Desperate Charge of Confederates to Capture a Union Battery.
The next morning I was sent with the “Stretcher Corps” under a flag of truce to the battle field to helptake the wounded to the rear and bury the dead, and when we reached the scene, how well could I imagine what the awful struggle had been. The worst of the great conflict had occurred in an orchard, and there the sight was most appalling; dead and dying heroes were lying about as thick as a slumbering camp would be, sleeping with their guns for pillows the night before a battle; to many of those poor fellows it was that sleep that knows no waking, while to others it was the awaking from unconsciousness by the twinges of a mortal gaping wound, awake just long enough to get a glimpse of the Gates Ajar, sink back and start on that journey from which no traveler returns.
Blue and the gray were mingled together on this awful field of slaughter, and both sides seemed to respect the solemnity by a cessation of hostilities, and the hushed silence was only broken by the painful cry of some helpless wounded, or dying groans of others. The little white cloth we wore around our arms to denote, we belonged to the stretcher corps, seemed to add to the sadness of the occasion, for to those poor wounded souls we were like ministering angels, and as I moved from one to the other with tear dimmed eyes offering water and assistance to those who needed it I saw many incidents of bravery and self-sacrifice that went far toward ameliorating the suffering and obliterating the bitterness of the blue and the gray. I noticed one poor fellow who had spread his rubber blanket to catch the dew of the night sharing the moisture thus gathered with anunfortunate confederate who had lost a leg. Another, a confederate was staying the life-blood of a union officer by winding his suspenders around the mangled limb. Oh! the horror of such a picture can never be penned—or told, and contemplated only by soldiers who have been there.
One-half of our regiment had been killed or wounded. After this things settled down into a siege. I employed my time foraging for the company. One day I found an apple orchard, gathered as many apples as I could carry, took them to the company and made apple-sauce without sweetening. They ate very heartily of it, poor fellows. It was a treat for them; but it was a bad find, for the next day the whole lot of them were unfit for duty. That nearly put a stop to my reconnoitering. Our regiment lay here in the advance line of breastworks for thirteen days. The sappers and miners were constantly working our breastworks towards the enemy, and every time I wanted to reach my company I found it in a new place and more difficult to reach. The rebel sharpshooters, with their deadly aim, were waiting for such chaps as me. However, under cover of night, I always managed to find and reach the company with some palatable relish.
I will never forget one night; four men were detailed to go to the rear for rations. The commissary was located about two miles to the rear, and the wagon could only haul the rations within one mile of us on account of jungle and rebel sharpshooters. Therefore these men were detailed to pack the rations the restof the way. I was one of the detail from my company. We went back to the covered wagons that were waiting for us. The boys said I was too small to walk, and they threw me into the rear end of one of the wagons. We got to the commissary tent—a long tent open at both ends—and from both ends they weighed out the rations of coffee, sugar, etc. While the soldier who was doing the weighing on one end had his back turned, I managed to fill my haversack from a full barrel of coffee that stood at the end of the tent. I had two haversacks for that purpose, for I went there with that intent; but I came away with only one filled. I could not get a chance for the other; it was on the wrong side. Finally the rations were all aboard, and we started back. The boys repeated the operation of throwing me into the wagon again, and there was my opportunity. I would fill my other haversack from the bags in the wagon; that’s what the boys expected I would do, and I did from the first bag I could get into. Each company had its own bag.
When we arrived at the breastworks my company crowded around me for plunder. I divided it up, and was looked upon as quite a hero, but when the rations were issued it was found our company’s bag was short about thirty rations of sugar, but no one said a word. It was surmised that it got spilled. Day after day our regiment lay there and our army did not seem to gain anything. I was becoming disgusted and discouraged.
My First Day in Front of Petersburg.
One night the Johnnies made a charge on us. That was the only time I ever fired a gun in the whole war, and I honestly believe I killed a dozen men, for immediately after they stopped firing. It was only a few moments, however; on they came, only to be repulsed. They kept that up nearly all night, and I served my country by standing down in the trench, loading a gun and passing it up to my brother to fire. I did this all night, but I didn’t see any less rebels in the morning. Our next order was to fall back, under cover of darkness. We fell back about a mile and halted for some reason, I thought to get breakfast. Anyway I built a little fire behind a stone wall, put my coffee-pot on and the remnants of a pot of beans. They were getting nice and hot; my brother and I stood waiting, smacking our lips in the anticipation of a feast, when whizz came one of those nasty little “Cohorn” mortor shells and it dropped right into our coffee and beans. Then the bugle sounded, “fall in,” and we started with downcast hearts and empty stomachs, and a longing good-bye to the debris of beans and coffee. It was a tiresome march. Of course, we didn’t know where we were going, and that made it all the longer.
We eventually brought up at White-House landing on the York river, where we were put on board of a steam transport without being given time to draw rations. From there we steamed down the York and up the James river to the Appomattox, and up the river to Point of Rocks. We landed here on the Bermuda Hundred side, in the rear of Butler’sworks, obtained some bread and coffee, and then crossed the Appomattox on pontoons and pushed on towards Petersburg. Our regiment belonged at that time to the 2nd brigade, 2nd division of the 18th corps, commanded by Major General “Baldy” Smith.
We soon met the enemy’s pickets in front of Petersburg. They fled before that long, serpentine file of blue-coats like deer. On, on we went. We could see the rebels running in their shirt sleeves, throwing coats, guns and everything in their mad flight. I don’t think there was a shot fired on either side ’till we reached a fort, Smith I think it was called. It was just at dusk. This fort was located on a mound or hill with a ravine in front of it. Our brigade was drawn up in line of battle in a wheat-field on the right. A colored brigade was ordered to charge the fort from the hill opposite, and across this ravine; then I beheld one of the grandest and most awful sights I ever saw; those colored troops started on a double quick, and as they descended the hill, the fort poured volley after volley into them. The men seemed to fall like blades of grass before a machine, but it did not stop them; they rallied and moved on; it was only the work of a few minutes. With a yell they were up and into that fort, and in less time than it takes to tell it, the guns were turned on the fleeing rebels. Here was the greatest mistake of our greatest commander. All of our army was brought to a standstill by some one’s foolish order. Not another move was made. We lay there waiting, and all night long we could hear the trains rumbling along on the other side of theAppomattox river. Lee had been outwitted. We had stolen a march on him. We had arrived in front of defenseless Petersburg, and could have gone right in and on to Richmond without a struggle. But that fatal order to halt gave him all night to hurry his forces from Cold Harbor, and in the morning we found plenty of determined rebels in front of us, and thereby the war was prolonged months and hundreds and thousands of lives lost. I swore all night. I kicked and condemned every general there was in the army for the blunder I saw they were making. I only wished I could be the general commanding for one hour. But it was no use; I couldn’t be.
I was nothing but a boy. But I had my ideas. I thought, perhaps, more than some of the officers did. I kept myself posted on facts and the topography of the country. The dispositions of generals was a matter of grave importance to me. I believed generals should be selected to command,NOTfor their qualifications in military tactics alone,NOTbecause they had graduated well-dressed from “West Point,” but for their indomitable pluck, judgment and honesty of purpose. It did seem to me that some of our best officers were invariably placed in the most unimportant positions and commands. Take, for instance, “Custer’s” Brigade of daring men, headed by those intrepid officers, Alger and Towns, wasting their time and imperiling the lives of thousands of good soldiers around “Emettsburg,” “Gordonsville,” “Bottom Bridge,” carrying out the foolish orders of superiors in command. Why could not these officers of cooljudgment be with us at this critical moment?—they madeTHEIRvictories, what would they have done had they the great opportunities that were presented to others who failed?
All night about the camp-fire the boys would delight in nagging me—getting me into arguments and debates. They called me the “midget orator of the Army of the Potomac.” I will never forget one night soon after the advance on Petersburg; we were clustered about with coffee cups and pipes; an argument waxed warm in regard to the possibilities of the war lasting two more years; finally I was called upon for my views. “Midget,” said Col. McArthur, “if you had supreme command of our army, what would you do?”
What would I do? If Uncle Sam would give me one regiment from each State in the Union—give me Grant, Burnside, Sherman, Sheridan, Custer, Alger, Hooker, Hancock, Thomas and Siegel to command them, I would take Richmond and settle the rebellion before they had time to wire and ask Stanton if I should. This was received with cheering and applause. But my boyish fancies and ideas were never gratified; I never had the pleasure of seeing my ideal army together, and Richmond was not taken for many months afterward.
A few days after our regiment was drawn up in line of battle in a wheatfield. It was just nightfall. I was lying down on the bank of a ditch waiting for the move-forward. Suddenly a shell came over myhead and bust right in the center of my company. I thought I saw legs and arms flying in all directions.
I started on the dead run for the rear. I believed I was going right, but it seemed as if the shells were coming from our own guns in the rear. I thought they had mistaken us for the enemy. I could see the shells coming, and every time they would fire, I would fall on my stomach, and thought they all went just over my head. I was soon, however, out of range, and began to feel easy, when a new fear took possession of me. What if I had, in my bewilderment, run into the rebel lines? I saw just ahead of me an old-fashioned southern mansion, with a high board fence all around it, and in the inclosure several small cabins used for the slaves to live in. I could not remember seeing this before, so I made up my mind I was actually inside rebeldom. However, I decided to make the best of it, and if I were or were not I would see if I could find something to eat. With fear and faltering steps I moved toward the big gate, swung it open, and it gave an awful squeak as it swung on its old rusty hinges. There was not a sign of life in or about the place, and that gave me hope and courage. In the center of the yard was a large hen-house. Cautiously toward this I crawled, heard the cackle of fowl, went first on one side then on the other, looking for the door; and imagine my surprise, the fear that took possession of me—my hair stood on end; for sitting there on a bench back of this hen-house were two big Johnnies. Icouldn’tspeak, I couldn’t move, till one of them said, “Good evening,sar; got anything to eat?” “Yes, yes,” I stammered, “I have some hard-tack.” Finally, one of them seeing I was most scared to death, spoke up and said, “Don’t be alarmed; we are only deserters and want to give ourselves up; show us to headquarters.” I was brave now. I gave them what hard-tack I had, and marched them ahead of me back to the rear, till we found headquarters. Afterward, I was offered a furlough for capturing two of the enemy. I never told this before; I took the credit. But I was not satisfied; I’d rather have some of those chickens than live rebels. So back I went and I got five; started back to the rear, put a kettle on a fire and boiled them, kept them three days, till I found my brother and the remnant of the regiment. When I did find them I made their hearts glad by showing them the boiled chickens. They were awful hungry and set to eating with a ravenous appetite, but they could not eat them, hungry as they were. I had no salt, and so put a big chunk of salt beef in the pot instead of salt, consequently the chickens were saltier then Lot’s wife.
I think I felt more disappointed than anybody, so I determined to make up for it in some other way. The regiment finally brought up in the first or advance line of breastwork, and I was still skirmishing in the rear for anything that I could find that was good.
I had tramped back to the rear about three miles, my mind bent on securing anything that would please the heart and eye, or tickle the palates of the bravefellows who had gone to face the enemy and do the real work of our country. About a quarter of a mile to the left of me I espied a covered wagon moving toward the front. I wondered what it was and where it was bound for, as from the frequent halt it made, it seemed the driver was lost to himself. I bore down toward him and found it was a sanitary wagon, loaded with good things sent out by the ladies of the north. The driver was an old man—one of those long, lanky individuals who might be taken for a parson or a horse dealer. He reminded me of the “Arkansaw Traveler.” His clothes were of the salt and pepper homespun goods, a little worse for wear and very ill fitting, they looked as if he had lost fifty pounds of flesh since he started from home; his pants were tucked into a pair of old cow-hide boots; his hat was a cross between a stove pipe and a derby; his hair was red, very long and sprinkled with grey; his eyebrows were shaggy, nearly meeting over the nose and hanging down over a pair of faded blue eyes. So wrinkled was his skin that you would think his face was a frozen laugh; a little strip of red hair ran down the side of his face in front of his ears and almost met under his chin; the space left open in his whiskers, evidently an outlet for the tobacco juice that trickled down from each side of his mouth. As I approached he pulled up his mules and called to me in a rather cracked voice, “Say, Major, or Sergeant, or what ever you are, whar’s the field hospital?”
“Three miles from here,” said I, pointing backward.
“What’s that firin I hear? Ain’t no rebs ’round yere, be thar?”
“Yes,” I replied; “there’s a long row of them about half a mile in front of us, and you had better halt right where you are. What’s your cargo?”
“Wall, I got most anything that is needed by you poor fellows—useful things. I’m sent here by a society called the Northfield First Methodist Ladies’ Relief and Sanitary Association. They selected me for my courage to go to the front and distribute this load. But I guess I’ll have to go too near that row of rebs if I’d give them out in person. I’ll unhitch here and feed my mules. You don’t think thar’s any danger of them grey-coats disturbing me, do you? I should hate to have all these good things fall into their hands.”
I inquired what he had, to which he replied with apparent amazement: “Shirts, stockins, bakin’ powder, condensed milk, canned apples, peaches, Boston beans, tobacco, hair oil, tooth powder, cathartic pills, Jamaiki ginger, and fine tooth combs——Whoa thar—stop your infernal kickin. Them durned mules are worse than two-year-old heifers.”
The wearied animals had become all tangled up in the harness, and I thought I’d steal some of the eatables for my company while he was freeing and feeding the mules. He gave me a better opportunity however. There was a patch of peanuts or groundnuts a short distance away. He asked me to mind his mules while he went to see what they were and how they grew. When he left me I got into thewagon and loaded myself down with everything until I could carry no more. Then I conceived an idea, and if he would only remain away long enough I could carry the thing out. I found a small hatchet in the wagon, and with my tin cup began digging a hole near the wagon. I worked like a beaver for awhile, at the same time keeping my eye on the peanut patch. The size of the receptacle would be determined by the length of time the old man remained away. Finally I got a hole made about the size of a bushel basket, and thought I’d take no more chances. I scrambled into the wagon and threw out cans of milk, etc., until the hole was completely filled. I had just nicely covered it up when my friend returned and asked:
“WhatYOUbeen diggin’ for thar—them durned things too? Why, durn them, I’d just as lieve eat raw beans.”
I looked up in a guilty sort of way and told him, “I was digging for a shell that lit there while he was gone.”
“Ge-whiz! I guess I’d better get out of this place as quick as I can. I say, Mister, whar’s your Comp’ny?”
“What’s alive of them are at the front, suffering from want and hunger,” I replied in a strong manner, thinking perhaps he would drive nearer and distribute his load. But he was bent on going back. As he climbed to his seat he said, “I’ll tell you, Mr. Sergeant, you kin take a few of these things to the men that are sick in your company.”
“They are all sick,” I said quickly, for I was greedy and wanted all I could get. He pulled out a hospital shirt and tied up the neck. Having filled it with condensed milk, tobacco, and other things, he asked me if I could carry it. “Could I! I could carry all there’s in your cart,” I replied. I found my load was a little heavier than I had expected it to be, but I wouldn’t say there was too much, but helped him to hitch up his mules and he started off, after giving me a warm hand-shake. I watched him until he disappeared from view, and then thought I would open up the treasure I had buried and deposit some of the shirtful which he had so kindly given me after I had robbed him. It would lighten the load and I could return for the balance next day. I had just started to dig, when I looked up and saw him driving back as hard as he could drive, “Say, young fellow, I—I—I,” in a wild, excited manner, reigning his mules up with a jerk and a “Whoa, thar,” loud enough to be heard in Petersburg, “I—I thought I’d drive back and dig up that darned shell. It’ll be a great curiosity. When I get home I can show the folks the dangerous position I was placed in while distributing these things.”
I didn’t stop to hear any more, but hurried away with my shirtful. I ran hard and fast, and didn’t dare to turn and look round. The shells began to whiz pretty thickly just at this time, and I prayed and hoped that the old man would get scared and not dig for that shell, for I wanted the boys to have it.
The Great Mine Explosion in Front of Petersburg.
This was on the day fixed for the great mine explosion, every soldier on the entire line was waiting with bated breath for the signal or prolonged rumble of that expected explosion. It did not come, however. The suspense was broken by the appearance nearly a halfa mile away, of a soldier with something white on his back, that made a good target for the rebel sharpshooters. Down the railroad I came. I reached the first line of earthworks. For a short distance I would keep on top. In this way I kept on, on, first running one breastwork then another, till I reached the front line. On top of this I ran the whole length, heedless and unmindful of the rebel bullets that pelted about me. I almost flew along. The soldiers shouted to me to keep down, but I heeded them not. Finally I reached the place where my regiment was, jumped down as coolly as if I had run no risk, deposited my bag, received the congratulations of my company, who examined me all over to see if there were any wounds. They found none, however, but on opening the shirt every can of milk had a bullet hole through it, and condensed milk, extract of beef, and tobacco had to be eaten as a soufflee.
The next day found me at the rear again. I looked for the buried treasure—found it. Evidently the old gent had been frightened away, for about half the dirt had been removed from the top, and the stuff was not uncovered. There was a desperate fight going on at the right of our line. I was pressed into the service of the stretcher corps, which is usually composed of drummer boys. I did duty at this all the forenoon. The onslaught was terrible, and many poor fellows did I help carry off that field; some to live for an hour, others to lose a limb that would prove their valor and courage for the balance of their lives.
This day our regiment was relieved from the front and supposing they were going to City Point to recruit, they came back about a half a mile, halted for orders; I heard of it and concluded I would go with them and so hastened to where they were, and soon after my arrival the order came to “fall in.” They did so withalacrityand bright hopes of much needed rest. I took my drum and place at the head of the regiment and started with them.
The road to the left led to City Point. Imagine their surprise when nearing it, the order came, “File right, by company into line, double quick march.”
The entire regiment seemed paralyzed for a moment, but only for a moment, the whizzing of the shells and the zip zip of the rebel bullets plainly told them what caused the sudden change. I was dumbfounded, I didn’t know what to do. My brother yelled to me to go to the rear quick, but I didn’t; I kept on with them until it seemed to rain bullets, but on, on they went unmindful of the awful storm of leaden messengers of death—on, on and into one of the fiercest charges of the entire war. I saw men fall so thick and fast that there didn’t seem as if there was any of my regiment left, and I made up my mind it was too hot for me, so started on the dead run to the rear for a place of safety, and I didn’t stop until I was pretty sure I was out of harm’s way.
I came to a place about one mile back where evidently there had been a battery located; here Isat down to rest and meditate. I examined myself all over to see if I was hit, found I was unhurt but my drum had received several bullet holes in it.
Finding a green spot I stretched myself out and listened to the awful sound of musketry firing which was going on at the front, around me on all sides was the debris of a deserted camp, empty tin cans, broken bayonets, pieces of guns, fragments of bursted shell, and occasionally a whole one that had failed to explode. I had only sat here a few moments thinking which was the best way to go when I was joined by another Drummer Boy from a Pennsylvania regiment. We sat down and talked over our exploits, and I thought he was the most profane lad I had ever met. Most every other word he uttered was an oath.
I asked him if he wasn’t afraid to talk so.
“What the h—l should I be afraid of?” he asked, at the same time picking up an old tent stake and sticking it into the ground, trying to drive it in with the heel of his boot. Failing in this he reached over and got hold of an unexploded shell and used this on the stake, but it was heavy and unwieldy.
“I wonder if this was fired by those d—d rebs,” he asked.
“I guess it was,” I replied, “and you better look out, or it might go off.”
“Off be d—d, their shells were never worth the powder to blow ’em to h—l, see the hole in the butt of it, it would make a G—d—d good mawl, wouldn’t it?” and looking round at the same time he found an oldbroom. Stripping the brush and wire from the handle he said, “I’ll make a mawl of it and drive that d—d rebel stake into the ground with one of their own d—d shells, be d—d if I don’t.” Inserting the broom handle into the end of the shell he walked over to a stump, and taking the shell in both hands commenced pounding onto the stick against the stump; “d—d tight fit,” he hollored to me, and the next instant I was knocked down by a terrific explosion. I came to my senses in a minute and hastened to where he had been standing. There the poor fellow lay unconscious and completely covered with blood, there was hardly a shred of clothes on him, his hair was all burned and both hands taken completely off, as if done by a surgeon’s saw.
I was excited and horror stricken for a moment. The sight was horrible, but I quickly regained my composure, knowing that something must be done, and done quickly. So taking the snares from my drum I wound them tightly around his wrists to stop the flow of blood, then I hailed an ambulance, and we took him to the held hospital about a mile to the rear.
On the way the poor fellow regained consciousness, and looking at his mutilated wrists, and then with a quick and bewildered glance at me, “G—d—d tough, ain’t it,” then the tears started in his eyes, and he broke down and sobbed the rest of the way, “Oh, my God! What will my poor mother say? Oh, what will she do!”
We reached the field hospital, which is only a temporary place for the wounded where the wounds are hurriedly dressed, and then they are sent to regular hospitals, located in Baltimore, Philadelphia, Norfolk, Portsmouth, etc., where they have all the comforts possible.
We laid the little fellow down in one corner of the tent to wait his turn with the surgeon, and when I left him, he cried and begged for me to stay, but I couldn’t stand his suffering longer, so I bade him good-bye with tears streaming down my own cheeks. I hurried out, and even after I reached the outside I could hear him cry, “Oh, my God! What will my poor mother say? Oh, what will she do!”
In the afternoon I was detailed to wait on the amputating tables at the field hospital.
It was a horrible task at first. My duty was to hold the sponge or “cone” of ether to the face of the soldier who was to be operated on, and to stand there and see the surgeons cut and saw legs and arms as if they were cutting up swine or sheep, was an ordeal I never wish to go through again. At intervals, when the pile became large, I was obliged to take a load of legs or arms and place them in a trench near by for burial. I could only stand this one day, and after that I shirked all guard duty. The monotony, the routine of life, in front of Petersburg, was becoming distasteful to me. I had stolen everything I could. My district or territory had given out, so the next day I started for the front to bid my brother good-bye.
Our regiment was sometimes relieved and ordered to the rear for rest; so it was on this occasion, they had fallen back and halted in a little ravine. I met my brother, who always expected me to bring him some stolen sweets or goodies of some kind, but unfortunately this time I came empty-handed. I had failed to find anything to steal. I was hungry myself, but when I looked at him I forgot my own hunger, for such a forlorn appearance as he presented almost broke my heart, and I determined to find him something to eat at all hazards. So off I started on an independent foraging expedition. I had only gone a short distance when I espied a “pie wagon.” Usually when the paymaster was around there would be “hucksters” or peddlers with all kinds of commodities following in his wake. This fellow had driven to the front from City Point. They were generally dare-devils, and this one was no exception to the rule. He had driven right up to the front, unhitched his horse and began selling hot mince pies. He had some kind of a stove and outfit in an old covered wagon where he made the pies quickly and sold them hot for one dollar apiece; the pies were about the size of a saucer. When I reached the wagon there was quite a crowd around him; some were buying and eating them as if they were good, while others stood looking on wistfully watching their comrades who were fortunate enough to have the price. I was one of the unfortunates. I could smell the cooking of the pies long before I reached the wagon, and this only served to increase my already ravenous hunger;but all I could do was to stand there with my hands in my pockets, smack my lips and imagine what they tasted like—the longer I staid the better they tasted. I believe I would have given five hundred dollars for one if I had possessed the money, but I didn’t have a cent; our regiment had not been paid. All this time I was thinking of my poor brother, how he would like one of those hot pies, and I began to concoct schemes how to get one. The way I worked the old sanitary man would never do to try on this fellow, for he was a “fakir” by birth, occupation and inclination. The fellow was doing a lively business. “Here you are! Nice hot pies, fresh baked, right from the oven! Walk up lively here. Only one dollar apiece! There’s only a few of them left, and I shan’t be here again for a month; walk up with your dollar! Get off that wheel, you young devil!” I had climbed up on the wheel to make observations and see if I couldn’t sneak a pie, but he was watching and detected my motive; so down I got and stood gaping at him, my mouthwide open; but my hungry look had no effect on him, he had no sympathy for anything except dollars. Finally I thought my brother might have a dollar, so back to him I ran, told him of the pies, but he had not a cent. The knowledge of the pies added two fold to his hunger. “Gosh!” he said, “ain’t there some way? Can’t you steal one?” “No,” I said, “I have tried that. I would have made his horse run away and upset his wagon, but the darned cuss had unhitched him.”
“Ge!” I exclaimed, “I have it.” And off I started. Charley, my brother, owned an old-fashioned silver watch, one of those old “English levers.” He thought a great deal of it as a keep-sake and always gave it to me to keep when he was going into action. I had this watch now, and made up my mind I would trade it to the “fakir” and get a lot of pies for us all. Oh! such bright anticipations of hot mince pies. I could almost see them floating in the air as big as cart wheels, and fearing they would all be sold before I could reach the wagon, I ran as hard as I could. The crowd had thinned out and so had the pies. “How many have you got left?” I eagerly asked. “Oh, plenty,” he replied; “how many, do you want?” “Well,” I said, nearly out of breath, “I haven’t any money, but I want all you have, and I’ll trade you a nice watch for them.”
“Say, cully! what yer givin’ me? I don’t want no watch. Let’s see it.”
I quickly passed it up to him, and stood working my fingers and feet impatiently and revolving inmy mind how many pies he would give me and how I would manage to carry them back, when he broke out into a loud, contemptuous laugh, and passed the watch back.
“Say, young fellow, that aint no good. I’d rather have a blacking box than that thing.”
“It’s silver,” I replied.
“That don’t make no difference. I’ll give you one pie for the thing if you want it, see!”
I turned the watch over and over in my hand, my feelings hurt and my stomach disappointed. Then I thought of my brother, forgot that it was his high-priced time-piece, and quickly said:
“Give me the pie and take the watch.”
He did so, and away I started on the dead run, I could hardly resist the temptation of biting the pie; but just before I reached the regiment, and in full sight of my brother, I stumbled and fell, smashing the pie into the dirt and mud. I picked myself up, looked at the crushed pie, and the tears started in my eyes; but only for a moment. I brushed them away, gathered up the pieces and hurried to my brother. We rubbed the mud from the pieces the best we could, and devoured them with a hearty relish. After the pie was gone, I regretted the bargain that I had made. Pie and watch both gone. Remorse took possession of me. I felt guilty; I was conscience-stricken. I was unsatisfied; no more time, no more pie.
“Gosh, that pie was good, wasn’t it, ‘Pod’?” This was a nickname my brother was pleased to call me by.
“Jinks, I wish you had brought more. Why didn’t you try and get two?”
“Well,” I said, faltering, “you—you see, I—I didn’t have time enough.”
“Well, how did you get it, anyway?”
“Oh! I got it on tick.” And then I walked over to a stump, thinking I would get away from his questions and all the time revolving in my mind whether I should tell him the truth, or say I had lost it. I felt ashamed of myself and thought what a darned fool I was. I concluded I wasn’t a bit smart—the idea of giving a watch for a pie! Finally, Charley came over to me.
“What time is it, Pod?”
“I—I don’t know!”
“Why, ain’tthewatch going?”
“Yes-s. No, it’s gone.”
“Gone! What do you mean?” And then divining the truth, he exclaimed: “Gor-ram it, did you sell the watch for that pie?”
“Yes, Charley, I did, but I couldn’t help it; I knew you wanted the pie so bad.”
“Gor-rammed little fool; didn’t you know better than that?”
Then I saw the great big tears come into his eyes, and I couldn’t stand it. I patted him on the back and said: “Never mind, Charley. I’ll go and get the watch back if I have to kill the pie man.” So off I started on the dead run, caught the fellow just as he was ready to go. I asked him if I could ride to the rear with him. He answered, “Yes, and youcan show me how to get into that turnip watch.” So I climbed on to the seat beside him and we started. I took the watch apart, showed him how it was wound, set and regulated it, and was about to hand it back to him, when a shell burst a short way from us, which frightened his horse so that he cramped the wagon and upset it, and in the confusion I got lost with the watch. On the next day I gave it to my brother and told him how I had obtained it. He laughed at me, and said he “guess I’d better keep it myself,” and so put it in his pocket. That night the regiment went into action, and my brother was slightly wounded several times. One shot would have proved fatal, but the watch received the bullet and the wound proved fatal only to the watch; it was smashed all to pieces. But my brother prizes the pieces now more than he ever did the whole watch.
The next day my regiment was ordered to the front again. I made up my mind I would not go with them. I concluded I needed rest in order to recuperate, so when the regiment started I bade my brother good-bye, gave him a parting kiss and God’s blessings, so off I started.
About a half a mile from my regiment I came to one of those Virginia fences, got up on top of it, and sat thinking, and while sitting there the shells began to fly pretty thick. I thought I had better be moving, jumped down, and as I did so a shell struck one of the rails of the fence. A piece of the rail struck me and was harder than I was, for when I came to my senses I found I was in thehospital. I didn’t think I was hurt very badly, but when I tried to get up, found I couldn’t. From there they moved me to “Balfour Hospital” at Portsmouth, Virginia. I never will forget the shame and mortification I felt at the sight I must have presented when the boat that conveyed us to Portsmouth arrived.
An old negro came to my bunk and took me on his back, and with a boot in each hand dangling over his shoulder he carried me pickaback through the streets to the hospital, a large, fine building, formerly the “Balfour Hotel,” and converted into a hospital after Portsmouth was captured. They took me up stairs into what was formerly the dining-room but now filled with over two hundred little iron beds, and each bed occupied by a wounded soldier. Everything in and about the place was as neat as wax. They carried me to a vacant bed near the center of the room, and I noticed the next bed to mine had several tin dishes hanging over it, suspended from the ceiling. These were filled with water, and from a small hole punctured in the bottom the water would slowly but constantly drip upon some poor fellow’s wound to keep it moist. I had just sat down on the side of my bed, when I was startled by the sound of a familiar voice. “Hello, cully! What you been doin’, playing with one of those d—d shells, too?”
No, I replied, the shells were playing with me. Then I recognized the occupant of the next bed as my drummer boy acquaintance who had his hands blown off a week ago. What a strange thingthat we should be brought together side by side again, both wounded with a shell and nearly on the same spot.
He had changed wonderfully; his little white pinched face told too plainly the suffering he had endured. I asked him how he was getting along.
“Oh I’m getting along pretty d—d fast. I guess I’ll croak in a few days.”
“Oh you musn’t talk that way, you’ll be all right in a little while.”
“Oh, no, cully, I know better. I’m a goner; I know it. I don’t want to live, anyhow. What in h—l is the good of a man without hands?” Then turning his bandaged head towards me, his eyes filling with tears. “I aint afraid to die, cul., but I would like to see my old mother first. Do you think I will?”
Oh, yes, I said, no doubt of it; at the same time I felt that his days were numbered, but I wanted to make him feel as comfortable as possible. He was so much worse off than I, that I forgot my own injuries and was eager to assist him all I could. After a few minutes silence—
“Say, cully, reach under my pillow and find a little book there; it’s a little Testament that my dear old mother gave me; read a little for me, will you please? You’ll find a place mother marked for me, read that, please.”
I turned the leaves over till I found a little white ribbon pinned to a leaf, marking the verse beginning, “Suffer little children to come unto me.” I started to read for him, but the tears filled my eyes. I hadto stop, and as I did so, I noticed he seemed very quiet. I glanced at him, and the open, staring eyes and the rigid drawn features told me too plainly that the little fellow was out of his sufferings:—he was dead!
“Mother” was the countersign on his lips so thin,And the sentry in heavenmustlet him in.
I remained here three weeks, finally got up and around and began to think I had enough of soldier life. I had everything I wished for; some ladies in the town—God bless them, I never will forget them—visited the hospital occasionally, and they always took pains to bring me flowers or goodies of some kind. (Pardon me, but somehow I was always a favorite with ladies.) Well, after remaining there three or four weeks I concluded I didn’t want to go to the front, so I sat down and wrote a personal letter to Secretary Stanton, told him who, how, and what I was, and asked him to advise me what to do; if I should go to the front or home. Soon after, a special order came back from him to have me transferred to the “2nd Battalion Veteran Reserve Corps.”
Let me here state to those who do not understand; all soldiers who were sick or wounded, unfit for field service were transferred to the Veteran Reserve Corps, for the purpose of doing light guard duty in camp, or at headquarters; they were divided into two battalions, 1st and 2nd. The 1st battalion was supposed to be able to carry a musket for duty, while the 2nd battalion was composed of one-armed men or totally disabled soldiers, and were suppliedwith a small sword; and thus I was condemned by special order; however I liked it. I had an easy time, nothing to do, and others to help me.
I continued here for about two months, until the hospital was ordered to be removed to Old Point Comfort. I had become a great favorite of Lieutenant Russell, the officer in charge of the hospital, and a nice man he was. When the order came to move, the fixtures, furniture, in fact everything in and about the building was ordered to be sold. I was detailed by Lieutenant Russell to remain behind and superintend the sale of the stuff, keep accounts, make a report when all was sold, and turn over the proceeds. That detained me there two weeks longer. I sold the beds, dishes, tables, everything. There remained about thirty tons of coal in the yard to be disposed of. I sold it in any quantity to poor people; took any price for it I could get, the same as everything else. Finally, everything was sold off, and I was ready to depart the next day for Old Point Comfort. In the evening, the two men I had with me and myself, used to get our pipes and sit in front of the office and smoke. We were sitting there talking about the sale, when it occurred to me that I had overlooked the “deadhouse.” We went back to it and found seven coffins. What was to be done; they must be sold, as they must be accounted for, and we were going to depart early in the morning. The street was crowded at that time in the evening, so I took the coffins and stood them up on the sidewalk, and everyone that passed by, I would ask him if he wanted to buy acoffin. Finally, I struck a man who offered me seven dollars for the lot, and I took it quick. I learned afterward he was an undertaker.
The next day I landed and reported to headquarters at Fortress Monroe. A day or two after, Lieutenant Russell sent for me; he wanted a foreman in the Government Printing Office. I was down for occupation on the pay-roll as a printer. He asked me if I understood the business. I said yes, I had some knowledge of it, so I was detailed with an extra eight dollars per month. I took charge of the office at once. The first day I had orders to print fifty thousand official envelopes. The press-boy brought me the proof, I looked it over, and marked it correct; they were printed and sent to headquarters.
A few days after Lieutenant Russell sent for me to report at his office. I didn’t know what was up. Thought perhaps I was going to be sent to Washington to take charge of the Government Printing Office there. As I went in, the lieutenant turned to me with a quizzical smile on his face:
“Young man, you told me you were a printer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you ‘O. K.’ this job?” passing one of the envelopes he held in his hand.
“Yes sir,” I answered.
“Umph! Is it correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It is, eh?”
“Yes-s, sir.”
“Umph! how do you spell business?”