IN THE REGIMENTAL RENDEZVOUS
It was a raw, rainy day when we took up the march from the railroad
station to the ground whereon had been established the rendezvous for
the regiment. It was a motley collection of soldiers, considering the
record they were to make during the coming years of active service in
the field. All were in citizens' clothes, and equipped with neither
uniforms nor arms. Assembled in haste for the journey, there had been no
opportunity even to form in line or learn to keep step. No two of them
were dressed alike. They were hungry and wet. Few had overcoats, none
ponchos or blankets. Quarters were provided for the night in a vacant
store where the men were sheltered from the rain, but had to sleep on
the bare floor without cots or comforts of any kind. But,
notwithstanding the gloomy conditions that attended this introduction to
the volunteer service, they, in the main, kept up their good spirits,
though some were visibly depressed and looked as if they were sorry they
had come. In less than a year from that time, they had learned to endure
a hundred-fold greater deprivations and hardships with equal minds.
The next morning, breakfast was served in an improvised dining-hall on
the bank of the river which ran hard by. Then there was another march to
"camp," the captain reported for duty to the "commandant," and a sort of
routine of military exercises was entered upon. The officer in command
and his adjutant were also new to the business and haste was made very
slowly while they felt their way along. After a few days the camp was
removed to better ground, which was high and dry, and overlooked the
town. Here the real work of equipping, organizing and training began.
There were twelve troops, each composed of about one hundred officers
and men. The officers were quartered in "wall" tents, but there were not
tents enough, so wooden barracks were built for the men. A hospital was
established in a house near by. This was pretty well patronized, at
first, the exposure making many men ill. There was a guardhouse, also,
but not much use for it. A large portion of each day was given up to
drill. The rivalry among the captains was spirited, for they had been
called together soon after reporting for duty, and informed that they
would be given their respective places in line, by letter, from "A" to
"M," consecutively, according to proficiency in drill upon a certain
date, the two highest places barred, the assignments having been made
previously. As the relative rank of these officers depended upon the
letter given, it may be imagined that they spared no effort of which
they were severally capable. They became immediate students, both in
theory and in practice, of Philip St. George Cooke's cavalry tactics
wherein the formation in single rank was prescribed.
Soon after going into this camp, uniforms were issued and horses also.
The uniform for the enlisted men, at that time, consisted of a cavalry
jacket, reinforced trousers, forage cap, and boots which came to the
knee. Arms, except sabers, were not supplied until after leaving the
state. The horses were purchased in Michigan, and great care was taken
through a system of thorough inspection to see that they were sound and
suitable for the mounted service. In the end, the regiment had a most
excellent mount, both the horses and horse equipments being of the best
that could be procured. The horses were sorted according to color, the
intention being that each unit should have but one color, as near as
practicable. Thus, as I remember it, troop "A" had bays; "B" browns; "C"
greys; "D" blacks; and so on. This arrangement did not last long. A few
months' service sufficed to do away with it and horses thereafter were
issued indiscriminately. The effect, however, so long as the distinction
could be kept up, was fine. It was a grand sight when the twelve hundred
horses were in line, formed for parade or drill in single rank, each
troop distinguishable from the others by the color of the horses.
When the Fifth Michigan cavalry was mustered into the United States
service at Detroit there was one supernumerary troop. This was
transferred to the Sixth Michigan, then forming in Grand Rapids, and
given the letter "A" without competition. This entitled it to the
position on the right flank in battalion formations, and made its
commanding officer the senior captain of the regiment. The officers
were, captain, Henry E. Thompson; first lieutenant, Manning D. Birge;
second lieutenant, Stephen H. Ballard; supernumerary second lieutenant,
Joel S. Sheldon. Before they left the service, Thompson was lieutenant
colonel; Birge, major; Ballard, captain; and Sheldon, regimental
commissary. This troop attracted a great deal of attention from the time
of its arrival in camp for, having been organized some two or three
months, it was fairly well drilled and disciplined, fully uniformed, and
the officers were as gay as gaudy dress and feathers could make them.
They wore black hats with ostrich plumes, and presented a very showy as
well as a soldierly appearance. The plumes, like the color arrangement
of horses, did not last long. Indeed, few if any of the officers outside
of "A" troop, bought them, though they were a part of the uniform
prescribed in the books. Two officers who came to the regiment from the
Second Michigan cavalry, and who had had over a year's experience in the
field, gave the cue that feathers were not a necessary part of the
equipment for real service and served no useful purpose.
One of these two officers I met on the day of my arrival in the
temporary camp. It was that wet, drizzly day, when I was sitting in the
tent of the "commandant" awaiting orders. With a brisk step and a
military air a young man of about my own age entered, whose appearance
and manner were prepossessing. He looked younger than his years, was not
large, but had a well-knit, compact frame of medium height. He was alert
in look and movement, his face was ruddy with health, his eyes bright
and piercing, his head crowned with a thick growth of brown hair cut
rather short. He wore a forage cap, a gum coat over his uniform, top
boots, and appeared every inch the soldier. He saluted and gave the
colonel a hearty greeting and was introduced to me as Captain Weber.
Peter A. Weber was clerking in a store when the war broke out and
entered service as a corporal in the Third Michigan infantry. When the
Second Michigan cavalry was organized he was commissioned battalion
adjutant and had been called home to take a captaincy in the Sixth. By
reason of his experience, he was given the second place, "B". Weber was
a rare and natural soldier, the embodiment of courage and, had not death
interrupted his career, must have come near the head of the list of
cavalry officers. The battle in which he distinguished himself and lost
his life will be the theme of a future chapter.
[Illustration: GEORGE GRAY]
In troop "F", commanded by Captain William Hyser, was Second Lieutenant
Don G. Lovell, one of the three veteran officers. He went out as
corporal in the Third Michigan infantry, was wounded at Fair Oaks,
and again at Trevillian Station while serving in the cavalry. He was
one of the bravest of the brave.
Along in September, before the date of muster, I received a letter from
a classmate in Ann Arbor asking if there was an opening for him to
enlist. I wrote him to come and, soon after joining, he was appointed
troop commissary sergeant. At that time, Levant W. Barnhart was but
nineteen years of age and a boy of remarkable gifts. He was one of the
prize takers in scholarship when he entered the University in 1860, in
the class of 1864. His rise in the volunteers was rapid. Passing
successively through the grades of first sergeant, second and first
lieutenant, he in 1863 was detailed as acting adjutant. While serving in
this position he attracted the notice of General Custer who secured his
appointment by the War Department as assistant adjutant general with the
rank of captain. He served on the staff of General Custer till the war
closed--succeeding Jacob L. Greene. For one of his age his record as
scholar and soldier was of exceptional brilliancy. He was barely
twenty-one when he went on Custer's staff, who was himself not much more
than a boy in years. (Custer was but twenty-six when Lee surrendered at
Appomattox.)
George Gray, "lieutenant colonel commanding," was a lawyer of brilliant
parts, a good type of the witty, educated Irishman, a leader at the bar
of Western Michigan who had no equal before a jury. He had much
reputation as an after-dinner speaker, and his polished sentences and
keen sallies of wit were greatly enjoyed on occasions where such gifts
were in request. Though generally one of the most suave of men, he had
an irascible temper at times. The flavor of his wit was tart and
sometimes not altogether palatable to those who had to take it. In
discipline he was something of a martinet. He established a school of
instruction in his tent, where the officers assembled nightly to recite
tactics, and no mercy was shown the luckless one who failed in his
"lessons." Many a young fellow went away from the "school" smarting
under the irony of the impatient colonel. Some of his remarks had a
piquant humor, others were characterized by the most biting sarcasm.
"Mr. ----," said he one morning when the officers were grouped in front
of his tent in response to 'officers' call,' "Mr. ----, have you gloves,
sir?"
"Yes, sir," replied the lieutenant, who had been standing with hands in
his trousers pockets.
"Well, then, you had better put them on and save your pockets."
It is needless to say that the young officer thereafter stood in
position of the soldier when in presence of his commander.
Nothing was so offensive to Colonel Gray as untidy dress or shabby
habiliments on a member of the guard detail. One morning in making his
usual inspection, he came upon a soldier who was particularly slovenly.
Ordering the man to step out of the ranks, the colonel surveyed him
from head to foot, then, spurning him with his foot, remarked: "That is
a--pretty looking thing for a soldier; go to your quarters, sir."
Once or twice I felt the sting of his tongue, myself, but on the whole
he was very kind and courteous, and we managed to get along together
very well.
For a time it was supposed that the colonelcy would go to an army
officer, and it may be recalled as an interesting fact that George A.
Custer was at that very time a lieutenant on McClellan's staff and would
have jumped at the chance to be colonel of a Michigan cavalry regiment.
As has been shown, Philip H. Sheridan, Gordon Granger, O.B. Wilcox, I.B.
Richardson, and other regulars, began their careers as officers in the
volunteer service by accepting commissions from Governor Blair. Custer
was never a colonel. He was advanced from captain in the Fifth United
States cavalry to full brigadier general of volunteers and his first
command was four Michigan regiments, constituting what was known as
"Custer's Michigan cavalry brigade"--the only cavalry brigade in the
service made up entirely of regiments from a single state. A petition
was circulated among the officers, asking the governor to appoint Gray
colonel. We all signed it, though the feeling was general that it would
be better for him to retain the second place and have an officer of the
army, or at least one who had seen service, for our commander. The
petition was forwarded, however, and Gray was commissioned colonel.
Soon thereafter, it was announced, greatly to the satisfaction of all
concerned, that the vacancy caused by Gray's promotion was to be filled
by an officer of experience. Major Russell A. Alger of the Second
Michigan cavalry, who had seen much service in the southwest, was made
lieutenant colonel. Major Alger had gone out in 1861 as captain of troop
"C", of the Second Michigan and had earned his majority fighting under
Granger and Sheridan. In April, 1861, he was engaged in the lumbering
business in Grand Rapids, Michigan, to which place he had removed from
Cleveland, Ohio. He had been admitted to the bar in Cleveland but, even
at that early day, his tastes and inclinations led him in the direction
of business pursuits. He, therefore, came to Grand river and embarked in
lumbering when but just past his majority and unmarried. The panic of
1857 depressed the lumber industry, in common with all other kinds of
business, and the young Buckeye met with financial reverses, as did
nearly everybody in those days, though it is agreed that he showed
indications of the dash and self-reliance that were marked features of
his subsequent career both in the army and in civil life. Doubtless, had
not the war come on he would have achieved success in his business
ventures then, as he did afterwards.
[Illustration: RUSSELL A. ALGER (IN 1862)]
When Lieutenant Colonel Alger reported to Colonel Gray for duty he
appeared the ideal soldier. Tall, erect, handsome, he was an expert and
graceful horseman. He rode a superb and spirited bay charger which
took fences and ditches like a deer. Though not foppish, he was
scrupulous to a degree about his dress. His clothes fitted, and not a
speck of dust could be found on his person, his horse, or his
equipments. The details of drill fell largely to him--Colonel Gray
attending to the general executive management. As a battalion commander
Colonel Alger had few equals and no superiors. He was always cool and
self-poised, and his clear, resonant voice had a peculiar, agreeable
quality. Twelve hundred horsemen formed in single rank make a long line
but, long as it was, every man could hear distinctly the commands that
were given by him.
Weber's voice had the same penetrating and musical quality that made it
easy to hear him when he was making no apparent effort to be heard. At
that time it was the custom to give the commands with the voice and not
by bugle calls.
Under such competent handling the regiment soon became a very well
drilled organization. The evolutions were at first on foot, then on
horseback, and long before the time when it was ready to depart for the
front, the officers and men had attained the utmost familiarity with the
movements necessary to maneuver a regiment on the field.
On Sundays it was customary to hold religious services in the camp, and
many hundreds of the "beauty and the chivalry" of the town came to see
the soldiers and hear the chaplain preach. The regiment would be formed
in a hollow square, arms and brasses shining, clothes brushed, and
boots polished. The chaplain was a good speaker and his sermons were
always well worth listening to.
Chaplain Stephen S.N. Greeley was a unique character. Before enlisting
he had been pastor of the leading Congregational church of the city. He
was a powerful pulpit orator, a kind-hearted, simple-minded gentleman of
the old school, not at all fitted for the hardships and exposure that he
had to undergo while following the fortunes of General Custer's troopers
in Virginia. Army life was too much for him to endure, and it was as
much as he could do to look after his own physical well-being, and the
spiritual condition of his flock was apt to be sadly neglected. He
stayed with the regiment till the end but, in the field he was more like
a child than a seasoned soldier and needed the watchful care of all his
friends to keep him from perishing with hunger, fatigue, and exposure. I
always forgot my own discomforts in commiseration of those of the honest
chaplain. When in camp, and the weather suitable, I always endeavored to
assemble the command for Sunday services, so pleased was he to talk to
his "boys." I believe every surviving Sixth Michigan cavalryman has in
his heart a warm corner for Chaplain Greeley who returned to Gilmartin,
New Hampshire, the place where he began his ministerial work, and died
there many years ago.
While noting in this cursory way the personnel of the regiment it may
be proper to mention the other members of the field and staff.
Cavalry regiments were divided into three battalions, each consisting of
four troops and commanded by a major. Two troops were denominated a
squadron. Thus there were two troops in a squadron, two squadron in a
battalion, three battalions in a regiment. The first major was Thaddeus
Foote, a Grand Rapids lawyer. He served with the Sixth about a year and
was then promoted to be colonel of the Tenth Michigan cavalry. Under
President Grant he held the position of pension agent for Western
Michigan. Elijah D. Waters commanded the Second battalion. He resigned
for disability and died of consumption in 1866. He did not serve in the
field at all. Simeon B. Brown, of the Third battalion was called to the
command of the Eleventh Michigan cavalry, in 1863. The Tenth and
Eleventh were raised by Congressman Kellogg in that year in the same
manner in which he had organized the Second and Third in 1861, and the
Sixth and Seventh in 1862.
Speaking of Major Waters, recalls how little things sometimes lead on to
fortune. After leaving the service he and his brother started a "box
factory," on the canal in Grand Rapids. In the winter of 1865-66 he took
me over to see it. It was a small affair run by water power. The "boxes"
which they manufactured were measures of the old-fashioned kind like the
half-bushel and peck measures made of wood fifty years ago. They were of
all sizes from a half-bushel down to a quart and used for "dry
measure." Before the top rim was added and the bottom put in it was
customary to pile the cylindrical shells one on top of another in the
shop. Looking at these piles one day Waters saw that three of them,
properly hooped, would make a barrel. Why not put hoops on and make them
into barrels? No sooner said than done. A patent was secured, a stock
company organized and the sequel proved that there were "millions in
it." The major did not live to enjoy the fruits of his invention but it
made of his brother and partner a millionaire. The latter is today one
of the wealthiest men in Michigan--all from that lucky beginning.
The first adjutant of the regiment was Lyman E. Patten, who resigned to
become a sutler and was succeeded by Hiram F. Hale who, in turn, left
the cavalry to become a paymaster.
Sutlers were an unnecessary evil; at least, so it seems to me. They were
in some cases evil personified. Many of them went into the business
solely "for the money there was in it," and did not hesitate to trade on
the necessities of the "boys in blue," so that as a rule there was no
love lost, and enlisted men would raid a sutler with as little
compunction as the sutler would practice extortion on them. The sutler's
tent was too often the army saloon where "S.T.--1860--X bitters" and
kindred drinks were sold at inflated prices. There were exceptions to
the rule, however, and Mr. Patten was one of these. The whole sutler
business was a mistake. The government should have arranged for an
issue, or sale at cost through the commissary and quartermaster
departments, of such articles as were not regularly furnished and were
needed by the officers and men. Sutlers sold a thousand and one things
that were not needed and that the men would have been better without.
Spirits and tobacco could have been issued as a field or garrison
ration, under proper restrictions. This was done at times but, whether a
good thing or a bad thing, depends altogether upon the point of view. To
take up the discussion would be to enter into the controversy as to the
army canteen, which is not my purpose.
The medical department of the regiment was in good hands. No officer or
enlisted man of the Sixth Michigan ever wanted for kind and sympathetic
care when ill or wounded. The position of army surgeon in the field was
no sinecure. He had to endure the same privations as the other officers.
He was not supposed to be on the fighting line, to be sure, but had to
be close at hand to assist in the care of those who were, and oftentimes
got into the thickest of it whether he would or not. To the credit of
the profession, be it said, no soldier was ever sick or wounded who did
not, unless a prisoner of war, find some one of the green-sashed
officers ready to minister to his needs. And it often happened that army
surgeons permitted themselves to fall into the enemy's hands rather than
to desert those who were under their care and treatment.
The surgeon was Daniel G. Weare, who gave up a lucrative practice to put
on the uniform of a major in the medical department of the volunteer
army. He was an elderly man with iron grey hair and beard which became
towards the last almost as white as snow. This gave him a venerable
look, though this evidence of apparent age was singularly at variance
with his fresh countenance, as ruddy as that of youth. He looked like a
preacher, though he would swear like a pirate. Indeed, it would almost
congeal the blood in one's veins to hear the oaths that came hissing
from between the set teeth of that pious looking old gentleman, from
whom you would look for an exhortation rather than such expletives as he
dealt in. But it was only on suitable provocation that he gave vent to
these outbursts, as he was kind of heart, a good friend, and a capable
physician and surgeon. The assistant was David C. Spaulding who remained
with us but a short time when he was made surgeon of the Tenth Michigan
cavalry--that is to say, in 1863. Weare staid till the war closed and
settled in Fairport, New York, where he died.
Spaulding was surgeon in charge of the regimental hospital in Grand
Rapids, and on one occasion came to my aid with some very scientific
practice. It happened in this way: It came to my knowledge that a man
who had enlisted with one of the lieutenants and mustered in with the
troop, was not in the service for the first time; that he had enlisted
twice before and then succeeded in getting discharged for disability.
The informant intimated that the fellow had no intention of doing duty,
would shirk and sham illness and probably get into the hospital, where
the chances were he would succeed in imposing on the surgeons and in
getting discharged again; that it was pay he was after which he did not
propose to earn; least of all would he expose his precious life, if by
any possibility he could avoid it.
A close watch was put upon the man, and sure enough, just before the
regiment was to leave the state, he demurred to doing duty, pleading
illness as an excuse. I sent him to the hospital but gave Dr. Spaulding
a hint as to the probable nature of the man's illness, and he promised
to give his best endeavors to the case. About a week, thereafter, the
man came back, and whatever might have been his real condition when he
went away, he was unmistakably ill. His pale face and weak voice were
symptoms that could not be gainsaid.
"Well," said I, "have you recovered and are you ready for duty?"
"No, I am worse than ever."
"Why do you leave the hospital, then?"
"My God, captain," whined the man, "they will kill me, if I stay there."
"But if you are sick you need treatment."
"I cannot enter that place again."
"You prefer to perform your duties as a good soldier, then?"
"I will do anything rather than go there."
He was directed to go about his business and, soon thereafter, I
inquired about the case. Dr. Spaulding said: "I discovered there was
nothing the matter with the man, only that he was playing off, and when
he described his alleged symptoms, I began a course of heroic treatment.
He was purged, cupped, blistered, given emetics, until life really
became a burden and he ran away from the 'treatment.'"
This man never went to the regimental hospital again, but he made no end
of trouble. He was a chronic shirk. He would not work, and there were
not men enough in the regiment to get him into a fight. Soon after the
campaign of 1863 opened in Virginia he was missing, and the next thing
heard from him was that he had been discharged from some hospital for
disability. He never smelt powder, and years after the war, he was to
all appearance an able-bodied man. I believe the Sixth was the third
regiment which he had gone into in the same way. When he enlisted, the
surgeon who examined him pronounced him a sound man, and it was a
mystery how he could be physically sound or physically unsound, at will,
and so as to deceive the medical examiners in either event. He died long
ago and his widow drew a pension after his death as he did before it,
but he never did a day's honest military duty in his life. Peace to his
ashes! He may be playing some useful part in the other world, for all
that I know. At all events, I am glad that his widow gets a pension,
though as a soldier he was never deserving of anything but contempt,
for he would desert his comrades when they needed aid and never exposed
his precious carcass to danger for his country or for a friend.
That is not an attractive picture which I have drawn. I will paint
another, the more pleasing by reason of the contrast which the two
present.
One day a party of sixteen men came into camp and applied for
enlistment. A condition of the contract under which they were secured
for my troop was that one of their number be appointed sergeant. They
were to name the man and the choice, made by ballot, fell upon Marvin E.
Avery. At first blush, he was not a promising candidate for a
non-commissioned office. Somewhat ungainly in figure, awkward in
manners, and immature in mind and body, he appeared to be; while he
seemed neither ambitious to excel nor quick to learn. He certainly did
not evince a craving for preferment. In the end it was found that these
were surface indications, and that there were inherent in him a strength
of character and a robust manliness that only awaited the opportunity to
assert themselves.
He was appointed sergeant but, at first, manifested so little aptitude
for the work, that it was feared he would never become proficient in his
duties, or acquire a sufficient familiarity with tactics to drill a
squad. No one could have been more willing, obedient, or anxious to
learn. He was a plodder who worked his way along by sheer force of will
and innate self-reliance, and governed in all that he did by a high
sense of duty. He never attained first rank as a sergeant while in
camp, but in the field, he sprang to the front like a thoroughbred. From
the moment when he first scented battle, he was the most valuable man in
the troop, from the captain down. In this, I am sure, there is no
disparagement of the scores of fearless soldiers who followed the guidon
of that troop from Gettysburg to Appomattox.
Avery was a hero. In the presence of danger he knew no fear. The more
imminent the peril, the more cool he was. He would grasp the situation
as if by intuition and I often wondered why fate did not make him
colonel instead of myself, and honestly believe that he would have
filled the position admirably, though he reached no higher rank than
that of sergeant. He had, however, made of himself the trusted assistant
and adviser of the commanding officer of his regiment and would have
received a commission, had he lived but a few days longer. From the day
of his enlistment to the day of his death he was not off duty for a
single day; and the command to which he belonged, was in no battle when
he was not at the front, in the place of greatest risk and
responsibility, from the beginning to the end. He was killed by a shell
which struck him in the head, in the battle of Trevillian Station, June
12, 1864. A braver or a truer soldier never fell on the field of battle.
Another excellent soldier was Solon H. Finney, who entered service as
sergeant. He rose to be second lieutenant and was killed at Beaver
Mills, Virginia, April 4, 1865, just five days before Lee surrendered.
Finney was a modest, earnest, faithful man, attentive to his duties, not
self-seeking, but contented with his lot and ambitious only to do a
man's part. It seemed hard for him to go through so near to the end only
to be stricken just as the haven of peace was in sight; but his friends
have the satisfaction of knowing that Solon Finney never failed to do
that which was right and, though he gave his life, it was surrendered
cheerfully in the cause of his country and its flag. He was one of those
who would have given a hundred lives rather than have his country
destroyed--a genuine patriot and a noble man.
With the Washtenaw contingent of troop "F" came Aaron C. Jewett, of Ann
Arbor. Jewett was a leading spirit in University circles. His parents
were wealthy, he an only son to whom nothing was denied that a doting
father could supply. Reared in luxury, he was handsome as a girl and as
lovable in disposition. It was current rumor that one of the most
amiable young women in the college town--a daughter of one of the
professors--was his betrothed. He was graduated with the senior class of
that year and immediately enlisted. Notwithstanding his antecedents and
his station in life he performed his humble duties in the ranks without
a murmur, thus furnishing one more illustration of the patriotism that
animated the best type of young men of that day. Ah! He was a comely
soldier, with his round, ruddy face, his fresh complexion, his bright
black eyes, and curling hair the color of the raven--his uniform brushed
and boots polished to the pink of neatness.
These things together with his modest mien and close attention to his
duties made of him a marked man and, in a short time, regimental
headquarters had need of him. He was detailed as clerk, then as acting
sergeant major and, when early in the year 1863, it was announced that
Hiram F. Hale was to be appointed army paymaster, Jewett was chosen to
succeed him as adjutant, but had not received his commission when death
overtook him at Williamsport, Maryland, July 6. There was grief in the
Sixth of Michigan on that fateful night when it was known that Aaron
Jewett lay within the enemy's lines smitten by a fragment of a shell
while faithfully delivering the orders of his colonel to the troops of
the regiment as they successively came into line under a heavy fire of
artillery. Weber and myself with our men tried to recover the body, but
were unable to do so, a force of confederates having gained possession
of the ground. In a week from that time, Weber himself lay cold in
death, only five miles distant, with a bullet through his brain. That
was in Maryland, however, north of the Potomac and, after we had crossed
into Virginia, Jewett's father succeeded in finding the body of his son
and performed the sad duty of giving it proper sepulture.
All the members of the field and staff of the regiment have been
mentioned, except Quartermaster Charles H. Patten and Commissary Jacob
Chapman. The latter soon resigned. Patten stuck to it till there was no
more clothing to issue. He was a good quartermaster, honest, energetic
and capable, and that is saying a good deal for him. There has been much
uncalled for satirical comment at the expense of the quartermasters.
They were really among the most useful of officers--indispensable in
fact. The man who handled the transportation for a cavalry command had a
position requiring tact, nerve, energy, endurance and ability of a high
order. Mr. Patten was such a man. His wagon trains never failed to reach
the front with needed supplies when it was possible to get them there.
The white canvas of the army wagon was a pleasant sight to the soldier
worn out with marching and fighting; and the quartermaster could always
count on a cordial welcome when he appeared.
October 11, 1862, the regiment was mustered into the United States
service. The mustering officer was General J.R. Smith of the regular
army, a veteran of the Mexican war, in which he received a wound in one
arm, disabling it. He had a slit in his sleeve tied with ribbons--a way
he had, it was thought, of calling attention to his disability, and sort
of a standing apology for being back in Michigan while his associates of
the army were fighting at the front. It was an amiable and pardonable
weakness, if such it may be called, and everybody had a liking for the
old Mexican war officer.
One of my first acts after reaching the rendezvous had been to call on
Colonel Kellogg, who was in his room, up to his eyes in papers and
correspondence. He greeted me cordially, congratulated me on my success,
and assured me that he was my friend, which he proved to be.
"Order your uniform at once," said he, "and go to work without delay."
The result of this interview was that a tailor took my measure for a
suit and, in due time, I was arrayed in Union blue, with shining brass
buttons, bright yellow facings, and the shoulder straps of a captain of
cavalry. No boy in his first trousers ever felt happier or prouder.
Before the brasses had become tarnished or the trimmings soiled I took a
run to Ann Arbor to say good-by to the boys. They were glad to see me,
and the welcome I had was something to remember. They were like a band
of brothers and showed the same interest as if we had been of one
family.
I think the students felt a sort of clannish pride when one of their
number enlisted and thought that the alma mater was doing the correct
and patriotic thing in sending her sons into the army. It was plainly to
be seen that many of them were holding back unwillingly. Indeed, it was
not long till some of them dropped their studies abruptly and followed
the example of those who had already gone. Everybody gave me an
affectionate Godspeed and I was surprised at the number of my friends.