ON THE MARCH
We are bound northward through Maryland, the vets tell us, on a chase
after the rebs. The army marches in three and four parallel columns,
usually each corps in a column by itself, and distant from the other
columns equal to about its length in line of battle, say a half to
three-fourths of a mile. Roads were utilized as far as practicable, but
generally were left to the artillery and the wagon trains, whilst the
infantry made roads for themselves directly through the fields.
The whole army marches surrounded by "advance and rear guards," and
"flankers," to prevent surprise. Each column is headed by a corps of
pioneers who, in addition to their arms, are provided with axes, picks
and shovels, with the latter stone walls and fences are levelled
sufficiently to permit the troops to pass, and ditches and other
obstructions covered and removed. It is interesting to see how quickly
this corps will dispose of an ordinary stone wall or rail fence. They go
down so quickly that they hardly seem to pause in their march.
We learn that the Johnnies are only a couple of days ahead of us. That
they marched rapidly and were on their good behavior, all marauding
being forbidden, and they were singing a new song, entitled "My
Maryland," thus trying to woo this loyal border State over to the
Confederacy. We were told that Lee hung two soldiers for stealing
chickens and fruit just before they entered Frederick City.
Much could be written about the discomforts of these marches, the chief
of which was the dust more than the heat and the fatigue. No rain had
fallen for some time, and the roads and the fields through which we
passed were powdered into fine dust, which arose in almost suffocating
clouds, so that mouth, lungs, eyes, and ears were filled with it.
Sometimes it became so dense that men could not be seen a dozen yards
away. The different regiments took turns in heading the columns. There
was comparative comfort at the head, but there were so many regiments
that during the whole campaign our regiment enjoyed this privilege but
once.
Another feature of the march was inability to satisfy thirst. The dust
and heat no doubt produced an abnormal thirst which water did not seem
to satisfy. The water we could get was always warm, and generally muddy
and filthy. The latter was caused by the multitude of men using the
little streams, springs, or wells. Either of these, ordinarily abundant
for many more than ever used them, were hardly a cup full apiece for a
great army. Hence many a scrimmage took place for the first dash at a
cool well or spring. On our second or third day's march, such a scrap
took place between the advanced columns for a well, and in the melee one
man was accidentally pushed down into it, head first, and killed. He
belonged to one of the Connecticut regiments, I was told. We passed by
the well, and were unable to get water, because a dead soldier lay at
the bottom of it. His regiment probably got his body out, but we had to
march on without stopping to learn whether they did or not. The problem
of water for our army we found to be a troublesome one. Immediately we
halted, much of our rest would be taken up in efforts to get water. We
lost no opportunity to fill our canteens. Arriving in bivouac for the
night, the first thing was a detail to fill canteens and camp kettles
for supper coffee. We always bivouacked near a stream, if possible. But,
then, so many men wanting it soon roiled it for miles, so that our
details often had to follow the stream up three and four miles before
they could get clean water. This may seem a strong statement, but if one
will stop a moment and think of the effect upon even a good-sized
stream, of a hundred thousand men, besides horses and mules, all wanting
it for drinking, cooking, washing, and bathing (both the latter as
peremptory needs as the former), he will see that the statement is no
exaggeration.
An interesting feature of our first two days' march was the clearing out
of knapsacks to reduce the load. Naturally each man was loaded with
extras of various sorts, knicknacks of all varieties, but mostly
supposed necessaries of camp life, put in by loving hands at home, a
salve for this, a medicine for that, a keepsake from one and another,
some the dearest of earth's treasures, each insignificant in itself, yet
all taking room and adding weight to over-burdened shoulders. At the
mid-day halt, on the first day knapsacks being off for rest, they came
open and the sorting began. It was sad, yet comical withal, to notice
the things that went out. The most bulky and least treasured went first.
At the second halting, an hour later, still another sorting was made.
The sun was hot and the knapsack was heavy. After the second day's
march, those knapsacks contained little but what the soldier was
compelled to carry, his rations, extra ammunition, and clothing. Were
these home treasures lost? Oh, no! Not one. Our friends, the vets,
gathered them all in as a rich harvest. They had been there themselves,
and knowing what was coming, were on hand to gather the plums as they
fell. The only difference was, that another mother's or sweetheart's
"boy" got the treasures.
On September 11 we were approaching Frederick City. Our cavalry had a
skirmish with the rebel cavalry, showing that we were nearing their
army. And right here I ought to say that what an individual officer or
soldier--unless perhaps a general officer--knows of events transpiring
around him in the army is very little. Even the movements he sees, he is
seldom able to understand, his vision is so limited. He knows what his
own regiment and possibly his own brigade does, but seldom more than
that. He is as often the victim of false rumor as to movements of other
portions of the army, as those who are outside of it. On this date we
encamped near Clarksville. It was rumored that the rebels were in force
at Frederick City. How far away that is we do not know. The only
certainty about army life and army movements to the soldier is a
constant condition of uncertainty. Uncertainty as to where or when he
will eat, sleep, or fight, where or when the end will come. One would
almost doubt the certainty of his own existence, except for the hard
knocks which make this impossible.
The celebrated Irish brigade, commanded by Brigadier-General Thomas
Francis Meagher, was in Richardson's division. They were a "free and
easy" going crowd. General Richardson impressed me as a man of great
determination and courage. He was a large, heavy man, dressed roughly
and spoke and acted very brusquely. French (who commanded our division)
was also thick-set, probably upwards of sixty years old, quite gray and
with a very red face. He had an affection of the eyes which kept him
winking or blinking constantly, from which he earned the sobriquet, "Old
Blink Eye." I saw General Burnside about this time. He was dressed so as
to be almost unrecognizable as a general officer; wore a rough blouse,
on the collar of which a close look revealed two much-battered and faded
stars, indicating his rank of major-general. He wore a black "slouch"
hat, the brim well down over his face, and rode along with a single
orderly, without the least ostentation. The men of the other regiments
knew him and broke out into a cheer, at which he promptly doffed his hat
and swung it at the boys. His hat off, we recognized the handsome author
of the "Burnside" whiskers. He was not only very popular with his own
corps--the Ninth--but with the whole army, and chiefly, I think, because
of his modest, quiet way of going about. This was so different from
General McClellan.
On our third day's march we were halted for rest, when an orderly rode
through the lines saying to the different colonels, "General McClellan
will pass this way in ten minutes." This meant that we were to be ready
to cheer "Little Mac" when he came along, which, of course, we all did.
He came, preceded by a squadron of cavalry and accompanied by a very
large and brilliantly caparisoned staff, followed by more cavalry. He
was dressed in the full uniform of a major-general and rode a superb
horse, upon which he sat faultlessly. He was certainly a fine-looking
officer and a very striking figure. But whether all this "fuss and
feathers" was designed to impress the men, or was a freak of personal
vanity, it did not favorably impress our men. Many of the old vets, who
had been with him on the Peninsula, and now greeted him again after his
reinstatement, were very enthusiastic. But notwithstanding their
demonstrations, they rather negatived their praises by the remark, "No
fight to-day; Little Mac has gone to the front." "Look out for a fight
when he goes to the rear." On the other hand, they said when "Old Man
Sumner"--our corps commander--"goes to the front, look out for a fight."
General Sumner was an old man--must have been nearly seventy--gray, and
his color indicated advanced age, though he seemed quite vigorous. He
went about very quietly and without display. He had a singular habit of
dropping his under jaw, so that his mouth was partially open much of the
time.
We bivouacked on the 12th of September in front of Frederick City, Md.,
in a field occupied the night before by the rebels, so the people told
us, and there was abundant evidence of their presence in the filth they
left uncovered, for they had slaughtered beef for their troops and the
putrid offal therefrom was polluting the air. Still there we had to
sleep. We marched the latter part of the day in the rain, and were soon
well covered with mud. We managed to keep some of the water out with our
gum blankets, and when we came to fix for the night, the men going in
pairs made themselves fairly comfortable under their shelter tents. I
should have explained that the only "canvas" supplied to the men on the
march was shelter tents, which consisted of a square of stout muslin
with button-holes on one side and buttons on the other. Two of these
buttoned together and stretched taut over a ridge-pole and made fast on
the ground, would keep out the heaviest shower, provided the occupants
were careful not to touch the muslin. A hand or elbow accidentally
thrust against the tent brought the water through in streams. There is a
knack in doing this, which the experience of the vets with whom we were
brigaded soon taught us. Choosing ground a little slanting, so the water
would run away from them, they would sleep fairly dry and comfortable,
even in a hard storm. As for us officers who were without shelter tents,
we had to shift for ourselves as best we might. A favorite plan, when
fences were available, was to place three or four rails endwise against
the fence and make a shelter by fastening a gum blanket on top.
This worked fairly well against a stone wall for a backing, but against
an ordinary fence one side was unprotected, yet with another gum
blanket, two of us could so roll ourselves up as to be comparatively
water-proof. My diary states that in a driving rainstorm here I never
slept better in my life. I remember awakening with my head thoroughly
drenched, but otherwise comparatively dry.
This night I succeeded in getting a "bang up" supper--a cooked meal--at
a reb farm-house. It consisted of pork-steak, potatoes, and hot coffee
with bread and butter. It was a great treat. I had now been without a
square meal for nearly ten days. The old gentleman, a small farmer,
talked freely about the war, not concealing his rebel sympathies. He
extolled Stonewall Jackson and his men, who, he said, had passed through
there only a day ahead of us. He firmly believed we would be whipped. He
evidently had an eye for the "main chance," for he was quite willing to
cook for us at twenty-five cents a meal, as long as he had stuff to cook
and his good wife had strength to do the work. She seemed to be a nice
old lady, and, hungry as I was, I felt almost unwilling to eat her
supper, she looked so tired. I told her it was too bad. She smiled and
said she was tired, but she couldn't bear to turn away these hungry
boys. She said she had a son in the rebel army, and she knew we must be
hungry and wet, for it was still raining hard.
The officers at this time experienced difficulty in getting food to eat.
The men were supplied with rations and forced to carry them, but rations
were not issued to officers--though they might purchase of the
commissary such as the men had, when there was a supply. The latter were
supposed to provide their own mess, for which purpose their mess-kits
were transported in a wagon supplied to each regiment. The field and
staff usually made one mess, and the line or company officers another.
Sometimes the latter messed with their own men, carrying their rations
along on the march the same as the men. This was discouraged by the
government, but it proved the only way to be sure of food when needed,
and was later on generally adopted. We had plenty of food with our
mess-kit and cook, but on the march, and especially in the presence of
the enemy, our wagons could never get within reach of us. Indeed, when
we bivouacked, they were generally from eight to ten miles away. The
result was we often went hungry, unless we were able to pick up a meal
at a farm-house--which seldom occurred, for the reason that most of
these farmers were rebel sympathizers and would not feed us "Yanks," or
they would be either sold out, or stolen out, of food. The tale
generally told was, "You 'uns has stolen all we 'uns had." This accounts
for the entry in my diary that the next morning I marched without
breakfast, but got a good bath in the Monocacy--near which we
encamped--in place of it. I got a "hardtack" and bit of raw pork about
10 A.M.
On the 13th of September, we passed through the city of Frederick, Md.
It is a quaint old town, having then probably three thousand or more
inhabitants and a decided business air. The rebels, they claimed, had
cleaned them out of eatables and clothing, paying for them in
Confederate scrip, and one man told me they would not take the same
scrip in change, but required Union money; that this was demanded
everywhere. General McClellan passed through the streets while we were
halted, as did General Burnside shortly after. A funny incident occurred
with the latter. General Burnside, as usual, was accompanied by a single
orderly, and had stopped a moment to speak to some officers, when a
handsome, middle-aged lady stepped out of her house and approached. She
put out her hand and, as the general clasped it, she raised herself up
on her toes in an unmistakable motion to greet him with a kiss.
The general so understood her, and, doffing his hat, bent down to meet
her pouting lips, but, alas, he was too high up; bend as low as he might
and stretch up as high as she could, their lips did not meet, and the
kiss hung in mid-air. The boys caught the situation in a moment, and
began to laugh and clap their hands, but the general solved the problem
by dismounting and taking his kiss in the most gallant fashion, on which
he was roundly cheered by the men. The lady was evidently of one of the
best families. She said she was a stanch Union woman, and was so glad to
see our troops that she felt she must greet our general. There was
"method in her madness," however, for she confined her favors to a
general, and picked out the handsomest one of the lot. It is worthy of
note, that during this incident, which excited uproarious laughter, not
a disrespectful remark was made by any of the hundreds of our "boys" who
witnessed it. General Burnside chatted with her for a few moments, then
remounted and rode away.
Approaching Frederick City, the country is exceptionally beautiful and
the land seemed to be under a good state of cultivation. In front of us
loomed up almost against the sky the long ridge called the South
Mountain. It was evidently a spur of the Blue Ridge. Another incident
occurred soon after reaching bivouac, just beyond the city. We had
arranged for our night's "lodging" and were preparing supper, when one
of the native farmers came into camp and asked to see the colonel.
Colonel Oakford and Lieutenant-Colonel Wilcox were temporarily absent,
and he was turned over to Major Albright, to whom he complained that
"you 'uns" had stolen his last pig and he wanted pay for it. The major,
who was a lawyer, began to cross-question him as to how he knew it was
our men who had stolen it; there were at least fifty other regiments
besides ours on the ground. But he would not be denied.
[Illustration: COLONEL CHARLES ALBRIGHT]
He said they told him they was "a hundred and thirty-two uns," and he
also saw those figures on their caps. The major asked how long ago they
took it. He replied that they got it only a little while ago, and
offered to go and find it if the major would allow him. But the latter
was confident he was mistaken in his men--that some of the old "vets"
had got his pig. His chief argument was that our men were greenhorns and
knew nothing about marauding; that some of the "vets" had doubtless made
away with his pig and had laid it on our men. So persuasive was the
major that the man finally went off satisfied that he had made a mistake
in his men. The man was only well out of camp when one of our men
appeared at the major's quarters with a piece of fresh pork for his
supper, with the compliments of Company----. Now, the orders against
marauding were very severe, and to have been caught would have involved
heavy punishment. But the chief point of the incident, and which made it
a huge joke on the major, lay in the fact that the latter who was a
thoroughly conscientious man, had successfully fought off a charge
against his men, whom he really believed to be innocent, only to find
that during the very time he was persuading his man of their innocence,
the scamps were almost within sound of his voice, actually butchering
and dressing the pig. How they managed to capture and kill that pig,
without a single squeal escaping, is one of the marvels of the service.
Certainly vets could have done no better. The man was gone, the mischief
was done, the meat was spoiling, and we were very hungry. With rather
cheerful sadness, it must be confessed, we became _particeps criminis_,
and made a supper on the pork.