_The Company Cook and the Soldiers' Rations--Soap in the Soup--A Stag
Dance--The Army Sutler--A Whiskey Barrel Tapped at Both Ends--The Long
Roll--Breaking up--Tinter Quarters--Good Things from Home--Stripped
for the Fight._
[Illustration: 9096]
N winter quarters kitchens were erected and men were detailed from each
company to act as cooks. It was easy enough to find soldiers who would
sing out “here!” when the first sergeant inquired if there was a good
cook in the ranks. Thoughts of extra food and “every night in bed”
sometimes prompted men who had never even fried a slice of pork to step
to the front and announce themselves as experts in the culinary art.
These pretenders, however, were not permitted to spoil more than one
day's rations. As soon as the soldiers had sampled the mystery into
which their allowance of food had been transformed by the greenhorn
kettle slingers, there was trouble in the camp until a change was made
in the cook house.
One day a company I boy found a piece of soap in his soup. The discovery
was not made until he had stowed away nearly all the contents of his
quart cup. He had felt the lump in the bottom with his spoon, and had
congratulated himself on the supposed mistake of the cook in leaving a
piece of beef in the broth. He raised it out of the cup and held it up
on his spoon to exhibit it to less fortunate comrades, saying:
“Nothing like being on the right side of the cook, boys. How's that for
beef?”
[Illustration: 0099]
“It's rather light-colored for Government ox--let me see! If it isn't
soap I'm a marine.”,
“Soap?”
“Yes, soap!”
“And in my soup! Boys, that cook's time has come. Who'll stand by me
till I make him eat this piece of soap?”
“You'll have to go it alone; you're on the right side of the cook, you
know. We've got nothing to do with it. He knows better than to give us
soup with soap in it.”
“But, hold on a minute; all the soup came out of the same kettle.”
“Sure enough; he's soap-souped us all. Go ahead; we're with you.”
The cook would have been roughly handled had he not called on the
officer of the day for protection. The cook protested that the soap had
not been in the soup kettle, but must have fallen off the shelf over the
window as the soldier held his tin cup through the opening to receive
his soup. This theory was gladly accepted by all but the trooper who
had found the soap in his cup. By this time he was too sick to be
aggressive.
“Boys, send my body home,” he moaned.
“Soap suds,” chorused the troopers who had been relieved from the
terrible suspicion that they had been fed on soap also. The poor victim
was given a drink of hospital brandy as soon as he could retain anything
on his stomach. He was on the sick report for four or five days.
Paragraph 1,190 of the Revised Regulations for the Army (1863), fixed
the soldier's daily ration as follows:
_Twelve ounces of pork or bacon, or one pound and four ounces of salt
or fresh beef; one pound and six ounces of soft bread or flour, or one
pound of hard bread, or one pound and four ounces of corn meal; and
to every one hundred rations, fifteen pounds of peas or beans, and ten
pounds of rice or hominy; ten pounds of green coffee, or eight pounds of
roasted (or roasted and ground) coffee, or one pound and eight ounces of
tea; fifteen pounds of sugar; four quarts of vinegar; one pound and four
ounces of adamantine or star candles; four pounds of soap; three pounds
and twelve ounces of salt; four ounces of pepper; thirty pounds of
potatoes, when practicable, and one quart of molasses._
I have quoted the exact language of the regulations for the information
of civilians who every now and then inquire of the veterans: “What did
the Government feed you fellows on down in Dixie?” Hard-tack, salt pork
and coffee were the soldier's mainstay. The sweetest meal I ever ate
consisted of crumbs of hardtack picked up out of the dirt, where the
boxes had been opened to issue crackers to the troops, and a piece of
salt pork that had been thrown away by an infantry soldier. I still
cherish the memory of that feast.
There were two or three violinists in our battalion, and the boys
occasionally induced these musicians to fiddle for a “stag dance,” as
they called the old-fashioned quadrille in which troopers with their
caps off went through “ladies' chain” and other figures prescribed for
the fair partners in the regulation dance. The dances took place by the
light of the camp fires between retreat and tattoo. The boys managed to
get a good deal of enjoyment out of these gatherings.
During the war a great many men made fortunes by selling goods of
various kinds, including provisions, to the soldiers. The army traders
took big chances after the spring campaign opened, unless they packed up
and moved to the rear as the troops marched to the front. Yet there were
sutlers who followed the army even on dangerous expeditions into the
enemy s country. The boys contended that if a trader could sell one
wagon load of goods at sutler's prices--and get his pay--he could afford
to retire or to lose five or six wagon loads. There was much truth in
the statement.
Among many stories current in the Army of the Potomac about “euchring
the sutler,” as the soldiers called any trick by which they could secure
goods without coming down with the cash, was the following:
The troops were in bivouac on the James River. The boys received four
months' pay, and there was no place to buy anything except at the
sutler's. The trader took advantage of the situation and marked his
goods up fifty per cent. He had just received a barrel of whiskey,
which he was retailing at fifty cents a glass. The sutler's glass held
a little more than a thimbleful. There was a run on the whiskey for a
time. Then trade slacked up, and the sutler was at a loss to account for
it, as it was contrary to all precedent, the rule being that the more
liquor the boys got the more they wanted. Finally the call for whiskey
ceased.
“What's the matter with the men?” the sutler asked one of his clerks.
“I don't know--they never acted like this before.”
“They're not buying our whiskey.”
“No.”
“And many of them seem to be getting drunk.”
“That's so.”
“Must be somebody else's selling in camp. I thought we had a corner on
whiskey.”
“So did I.”
“Well, you go out and see what you can find.”
The clerk was gone about five minutes.
“Have we competition?” inquired the sutler, as the clerk returned to the
tent.
“Well, I should say so.”
“What are they selling at?”
“Twenty-five cents a drink.”
“Just half our price?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they located?”
“Right outside our tent.”
“Where do they keep their liquor?”
“Take hold of the barrel with me and I'll show you.” The sutler was
surprised to find a faucet in the rear end of the barrel as well as in
the front end from which he had been drawing.
“Somebody tapped this barrel from the outside,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, and retailed your liquor at twenty-five cents a drink while you
asked fifty. It's no wonder they drew all the customers,” said the
clerk.
“There's but a little whiskey left in the barrel--not more'n a gallon.
Don't sell another drop for less than two dollars a glass.”
A Down East Yankee had made the discovery that the sutler's whiskey
barrel was so placed that one end of it, as it was resting on boxes,
touched the canvas. He went around behind the tent, cut a hole through
the canvas, and after borrowing a brace and bit from an extra-duty man
in the quartermaster's department and a faucet from another comrade in
the commissary department.
Union men, enlisted to put down the rebellion, had a way of thinking for
themselves, and of making observations of what transpired around them,
that was exasperatingly fatal to the regular red-tape idea that a
soldier was a machine and nothing more. When it became necessary to
perform daring deeds in the very jaws of death, the intelligent Yankee
volunteers were capable of understanding, he tapped the sutler's
whiskey barrel and did a thriving business, the enterprise being
advertised by word of mouth through the camp.
[Illustration: 8104]
It never failed to be noised about that something was in the wind
several days before the receipt of orders for any movement of
importance. The great multitudes of citizens who bore arms under the
flag of the that sacrifice was demanded. And they made it, bravely and
without complaint.
Whenever a big thing was on the programme it was next to impossible
to keep it quiet. The old soldiers seemed to grasp the situation
intuitively, and the recruits generally knew more about it, or thought
they did, than the generals themselves.
There were certain signs in our military existence that came to be
accepted as reliable. Orders from brigade headquarters to have the
horses well shod at once, meant a cavalry expedition into the enemy's
country. Extra ammunition for the light batteries that belonged to the
cavalry corps meant that the movement was to be a reconnaissance in
force. The assembling of a division or two of infantry in battle trim
near the cavalry outposts, with several days' commissary stores in
transit, showed that an attempt was to be made to gobble up another
slice of the Confederacy or make a break in the communications of
the rebels. The issuing of dog tents, extra ammunition and commissary
supplies as a rule preceded the starting of an expedition against the
enemy. A sudden dashing out of camp, light saddle, and unencumbered
with anything but arms and ammunition, in response to a signal from the
outposts, always gave rise to the suspicion, frequently confirmed in the
heat of battle, that the Johnnies were making an expedition against us.
The rumors of a general advance came thicker and faster the last week
in April, and May the third the long roll was sounded by the brigade
buglers. The breaking up of winter quarters was always attended with
scenes that were excruciatingly funny. What a lot of worthless old
plunder the soldiers would accumulate! It always required sorting over
a dozen times before the boys could really determine just what to leave
behind. And then it invariably happened that after the very last thing
that they could spare or think of abandoning had been cast out the
inspecting officers would poke around and order us to throw out the
articles we prized most highly.
Railroad communication with Washington and the North had made it
comparatively easy for us to secure creature comforts, and many
delicacies from the homes of the boys in blue reached our camp. Waterman
had received a large-sized packing box full of good things to eat, from
his parents. The goodies were shared among “our four”--Waterman, Taylor,
Hom and myself.
The first feed we had after the cover of Waterman's box was taken off
brought tears to our eyes--tears of joy, of course--but somehow the
taste of the home-made pies and cake produced a longing for home and
mother which was made all the more intense as the contents of the box
disappeared and we came face to face with the stern reality that a
return to “mule beef and hard-tack” was inevitable.
Waterman's parents resided only a short distance from where my father
and mother lived in Berlin, and when his box was sent my family helped
to fill and pack the box. Then when the dear people at home thought
our food must be getting low another box was packed by my parents, and
Waterman's family contributed some of the good things. It was sent by
express, but owing to the increased demand upon the railroads and trains
to forward munitions of war to the Army of the Potomac, my box did not
reach Warrenton until the morning that we started for the Wilderness.
The company was drawn up in line waiting to move forward when a
Government wagon arrived loaded with boxes and packages for the
troopers. My long-expected box was thrown out of the wagon, and I
obtained permission to interview it.
I pried off the cover, and as I caught a glimpse of the good things from
home, I felt like annihilating the quartermaster's department that
had held back my box while extra supplies of ammunition and commissary
stores had been dispatched to the front. Just then the bugler at brigade
headquarters sounded “forward.” There was no time to waste. I did the
best I could under the circumstances--filled my haversack, and invited
the boys in the company to help themselves, after “our four” had stowed
away all we could. The second platoon swept down on that box, and in
less than a minute the boys were eating home-made pies and cookies
all along the line. A picture or two, a pair of knit socks and a few
souvenirs were secured by Waterman and myself.
“Attention, company!”
“Prepare to mount!”
“Mount!”
“Form ranks!”
“By fours, march!” and we were en route to the Rapidan. It was the last
taste of home-made grub that we enjoyed till the campaign was over. We
secured the makings of a square meal now and then while raiding around
Richmond, but the territory had been foraged so often that it was
considered mighty poor picking the last two years of the war.
As we rode forward, we found that everybody was on the march or getting
ready to leave. Lines of tents were disappearing on all sides as the
long roll sounded through the camps. Supply trains were moving out, and
everything was headed about due south. As we rode by the bivouacs of the
infantry, the foot soldiers, imitating the Johnnies, would sing out:
“Hay, there! where be you all goin'?”
“Bound for Richmond.”
“But we all are not ready to move out yet.”
“Then we'll drive you out.”
“You all can't whip we all. Bob Lee will drive you all back as he has
done before.”
Then there would be a general laugh all along the line at the expression
in this semi-serious way of an idea that had gained a strong lodgment
in the minds of many “peace patriots” at the North. The soldiers at the
front who were doing their best to crush out rebellion did not share
in the feeling that the Jeff Davis government would carry the day. The
veterans of Gettysburg and of Antietam knew that the Union army was in
no respect inferior to the chivalry of the South--man to man. All the
Army of the Potomac needed to enable it to fight Lee's army to the
finish, and win, was a commander that knew what fighting to a finish
meant. Would the new commander fill the bill?
President Lincoln, in presenting Grant's commission as
lieutenant-general at the White House, March 9, 1864, assured the modest
hero from the West that “as the country herein trusts you, so, under
God, it will sustain you.” A few days after the lieutenant-general
remarked: “The Army of the Potomac is a very fine one, and has shown
the highest courage. Still, I think it has never fought its battles
through.” The Army of the Potomac was waiting for a general who would
give it an opportunity to “fight its battles through.” All eyes were
fixed on the lieutenant-general. The result is recorded in history.
As we pressed toward the Rapidan there were evidences all about us that
the Army of the Potomac was stripping for the fight. All superfluous
baggage and trappings were left behind. The army was ready to strike
a powerful blow at its old adversary, and the conflict was at hand.
Sheridan was at the head of the cavalry corps. As we came in sight of
the Rapidan and made preparations for swimming the river with our horses
to cover the laying of the pontoon bridges, so that the infantry and
artillery could cross, we felt that a few days would determine whether
the Army of the Potomac would go “on to Richmond,” or, bleeding and
shattered from an unsuccessful onslaught upon Lee's veterans, fall back
to its old quarters, as it had done on other occasions.