BREAKING CAMP.—ON THE MARCH.
“And now comes ‘boots and saddles!’ Oh! there’s hurrying to and fro,
And saddling up in busy haste—for what, we do not know.
Sometimes ’twas but a false alarm, sometimes it meant a fight;
Sometimes it came in daytime, and sometimes it came at night.”
[Illustration]
The subject of this chapter is a very suggestive one to the old soldier.
It covers a whole realm of experience which it would be nearly impossible
to exhaust. But there is much in this as in other experiences which was
common to all long-term veterans, and to this common experience more
especially I shall address my attention.
From the descriptions which I have already given of the various kinds
of shelter used by the soldiers it will be readily understood that
they got the most comfortably settled in their winter-quarters, and
that in a small way each hut became a miniature homestead, and for
the time being possessed, to a certain extent, all the attractions of
home. The bunk, the stools, and other furniture, the army bric-à-brac,
whether captured or of home production, which adorned the rough tenement
within and without, all came to have a value by association in the
soldier’s thought, a value which was not fully computed till campaigning
impended—that usually direful day, when marching orders came and the boys
folded their tents and marched away. This sketch will relate something
of army life as it was lived after marching orders were received.
When the general commanding an army had decided upon a plan of campaign,
and the proper time came to put it in operation, he at once issued his
orders to his subordinate commanders to have their commands ready to
take their place in column at a given hour on a given day. These orders
came down through the various corps, division, brigade, regimental, or
battery headquarters to the rank and file, whose instructions given them
on line would be to the effect that at the stated hour they were to be
ready to start with three days’ rations in their haversacks (this was the
usual quantity), the infantry to have forty rounds of ammunition in their
cartridge-boxes. This latter quantity was very often exceeded. The Army
of the Potomac went into the Wilderness having from eighty to a hundred
rounds of ammunition to a man, stowed away in knapsacks, haversacks, or
pockets, according to the space afforded, and six days’ rations similarly
disposed of. When Hooker started on the Chancellorsville Campaign,
_eleven days’ rations_ were issued to the troops.
Sometimes marching orders came when least expected. I remember to have
heard the long roll sounded one Saturday forenoon in the camp of the
infantry that lay near us in the fall of ’63; it was October 10. Our guns
were unlimbered for action just outside of camp where we had been lying
several days utterly unsuspicious of danger. It was quite a surprise to
us; and such Lee intended it to be, he having set out to put himself
between our army and Washington. We were not attacked, but started to the
rear a few hours afterwards.
Before the opening of the spring campaign a reasonable notice was
generally given. There was one orderly from each brigade headquarters who
almost infallibly brought marching orders. The men knew the nature of the
tidings which he cantered up to regimental headquarters with under his
belt. Very often they would good-naturedly rail at him as he rode into
and out of camp, thus indicating their dislike of his errand; but the
wise ones went directly to quarters and began to pack up.
[Illustration: PACKING UP.]
When it was officially announced to the men on line at night that
marching orders were received, and that at such an hour next morning
tents would be struck and the men in place, equipped and provided as
already stated, those men who had not already decided the question
retired to their huts and took an account of stock in order to decide
what to take and what to leave. As a soldier would lay out two articles
on the bunk, of equally tender associations, one could seem to hear him
murmur, with Gay,
“How happy could I be with either
Were t’other dear charmer away.”
as he endeavored to choose between them, knowing too well that both could
not be taken. The “survival of the fittest” was the question, which
received deeper and tenderer consideration here in one evening than
Darwin has ever given it in the same time. Then, there was the overcoat
and the woollen blanket which should be left? Perhaps he finally decided
to try taking both along for a while. He will leave the dress-coat and
wear the blouse. He has two changes of flannels. He will throw away those
he has on, don a clean set and take a change with him. These flannels, by
the way, if they were what he drew from the government stores, were often
as rough to the skin as coarse sand-paper, which they somewhat resembled
in color.
From the head of his bunk he takes a collection of old letters which
have accumulated during the winter. These he looks over one by one and
commits to the flames with a sigh. Many of them are letters from home;
some are from acquaintances. Possibly he read the _Waverly Magazine_, and
may have carried on a correspondence with one or more of the many young
women who advertised in it for a “soldier correspondent, who must not
be over twenty,” with all the virtues namable. There was no man in my
company—from old Graylocks, of nearly sixty, down to the callow “chicken”
of seventeen—but what felt qualified to fill such a bill, “just for
the fun of it, you know.” The young woman was generally “eighteen, of
prepossessing appearance, good education, and would exchange photographs
if desired.”
An occasional letter from such a quarter would provoke a smile as the
soldier glanced at its source and contents before committing it to the
yawn of his army fireplace. This rather unpleasant task completed, he
continues his researches and work of destruction. He tucks his little
collection of photographs, which perhaps he has encased in rubber or
leather, into an inside pocket, and disposes other small keepsakes about
his person. If he intends to take his effects in a knapsack, he will at
the start have put by more to carry than if he simply takes his blankets
(rubber and woollen) rolled and slung over his shoulder. Late in the war
this latter was the most common plan, as the same weight could be borne
with less fatigue in that manner than in a knapsack, slung on the back.
I have assumed it to be evening or late afternoon when marching orders
arrived, and have thus far related what the average soldier was wont to
do immediately afterwards. There was a night ahead and the soldiers were
wont to “make a night of it.” As a rule, there was little sleep to be
had, the enforcement of the usual rules of camp being relaxed on such
an occasion. Aside from the labor of personal packing and destroying,
the rations were to be distributed, and each company had to fall into
line, march to the cook-house, and receive their three or more days’
allowance of hardtack, pork, coffee, and sugar, all of which they must
stow away, as compactly as possible, in the haversack or elsewhere if
they wanted them. In the artillery, besides securing the rations, sacks
of grain—usually oats—must be taken from the grain-pile and strapped on
to the ammunition-chests for the horses; the axles must be greased, good
spare horses selected to supply the vacancies in any teams where the
horses were unfit for duty; the tents of regimental headquarters must be
struck, likewise the cook-tents, and these, with officers’ baggage, must
be put into the wagons which are to join the trains;—in brief, everything
must be prepared for the march of the morrow.
After this routine of preparation was completed, camp-fires were lighted,
and about them would gather the happy-go-lucky boys of the rank and file,
whose merry din would speedily stir the blood of the men who had hoped
for a few hours’ sleep before starting out on the morrow, to come out
of their huts and join the jovial round; and soon they were as happy
as the happiest, even if more reticent. As the fire died down and the
soldiers drew closer about it, some comrade would go to his hut, and,
with an armful of its furniture, the stools, closets, and tables I have
spoken of, reillumine and enliven the scene and drive back the circle of
bystanders again. The conversation, which, with the going down of the
fire, was likely to take on a somewhat sober aspect, would again assume
a more cheerful strain. For a time conjectures on the plan of the coming
campaign would be exchanged. Volumes of wisdom concerning what _ought_
to be done changed hands at these camp-fires, mingled with much “I told
you so” about the last battle. Alexanders simply swarmed, so numerous
were those who could solve the Gordian knot of success at sight. It must
interest those strategists now, as they read history, to see how little
they really knew of what was taking place.
[Illustration: WAITING FOR MARCHING ORDERS.]
When this slight matter of the proper thing for the army to do was
disposed of, some one would start a song, and then for an hour at least
“John Brown’s Body,” “Marching Along,” “Red, White, and Blue,” “Rally
’round the Flag,” and other popular and familiar songs would ring out
on the clear evening air, following along in quick succession, and sung
with great earnestness and enthusiasm as the chorus was increased by
additions from neighboring camp-fires, until tired Nature began to assert
herself, when one by one the company would withdraw, each going to his
hut for two or three hours’ rest, if possible, to partially prepare him
for the toils of the morrow. Ah! is not that an all-wise provision of
Providence which keeps the future a sealed book, placing it before us
leaf by leaf only, as the present? For some of these very men, it may
have been, whose voices rang out so merrily at that camp-fire, would lie
cold and pale ere the week should close, in the solemn stillness of death.
But morning dawned all too soon for those who gave up most of the night
to hilarity, and all were summoned forth at the call of the bugle or the
drum, and at a time agreed upon _The General_ was sounded.
[Music: THE GENERAL.]
The above is the General of infantry. That of the artillery was less
often used and entirely different.
At this signal, every tent in a regiment was struck. It was quite an
interesting sight to see several acres of canvas disappear in a moment,
where before it had been the prominent feature in the landscape. As a
fact, I believe the General was little used in the latter part of the
war. For about two years, when the troops were sheltered by the Sibley,
Wedge, and Wall tents, it was necessary to have them struck at an early
hour, in order that they might be packed away in the wagon-train. But
after the Shelter tent came into use, and each man was his own wagon,
the General was seldom heard unless at the end of a long encampment; for,
when marching orders came, each man understood that he must be ready at
the hour appointed, even if his regiment waited another day before it
left camp.
[Illustration: PLATE VI.
MCINDOE BROS., PRINTERS, BOSTON.]
No more provoking incident of army life happened, I believe, than for a
regiment to wait in camp long after the hour appointed to march. But such
was the rule rather than the exception. Many a man’s hearth-stone was
then desolate, for if the hour of departure was set for the morning, when
morning came and the stockade was vacated, it often suffered demolition
to increase the heat of the camp-fires, as previously noted. But as hour
after hour wore on, and men still found themselves in camp with nothing
to do and plenty of help, they began to wish that they had not been so
hasty in breaking up housekeeping and tearing down their shanties, else
they might resort to them and make their wait a little more endurable.
Especially did they repent if rain came on as they lingered, or if night
again overtook them there with their huts untenable, for it would have
been the work of only a moment to re-cover them with the Shelter tents.
Such waits and their consequences were severe tests to the patience of
the men, and sometimes seemed to work more injury to their morals than
the average army chaplain could repair in days.
But there is an end to all things earthly, this being no exception. The
colors of corps headquarters borne at the heels of the corps commander,
and followed by his staff, are at last seen moving into the road. The
bugler of the division having the lead sounds the call _Attention_.
[Music: ATTENTION.]
This call is the Attention of infantry at which the men, already in
column, take their places, officers mount, and all await the next call,
which is
[Music: FORWARD.]
At this signal the regiments take “right shoulder shift,” and the march
begins. Let the reader, in imagination, take post by the roadside as
the column goes by. Take a look at corps headquarters. The commander
is a major-general. His staff comprises an assistant adjutant-general,
an assistant inspector-general, a topographical engineer, a commissary
of musters, a commissary of subsistence, a judge-advocate, several
aides-de-camp—and perhaps other officers, of varying rank. Those
mentioned usually ranked from colonel to captain. In the Union army,
major-generals might command either a division, a corps, or an army,
but in the Confederate service each army of importance was commanded
by a lieutenant-general. Take a look at the corps headquarters flag.
Feb. 7, 1863, General Hooker decreed the flags of corps headquarters to
be a blue swallow-tail field bearing a white Maltese cross, having in
the centre the number of the corps; but, so far as I can learn, this
decree was never enforced in a single instance. Mr. James Beale, in his
exceedingly valuable and unique volume, “The Union Flags at Gettysburg,”
shows a nondescript cross on some of the headquarters flags, which some
quartermaster may have intended as a compliance with Hooker’s order; but
though true copies of originals they are monstrosities, which never could
have had existence in a well ordered brain, and which have no warrant in
heraldry or general orders as far as can be ascertained. When the army
entered upon the Wilderness Campaign, each corps headquarters floated a
blue swallow-tailed flag bearing its own particular emblem in white, in
the centre of which was the figure designating the corps, in red.
Here comes the First Division. At the head rides its general commanding
and staff. Behind him is the color-bearer, carrying the division flag.
If you are familiar with the corps badges, you will not need to ask what
corps or division it is. The men’s caps tell the story, but the flags are
equally plain-spoken.
This flag is the first _division_ color. It is _rectangular_ in shape.
The corps emblem is red in a white field; the _second_ has the emblem
white in a blue field; the _third_ has the emblem blue in a white field.
The divisions had the lead of the corps on the march by turns, changing
each day.
But here comes another headquarters. The color-bearer carries a
_triangular_ flag. That is a _brigade_ flag. May 12, 1863, General
Hooker issued an order prescribing division flags of the pattern I have
described, and also designated what the brigade flags should be. They
were to be, first of all, _triangular_ in shape; the brigades of the
first division should bear the corps symbol in _red_ in the centre of a
_white_ field, but, to distinguish them, the first brigade should have no
other mark; the second should have a _blue_ stripe next the staff, and
the third a _blue_ border four and one-half inches wide around the flag.
The brigades of the second division had the corps symbol in _white_ in
the centre of a _blue_ field, with a _red_ stripe next the staff to
designate the second brigade, and a _red_ border the third.
The third division had its brigades similarly designated, with the symbol
_blue_, the field _white_, and the stripes _red_.
Whenever there was a fourth brigade, it was designated by a triangular
block of color in each corner of the flag.
The chief quartermaster of the corps and the chief of artillery had
each his appropriate flag, as designated in the color-plate, but the
arrangement of the colors in the flag of the chief quartermasters
differed in different corps.
This scheme of Hooker’s, for distinguishing corps, division, and brigade
headquarters remained unchanged till the end of the war.
The brigades took turns in having the lead—or, as military men say, the
_right_—of the division, and regiments had the right of brigades by turns.
There goes army headquarters yonder—the commanding general, with his
numerous staff—making for the head of the column. His flag is the simple
star-spangled banner. The stars and stripes were a common flag for army
headquarters. It was General Meade’s headquarters flag till Grant came
to the Army of the Potomac, who also used it for that purpose. This
made it necessary for Meade to change, which he did, finally adopting a
lilac-colored swallow-tail flag, about the size of the corps headquarters
flags, having in the field a wreath enclosing an eagle, in gold.
You can easily count the regiments in column by their United States
colors. A few of them, you will notice, have a battle-flag, bearing the
names of the engagements in which they have participated. Some regiments
used the national colors for a battle-flag, some the state colors. I
think the volunteers did not adopt the idea early in the war. Originally
battles were only inscribed on flags by authority of the secretary of
war, that is, in the regular army. But the volunteers seemed to be a law
unto themselves, and, while many flags in existence to-day bear names
of battles inscribed by order of the commanding general, there are some
with inscriptions of battles which the troops were hardly in hearing of.
The Rebel battle-flag was a blue spangled saltier in a red field, and
originated with General Joe Johnston after the first Bull Run.
You will have little difficulty in deciding where a regiment begins or
ends. It begins with a field officer and ends with a mule. Originally
it ended with several army wagons; but now that portion of regimental
headquarters baggage which has not gone to the wagon-train is to be found
stowed about the mule, that is led along by a contraband. Yes, the head,
ears, and feet which you see are the only visible externals of a mule.
He is “clothed upon” with the various materials necessary to prepare
a “square meal” for the colonel and other headquarters officers. His
trappings would, seemingly, fit out a small family in household goods of
a kind. There is a mess-kettle, a fry-pan, mess-pans, tent-poles, a fly
(canvas), a valise, a knapsack and haversack, a hamper on each side, a
musket, and other matter which goes to make the burden at least twice
the size of the animal. Four mules were regarded as having the carrying
capacity of one army wagon. At the end of the brigade you will see two or
three of these mules burdened with the belongings of brigade headquarters.
The mule had other company than the negro ofttimes. That man who seems
to be flour and grease from head to heels, who needs no shelter nor
rubber blanket because he is waterproof already, perhaps, _inside_ and
out, whose shabby, well-stuffed knapsack furnishes the complement to the
mule’s lading, who shuffles along with “no style about him,” is the cook,
perhaps, for the regiment, probably for headquarters, certainly not for
Delmonico. It is singular, but none the less true, that if a man made a
slovenly, indifferent soldier he was fully as likely to get a berth in
the cook-house as to have any other fate befall him. This remark applies
to men who _drifted_ into the business of “army caterer” after trying
other service, and not those who entered at once upon it.
Here comes a light battery at the rear of the division. Possibly it is to
remain with this part of the corps for the campaign. Such was sometimes
the case, but later a battery was often used anywhere within the limits
of a corps that it could be of advantage. This battery has six brass
Napoleons, 12-pounders. They are very destructive at short range. It is
followed by a battery of steel guns. They are Parrots, three-inch rifles;
best for long range, but good anywhere. Not so safe for close action,
however, as the Napoleons.
Yonder you can see the Second Division moving across the fields, made
up like the one just passed. It will close in upon the rear of this
division farther up the road. What an interesting spectacle it presents,
the bright sunlight glinting from the thousands of polished muskets,
the moving masses of light and dark blue inching along over the uneven
ground, the various flags streaming proudly in the air, marking off the
separate brigades and regiments. The column is moving at a moderate pace.
It takes some time for a corps to get under way. If we wait long enough,
the Third Division, made up like the others, will pass by us, unless it
has gone on a parallel road.
It is growing warmer. The column has now got straightened out, and for
the last hour has moved forward quite rapidly. The road is evidently
clear of all obstructions, but the heat and speed begin to tell on the
men. Look at the ground which that brigade has just vacated after its
brief halt for rest. It is strewn with blankets, overcoats, dress-coats,
pantaloons, shirts—in fact, a little of everything from the outfit of the
common soldier. As the Second Corps advanced into the Wilderness on the
morning of May 4, 1864, I saw an area of an acre or more almost literally
covered with the articles above named, many of them probably extras, but
some of them the sole garment of their kind, left by the owners, who felt
compelled, from the increasing weight of their load, to lighten it to the
extent of parting with the blankets which they would need that very night
for shelter. This lightening of the load began before the columns had
been on the road an hour. A soldier who had been through the mill would
not wait for a general halt to occur before parting with a portion of
his load, if it oppressed him; but a recruit would hang to his until he
bent over at an angle of 45° from a vertical, with his eyes staring, his
lower jaw hanging, and his face dripping with moisture. If you were to
follow the column after, say, the first two miles, you would find various
articles scattered along at intervals by the roadside, where a soldier
quietly stepped out of the ranks, sat down, unslung his knapsack or his
blanket-roll, took out what he had decided to throw away, again equipped
himself, and, thus relieved, hastened on to overtake the regiment. It did
not take an army long to get into light marching order after it was once
fairly on the road.
[Illustration: A FOOTSORE STRAGGLER.]
I have been dealing with the _first_ day out of settled camp. On
subsequent days, of course the same programme would not be enacted. And,
again, if a man clung to his effects till noon, he was likely to do so
for the day, as after noon the thought of shelter for the night nerved
him to hold on. But men would drop out in the afternoon of the first day
for another reason. They blistered or chafed their feet and sat down at
the first stream to bathe them, after which, if the weather admitted,
they could be seen plodding along barefooted, their pantaloons rolled up
a few inches, and their shoes dangling at the end of their musket-barrel.
Then, this very crossing of a stream often furnished an interesting scene
in the march of the column. A river broad and deep would be spanned by
a pontoon bridge, but the common creeks of the South were crossed by
fording. Once in a while (in warm weather) the men would take off most of
their clothing and carry it with their equipments across on their heads.
It was no uncommon experience for them to ford streams waist-deep, even
in cool weather. If the bottom was a treacherous one, and the current
rapid, a line of cavalry-men was placed across the river just below the
column to pick up such men as should lose their footing. Many were the
mishaps of such a crossing, and, unless the enemy was at hand, the first
thing to be done after reaching shore was to strip and wring out such
clothing as needed it. With those who had slipped and fallen this meant
_all they had on_ and what was in their knapsack besides, but with most
it included only trousers, drawers, and socks.
After the halt which allowed the soldiers time to perform this bit
of laundry work had ended, and the column moved along, it was not an
uncommon sight to see muskets used as clothes-lines, from which depended
socks, shoes, here and there a shirt, perhaps a towel or handkerchief.
But if the weather was cool the wash did not hang out in this way. When
it became necessary to cross a stream in the night, huge fires were built
on its banks, with a picket at hand, whose duty it was to keep them
burning until daylight, or until the army had crossed. A greater number
of mishaps occurred in fording by night than by day even then. During
Meade’s retreat from Culpeper, in the fall of 1863,—it was the night of
October 11,—my company forded the Rappahannock after dark, and went into
camp a few rods away from the ford; and I remember what a jolly night
the troops made of it when they came to this ford. At short intervals I
was awakened from slumber by the laughter or cheers of the waders, as
they made merry at the expense of some of their number, who came out
after immersion using language which plainly indicated their disbelief
in that kind of baptism. Here was the field for the tired, overloaded
headquarters mule to display his obstinacy to a large and changing
audience, by getting midway of the stream and refusing to budge. I can
see the frenzied Ethiopian in charge, now, waist-deep in water, wild with
despair at the situation, alternating reasoning with pulling and beating,
while the brute lies down in the stream all encumbered with the baggage,
the passing column jeering poor Sambo, and making the adjacent woodland
echo with their loud guffaws at his helpless yet laughable condition.
[Illustration: “HEADQUARTERS” IN TROUBLE.]
That was a noisy night, and it has always been a matter of wonder to me
that we remained undisturbed, with the enemy less than three miles up the
river, as General Birney, with whom we then were, has left on record.
There was no stopping to wring out. But “close up!” was the order after
crossing, and the dull rattle made by the equipments, the striking of the
coffee dipper on the canteen or buckles, as the column glided along in
the darkness, or the whipping-up of belated mule-teams, was heard until
the gray of morning appeared.
The army on the march in a rain-storm presented some aspects not seen
in fair weather. As soon as it began to rain, or just before, each man
would remove his rubber blanket from his roll or knapsack, and put it
over his shoulders, tying it in front. Some men used their shelter tent
instead—a very poor substitute, however. But there was no fun in the
marching business during the rain. It might settle the dust. It certainly
settled about everything else. An order to go into camp while the rain
was in progress was not much of an improvement, for the ground was wet,
fence-rails were wet, one’s woollen blanket was likely also to be wet,
hardtack in the haversack wet—in fact, nothing so abundant and out of
place as water. I remember going into camp one night in particular, in
Pleasant Valley, Md., on a side-hill during a drenching rain, such as
mountain regions know, and lying down under a hastily pitched shelter,
with the water coursing freely along beneath me. I was fresh as a soldier
then, and this experience, seeming so dreadful then, made a strong
impression. Such situations were too numerous afterwards to make note of
even in memory.
Then, the horses! It made them ugly and vicious to stand in the pelting
rain at the picket-rope. I think they preferred being in harness on the
road. But they were likely to get subdued the next day, when sloughs
and mire were the rule. If two corps took the same road after a storm,
the worse for the hindermost, for it found deep ruts and mud-holes in
abundance; and as it dragged forward it would come upon some piece of
artillery or caisson in the mire to the hubs, doomed to stay, in spite of
the shoutings and lashings of the drivers, the swearing of the officers,
and the lifting and straining of mud-bedraggled cannoneers, until six
more horses were added to extricate it. Anon the corps would arrive at a
place utterly impassable, when down would go the fence by the roadside,
if there was one, and out would go the column into the field skirting
the road, returning again beyond the mire. At another slough, a staff
officer might be found posted to direct the artillery where to make a
safe passage.
[Illustration: THE FLANKERS.]
Such places by night were generally lighted by fires built for that
purpose. I remember such a spot in particular—a reminiscence of the Mine
Run Campaign; I think it was the night of Dec. 4, 1863. My battery was
then attached to the Third Division of the Third Corps. By the edge of
the slough in question sat General J. B. Carr, the division commander,
with a portion of his command near by, and, as a caisson went down in
the mire, he called in his “Blue Diamonds” to lift it out, which they
did right manfully. There was no turning into fields that night, for,
while the roads were soft, the fields were softer, and worse travelling I
believe the Army of the Potomac never saw, unless on the “Mud March.”
When the army was expecting to run against the enemy in its advance,
_flankers_ were thrown out on either side of the column. These flankers
were a single file of soldiers, who marched along a few feet apart
parallel to the column, and perhaps ten or twelve rods distant from it in
open country, but not more than half that distance when it was marching
through woods. In the event of an attack, the flankers on that side
became the skirmish line in action.
It was an interesting sight to see a column break up when the order
came to halt, whether for rest or other reason. It would melt in a
moment, dividing to the right and left, and scattering to the sides of
the road, where the men would sit down or lie down, lying back on their
knapsacks if they had them, or stretching at full length on the ground.
If the latter was wet or muddy, cannoneers sat on their carriages and
limber-chests, while infantrymen would perhaps sit astride their muskets,
if the halt was a short one. When the halt was expected to continue for
some considerable time the troops of a corps or division were massed,
that is, brought together in some large open tract of territory, when
the muskets would be stacked, the equipments laid off, and each man rush
for the “top rail” of the nearest fence, until not a rail remained. The
coffee would soon begin to simmer, the pork to sputter in the flames,
and, when the march was resumed, the men would start off refreshed with
rest and rations.
[Illustration: A HALT.]
But if the halt was for a few minutes only, and the marching had not
been relieved by the regular rests usually allowed, the men stiffened up
so much that, with their equipments on, they could hardly arise without
assistance, and, goaded by their stiffened cords and tired muscles and
swollen or chafed feet, made wry faces for the first few rods after the
column started. In this manner they plodded on until ordered into camp
for the night, or perhaps double-quicked into line of battle.
During that dismal night retreat of the Army of the Potomac from
Chancellorsville, a little event occurred which showed what a choleric
man General Meade was on occasion, and to what an exhausted bodily
condition the rigors of a campaign often reduced men. While the general
was sitting with General Warren at one of those camp-fires always found
along the line of march after nightfall, a poor jaded, mud-bedraggled
infantrymen came straggling and stumbling along the roadside, scarcely
able, in his wet and wearied condition, to bear up under his burden of
musket and equipments. As he staggered past the camp-fire, he struck,
by the merest accident, against General Meade, who jumped immediately
to his feet, drew his sabre, and made a lunge at the innocent offender,
which sent him staggering to the ground. There he lay motionless, as if
dead. At once Meade began to upbraid himself for his hasty temper, and
seemed filled with remorse for what he had done. Whereat General Warren
made efforts to calm his fears by telling him it was probably not as
serious as he supposed, and thereupon began to make investigation of the
nature of the injury done the prostrate veteran. To General Meade’s great
gratification, it was found that while his sabre had cut through the
man’s clothing, it had only grazed his side without drawing blood, but so
completely worn out had the soldier become through the exactions of the
recent campaign that matter dominated mind, and he lay in a double sense
as if dust had returned to dust.