, who knew the circumstances, taking Tennyson’s “Charge
of the Light Brigade” as a basis, composed and circulated the following
description of the ludicrous event:—
CHARGE OF THE MULE BRIGADE.
Half a mile, half a mile,
Half a mile onward,
Right through the Georgia troops
Broke the two hundred.
“Forward the Mule Brigade!
Charge for the Rebs!” they neighed.
Straight for the Georgia troops
Broke the two hundred.
“Forward the Mule Brigade!”
Was there a mule dismayed?
Not when the long ears felt
All their ropes sundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to make Rebs fly.
On! to the Georgia troops
Broke the two hundred.
Mules to the right of them,
Mules to the left of them,
Mules behind them
Pawed, neighed, and thundered.
Breaking their own confines,
Breaking through Longstreet’s lines
Into the Georgia troops,
Stormed the two hundred.
Wild all their eyes did glare,
Whisked all their tails in air
Scattering the chivalry there,
While all the world wondered.
Not a mule back bestraddled,
Yet how they all skedaddled—
Fled every Georgian,
Unsabred, unsaddled,
Scattered and sundered!
How they were routed there
By the two hundred!
Mules to the right of them,
Mules to the left of them,
Mules behind them
Pawed, neighed, and thundered;
Followed by hoof and head
Full many a hero fled,
Fain in the last ditch dead,
Back from an ass’s jaw
All that was left of them,—
Left by the two hundred.
When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Mule Brigade,
Long-eared two hundred!
The following plaint in behalf of this veteran quadruped will close this
sketch:—
THE ARMY MULE IN TIME OF PEACE.
“That men are ungrateful can plainly be seen
In the case of that mule standing out on the green.
His features are careworn, bowed down is his head,
His spirit is broken: his hopes have all fled.
He thinks of the time when the battle raged sore,
When he mingled his bray with the cannon’s loud roar;
When Uncle Sam’s soldiers watched for him to come,
Hauling stores of provisions and powder and rum;
When his coming was greeted with cheers and huzzas,
And the victory turned on the side of the stars.
“These thoughts put new life into rickety bones—
He prances just once, then falls over and groans.
A vision comes over his poor mulish mind,
And he sees Uncle Sam, with his agents behind,
Granting pensions by thousands to all who apply,
From the private so low to the officer high;
To the rich and the poor, the wise man and fool,
But, alas! there is none for the ‘poor army mule.’”
[Illustration]