"Headquarters 6th Regt. of Mich. Cavalry.Grand Rapids, Aug. 28, 1862."To Captain James H. Kidd:"You are hereby authorized to raise a company of mounted riflemen for this regiment on condition that you raise them within fifteen days from this date, and report with them at the rendezvous in this city."F.W. Kellogg, Colonel Commanding."
"Headquarters 6th Regt. of Mich. Cavalry.Grand Rapids, Aug. 28, 1862.
"To Captain James H. Kidd:
"You are hereby authorized to raise a company of mounted riflemen for this regiment on condition that you raise them within fifteen days from this date, and report with them at the rendezvous in this city.
"F.W. Kellogg, Colonel Commanding."
My surprise and gratification can better be imagined than described. To say that I was delighted would be putting it mildly.
But the document with the Congressman's signature attached to it was not very much of itself. I was a captain in name only. There was no "company" and would not be unless a minimum of seventy-eight men were recruited, and at the end of fifteen days the appointment would expire by limitation. On the original document which has been carefully preserved appears the following endorsement in Mr. Kellogg's handwriting:
"The time is extended for raising this company until Tuesday of next week."
"The time is extended for raising this company until Tuesday of next week."
The fifteen days expired on Saturday and Mr. Kellogg kindly gave us four days extra time to get into camp.
It was, however, no easy task to get the requisite number of men in the time allowed, after so many men had been recruited for other regiments. The territory which we could draw upon for volunteers had been very thoroughly canvassed, in an effort to fill the quota of the state under Lincoln's last call. But it was less difficult to raise men for cavalry than for infantry and I was hopeful of succeeding. I soon learned that three others had received appointments for commissions in the same troop—one first, one second, and one supernumerary second lieutenant. The same conditions were imposed upon them. Thus, there were four of us whose commissions hinged upon getting a minimum number of men into camp within fifteen days.
The man designated for first lieutenant was Edward L. Craw. Some of Craw's friends thought he ought to be the captain, as he was a much older man than myself, though he had no knowledge of tactics and was in every sense a novice in military affairs. In a few days word came that Mr. Kellogg wanted to see me. He had been told that I was a "beardless boy" and he professed to want men for his captains. My friends advised me not to go—to be too busy recruiting, in fact—and I followed their advice. Had I gone, the "colonel" would, doubtless, have persuaded me to change with Craw, since I would have been more than satisfied to take second place, not having too high an opinion of my deserts.
But there was no time to waste and recruiting was strenuously pushed. Kellogg must have been stuffed pretty full of prejudice, for I never came to town that I did not hear something about it. My friends seemed beset with misgivings. One of them called me into his private office and inquired if I could not manage to raise a beard somehow. I am not sure that he did not suggest a false mustache as a temporary expedient. I told him that it would have to be with a smooth face or not at all. It would be out of the question to make a decent show in a year's time and with careful nursing.
Finally, "Uncle Amos" Rathbun heard of it and told Kellogg to give himself no concern about "the boy," that he would stand sponsor for him. "Uncle" Amos, though long ago gathered to his fathers, is alive yet in the memory of hundreds of Union soldiers whom he never failed to help as he had opportunity. And he did not wait for the opportunity to come to him. He sought it. He had a big heart and an open hand, and no man ever had a better friend. As for myself, I recall his name and memory with a heart full of gratitude for, from the moment I entered the service, he was always ready with the needed word of encouragement; prompt with proffers of aid; jealous of my good name; liberal with praise when praise was deserved; appreciative and watchful of my record till the end. If he had faults they were overshadowed by his kindness of heart and his unaffected virtues. When the record is made up, it will be found with "Uncle Amos" as it was with "Uncle Toby," when he uttered that famous and pardonable oath: "The accusing angel flew to heaven with the oath, blushed as he handed it in. The recording angel, as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon it and blotted it out forever."
I was the first man to enlist in the embryotic troop and take the oath. The first recruit was Angelo E. Tower, a life long friend, who entered service as first sergeant and left it as captain, passing through the intermediate grades. His name will receive further mention in the course of this narrative.
The method of obtaining enlistments was to hold war meetings in schoolhouses. The recruiting officer accompanied by a good speaker would attend an evening meeting which had been duly advertised. The latter did the talking, the former was ready with blanks to obtain signatures and administer the oath. These meetings were generally well attended but sometimes it was difficult to induce anybody to volunteer. Once, two of us drove sixteen miles and after a fine, patriotic address of an hour, were about to return without results, when one stalwart young man arose and announced his willingness to "jine the cavalry." His name was Solomon Mangus and he proved to be a most excellent soldier.
probasco
JACOB O. PROBASCO
On one of my trips, having halted at a wayside inn for lunch, I was accosted by a young man not more than seventeen or eighteen years of age, who said he had enlisted for my troop and, if found worthy, he would be much pleased if he could receive the appointment of "eighth corporal." I was amused at the modesty of the request, which was that he be placed on the lowest rung of the ladder of rank. The request did not appear unreasonable, and when the enrolment of troop "E" Sixth Michigan cavalry was completed, he appeared on the list as second corporal. From this rank he rose by successive steps to that of captain, winning his way by merit alone. For a time he served on the brigade staff, but, whether as corporal, sergeant, lieutenant, captain or staff officer, he acquitted himself with honor and had the confidence of those under whom he served as well as of those whom he commanded. His name was Jacob O. Probasco.
In the western part of the county our meetings collided with those of "Captain" Pratt, who had an appointment similar to mine and for the same regiment. Pratt was a big man—a giant almost—full of zeal and enthusiasm. He was a Methodist preacher—a revivalist—and did his own exhorting. He was very fatherly and patronizing and declared that he would not interfere with my work; that he had plenty of men pledged—more than he needed—and would cheerfully aid in filling my quota, in addition to his own. His promise was taken with a grain of salt and, in the end, I mustered more men than he did, and he had none to spare. Both troops were accepted, however, and both of us received our commissions in due time, as the sequel will show.
There was that about "Dominie" Pratt that impressed people with the idea that he would be a great "fighting parson." He was so big, burly and bearded, fierce looking as a dragoon, and with an air of intense earnestness. He was very pious and used to hold prayer meetings in his tent, conducted after the manner of the services at a camp meeting. His confidence in himself, real or assumed, was unlimited. Several of the officers who had seen no service in the field, were talking it over one evening in the colonel's tent, and conjecturing how they would feel and act when under fire. Most of them were in anything but a boastful mood, contenting themselves with modestly expressing the belief that when the ordeal came and they were put to the proof, they would stand up to the work and do their duty like officers and gentlemen. Captain Pratt said little, but, as we were walking away after the conference had broken up, he placed his arm around my waist, in his favorite, affectionate way (he had known me from boyhood) and in his most impressive pulpit manner, said: "Jimmie," (he always addressed me thus) "Jimmie, let others do as they may, I want to say to you, that the men who follow me on the field of battle go where death reigneth." As he neared the climax of this dire prediction, he unwound the arm with which he held me to his side and, raising it, emphasized his words with a fierce gesture. I confess that I drew back a step, and felt a certain sensation of awe and respect, as I beheld in him the incarnation of courage and carnage.
It may or may not be pertinent to mention that the intrepid captain never led his troop to slaughter; never welcomed the enemy "with bloody hands to hospitable graves." On account of ill health, he was compelled to resign in February, 1863, before the regiment marched from Washington into Virginia. I have always regretted that necessity, because, notwithstanding his apparent bravado, the captain was really a brave man, and there was such a fine opportunity in the "Old Dominion," in those days, for one who really hungered for gore to distinguish himself. It would have been a glorious sight to see the gigantic captain, full of the fiery spirit that animated Peter the Hermit when exhorting his followers to the rescue of the holy sepulcher, charging gallantly at the head of his men into the place "where death reigneth." There were several of those places in the southern country.
At the period of the civil war the word "company" was applied indiscriminately to cavalry or infantry. The unit of formation was the company. At the present time there is a distinction. A captain of cavalry commands a "troop." A captain of infantry commands a "company." A troop of cavalry corresponds to a company of infantry. For the sake of convenience and clearness this classification will henceforth be observed in the course of this narrative.
The troop, then, the raising of which has been thus briefly sketched, was ready on Tuesday, September 16, 1862, to begin its career as a military unit in the great army of union volunteers. It is known in the history of the civil war as Troop E, Sixth Michigan cavalry (volunteers). It was originally constituted as follows:
James H. Kidd, captain; Edward L. Craw, first lieutenant; Franklin P. Nichols, second lieutenant; Ambrose L. Soule, supernumerary second lieutenant.Angelo E. Tower, first sergeant; James L. Manning, quartermaster sergeant; Amos T. Ayers, commissary sergeant; William H. Robinson, William Willett, Schuyler C. Triphagen, Marvin E. Avery, Solon H. Finney, sergeants.Amos W. Stevens, Jacob O. Probasco, Isaac R. Hart, Benjamin B. Tucker, George I. Henry, David Welch, Marvin A. Filkins, James W. Brown, corporals.Simon E. Allen, William Almy, Eber Blanchard, Heman S. Brown, Shuman Belding, Lester A. Berry, George Bennett, George Brown, John Cryderman, Edward H. Cook, William B. Clark, James H. Corwin, Eugene C. Croff, William W. Croff, Randall S. Compton, Manley Conkrite, William H. Compton, Seth Carey, Marion Case, Amaron Decker, Daniel Draper, Rinehart Dikeman, Thomas Dickinson, Orrin W. Daniels, Matthias Easter, Francis N. Friend, Ira Green, James Gray, George I. Goodale, Eli Halladay, Luther Hart, Elias Hogle, George E. Halladay, Robert Hempstead, Edmond R. Hallock, Henry M. Harrison, Warren Hopkins, John J. Hammel, Miles E. Hutchinson, Luther Johnson, Searight C. Koutz, Louis Kepfort, Archibald Lamberton, Martin Lerg, David Minthorn, Solomon Mangus, Andrew J. Miller, Jedediah D. Osborn, Timothy J. Mosher, Gershom W. Mattoon, Moses C. Nestell, George W. Marchant, Edwin Olds, Walter E. Pratt, Albert M. Parker, George W. Rall, Frederick Smith, Jesse Stewart, Josiah R. Stevens, David S. Starks, Orlando V.R. Showerman, David Stowell, James O. Sliter, Jonathan C. Smith, Meverick Smith, Samuel J. Smith, Josiah Thompson, William Toynton, John Tunks, Mortimer Trim, Albert Truax, Oliver L. VanTassel, Byron A. Vosburg, John VanWagoner, Sidney VanWagoner, Erastus J. Wall, Charles Wyman, Harvey C. Wilder, Israel Wall, Lewis H. Yeoman.[2]
James H. Kidd, captain; Edward L. Craw, first lieutenant; Franklin P. Nichols, second lieutenant; Ambrose L. Soule, supernumerary second lieutenant.
Angelo E. Tower, first sergeant; James L. Manning, quartermaster sergeant; Amos T. Ayers, commissary sergeant; William H. Robinson, William Willett, Schuyler C. Triphagen, Marvin E. Avery, Solon H. Finney, sergeants.
Amos W. Stevens, Jacob O. Probasco, Isaac R. Hart, Benjamin B. Tucker, George I. Henry, David Welch, Marvin A. Filkins, James W. Brown, corporals.
Simon E. Allen, William Almy, Eber Blanchard, Heman S. Brown, Shuman Belding, Lester A. Berry, George Bennett, George Brown, John Cryderman, Edward H. Cook, William B. Clark, James H. Corwin, Eugene C. Croff, William W. Croff, Randall S. Compton, Manley Conkrite, William H. Compton, Seth Carey, Marion Case, Amaron Decker, Daniel Draper, Rinehart Dikeman, Thomas Dickinson, Orrin W. Daniels, Matthias Easter, Francis N. Friend, Ira Green, James Gray, George I. Goodale, Eli Halladay, Luther Hart, Elias Hogle, George E. Halladay, Robert Hempstead, Edmond R. Hallock, Henry M. Harrison, Warren Hopkins, John J. Hammel, Miles E. Hutchinson, Luther Johnson, Searight C. Koutz, Louis Kepfort, Archibald Lamberton, Martin Lerg, David Minthorn, Solomon Mangus, Andrew J. Miller, Jedediah D. Osborn, Timothy J. Mosher, Gershom W. Mattoon, Moses C. Nestell, George W. Marchant, Edwin Olds, Walter E. Pratt, Albert M. Parker, George W. Rall, Frederick Smith, Jesse Stewart, Josiah R. Stevens, David S. Starks, Orlando V.R. Showerman, David Stowell, James O. Sliter, Jonathan C. Smith, Meverick Smith, Samuel J. Smith, Josiah Thompson, William Toynton, John Tunks, Mortimer Trim, Albert Truax, Oliver L. VanTassel, Byron A. Vosburg, John VanWagoner, Sidney VanWagoner, Erastus J. Wall, Charles Wyman, Harvey C. Wilder, Israel Wall, Lewis H. Yeoman.[2]
The troop that thus started on its career was a typical organization for that time—that is it had the characteristics common to the volunteers of the early period of the civil war. When mustered into the service it numbered one hundred and five officers and men. Though for the most part older than the men who went out later, the average age was but twenty-eight years. Nineteen were twenty or under; twenty-nine were thirty or under; eighteen were thirty-one or under. Only nine were over forty. For personnel and patriotism, for fortitude and endurance, they were never excelled. But they were not professional soldiers. At first, they were not soldiers at all. They were farmers, mechanics, merchants, laboring men, students, who enlisted from love of country rather than from love of arms, and were absolutely ignorant of any knowledge of the technical part of a soldier's "business." The militia had been mostly absorbed by the first calls in 1861 and the men of 1862 came from the plow, the shop, the schoolroom, the counting room or the office. With few exceptions, they were not accustomed to the use of arms and had everything to learn. The officers of this particular organization had no advantage over the others in this respect, for, save myself, not one of them knew even the rudiments of tactics. Indeed, at the date of muster, there were but three officers in the entire regiment who had seen service. These were Lieutenant Colonel Russell A. Alger, Captain Peter A. Weber and Lieutenant Don G. Lovell.
IN THE REGIMENTAL RENDEZVOUS
It was a raw, rainy day when we took up the march from the railroad station to the ground whereon had been established the rendezvous for the regiment. It was a motley collection of soldiers, considering the record they were to make during the coming years of active service in the field. All were in citizens' clothes, and equipped with neither uniforms nor arms. Assembled in haste for the journey, there had been no opportunity even to form in line or learn to keep step. No two of them were dressed alike. They were hungry and wet. Few had overcoats, none ponchos or blankets. Quarters were provided for the night in a vacant store where the men were sheltered from the rain, but had to sleep on the bare floor without cots or comforts of any kind. But, notwithstanding the gloomy conditions that attended this introduction to the volunteer service, they, in the main, kept up their good spirits, though some were visibly depressed and looked as if they were sorry they had come. In less than a year from that time, they had learned to endure a hundred-fold greater deprivations and hardships with equal minds.
The next morning, breakfast was served in an improvised dining-hall on the bank of the river which ran hard by. Then there was another march to "camp," the captain reported for duty to the "commandant," and a sort of routine of military exercises was entered upon. The officer in command and his adjutant were also new to the business and haste was made very slowly while they felt their way along. After a few days the camp was removed to better ground, which was high and dry, and overlooked the town. Here the real work of equipping, organizing and training began.
There were twelve troops, each composed of about one hundred officers and men. The officers were quartered in "wall" tents, but there were not tents enough, so wooden barracks were built for the men. A hospital was established in a house near by. This was pretty well patronized, at first, the exposure making many men ill. There was a guardhouse, also, but not much use for it. A large portion of each day was given up to drill. The rivalry among the captains was spirited, for they had been called together soon after reporting for duty, and informed that they would be given their respective places in line, by letter, from "A" to "M," consecutively, according to proficiency in drill upon a certain date, the two highest places barred, the assignments having been made previously. As the relative rank of these officers depended upon the letter given, it may be imagined that they spared no effort of which they were severally capable. They became immediate students, both in theory and in practice, of Philip St. George Cooke's cavalry tactics wherein the formation in single rank was prescribed.
Soon after going into this camp, uniforms were issued and horses also. The uniform for the enlisted men, at that time, consisted of a cavalry jacket, reinforced trousers, forage cap, and boots which came to the knee. Arms, except sabers, were not supplied until after leaving the state. The horses were purchased in Michigan, and great care was taken through a system of thorough inspection to see that they were sound and suitable for the mounted service. In the end, the regiment had a most excellent mount, both the horses and horse equipments being of the best that could be procured. The horses were sorted according to color, the intention being that each unit should have but one color, as near as practicable. Thus, as I remember it, troop "A" had bays; "B" browns; "C" greys; "D" blacks; and so on. This arrangement did not last long. A few months' service sufficed to do away with it and horses thereafter were issued indiscriminately. The effect, however, so long as the distinction could be kept up, was fine. It was a grand sight when the twelve hundred horses were in line, formed for parade or drill in single rank, each troop distinguishable from the others by the color of the horses.
When the Fifth Michigan cavalry was mustered into the United States service at Detroit there was one supernumerary troop. This was transferred to the Sixth Michigan, then forming in Grand Rapids, and given the letter "A" without competition. This entitled it to the position on the right flank in battalion formations, and made its commanding officer the senior captain of the regiment. The officers were, captain, Henry E. Thompson; first lieutenant, Manning D. Birge; second lieutenant, Stephen H. Ballard; supernumerary second lieutenant, Joel S. Sheldon. Before they left the service, Thompson was lieutenant colonel; Birge, major; Ballard, captain; and Sheldon, regimental commissary. This troop attracted a great deal of attention from the time of its arrival in camp for, having been organized some two or three months, it was fairly well drilled and disciplined, fully uniformed, and the officers were as gay as gaudy dress and feathers could make them. They wore black hats with ostrich plumes, and presented a very showy as well as a soldierly appearance. The plumes, like the color arrangement of horses, did not last long. Indeed, few if any of the officers outside of "A" troop, bought them, though they were a part of the uniform prescribed in the books. Two officers who came to the regiment from the Second Michigan cavalry, and who had had over a year's experience in the field, gave the cue that feathers were not a necessary part of the equipment for real service and served no useful purpose.
One of these two officers I met on the day of my arrival in the temporary camp. It was that wet, drizzly day, when I was sitting in the tent of the "commandant" awaiting orders. With a brisk step and a military air a young man of about my own age entered, whose appearance and manner were prepossessing. He looked younger than his years, was not large, but had a well-knit, compact frame of medium height. He was alert in look and movement, his face was ruddy with health, his eyes bright and piercing, his head crowned with a thick growth of brown hair cut rather short. He wore a forage cap, a gum coat over his uniform, top boots, and appeared every inch the soldier. He saluted and gave the colonel a hearty greeting and was introduced to me as Captain Weber.
Peter A. Weber was clerking in a store when the war broke out and entered service as a corporal in the Third Michigan infantry. When the Second Michigan cavalry was organized he was commissioned battalion adjutant and had been called home to take a captaincy in the Sixth. By reason of his experience, he was given the second place, "B". Weber was a rare and natural soldier, the embodiment of courage and, had not death interrupted his career, must have come near the head of the list of cavalry officers. The battle in which he distinguished himself and lost his life will be the theme of a future chapter.
gray
GEORGE GRAY
In troop "F", commanded by Captain William Hyser, was Second Lieutenant Don G. Lovell, one of the three veteran officers. He went out as corporal in the Third Michigan infantry, was wounded at Fair Oaks, and again at Trevillian Station while serving in the cavalry. He was one of the bravest of the brave.
Along in September, before the date of muster, I received a letter from a classmate in Ann Arbor asking if there was an opening for him to enlist. I wrote him to come and, soon after joining, he was appointed troop commissary sergeant. At that time, Levant W. Barnhart was but nineteen years of age and a boy of remarkable gifts. He was one of the prize takers in scholarship when he entered the University in 1860, in the class of 1864. His rise in the volunteers was rapid. Passing successively through the grades of first sergeant, second and first lieutenant, he in 1863 was detailed as acting adjutant. While serving in this position he attracted the notice of General Custer who secured his appointment by the War Department as assistant adjutant general with the rank of captain. He served on the staff of General Custer till the war closed—succeeding Jacob L. Greene. For one of his age his record as scholar and soldier was of exceptional brilliancy. He was barely twenty-one when he went on Custer's staff, who was himself not much more than a boy in years. (Custer was but twenty-six when Lee surrendered at Appomattox.)
George Gray, "lieutenant colonel commanding," was a lawyer of brilliant parts, a good type of the witty, educated Irishman, a leader at the bar of Western Michigan who had no equal before a jury. He had much reputation as an after-dinner speaker, and his polished sentences and keen sallies of wit were greatly enjoyed on occasions where such gifts were in request. Though generally one of the most suave of men, he had an irascible temper at times. The flavor of his wit was tart and sometimes not altogether palatable to those who had to take it. In discipline he was something of a martinet. He established a school of instruction in his tent, where the officers assembled nightly to recite tactics, and no mercy was shown the luckless one who failed in his "lessons." Many a young fellow went away from the "school" smarting under the irony of the impatient colonel. Some of his remarks had a piquant humor, others were characterized by the most biting sarcasm.
"Mr. ——," said he one morning when the officers were grouped in front of his tent in response to 'officers' call,' "Mr. ——, have you gloves, sir?"
"Yes, sir," replied the lieutenant, who had been standing with hands in his trousers pockets.
"Well, then, you had better put them on and save your pockets."
It is needless to say that the young officer thereafter stood in position of the soldier when in presence of his commander.
Nothing was so offensive to Colonel Gray as untidy dress or shabby habiliments on a member of the guard detail. One morning in making his usual inspection, he came upon a soldier who was particularly slovenly. Ordering the man to step out of the ranks, the colonel surveyed him from head to foot, then, spurning him with his foot, remarked: "That is a—pretty looking thing for a soldier; go to your quarters, sir."
Once or twice I felt the sting of his tongue, myself, but on the whole he was very kind and courteous, and we managed to get along together very well.
For a time it was supposed that the colonelcy would go to an army officer, and it may be recalled as an interesting fact that George A. Custer was at that very time a lieutenant on McClellan's staff and would have jumped at the chance to be colonel of a Michigan cavalry regiment. As has been shown, Philip H. Sheridan, Gordon Granger, O.B. Wilcox, I.B. Richardson, and other regulars, began their careers as officers in the volunteer service by accepting commissions from Governor Blair. Custer was never a colonel. He was advanced from captain in the Fifth United States cavalry to full brigadier general of volunteers and his first command was four Michigan regiments, constituting what was known as "Custer's Michigan cavalry brigade"—the only cavalry brigade in the service made up entirely of regiments from a single state. A petition was circulated among the officers, asking the governor to appoint Gray colonel. We all signed it, though the feeling was general that it would be better for him to retain the second place and have an officer of the army, or at least one who had seen service, for our commander. The petition was forwarded, however, and Gray was commissioned colonel.
Soon thereafter, it was announced, greatly to the satisfaction of all concerned, that the vacancy caused by Gray's promotion was to be filled by an officer of experience. Major Russell A. Alger of the Second Michigan cavalry, who had seen much service in the southwest, was made lieutenant colonel. Major Alger had gone out in 1861 as captain of troop "C", of the Second Michigan and had earned his majority fighting under Granger and Sheridan. In April, 1861, he was engaged in the lumbering business in Grand Rapids, Michigan, to which place he had removed from Cleveland, Ohio. He had been admitted to the bar in Cleveland but, even at that early day, his tastes and inclinations led him in the direction of business pursuits. He, therefore, came to Grand river and embarked in lumbering when but just past his majority and unmarried. The panic of 1857 depressed the lumber industry, in common with all other kinds of business, and the young Buckeye met with financial reverses, as did nearly everybody in those days, though it is agreed that he showed indications of the dash and self-reliance that were marked features of his subsequent career both in the army and in civil life. Doubtless, had not the war come on he would have achieved success in his business ventures then, as he did afterwards.
alger
RUSSELL A. ALGER (IN1862)
When Lieutenant Colonel Alger reported to Colonel Gray for duty he appeared the ideal soldier. Tall, erect, handsome, he was an expert and graceful horseman. He rode a superb and spirited bay charger which took fences and ditches like a deer. Though not foppish, he was scrupulous to a degree about his dress. His clothes fitted, and not a speck of dust could be found on his person, his horse, or his equipments. The details of drill fell largely to him—Colonel Gray attending to the general executive management. As a battalion commander Colonel Alger had few equals and no superiors. He was always cool and self-poised, and his clear, resonant voice had a peculiar, agreeable quality. Twelve hundred horsemen formed in single rank make a long line but, long as it was, every man could hear distinctly the commands that were given by him.
Weber's voice had the same penetrating and musical quality that made it easy to hear him when he was making no apparent effort to be heard. At that time it was the custom to give the commands with the voice and not by bugle calls.
Under such competent handling the regiment soon became a very well drilled organization. The evolutions were at first on foot, then on horseback, and long before the time when it was ready to depart for the front, the officers and men had attained the utmost familiarity with the movements necessary to maneuver a regiment on the field.
On Sundays it was customary to hold religious services in the camp, and many hundreds of the "beauty and the chivalry" of the town came to see the soldiers and hear the chaplain preach. The regiment would be formed in a hollow square, arms and brasses shining, clothes brushed, and boots polished. The chaplain was a good speaker and his sermons were always well worth listening to.
Chaplain Stephen S.N. Greeley was a unique character. Before enlisting he had been pastor of the leading Congregational church of the city. He was a powerful pulpit orator, a kind-hearted, simple-minded gentleman of the old school, not at all fitted for the hardships and exposure that he had to undergo while following the fortunes of General Custer's troopers in Virginia. Army life was too much for him to endure, and it was as much as he could do to look after his own physical well-being, and the spiritual condition of his flock was apt to be sadly neglected. He stayed with the regiment till the end but, in the field he was more like a child than a seasoned soldier and needed the watchful care of all his friends to keep him from perishing with hunger, fatigue, and exposure. I always forgot my own discomforts in commiseration of those of the honest chaplain. When in camp, and the weather suitable, I always endeavored to assemble the command for Sunday services, so pleased was he to talk to his "boys." I believe every surviving Sixth Michigan cavalryman has in his heart a warm corner for Chaplain Greeley who returned to Gilmartin, New Hampshire, the place where he began his ministerial work, and died there many years ago.
While noting in this cursory way the personnel of the regiment it may be proper to mention the other members of the field and staff.
Cavalry regiments were divided into three battalions, each consisting of four troops and commanded by a major. Two troops were denominated a squadron. Thus there were two troops in a squadron, two squadron in a battalion, three battalions in a regiment. The first major was Thaddeus Foote, a Grand Rapids lawyer. He served with the Sixth about a year and was then promoted to be colonel of the Tenth Michigan cavalry. Under President Grant he held the position of pension agent for Western Michigan. Elijah D. Waters commanded the Second battalion. He resigned for disability and died of consumption in 1866. He did not serve in the field at all. Simeon B. Brown, of the Third battalion was called to the command of the Eleventh Michigan cavalry, in 1863. The Tenth and Eleventh were raised by Congressman Kellogg in that year in the same manner in which he had organized the Second and Third in 1861, and the Sixth and Seventh in 1862.
Speaking of Major Waters, recalls how little things sometimes lead on to fortune. After leaving the service he and his brother started a "box factory," on the canal in Grand Rapids. In the winter of 1865-66 he took me over to see it. It was a small affair run by water power. The "boxes" which they manufactured were measures of the old-fashioned kind like the half-bushel and peck measures made of wood fifty years ago. They were of all sizes from a half-bushel down to a quart and used for "dry measure." Before the top rim was added and the bottom put in it was customary to pile the cylindrical shells one on top of another in the shop. Looking at these piles one day Waters saw that three of them, properly hooped, would make a barrel. Why not put hoops on and make them into barrels? No sooner said than done. A patent was secured, a stock company organized and the sequel proved that there were "millions in it." The major did not live to enjoy the fruits of his invention but it made of his brother and partner a millionaire. The latter is today one of the wealthiest men in Michigan—all from that lucky beginning.
The first adjutant of the regiment was Lyman E. Patten, who resigned to become a sutler and was succeeded by Hiram F. Hale who, in turn, left the cavalry to become a paymaster.
Sutlers were an unnecessary evil; at least, so it seems to me. They were in some cases evil personified. Many of them went into the business solely "for the money there was in it," and did not hesitate to trade on the necessities of the "boys in blue," so that as a rule there was no love lost, and enlisted men would raid a sutler with as little compunction as the sutler would practice extortion on them. The sutler's tent was too often the army saloon where "S.T.—1860—X bitters" and kindred drinks were sold at inflated prices. There were exceptions to the rule, however, and Mr. Patten was one of these. The whole sutler business was a mistake. The government should have arranged for an issue, or sale at cost through the commissary and quartermaster departments, of such articles as were not regularly furnished and were needed by the officers and men. Sutlers sold a thousand and one things that were not needed and that the men would have been better without. Spirits and tobacco could have been issued as a field or garrison ration, under proper restrictions. This was done at times but, whether a good thing or a bad thing, depends altogether upon the point of view. To take up the discussion would be to enter into the controversy as to the army canteen, which is not my purpose.
The medical department of the regiment was in good hands. No officer or enlisted man of the Sixth Michigan ever wanted for kind and sympathetic care when ill or wounded. The position of army surgeon in the field was no sinecure. He had to endure the same privations as the other officers. He was not supposed to be on the fighting line, to be sure, but had to be close at hand to assist in the care of those who were, and oftentimes got into the thickest of it whether he would or not. To the credit of the profession, be it said, no soldier was ever sick or wounded who did not, unless a prisoner of war, find some one of the green-sashed officers ready to minister to his needs. And it often happened that army surgeons permitted themselves to fall into the enemy's hands rather than to desert those who were under their care and treatment.
The surgeon was Daniel G. Weare, who gave up a lucrative practice to put on the uniform of a major in the medical department of the volunteer army. He was an elderly man with iron grey hair and beard which became towards the last almost as white as snow. This gave him a venerable look, though this evidence of apparent age was singularly at variance with his fresh countenance, as ruddy as that of youth. He looked like a preacher, though he would swear like a pirate. Indeed, it would almost congeal the blood in one's veins to hear the oaths that came hissing from between the set teeth of that pious looking old gentleman, from whom you would look for an exhortation rather than such expletives as he dealt in. But it was only on suitable provocation that he gave vent to these outbursts, as he was kind of heart, a good friend, and a capable physician and surgeon. The assistant was David C. Spaulding who remained with us but a short time when he was made surgeon of the Tenth Michigan cavalry—that is to say, in 1863. Weare staid till the war closed and settled in Fairport, New York, where he died.
Spaulding was surgeon in charge of the regimental hospital in Grand Rapids, and on one occasion came to my aid with some very scientific practice. It happened in this way: It came to my knowledge that a man who had enlisted with one of the lieutenants and mustered in with the troop, was not in the service for the first time; that he had enlisted twice before and then succeeded in getting discharged for disability. The informant intimated that the fellow had no intention of doing duty, would shirk and sham illness and probably get into the hospital, where the chances were he would succeed in imposing on the surgeons and in getting discharged again; that it was pay he was after which he did not propose to earn; least of all would he expose his precious life, if by any possibility he could avoid it.
A close watch was put upon the man, and sure enough, just before the regiment was to leave the state, he demurred to doing duty, pleading illness as an excuse. I sent him to the hospital but gave Dr. Spaulding a hint as to the probable nature of the man's illness, and he promised to give his best endeavors to the case. About a week, thereafter, the man came back, and whatever might have been his real condition when he went away, he was unmistakably ill. His pale face and weak voice were symptoms that could not be gainsaid.
"Well," said I, "have you recovered and are you ready for duty?"
"No, I am worse than ever."
"Why do you leave the hospital, then?"
"My God, captain," whined the man, "they will kill me, if I stay there."
"But if you are sick you need treatment."
"I cannot enter that place again."
"You prefer to perform your duties as a good soldier, then?"
"I will do anything rather than go there."
He was directed to go about his business and, soon thereafter, I inquired about the case. Dr. Spaulding said: "I discovered there was nothing the matter with the man, only that he was playing off, and when he described his alleged symptoms, I began a course of heroic treatment. He was purged, cupped, blistered, given emetics, until life really became a burden and he ran away from the "treatment."
This man never went to the regimental hospital again, but he made no end of trouble. He was a chronic shirk. He would not work, and there were not men enough in the regiment to get him into a fight. Soon after the campaign of 1863 opened in Virginia he was missing, and the next thing heard from him was that he had been discharged from some hospital for disability. He never smelt powder, and years after the war, he was to all appearance an able-bodied man. I believe the Sixth was the third regiment which he had gone into in the same way. When he enlisted, the surgeon who examined him pronounced him a sound man, and it was a mystery how he could be physically sound or physically unsound, at will, and so as to deceive the medical examiners in either event. He died long ago and his widow drew a pension after his death as he did before it, but he never did a day's honest military duty in his life. Peace to his ashes! He may be playing some useful part in the other world, for all that I know. At all events, I am glad that his widow gets a pension, though as a soldier he was never deserving of anything but contempt, for he would desert his comrades when they needed aid and never exposed his precious carcass to danger for his country or for a friend.
That is not an attractive picture which I have drawn. I will paint another, the more pleasing by reason of the contrast which the two present.
One day a party of sixteen men came into camp and applied for enlistment. A condition of the contract under which they were secured for my troop was that one of their number be appointed sergeant. They were to name the man and the choice, made by ballot, fell upon Marvin E. Avery. At first blush, he was not a promising candidate for a non-commissioned office. Somewhat ungainly in figure, awkward in manners, and immature in mind and body, he appeared to be; while he seemed neither ambitious to excel nor quick to learn. He certainly did not evince a craving for preferment. In the end it was found that these were surface indications, and that there were inherent in him a strength of character and a robust manliness that only awaited the opportunity to assert themselves.
He was appointed sergeant but, at first, manifested so little aptitude for the work, that it was feared he would never become proficient in his duties, or acquire a sufficient familiarity with tactics to drill a squad. No one could have been more willing, obedient, or anxious to learn. He was a plodder who worked his way along by sheer force of will and innate self-reliance, and governed in all that he did by a high sense of duty. He never attained first rank as a sergeant while in camp, but in the field, he sprang to the front like a thoroughbred. From the moment when he first scented battle, he was the most valuable man in the troop, from the captain down. In this, I am sure, there is no disparagement of the scores of fearless soldiers who followed the guidon of that troop from Gettysburg to Appomattox.
Avery was a hero. In the presence of danger he knew no fear. The more imminent the peril, the more cool he was. He would grasp the situation as if by intuition and I often wondered why fate did not make him colonel instead of myself, and honestly believe that he would have filled the position admirably, though he reached no higher rank than that of sergeant. He had, however, made of himself the trusted assistant and adviser of the commanding officer of his regiment and would have received a commission, had he lived but a few days longer. From the day of his enlistment to the day of his death he was not off duty for a single day; and the command to which he belonged, was in no battle when he was not at the front, in the place of greatest risk and responsibility, from the beginning to the end. He was killed by a shell which struck him in the head, in the battle of Trevillian Station, June 12, 1864. A braver or a truer soldier never fell on the field of battle.
Another excellent soldier was Solon H. Finney, who entered service as sergeant. He rose to be second lieutenant and was killed at Beaver Mills, Virginia, April 4, 1865, just five days before Lee surrendered. Finney was a modest, earnest, faithful man, attentive to his duties, not self-seeking, but contented with his lot and ambitious only to do a man's part. It seemed hard for him to go through so near to the end only to be stricken just as the haven of peace was in sight; but his friends have the satisfaction of knowing that Solon Finney never failed to do that which was right and, though he gave his life, it was surrendered cheerfully in the cause of his country and its flag. He was one of those who would have given a hundred lives rather than have his country destroyed—a genuine patriot and a noble man.
With the Washtenaw contingent of troop "F" came Aaron C. Jewett, of Ann Arbor. Jewett was a leading spirit in University circles. His parents were wealthy, he an only son to whom nothing was denied that a doting father could supply. Reared in luxury, he was handsome as a girl and as lovable in disposition. It was current rumor that one of the most amiable young women in the college town—a daughter of one of the professors—was his betrothed. He was graduated with the senior class of that year and immediately enlisted. Notwithstanding his antecedents and his station in life he performed his humble duties in the ranks without a murmur, thus furnishing one more illustration of the patriotism that animated the best type of young men of that day. Ah! He was a comely soldier, with his round, ruddy face, his fresh complexion, his bright black eyes, and curling hair the color of the raven—his uniform brushed and boots polished to the pink of neatness.
These things together with his modest mien and close attention to his duties made of him a marked man and, in a short time, regimental headquarters had need of him. He was detailed as clerk, then as acting sergeant major and, when early in the year 1863, it was announced that Hiram F. Hale was to be appointed army paymaster, Jewett was chosen to succeed him as adjutant, but had not received his commission when death overtook him at Williamsport, Maryland, July 6. There was grief in the Sixth of Michigan on that fateful night when it was known that Aaron Jewett lay within the enemy's lines smitten by a fragment of a shell while faithfully delivering the orders of his colonel to the troops of the regiment as they successively came into line under a heavy fire of artillery. Weber and myself with our men tried to recover the body, but were unable to do so, a force of confederates having gained possession of the ground. In a week from that time, Weber himself lay cold in death, only five miles distant, with a bullet through his brain. That was in Maryland, however, north of the Potomac and, after we had crossed into Virginia, Jewett's father succeeded in finding the body of his son and performed the sad duty of giving it proper sepulture.
All the members of the field and staff of the regiment have been mentioned, except Quartermaster Charles H. Patten and Commissary Jacob Chapman. The latter soon resigned. Patten stuck to it till there was no more clothing to issue. He was a good quartermaster, honest, energetic and capable, and that is saying a good deal for him. There has been much uncalled for satirical comment at the expense of the quartermasters. They were really among the most useful of officers—indispensable in fact. The man who handled the transportation for a cavalry command had a position requiring tact, nerve, energy, endurance and ability of a high order. Mr. Patten was such a man. His wagon trains never failed to reach the front with needed supplies when it was possible to get them there. The white canvas of the army wagon was a pleasant sight to the soldier worn out with marching and fighting; and the quartermaster could always count on a cordial welcome when he appeared.
October 11, 1862, the regiment was mustered into the United States service. The mustering officer was General J.R. Smith of the regular army, a veteran of the Mexican war, in which he received a wound in one arm, disabling it. He had a slit in his sleeve tied with ribbons—a way he had, it was thought, of calling attention to his disability, and sort of a standing apology for being back in Michigan while his associates of the army were fighting at the front. It was an amiable and pardonable weakness, if such it may be called, and everybody had a liking for the old Mexican war officer.
One of my first acts after reaching the rendezvous had been to call on Colonel Kellogg, who was in his room, up to his eyes in papers and correspondence. He greeted me cordially, congratulated me on my success, and assured me that he was my friend, which he proved to be.
"Order your uniform at once," said he, "and go to work without delay."
The result of this interview was that a tailor took my measure for a suit and, in due time, I was arrayed in Union blue, with shining brass buttons, bright yellow facings, and the shoulder straps of a captain of cavalry. No boy in his first trousers ever felt happier or prouder.
Before the brasses had become tarnished or the trimmings soiled I took a run to Ann Arbor to say good-by to the boys. They were glad to see me, and the welcome I had was something to remember. They were like a band of brothers and showed the same interest as if we had been of one family.
I think the students felt a sort of clannish pride when one of their number enlisted and thought that the alma mater was doing the correct and patriotic thing in sending her sons into the army. It was plainly to be seen that many of them were holding back unwillingly. Indeed, it was not long till some of them dropped their studies abruptly and followed the example of those who had already gone. Everybody gave me an affectionate Godspeed and I was surprised at the number of my friends.
THE DEPARTURE FOR WASHINGTON
It was on a bright moonlight night in December, 1862, that the Sixth cavalry of Michigan left its rendezvous in Grand Rapids and marched to the station to take the cars for Washington. It was like tearing asunder the ties of years, for those whose lines had been cast even for a brief time only, in the "Valley City."[3]The hospitality of the people had been unbounded. Many of the officers and men had their homes there. Those who had not, took short leaves and made flying visits to their families to say good-by and arrange their affairs for what might be a final farewell. The scenes of our sojourn for a few months, where we had engaged in daily drills and parades, in the pomp and circumstance of mimic warfare, were to know us no longer. The time for rehearsal had passed. We were about to enter upon the real stage of action, and do our part in the mighty tragedy then enacting.
The camp was broken. Tents were struck. Preparations for departure were made. Adieus were said. Horses were sent away in charge of a detail. The quartermaster took possession of the equipments. The regiment was not yet armed, but was to be supplied with all the needed munitions on arrival in the Capital City.
For some reason, it was deemed best to make a night march to the station. No notice of this was given to the citizens. The result was that when we left camp, at 2 a.m., the streets were deserted. The town was wrapped in slumber. No sound was heard, except the tramp, tramp of the soldiers, and the roar of the river as it plunged over the dam, which only served to intensify the stillness.
Through Michigan was a memorable trip. The same scenes with but slight variation, were enacted at each station. Officers and men alike, were warmed by the hearty and affectionate greetings, the memory of which followed them through all the days, and months, and years of their service.
On to Detroit, Toledo, Pittsburg, Harrisburg, Baltimore, quickly whirled. Flowers, music, words of cheer, everywhere. "God bless you, boys," was the common form of salutation. "Three cheers for the old flag," and "Three cheers for 'Abe Lincoln,'" were sentiments offered amidst the wildest enthusiasm, to which the twelve hundred Michigan throats responded with an energy that bespoke their sincerity. Baltimore was reached in the night, and when marching through the streets, from one station to the other, the strains of "John Brown's body lies mouldering in the ground," awoke the echoes in the city that had mobbed a Massachusetts regiment, and through which Abraham Lincoln on the way to his inauguration had to pass in disguise to escape assassination. "We'll hang Jeff. Davis on a sour apple tree," was a refrain in which all joined, and there was a heartiness about it that none can understand who did not pass through those troublous times.
But Baltimore was as peaceful as Pittsburg, and no mob gathered to contest the right of Michigan men to invade southern soil. It was quiet. There was no demonstration of any kind. The passage of troops had become a familiar story to the citizens of the Monumental city.
It was the thunder of Burnside's guns at Fredericksburg that welcomed us to the army of the east. The same sun that saw us bivouac beneath the dome of the Capitol, shone down upon the Army of the Potomac, lying once again beaten and dispirited, on the plains of Falmouth. Burnside had run his course, and "Fighting 'Joe' Hooker" was in command.
THE ARRIVAL IN WASHINGTON
There was little about Washington in 1862 to indicate that a great war was raging. The reference in the previous chapter to the "thunder of Burnside's guns" was figurative only. No guns were heard. It was Sunday morning. Church bells pealed out the call for divine worship and streams of well-dressed people were wending their way to the sanctuaries. The presence of uniformed troops in such a scene appeared incongruous, and was the only thing that spoke of war, if we except the white tents and hospital buildings that abounded on every side.
Rest was welcomed after the long jaunt by rail, and the day was given up to it, except for the necessary work of drawing and issuing rations. It was historic ground, made doubly so by the events then transpiring. Few realized, however, that we actually were engaged in making the history of the most eventful epoch in the career of the Republic, and the chief interest of the place seemed to lie in its associations with the past. The Capitol, with its great unfinished dome, towered above us. The White House, the Treasury building, the Patent office, Arlington, the former home of the Lees, Long bridge, Pennsylvania avenue, the Smithsonian institute, the tree where Sickles killed Key. These and other points of interest were quickly seen or visited.
And the Washington of 1862 was a very different city to the Washington of recent years. Where now are broad avenues of concrete pavement, were then wide streets of mud, through which teams of army mules, hauling heavy wagons, tugged and floundered. A dirty canal, full of foul smells, traversed the city where now are paved streets and fine buildings. Where then were waste places, now are lovely parks, adorned with statues. Rows of stately trees fringe the avenues, and green lawns dot the landscape, where in 1862 was a vast military camp, full of hospitals and squalid in appearance. The man who saw Washington then and returns to it for the first time, would be as much astonished as was Aladdin at the creations of his wonderful lamp. Certain salient features remain, but there has been on the whole a magical change.
Camp was pitched on Meridian Hill, well out on Fourteenth street, near Columbia college, then used for a hospital, and preparations were made to spend the winter there. The Fifth Michigan, which had reached Washington before us, was located on "Capitol Hill," at the opposite end of the city. We had a fine campground, stretching from Fourteenth street through to Seventh, well adapted to drill and parade purposes.
A few days after their arrival in Washington, the officers of the Sixth, under the escort of Congressman Kellogg, went in a body to pay their respects to President Lincoln, several members of the cabinet and the general of the army. Full dress was the proper "caper," they were told, and accordingly they were arrayed in their finest. The uniforms were new and there is no doubt that they were a gorgeous looking party as they marched up Pennsylvania avenue wearing shining brasses, bright red sashes, buff gauntlets, and sabres glittering in their scabbards. Mr. Kellogg pronounced the "Open Sesame" which caused the doors of the White House to open and secured admission to the presence of the President.
After being ushered into the "Blue Parlor" we were kept waiting for some time. Expectancy was on tip-toe, for few if any of the officers had seen Mr. Lincoln. But no introduction was needed when the door opened and the President stood before us. That was to me a memorable moment, for it was the first and last time that I saw Abraham Lincoln. There was no mistaking the tall, gaunt figure, the thin, care-worn face, the slovenly gait, as he entered the room. In appearance he was almost as unique as his place in history is unexampled. But spare, haggard and bent as he looked, he was yet a strikingly handsome man, for there was on his brow the stamp of greatness. We saw him as in a halo, and looked beyond the plain lineaments and habiliments of the man to the ideal figure of the statesman and president, struggling for the freedom of his country and the unity of his race, whom we all saw in the "Railsplitter" from Illinois; and he seemed, in his absent-minded way, to be looking beyond those present to the infinite realm of responsibility and care in which he dwelt.
It is the misfortune of Lincoln that his portraits have not been idealized like those of Julius Cæsar, Napoleon Bonaparte, and Washington. It remains for some great artist, inspired by the nobility of his subject, to make those homely features so transparent that his reverent and grateful countrymen may look through them and see a presentment of the great soul and beautiful character that irradiated and glorified them in his life, and which will grow brighter and more lovely as the fugitive ages glide away.
The officers were introduced, one by one, and Mr. Lincoln gave each hand a shake as he uttered a perfunctory, but kindly, "How do you do?" and then turned quickly toward the door, as though his mind was still on the work which he had left in order to grant the interview, which must have trenched sadly upon his time.
But he was not to escape so easily, for the Congressman, rising to the occasion, said:
"Mr. President, these are the officers of a regiment of cavalry who have just come from my state of Michigan. They are 'Wolverines' and are on the track of 'Jeb' Stuart, whom they propose to pursue and capture if there is any virtue in a name."
"Gentlemen," said the President, with a twinkle of the eye, and the first and only indication of humor that he gave, "I can assure you that it would give me much greater pleasure to see 'Jeb Stuart' in captivity than it has given me to see you," and with a bow and smile he vanished.
Although we remained in Washington for about two months, I did not see him again. He never saw "Jeb Stuart" in captivity, but it was in a fight with the Michigan cavalry brigade that the dashing raider was killed. So the remark of the Congressman was not such an idle boast, after all.
When the Seventh Michigan arrived it was put in camp on the Seventh street side. Colonel J.T. Copeland, of the Fifth Michigan, was promoted to brigadier general of volunteers and assigned to the command of the three regiments. The brigade was attached to the division of General Silas Casey, all under General S.P. Heintzelman, who was in charge of the Department of Washington, with headquarters in the city. Freeman Norvell succeeded Copeland as colonel of the Fifth. The department extended out into Virginia as far as Fairfax Court House, and there was a cordon of troops entirely around the city.
The prospect was that the brigade would see little, if any fighting, for a time, as it was not to be sent on to the army at Falmouth. The work of drilling and disciplining went on without relaxation throughout the winter months, and when arms were issued, it was found, to the delight of all concerned, that we were to have repeating rifles.
The muskets or rifles issued to the United States infantry, during the civil war, were inferior weapons, and a brigade of Michigan militia of the present period would make short work of a military force of equal numbers so armed. It is one of the strange things about that war that the ordnance department did not anticipate the Austrians, Germans and French, in the employment of the fire-arm loaded at the breech which was so effective in the Franco-Prussian conflict and, if I am not mistaken, in the war between Prussia and Austria in 1866, also. This made of the individual soldier a host in himself. The old muzzle-loader, with its ramrod and dilatory "motions," ought to have been obsolete long before Grant left the West to lead the Army of the Potomac from the Wilderness to Appomattox. The Michigan cavalry brigade, armed as it was with repeating carbines, was never whipped when it had a chance to use them. In arming the infantry the government was fifty years behind the times.
Possibly the same thing might be said truthfully of the artillery also, though the union artillerists, notwithstanding the handicap, did such effective work as would have delighted the "Little Corporal," himself.
The "Spencer" rifle was an invention brought to the notice of the Ordnance Department about that time. Among the numerous "charges" brought against James G. Blaine was one that he was interested in the manufacture of this arm and in the contract for furnishing it to the government. How much truth there may have been in the assertion I do not know, but if Mr. Blaine was instrumental in bringing about the adoption of the "Spencer" for the use of the Federal cavalry, he ought to have had a vote of thanks by Congress, for a better gun had never been issued, and if the entire army had been supplied with it the war could not have lasted ninety days and Mr. Seward would have been a prophet.
The "Spencer" was a magazine gun carrying eight cartridges, all of which could be discharged without taking the arm from the shoulder. It was loaded at the breech and the act of throwing out an empty shell replaced it with a fresh cartridge. Against such arms the old-fashioned muzzle-loaders, with which the infantry was equipped, were ineffective. The Michigan men were fortunate in being among the very first to receive these repeating rifles which, after the first year in the field, were exchanged for the carbine of the same make, a lighter arm and better adapted for the use of cavalry.
THE STAY IN WASHINGTON
The stay in Washington though brief, was monotonous. Time hung heavily on our hands. And yet, it was not devoid of incident. There is, perhaps, little of this that is worth recounting, of those things, at least, that appeared on the surface. Had one been able to reach the penetralia—the inmost recesses—of official and military life, he might have brought away with him reminiscences that would make racy reading. But this privilege was vouchsafed to but few, and they the elect. The logic of war is, learn to obey and ask no questions.
One thing happened which came very near breaking up my troop, and threatened to destroy the regiment itself. It was at that time difficult to get recruits for the regulars. Citizen-soldiers preferred the volunteers. But it was considered important to keep the regiments in the regular army recruited up to the minimum, at least, and an order was issued from the War Department permitting regular officers to recruit from the ranks of the volunteers. It was a bad order, and, as soon as tested, was rescinded. I had the misfortune first to experience its effects, and the good fortune to secure its abrogation.
There was in the troop a man who fancied he was slighted when the non-commissioned officers were appointed and, always thereafter, nursed his wrath to keep it warm. He was well-educated, but of a surly disposition and insubordinate. He was made a corporal, but thought his merits entitled him to something better and never got over the feeling. Had he gone on and done his duty, like General Grant, in the station to which he was assigned, he might have risen much higher. As it was, he never did. This man made the discovery of the War Department order, and soon there was a cabal which was constantly giving out that they were independent of my authority and could shake themselves free at any moment. At first, we did not know what this meant, but it soon leaked out, though they intended to keep it secret. It was ascertained, not only that they had the right to go, but that while down town on passes, eleven men actually had enlisted in the regular army. The recruiting officer had ordered them to report to him on a certain day which they arranged to do, thinking that they would be sent to New York harbor, to garrison forts and escape duty in the field.
When this became known, there was no time to be lost, and Colonel Gray drew up a paper setting forth that if these men were allowed to go it would be the end of all discipline in his command and asking that they be ordered to report back for duty. He well understood the art of putting things and the petition was brief, pointed and convincing. It was addressed to the adjutant general of the army, but had to go through the regular channels and, to save time, he gave me a letter directing that I take it up in person. In two days, it had been approved by Generals Copeland, Casey and Heintzelman,—and there was a delay of one day at that,—due to a staff officer, who acted as a buffer at Heintzelman's headquarters. Proceeding then at once to the adjutant general's office, I was referred to Major Williams,[4]assistant adjutant general, one of the most polished and courteous gentlemen it was ever my fortune to meet. He was most gracious and kind, assured me that the request would be granted at once, and told me to go back and dismiss all further uneasiness about the matter. The next day, the order was rescinded, once and for all. The eleven men were ordered to report back for duty, and the regulars did no more recruiting in the volunteers.
The men were ignorant of what had been done, and on the morning when they were to leave, they called on me in a body to say good-by. One of the number, acting as spokesman, assured me that it was on account of no ill-will toward captain or troop that they had taken the step. It was done because they believed it would be better for them and, as the act was authorized, begged that I would not think hard of it, at the same time assuring me of their lasting friendship. The speaker doubtless voiced the honest sentiments of all, for it is probable that they themselves had begun to suspect that they were making a mistake. In reply, they were assured that no ill-will was harbored, unless it would be in the "harbor" to which they were going, and they were urged to write and let us know how they liked New York Harbor, as we would always feel a warm interest in their welfare.
Then they started, but were halted at the "sallyport," and when they exhibited to the officer-of-the-day their passes from the regular army lieutenant, he presented to them the order from the adjutant general. They came back, looking crest-fallen enough. Thinking that they had been punished sufficiently, I assured them that if they would do their duty like men, the matter would be forgotten.
It was a good lesson and, from that time on, no officer ever had the honor to command men braver, more faithful, or more loyal, than were the regular army contingent of Troop "E" Sixth Michigan cavalry. They never had reason to regret the fate that kept them in the volunteers. Several of them are still living and among my most devoted friends.
At some time during that winter, the Michigan men in Washington had a banquet in one of the rooms or long hall-ways in the Capitol. It was a fine affair. There were long tables loaded with viands and decorated with flowers. The Michigan Senators—Chandler and J.M. Howard—and the Members of Congress were present, and there was speech-making and music. Among those who responded to toasts was Schuyler Colfax, afterwards vice-president, then, I believe, Speaker of the House. Colfax's remarks, alone, left much of an impression, but I wondered why he was regarded as a great man. He had a pleasant, smiling face and very white teeth, but his speech did not strike one as brilliant in any way.
The singing was led by Doctor Willard Bliss, surgeon-in-charge of Armory Square hospital, located on Fourteenth street, opposite the then unfinished Washington monument. Bliss went out as surgeon of the "Old Third,"[5]had already made a place for himself as one of the leading army surgeons, and his hospital was a model of good management. He was at Bull Run with his regiment and it was said that he sent a telegram from Washington to a relative in Michigan, saying: "A great battle fought; 'Zene' (meaning his brother) 'Zene' and I are safe." The wags were accustomed to figure out what extraordinary time he must have made in order to reach Washington in time to send that telegram. But it was the fashion to guy everybody who was in that battle, unless he was either wounded or taken prisoner. Bliss, as most men are apt to do, "went with the crowd." He remained in Washington after the war, making much money and spending it freely, and achieved notoriety, if not fame, through his connection with the case of President Garfield, after he was shot by the assassin, Guiteau.
The camp on Meridian Hill was a pleasant one, and enlivened at times by the presence of several ladies, among whom were Mrs. Gray, Mrs. Alger, and Mrs. Sheldon, wives of the colonel, lieutenant colonel and commissary, respectively. These ladies spent much time in camp, and when the weather was pleasant lived in tents, which always were delightfully homelike, and often crowded with visitors. 'Twas but a year or two since Mrs. Alger's soldier-husband led her to the altar as a bride and they were a handsome couple, not less popular than handsome. She was a decided favorite in camp, winning the affections of all by her gracious manners and kind heart, as she has done since, when presiding over her hospitable home in Detroit or the mansion of the War Secretary in Washington. Mrs. Sheldon, who was a niece of Dr. Willard Bliss, followed her husband to the field and was a ministering angel to many a sick or wounded soldier in hospital and in camp.
One day a man came to me and wanted to enlist. He said his home was in the State of New York, but he liked the Michigan men and desired to join them. He was a bright-looking, active young man and, as the numbers of the troop had been somewhat reduced by sickness and death, he was accepted and mustered in as a private. He remained with us until the morning of the third day at Gettysburg, when, about daylight, he gathered up a lot of canteens and went, ostensibly, to get them filled. We never saw him again, and many times when thinking of the circumstances, I wondered if he was a confederate spy. He was a good soldier and did not leave to shirk danger, for he had been under fire and demonstrated his courage. He could hardly have disappeared so completely unless he went into the enemy's lines, and, if he did that, must have done it purposely.[6]
There is no doubt that in the early years of the war the enemy's means of getting information were far superior to ours and there is still less doubt that not only the army, but Washington, and even the War Department were filled with spies. Probably no union general ever succeeded in outwitting these confederate emissaries so completely as did General Sheridan. He told me in Petersburg, after the fall of Richmond, that he had Early's spies at his headquarters in Winchester all through the winter of 1864-65—they having come to him under the pretense of being deserters—knowing them to be such, but pretending that he did not distrust them, and in the spring, before the grand forward movement, he sent them off on a false scent, with wrong information for their chief—Early. With two of these, in order to keep up the deception, he was obliged to send one genuine union scout, who was arrested as a spy, in Lynchburg, and would have been hung, if the sudden closing of hostilities had not suspended sentence. This man's name was M.B. Medes, a trooper of the Sixth Michigan cavalry, then on detached service as a scout at Sheridan's headquarters, and never, since his miraculous escape, has he been able to talk about the experiences of that last scout without a fit of nervous prostration. In a letter written to me several years ago, he said: