WASHINGTON IN THE SIXTIES.
Washington in the sixties was not the beautiful city that it is today. The
nation’s capital was one vast camp of armed men and the city was circled
with a cordon of forts and earthworks. Early in the war the Confederate
flag could be seen from the dome of the capitol, flying on Munson’s hill,
while the exchange of shots by the pickets was heard at the White House
more than once.
“‘All quiet along the Potomac,’ they say,
Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.”
Pennsylvania avenue, that grand thoroughfare with its wide, long stretch
of asphalt, was then supposed to be paved with cobblestones, but they had
nearly been crushed out of sight by the heavy government wagons, cannon
and artillery caissons, which had cut such deep ruts that the street was
almost impassable in muddy weather.
Guards patrolled the sidewalks; troops were constantly passing through
the city on their way to Virginia; officers and their orderlies were
riding to and fro, and it was said that a boy could not throw a stone at a
dog without hitting a brigadier general.
Probably few of the present generation are aware how much of the great
civil war was fought within an easy day’s journey of the city. Two of the
most celebrated battles of the war, in which 25,000 men were killed and
wounded, were fought but twenty-five miles away, and at Arlington there is
a monument that marks the resting place of the remains of over 2,100
unknown dead gathered along the route of the army from the Potomac to the
Rappahannock.
There is no greater blessing vouchsafed to man than memory, which enables
one to live over again the past, and so I recall with pleasure the many
happy days in my early army life, when we were doing duty in the forts
around Washington, and before the gold plating of a soldier’s life had
been worn off by the stern realities of active service.
The city was then encircled by a chain of forts. But time and the elements
have nearly obliterated the defenses of Washington, and pretty little
villas with sweet and romantic names such as: Rosslyn, Ivanwold, Buena
Vista, Carberry Meadows, etc., have replaced them. The prattle and
innocent laughter of happy children is heard on the heights or Arlington,
instead of bugle calls, the music of bands and the booming of cannon.
Looking backward from a distance of forty years one must admit that it was
much more comfortable soldiering around Washington than at the front with
such fighters as Grant, Sheridan, Hancock, Warren, Wright, Gibbons and
others “pushing things.” It was monotonous, however, and the men grew
tired of drills, fancy guard mountings, dress parades, brightening of guns
and polishing of brass buttons, and were troubled with the thought that
the war might be brought suddenly to a close before they would have an
opportunity to win any laurels. But everybody had their ambitions
gratified before Lee surrendered, for there was fighting enough to go all
around in that affair.
SOME OF THE OLD FORTS.
My first army home was at Fort Worth near Fairfax Seminary, about three
miles from Alexandria.
The site of old Fort Worth was a beautiful spot, about three hundred feet
above the Potomac, and from its warlike parapets one could behold an
entrancing panorama of country. To the south the Fairfax “pike” and the
Orange and Alexandria railroad wended their way through as beautiful a
little valley as the sun ever shone upon. Twenty-five years after the war
I visited the place. The owner of the land on which the fort was built,
and who served as a colonel in the Confederate army, then had a beautiful
home on the site and utilized the old bomb-proof for an outside cellar.
Near his barn was a little of the old parapet remaining and our party
stood on the earthworks while our old regimental bugler, a man bent with
the weight of more than three score years, sounded reveille, tattoo, and
lights out. There were no dry eyes in the party when the last bugle notes
echoed and re-echoed through the charming Virginia valley leading out
toward Fairfax.
REMORSE REVEALS A CHIVALROUS ACT.
It is hardly necessary to say that we did some pretty deep thinking as we
met that day on the old camp ground.
Our comrades stood before us again--boys who had been schoolmates, the
companions of our youth. We could almost hear their familiar voices, their
songs and sayings, and we thought of where we parted with many of them,
here and there along the way from Washington to Appomattox. The thoughts
brought keen pangs of sorrow to us, yet withal there were many pleasant
recollections revived.
Looking off to the south we saw the same fine old southern mansion that
was there in war times. We felt remorse for many foraging expeditions in
which the fruit, sweet potatoes, ducks and chickens had been confiscated
for the cause of Uncle Sam.
We thought we would go and call on our old neighbors and make the _amende
honorable_.
The fine old southern lady freely forgave us with a graciousness
characteristic of the women of the south. An invitation to lunch was
extended and accepted. George, a colored boy, was told to go down the
“Run” to the mill and tell her son, the colonel (no rank under a colonelcy
is recognized in Virginia), to come up to the house and meet some of the
old Second New York.
We lunched on the broad veranda and exchanged reminiscences of the days
when we were neighbors and enemies, and as the colonel sipped that
favorite and refreshing beverage of the south, a mint julep, he told of
his wounds at Manassas and how friends had helped him through the lines
and back to his old home right under the guns of our fort, where he was
secreted until his recovery. His presence there was not unknown to the
general commanding the Union forces, who, like a chivalric knight of old,
kept the secret for the sake of the mother, and furnished guards to keep
intruders away from the house.
The reader must not infer that there was one drop of traitorous blood in
the officer’s veins. His name I am not at liberty to divulge, but it is no
breach of confidence to say that he was one of the most brilliant generals
in the army of the Potomac, whose loyalty was proven on many a bloody
battlefield.
Across the valley to the east from Fort Worth, on the Mount Vernon road,
was a large fort called Fort Lyon, where the gallant old 94th New York
Infantry spent the winter and spring of ’62. An explosion of ammunition in
one of the magazines nearly destroyed the fort in 1863, killing and
wounding many of the garrison and causing the earth to tremble for miles.
Fort Lyon was nearly on the left of the defenses south of the Potomac,
while Fort Marcy, about four miles west of Georgetown and near the famous
Chain bridge, guarded the right flank.
Between the two, running parallel with the Potomac, along Arlington
heights, was a perfect chain of forts and earthworks, the names of which
many northern New York veterans will recall, such as Forts Ellsworth,
Ward, Blenkner, Albany, Runyon, Corcoran, Haggerty, Tillinghast, Whipple,
Woodbury, Greig, Cass, Dekalb (afterwards Fort Smith), Strong and many
others. The Fifth New York Heavy Artillery assisted in the erection of the
last named.
The 35th New York, which was the first organization in this section to
respond to President Lincoln’s call for troops, garrisoned Fort
Tillinghast for a time and assisted considerably in its completion as well
as the cutting away of timber in front of the forts south of Arlington.
One of the most prominent forts near Arlington was Fort Corcoran, so named
in honor of Col. Michael Corcoran, who led that famous Irish regiment, the
69th New York, to the war, and was captured at the first battle of Bull
Run.
This fort was the headquarters of the Second New York Artillery for more
than a year and the regiment while there assisted largely in the
construction of Fort Whipple, which is now known as Fort Myer, and is kept
as a military post by the government. All visitors to Arlington via the
Georgetown bridge pass by it.
Fort Stevens, originally called Fort Massachusetts, attained prominence
during Gen. Early’s raid in 1864 by reason of having been the scene of
some stubborn fighting. It is only about five miles from the capitol and
but for the timely arrival of the fighting Sixth corps which Grant sent
back from Petersburg, it is probable that the Confederate forces would
have entered the city. It was on the ramparts of Fort Stevens that
President Lincoln exposed himself to the fire of the enemy.
There were some formidable forts east of the capitol across the “East
Branch” on Boone’s Ridge in Prince George’s County, Md. The names of Fort
Mahan, Baker, Stanton, Carroll, Greble, Wagner and others will be recalled
by all the survivors of that regiment, the pride of Jefferson county, the
10th New York Heavy Artillery, which garrisoned many of them for a long
period.
LINCOLN’S PETS.
The 10th New York Heavy Artillery has been referred to as the lucky
regiment from Jefferson county. It was organized in September, 1862, and
performed garrison duty in the defenses east of Washington until the
summer of 1864, when it was ordered to the front. It joined the army at
Cold Harbor at about the time Grant was preparing to transfer operations
to Petersburg and Bermuda Hundred.
The 10th Heavy was sent around by water from White House Landing, while
most of the army made a forced march across country.
The regiment participated in the first fighting at Petersburg. Later they
were returned to the defenses of Washington where they remained until Gen.
Early’s army was driven out of Maryland, when they were ordered to join
Gen. Sheridan’s forces in the Shenandoah valley. They were a fine body of
men, well officered, well drilled, and under perfect discipline, which
probably accounted for their being such favorites with President Lincoln
and Secretary Stanton.
DOG BILLY OF THE SECOND HEAVY.
When McClellan’s army left for the Peninsula a soldier sold to one of our
boys his dog. He was just a plain every day sort of dog with chopped off
tail and clipped ears, but in some respects the most knowing little fellow
I ever saw, and he soon became a great favorite with everybody in camp.
He learned the bugle and drum calls and took special delight in dress
parades. When the men were forming for that, Billy would run up and down
the line barking and cut up all sorts of capers he was so very happy.
He seemed to be fond of brass band music and would lead the musicians up
and down the line until the colonel ordered the sergeant major to drive
him away. He charged on Billy with drawn sword and the knowing little
fellow kept behind the line ever after that.
There was a nice large “swimmin’ hole” in “Four Mile Run,” not far from
camp, where we used to go bathing frequently. Billy always went, too, and
had great sport with the boys. Nothing pleased him more than to have some
one pick him up and throw him headlong into the water.
Old “Lige” Moyer used to come out in front of his cook tent almost every
evening and play the fiddle, and, if you will believe it, “Lige” learned
Billy to waltz, rewarding him with liberal rations after the performance.
Billy always stood guard with his master, keeping him company in his
lonely night watches.
The crack of a rifle did not disturb him the least bit, but the booming of
the heavy guns were too much for his nerves, and he would go and hide in
his owner’s tent.
When we were ordered out to the front for the Bull Run campaign Billy went
along, too. He used to curl up under the same blanket with Joe, his
master. The morning that the battle of Manassas opened our regiment was
subjected to a severe artillery fire for two hours. Billy became a skulker
and went to the rear. In the skedaddle and panic that occurred later in
the day, Joe, with many others, was taken prisoner by the Johnnies.
A couple of weeks later our regiment was sent back to the forts. Billy was
not with us and no one had seen him since the morning at Bull Run. We
concluded that he must have been taken prisoner, too, but a few days later
Billy appeared in camp. He was a sorry looking dog, thin as a razor and
his hair turned toward his head. The distance to Manassas was about
twenty-five miles, but he had probably tramped much farther in finding his
way back to camp.
All were glad to see him again, and he seemed pleased enough to see us
until he found that Joe was not there. No more the bugle calls aroused
him, and even the music of the band had lost its charm. He would just go
looking in the different tents and keep up a continual whining.
One day he got tired waiting for Joe to come back and he left us, and
that was the last we ever heard of dog Billy.
THE OLD WAR SONGS.
“I cannot sing the old songs, I sang long years ago,
For heart and voice would fail me and foolish tears would flow;
For by-gone hours come o’er my heart with each familiar strain;
I cannot sing the old songs, or dream those dreams again.”
* * * * *
How many of our readers remember the old songs and melodies that were so
popular in the sixties? People sang them in their homes and the soldiers
in the camps and on the march, and they furnished inspiration for many a
tired regiment to go into battle.
As I write there comes to my mind snatches of many of the old favorites
such as “We’ll Rally Round the Flag, Boys,” “Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, the Boys
are Marching.”
A story is told of a regiment who went into battle nearly one thousand
strong and came out with less than half the number, but the survivors with
their blood-stained banners and smoke-begrimed faces marched to another
position in the line singing
“We’ll rally round the flag, boys,
We’ll rally once again, shouting the battle cry of freedom.”
“When Johnnie Comes Marching Home Again” was always a favorite in the
ranks, but in the quiet of camp the songs were a little more sentimental
and suggestive of home and the loved ones. Some of the old time favorites
were:
“Sweet Alice Ben Bolt,” “Hazel Dell,” “Annie Laurie,” “Kathleen
Mavourneen,” “Tenting Tonight,” “The Faded Coat of Blue,” “The Vacant
Chair,” “Just Before the Battle, Mother,” “Write Me a Letter from Home,”
etc., etc., and an evening camp concert, with perhaps a hundred or more
voices in the choruses would wind up with “The Shining Shore,” “Jesus,
Lover of My Soul,” and “Nearer, My God, to Thee.”