CHAPTER XXXVI.
Here we were mustered out of the service and paid off on the 30th day of June, 1865, this we learn from our old discharge, and we also read on that piece of imitation parchment (no objection to his being re-enlisted is known to exist), but may the good God, who has guided us through this struggle, who inspired our leaders, and finally gave us this victory, grant that there may never be any more need of our services as soldiers, unless it may be to defend the land which gave us birth, from some foreign invader. Comrades of companies A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I and K, fare you well, and may God bless you. We have together trod the weary road which, with so many other boys like ourselves, has led us back at last to home and peace. The way at times was dark and dreary, the clouds hung low and black. We missed ever and anon from our sides the forms of those we loved, and with whom we had held daily converse, but they are gone, and the stately pines of the southern part of our land sing a refrain over their graves. Some of their resting places we are ignorant of; they died amid the fury and the smoke of battle, but thank God their souls still live, and he who lays down his lifefor his friend is only imitating the example set by the Great Master. If I have written anything in these recollections of our army life that is in the least hurtful to any one's feelings, if I have in any way at all harmed you, forgive me, for such has not been my intention, and knowing me as many of you do, I trust you will believe what I tell you about this part of it. And now with a heartfelt desire that when your camp-fires burn low, as God grant they never may, and your three days rations run out long before the time, as they used sometimes to do while we were on the march together, come over to my fire and thrust your hands into my haversack, and if by chance it should prove to be empty, I will order out my detail, for I have got them now, comrades, and forage for you till your wants are all supplied. Good-by and may God bless you.
Non nobis! Domine non nobis! sed nomine tuo da Gloriam.
Leaving the main army at Resaca our brigade moved off in the direction of Rome, Ga., which lays on the south bank of the Coosa river. The work on which we were ostensibly to be engaged, was the repairing of certain railroad bridges. But whether this work was absolutely to be done, or whether our march was but a "blind," we do not know, at any rate we took up our line of march for that purpose, but had not begun work on the bridges, before orders came to move with all possible speed. We reached the city of Rome late one afternoon. The rebel army was found drawn up in line of battle, but our fellows with cheer and shout charged their lines, driving them across the river and out of the town. Here we went into camp for a few days. Rome is a pretty town, and had been the center of a good deal of business before the war, but now all was changed. Provost guards were immediately detailed to preserve order, but in spite of all this the boys, with the instinctive love offoraging that animates a soldier while in the enemy's country, managed to obtain many luxuries in the shape of tobacco, etc. We got possession of the theater, a minstrel company was formed and several entertainments given, the admission fee being twenty-five cents. The theater was crowded nightly, and the entertainment was much better than we have witnessed at other places with better facilities. The bank was also occupied, but nothing of course was found excepting sheets of confederate money just printed, apparently, but not signed. Some of the boys went to work filling them out, putting down the names of "Timothy Fitzpoodelle," as president, and "Johnny Cometalety" for cashier, or any name which would come into their heads. These confederate bills were passed by many of our boys on the citizens afterwards for such things as they wanted, the citizens taking them for genuine, and indeed they were as good as any of the balance of the confederate money. Some fellows got into the printing office, and, being printers by trade when at home, issued a newspaper filled with spread eagle editorials, and exhorting the editor and owner of the property to come back to the union and give up the cause of secession. These papers were intensely loyal, as might be supposed, and were in all probability, as they were intended they should be, very disgusting to the chivalry. Here also we were shown the hotel, a square, two-story brick building, from the upper verandah of which the rebels exhibited Mrs. Dr. Mary Walker to the shouting and yelling crowd in the street below, whom they had captured a short time previously. But Atlanta was the cry, and so one bright morning we left Rome with its pleasant memories behind us.
The following is an account of a Christmas dinner held under the rule of the confederate government in 1861. The individual whohelped to celebrate the day, herewith gives the testimony which enables us to set before you, what Christmas meant in those days, and what it cost:
"The dinner of 1861," he says, "did not differ materially from its predecessors in the 'piping times of peace,' and though in 1862 the feast was home-made, it was enjoyable. Turkeys were only eleven dollars a piece, and salt had fallen to thirty-three cents a pound. The yule log was attainable at fifteen dollars per cord; wines were to be had by the very rich, and sorghum rum, or apple, peach, or black-berry brandy, cost thirty dollars a gallon. A few toys were left in the stores in the cities, and fire-crackers, essential to the southern festival, were five dollars a pack. By 1863, the closest search of Santa Claus revealed no play-things, and fire-crackers indicated great wealth, or reckless extravagance. The few turkeys in the market were forty and fifty dollars a piece; whisky, or sorghum rum, for egg-nog, cost seventy-five or eighty dollars per gallon; sugar was five and ten dollars a pound, and flour one hundred and twenty five dollars per barrel. With gold at 2,800, a plain Christmas dinner for a large family, cost two or three hundred dollars. In 1864, when Christmas fell on Sunday, gold was at 5,000: flour was six hundred dollars per barrel; sugar, two dollars an ounce; salt, one dollar a pound; butter, forty dollars; beef, thirty-five to forty dollars; wood, was one hundred dollars a cord. A Christmas dinner at a country house, near Richmond, is described thus: The four gentleman were in uniform, the three ladies in home spun. They had for dinner a three hundred dollar ham and the last turkey on the plantation, valued at one hundred and seventy-five dollars, with one hundred dollars worth of cabbage, potatoes and hominy. Corn bread was served, made of meal at eighty dollars a bushel, and salt at one dollar a pound. The desert was black molasses at sixty dollars a gallon, and after a cup of tea, real tea, worth one hundred dollars a pound, treasured up for the occasion, as a surprise, and not sassafras; there was coffee at discretion made from sweet potatoes cut into little squares, toasted and ground down."
BAD MEAT.
While in camp at Nashville, at one time, the meat issued to us was not up to the standard, but was, on the contrary, far below it. One day there was issued to us bacon, which was actually alive with maggots. All of a sudden in the quarters of company I, there arose a terrible hub-bub, men shouting and yelling, cries of "Hi, hi!" "Get out of here!" "Go on, go on," etc., etc. We all ran down there, the colonel and all, to see what in the world was the matter, when we found Capt. Vinson, with his company, surrounding the pile of meat which had been issued to them, and with their bayonets fixed were going through the motions of driving the bacon out of camp. It was almost lively enough to march. The colonel could not at first understand what was the matter, but soon saw the point when he examined the meat. It was ordered to be destroyed and better bacon was obtained.
At another time company I was called on to go with the quartermaster's team to chop wood for camp use. Capt. Vinson refused to honor the detail from his company, alledging that we did not come down there to chop wood, and that there was no necessity for it any way, as there were cords of wood, already chopped and corded up, standing outside of the line. Quartermaster Ayers got a little riled at this, and off he went to Colonel Harmon to report that the captain of company I refused to furnish him a detail to chop wood. It was not long until an order came requesting the captain's presence at regimental headquarters. Away went the captain and reported to the colonel what he knew in regard to the wood, for he had seen it with his own eyes. He returned to his command, and directly the colonel, mounted on his horse, with the quartermaster by his side, was seen riding off in the direction of the picket line. They soon returned, and the consequence was that the teams went after the wood without the detail. But quartermaster Ayers did not like the refusal of the captain to go with him, and the consequencewas company I received a supply of wood that was very lasting, but of not much use for cooking purposes, as it would not burn. Whether the quartermaster intended it, or not, was not known, but the wood furnished company I, at that issue, was mostly green buck eye and cottonwood.
While we were staying at Nashville, desertions became frequent, the boys would go off in squads. It was not the intention on the part of most of them to remain away for good, but they longed to see home once more, and after being absent from the command a week or two, would return. This was contrary to all military discipline and must be stopped. Orders were issued threatening the extreme penalty of army law, if such behavior was continued, which was death. But still desertions were frequent; and so one day an order was read at dress parade to the regiments of the garrison, notifying them to be present at the execution of a soldier belonging to the 10th Michigan, who had been tried by court martial for desertion, found guilty, and ordered to be shot. The execution was to take place the next day at 12 m., and all the troops in the city were to be present. Accordingly at the appointed hour we arrived at the place where we were drawn up into line, the flanks covered by the artillery and cavalry. An ambulance escorted by a mounted guard, soon arrived at the place, on the inside of which was the prisoner, and his coffin. Disembarking, his coffin was carried before him to the spot for it to rest. The prisoner was taken to view his grave, which had been dug at the foot of a small bush not far off, and returning, he seated himself on his coffin. The shooting detail marched out and took position ten paces in front of him. The sergeant of the squad approached the prisoner and proceeded to bandage his eyes with a handkerchief, in doing which he was assisted by the prisonerhimself. He then returned to the head of his squad. At the word "attention, take aim," here the prisoner motioned with his hand, pointing to his heart, "fire." The twelve rifles cracked as one gun, the prisoner fell back across his coffin, dead. There was not, so it seemed to us who were the unwilling spectators of the scene, a movement of the body. Death was instantaneous, and the soul of the soldier passed to God who gave it. It was a solemn scene, and impressed us all deeply. But the execution was over, the regiments were marched off to their quarters, and the affair was ended, to be talked over many times, afterwards. We thought it horrible, but could not fail to see the justice of it, as we all knew the penalty of desertion was death. It is needless to add that the lesson was a salutary one, and desertions became less frequent. Still the question arose how can the crossing of the river be effected by any one, unless assisted by some friend outside of our own camps. So the detective branch of the service was called upon, and finally they unearthed the man who was causing all the trouble. He was a doctor in the city, a rebel of the deepest dye. It seems this fellow would make out false paroles for all who applied to him for them, and would direct them to a certain spot on the river's bank, where they would find a man with a boat who would ferry them across the stream. Once over, their paroles would insure them safe conduct, and they would proceed home at their leisure. This doctor was arrested and confined in the penitentiary in the city, but what further was ever done about it we never learned.
One evening after we had arrived in camp, while we were in Kentucky, orders were given us to go for rations. Each company had its commissary sergeant, whose duty it was to attend to this branch of the business. He would call on boys enough for his purpose,and proceed to the brigade commissary with their pots and pans, anything in fact that would hold the supplies, and receive from him the amount of food coming to the company, when on carrying it to the company quarters, each man would receive the amount due him. On the evening to which we have reference, we were called on by the sergeant to go with him for rations. Of course we complied. Arriving at the brigade commissary's headquarters, we found a crowd waiting there, who had come on the same errand as ourselves. Standing close by was a large barrel filled with shoulders. It attracted our eye immediately, for the shoulders and hams were kept for the officers use, as it was not supposed, perhaps, that a private soldier could eat such food. That barrel of shoulders had a mighty attraction for us. We approached nearer to it, and finally were reclining against it. In some way our arm and hand got inside of it, and our fingers, those wicked fingers, quickly closed around the shank of a shoulder with a vice-like grip, simultaneously it was drawn out, and then with a conviction that we had better go to our quarters, we "lit out." We got there with our shoulder safely, and crawling into our tent, were proceeding to hide our treasure under a blanket, when a hand was laid upon us, and a voice said, "Go halves, Bob." We nearly jumped through the tent with surprise. We thought that we had done a very clever piece of foraging, but our departure with the shoulder from the commissary's had been noticed by our commissary sergeant, John Lockhart, and as John had a tooth for such food, he had followed us up to get a share. We divided and then returned for our rations. The next day, as we marched along, we had a good dinner with what was left, and hoped that an opportunity would soon offer to replenish our haversack in the same way.
The event which we are about to relate, happened when for the first time we were placed on picket guard, at Covington, Ky., we were stationed three on a post, with strict orders for one at least to remain awake at all times. The countersign that night, was "Blue Ridge," and about nightfall we received it. One of our boys, very anxious to do his duty properly, was on post when the "grandrounds," as it is termed, was made; at midnight, hearing the approaching footsteps, and, perhaps, feeling the fate of the country resting on his individual shoulders, he halted them when they came near. "Halt," he cried, "you can't pass here unless you say 'Blue Ridge,'" Poor Jake, that word was dinned in his ears for many a long day after, and in fact he went by the name of "Blue Ridge" for the balance of the time we were in the service. At daylight we roused up, and looking off in the direction of our front, saw in the distance a farm house; this brought to our minds visions of breakfast, so after a short conference together, we picked up our guns and marched off, leaving the picket post to take care of itself. We went to the farm house and called for breakfast, which we got and paid for, and then returned to our post. Whether our absence was ever found out or not, we never ascertained, and in fact did not care, but it was not long before we learned that this was not the way in which picket duty should be performed.
It often happened that we ran out of money, for we would not be paid off, perhaps, for six months at a time, and at such times we would get in terrible straights for tobacco, and such things, and the sutler's goods would be a terrible temptation to us. There they were, arranged in good style back of his counter, caddies of tobacco, piles of canned goods, candy, cheese, crackers and lots of good things. But we could not get them, unless a particular friend of the sutler, without paying cash. The temptation some times was too strong, and if the sutler proved to be of a niggardly disposition, we would conspire to make a raid on his institution. On a night agreed upon, the conspirators would assemble, and going to the sutler's tent, each fellow would take his place at one of the ropes by which the tent was staked to the ground, and at a given signal, each rope thatheld the tent, would be cut, letting the tent down upon its occupant, and as he was endeavoring, the best he knew how, to get out, the boys would be making off with his goods, and then what a feast we would have. Such affairs did not often happen, and if we did succeed in cleaning him out, he would soon stock up again, and, perhaps, not be so penurious with the boys in the future. But these sutlers made enormous profits. We distinctly remember paying four dollars per plug for navy tobacco, eight dollars for a shirt, worth perhaps, a dollar and a half, and other things in proportion.
While we were lying in front of Savannah, Ga., two members of company I, John G. Kirsch and Tom Makemson, came to the conclusion one day, as food was scarce in camp, to go out into the country and see what success they could have in obtaining something to eat. They procured a mule apiece and away they went. They had not travelled far until they came to a rice plantation, and riding up to where they saw a squad of darkies, they opened up negotiations with them for the purchase of some rice at ten cents per quart. The darkies were willing to sell and our warriors were willing to buy, provided, however, that they could not obtain it by other means. They each had a sack apiece, and soon the darkies had filled John's sack, and he had placed it on his mule, remarking to the colored gentleman, who had measured the rice out to him, that he would go the picket reserve yonder, which was in plain sight, and get the money to pay for it, and bring it back to him. Off John started. By this time Tom had got his sack filled, and getting it on his mule, climbed up saying: "He wondered what in the world was the reason that fellow didn't come with that money; he was a long time sure, and he guessed he had better go and hurry him up, when they would both return and settle." The darkies let him go,but he had not gone far until it dawned upon their minds "dat dem yanks aint goin' for to pay us for dat rice at all," and immediately they started in pursuit, big, little, old and young, and their dogs after "dem ar yanks," shouting and yelling for them to come back and pay for "dat ar rice." They thought they could head the boys off, but it was no use. Tom had a mule which was inclined to be balky, but John got behind him with a stick, and by dint of beating and shouting managed to make him go. They were making good time, with the darkies in full pursuit, when they came to a little branch that crossed their line of retreat. It was but a very short distance in width, and into it they plunged, thinking it was not deep, but in this they were badly mistaken. John's mule went under ears and all, and he gracefully slid off and got to shore the best way he could, wet through and his bag of rice at the bottom of the branch or bayou. Tom managed to get out all safe and together they made their way to camp. But not a word was said. John was shivering with the cold, his rice gone never to be recovered, and Tom not daring to laugh for fear of his life. The darkies gave up the chase and left the boys to make the best of their way to camp. But the story leaked out, and they were twitted unmercifully afterwards about their rice expedition. John was captured shortly afterwards and taken to Andersonville, where he remained three months, but was finally released and arrived home safe. Tom is now in Kansas.
While we were in camp at Lee and Gordon's mills, our camp was surprised one day by the appearance of a person, whom, if dress was to be the index of the sex, it would have been hard to determine whether, whoever it might be, was male or female. But it proved to be the notorious Mrs. Dr. Mary Walker. She had appeared at Gen. Thomas' headquarters, at Chattanooga, desiring to be placed on dutyin the front, as surgeon or assistant surgeon. She had come from the hospitals at Washington, where she had done good service, and where her services were acceptable. But the doctor was ambitious; she had more of Mars than Venus in her composition, and desired a commission with the rank of surgeon, and duty in the field. She had been sent by General Thomas to report to Col. Dan. McCook, our brigade commander, for duty, and here she was. Her appearance was indeed curious, and excited not only the surprise, but the the merriment of our boys, who, although they had seen many curious things in their army life, had never seen the like of this before. Her dress consisted of a low crowned fur hat, with a garment something similar to a cloak, bound with a girdle at the waist, and reaching down a little below the knees, from beneath which a pair of black cloth pantaloons appeared; a small foot, covered with a neatly fitting boot, finished up the picture. When on horseback she bestrode the animal like a man, and unless a person knew who she was would have readily passed for one. Her face was boyish, and so far as our judgement went, was neither good looking or very bad. She was a lady in her deportment, but how it ever happened that a woman should desire to occupy the position she craved, was beyond our comprehension. To be in the midst of such scenes as were transpiring daily, camp life, camp customs, and camp conversation, would, we should think, have been quite contrary to the female longings. She was very punctilious in regard to military etiquette, however, and carried it so far that the boys got disgusted with her. She would demand from a guard the same military treatment as if she had been a general officer. This the boys most generally accorded to her, more out of a spirit of politeness, than anything else. But one day she ran across a fellow who had no polite notions in his head about such matters, who believed only in saluting those to whom he was compelled, by military law, to yield such homage. She had gone out to the picket line, and had started around it, perhaps on a tour of inspection, or, perhaps, merely for a ride. Going along the line, she came to a man on post, who, to all indications, neither saw or heard her, but kept on diligently walking his beat. The doctor came up and rode by. Stopping her horse after she had passed, and riding back to the guard, she said: "Soldier, why don't you saluteme?" The guard, looking at the doctor from head to foot, replied: "Who in h—ll areyou?" and immediately resumed his walk. The doctor was beaten, and so badly beaten, both by astonishment, and, perhaps, rage, that she rode back hastily to headquarters, as mad as a woman can ever get, to report to Col. Dan, what she considered an outrageous insult. But Col. McCook upheld the soldier in his military behavior, as the doctor amounted to nothing more, in a military point of view, than any other citizen, although deprecating his action as ungentlemanly. If there was any balm in this for her wounded feelings, she was welcome to it; at any rate, it was all she got. Not long after this the doctor went outside of our lines to visit a sick woman, and while there she was captured by the rebels. We never saw her more, and were glad to get rid of her.
When in camp, or on the march, there was always some one who could extract a laugh for the boys out of the veriest nothing, and such a fellow was very often a regular blessing. Such a chap was Ike C——., a quiet, unassuming fellow, broad shouldered and big fisted, and an excellent soldier. But he had the gift of making more fun than commonly falls to the lot of mortals. One time there had been a detail made from the regiment, while at Nashville, to escort to Louisville a lot of rebel prisoners. Ezra R——. was furnished from company B, and after he returned, had marvelous tales to tell of what sights he had seen on the road and while in Louisville. One evening he was in a tent surrounded by a lot of boys relating to them his adventures. Ike C——. was there with the rest. Ezra had just finished telling of some monstrosity he had seen in Louisville, and according to his description the like had never been heard of before. It stood up when it sat down, and had feelers like a cat-fish on its nose. It was a marvelous creaturewhatever it was. Ike listened patiently until he had got enough and went out. Just outside the door of the tent he encountered a fellow, and the following conversation ensued: "Say," says Ike, "you ought to go in there and just hear Ezra R——. tell of what he saw in Louisville. It beats anything you ever heard tell of; he says he saw something up there that sat down when it stood up, and every time it blowed its nose it blowed cat-fish out of it." This was all said in such a loud voice that every one inside the tent could hear it, as it was intended they should. Out came Ezra with the rest at his heels. "Where's that Ike?" he cried, "he just told an awful lie about me, he said I told the boys that when I was at Louisville, that I saw something that sat down when it stood up, and every time it blowed its nose it blowed cat-fish out of it; I never said it at all—." Ezra was going on to explain, but the boys could not wait to hear, they fairly yelled and shouted with laughter. The idea of there being such a creature, and to see Ezra get so awful mad was fun enough for them, and it was a long time before Ezra heard the last of his trip to Louisville. At another time, while on the march, one day Philip L——. was relating to a comrade, as we marched along, about a great chase that he and his brother once had at home after a fox. Phil said it was a terrible fox, the biggest ever seen in those parts, etc., etc. Ike C——. happened to be Phil's file leader, and a little while after Phil had finished his story, and we were marching quietly along, nothing much being said by any one, Ike broke out:
"Say," addressing the fellow next to him, "did you ever hear of a monkly fox?"
"Never did," was the reply.
"Did you hear that story Phil L——. told about his brother and him chasing a monkly fox, that had a dash-board under his tail, what a heavy fox it was?"
The bait was grabbed by Phil.
"I never said anything about a monkly fox with a dash-board under his tail, Ike C——., and you know it."
"Well now," says Ike, with assumed innocence, "if that don't beat all; didn't I hear you tell about it, how you and your brother chased a monkly fox with a dash-board under his tail, once?"
"No, you never did"
The fun for those who were listening as they marched along, was growing fast. Still Ike held to his version of the story, with an appearance of the greatest candor, still Philip denied, getting madder and madder, and at last Ike capped the climax, by saying that Phil knew he did tell it, and when they got into camp he could prove it by Lieutenant Wilson, who was then in command of the company. All right, they would wait until they got to camp. Accordingly that night as quick as the orders were given to break ranks, away went Phil after the lieutenant. Says he: "Lieutenant, did you ever hear me tell about the time that my brother and I chased a monkly fox with a dash-board under his tail, when we were at home?" This was too much for the lieutenant, who broke into a hearty laugh at the absurdity of the question, and told Phil to go back to his quarters and not come bothering him about such matters. Phil was ready to fight almost anything but Ike C——. Ike's fists were larger than suited Phil's requirements, but he breathed out all kinds of vengeance against him, and the monkly fox with a dash-board under his tail was a standing joke for a long, long time.
One morning when in camp in Kentucky, as we were walking up the color line, on which the guns were stacked, we saw under a stack of guns in front of company G's quarters, a dead gander. As we passed along we reached down and grabbing the gander round the neck, kept on. We got to our company with our prize in safety, and hunted up the captain's darkey, and promised him a dime and a piece of the gander, if he would cook it for us. He accepted the proposition and took charge of the bird. In a short time we were ordered to fall into line for company inspection. The right of the company rested on a big pile of logs that were making a splendid fire. As the order to "right dress" was given, we cast our eyes tothe right, and lo! and behold! there stood the captain's darkey with our gander. Elevating him by one leg, he would hold him over the fire until the heat would compel him to change, when he would hold him by the other, every once in a while jerking him up, and pinching pieces of the flesh out with his fingers, and eating it to see if it was cooked. He had not half picked it, and the gander looked very much as if it had received a coat of tar and feathers. At times the darkey would get tired holding, and then he would rest himself by placing the fearfully mistreated bird on top of his wooly pate. I kept watching him, taking a peep at him as often as I could. At last I nudged the fellow next to me, he looked and saw, and nudged the fellow next to him. Then the captain, seeing that something was going wrong, happened to turn his eyes in the same direction, also. There stood the darkey, as black an one as ever we saw, looking reflectively into the fire, with the mutilated gander perched on his wooly head. It was too much for the captain, even; he smiled, and then for a moment we all laughed, but the darkey was driven away and order restored. I never knew what became of my gander, nor did I care, after having seen him treated in such a manner, but if our memory serves us right, some of the boys made a raid on the darkey after inspection was over, and captured what was left of it.
On our march through Georgia and South Carolina, the negroes swarmed to our lines. Here they came in all styles and conditions, some of them presenting a pitiful sight, while the appearance of others was comical in the extreme. Here would be a mother, bare headed, and bare footed, her clothing in rags and tatters, carrying a babe in her arms, while two others were clinging to her dress, doing all they could to keep up with her. Here would be two, a man and a woman, probably his wife, in "ole massa's" carriage, dressed upin "ole massa's and misses'" clothes that had been left behind when "massa and misses" fled before the approach of our army. Hitched to this buggy or carriage would be an animal, either a horse or a mule, such an one as would be described as an architectural animal, with fluted sides, and a hand rail down its back. But what cared Pomp and Dinah for the appearance of the stud as long as he would bear them on to liberty? There they would sit, laughing and chatting together, dressed in finer clothes than they had ever before worn, as happy as happy could be, keeping up with us while on the march, and going into camp when we camped at night. Many of these negroes were put to serviceable uses as pioneers, others as cooks, etc., but employment could not be furnished for the half of them, and they were getting to be an incubus to the army. On our line of march we often had to cross bayous of great depth and considerable width. When we arrived at such places, the pontoon train would be ordered up and a bridge thrown across, over which the army marched. Gen. J. C. Davis, our corps commander, thought that by stopping the negroes as they came to the banks of the bayou, and holding them there until the army had crossed, and the pontoons had been taken up, they could be kept back.
So orders to that effect were issued. A guard under command of Major Lee, the provost general of the corps, was stationed on the bank of a bayou and every negro, unless an officer's servant, or in charge of a pack mule, was halted and held there until the rear guard of the corps had crossed, then the pontoons were taken up, and the darkies left behind. It seemed to be a cruel order, but it was necessary, for our rear was very generally followed at a safe distance, however, by roaming bands of guerillas and bushwhackers, and it is to be feared that their usage of these unfortunate creatures, whenever they fell into their hands, was cruel in the extreme, and they themselves dreaded falling into the hands of their old oppressors. The consequence was that the next day the darkies again made their appearance, seemingly stronger than before as to numbers. How they managed to cross the bayou, infested as these bayous were with alligators, we do not know, but cross they did, and again took up their line of march with us as before. They had outwitted the general and were bothered no more in their endeavors to obtain freedom from persecution and oppression.
PERSONAL MENTION.
In giving the reader some instances of special acts of heroism, the writer has not the slightest wish or disposition, far from it, to unjustly discriminate against the same meritorious qualities displayed by others. On the contrary, he would be only too glad to make particular mention of all such, even at the risk of swelling this book beyond its intended proportions, but unfortunately for him, the writer is not informed of all such acts, nor the peculiar circumstances under which they were made manifest. All who did their duty, were necessarily brave and true. Those who did grandly under extraordinary circumstances, were possibly no better soldiers, but were in condition to more brilliantly display these qualities; and as their connection with the regiment gave them their opportunity, so should their deeds become the property of the regiment, and their memory our common heritage.
Lieutenant George Scroggs was a young officer of more than ordinary intelligence; quick to apprehend duty, and bold in the execution of commands. We first remember him as our sergeant major, and how he used to rattle the boys out of their blankets, long before daylight, during the cold season when we occupied the suburbs of Nashville. Afterwards he was commissioned as lieutenant of company E, then detailed on the division staff, first as ordnance officer, and then commissary of musters. Time, experience, and natural aptitude, served to teach him what the duties of a staff officer should be, until, perhaps, no officer on the staff of the division general, understood them better. All who were engaged in it, will remember the battle of Bentonville, N. C., on March 19th, 1865. How the third brigade was sent from its intrenchments by General Morgan, and thrown out towards the Goldsboro road, to interceptthe rebel column then in hot pursuit of Gen. Carlin's retreating forces. How the right wing of the brigade was struck, and doubled back on the center and left, and finally retreated to the batteries beyond the open field. How, too, we soon rallied and reoccupied the lost ground, each man carrying a rail, and began the work of intrenching. How communication with General Morgan, and the first and second brigades was cut off, leaving Lieut. Scroggs and Captain Stinson, of Gen. Morgan's staff, with our brigade, unable to reach their command. In this dilemma, instead of seeking a safe retreat as they might, and too many would have done, until communication was opened with their own general, they at once reported to Col. Langley for duty as volunteer aids. You will also remember the fact that constant firing, threatened every minute, our stock of ammunition, and the equally constant firing of the enemy, made a passage to our supplies across the open field to our rear, exceedingly hazardous. The colonel had already ordered two or three staff officers, and as many orderlies, beyond the hill for ammunition, but with no good result, though reports came back to him that it had been ordered, and the wagons were on the way. Shortly an orderly reported that two wagons were just over the crest of the ridge, but were afraid to go further, and had refused to do so. The colonel immediately dispatched Lieut. Scroggs to proceed and bring these two wagons at all hazards. The moment he received the order, he sank his spurs into his horse, and dashed across the field towards where the insubordinate drivers were supposed to be, through a perfect storm of bullets and exploding shells, until he disappeared from view beyond. Every heart at the front beat with intense anxiety. We had already been ordered to economize our supply. Some were entirely out of cartridges and were borrowing from others. A few rounds to the man had been obtained from a brigade of the 20th army corps, and these were nearly all gone. Our position became critical, but in a few moments, looking again to the rear, we saw the brave lieutenant returning at the same speed with which he had left us and with him were the wagons and ammunition so much desired, and looked for by all, moving to the threatening motion of George's sword. They were just in time, for our firing could have continued but little longer, and they were welcome in proportion to our danger.George had found the wagons as he expected, and immediately ordered the teamsters to mount and follow him, but their fear still deterred them, and they refused, and only obeyed the commands when he drew his sword, and in language more forcible than elegant, threatened them with vengeance more terrible than rebel bullets had power to inflict. Towards sundown the lieutenant was severely wounded in a further attempt to reach his commanding officer. This afflicted him more or less during the remainder of his days. Precisely how far he was instrumental in saving the honor of the brigade, and the lives of many of the members by his timely execution of so important an order on that bloody 19th of March, may never be known, but the memory of a brave act, voluntarily performed in the face of grave danger, merits our highest commendation, and we cheerfully place this tribute of respect upon the recently made grave of Lieutenant George Scroggs.
Numbers of our readers will remember Sergeant S. C. Abbott, of company H. Always in earnest about everything he undertook, impatient of delay, anxious to end the job and go home about his business, which greatly needed his attention. He was perhaps older than the average of the regiment, a very intelligent man, and had preached to some extent before entering the service. Some time in the fall of 1863, he applied for a furlough, urging business considerations, but after a good deal of delay, his application was returned—"denied." He received the information just as the regiment was on the march to a new camp, the route to which, took us nearly by General Thomas' headquarters at Chattanooga. The sergeant, vexed at the delay, and mortified at the refusal of his request, concluded to cut all red tape, and go in person to General Thomas with his application. He accordingly broke ranks, went alone to thehouse the general was occupying, passed by every sentinel, and burst into the august presence of the great army chief. Holding his returned application for a furlough in his hand, his whole manner evincing the desperation of his purpose, he thrust the offending endorsement under the very nose of the commander of the armies, and demanded, as one having authority, to know what the language meant, and why his application was refused. He was referred to the proper officer for explanation, but he would accept no reference, and in an impassioned appeal to grant the favor he asked, he struck the tender side of the good old general's nature, who at once, with his own hand, we believe, erased the offensive word, "denied," and wrote thereon, "granted;" and the over rejoiced sergeant was soon homeward bound, filled with thoughts of love for good old "Pap" Thomas. This was not our purpose, however, in introducing Sergeant Abbott to your notice. The above may be called an act of boldness, "cheek," "strategy," or what you will, but surely there were few men who would have taken the risk. We remember this daring soldier on other occasions. At the close of the battle of Missionary Ridge, and while we were pursuing General Manny's brigade of rebels across a small, boggy stream, just about dark, to our front and left were standing some ammunition wagons, abandoned by the enemy. They were necessarily in the line of our march, but as we approached them, one of the wagons was discovered to be on fire, and nearly full of fixed ammunition, not yet removed from the boxes. The regiment immediately swung to the right, to avoid so dangerous an enemy. Some one had the presence of mind to call for volunteers to help extinguish the fire before it should communicate to the powder, and produce the explosion that would have been inevitable, and possibly disastrous to human life. All shrunk involuntarily from the task, but the sergeant, well toward the right of the regiment, and in comparative security, at once ran down to the left, and promptly answering, "I will go," suited his action to the word, and in a moment was fighting down and conquering the fire with no more concern, or trepidation, than if he was adjusting it for cooking his rations. His act was justly applauded by all who witnessed it. It is a pity so brave a man should go through life maimed as he is, but he met the common fate of thesoldier, and was severely wounded July 20th, 1864, at Peach Tree creek, and will probably carry the missile intended for his death, in his body so long as he lives. On the morning after that battle, the sergeant had gone a little to the front, to spy out where some rebel sharp-shooters lay concealed, and were firing upon our men. He succeeded in locating them, and was in the act of pointing out their position to Colonel Langley, when he was wounded. This was the last service he did with the regiment, as the severity of his wound necessitated his discharge, and he left us regretted by all his comrades who had learned his sterling qualities.
We want to give a slight tribute to the memory of a very brave young officer of company F, Lieut. John J. White.
This young man had enlisted in his company as a private. He was young, intelligent, a stranger to the company at its organization, but his soldierly bearing, intelligent comprehension of duty, and its prompt performance, soon attracted attention to him as comprising the material suited for a leader, and he was promoted to a lieutenancy. At the crossing of the Sand Town road in front of Atlanta, August 7, 1864, the lieutenant was in command of company G, under temporary detail for that purpose. The short advance made by our line at that place, was accomplished in the face of a galling fire of musketry and artillery, not less than half a dozen batteries of the enemy, centering their fire upon our exposed ranks. Men were falling in every direction and the scene was for a time simply terrific. Our position once reached, the men were ordered to lie down. The confusion of getting into position doubled the line in some parts and left gaps in others. Lieutenant White was actively endeavoring to get the left to give way so as to let all of company G into line, and in meeting with opposition he stepped a few paces to theright to inform the colonel of the situation, and was just in the act of saluting him with his sword, when a shell from the enemy crashed through his right shoulder, tearing the arm from his body, from which wound he died in a few hours. Amid the storm of battle, when brave men expose themselves only from necessity, that coolness and mental collection that enables an officer to remember all the refinements of discipline, even to the salutation of his superior, is a quality to be admired, as it evinces a talent so essential to command under the most trying circumstances. Lieutenant White was of a modest and retiring disposition, ordinarily, but in action was the impersonation of true courage. He was beloved by all who shared his more intimate fellowship, and his death cast a gloom over the regiment. May peace forever brood over the land that holds the remains of the brave soldier.
Who but brave men would solicit the honor of carrying the colors, or who of any other quality would not murmur if ordered to that post of great responsibility and danger? Yet who ever heard a word of complaint from James H. Simpson or James M. White? Whether in the bright sunshine or under the storm cloud, in camp or on the weary march, on the defence, or in the deadly assault, on through to victory or defeat, they never swerved or faltered, but always stood true to their great trust, until the last hostile gun was fired, and these brave boys returned their battle and storm scarred emblems to the government they had so nobly served. How in the desolation of the conflict, the right and left flanks, when the burden of the fight seemed to be almost an individual one, would cast their eyes towards the center, and learning that "our flag was still there," caught a new inspiration and redoubled their energies for the victory. And now as we reflect that our nation's banner waves triumphantlyover all this broad land, the emblem of peace and law, and as our hearts swell with gratitude and just pride over this grand consummation, let us not forget the honor due the men whose heroism during the perils of war keptourflag from the pollution of traitor hands.
It would not do to forget in this connection the name of Asbury D. Finley, private of company A. No truer heroism was ever displayed than by this young man on the Peach Tree creek battle-field. The 85th Illinois, commanded by Major Rider, was sent forward across a narrow corn-field and into position, as ordered by Col. Dilworth, then commanding the brigade. Our regiment was ordered to advance to near the edge of the corn-field and support the 85th, and although only a short distance apart, we could not see the 85th for the standing corn. We had remained in this position for some time, when it became apparent that the rebels were on the ground formerly occupied by the 85th, though we had received no notice of the removal of the latter regiment. In this state of doubt, and to make sure of the situation, Col. Langley called for a volunteer to go forward, learn and report the condition of things to the front. It was a task that even brave men would not covet, but at once Finley rose and offered to go. Receiving his instructions he started through the corn-field. But the result and the colonel's appreciation of the act, and his impressions after the lapse of more than sixteen years, we will give in his own words taken from a personal letter to Mr. Finley of date February 14th, 1881: