CHAPTER XVIII.A BIVOUAC FOR THE NIGHT.

A Scene in the Field-Hospital.

To one of these groups we carried poor Stannard, and I stood by and watched. The sponge saturated with chloroform was put to his face, rendering him unconscious while the operation of tying the severed artery was performed. On a neighboring table was a man whose leg was being taken off at the thigh, and who, chloroformed into unconsciousness, interested everybody by singing at the top of his voice, and with a clear articulation, five verses of a hymn to an old-fashioned Methodist tune, never once losing the melody nor stopping for a word. I remember seeing another poor fellow with his arm off at the shoulder, lying on the ground and resting after the operation. He appeared to be very much amused at himself, because (he said, in answer to my inquiry as to what he was laughing at) he had felt a fly on his right hand, and when he went to brush it off withhis left there was no right hand there any more! I remember, too, seeing a tall prisoner brought in and laid on the table,—a magnificent specimen of physical development, erect, well built, and strong looking, and with a countenance full of frank and sturdy manliness. As the wounded prisoner was stretched out on the table, the surgeon said,—

"Well, Johnny, my man, what is the matter with you, and what can we do for you to-day?"

"Well, Doctor, your people have used me rather rough to-day. In the first place, there's something down in here," feeling about his throat, "that troubles me a good deal."

Opening his shirt-collar, the surgeon found a deep blue mark an inch or more below the "Adam's apple." On pressing the blue lump a little with the fingers, out popped a "minié" ball, which had lodged just beneath the skin.

"Lucky for you that this was a 'spent ball,' Johnny," said the surgeon, holding the bullet between his fingers.

"Give me that, Doctor—give me that ball; I want it," said Johnny, eagerly reaching out his left hand for the ball. Then he carefullyexamined it, and put it away into his jacket-pocket.

"And now, Doctor, there's something else, you see, the matter with me, and something more serious too, I'm afraid. You see, I can't use my right arm. The way was this: we were having a big fight out there in the woods. In the bayonet-charge I got hold of one of your flags, and was waving it, when all on a sudden I got an ugly clip in the arm here, as you see."

"Never mind, Johnny. We shall treat you just the same as our own boys, and though you are dressed in gray, you shall be cared for as faithfully as if you were dressed in blue, until you are well and strong again."

Never did I see a more delighted or grateful man than he, when, awakened from his deep chloroform sleep, he was asked whether he did not think his arm had better come off now?

"Just as you think best, Doctor."

"Look at your arm once, Johnny."

What was his glad surprise to find that the operation had been already performed, and that a neat bandage was wound about his shoulder!

The most striking illustration of the power of religion to sustain a man in distress and trial, I saw there in that field-hospital.

We had carried Stannard into a tent, and laid him on a pile of pine-boughs, where, had he only been able to keep quiet, he would have done well enough. But he was not able to keep quiet. A more restless man I never saw. Although his wound was not considered necessarily dangerous, yet he was evidently in great fear of death, and for death, I grieve to say, he was not at all prepared. He had been a wild, wayward man, and now that he thought the end was approaching, he was full of alarm. As I bent over him, trying my best, but in vain, to comfort and quiet him, my attention was called to a man on the other side of the tent, whose face I thought I knew, in spite of its unearthly pallor.

"Why, Smith," said I, "is this you? Where are you hurt?"

"Come turn me around and see," he said.

Rolling him over carefully on his side, I saw a great, cruel wound in his back.

My countenance must have expressed alarm when I asked him, as quietly as I could,whether he knew that he was very seriously wounded, and might die.

Never shall I forget the look that man gave me, as, with a strange light in his eye, he said:

"I am in God's hands; I am not afraid to die."

Two or three days after that, while we were marching on rapidly in column again, we passed an ambulance-train filled with wounded on their way to Fredericksburg. Hearing my name called by some one, I ran out of line to an ambulance, in which I found Stannard.

"Harry, for pity's sake, have you any water?"

"No, lieutenant; I'm very sorry, but there's not a drop in my canteen, and there's no time now to get any."

It was the last time I ever saw him. He was taken to Fredericksburg, submitted to a second operation, and died; and I have always believed that his death was largely owing to want of faith.

Six months, or maybe a year, later, Smith came back to us with a great white scar betweenhis shoulders, and I doubt not he is alive and well to this day.

And there was Jimmy Lucas too. They brought him in about the middle of that same afternoon, two men bearing him on their arms. He was so pale, that I knew at a glance he was severely hurt. "A ball through the lungs," they said, and "he can't live." Jimmy was of my own company, from my own village. We had been school-fellows and playmates from childhood almost, and you may well believe it was sad work to kneel down by his side and watch his slow and labored breathing, looking at his pallid features, and thinking—ah, yes, that was the saddest of all!—of those at home. He would scarcely let me go from him a moment, and when the sun was setting, he requested every one to go out of the tent, for he wanted to speak a few words to me in private. As I bent down over him, he gave me his message for his father and mother, and a tender good by to his sweetheart, begging me not to forget a single word of it all if ever I should live to see them; and then he said:

"And, Harry, tell father and mother Ithank them now for all their care and kindness in trying to bring me up well and in the fear of God. I know I have been a wayward boy sometimes, but my trust is in him who said,'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' My hope is in God, and I shall die a Christian man."

When the sun had set that evening, poor Jimmy had entered into rest. He was buried somewhere among the woods that night, and no flowers are strewn over his grave on "Decoration Day" as the years go by, for no head-board marks his resting-place among the moaning pines; but "the Lord knoweth them that are his."

If from any cause whatsoever one happened to have lost his command, or to have strayed away from or to have been left behind by his regiment, he could usually tell with tolerable certainty, as he trudged along the road among the men of another command, what part of the army he was with, and whether any of his own corps or division were anywhere near by; and he could tell this at a glance, without so much as stopping to ask a question. Do you ask how? I answer, by the badges the men wore on their caps.

ARMY BADGES.

An admirable and significant system of badges was adopted for the entire Union army. The different corps were distinguished by theshapes, the different divisions by thecolors, of their several badges. Thus the First Corps wore a round badge, the Second aclover-leaf, the Third a diamond, the Fifth a Maltese cross, the Sixth a Roman cross, the Ninth a shield, the Eleventh a crescent, the Twentieth a star,[3]and so on. As each corps usually included three divisions, and as it was necessary to distinguish each of these from the other two, the three good old colors of the flag were chosen for this purpose,—red, white, and blue,—red for the First Division of each corps, white for the Second, and blue for the Third. Thus a round red badge meant First Division, First Corps; a roundwhite, Second Division, First Corps; a round blue, Third Division, First Corps; and so on for the other corps. Division and corps headquarters could always be known by their flags, bearing the badges of their respective commands. As the men were all obliged to wear their proper badges, cut out of cloth or colored leather, on the top of their caps, one could always tell at a glance what part of the Army of the Potomac he was with. In addition to this, some regiments were distinguished by some peculiarity of uniform. Our own brigade was everywhere known as "The Buck-tails," for we all wore buck-tails on the side of our caps.

It was in this way that I was able to tell that none of my own brigade, division, or even corps were anywhere near me, as, late one evening about the middle of May, 1864, I wearily trudged along the road, in the neighborhood of Spottsylvania Court-house, in search of my regiment. I had lost the regiment early in the day, for I was so sick and weak when we started in the morning, that it was scarcely possible for me to drag one foot after the other, much less to keep up at the lively pacethe men were marching. Thus it had happened that I had been left behind. However, after having trudged along all day as best I could, when nightfall came on I threw myself down under a pine-tree along the road which led through the woods, stiff and sore in limb, and half bewildered by a burning fever. All around me the woods were full of men making ready their bivouac for the night. Some were cooking coffee and frying pork, some were pitching their shelters, and some were already stretched out sound asleep. But all, alas! wore the red Roman cross. Could I only have espied a Maltese cross somewhere, I should have felt at home; for then I should have known that the good old Fifth Corps was near at hand. But no blue Maltese cross (the badge of my own division) was anywhere to be seen. As I lay there with half-closed eyes, feverishly wondering where in the world I was, and heartily wishing for the sight of some one wearing a buck-tail on his cap, I heard a well-known voice talking with some one out in the road, and, leaning upon my elbow, called out eagerly:

"Harter! Hello! Harter!"

"Hello! Who are you?" replied the sergeant, peering in amongst the trees and bushes. "Why, Harry, is that you? And where in the world is the regiment?"

"That's just what I'd like to know," answered I. "I couldn't keep up, and was left behind, and have been lost all day. But where have you been? I haven't seen you this many a day."

"Well," said he, as he brought his gun down to a rest and leaned his two hands on the muzzle, "you see the Johnnies spoiled my good looks a little back there in the Wilderness, and I was sent to the hospital. But I couldn't stand it there, wounded and dying men all around one; and concluded to shoulder my gun and start out and try to find the boys. Look here," continued he, taking off a bandage from the side of his face and displaying an ugly-looking bullet-hole in his right cheek. "See that hole? It goes clean through, and I can blow through it. But it don't hurt very much, and will no doubt heal up before the next fight. Anyhow, I have the chunk of lead that made that hole here in my jacket pocket. See that!" said he,taking out a flattened ball from his vest-pocket and rolling it around in the palm of his hand. "Lodged in my mouth, right between my teeth. But I'm tired nearly to death tramping around all day. Let's put up for the night. Shall we strike up a tent, or bunk down here under the pines?"

We concluded to put up a shelter, or rather, I should say, Harter did so; for I was too sick and weak to think of anything but sleep and rest, and lay there at full length on a bed of soft pine shatters, dreamily watching the sergeant's preparations for the night. Throwing off his knapsack, haversack, and accoutrements, he took out his hatchet, trimmed away the lower branches of two pine-saplings which stood some six feet apart, cut a straight pole, and laid it across from one to the other of these saplings, buttoned together two shelters and threw them across the ridge-pole, staked them down at the corners, and throwing in his traps, exclaimed:

"There you are, 'as snug as a bug in a rug.' And now for water, fire, and a supper."

A fire was soon and easily built, for drywood was plenty; and soon the flames were crackling and lighting up the dusky woods. Taking our two canteens, Harter started off in search of water, leaving me to stretch myself out in the tent and—heartily wish myself at home.

For soldiering is all well enough so long as one is strong and well. But when a man gets sick he is very likely to find that all the romance of marching by day and camping by night is suddenly gone, and that there is, after all, no place like home. For one, I was fully conscious of this as I lay there in the tent awaiting the sergeant's return. The sounds which came to my ears from the woods all around me,—of strong men's voices, some shouting and some conversing in low tones; the noise of axes and of falling trees; the busy, bee-like hum, losing itself amongst the trees and in the far distance; the bright glare of the many fires, and the dancing lights and shadows which seemed to people the forest with ghostlike forms,—all this, although at another time it would have had a singular charm, now awakened no response in me. One draught of water at the "Big Spring" athome, which I knew at that very moment was gushing cool and clear as crystal out of the hillside, and on the bottom of which I could in vision see the white pebbles lying, would have been worth to me all, and more than all, the witchery of our bivouac for the night. And I would have given more for a bed on the hard floor on the landing at the head of the stairs at home—I would not have asked for a bed—than for a dozen nights spent in the finest camps in the Army of the Potomac. But the thought of the Big Spring troubled me most. It seemed to me I could see it with my eyes shut, and that I could hear the water as it came gushing out of the hillside and flowed down to the meadow, plashing and rippling——

"I tell you, Harry," said the sergeant, suddenly interrupting my vision as he stepped into the circle of light in front of our little tent, and flung down his canteens, "there isn't anything like military discipline. I went down the road here about a quarter of a mile and came out near General Grant's headquarters, in a clearing. Down at the foot of a hill right in front of his headquartersis a spring: but it seems the surgeon of some hospital near by had got there before the general, and had placed a guard on the spring to keep the water for the wounded. As I came up, I heard the guard say to a darky who had come to the spring for water with a bucket,—

"'Get out of that, you black rascal; you can't have any water here.'

"'Guess I kin,' said the darky. 'I want dis yere water for Gen'l Grant; an' ain't he a commandin' dis yere army, or am you?'

"'You touch that water and I'll run my bayonet through you,' said the guard. 'General Grant can't have any water at this spring till my orders are changed.'

"The darky, saying that he'd 'see 'bout dat mighty quick,' went up the hill to headquarters, and returned in a few moments declaring that

"'Gen'l Grant said dat you got to gib me water outen dis yere spring.'

"General Grant can't have any of this Water!"

"'You go back and tell General Grant, for me,' said the corporal of the guard, who came up at the moment, 'that neither he nor any other general in the Army of the Potomaccan get water at this spring till my orders are changed.'

"Now, you see," continued Harter, as he gave me a tin cup on a stick to hold over the fire for coffee, while he cut down a slice of pork, "there's something mighty fine in the idea of a man standing to his post though the heavens fall, and obeying the orders given him when he is put on guard, so that even though the greatest generals in the army send down contrary orders to him, he'll die before he'll give in. A man is mighty strong when he is on guard and obeys orders. Though he's only a corporal, or even a private, he can command the general commanding the army. But I don't believe General Grant sent that darky for water a second time."

Supper was soon ready, and soon disposed of. Then, without further delay, while the shadows deepened into thick night in the forest, we rolled ourselves up in our blankets and stretched ourselves out with our feet to the fire. Dreamily watching the blazing light of our little camp fire, and thinking each his own thoughts of things which had been and things which might be, we both soon fell sound asleep.

On the morning of May 23d, 1864, after a good and refreshing sleep, we took up the line of march and moved rapidly all day in a southerly direction, "straight for Richmond," according to our somewhat bewildered conception of the geography of those parts. With the exception of an occasional skirmish and some heavy cannonading away along the horizon, we had seen and heard but little of the enemy for several days. Where he was we did not know. We only hoped that, after the terrible fighting of the last two weeks, commencing at the Wilderness on the 5th, he had had enough of it and had taken to his heels and run away—

"Away down South in Dixie's land,Away, away,"

"Away down South in Dixie's land,

Away, away,"

and that we should never again see anything of him but his back. Alas! for the presumption. And alas! for the presumption of the innumerable company and fellowship of cooks, camp-followers, and mule-drivers, who, emboldened by the quietude of the last few days, had ventured to come up from the rear, and had joined each his respective regiment, and were marching along bravely enough, as on the evening of this same May 23d we approached North Anna River, which we were to cross at a place called Jericho Ford. As we came near to the river, we found the supply and ammunition-trains "parked" to the rear of a wood a short distance from Jericho, so that as we halted for a while in the edge of the woods nearest to the stream, everything wore so quiet and unsuspicious a look, that no one dreamed of the enemy being anywhere near at hand. Under the impression that we should probably halt there for the night, I gathered up a number of the boys' canteens and started out in search of water, taking my course toward an open meadow which lay to the right and close to the river's edge. There was a cornfield offto the left, across which I could see the troops leisurely marching in the direction of the bridge. As I stooped down to fill my canteens, another man came up on the same errand as had brought me there. From where I was, I could see the bridge full of troops and the general rabble of camp followers carelessly crossing. But scarcely had I more than half filled my first canteen, when the enemy, lying concealed in the woods on the other side of the river, opened fire.

Boom! Bang! Whir-r-r! Chu-ck!

"Hello!" said I to my companion, "the ball is going to open!"

"Yes," answered he with a drawl and a certain supercilious look, as if to intimate that few besides himself had ever heard a shell crack before—"Yes; but when you have heard as many shells busting about your head as I have"—

Whir-r-r! Chu-ck! I could hear the terrific shriek of the shell overhead, and the sharpthudof the pieces as they tore up the meadow sod to the right and left of us; whereupon my brave and boastful friend, leaving his sentence to be completed and his canteensto be filled some other day, cut for the rear at full speed, ducking his head as he went. Finding an old gateway near by, with high stone posts on either side, I took refuge there; and feeling tolerably safe behind my tall defence, turned about and looked toward the river. It is said that there is but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous; and surely laughable indeed was the scene which greeted my eyes. Everything was in confusion, and all was helter-skelter, skurry, and skedaddle. There was the bridge in open view, full of a struggling mass of men, horses, and mules,—the troops trying to force their way over to the other side, and the yelling crowd of camp-followers equally bent on forcing their way back; some jumping or being tumbled off the bridge, while others were swept,nolens volens, over to the other side, and there began to plunge into the dirty ooze of the stream, with the evident intention of getting on the safe side of things as speedily as possible, while all the time the shells flew shrieking and screaming through the air as though the demons had been let loose. Between me and the river was a last year's cornfield, overwhich the rabble now came swift and full, fear furnishing wings to flight,—and happy indeed was he who had no mule to take care of! One poor fellow who had had his mule heavily laden with camp equipage when he crossed over, was now making for the rear with his mule at a full trot, but in sad plight himself; for he was hatless, covered with mud, and quite out of breath, had lost saddle, bag, and baggage, and had nothing left but himself, the mule, and the halter. Another immediately in front of me had come on well enough until he arrived in the middle of the open field, where the shells were falling rather thick, when his mule took it into his head that flight was disgraceful, and that he would retreat no farther,—no, not an inch. There he stood like a rock, the poor driver pulling at his halter and frantically kicking the beast in the ribs, but all to no avail; while all around him, and past him, swept the crowd of his fellow cooks and coffee-coolers in full flight for the rear.

As soon as the firing began to cease a little, I started off for the regiment, which had meanwhile changed position. In searchingfor it, I passed the forage and ammunition-trains, which were parked to the rear of the woods, and within easy range of the enemy's guns,—which latter fact the enemy, fortunately, did not know. One who has not actually seen them can scarcely form any adequate idea of the vast numbers of white-covered wagons which followed our armies, carrying food, forage, and ammunition; nor can any one who has not actually witnessed a panic among the drivers of these wagons, form any conception of the terror into which they were sometimes thrown. The drivers of the ammunition-wagons were especially anxious to keep well out of range of shells,—and no wonder! For if a shot from the enemy's guns were to fall amongst a lot of wagons laden with percussion shells, the result may perhaps be imagined. It was no wonder, therefore, that the driver of an ammunition-wagon, with six mules in front of him and several tons of death and destruction behind him, felt somewhat nervous when he heard the whirr of the shells over the tops of the pines.

In searching for the regiment I passed one of these trains. A commissary sergeant wasdealing out forage to his men, who were standing around him in a circle, each holding open a bag for his oats, which the commissary was alternately dealing out to them with a bucket,—a bucketful to this man, then to the next, and so on around the circle. It was plain, however, to any observer that he was more concerned about the shells than interested in the oats, for he dodged his head every time a shell cracked, which happened just about the time he was in the act of pouring a bucketful of oats into a bag.

While I was looking at them, Page, a Michigan boy who was well known to me, came up on his horse in search of our division forage train, for he was orderly to our brigadier-general, and wanted oats for his horses. Stopping a moment to contemplate the scene I was admiring, he said,—

"You just keep an eye on my horse a minute, will you, and I'll show you how I get oats for my horses when forage is scarce."

It was very often a difficult matter for the mounted officers to get forage for their horses; for our movements were so many and so sudden, that it was plainly impossible for thetrains to follow us wherever we went. Often when we halted at night the wagons were miles and miles away from us, and sometimes we did not get a sight of them for a week, or even longer. Then the poor hard-ridden horses would have to suffer. But it was well known that Page could get oats when nobody else could. Though the wagon trains were many miles in the rear, Page seldom permitted his horses to go to bed supperless. Though an American by birth, he was a Spartan in craft, and had a wit as keen and sharp as a razor. It was said that, rather than have his horses go without their allowance, he would if necessary sit up half the night, after a hard day's march, and wait till everybody else was sound asleep, and then quietly slip from under the heads of the orderlies of other commands the very oat-bags which, in order to guard them the more securely, they were using for their pillows; for oats Page would have for the general's horse, by hook or by crook.

"You see the commissary yonder?" said Page to me in a half-whisper, as he dismounted and threw an empty bag over his arm and gave his waist-belt a hitch: "he's acoward, he is. Look at him how he jukes his head at every crack of the cannon! Don't know whether he's dealing out oats to the right man or not. Just you keep an eye on my horse, will you?"

Now Page had no right in the least to draw forage rations there, for that was not our division-train. But as he did not know where our division-train was, and as all the oats belonged to Uncle Sam anyhow, why where was the harm of getting your forage wherever you could?

Pushing his way into the circle of teamsters, who were too much engaged in watching for shells to notice the presence of a stranger, Page boldly opened his bag, while Mr. Commissary, ducking his head between his shoulders at every boom of the guns, poured four bucketfuls of oats into the bag of the new-comer, whereupon Page shouldered his prize, mounted his horse, and rode away with a smile on his face which said as plainly as could be, "That's the way to do it, my lad!"

In the wildmêléeof that May evening there at Jericho,—where evidently we had all fallenamong thieves,—there was no little confusion as to the rights of property;meumandtuumgot sadly mixed; some horses had lost their owners, and some owners had lost their horses; and the same was the case with the mules. So that by the time things began to get quiet again, some of the boys had picked up stray horses, or bought them for a mere song. On coming up with the regiment, I found that Andy had just concluded a bargain of this sort. He had bought a sorrel horse. The animal was a great raw-boned, ungainly beast, built after the Gothic style of horse architecture, and would have made an admirable sign for a feed-store up North, as a substitute for "Oats wanted; inquire within." However, when I came up, Andy had already concluded the bargain, and had become the sole owner and proprietor of the sorrel horse for the small consideration of ten dollars.

"Why, Andy!" exclaimed I, "what in the name of all conscience do you want with a horse? Going to join the cavalry?"

"Andy had bought the Sorrel for Ten Dollars."

"Well," said Andy, with a grin, "I took him on a speculation. Going to feed him up a little"——

"Glad to hear it," said I; "he needs it sadly."

"Yes; going to feed him up and then sell him to somebody, and double my money on him, you see. You may ride him on the march and carry our traps. I guess the colonel will give you permission. And, you know, that would be a capital arrangement for you, for you are so sick and weak that you are often left behind on the march."

"Thank you, old boy," said I with a shrug. "You always were a good, kind, thoughtful soul; but if the choice must be between joining the general cavalcade of coffee-coolers on this old barebones of yours and marching afoot, I believe I'd prefer the infantry."

However, we tied a rope around the neck ofBonaparte, as we significantly called him, fastened him up to a stake, rubbed him down, begged some oats of Page, and pulled some handfuls of young grass for him, and so left him for the night.

I do not think Andy slept well that night. How could he after so bold a dash into the horse-market? Grotesque images of the wooden horse of ancient Troy, and of DonQuixote on his celebrated Rosinante charging the windmills, were no doubt hopelessly mixed up in his dreams with wild vagaries of General Grant at the head of Mosby's men fiercely trying to force a passage across Jericho Ford. For daylight had scarcely begun to peep into the forest the next morning, when Andy rolled out from under the blankets and went to look after Bonaparte. I was building a fire when he came back. It seemed to me that he looked a little solemn.

"How's Bony this morning, Andy?" inquired I.

Andy whistled a bit, stuck his hands into his pockets, mounted a log, took off his cap, made a bow, and said:

"Comrades and fellow-citizens, lend me your ears, and be silent that you may hear! This is my first and last speculation in horseflesh.Bony is gone!"

It was indeed true. We had fallen among thieves, and they had even baffled Andy's plan for future money-making; for none of us ever laid eyes on Bony again.

"Andy, let's go a-swimming."

"Well, Harry, I don't know about that. I'd like to take a good plunge; but, you see, there's no telling how soon we may move."

It was the afternoon of Tuesday, June 14, 1864. We had been marching and fighting almost continually for five weeks and more, from the Wilderness to Spottsylvania, over the North Anna, in at Cold Harbor, across the Pamunky and over the Chickahominy to the banks of the James River, about a mile and a half from which we were now lying, along a dusty road. We were sunburned, covered with dust, and generally used up, so that a swim in the river would be a refreshment indeed.

Having learned from one of the officers that the intention evidently was to remainwhere we then were until the entire corps should come up, and that we should probably cross the river at or somewhere near that point, we resolved to risk it.

So, over a cornfield we started at a good pace. We had not gone far, when we discovered a mule tied up in a clump of bushes, with a rope around his neck. And this long-eared animal, as Gothic as Bonaparte in his style of architecture, we decided, after a solemn council of war, to declare contraband, and forthwith we impressed him into service, intending to return him, after our bath, on our way back to camp. Untying Bucephalus from the bush, we mounted, Andy in front and I on behind, each armed with a switch, and we rode along gayly enough, with our feet dangling among the corn-stalks.

For a while all went well. We fell to talking about the direction we had come since leaving the Pamunky; and Andy, who was usually such an authority on matters geographical and astronomical that on the march he was known in the company as "the compass," confessed to me as we rode on that he himself had been somewhat turnedabout in that march over the Chickahominy swamp.

"And as for me," said I, "I think this is the awfullest country to get turned about in that I ever did see. Why, Andy, while we were lying over there in the road it seemed to me that the sun was going down in the east. Fact! But when I took my canteen and went over a little ridge to the rear to look for water for coffee, I found, on looking up, that on that side of the ridge the sun was all right. Yet when I got back to the road and looked around, judge of my surprise when I found the whole thing had somehow swung around again, and the sun was going down in the east! And you may judge still further of my surprise, Andy, when, on going and walking back and forth across that ridge, I found one particular spot from which, if I looked in one direction, the sun was going down all right in the west; but if in the opposite direction, he was going down all wrong, entirely wrong, in the east!"

"Whoa dar! Whoa dar! Whar you gwine wid dat dar mule o' mine? Whoa, Pete!"

The mule stopped stock-still as we caughtsight of the black head and face of a darky boy peering forth from the door of a tobacco-house that we were passing. Possibly, he was the owner of the whole plantation now, and the mule Pete might be his only live-stock.

"Where are we going, Pompey? Why we're going 'on to Richmond!'"

"On ter Richmon'! An' wid dat dar mule o' mine! 'Clar to goodness, sodgers, can't git along widout dat mule. Better git off'n dat dar mule!"

"Whip him up, Andy!" shouted I.

"Come up, Bucephalus!" shouted Andy.

And we both laid on right lustily. But never an inch would that miserable mule budge from the position he had taken on hearing the darky's voice, until all of a sudden, and as if a mine had been sprung under our feet, there was such a striking out of heels and such an uncomfortable elevation in the rear, the angle of which was only increased by increased cudgelling, that at last, with an enormous spring, Andy and I were sent flying off into the corn.

"Better git off'n dat dar Mule!"

"Yi! yi! yi! Didn' I say better git off'n dat dar mule o' mine? Yi! yi! yi!"

Laughing as heartily as the darky at our misadventure, we felt that it would be safer to make for the river afoot. We had a glorious plunge in the waters of the James, and returned to the regiment at sunset, greatly refreshed.

The next day we crossed the James in steamboats. There were thousands of men in blue all along both shores; some were crossing, some were already over, and others were awaiting their turn. By the middle of the forenoon we were all well over, and it has been said that, had we pushed on without delay, the story of the siege of Petersburg would have read quite differently. But we waited,—for provisions, I believe,—and during this halt the whole corps took a grand swim in the river. We marched off at three o'clock in the afternoon, over a dusty road and without fresh water, and reached the neighborhood of Petersburg at midnight, but did not get into position until after several days of hard fighting in the woods.

It would be impossible to give a clear and interesting account of the numerous engagements in which we took part around thatlong-beleaguered city, where for ten months the two great armies of the North and South sat down to watch and fight each other until the end came. For, after days and days of manœuvring and fighting, attack and sally, it became evident that Petersburg could not be carried by storm, and there was nothing for it but to sit down stubbornly, and, by cutting off all railroad supplies and communications, starve it into surrender.

It may be interesting, however, to tell something of the everyday life and experience of our soldiers during that great siege.

Finding a Wounded Picket in a Rifle-Pit.

Digging becomes almost an instinct with the experienced soldier. It is surprising how rapidly men in the field throw up fortifications, how the work progresses, and what immense results can be accomplished by a body of troops in a single night. Let two armies fight in the open field one evening—by the next morning both are strongly intrenched behind rifle-pits and breastworks, which it will cost either side much blood to storm and take. If spades and picks are at hand when there is need of fortifications,well; if not, bayonets, tin cups, plates, even jack-knives, are pressed into service until better tools arrive; and every man works like a beaver.

Thus it was that although throughout the 18th of June the fighting had been severe, yet, in spite of weariness and darkness, we set to work, and the morning found us behind breastworks; these we soon so enlarged and improved that they became well-nigh impregnable. At that part of the line where our regiment was stationed, we built solid works of great pine-logs, rolled up, log on log, seven feet high and banked with earth on the side toward the enemy, the whole being ten feet through at the base. On the inside of these breastworks we could walk about perfectly safe from the enemy's bullets, which usually went singing harmlessly over our heads.

On the outside of these works were further defences. First, there was the ditch made by throwing up the ground against the logs; then, farther out, about twenty or thirty yards away, was theabatis—a peculiar means of defence made by cutting off the tops and heavy limbs of trees, sharpeningthe ends, and planting them firmly in the ground in a long row, the sharpened ends pointing toward the enemy, the whole being so close and so compacted together with telegraph-wires everywhere twisted in, that it was impossible for a line of battle to get through it without being cut off to a man. Here and there, at intervals, were left gaps wide enough to admit a single man, and it was through these man-holes that the pickets passed out to their pits beyond.

Fifty yards in front of theabatisthe pickets were stationed. When first the siege began, picketing was dangerous business. Both armies were bent on fight, and picketing meant simply sharpshooting. As a consequence, at first the pickets were posted only at night, so that from midnight to midnight the poor fellows lay in their rifle-pits under a broiling July sun, with no protection from the intolerable heat, excepting the scanty shade of a little pine-brush erected overhead, or in front of the pit as a screen. There the picket lay, flat on his face, picking off the enemy's men whenever he could catch sight of a head, or even so much as a hand; andright glad would he be if, when the long-awaited relief came at length, he had no wounds to show.

But later on, as the siege progressed, this murderous state of affairs gradually disappeared. Neither side found it pleasant or profitable, and nothing was gained by it. It decided nothing, and only wasted powder and ball. And so, gradually the pickets on both sides began to be on quite friendly terms. It was no unusual thing to see a Johnny picket—who would be posted scarcely a hundred yards away, so near were the lines—lay down his gun, wave a piece of white paper as a signal of truce, walk out into the neutral ground between the picket-lines, and meet one of our own pickets, who, also dropping his gun, would go out to inquire what Johnny might want to-day.

"Well, Yank, I want some coffee, and I'll trade tobacco for it."

"Has any of you fellows back there some coffee to trade for tobacco? 'Johnny Picket,' here, wants some coffee."

Or maybe he wanted to trade papers, a RichmondEnquirerfor a New YorkHeraldorTribune, "even up and no odds." Or he only wanted to talk about the news of the day—how "we 'uns whipped you 'uns up the valley the other day;" or how "if we had Stonewall Jackson yet, we'd be in Washington before winter;" or maybe he only wished to have a friendly game of cards!

There was a certain chivalrous etiquette developed through this social intercourse of deadly foemen, and it was really admirable. Seldom was there breach of confidence on either side. It would have gone hard with the comrade who should have ventured to shoot down a man in gray who had left his gun and come out of his pit under the sacred protection of a piece of white paper. If disagreement ever occurred in bartering, or high words arose in discussion, shots were never fired until due notice had been given. And I find mentioned in one of my old army letters that a general fire along our entire front grew out of some disagreement on the picket-line about trading coffee for tobacco. The two pickets couldn't agree, jumped into their pits, and began firing, the one calling out: "Look out, Yank, here comes your tobacco." Bang!

And the other replying: "All right, Johnny, here comes your coffee." Bang!

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