_Departure from Sharpsburg Camp--The Old Woman of Sandy Hook--Harper's
Ferry--South sewing Dragon's Teeth by shedding Old John's Blood--The
Dutch Doctor and the Boar--Beauties of Tobacco--Camp Life on the
Character--Patrick, Brother to the Little Corporal--General Patterson no
Irishman--Guarding a Potatoe Patch in Dixie--The Preacher Lieutenant on
Emancipation--Inspection and the Exhorting Colonel--The Scotch Tailor on
Military Matters._
October was drawing to a close rapidly, when, at last, after repeated
false alarms, the actual movement of the army commenced. No one, unless
himself an old campaigner, can appreciate the feelings of the soldier at
the breaking up of camp. Anxious for a change of scenery as he may be,
the eye will linger upon each familiar spot, the quarters, the parade
ground, and rocky bluff and wooded knoll, until memory's impress bears
the lasting distinctness of a lifetime. Those leaving could not banish
from their minds, even if disposed, the thought that, although but a
temporary sojourn for them, it had proved to be the last resting-place
of many of their comrades. The hospital, more dreaded than the field,
had contributed its share to the mounds that dotted the hills from the
strife of Antietam.
"There is not an atom of this earth
But once was living man--"
was a day dream, doubtless, of the poetic boy of eighteen; but how
suggestive it becomes, when we consider how many thousands and hundreds
of thousands of mounds rising upon every hill in the border States,
attest devotion to the cause of the Union, or treason, in this foulest
of Rebellions.
The route lay, after passing the village of Sharpsburg, through a narrow
valley, lying cosily between the spurs of two ridges that appeared to
terminate at the Ferry. On either hand the evidences of the occupation
of the country by a large army were abundant. Fences torn down, ground
trampled, and fields destitute of herbage. The road bordering the canal,
along which is built the straggling village of Sandy Hook, was crowded
with the long wagon trains of the different Corps. A soldier could as
readily distinguish the Staff from the Regimental wagons, as the Staff
themselves from Regimental officers. The slick, well fed appearance of
the horses or mules of Staff teams, usually six in number, owing to
abundance of forage and half _loaded_ wagons, were in striking contrast
with the four half fed, hide-bound beasts usually attached to the
overloaded Regimental wagons. Order after order for the reduction of
baggage, that would reduce field officers to a small valise apiece,
while many line officers would be compelled to march without a change of
clothing, did not appear to lessen the length of Staff trains. That the
transportation was unnecessarily extensive, cannot be doubted. That the
heaviest reduction could have been made with Head-quarter trains, is
equally true.
"Grey coats one day and blue coats the next," said an old woman clad in
homespun grey, who came out of a low frame house as the troops slowly
made their way past the teams through the village of Sandy Hook.
"Right on this rock is where General Jackson rested hisself," continued
the old woman.
"Were there many Rebs about?" inquired one of the men.
"Right smart of them, I reckon;" replied the old woman; "but Lord! what
a lookin' set of critters. Elbows and knees out; many of them hadn't
shoes, and half of them that had had their toes out. You boys are
dandies to them. And tired too, and hungry. Gracious! the poor fellows,
when their officers weren't about, would beg for anything almost to eat.
Why, my daughter Sal saw them at the soap-fat barrel! They said they
were nearly marched and starved to death. And their officers didn't look
much better. Lord! it looks like a pic-nic party to see you blue coats,
with your long strings of wagons, and all your other fixins. You take
good care of your bellies, the way you haul the crackers and bacon. Old
Jackson never waits for wagons. That's the way he gets around you so
often."
"Look here, old woman," roared out one of the men, "you had better dry
up."
"Yes, and he'll get around you again," continued the old woman in a
louder key. "You think you're going to bag him, do you. You're some on
baggin'; but he'll give you three days' start and beat you down the
valley. They acted like gentlemen, too, didn't touch a thing without
leave, and you fellows have robbed me of all I have."
"They were in 'My Maryland,' and wanted to get the people all straight,"
suggested one of the boys.
The old lady did not take the hint, but kept on berating the fresh men
as they passed--taunting them by disparaging comparison with the Rebel
troops. A neighbor, by informing them of the fact of her having two
sons in the Rebel service, imparted the secret of her interest.
* * * * *
And there is the Ferry, so often pictured, or attempted to be, by pen
and pencil. Either art has failed, and will fail, to do justice to that
sublimely grand mountain scenery. Not quite three years ago, an iron old
man, who perished with the heroism of a Spartan, or rather, to be just,
the faith of a Christian; but little more than a year in advance of the
dawn of the day of his hope, centred upon this spot the eyes of a
continent. A crazy fanatic, was the cry, but--
"Thy scales, Mortality, are just
To all that pass away."
Time will reveal that it was not the freak of a madman, but rather a
step in the grand progress of universal emancipation, and that Old John
had foundations for his purposed campaign, quite as substantial as those
upon which better starred enterprises have succeeded.
"Lor, Massa, if Old John had only had these men," said a wench to one of
Patterson's Captains, as he paused for a few moments while drilling his
command at Charlestown, during that fruitless campaign, so formidable in
preparation, and so much more disgraceful than that of Old John in its
termination, for the latter, in his dying heroism, won the admiration of
a world.
"Why, what could Old John have done with them?" replied the Captain.
"Golly, Massa," said the wench, with a knowing grin; "he would have
walked right through Virginny, and he'd have had plenty of help too. I
knows, many a nigger about here that didn't say nuthin', would have
jined him."
"Why didn't they join him?"
"Lor, Massa, they didn't know it in time. Hadn't any chance. Massa
wanted us to go see him hung; but only the youngsters went. We colored
pussons neber forget Old John. No sah!"
The men wound their way as best they could beneath the precipitous and
towering rocks of the Maryland Heights, through the teams that blocked
up the road, and a short distance above the Railroad Bridge, filed to
the left, and crossed upon the pontoons. As they passed the Engine
House, the utmost endeavors of the officers could not prevent a bulge to
the right, so great was the anxiety to see the scene of Old John's
heroic but hopeless contest. Denounced by pro-slavery zealots as a
murderer, by the community at large as a fanatic, who fifty years hence
will deny him honorable place in the list of martyrs for the cause of
eternal truth!
The town itself was almost a mass of ruins; both sides, at various
stages of the war, having endeavored to effect its destruction. Another
pontoon bridge was crossed, bridging the Shenandoah--sparkling on its
rocky bed--the _Dancing Water_, as termed by the Aborigines, with their
customary graceful appropriateness. To one fond of mountain scenery, and
who is not? the winding road that follows the Shenandoah to its
junction, then charmingly bends to the course of the Potomac, is
intensely interesting. But why should an humble writer weary the
reader's patience by expatiating upon scenery, the sight of which
Jefferson declared well worth a visit across the Atlantic, at a day when
such visits were tedious three month affairs, and uncertain at that? War
now adds a bristling horror to the shaggy mountain tops, and from the
hoarse throats of heavy cannon often "leap from rock to rock the
beetling crags among" well executed counterfeits of "live thunder."
The Potomac is followed but a short distance, the road winding by an
easy ascent up the mountain ridge, and descending as easily into a
narrow and fruitful valley. In this valley, four miles from the Ferry, a
halt was ordered, and the Division rested for the night and succeeding
day, in a large and well sodded field.
"Gentlemen," said our Brigadier, in a sly, good-humored way, as he rode
up to the field officers of the Regiment, "the field upon which you are
encamped, and all the land, almost as far as you can see, on the left of
yon fence, belong to a Rebel now holding the rank of Major in the Rebel
service. All I need say, I suppose, gentlemen," and the General left to
communicate the important information to the other Regiments of the
Brigade. As a fine flock of sheep, some young cattle, a drove of porkers
that from a rear view gave promise of prime Virginia hams, and sundry
flocks of chickens, had been espied as the men marched into the field,
the General's remarks were eminently practical and suggestive.
"Charlie, what's the state of the larder?" said the Major, with his
usual thoughtfulness, addressing the cheerful mess cook.
"Some boiled pork and crackers. Poor show, sir!" Such fare, after a hard
day's march, in sight of a living paradise of beef, mutton, pork, and
poultry, would have been perfectly inexcusable; and forthwith, the
Major, "the little Dutch Doctor," and a short, stoutly-built Lieutenant,
all armed to the teeth, started off to reconnoitre, and ascertain in
what position the Rebel property was posted. As they went they canvassed
the respective merits of beef, mutton, pork and poultry, until a short
grunt from a porker, as he crossed the Doctor's path, ended the
discussion. The Major and Lieutenant cocked their pistols, but withheld
firing, as they saw the Doctor prostrate, holding by both hands the hind
leg of a patriarch of the flock.
"Oh, Heavens! we don't want that old boar!" cried out at once both the
Major and Lieutenant.
"Goot meat, make strong, goot for health, very," said the Doctor,
holding on with the grasp of a vice, while the boar fairly dragged him,
face to the ground, "after the manner of all creeping things." The
Doctor was in a fix. Help his companions would not give. He could not
hold the boar by one hand alone. After being considerably bruised, he
was compelled to release his hold, to his intense disgust, which he
evinced as he raised himself up, puffing like a porpoise, by
gesticulating furiously, and muttering a jargon in which the only thing
intelligible was the oft-repeated word, "tam." A well-directed shot from
the Major, shortly afterwards, brought down a royal "Virginia mutton,"
as the camp phrase is. Another from the Lieutenant grazed the rear of a
fine young porker's ham; but considerable firing, a long chase, and many
ludicrous falls occurred, before that pig was tightly gripped between
the legs of the Lieutenant.
The expedition was so successful that the aid of some privates was
called in to help carry to quarters the rich spoils of the chase. As for
the Doctor,--after the refusal of assistance in his struggle, he walked
homeward in stately but offended dignity, and shocked the Chaplain, as
he was occasionally in the habit of doing, by still muttering "tam."
A person enjoying the comforts of home, testy as to the broiling of a
mutton-chop perhaps, for real, unalloyed enjoyment of appetite should
form one of a camp circle, toasting, at a blazing fire, as the shades
of evening gather round, steaks freshly cut with a camp-knife from flesh
that quivered with remaining life but a moment before, assisting its
digestion by fried hardees, and washing both down by coffee innocent of
cream. That is a feast, as every old campaigner will testify; but to be
properly appreciated a good appetite is all essential. To attain that,
should other resources fail, the writer can confidently recommend a
march, say of about fifteen miles, over rough or dusty roads.
And then, as the appetites of the men are sated by the hardy provender
of Uncle Sam, varied, as in this instance, by Virginia venison, and they
respectively fall back and take to
"Sublime Tobacco! glorious in a pipe;"
what more pleasant than the discussion of the doings of the day, or of
the times, the recital of oft-repeated and ever-gaining yarns, or the
heart-stirring strains of national ballads, while each countenance is
lit with the ever-varying glow of the fire.
Upon this evening not only Head-quarters but the Regiment was exultant
in the feast upon the fat of a rebellious land. To add to their comfort
several large stacks of hay and straw had been deprived of their fair
proportions, and preparations had been made for the enjoyment of rest
upon beds that kings would envy, could they but have the sleepers' sound
repose.
The morrow had been set apart as a day of rest--a fact known to the
Regiment, and their fireside enjoyment was accordingly prolonged.
The camp, more than any other position in life, develops the greatest
inconsistencies in poor human nature. The grumbler of the day's march is
very frequently the joker of the bivouac. The worse, at the expense of
man's better qualities, are rapidly strengthened, and the least particle
of selfishness, however concealed by a generous nature at the period of
enlistment, fearfully increases its power with every day of service. The
writer remembers well a small, slightly-built, bow-legged fellow, who
would murmur without ceasing upon the route, continually torment his
officers for privilege to fall out of ranks to adjust his knapsack,
fasten a belt, or some such like purpose, who, on the halt, would amuse
his comrades for hours in performing gymnastic feats upon out-spread
blankets. Another, who at home flourished deservedly under the sobriquet
of "Clever Billy," became, in a few brief months of service, the most
surly, snappish, and selfish of his mess.
Pipe in mouth, their troubles are puffed away in the gracefully
ascending smoke. Many a non-user of the weed envies in moody silence the
perfect satisfaction resting upon the features of his comrade thus
engaged. Non-users are becoming rare birds in the army. So universal is
the habit, that the pipe appears to belong to the equipment, and the
tobacco-pouch, suspended from a button-hole of the blouse, is so
generally worn that one would suppose it to have been prescribed by the
President as part of the uniform.
The crowd gathered about the Head-quarters had largely increased, and
while luxuriating upon the straw, time passed merrily. The Colonel, who
never let an opportunity to improve the discipline of his command pass
unimproved, seized the occasion of the presence of a large number of
officers to impress upon them the necessity of greater control of the
men upon the march. The easy, open, but orderly route-step of the
Regulars was alluded to--their occupying the road alone, and not spread
out and straggling like a drove of cattle. A stranger seeing our
Volunteers upon the march would not give them credit for the soldierly
qualities they really possess. Curiosity, so rampant in the Yankee,
tempts him continually to wander from the ranks to one or other side of
the road.
"Well, Colonel," said a tall Lieutenant, "the Regulars look prim and
march well, but they have done little fighting, as yet, in this Army of
the Potomac."
"You forget the Peninsula," replied the Colonel.
"Oh, there they were caught unexpectedly, and forced into it. In this
Corps they are always in reserve; and that's what their officers
like,--everything in reserve but pay and promotion. It is rather
doubtful whether they will fight."
"Ov coorse they'll fight," said the little Irish Corporal, half rising
from his straw on the outskirts of the crowd; "Ov coorse they will.
They're nearly all my own countrymen. I know slathers of them; and did
you iver in your born days know an Irishman that wouldn't fight,
anywhere, any time, and for anything, if he had anybody to fight?"
"And a quart of whiskey in him," interrupts the Adjutant. "As Burns says
of the Scotch--
"'Wi' Tippeny they fear nae evil,
Wi' Usquebagh they'll face the Devil.'"
"Now, don't be comparing an Irishman, if you plaze, Adjutant, to a
scratch-back Scotchman. The raal Irishman has fire enough in his bluid;
but there's no denying a glass of potheen is the stuff to regulate it.
Talk about Rigulars or Volunteers fighting;--it's the officers must do
their duty, and there's no fear thin of the men."
"What did you enlist for, anyway, Terence?" broke in a Second
Lieutenant.
"It's aisy seeing that it wasn't for a Lieutenant's pay," retorted
Terence, to the amusement of the crowd, and then, as earnestness
gathered upon his countenance, he continued: "I enlisted for revinge,
and there's little prospect of my seeing a chance for it."
"For revenge?" said several.
"Yis, for revinge. I had worked early and late at a liv'ry stable, like
a nagur, to pay the passage money of my only brother to this country.
Faith, he was a broth of a boy, the pride of all the McCarthy's,"--tears
welled in his eyes as he continued,--"just three years younger than
mysilf, a light, ruddy, nately put togither lad as iver left the bogs;
and talk about fightin'!--the divil was niver in him but in a fight, and
thin you'd think he was all divil. That was Patrick's sport, and fight
he would, ivery chance, from the time whin he was a bit of a lad, ten
years ould, and bunged the ould schoolteacher's eyes in the parish
school-house. Will, he got a good berth in a saloon in the Bowery, where
they used Patrick in claning out the customers whin they got noisy, and
he'd do it nately too, to the satisfaction of his employer. He did well
till a recruiting Sergeant--bad luck to him--that knew the McCarthys in
the ould country, found him out, and they drank and talked about ould
times, and the Sergeant tould him that the army was the place for
Irishmen,--that there would be lots of fightin'. The chance of a fight
took Patrick, and nixt day he left the city in a blouse, as Fourth
Corporal in an Irish Rigiment, and a prouder looking chappie, as his own
Captain tould me, niver marched down Broadway. And thin to think he was
murthered by my own Gineral."
"Who? How was that?" interrupted half a dozen at once.
"Gineral Patterson, you see, to be shure."
"Why, Terence," broke in the Lieutenant, "you shouldn't be so hard upon
General Patterson; he's of an Irish family."
"The Gineral an Irishman! Niver! Of an Irish family! must have been
hundreds of years back, and the bluid spoiled long before it got into
his veins, by bad whiskey or something worse. It takes the raal potheen,
that smacks of the smoke of the still, to keep up the bluid of an
Irishman. Rot-gut would ruin St. Patrick himself if he were alive and
could be got to taste it. Gineral Patterson an Irishman! no, sir; or
there would have been bluidy noses at Bunker's Hill or Winchester, and
that would have saved some at Bull Run."
"On with your story, Terence," said the crowd.
"Beggin' your pardon, there's no story about it,--the blissid truth,
ivery word of it.
"Will, you see, while our ould Colonel, under the Gineral's orders, had
me guarding a pratie patch--"
"Set an Irishman to guard a potato patch!" laughed the Second
Lieutenant.
"It wasn't much use," said Terence, smiling, "for they disappeared the
first night, and the slim college student that was Sergeant of that
relief was put under guard for telling the officer of the guard, next
morning, that there had been a heavy dew that night, and it evaporated
so fast that it took the praties along. We lived on praties next day,
but the poor Sergeant had to foot the bill.
"Well, as I was going on to say, while I was helping guard a pratie
patch, an ice-house, corn-crib, smoke-house, and other such things that
were near our camp ground, and that belonged to a Rebel Colonel under
Johnston;--Johnston himself was staling away with all his army to help
fight the battle of Bull Run. Patrick--pace to his sowl--was in that
battle and fought like a tiger, barrin' that he would have done better,
as his Captain tould me, if he hadn't forgot the balls in his
cartridge-box, and took to his musket like a shelaleh all day long.
Patrick's regiment belonged to a Brigade that was ordered to keep
Johnston in check, and there stood Patrick in line, like a true lad as
he was, clubbing back the Butternuts, striking them right and
left--maybe the fellows belonged to this same Rebel Colonel's
regiment--until a round shot struck him full in the breast, knocking the
heart out of as true an Irishman as iver lived, and killing dead the
flower of the McCarthys.
"I didn't know it till we got to Baltimore, and thin whin I riflicted
how the poor boy marched up to fight the bluidy Rebels, and how they
killed him, my own brother, while I--I, who would have given my right
hand to save him,--yis," said Terence, rising, and tears streaming from
his eyes, "would have waded through fire and bluid to help the darlin',
the pride of his mother,--I was guarding a Rebel Colonel's property,
whin the whole of us, if we had fought Johnston, as we ought to have
done, might have kept him back and saved our army, and that would have
saved me my brother. And thin whin I remimbered how thick the Gineral
was with the Rebel gentry, and how fine ladies with the divil in their
eyes bowed to him in Charlestown, and spit at and cocked up their noses
at us soldiers, while their husbands were off, maybe, murthering my
brother; and how the Gineral, proud as a paycock on his prancing
chestnut sorrel, tould us in the meadow that Johnston was too strong
for us to attack, but that if he would come out from behind his big guns
the Gineral would lay his body on the sod before he'd lave it, whin he
intended his body to lie on a soft bed the rest of his life, and how he
said and did all this while our men, and my brother among them, were
being murthered by this same Johnston that he was sent to hould back,--I
couldn't keep down my Irish bluid. I cursed him and all his tribe by all
the Saints from St. Peter to St. Patrick, until good ould Father Mahan
tould me, whin I confessed, that he was afraid I would swear my own sowl
away, and keep Patrick in Purgatory; and the Father tould me that I
should lave off cursin' Patterson, for the Americans thimselves would
attend to that, and take to fighting the Rebels for revinge; and he said
by way of incouragement that at the same time I'd be sarving God and my
adopted country. And here I am, under another safe Commander. Four
months and no fight,--nearly up to the ould First, that sarved three
months without sight of a Rebel, barrin' he was a prisoner, or in
citizen dress, like some we have left behind us."
"Boys, Terence tells the truth about Patterson's movements," said the
tall Lieutenant. "The day before we left we were ordered to be ready to
move in the morning, with three days' cooked rations. We were told that
our Regiment was assigned a place in the advance, and it was
semi-officially rumored that a flank attack would be made upon
Winchester. At this day the whole affair appears ridiculous, as Johnston
had at that very time left Winchester, leaving only a trifling show of
force, and he never, at his best, had a force equal to Patterson's. Half
of his troops were the raw country militia. But we under-officers were
none the wiser. It was rumored that Bill McMullen's Rangers had found
charts that informed the General of the extent and strength of the Rebel
works and muster-rolls, that showed his force to be over 50,000. That
those works had no existence to the extent alleged, and that the
muster-rolls were false, are now well known. But that night it was all
dead earnest with us. Rations were cooked and the most thorough
preparations made for the expected work of the morrow. Sunrise saw the
old First in line, ready for the move. Eight o'clock came; no move,
Nine--Ten, and yet no move. Arms had been stacked, and the men lounged
lazily about the stacks. Eagle eyes scanned the surrounding country to
ascertain what other Brigades were doing. At length troops were seen in
motion, but the head of the column was turned towards the Ferry. 'What
does this mean?' was the inquiry that hastily ran from man to man; and
still they marched towards the Ferry. By and by an aide-de-camp directed
our Brigade to fall into the column, and we then discovered that the
whole army was in line of march for the Ferry, with a formidable
rear-guard to protect it from an enemy then triumphing at Bull Run.
"Well, Patterson's inertness, to speak of it tenderly, cost the country
much blood, millions of money, and a record of disgrace; but it gave a
Regiment of Massachusetts Yankees opportunity to whittle up for their
home cabinets of curiosities a large pile of walnut timber which had
formed John Brown's scaffold, and to make extensive inroads in prying
with their bayonets from the walls of the jail in which he had been
confined pieces of stone and mortar. Guards were put upon the Court
House in which old John heard his doom with the dignity of a Cato, at an
early date, or it would have been hewn to pieces. A fine crop of corn
in full leaf was growing upon the field of execution, and for a space of
ten feet from the road-side the leaves had been culled for careful
preservation in knapsacks. The boys had the spirit. Their Commander
lacked capacity or will to give it effect. A beggarly excuse was set up
after the campaign was over,--that the time of service of many of the
Regiments was about expiring, and that the men would not reenlist,--not
only beggarly, but false. The great mass volunteered to remain as it
was, with no prospect of service ahead. All would have stayed had the
General shown any disposition for active work, or made them promise of a
fight."
"Golly," said a tall, raw-boned Darkie, showing his ivories to a crowd
of like color about him, as the fine band of the Fencibles played in
front of the General's Head-quarters. "Dese Union boys beat de
Mississippi fellurs all hollur playing Dixie."
Hardly a face was to be seen upon the streets, but those of these
friendly blacks. They thronged about the camps, to be repulsed by
stringent orders at all quarters. Property they were, reasoned the
commander, and property must be respected. And it was; even pump handles
were tied down and placed under guard. Oh! that a Ben Butler had then
been in command, to have pronounced this living property contraband of
war, and by that sharp dodge of a pro-slavery Democrat, to have given
Uncle Sam the services of this property. Depend upon it, that would have
ended campaigning in the valley of the Shenandoah, that store-house of
Rebel supplies, as it has turned out to be; supplies too, gathered and
kept up by the negroes that Patterson so carefully excluded from his
lines.
"And would have saved us this march," says the Colonel, "a goose chase
at any rate."
"Yes, and had the policy of using the negro been general at the
commencement of this Rebellion, troops would not be in the field at this
day," responded the Lieutenant.
"Why do they not now, come boldly out and acknowledge that slavery is a
curse to any nation?" said the Preacher Lieutenant. "It caused the
Rebellion, and its downfall would be the Rebellion's certain and speedy
death. Thousands of years ago, the Almighty cursed with plagues a proud
people for refusing to break the bonds of the slave. The day of miracles
is past. But war, desolating war, is the scourge with which He punishes
our country. The curse of blood is upon the land; by blood must it be
expiated. We in the North have been guilty, in common with the whole
country, in tolerating, aiding, and abetting the evil. We must have our
proportion of punishment. Why cannot the whole country meet the issue
boldly as one man, and atone for past offence by unanimity in the
abolition of the evil?"
"On the nigger again," said his Junior Lieutenant, assuming, as he
spoke, an oratorical attitude. "Why do you not go on and talk about them
working out their own salvation, with muskets on their shoulders and
bayonets by their sides, and with fear and trembling too, I have no
doubt it would be. Carry out your Scripture parallels. Tell how the
walls of Jericho fell by horns taken from the woolly heads of rams; but
now that miracles are no more, how the walls of this Jericho of Rebeldom
are destined to fall before the well-directed butting of the woolly
heads themselves. You don't ride your hobby with a stiff rein to-night,
Lieutenant."
The taunting air and strained comparison of the Lieutenant enlivened the
crowd, but did not in the least affect the Senior, who calmly replied:
"If our Government does not arm the negro on the basis of freedom, the
Rebels in their desperation will, and although we have the negro
sympathy, we may lose it through delay and inattention, and in that
event, prepare for years of conflict. The negroes, at the outset of this
Rebellion, were ripe for the contest. Armies of thousands of them might
have been in the field to-day. Now the President's Proclamation finds
them removed within interior Rebel lines, and to furnish them arms, will
first cost severe contests with the Rebels themselves."
The toil of the day and the drowsiness caused by huge meals, gradually
dispersed the crowd; but the discussion was continued in quarters by the
various messes, until their actual time of retiring.
* * * * *
"Inspection! inspection!" said the Adjutant, on the succeeding
afternoon, to the Lieutenant-Colonel for the time being in command of
the Regiment, handing him, at the same time, an order for immediate
inspection. "Six inspections in two weeks before marching," continued
the Adjutant, "and another after a day's march. I wonder whether this
Grand Army of the Potomac wouldn't halt when about going into battle, to
see whether the men had their shoe-strings tied?"
The Adjutant had barely ceased, when the Inspecting officer, the ranking
Colonel of the Brigade, detailed specially for the duty, made his
appearance. He was a stout, full-faced man of fifty or upwards, with an
odd mixture in his manner of piety and pretension. Report had it that
his previous life had been one of change,--stock-jobber, note-shaver,
temperance lecturer, and exhorter--
"All things by turns, and nothing long."
The latter quality remained with him, and it was a rare chance that he
could pass a crowd of his men without bringing it into play. His
"talks," as the boys called them, were more admired than his tactics,
and from their tone of friendly familiarity, he was called by the
fatherly title of "Pap" by his Regiment, and known by that designation
throughout the Brigade.
The Regiment was rapidly formed for inspection, and after passing
through the ranks of the first Company, the Colonel pompously presented
himself before its centre, and with sober tones and solemn look,
delivered himself as follows:
"Boys, have your hearts right," the Colonel clapping, at the same time,
his right hand over his diaphragm. "If your hearts are right your
muskets will be bright." The men stared, the movement not being laid
down in the Regulations, and not exactly understanding the connexion
between the heart and a clean musket; but the Colonel continued, "the
heart is like the mainspring of a watch, if it beats right, the whole
man and all about him will be right. There is no danger of our failing
in this war, boys. We have a good cause to put our hearts in. The Rebels
have a bad cause, and their hearts cannot be right in it. Good hearts
make brave men, brave men win the battles. That's the reason, boys, why
we'll succeed."
"Can't see it!" sang out some irreverent fellow in the rear rank.
The Colonel didn't take the hint; but catching at the remark continued,
"You do not need to see it, boys, you can feel whether your heart is
right." This provoked a smile on the faces of the more intelligent of
the officers and men, which the Colonel noticed. "No laughing matter,
boys," he said emphatically, at the same time earnestly gesticulating,
"your lives, your country, and your honor depend upon right hearts." And
thus the old Colonel exhorted each Company previous to its dismissal,
amusing some and mystifying others. The heart was his theme, and time or
place, a court-martial or a review, did not prevent the introduction of
his platitudes.
Said the Major, after inspection, "The Colonel, in the prominence he
gives the heart in its control of military affairs, rather reverses a
sentiment I once heard advanced by a little Scotch tailor, who had just
been elected a militia colonel."
"Let's have it, Major," said the Adjutant.
"The little Scotchman," continued the Major, "had been a notorious
drunkard and profane swearer. Through the efforts of a travelling
Evangelist, he became converted and joined a prominent denomination. His
conversion was a remarkable instance, and gave him rapid promotion and a
prominent position in the church. While at his height, through some
scheme of the devil, I suppose, he was elected colonel of militia. The
elevation overcame him. Treat he must and treat he did, and to satisfy
the admiring crowd in front of the bar drank himself, until reason left,
preceded by piety, and his old vice of profanity returned, with
seven-fold virulence. He was discovered by a brother of the church,
steadying himself by the railing of the bar, and rehearsing, amid
volleys of oaths, the fragments that remained in his memory of an old
Fourth of July speech. 'Brother,' said his fellow church-member, as he
gently nudged his arm. 'Brother!' in a louder key, and with a more
vigorous nudge, 'have you forgotten your sacred obligations to the
church, your position as a--'
"'The church!' echoed the tailor, all the blood of the MacGregor rising
in his boots, with an oath that shocked the brother out of all
hope--'What's the church to military matters?'"