_A Skulker and the Dutch Doctor--A Review of the Corps by Old Joe--A
Change of Base; what it means to the Soldier, and what to the
Public--Our Quarter-Master and General Hooker--The Movement by the Left
Flank--A Division General and Dog-driving--The Desolation of Virginia--A
Rebel Land-Owner and the Quarter-Master--"No Hoss, Sir!"--The Poetical
Lieutenant unappreciated--Mutton or Dog?--Desk Drudgery and Senseless
Routine._
"It's about time, Bill, for you to have another sick on," said a lively
lad, somewhat jocosely, as he rubbed away at his musket-barrel, on one
of our last mornings at the Camp, near Warrenton. "Fighting old Joe has
the Corps now, and he will review us to-day, the Captain says, and after
that look out for a move."
"Don't say," drawled out the man addressed; a big, lubberly fellow,
famous in the Regiment for shirking duty--who, when picket details were
expected, or a march in prospect, would set a good example of
punctuality in promptly reporting at Surgeon's call, or as the Camp
phrase had it, "stepping up for his quinine." "Well," continued he,
"Lord knows what I'll do. I've had the rheumatics awful bad," clapping
at the same time one hand on his hip, and the other on his right
shoulder, "the last day or two, and then the chronical diarrhoear."
"You had better go in on rheumatism, Bill," broke in the first speaker.
"The Doctor will let you off best on that."
"That's played out, isn't it, Bill," chimed in another; and to Bill's
disgust, as he continued, "It don't go with the little Dutch Doctor
since Sharpsburg. Every time his Company's turn would come for picket,
while we were at that Camp, Bill would be a front-rank man at the
Hospital, with a face as long as a rail, and twisted as if he had just
had all his back teeth pulled. The little Dutchman would yell out
whenever he would see him--'What for you come? Eh? You tam shneak.
Rheumatism, eh? In hip?' And the Doctor would punch his shoulder and
hip, and pinch his arms and legs until Bill would squirm like an eel
under a gig. 'Here, Shteward,' said the Doctor the last time, as he
scribbled a few words on a small piece of paper, 'Take this; make
application under left ear, and see if dis tam rheumatism come not out.'
Bill followed the Steward, and in a few minutes came back to quarters
ornamented with a fly-blister as big as a dollar under his left ear.
Next morning Bill didn't report, but he's been going it since on
diarrhoea."
"He wasn't smart, there," observed another. "He ought to have done as
little Burky of our mess did. He'd hurry to quarters, take the blister
off, clap it on again next morning when he'd report, and he'd have the
little Dutchman swearing at the blister for not being 'wors a tam.'"
Bill took the sallies of the crowd with the quiet remark that their turn
for the sick list would come some day.
The Review on that day was a grand affair. The fine-looking manly form
of Old Joe, as, in spite of a bandaged left ancle not yet recovered
from the wound at Antietam, and that kept the foot out of the stirrup,
he rode down the line at a gait that tested the horsemanship of his
followers, was the admiration of the men. In his honest and independent
looking countenance they read, or thought they could, character too
purely republican to allow of invidious distinctions between men, who,
in their country's hour of need, had left civil pursuits at heavy
sacrifices, and those who served simply because the service was to them
the business of life. With hearts that kept lively beat with the
regimental music as they marched past their new Commander, they rejoiced
at this mark of attention to the necessities of the country, which
removed an Officer, notorious as a leader of reserves, and placed them
under the care of a man high on the list of fighting Generals.
"Waterloo," says the historic or rather philosophic novelist of France,
"was a change of front of the universe." The results of that contest are
matter of record, and justify the remark. At Warrenton a great Republic
changed front, and henceforth the milk and water policy of conciliating
"our Southern Brethren" ranked as they are behind bristling bayonets, or
of intimidating them by a mere show of force, must give way to active
campaigning and heavy blows.
A rainy, misty morning a day or two after the review, saw the Corps pass
through Warrenton, en route for the Railroad Junction, commencing the
change of direction by the left flank, ordered by the new Commander of
the Army. The halt for the night was made in a low piece of woodland
lying south of the railroad. In column of Regiments the Division
encamped, and in a space of time incredible to those not familiar with
such scenes, knapsacks were unslung and the smoke of a thousand
camp-fires slowly struggled upwards through the falling rain. Its
pelting was not needed to lull the soldiers, weary from the wet march
and slippery roads, to slumber.
At early dawn they left the Junction and its busy scenes--its lengthy
freight-trains, and almost acres of baggage-wagons, to the rear, and
struck the route assigned the Grand Division, of which they were part,
for Fredericksburg. "A change of base" our friends will read in the
leaded headings of the dailies, and pass it by as if it were a transfer
of an article of furniture from one side of the room to the other.
Little know they how much individual suffering from heavy knapsacks and
blistered feet, confusion of wagon-trains, wrangling and swearing of
teamsters, and vexation in almost infinite variety, are comprised in
these few words. It is the army that moves, however, and the host of
perplexities move with it, all unknown to the great public, and
transient with the actors themselves as bubbles made by falling rain
upon the lake. The delays incident to a wagon-train are legion.
Occurring among the foremost wagons, they increase so rapidly that
notwithstanding proper precaution and slowness in front, a rear-guard
will often be kept running. The profanity produced by a single chuck
hole in a narrow road appears to increase in arithmetical proportion as
the wagons successively approach, and teamsters in the rear find their
ingenuity taxed to preserve their reputation for the vice with their
fellows.
Why negroes are not more generally employed as teamsters is a mystery.
They are proverbially patient and enduring. Both the interests of
humanity and horseflesh would be best subserved by such employment, and
the ranks would not be reduced by the constant and heavy details of
able-bodied men for that duty. Capital and careful horsemen are to be
found among the contrabands of Virginia, and many a poor beast, bad in
harness because badly treated, would rejoice at the change.
Quarter-masters, Wagon-masters, Commissaries, _et id genus omne_, have
their peculiar troubles. Our Regiment was particularly favored in a
Quarter-Master of accomplished business tact, whose personal supervision
over the teams during a march was untiring, and whose tongue was equally
tireless in rehearsing to camp crowds, after the march was over, the
troubles of the day, and how gloriously he surmounted them. In his
department he held no divided command.
"Get out of my train with that ambulance. You can't cut me off in that
style," he roared in an authoritative manner to an ambulance driver, who
had slipped in between two of his wagons on the second day of our march.
"My ambulance was ordered here, sir! I have General ----" The driver's
reply was here interrupted by the abrupt exclamation of the
Quarter-Master--
"I don't care a d--n if you have Old Joe himself inside. I command this
train and you must get out." And get out the driver did, at the
intimation of his passenger, who, to the surprise of the Quarter-Master,
notwithstanding his assertion, turned out to be no less a personage than
General Hooker himself.
"It is the law of the road," said the General, good-humoredly--candid to
his own inconvenience--"and we must obey it."
This ready obedience upon the part of the General was better in effect
than any order couched in the strongest terms for the enforcement of
discipline. The incident was long a frequent subject of conversation,
and added greatly to his popularity as a commander. The men were fond
of contrasting it with the conduct of the General of Division, who but a
few days later cursed a poor teamster with all manner of profanely
qualifying adjectives because he could not give to the General and his
Staff the best part of a difficult road.
But perhaps the men held their General of Division to too strict an
accountability. He was still laboring under the spell of Warrenton. His
nervous system had doubtless been deranged by the removal of his
favorite Chief, or rather Dictator, as he had hoped he might be. "No one
could command the army but McClellan," the General had said in his
disgust--a disgust that would have driven him from the service, but
that, fortunately for himself and unfortunately for his country, it was
balanced by the pay and emoluments of a Brigadiership. Reluctant to
allow Burnside quietly, a Caesar's opportunity to "cover his baldness
with laurels," his whimsical movements, now galloping furiously and
purposeless from front to rear, and from rear to front of his command,
cursing the officers,--and that for fancied neglect of duty,--poorly
concealed the workings of his mind.
In one of these rapid rides, his eye caught sight of a brace of young
hounds following one of the Sergeants.
"Where did those dogs come from?"
"They have followed me from the last wood, sir."
"Let them go, sir, this instant. Send them back, sir. D--n you, sir,
I'll teach you to respect private property," replied the General,
deploying his staff at the same time to assist in driving the dogs back,
as notwithstanding the efforts of the Sergeant to send them to the rear,
they crouched at a respectful distance and eyed him wistfully. "D--n
you, sir, I am the General commanding the Division, sir, and by G--d,
sir, I command you, as such, to send those dogs back, sir!" nervously
stammered the General as he rode excitedly from one side of the road to
the other in front of the Sergeant.
The affair speedily became ridiculous. Driving dogs was evidently with
the General a more congenial employment than manoeuvring men. But his
efforts in the one proved as unsuccessful as in the other, as
notwithstanding the aid afforded by his followers, the dogs would turn
tail but for a short distance. After swearing most _dogmatically_, as an
officer remarked, he turned to resume his ride to the head of the
column, but had not gone ten yards before there was a whistle for the
dogs. Squab was sent back to ferret out the offender. The whistling
increased, and shortly the whole Staff and the Regimental officers were
engaged in an attempt at its suppression. But in vain. Whistling in
Company A, found echoes in Company B; and after some minutes of
fruitless riding hither and thither the General was forced to retire
under a storm of all kinds of dog-calls, swelled in volume by the
adjacent Regiments.
That authority should be thus abused by the General in endeavoring to
enforce his ridiculous order, and set at naught by the men in thus
mocking at obedience, is to be deprecated. The men took that method of
rebuking the inconsistency, which would permit Regular and many
Volunteer Regiments to be followed by all manner of dogs,
"Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And cur of low degree,"
and yet refuse them the accidental company of but a brace of canines. A
simple report of the offender, supposing the Sergeant to have been one,
would have been the proper course, and would have saved a General of
Division the disgrace of being made a laughing-stock for his command.
"Talent is something: but tact is everything," said an eminent man, and
nowhere has the remark a more truthful application than in the army.
A favorite employment after the evening halt, during this three days'
march, was the gathering of mushrooms. The old fields frequent along the
route abounded with them, and many a royal meal they furnished. To
farmers' sons accustomed to the sight of close cultivation, these old
fields, half covered with stunted pines, sassafras, varieties of spice
wood, and the never-failing persimmon tree, were objects of curiosity.
It was hard to realize that we were marching through a country once
considered the Garden of America, whose bountiful supplies and large
plantations had become classic through the pen of an Irving and other
famous writers. Fields princely in size, but barren as Sahara;
buildings, once comfortable residences, but now tottering into ruin, are
still there, but "all else how changed." The country is desolation
itself. Game abounds, but whatever required the industry of man for its
continuance has disappeared.
Civilization, which in younger States has felled forests, erected
school-houses, given the fertility of a garden to the barren coast of
the northern Atlantic and the wild-wood of the West, could not coalesce
with the curse of slavery, and Virginia has been passed by in her onward
march. This field of pines that you see on our right, whose tops are so
dense and even as to resemble at a distance growing grain, may have been
an open spot over which Washington followed his hounds in
ante-revolutionary days. The land abounds in memories. The very names of
the degenerate families who eke out a scanty subsistence on some corner
of what was once an extensive family seat, remind one of the old
Colonial aristocracy. Reclamation of the soil, as well as deliverance of
the enslaved, must result from this civil war. Both worth fighting for.
So "Forward, men," "Guide right," as in very truth we are in Divine
Providence guided.
The long-haired, furtive-looking fathers and sons, representatives of
all this ancient nobility, after having given over their old homesteads
to their female or helpless male slaves, and massed their daughters and
wives apparently in every tenth house, were keeping parallel pace with
us on the lower bank of the Rappahannock. It was the inevitable logic of
the law of human progress, declaring America to be in reality the land
of the free, that compelled these misguided, miserable remnants of an
aristocracy, to shiver in rags around November camp-fires. "They are
joined to their idols"--but now that after years of legislative
encroachment upon the rights of suffering humanity, they engage in a
rebellious outbreak against a God-given Government, we will not
let them alone in an idolatry that desolates the fair face of nature
and causes such shameful degeneracy of the human race. Justice! slow,
but still sure and retributive justice! How sublimely grand in her
manifestations! After years of patient endurance of the proud contumely
of South Carolina, New England granite blocks up the harbor of
Charleston--Massachusetts volunteers cook their coffee in the fireplaces
of the aristocratic homesteads of Beaufort, and negroes rally to a
roll-call at Bunker Hill, but as volunteers in a war which insures them
liberty, and not as slaves, as was once vainly prophesied.
* * * * *
"Who commands you?" inquired a long, lean, slightly stooped,
sallow-faced man of about fifty, with eyes that rolled in all directions
but towards the officer he addressed, and long hair thrown back of his
ears in such a way as to make up an appearance that would readily
attract the attention of a police officer.
"I command this Regiment, sir," replied the Colonel, who, at the end of
the day's march, was busied in directing a detail where to pitch the
Head-quarter tents.
"Goin' to stay yer--right in this meadow?" continued the man, in the
half negro dialect common with the whites of the South.
"That is what we purpose doing, sir. Are you the owner?"
"Y-a-a-s," drawled out the man, pulling his slouch felt still further
over his eyes. "This meadow is the best part of my hull farm."
"Great country, this," broke in the Quarter-Master. "Why a kill-deer
couldn't fly over it without carrying a knapsack. You don't think that
camping upon this meadow will injure it any, do you?"
"Right smart it will, I reckon," rejoined the man, his eyes kindling
somewhat, "right smart, it will. $1500 at least."
"What! What did the land cost you?"
"Wall, I paid at the rate of $15 the acre for 118 acres, and the
buildings and 12 acres on it are in this meadow, and the best bit of it,
too."
"Then you want to make us pay nearly what the whole farm cost you for
using the meadow a single night?"
"Wall, I reckon as how the rails will all be gone, and the sod all cut
up, and----"
"Well, I reckon," interrupted the Quarter-Master, "that you ought to
prove your loyalty before you talk about claiming damages from Uncle
Sam."
"Oh! I'm on nary side, on nary side;" and he looked half suspiciously
about the crowd, now somewhat increased. "I'm too old; besides, my left
knee is crippled up bad," limping as he said so, to sustain his
assertion.
"Where are your children?"
"My two boys and son-in-law are off with the South, but I'm not
'countable for them."
"Well, sir, you'll have to prove your loyalty before you get a receipt
from me for any amount."
"Prove my loyalty?" he muttered, at the same time looking blank. "What
sort of swearin' have you for that?"
"Don't swear him at all, at all," broke in the little Irish Corporal.
"Swearing is no substitute for swinging. Faith! he's up to that
business. It's mate and drink to him. Make him whistle Yankee Doodle or
sing Hail Columbia. Be jabers, it is not in his looks to do it without
choking."
Terence's suggestion met with a general laugh of approval. The old
fellow, finding himself in a crowd slow to appreciate his claim for
damages when his loyalty was at a discount, made off towards his house,
a dingy, two-story frame near by, reminded by the Colonel as he left
that he would be expected to keep closely within doors while the troops
were in that vicinity.
This sovereign of the soil was a fair specimen of the landed gentry of
Virginia. "On nary side," as he expressed it, when the Federal troops
were in his neighborhood, and yet malignant and dastardly enough to
maltreat any sick or wounded Union soldier that chance might throw into
his hands. The less reserved tongues of his daughters told plainly
enough where the family stood on the great question of the day. But
while they recounted to some of the junior officers who were always on
the alert in making female acquaintances, their long lists of famous
relatives, they had all the eagerness of the Yankee, so much despised in
the Richmond prints, in disposing of half-starved chickens and heavy
hoe-cakes at extortionate prices. With their dickering propensities
there was an amount of dirt on their persons and about the premises, and
roughness in their manners, that did great discredit to the memory of
Pocahontas.
"You have the old horse tied up close," casually remarked a spruce young
Sergeant who, in obedience to orders from Division Head-quarters, had
just stationed a guard in the yard of the premises, alluding to an old,
worn-out specimen of horseflesh tied up so closely to the house that his
head and neck were almost a straight line.
"Yon's no hoss, sir. It's a mare," quickly retorted one of those
black-eyed beauties.
The polite Sergeant, who had dressed himself with more than usual care,
in the expectation of meeting the ladies, colored somewhat, but the
young lady, in a matter-of-course strain, went on to say,
"She's the only one left us, too. Preston and Moncure took the rest with
them, and they say they've nearly used 'em up chasing you Yanks."
Her unlady-like demeanor and exulting allusion to the Rebel cavalry
tested to the utmost the Sergeant's qualities as a gentleman. A dicker
for a pair of chickens, accomplished by his substituting a little ground
coffee for a great sum in greenbacks, soon brought about a better
understanding, however, on the part of the damsel.
A few hours later saw the Adjutant and our poetical Lieutenant snugly
seated on split-bottomed chairs in a dirty kitchen. Random conversation,
in which the women let slip no opportunity of reminding their visitors
of the soldierly qualities of the Rebels, interrupted by the occasional
bleating of sheep and bawling of calves in the cellar, made the
evening's entertainment novel and interesting. So much so that at a late
hour the Lieutenant, who had invested closely the younger of the two,
said, half sighing, as he gave her a fond look,
"With thee conversing, I forget all time,
All----"
"Wall, I reckon I don't," broke in the matter-of-fact young lady. "Sal,
just kick yon door around." As Sal did her bidding, and the full moon on
the face of an old fashioned corner clock was disclosed, she continued,
"It's just ten minutes after eleven, and you Yanks had better be off."
Although the Adjutant was
"Like steel amid the din of arms;
Like wax when with the fair,"
this lack of appreciation of poetic sentiment so abruptly shown, brought
him out in a roar, and completely disconcerted the Lieutenant. They both
retired speedily, and long after, the circumstance was one of the
standing jokes of the camp.
One of the most prominent and eagerly wished-for occurrences in camp, is
the arrival of the mail. The well filled bag, looking much like one of
the bags of documents forwarded by Congressmen for private purposes at
Uncle Sam's expense, was emptied out on the sod that evening in front of
the Colonel's marquee, and bundles containing boots, tobacco, bread,
clothing of all kinds, eatables, and what-not,--for at that time Uncle
Sam's army mails did a heavy express business,--were eyed curiously, by
the crowd impatient for distribution. Most singular of all in shape and
feeling was a package, heavily postmarked, and addressed to the Colonel.
It contained what was a God-send to the larder of the mess,--a quarter
of fine tender meat. But what kind of animal, was the query. The Major,
who was a Nimrod in his own locality, after the most thorough
inspection, and the discovery of a short straight hair upon it,
pronounced it venison, or young kid, and confirmed the Colonel in the
belief that he had been remembered by one of his Western friends. But
deer or dog was a matter of indifference to hungry campaigners. A hearty
meal was made of it, and speculation continued until the Brigadier, who
had perpetrated the joke upon the Colonel, saw fit, long after, to
reveal that it was mutton that had been taken from some marauders during
the day's march.
During the first and second days of the march, cannonading had been
heard at intervals on the right flank. This day, however, the silence
was ominous; and now at its close, with our army in close proximity to
Fredericksburg, it indicated peaceable, unopposed possession, or delay
of our own forces. But of the delay and its cause, provoking as it was,
and costly as it has proved, enough has probably been written. An
Investigating Committee has given the public full records. If we do not
learn that delinquents have been punished, let us hope that the warning
has been sufficient to avoid like difficulties in the future.
Our army quietly turned into camp among the wooded heights of Stafford,
opposite the town of Fredericksburg. The Rebels as quietly collected
their forces and encamped on the heights upon the opposite side of the
river. Day by day we could see them busily at work upon their
fortifications. Each morning fresh mounds of earth appeared at different
points in the semi-circular range of hills bounding Fredericksburg upon
the South and West. This valuable time was made use of by the pontoon
train at the rate of four miles per day.
The three Grand Divisions, now that their stately march by the flank was
over, had settled comfortably down among the hills of Stafford. Wood and
water, essentials for camp comfort, were to be found in abundance. While
the little parleying between the Commander of the Right Grand Division
and the civil authorities of Fredericksburg continued, matters were
somewhat in suspense. But a gradual quiet crept over the army, and in a
few short weeks that heavily timbered country was one vast field of
stumps, with here and there clusters of pine trees left standing for the
comfort of different Head-quarters. As the timber disappeared, the tents
and huts of the army before concealed in the forests were disclosed, and
the whole country in the vicinity of the railroad was a continuous camp.
The few open fields or barrens afforded fine review and drill grounds,
and the toils of the march were scarcely over before in all directions
could be heard the steady tramp of solid columns engaged in the
evolutions of the field.
Those who think that duties are light in camp, know nothing of the
legions of reports, statements in duplicate and triplicate, required by
the too often senseless formalities of red tape. These duties vary
greatly in different divisions. With a place-man, mechanical in his
movements, and withal not disposed to lighten labor, they multiply to a
surprising extent, and subs intrusted with their execution often find
that the most laborious part of the service is drudgery at the desk.
Night after night would repose at Regimental Head-quarters be
interrupted by repetitious and in many cases inconsistent orders, the
only purpose of which appeared to be, to remind drowsy Adjutants and
swearing Sergeant-Majors that the Commanding General of Division still
ruled at Division Head-quarters, and that he was most alive between the
hours of nine and twelve at night. Independently of the fact that in
most cases in ordinary camp-life there was no reason why these orders
should not have issued in business hours, their multiplicity was a
nuisance. The pen may be mightier than the sword, but in all conscience
when the pen has been through necessity ignored, and the sword is
uplifted for rapid and earnest blows, and the heart of a nation hangs in
heavy suspense upon its movements, these travelling Bureaux had better
be abolished. Superadded to all this, was the labor resulting from the
mania for Court-Martialing that raged at Division Head-quarters.
Mechanical in its movements, not unfrequently malignant in its designs,
officer after officer, earnest in purpose, but in some instances perhaps
deficient in detail, had been sacrificed to an absolutism that could
order the charges, detail the Court, play the part of principal witness
for the prosecution, and confirm the proceedings.
"Our volunteer force will never amount to much, until we attain the
exact discipline of the French service," was the frequent remark of a
General of Division. Probably not. But how much would its efficiency be
increased, had the policy of the great Napoleon, from whose genius the
French arms derive their lustre, prevailed, in detailing for desk duty
in quiet departments the mechanical minds of paper Generals. His master
tact in assigning to commanders legitimate spheres of work, and with it
the untiring zeal of a Cromwell that would run like a purifying fire
through the army, imparting to it its own impetuosity, and ridding it of
jealousy and disaffection, were greatly needed in this Grand Army of the
Potomac. Nobler men never stood in ranks! Holier banners never flaunted
in the sunlight of Heaven! God grant its directing minds corresponding
energy and wisdom.