day a merry party gathered to witness the games, races, and sports
which had been organized by the officers of the 9th Massachusetts
Regiment in honor of the festival. This was the height of the winter’s
gaiety; with the milder air of spring, we non-combatants must flit away
to our homes, and leave our soldiers alone to meet the stern realities
of the coming campaign.
But there were stern realities too, for us at home, as we waited,
sometimes in dread, because we heard nothing, and yet again trembling
for fear that we should hear a more dread _something_--trying even,
while oppressed thus with terror and anxiety, to compose cheerful
letters to the dear ones out of sight under the war-cloud. Is it
wonderful that we welcomed with something of a weird satisfaction every
call in behalf of the soldiers for our time, our labor, and our energy,
or that we plunged into the work of our own sphere with a certain
reckless desire to drown out in stirring occupation, the care and
anxiety which haunted each idle hour.
Can anyone realize in these peaceful days what was one of the chief of
women’s sorrows then--that very often that which was the cause of their
deepest grief and affliction, might be the occasion for public and
general rejoicing, and that the wife of yesterday, the widow of today,
must don her weeds of mourning at the moment when the country clad
itself in gay bunting, and threw rockets to the sky for very joy that
out of bloodshed there had come victory.
XIV.
_AT LIBERTY._
During the winter of 1863-4, the portion of the Army of the Potomac
which included our Regiment was encamped in a position to defend the
railroad between Bealton and Warrenton, from attacks by guerillas, and
the camp of the 32d was in close proximity to the village of Liberty, a
very small place whose name meant, before the war, liberty to the white
man only, and but for the “little unpleasantness” and its results, the
name would have had no significance to men of color.
Liberty proved to be an agreeable camp for the 32d, for their rows of
tented dwellings were pitched on a pleasant wooded slope where the
ground was dry, with good drainage, an abundant supply of water near at
hand, and soil less inclined to mud than in the greater part of the old
Commonwealth of Virginia.
The picket duty was severe, as at this point there was a thoroughfare
leading directly into the country of the enemy, and a railroad bridge,
the loss of which would cause great annoyance to our own army by
interrupting our line of communication, and cutting off one portion
from its base of supply. But there was much to enliven us and break
the monotony of camp life.
It was a little past midnight on the evening of the dance which was so
rudely interrupted, that the long roll was sounded and, in scarcely
more time than is necessary to write it, the Regiment was under arms
and deployed in various directions for the protection of the camp. The
disturbance was caused by a squad of rebel cavalry who had forced the
picket line at a weak point, their presumable object being a raid on
the United States paymaster, who came into camp that night to payoff
the brigade; but the yankee soldier generally keeps picket with eyes
and ears open, and whoever would cross his beat must have a feather
tread. The paymaster (the late Major Holman), although the object of
the attack, slept quietly through the whole uproar, and did not wake
until morning. Apparently his safe might have been stolen and carried
off without his being aware of it. We were out about two hours, when
the enemy having been driven beyond our lines, we were sent back to our
quarters.
An amusing incident occurred here one dark night which created quite
a sensation on the picket line, at that time under command of Captain
Farnsworth. Going the rounds at two o’clock A. M., posts eight, nine,
and ten were found on the _qui vive_. They were stationed in the edge
of a wood, where just across a narrow strip of grass-land there was
another belt of forest. For some little time they had heard footsteps
and other sounds which led them to believe that their posts were being
reconnoitered by the enemy. After waiting some minutes and leaving
orders that no aggressive movement should be made, but that in case any
party should be seen to leave the opposite wood, the sentinels should
order “halt,” and if not obeyed should fire, the captain passed on his
tour of inspection. Before the round was completed he heard a shot from
this direction, succeeded by perfect quiet, and when again at post nine
the sentinel reported that he had done as directed, that some object
had, in spite of his challenge, continued to approach, that he had
fired and dropped the intruder, who or which, upon examination, proved
to be a _mule_. Well, he ought to have halted.
It was from this camp that a night expedition was sent after deserters.
Outside our lines, at distances varying from two to four miles, were
several dwelling houses occupied by families for whose protection it
was common to billet a man on the premises as a “safeguard.” Such men
were not subject to capture on this neutral ground, and their posts
were very desirable, as they were well cared for by those under their
guardianship, and had little to do, plenty of leisure, and often
very pleasant society. But there were troubles connected with such
arrangements. The men in camp hearing of the attractions of these
places so near at hand where coffee, salt, and other supplies were
exceeding scarce, and where gifts of them were acknowledged by various
favors--were tempted to slip over the lines, each with little parcels
saved from his abundant rations, supplemented, perhaps, with a spare
jackknife and a few needles, to seek adventures among the natives. The
fact that they ran the risk of capture and imprisonment probably added
zest to such escapades, but was of itself a good reason why they should
be prevented. In fact, it was within this very territory that Major
Edmunds and his orderly were captured.
At the roll call at retreat, March 31st, 1864, it appeared that several
men were “unaccounted for,” and there was little doubt as to the
cause of their absence. The colonel, who had previously considered
the propriety of some action on his part, was now at the end of his
patience, and determined to put a check upon the practice. Sending for
an officer who was at that time serving on a general court martial, and
consequently not considered “for duty” in the Regiment, he told him of
his wishes and offered him the command of the detachment which should
make a detour through a portion of the neutral territory, and search
for and, if possible, capture the missing men.
A detail of twenty-eight men was finally made from nearly twice that
number who volunteered for the duty. Included in this number was one
man who had been on safeguard duty in the neighborhood that we proposed
to visit, and who could act as a guide to the party.
The party were in light marching order, each man with a day’s rations
and forty rounds of ammunition in the cartridge boxes, and it left camp
an hour and a half before midnight, at which hour it was intended
to reach the house of Colonel N----. The path was a narrow forest
roadway, and for the greater part of the distance led through what
was known as the “three-mile wood.” The night was moonless and very
dark, and the detachment filed on, mile after mile, always on the
alert and suspicious of every sound, until at last, and in good time,
they reached the cleared land about Colonel N.’s “palatial mansion.”
Deploying an advance guard they proceeded with the utmost caution to
surround the house, and but for the dogs, who challenged loudly, the
purpose would have been readily accomplished; but the inmates were
speedily astir, alarmed by the baying of the hounds, and lights danced
about from window to window. Whether rebel soldiers were among the
occupants or not could not be told, but soon men came out at the doors,
and their footsteps could be heard as they ran, but no one could see
ten feet away to distinguish a man from a tree.
Orders had been given not to fire without command, and to give chase
in the darkness would risk the loss of men without any good result.
The party therefore went on cautiously to surround the house, and men
were posted in such manner as to command all approaches to the mansion,
with orders to halt and arrest whoever attempted to enter or to leave.
After these guards were posted, the remainder, under a sergeant, were
marched away for a half mile up the road, making considerable noise as
they went, and then halted to await orders. In the meantime the squad
about the house was kept quiet in the darkness, out of the way of any
light from the windows. After ten minutes had elapsed the door of the
mansion was opened and some one looked out, thinking, no doubt, that
the disturbers were well away. Then, as if the door opening had been
a signal, the sound of footsteps was heard approaching slowly through
the dry leaves and twigs in the woods; then a whispered conversation,
and again the steps approached. A moment later two men came on, until,
when within five feet of the commander, they were halted with the
order, “Surrender, or I fire.” At first they turned, evidently with the
intention of escaping, but changed their minds, saying, “Don’t fire, we
surrender.” These proved to be two of the men of whom the expedition
was in search. They had been in the house, and had started at the
alarm, thinking that the troops were from the rebel lines; had waited
until, as they supposed, the detachment had passed on its way, and then
were going back to the house. Leaving these men under guard the house
itself was summoned. The door being opened by a woman, and the lady of
the house called for, four of the party entered and were referred to a
beautiful and accomplished young lady of perhaps twenty years. Miss N.
received them courteously, but declared upon her honor that no men from
our camp had been in the house that day or evening. She was informed as
politely as possible that there was an error in this statement--that
two such men had already been secured, and that search would be made
for more. This resulted in the arrest of a third man, and having bagged
him and apologized for the disturbance that had been caused, the party
moved away.
“While life lasts,” says the captain, who commanded, “I shall not
forget the flash of the young lady’s eyes when I questioned her
assertion. I have often thought that if every southern soldier had
to look for approval or disapproval into such a pair of eyes, it was
no wonder victory often perched on their banners when the odds were
against them.”
At half past two in the morning the party was back again in camp with
three prisoners, and found that two others who ran from the house had
returned of their own accord. All of these were of course technically
deserters, but none were severely punished. The result of this
expedition was to put a stop to a practice by means of which valuable
information, no doubt, reached the enemy.
XV.
_OUT ON PICKET._
Picket duty may be the most agreeable or it may be the most
disagreeable of all the duties of a soldier, but it is always an
important, and is often a dangerous one.
Picket-guards are formed by details on orders from headquarters.
Sometimes the guard will include the entire regiment, or details
from several regiments, but if the orders are from the battalion
headquarters, it is usually composed of detachments from several
companies. The officers are detailed from the adjutant’s roster and the
designation of the enlisted men from each company devolves upon the
first or orderly sergeants. The officers, non-commissioned officers and
men, are supposed to be taken for duty in rotation, and woe befall the
unfortunate orderly who designates one of the confirmed growlers out
of what he considers his turn, as laid down on his own time-table, and
many are the threats heaped on the head of the sergeants, which happily
are never executed.
Under command of the ranking officer, the detachment is marched out
and posted to guard the line assigned to its protection--usually there
is merely a chain of sentinels who are relieved at regular intervals
of time from the main body; but sometimes, and always in the case of
detached outposts, the men are divided into groups of three or more,
under the supervision of the non-commissioned officers of the guard,
while the commander of the whole line establishes reserves at points
convenient for reinforcing it in case of need, and assigns to the
subalterns the command of various portions.
Relieved from the wearisome round of camp duties and parades, and
placed where each man has his own responsibilities, and must exercise
his own judgment, picket duty often becomes an acceptable change, both
for officers and men. In the warm season the men make a sort of picnic
of their tour, and out on the front edge of the occupying army they can
frequently obtain articles of food, which, although common enough in
civil life, are real luxuries to those who have been limited in their
diet to the rations issued in the army. They bask in the sunshine,
or loiter in the shade--and when it is their turn for repose, the
jackknives are busy and the chat is lively.
Sometimes our picket-line would be on a river, the opposite bank of
which was guarded by the enemy, and there would be times of unofficial
truce when we traded over the stream coffee for tobacco, etc., and when
we even made visits to each other, and talked as freely as if we might
not at a moment’s notice be enemies again.
But it is one of the unfortunate facts in a soldier’s life, that
picket duty is not confined to quiet times or pleasant weather. The
growlers usually maintained that it was always stormy when they were
out on picket, and in three winters that we dwelt in tents within the
boundaries of Virginia, there were many rough times on the picket lines
when the rain poured down continuously, saturating the ground, clinging
to the grass in the open, and to the undergrowth in the forests, and
streaming down from the boughs--wet, wet--water, water, everywhere; on
the ground where we slept, on the stone or log which was the only seat;
dribbling through a corner of the tent, usually down the neck of its
occupant, or making a little rill off one’s overcoat and into one’s
boot top.
Or perhaps it was snow or sleet that stung our faces and chilled us to
the marrow; or perhaps, worst of all, the clear cold of winter which
our little picket fires, when they were permitted, did but little to
overcome.
There was one occasion while we were at Liberty, on which we were
indulged with all of these in turn. It was early in the spring of ‘64,
the day had been warm and rainy, unseasonably warm and quite seasonably
rainy, the rain continuing into the night and the wind rising to a
gale that made all manner of noises in the wood in which our line
was posted. The men all soaked through, had hard work to keep their
ammunition dry and their rifles in condition for use, and all of us,
uncomfortable as mortals could be, feeling as if the night would never
pass and morning never come, wished more heartily than ever “that this
cruel war was over,” that we might have a chance to get in out of the
rain.
All of a sudden the wind shifted to the northwest, and we had first
hail, then snow, and finally clear cold weather, the gale all the time
continuing; the men themselves, almost chilled to icicles, were soon
clothed in armor of ice, which cracked and rustled as they tramped
along their beat, beneath a clear sky and stars that shone with winter
brilliancy.
The morning came at last, and with the rising sun there was exhibited
one of those marvels of beauty which can come only from such a
preparation. Every twig and branch of tree or shrub, and every spear of
grass or tuft of herbage clad in a coating of ice, blazed with the hue
of the rainbow. The trees in the forest seemed loaded with jewels, and
the meadows were strewn with them.
But the power of the spring sunshine dissolved the gorgeous display,
and thawed out the sentinels from their encasements of ice; the wind
ceased, the mildness of the balmy Southern spring returned, and soon
from every man a cloud of steam rose in the quiet air, and as their
clothing dried and their bodies warmed, the spirits of the men thawed
out, and they who, in the previous twenty-four hours, had passed
through various stages of discomfort, were cheerily chaffing one
another as they made their breakfast of hot coffee and soaked cakes
of what had once been hard-tack, and very likely wrote home the next
day about the charms of the Southern climate, which gave them such
delicious spring weather in what was at home the winter month of March.
Whether it is summer or winter, hot or cold, sunshine or rain, day or
night, and however peaceful or stormy the scene may be, the picket
guard must keep their eyes open and their powder dry. Constituting the
outposts of an army which trusts to them, they must be always alert
against surprise. And although we may have been accustomed for weeks to
exchange friendly civilities with the pickets over the river, the time
would come when each would do his best to kill the other. When some
change was contemplated, or some movement began which it was desirable
to conceal from our adversary, orders would be sent to the pickets to
open fire on those of the enemy.
Such orders were of course first notified to the other side, and no
advantage was taken by either of existing truce relations. After that
warning, whoever showed out of cover was a target for the enemy’s
picket, and frequently no fires were allowed, because the light or
smoke would aid the aim of the foe.
If the movement was a direct advance from our front, the first order
would be announced by shouts of “Look out, Johnnie, we’re coming,” and
some shots sent purposely in the air, and then came the driving in of
the enemy’s pickets.
Or possibly the boot was on the other leg and it was we that were
driven in, in which case it was our duty to cause all possible delay
to the attacking force. The reserves were added to the line, and as we
fell back the whole would be relieved by other troops sent forward at
the alarm and interposed between us and the rebels, whereupon we were
marched to join our respective regiments and companies.
Sometimes it is desirable to capture some men from the pickets of the
opposing army, in order or in hopes of obtaining information, and
sometimes a picket is captured for a lark, or because of a favorable
chance--a chance which generally implies neglect of duty on the part of
the captured men.
In one instance an outpost party of five men, believing themselves
to be at a safe distance from the enemy, ventured to indulge in the
luxury of a game of cards, for which purpose they placed their arms in
a stack, and soon became deeply interested in the game, from which they
were aroused by a summons to surrender. Upon looking up they discovered
a single man of the enemy, standing between them and the stack, his
rifle trained on the group, and himself so posted as that he could
supply himself with their rifles after discharging his own. Thus he
could put two or three of his opponents _hors de combat_, while, all
unarmed, they could not possibly harm him; and so the five surrendered
to the one, who marched them before him to his own lines.
When things were lively on the picket lines and the men alert, it was
wearing business. The strain of constant watchfulness, especially at
night, peering into the gloom and imagining that you see forms or
hear movements--the knowledge that your own life may depend upon the
keenness of your vision--the fear of mistaking friend for foe--the need
of quick intelligence and rapid reasoning--all make up an exhausting
kind of duty.
At one such time, one of our officers, a brave fellow, but one whose
experience of picket duty was insufficient, thinking to ascertain the
origin of suspicious sounds outside our lines, went out on a scout,
expecting to return at the point where he left, but mistaking his way
in the night, he came upon our chain of pickets at another post which
he had neglected to warn of his doings. As he continued to approach
when challenged, the sentinel fired, and next day among the casualties
reported was, “One officer wounded on the picket line, arm, severely.”
No one was to blame but himself.
That same night the men, nervous from the frequent firing along the
line, one of the posts became aware of the sound of steps out in the
bush field on their front, evidently approaching nearer and nearer;
then one of the men could see what seemed to be a man crouching near
the earth and creeping through the brush with frequent hesitation;
finally the sentinel challenged, and receiving no reply, fired. The
crack of his rifle was followed by the agonizing grunts and dying
squeals of a stray Southern porker who had yielded up his life for the
lost cause.
It may be that accidents of this last type were more frequent than was
necessary (there were three pigs killed that night), but vigilance on
the part of the guards is always praiseworthy, and the orders against
marauding could not apply to such a case, even if the result was a good
supply of fresh pork-chops along the picket lines next day.
XVI.
_ON FURLOUGH._
In the winter of 1863-4, the great majority of the men of the 32d
reënlisted for a term of three years, under an order which in such
cases gave the entire reënlisting body a furlough of thirty days. It
was only after much struggling with bumbledom that everything was
smoothed out and the furlough granted, so that the Regiment could
return as one body.
Leaving the camp and the remainder of the men under command of Captain
Fuller of Company C, the Regiment left for Massachusetts to enjoy its
vacation. It was a little before noon on Sunday, the 17th of January,
1864, a bright and mild winter day, that we arrived in Boston, and our
first impression upon arrival was that all the people of Boston were
gathered about the Old Colony station, but there were enough of them
left to line the whole route through the city, as we marched first
to the State House to pay our respects to Governor Andrew, and as we
moved thence to Faneuil Hall, where a bounteous collation awaited us.
Notwithstanding the day the troops were saluted along the line by the
cheers of the people, and the salvos of artillery.
At Faneuil Hall, after all had been satisfied with the repast, Governor
Andrew arose to address them and was greeted with hearty cheers. He
spoke in substance as follows:
_Soldiers_:--In the name and in behalf of the Commonwealth and
of the people of Massachusetts, I greet your return once more
to your homes and to the soil of the venerable Bay State. The
cordial voices of the people who have welcomed your procession
through the streets of Boston, these waving banners, these
booming cannon breaking the stillness of our Sabbath day
with voices echoing the sounds of battle--all, all bid you
welcome--welcome home. The grateful hospitality of Boston
beneath the venerable arches of Faneuil Hall welcomes you. Our
hearts, speaking the eloquence of affection, admiration, and
pride no words of mortal lips can utter, with beating throbs
bid you welcome. Hail then, soldiers of our cause, returning
for brief relaxation from the toils, the conflicts, the perils
of war, hail to your homes. Here let the war-worn soldier-boy
rest for a while, and rejuvenate his spirits, refresh his
heart, and re-erect his frame. Here, too, I trust, shall your
ranks be filled by fresh recruits of brave and patriotic
hearts, imitating your zeal, vying with your courage, and
following your example. I cannot, soldiers of the Union Army,
by words, by eloquence of speech, in fitting measure repeat
your praise. This battle flag, riddled with shot and torn with
shell, is more eloquent than human voice, more speaking than
language, more inspiring, more pathetic than music or song.
This banner tells what you have done; it reveals what you have
borne. And it shall be preserved so long as the last thread
remains, so long as time shall leave a splinter of its staff--a
memorial of your heroism, your patriotism and your valor.