_The March to Warrenton--Secesh Sympathy and Quarter-Master's
Receipts--Middle-Borough--The Venerable Uncle Ned and his Story of the
Captain of the Tigers--The Adjutant on Strategy--Red-Tapism and
Mac-Napoleonism--Movement Stopped--Division Head-Quarters out of
Whiskey--Stragglers and Marauders--A Summary Proceeding--Persimmons and
Picket-Duty--A Rebellious Pig--McClellanism._
The order to march at four meant moving at six, as was not unfrequently
the case, the men being too often under arms by the hour shivering for
the step, while the Staff Officers who issued the orders were snoozing
in comfortable blankets. Be the cause what it might that morning, the
soldiers probably did not regret it, as it gave them opportunity to see
the lovely valley of the Shenandoah exposed to their view for the last
time, as the fog gradually lifted before the rays of the rising sun. The
Shenandoah, like a silver thread broken by intervening foliage, lay at
their feet. Far to the right, miles distant, was Charlestown, where old
John's soul, appreciative of the beauties of nature at the dread hour of
execution, seeing in them doubtless the handiwork of nature's God,
exclaimed "This is indeed a beautiful country." In the front, dim in the
distance, was Winchester, readily discovered by the bold mountain spur
in its rear. Smaller villages dotted the valley, variegated by fields
and woods--all rebellious cities of the plain, nests of treason and
granaries of food for traitors. A blind mercy that, on the part of the
Administration, that procured its almost total exemption from the
despoiling hand of war.
Some in the ranks on Snicker's Summit that fine morning could remember
the impudent Billingsgate of look and tongue with which Mrs. Faulkner
would fling in their faces a general pass, from a wagon loaded with
garden truck for traitors in arms at Bunker Hill--but an instance of
long continued good-nature, to use a mild phrase, of the many that have
characterized our movements in the field. Well does the great discerner
of the desires of men as well as delineator of the movements of their
passions, make Crook Richard on his foully usurped and tottering throne
exclaim,
"War must be brief when traitors brave the field."
At a later day, in a holier cause, the line remains an axiom. Nor at the
time of which we write was the policy much changed. While all admit the
necessity, for the preservation of proper discipline, of having Rebel
property for the use of the army taken formally under authorities duly
constituted for the purpose, and not by indiscriminate license to the
troops, none can be so blind as to fail to see the bent of the
sympathies controlling the General in command. During the march to
Middle-Borough, horses were taken along the route to supply deficiencies
in the teams, and forage for their use, but in all cases the women who
claimed to represent absent male owners--absent doubtless in arms--and
who made no secret of their own Rebel inclinations, received
Quarter-Master's receipts for their full value--generally, in fact,
their own valuation. These receipts were understood to be presently
payable. The interests of justice and our finances would have been much
better subserved had their payment been conditioned upon the loyalty of
the owner. A different policy would not have comported, however, with
that which at an earlier day placed Lee's mansion on the Peninsula under
double guard, and when you give it the in that case sorry merit of
consistency, its best excuse is given.
Beyond some lives lost by a force of Regulars who ventured too near the
river without proper precautions the day after we occupied the Gap, and
the loss of a Regimental head-quarters wagon, loaded with the officers'
baggage, broken down upon a road on which the exhorting Colonel, after
deliberate survey, had set his heart as the safest of roads from the
Summit, nothing of note occurred during the stay. Our evacuation of the
Gap was almost immediately followed by Rebel occupation.
The statement that nothing of note occurred may, perhaps, be doing
injustice to our little Dutch Doctor, who had the best of reasons for
remembering the morning of our departure from Snicker's Summit. To the
Doctor the mountain, with its rocks, seemed familiar ground. A Tyrolese
by birth, he loved to talk of his mountain home and sing its lively
airs. But that sweet home had one disadvantage. Their beasts of draught
and burden were oxen, and the only horse in the village was a cart-horse
owned by the Doctor's father. Of necessity, therefore, his horsemanship
was defective, an annoying affair in the army. Many officers and men
were desirous of seeing the Doctor mount and ride his newly purchased
horse, and the Doctor was quite as anxious to evade observation. His
saddle was on and blankets strapped as he surveyed the beast, now
passing to this side and now to that, giving wide berth to heels that
never kicked, and with his servant at hand, waiting until the last files
of the Regiment had disappeared in the woods below. Not unobserved,
however, for two of the Field and Staff had selected a clump of scrub
pines close at hand for the purpose of witnessing the movement. A rock
near by served him as a stand from which to mount. The horse was brought
up, and the Doctor, after patting his head and rubbing his neck to
assure himself of the good intentions of the animal, cautiously took his
place in the saddle and adjusted his feet in the stirrups.
The animal moved off quietly enough, until the Doctor, to increase his
speed, touched him in the flank with his spur, when the novel sensation
to the beast had the effect of producing a sudden flank movement, which
resulted in the instant precipitation of the Doctor upon his back among
the rocks and rough undergrowth. The horse stood quietly; there was no
movement of the bushes among which the Doctor fell, and the mirth of the
observers changed to fear lest an accident of a serious nature had
occurred. The officers and servant rushed to the spot. Fortunately the
fall had been broken somewhat by the bushes, but nevertheless plainly
audible groans in Dutch escaped him, and when aware of the presence of
the observers, exclamations in half broken English as to what the result
might have been. The actual result was that the horse was forthwith
condemned as "no goot" by the Doctor; an ambulance sent for, and
necessity for the first time made him take a seat during the march in
that vehicle, a practice disgracefully common among army surgeons. The
horse in charge of the servant followed, but was ever after used as a
pack. No amount of persuasion, even when way-worn and foot-sore from the
march, could induce the Doctor to remount his charger.
Middle-Borough, a pretty place near the Bull Run Range of mountains, was
reached about ten o'clock in the forenoon of the day after leaving the
Gap. After the first Bull Run battle the place was made use of, as
indeed were all the towns as far up the country as Martinsburg, as a
Rebel hospital. Some of the inmates in butternut and grey, with surgeons
and officers on parole in like color, but gorgeous in gilding, were
still to be seen about the streets. Greyheaded darkies and picaninnies
peered with grinning faces over every fence. The wenches were busily
employing the time allowed for the halt in baking hoe-cakes for the men.
In front of the principal mansion of the place, owned by a Major in the
Rebel service under Jackson, a small group of officers and men were
interesting themselves in the examination of an antique naval sword that
had just been purchased by a Sergeant from a venerable Uncle Ned, who
stood hat in hand, his bald head exposed to the sun, bowing as each new
comer joined the crowd.
"Dat sword, gemmen," said the negro, politely and repeatedly bowing,
"belonged to a Captain ob de Louisiana Tigers dat Hannar Amander and me
nussed, case he came late and couldn't get into de hospitals or houses,
dey was so full right after de fust big Bull Run fight. His thigh was
all shot to pieces. He hadn't any money, and didn't seem to hab any
friends but Hannar Amander."
"Who is Hannah Amanda?" said one of the crowd.
"My wife, sah," said the old man, crossing his breast slowly with his
right hand and profoundly bowing.
"Hannar Amander said de young man must be cared for, dat de good Lor
would hold us 'countable if we let him suffer, so we gab him our bed,
shared our little hoe-cake and rye coffee wid him, and Susan Matildar,
my darter, and my wife dressed de wound as how de surgeon would tell us.
But after about five days de surgeon shook his head and told de Captain
he couldn't lib. De poor young man failed fast arter dat; he would moan
and mutter all time ober ladies' names.
"'Reckon you hab a moder and sisters?' said my wife to him one morning.
"'Oh, God! yes,' said de fine-looking young man, for, as Hannar Amander
said, he was purty as a pictur, and she'd often say how much would his
moder and sisters gib if dey could only nuss him instead of us poor
culled pussons. He said, too, he was no Rebel at heart--dat he was from
de Norf, and a clerk in a store at New Orleans, and dey pressed him to
go, and den he thought he'd better go as Captain if he had to go, and
dey made him Captain. 'And now I must die a traitor! My God! when will
my moder and sisters hear of dis, and what will dey say?' and he went on
so and moaned; and when we found out he was from up Norf, and sorry at
dat for being a Rebel, we felt all de warmer toward him. He called us
bery kind, but moaned and went on so dreadfully dat my wife and darter
didn't know what to do to comfort him. Dey bathed his head and made him
cool drinks, but no use. 'It's not de pain ob de body,' said Hannar
Amander to me, 'it's ob de heart--dat's what's de matter.'
"'Hab you made your peace wid God, and are you ready for eberlasting
rest?' said my wife to him.
"'My God!' groaned he, 'dere's no peace or rest for me. I'm a sinner and
a Rebel too. Oh, I can't die in such a cause!' and he half raised up,
but soon sunk down again.
"'We'm all rebels to de bressed God. His Grace alone can sab us,' said
my wife, and she sung from dat good hymn
"'Tis God alone can gib
De bliss for which we sigh.'
"'Susan Matildar, bring your Bible and read some.' While she said dis,
de poor young man's eyes got full ob tears.
"'Oh, my poor moder! how she used to read to me from dat book, and how
I've neglected it,' said he.
"Den Susan Matildar--she'd learned to read from her missus' little
girls--read about all de weary laden coming unto de blessed Sabiour.
Wheneber she could she'd read to him, and I went and got good old
Brudder Jones to pray for him. By un by de young man begin to pray
hisself, and den he smiled, and den, oh, I neber can forget how Hannar
Amander clapped her hands and shouted 'Now I know he's numbered wid de
army ob de Lor'! kase he smiles.' Dat was his first smile; but I can
tell you, gemmen, it grew brighter and brighter, and by un by his face
was all smiles, and he died saying he'd meet his moder and all ob us in
Hebben, and praising de bressed Lor'!"
The old man wiped his eyes, and there was a brief pause, none caring
even in that rough, hastily collected crowd to break the silence that
followed his plain and pathetic statement.
"But how did you get the sword?" at last inquired one.
"Before he died he said he was sorry he could not pay us for our
kindness," resumed the old man. "Hannar Amander said dat shouldn't
trouble him, our pay would be entered up in our 'ternal count.
"And den he gab me dis sword and said I should keep it and sell it, and
dat would bring me suffin'. And he gab Susan Matildar his penknife. De
Secesh am 'quiring about de sword. I'd like to keep it, to mind de young
man by, but we've all got him here," said the old man, pointing to his
heart. "I'd sooner gib it to you boys dan sell it to de Rebels, but de
Sargeant yer was good enough to pay me suffin for it, and den I cant
forget dat good young man, I see his grave every day. We buried him at
de foot ob our little lot, and Susan Matildar keeps flowers on his grave
all day long. Her missus found out he was from de Norf and was sorry
'fore he died he had been a Rebel, and she told Susan Matildar she
wouldn't hab buried him dere. But Hannar Amander said dat if all de
Rebels got into glory so nice dey'd do well; and de sooner dey are dere
de better for us all, dis ole man say."
This last brought a smile to the crowd, and a collection was taken up
for the old man.
"Bress you, gemmen! bress you! Served my Master forty-five years and hab
nuffin to show for it. Our little patch Hannar Amander got, but I tries
to sarve de Lor at de same time, and dere is a better 'count kept ob dat
in a place where old Master dead and gone now pas' twenty years, will
nebber hab a chance ob getting at de books."
The old man had greatly won upon his hearers, when the bugle called them
to their posts.
Our corps from this place took the road to White Plains, near which
little village they encamped in a wood for two nights and a day, while a
snow-storm whitened the fields.
* * * * *
"Let the hawk stoop, the bird has flown,"
said a boyish-faced officer who was known in the Regiment as the
Poetical Lieutenant, to the Adjutant, as he pushed aside the canvas door
of the Office Tent on one of those wintry evenings. The caller had left
the studies of the Sophomoric year,--or rather his Scott, Byron, Burns,
and the popular novelists of the day,--for the recruiting service in his
native county. The day-dreams of the boy as to the gilded glory of the
soldier had been roughly broken in upon by severe practical lessons, in
tedious out-post duty and wearisome marches. He could remember, as could
many others, how he had admired the noble and commanding air with which
Washington stands in the bow of the well loaded boat as represented on
the historic canvas, and the stern determination depicted upon the
countenances of the rest of his Roman-nosed comrades--(why is it that
our historic artists make all our Revolutionary Fathers Roman-nosed? If
their pictures are faithful, where in the world do our swarms of pugs
and aquilines come from worn by those claiming Revolutionary descent? Is
it beyond their skill to make a pug or an aquiline an index to nobility
of soul or heroic resolve?)--as they keep the frozen masses borne by
that angry tide at safe distance from the frail bark--but he then felt
nothing of the ice grating the sides of the vessel in which he hoped to
make the voyage of life, nor shuddered at the wintry midnight blast that
swept down the valley of the Delaware. His dreams had departed; but
poetical quotations remained for use at every opportunity.
"What's the matter now?" says the Adjutant.
"One of the Aids just told me," rejoined the Lieutenant, "that the
Rebels were in force in our front, and would contest the Rappahannock,
while the possession of the Gap we have just left lets them in upon our
rear."
"The old game played out again," says the Adjutant. "Another string
loose in the bag. Strategy in one respect resembles mesmerism--the
object operated upon must remain perfectly quiet. Are we never to
suppose that the Rebels have plans, and that their vigilance increases,
and will increase, in proportion to the extremity of their case? Our
theorists and routine men move armies as a student practises at chess,
as if the whole field was under their control, and both armies at their
disposal. With our immense resources, vigorous fighting and practical
common sense would speedily suppress the Rebellion. Where are our old
fighting stock of Generals? our Hookers, Heintzelmans, Hancocks, and men
of like kidney? Why must their fiery energies succumb to a cold-blooded
strategy, that wastes the materiel of war, and what is worse, fills our
hospitals to no purpose? Those men have learned how to command from
actual contact with men. The art of being practical, adapting one's self
to emergencies, is not taught in schools. With some it is doubtless
innate; with the great mass, it is a matter of education, such as is
acquired from moving among men."
"We have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
Where is our Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons why forget
The nobler and the manlier one?"
broke in our Poetical Lieutenant.
"D--n your Pyrrhics," retorted the Adjutant, snappishly. "For the
Pyrrhics of past days we have Empirics now. Our phalanxes of old have
been led to victory by militia Colonels, who sprang from the thinking
head of the people, glowing with the sacred fire of their cause. Do you
not believe," continued he enthusiastically, "that the loyal masses who
sprang into ranks at the insult upon Sumter would have found a leader
long ere this worthy of their cause, whose rapid and decisive blows
would have saved us disgraceful campaigns, had the nation been
unencumbered by this ruin of a Regular Army, that has given us little
else than a tremendous array of officers, many of them of the
Pigeon-hole and Paper order,--beggarly lists of Privates,--Routine that
must be carried out at any cost of success,--and Red Tape that
everywhere represses patriotism? And then to think, too, of the
half-heartedness and disaffection. How long must these sneaking
Catilines in high places abuse our patience? But what can be expected
from officers who are not in the service from patriotic motives, but
rather from prospects of pay and position? End the war, and you will
have men who are now unworthy Major and Brigadier Generals, subsiding
into Captains and Lieutenants. Their movements indicate that _they_
realize their position fully; but when will the country realize that
'strategy' is played out?"
"The whiskey at Division Head-quarters is played out, any way," said a
Sergeant on duty in the Commissary Department, who had entered the tent
while the Adjutant was speaking.
"'And not a drop to drink,'"
rejoined the Lieutenant.
"Then, by Heaven, we are lost," continued the Adjutant. "Strategy played
out and our General of Division out of whiskey. Yes, sir! those mishaps
end all further movement of this Grand Army of the Potomac. But when did
you hear that?"
"I was in the marquee of the Brigade Commissary when a Sergeant and a
couple of privates on duty about Pigey's Head-quarters came in with a
demijohn and a note to the Commissary, presenting the compliments of the
General commanding Division, and at the same time the cash for four
gallons of whiskey. The Captain read it carefully and told the Sergeant
to tell the General that he didn't keep a dram-shop. I expected that
this reply would make sport, and I concluded to wait awhile and see the
thing out. In a few minutes the Sergeant returned, stating that he had
not given that reply to the General, through fear, I suppose, but had
stated that the Captain had made some excuse. He said further that Pigey
said he was entirely out, and must have some.
"'Tell him what I told you,' said the Captain, determinedly. Off the
Sergeant started. I waited for his return outside, and asked him how
Pigey took the answer. 'Took it?' said he, 'I didn't tell him about the
dram-shop, but when he found I had none, he raved like mad--swore he was
entirely out--had been since morning, and must and would have some. He
d----d the Captain for being a temperance fanatic, and for bringing his
fanatical notions into the army; and all the while he paced up and down
his marquee like a tiger at a menagerie. At last he told me that I must
return again and tell the Captain that it was a case of absolute
necessity, and that he knew that there was a barrel of it among the
Commissary stores, and that he must have his four gallons.'
"I followed the Sergeant in, but he could not make it. The Captain had
just turned it over to the Hospital.
"So the Sergeant went back again with the empty demijohn. He told me
afterwards that the General was so taken aback by his not getting any,
that he sat quietly down on his camp stool, ran his fingers through his
hair, pulled at his moustache, and then 'I knew,' said the Sergeant,
'that a storm was brewing, and that the General was studying how to do
justice to the subject. At length he rose slowly, kicked his hat that
had fallen at his feet to one corner of the marquee, d----g it at the
same time; d----d me for not getting it any how, and clenching his fists
and walking rapidly up and down, d----d the Captain, his Brigadier, and
everything belonging to the Brigade, until I thought it a little too
hard for a man who had had a Sunday School education in his young days
to listen to, and I left him still cursing.'"
"He will court-martial the Captain," said the Colonel, who had entered
the tent, "for signal contempt of the Regular Service. I recollect a
charge of that kind preferred by a Regular Lieutenant against an
Adjutant of the ---- Maine, down in the Peninsula. In one of our marches
the Adjutant had occasion to ride rapidly by the Regiment to which the
Lieutenant belonged. The Lieutenant hailed him--told him to stop. The
Adjutant knowing his duty, and that he had no authority to halt him,
continued his pace, but found himself for nearly a month afterward in
arrest under a charge of 'Signal contempt for the Regular Service.'"
Sigel's hardy Teutons lined the road in the vicinity of New Baltimore,
through which village the route lay on the following day. Part of his
corps had some days previously occupied the mountain gaps in the Bull
Run range on the left. Other troops, led by a Commander whose strategy
was singularly efficacious to keep him out of fights, were passing to
the front, leaving a fighting General of undoubted prowess in European
and American history, in the rear. Inefficient himself, and perhaps
designedly so, his policy could not, with safety to his own reputation,
allow of efficiency elsewhere.
That night our Regiment encamped in one of the old pine fields common in
Virginia. The softness of the decaying foliage of the pine which covered
the ground as a cushion was admirably adapted to repose, and upon it the
men rested, while the gentle evening breeze sighed among the boughs
above them, as if in sympathy with disappointed hopes and sacrifices
made in vain.
"Stragglers and marauders, sir," said a Sergeant of the Provost Guard,
saluting the Colonel, who was one of the circle lying cozily about the
fire, pointing as he spoke to a squad of way-worn, wo-begone men under
guard in his rear. "Here is a list of their offences. I was ordered to
report them for punishment."
"A new wrinkle, that," said the Colonel, as the Sergeant left. "Our
Brigadier must be acting upon his own responsibility. Our General of
Division would certainly never have permitted such an opportunity slip
for employing the time of officers in Courts-martial. That list would
have kept one of our Division Courts in session at least three weeks,
and have given the General himself an infinite amount of satisfaction in
examining his French authorities, and in strictures upon the Records.
What have we here, any how?"
No. 1. "Straggling to a persimmon tree on the road-side."
"That man," said a Lieutenant, "when he saw our Brigadier coming up,
presented him with a couple of persimmons very politely. But it was no
go; the General ordered him under guard and eat the persimmons as part
of the punishment."
"Well," rejoined the Colonel, "we'll let you off with guard duty for the
night."
No. 2. "Killing a shoat while the Regiment halted at noon."
The man charged was a fine-looking young fellow whose only preparation
for the musket, when he enlisted, was previous practice with the yard
stick in a dry goods establishment. Intelligent and good-natured, he was
popular in the command, and was never known to let his larder suffer.
"Was it a Rebel pig?" inquired a bystander.
"A most rebellious pig," replied he, bowing to the Colonel. "He gave us
a great amount of trouble, and rebelled to the last." A laugh followed,
interrupted by the Colonel, who desired to hear the circumstances of the
case.
"Right after we had halted on the other side of New Baltimore,"
continued the man, "I saw the pig rooting about a corn shock, and as my
haversack was empty, and myself hungry, I thought I could dispose of
part of him to advantage, and before I had time to reflect about the
order, I commenced running after him. Several others followed, and some
officers near by stood looking at us. After skinning my hands and knees
in trying to catch him by throwing myself upon him, I finally caught
him. When I had him skinned, I gave a piece to all the officers who saw
me, saving only a ham for myself, and I was dressing it when up came a
Lieutenant of the Provost Guard and demanded it. I debated the matter as
well as a keen appetite would allow, and finally coming to the
conclusion that I could not serve my country as I should, if half
starved, I resolved to keep it, and refused him, and he reported me, and
here I am with it at your service," clapping his hand on a well filled
haversack.
One-half of the meat was confiscated, but the novelty of the sergeant's
patriotic plea saved him further penalty.
No. 3. Caught in a negro shanty, in company with an old wench.
The crowd laughed; while the subject, a tall cadaverous-looking fellow,
protested earnestly that he was only waiting while the wench baked him a
hoe-cake.
"Guard duty for the night," said the Colonel.
"Poor devil! He will have to keep awake, and can't sing--'Sleeping I
dream, love, dream, love, of thee'"--said the poetical Lieutenant, who
chanced to be one of the group.
No. 4. Caught by the General Commanding Division, twenty feet high on a
persimmon tree, and Nos. 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, and 10 on the ground below; also
"Lying."
"Another persimmon crowd. Every night we are troubled with the persimmon
business," said the Colonel; "but what does the 'also Lying' mean?"
"Why," said a frank fellow of the crowd, "you see when the old General
came up, I said it was a picket station, and that the man up the tree
was looking out for the enemy. It was a big thing, I thought, but the
General didn't see it, and he swore he would persimmon us."
"Which meant," said the Colonel, "that you would lose your persimmons,
and go on extra police duty for forty-eight hours each."
The crowd were lectured upon straggling, that too frequent offence of
Volunteers, and after a severe reprimand dismissed.
The country abounded in persimmon trees, and their golden fruit was a
sore temptation to teeth sharpened on army crackers. As the season
advanced, and persimmons became more palatable, crowds would thus be
brought up nightly for punishment. This summary procedure was an
innovation by the Brigadier upon the Red-Tape formulary of
Courts-martial, so rigidly adhered to, and fondly indulged in, by the
General of Division. The Brigadier would frequently himself dispose of
delinquencies of the kind, telling the boys in a manner that made them
feel that he cared for their welfare, that they had been entrusted to
him by the country for its service, and that he considered himself under
obligations to their relatives and friends to see that while under his
command their characters received no detriment, and while becoming good
soldiers they would not grow to be bad citizens. He made them realize,
that although soldiers they were still citizens; and many a man has left
him all the better for a reprimand which reminded him of duties to
relatives and society at large. How much nobility of soul might be
spared to the country with care of this kind, on the part of commanders.
Punishment is necessary--but how many to whom it is intrusted forget
that in giving it a moral effect upon society, care should be taken
that it may operate beneficially upon the individual. The General who
crushes the soul out of his command by exacting infamous punishments for
trivial offences, is but a short remove from the commander who would
basely surrender it to the enemy on the barest pretext. Punishment has
too often been connected with prejudice against Volunteers in the Army
of the Potomac, controlled as it has been too much by martinets. That a
nation of freemen could have endured so long the contumely of a proud
military leader when his incapacity was so apparent, will be a matter of
wonder for the historian. The inconsistency that would follow the great
Napoleon in modelling an army and neglect his example in giving it
mobility, with eminent propriety leaves the record of its exploits to
depend upon the pen of a scion of the unmilitary House of Orleans.
But the decree "thus far shalt thou come," forced upon an honest but
blindly indulgent President by the People, who will not forget that
power is derived from them, had already gone forth, although not yet
officially announced to the Army; and it was during the week at
Warrenton, our halting-place on the morrow, that the army, with the
citizens at home, rejoiced that the work of staying the proud waves of
imbecility, as well as insult, to our Administration, had commenced. The
history of reforms is one of the sacrifice of blood, money, and time.
Frightful bills of mortality, shattered finances, nineteen months of
valuable time, do not in this case admit of an exception.