A Postponed Christmas Dinner.
December, 1863, the night before Christmas (the time above all others
when our thoughts were of home), found the Seventh Ohio Cavalry on
outpost duty closely observing the veteran army of General Longstreet,
then in upper East Tennessee.
The Christmas dinner was by no means ready for either the Confederate or
the Union troops in East Tennessee, as both armies were then living off
the country, which had long before been denuded of almost every edible
thing suitable for man or beast. The veteran cavalrymen of our regiment
were sharing their exceedingly light rations with their horses, five
nubbins of corn per day for each man and his horse being the scanty
allowance from our limited supplies.
Under this circumstance, it was necessary to postpone our Christmas
dinner until February following. By this time Longstreet had retired from
East Tennessee to rejoin General Lee’s Army preparatory to the campaign
in Virginia against General Grant.
In February we found ourselves relieved from duty in close proximity to
the enemy, and in order to recuperate our men and horses took station in
Tuckaleechee Cove, at the base of the Great Smoky Mountains, south of
Knoxville, near the North Carolina line.
Here there was fairly good grazing for our horses and moderately good
foraging opportunities for the men. It was here, and in the month of
February, that we had our Christmas dinner. Somewhere and somehow (it was
not for me to know or to ask) our mess had secured a turkey, maybe a wild
one which had been killed in trying to bite some of our boys, and under
the skillful hands of Private Sam Wood, of Company I, the most expert
cook in the regiment, this turkey was roasted over a fire of live coals,
which Sam, with the utmost care, had prepared and arranged. The turkey
was suspended from a rigging of poles at the proper distance from the
fire and by the dexterous hand of Sam was kept gently turning around and
around, that the roasting process might properly proceed. Out of the sky
had dropped a mess of sweet potatoes, along with some pickled cabbage,
much like sauerkraut, which went to complete our Christmas dinner. Our
mess, composed of the colonel, the surgeon and the adjutant, sat close
by to watch proceedings, and to “shoo away” self-invited guests who had
been attracted to our camp fire by the aroma of the roasting turkey, and
incidentally to frequently wipe our watering mouths and ask Sam if he
could not hurry matters along a little faster, as we had our appetites
with us. It seemed to us hungry souls that never before did it take so
long to roast a turkey.
As we were nearing the completion of the repast a little rain storm
passed over, but soon the sun shone brightly, showing the tops of the
mountains tipped with snow. We were all in a frame of mind to enjoy
this beautiful but fleeting scene, when Sam, the cook, pointing to the
snow-capped mountains, said, “Gentlemen, there is ice cream for dessert,
help yourselves.”
As I look back now through the vista of more than forty years, never
before or since did a Christmas dinner taste so good as that one of
turkey, sweet potatoes and sauerkraut, all topped off with ice cream on
the mountains!