MAJOR FREDERICK L. HITCHCOCK 132D P. V.MAJOR FREDERICK L. HITCHCOCK132D P. V.A year later Colonel 25th U. S. C. T.(see image enlarged)
The "mud march" had evidently settled it that there would be no further attempt to move until better weather conditions prevailed, which could not reasonably be looked for before April, and so we settled down for a winter where we were, back of Falmouth. The several corps were spread out, occupying an area extending from within three miles of Fredericksburg, nearly down to the Potomac. Our corps, the Second, was located nearest to the latter city, and our picket lines covered its front to Falmouth and some miles up the river. Our division, the Third (French's), had the line from the railroad bridge at Fredericksburg to Falmouth, something over two miles. Being now a field-officer, my name was placed on the roster of picket field-officers of the day. My first detail on this duty came almost as soon as my commission. My duties had hitherto been confined almost exclusively to the staff or executive business of the regiment. Further than making the necessary details of officers and men for picket duty, I had never had anything to do with that branch of the service. I had, therefore, only a smattering knowledge of the theory of this duty. It may well be judged, therefore, that I felt very keenly this lack, when I received my order to report for duty as division field-officer of the day, the following morning. Here I was suddenly confronted with the responsibility of the command of the picket forces covering the dividing line between the two hostile armies. A demonstration of the enemy was to be looked for any moment, and it was most likely to occur on our front. I had hoped to have a few days to study up and by observing its practical work get some little idea of my new duties. But here was the detail, and it must be obeyed. It should be explained that the picket line consists of a cordon of sentinels surrounding the army, usually from two to three miles from its camp. Its purpose is to watch the enemy, and guard against being surprised by an attack. Except for this picket line, the main body of troops could never sleep with any degree of safety. To guard against attacks of the enemy would require it to remain perpetually under arms. Whereas with its picket lines properly posted it may with safety relax its vigilance, this duty being transferred to its picket forces. This picket service being a necessity of all armies is a recognized feature of civilized warfare. Hence, hostile armies remaining any length of time in position near each other usually make an agreement that pickets shall not fire upon each other. Such agreement remains in force until a movement of one or the other army commences. Notice of such a movement is, of course, never given. The other party finds out the fact as best it can. Frequently the withdrawal or concealment of the picket line will be its first intimation. Ordinarily, picket duty is not only of the very highest responsibility, but an exceedingly dangerous duty. Until agreements to cease picket-firing are made, every sentinel is a legitimate target for the sentinels or pickets of the enemy, hence extreme vigilance, care, and nerve are required in the performance of this duty.
The picket line in the presence of the enemy is generally posted in three lines,—viz., First, the line of sentries; second, the picket supports, about thirty yards in rear of the sentries, and third, the guard reserves, about three hundred yards farther in the rear, depending upon the topography of the country. Each body constitutes one-third of the entire force,i.e., one-third is constantly on duty as sentinels, one-third as picket supports, and one-third as grand reserves. The changes are made every two hours, usually, so that each sentry serves two hours on "post" and four hours off. The latter four hours are spent half on grand reserve and half as picket supports. The supports are divided into companies, and posted in concealed positions, near enough to the sentry line to be able to give immediate support in case of attack, while the grand reserves, likewise concealed, are held in readiness to come to the assistance of any part of the line. Ordinarily this part of the picket force is able to sleep during its two hours of reserve service. The supports, however, while resting, must remain alert and vigilant. It being the duty of the picket-line to prevent a surprise, it must repel any sort of attack with all its power. In the first instance the sentinel must promptly challenge any party approaching. The usual formula is: "Halt! Who comes there?" The approaching party failing to obey the command to halt, it is his duty to fire at once, even though he be outnumbered a hundred to one, and it cost him his life. Many a faithful sentinel has lost his life in his fidelity to duty under such circumstances. For although the picket is there to prevent a surprise, the attacking party is equally bent on getting the advantage of a surprise, if possible, and many are the ruses adopted to capture sentinels before they can fire their guns. He must fire his gun, even though he be captured or run through with a bayonet the next instant. This gives the alarm, and the other sentries and picket supports open fire at once, and the reserves immediately join them, if necessary, to hold or impede the progress of the enemy. It is thus seen that in case of an attack the picket force finds itself maintaining a fight possibly against the whole opposing army, or whatever the attacking force may be. Fight it must, cost whatever it may, so that time may be gained to sound the "long roll" and assemble the army. Many of our picket fights were so saucy and stubborn that the attacks were nipped in the bud, the enemy believing the army was there opposing them. In the mean time, mounted orderlies would be despatched to army head-quarters with such information of the attack as the officer of the day was able to give.
Having now given some idea of picket service, I return to my own first experiences as field-officer of the day. I was fated to have several rather singular experiences on that first day. The first occurred in connection with my horse. I mounted and started for division head-quarters, about a half-mile away, in ample time to reach there a little before the appointed time—eight o'clock, but reaching the outer edge of our camp my horse balked, and in answer to my efforts to move him began to kick, rear, and plunge. He tried to throw me, and did nearly everything except roll over. Every time I headed him forward, he would wheel around and start back for his stable. I coaxed him, then tried the spur, all to no purpose. I was losing valuable time, besides having a very uncomfortable kind of a fight on hand. I realized I must make him obey me or I could never handle him again. An orderly from General French came galloping over with the expected peremptory message. One minute's delay with him was almost a capital offence. I could only return word that I was doing my best to get there. The general and his staff then rode over to see my performance. He reassured me with the remark, "Stick to him and make him obey you, or kill him." Well, it took just about one hour to conquer him, at the end of which time I had ploughed up several acres of ground, my horse was in a white lather, and I was in the same condition. When he quit, he did so at once, and went on as cleverly as though nothing had happened. The cause of this freak I never understood, he never having done so before, and never did again.
DON AND IDON AND IAnd a glimpse of the camp of Hancock's Division, Second Army Corps, back of Falmouth, Va., winter of 1862-3.See page 171*(see image enlarged)
*MayI digress long enough to speak a little more of this remarkable horse. Dr. Holland says there is always hope for any man who has heart enough to love a good horse. Army life was well calculated to develop the sterling qualities of both man and beast. Hence, I suppose every man who had a good horse could safely regard him as "most remarkable." How many such have I heard cavalrymen talk about, descanting on the "remarkable" qualities of their half-human favorites, whilst the tears wet their cheeks. I had named this splendid animal "Don Fulano," after that superb horse in Winthrop's "John Brent," not because he was a magnificent black charger, etc.; on the contrary, in many respects he was the opposite of the original Don Fulano. Raised upon an unromantic farm near Scranton, an unattractive yellow bay, rather too heavy limbed and too stockily built to be called handsome, yet powerful, courageous, intelligent (he could almost talk), high spirited, with a heavy, shaggy mane and forelock, through which gleamed a pair of keen, fierce eyes, he had many of the qualities which distinguished his noble prototype. He had not the high honor to die carrying a slave to liberty, but when the final accounts come to be squared up in the horses' heaven, it is possible that the credit of having passed unflinchingly through the battles of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, and of having safely carried a wounded soldier off each field may prove to be a little something in favor of my splendid "Don." As a saddler, he came to me practically unbroken. He was sold from the farm because he would jump all fences, yet under the saddle, when I took him, he would not jump the smallest obstacle. This is really as much of an art on the part of the rider as with the horse. An unskilled rider is liable to seriously injure both the horse and himself in jumping. If he is unsteady, the motion of the horse as he rises to make his leap is liable to pitch him over his head. On the other hand, if he clings back, a dead weight in his saddle, he is liable to throw the horse backward. I have seen both done. The secret of successful jumping is to give the horse his head as he rises, feel your knees against his sides firmly, rising with him as he rises and be again in your seat before his feet reach the ground. This helps him and saves both a killing jounce. I finally trained him so that as a jumper he was without a peer in our part of the army. I have had the men hold a pole fully a foot higher than my head, as I stood on the ground, and have jumped him back and forth over it as readily as cats and dogs are taught to jump over one's arm. And the men insisted that he cleared the pole at least a foot each jump.
This jumping of horses was considered quite an accomplishment in the army, it being often a necessity on the march in getting over obstacles. One day I saw our general's son, a young West Pointer, attached to his father's staff, trying to force his Kentucky thoroughbred to jump a creek that ran past division head-quarters. The creek was probably ten to twelve feet wide and, like all Virginia creeks, its banks seemed cut vertically through the soil and the water at the edges was about a foot deep. After repeated trials the best the young man's horse could do was to get his forefeet on the opposite bank. His hindfeet always landed in the water. Mr. West Pointer was way above noticing in any way a poor volunteer plebeian like myself mounted on an old plug like Don. But Don had taken in the situation as well as I, and when I said, "Come, Don, let's us try it," he just gathered himself and sailed over that creek like a bird, landing easily a couple of feet on the other side, and swung around for another try. The young fellow gathered up his thoroughbred and with an oath of disgust retired. Don and I became great friends, and after our fight, above mentioned, in all our practice jumping or on the march, or riding about, I never had occasion to use the spur,—indeed, I seldom wore one. A simple "Come, Don," and he was quick to obey my every wish. He was kind and tractable with others, but it was a singular fact that, as for jumping or any other favors, he would do nothing for anybody but me, not even for my man who took care of him. Others, including horse-trainers, repeatedly asked to try him, thinking they could improve his work, but he drew the line on all; not even a little jump would he make for any of them. I had been jumping him, one day, to the delight and admiration of the men. Among them was a horse-trainer of the Fourth New York, who asked the privilege of trying him. He mounted and brought him cantering up to the pole as though he was going over all right, but instead of making the leap he suddenly whirled, almost dumping the trainer, to the infinite amusement of the men; nor could he induce him to make the leap. I mounted again and he went over, back and forth, without the slightest hesitation. I brought him home from the war, and it was a great grief to me that I was unable to keep him as long as he lived. I secured him a good home, where he lived to a dignified old age. One of my household gods is a photograph of Don and myself, with a section of the camp of Hancock's division of the Second Corps for a background, taken at this time, whilst we lay back of Falmouth.
My second adventure that first day on picket duty occurred shortly after I reached the head-quarters of the picket at the Lacey House, directly opposite the city of Fredericksburg. I had seen the new line posted and the old line relieved, when a grizzly bearded old gentleman rode up and inquired for the "Officer of the day." His dress was exceedingly plain. He wore a much-battered slouch hat down over his eyes, and on the shoulders of his blouse, scarcely discernible, was what had been the silver stars of a brigadier-general. I answered his inquiry by saluting, and then recognized General Alfred Sully, long famed as an Indian fighter before the war. He introduced himself as "Corps officer of the day" and my superior officer for this tour of picket duty. The peculiar thing about his presence was his treatment of me. He evidently saw that he had a greenhorn on hand, for the first question he fired at me was, "How many times have you served as picket officer of the day?" I candidly replied that this was my first experience. "Your knowledge of the duties of officer of the day is somewhat limited?" I admitted the fact. "That is all right," said he with a pleasant smile. "You are just the man I want. You shall remain with me all day, and I will teach you all there is about it." I shall never forget that day's experience with this splendid old officer. I rode with him over the whole corps line in the morning, and after that he made his head-quarters at the Lacey House with me. Our division front, said he, is where an attack is most to be looked for, and then he went over it carefully with me, pointing out the most probable points of attack and how they should be met; what to do at this point and that, and so on, in a most intelligent and entertaining manner gave me the practical idea of a picket defence, out of his long and ample experience as a regular army officer. It was just what I needed and was of the greatest value to me. It was practical experience under a superb instructor. If all the regular army officers I came in contact with had been as kind and considerate as this superb Indian fighter, I should have been equally grateful. Unfortunately, this was not the case. My experience in this respect may have been exceptional, but the instance above narrated is the one solitary case in which my duties brought me in contact with regular army officers that I did not receive a rebuff, frequently most brutal and insulting. Doubtless the lack of knowledge of army customs and routine on the part of us volunteer officers was calculated to try their patience, for they occupied all the higher executive staff positions, and routine business of all kinds had to pass their scrutiny.
But what were they given West Point education and training at the public expense for if not to impart it to those who should be called to fill volunteer positions in times of the country's need? And how should a volunteer, called into the service of his country without a particle of military education, be expected to understand the interminable routine of army red tape? I will dismiss this digression with a single instance of my experience in seeking information from one of the younger West Pointers. It occurred while I was still adjutant and shortly before my promotion. Some special detailed report was called for. There were so many of these wanted, with so many minute and intricate details, that I cannot remember what this particular one was, but they were enough almost to drive a man to drink. This one, I remember, utterly stumped me, and I rode over to Captain Mason, assistant adjutant-general of our brigade, a thoroughly competent officer, for information. He looked at it a moment, then said: "It beats me; but go down to corps head-quarters and you will find Lieutenant——, a regular army officer, whose business it is to give just such information as you require." I rode there at once and inquired for Lieutenant——, as directed. The reply was, "Here he is. What in h—l do you want?" Not specially reassured by this inquiry, I handed him the paper and made known my wishes for information. He literally threw it back at me with the reply, "Go to h—l and find out." I replied that from his manner of speech I appeared to be pretty near there now. I went back to Captain Mason and recounted my experience, to his intense disgust, but that was all that ever came of it. We volunteers learned to avoid a regular officer, especially of the young West Point type, as we would a pestilence.
Returning now to my picket duties of that day, a third incident occurred in the afternoon. The captain of the picket came into our office at the Lacey House with the information that there was a hail from the opposite bank of the river with a flag of truce—a small white flag. We all rushed out, and General Sully directed the captain to take a corporal's guard—a corporal and four men—from his reserve, and go down to the water's edge under a like flag and inquire what was wanted. This formality, he said, was necessary to properly recognize their flag of truce, and to guard against a possible fake or bit of treachery. The reply from the other side was that a young woman in Fredericksburg was exceedingly desirous of reaching her home some distance within the Union lines, and would the Union commander receive a communication upon the subject. General Sully replied that he would receive their communication and forward it to head-quarters, whereupon an orderly was sent over in a boat with the communication. He was unarmed, as were those who rowed him over. The letter was despatched to army head-quarters, whilst the orderly and his boatmen were detained at the landing under guard of our detail. They sat down and in an entirely easy and friendly way chatted with our guard. One would not have believed that these men would shed each other's blood instantly the little white flag was lowered. Yet such was the fact. A half-hour brought a reply to the communication. We, of course, saw neither their letter nor the reply, but my lady was immediately brought over and escorted by a mounted guard to army head-quarters, an ambulance being utilized for the purpose. She was really a very pretty young woman, and evidently a thorough lady, though a spirit of hauteur made it apparent she was a Southerner through and through. She maintained a perfect composure during the formality of her reception into our lines, for the officer from the rebel lines who escorted her required a receipt from the officer who had been sent down from head-quarters to receive her; and the appearance of a pretty woman in our lines was so unusual an event that Uncle Sam's boys may have been pardoned if they were all anxious to get a square view of the charming vision. This receipt had to be made in duplicate, one for each army, both officers, as well as the young woman, attesting it with their signatures. General Sully more than half suspected she was a rebel spy. If she was, they wisely chose a beauty for the work.
THE WINTER AT FALMOUTH—CONTINUED
Duringthe remainder of the winter at Falmouth, I was on as field-officer of the day about every fifth day, so that I was much of the time at the Lacey House, and on the picket-line described in the foregoing chapter. The scenes here enacted constituted my chief experience at this time. The Lacey House was famous during the war as being the head-quarters of either the picket lines between the two armies or of commanding officers of portions of both so frequently that it deserves more than a passing notice. It was a large old-time brick mansion, beautifully situated on the bank of the Rappahannock, just opposite Fredericksburg, and was, at the outbreak of the war, the private residence of Colonel Lacey, who was at the time I write a colonel in the rebel army. The house was very large; its rooms almost palatial in size, had been finished in richly carved hardwood panels and wainscoting, mostly polished mahogany. They were now denuded of nearly all such elegant wood-work. The latter, with much of the carved furniture, had been appropriated for fire-wood. Pretty expensive fuel? Yes, but not nearly so expensive as the discomfort of staying there without a fire, with the temperature just above the freezing-point, and your feet and body wet through from the rain and slush of the storm outside, in which you were doing picket duty. The only other fuel obtainable was a few soggy green logs; whether these had been cut from the old shade trees surrounding its ample grounds or not I do not know. I more than suspect they had, but the only way they could be made to burn in the old-fashioned open fireplaces was to assist the flames with an occasional piece of dry wood, the supply of which, as long as it lasted, was from the panels, wainscoting, and furniture of the house. Later on the interior doors, all of heavy, elegant hardwood and finished in keeping with the other appointments of the place, had to go. This may seem at this distance as vandalism pure and simple. But if the would-be critic will place himself in the shoes of the soldier doing picket duty that winter, with all its hardships, and then remember that Colonel Lacey, the owner of the place, was not only in active rebellion against the government we were fighting to maintain, but was a colonel commanding a rebel regiment as a part of that great rebel army encamped not a rifle-shot away, which made it necessary for us to do this picket duty, he may reach the same conclusion as did our men, that it was not worth while to freeze ourselves in order to preserve this rebel's property. The large and ample grounds had been laid out with all the artistic care a landscape gardener could bestow upon them. Rare plants, shrubs, and trees from all over the world had been transplanted here in great variety. They were now feeling the bitter blight of war. Army wagons and artillery had made sad havoc of the beautiful grounds, and such of the rare trees and shrubbery as interfered with a good vision of the operations of the rebels in and around Fredericksburg had been ruthlessly removed, and this included the larger part of them.
The Christian Commission had its head-quarters in one wing of the house during this winter. It was presided over by Mrs. John Harris, of Philadelphia, a most benevolent and amiable elderly lady. She was assisted by two or three young women, among whom was a daughter of Justice Grier, of the United States Supreme Court. These ladies were engaged in distributing supplies of various kinds, furnished by this association, to the sick and wounded soldiers in the various hospitals. They had an ambulance at their disposal, and one or two orderlies detailed to assist them. Their work was most gracious and helpful, and they were entitled to the greatest credit for their hard and self-sacrificing labors. The red flag of the hospital floated over them, and such protection as it afforded they had; but it may be well understood that this location between two hostile armies, with active hostilities likely to be resumed any moment, and in the midst of a picket force keenly on the alert night and day, was not likely to be selected as a sanitarium for cases of nervous prostration. The men on picket had reason to remember Mrs. Harris, for those located at the Lacey House daily partook of her bounty in the way of hot coffee, and frequently a dish of good hot soup; and the officers stationed there, usually three or four, were regularly invited to her table for all meals. These invitations were sure to be accepted, for they afforded an opportunity for a partially civilized meal. Her meals were always preceded by a "grace" said by herself, while breakfast was followed by a worship service, at which a chapter from the Bible was read and prayer offered by her. These prayers I shall never forget—their sweet fervency, in which the soldiers came in for a large share of her earnest requests. This large-hearted, motherly little woman made a host of friends among the boys in blue that winter. But her motherly kindness was occasionally taken advantage of by some of those sons of Belial. One of them told this story of his former tour of duty: The weather was beastly uncomfortable, from rain and snow making a slush and mud, through which they had tramped until thoroughly soaked. They concluded they must have some hot whiskey punch. Mother Harris, they knew, had all the necessary ingredients, but how to get them was the question. One of them feigned a sudden attack of colic, and was all doubled up on the floor, groaning piteously. Mother Harris was told of it. Of course, she rushed in to render assistance. In reply to her inquiries, the rascal could think of but one thing that would help him, and that was whiskey. A bottle was instantly produced, and a dose administered which gave partial relief; and now if he only had some hot water he was sure it would relieve him. A pitcher of steaming hot water was immediately sent in. Then it was found that the strong liquor nauseated him, and one of the other scamps suggested that perhaps a lemon would relieve that, and a nice lemon was instantly produced. They had plenty of sugar themselves, and so from good Mother Harris's benevolent provision for the colic these rascals deliberately brewed a pitcher full of excellent hot whiskey punch. They had to invent a number of additional lies to keep her out of the room, but they were equal to it. She sent her orderlies in, one after the other, to inquire how the patient was progressing, and the boys secured a proper message back by letting them in for a swig. I hope the good old lady never discovered the fraud. I am sure she would not have believed anybody who might have undertaken to enlighten her, for her confidence in her "boys in blue" was so unbounded.
Almost every tour of picket duty revealed some new incident. Our pickets were now posted in full view of those of the enemy, and the river was so narrow that conversation between the pickets could be carried on without difficulty. Peremptory orders were issued forbidding our pickets from replying, or in any manner communicating with them, but it required the greatest care and vigilance on the part of all the officers of the picket to enforce this order. One of their sentries would hail one of ours with some friendly remark, and it was difficult to suppress the desire to reply. If a reply was not forthcoming, a nagging ejaculation, calculated to provoke, would follow, such as, "What's the matter, Yank, are ye deaf?" "Maybe ye are afeared o' those d—d officers." "We 'uns don't give a d—for our officers," and so volley after volley would follow, whilst poor Yank had to continue silently walking his beat. Sometimes the "Johnny" would wind up with a blast of oaths at his silent auditor. Frequently our men would reply if they thought no officer was near to hear; they seemed to feel that it was only decent to be courteous to them. Strange as it may seem, there was a strong disposition to fraternize whenever opportunity offered on the part of the men of both sides. This was manifested daily on this picket-line, not only in talk across the river, but in communication by means of miniature boats. Our men were generally short of tobacco, and the Johnnies had an abundance of this article of the very best quality; on the other hand, our men were "long" on coffee, of which commodity they were "short." So "Johnny" would fix up a trade. "Say, Yank, if I send you over a boat-load of 'backy,' will ye send her back filled with coffee?" If he got an affirmative reply, which he often did, he would place his little boat in the stream with its rudder so fastened that the current would shoot it across a hundred yards or so further down. Yank would watch his opportunity, get the boat, take out its precious cargo of tobacco, reload it with coffee, reverse the rudder, and send it back to "Johnny," who was watching for it further down the stream. Newspapers soon were called for by "Johnny," and became a regular part of the cargo of these boats, for the rebels were wild to get our papers. The exchange of coffee and tobacco was a comparatively harmless matter and would probably have been winked at, but the sending of our Northern papers into their line, containing news of every movement of our forces, was a thing that must be prohibited. A large part of the special instructions of all picket officers related to the suppression of this traffic. Scarcely a day passed that we did not confiscate one or more of these boats. The tobacco our men were allowed to take, but the boat and all rebel newspapers had to be sent to army head-quarters. Some of these miniature boats were marvels of beauty, and showed mechanical skill in construction of the highest order. Others were rude "dugouts." They were generally about thirty inches long, six to ten inches wide, and about six inches deep. They were therefore capable of holding quite a quantity. It was a traffic very difficult to suppress, for our men wanted the tobacco and were unwilling to take that without sending back the properquid pro quo. I doubt if it was ever altogether stopped that winter. The desire for tobacco on the part of our men was so great that they would break over, and some of the subordinate officers participated in it. These exchanges generally took place in the very early dawn, when the officer of the day and the officers of the picket were not supposed to be around. The officer of the day was required to make the "rounds" of his picket-line once after midnight, and then if everything was all right he could rest, his officers of the picket being responsible to him for their respective sections of the line. What is known in army regulations as the "grand rounds," a ceremonial visiting of the line by the officer of the day, accompanied by a sergeant and detail, was omitted on the picket-line as too noisy and ostentatious. In its place the officer of the day went over his line as quietly as possible, assuring himself that each man was in his proper place and was alert and doing his duty.
The sleepy time was from two o'clockA.M.until daylight, and this was the time I found it necessary to be on the line. It took from two to four hours to get over the entire line and visit every sentry. The line, as I have stated heretofore, extended from the railroad bridge at Fredericksburg to the village of Falmouth, a distance of two and a half to three miles. In the daytime I could ride over it comfortably, but in the night I had to take it on foot. When these were dark as ink, and rainy, and the ground was slushy and muddy, as it usually was at that time, it was not a very agreeable duty. However, my duty was so much lighter than that of the men (who, though they were only two hours on post at a time, were out in the storm all the while), that I could not complain. The fidelity of our men to duty under these trying circumstances was most remarkable. Twice only that winter did I find a man sleeping on post. In both of these cases the delinquent was scarcely more than a boy, who I really believed told the truth when they said they sat down because unable to stand up any longer, and, of course, instantly fell asleep. I had them relieved and sent back to camp, and did not report their offence.
A disagreeable duty I had to perform occurred one morning just at break of day. I had just returned from my trip over the line and was about entering the Lacey House, when I noticed a man running down towards the water's edge on the other side of the river. On these night tours of duty I wore a large cavalry overcoat with a long cape, which thoroughly concealed my rank and sword. I stepped out to the top of the bank to see what this man was doing, and he hailed me with: "Hello, Yank. I am going to send ye over a nice boat, with tobacco and newspapers. Look out and get her, and send her back with coffee and newspapers, and don't let any of your d—d officers get hold of it. If they catch ye they'll raise h—l with you, and swipe the whole business." I did not say a word, but quietly walked down to where I saw the boat would touch the shore and waited for it. In the mean time he kept up a running fire of admonitions like the above, chiefly directed to the need of watching against the vigilance of our d—d officers. I picked up the boat, took it up the bank, and then threw my coat open, disclosing my sword and my sash as officer of the day. Oh! the profanity and billingsgate that followed beggars description. I thought I had heard swearing before, but never anything to touch this fellow, and I really could not blame him very much. He had simply hailed the wrong man. The man he thought he was hailing, seeing my presence, kept out of the way. The boat was a little beauty, one of the handsomest I ever saw. It contained five or six pounds of the best Virginia plug tobacco and several newspapers from Richmond. I would have been glad to have kept the boat as a souvenir, but had to despatch it to head-quarters with all its contents at once. Of course I never saw it again.
The "Johnnies" were not without their fun, as well as our boys. Several times I was saluted by their pickets as officer of the day. Army regulations require the sentry nearest the picket reserve, on seeing the officer of the day approach, to call out, "Turn out the guard, officer of the day." Thereupon the officer of the picket parades his reserves, which presents arms and is then inspected by the officer of the day. The red sash worn crosswise over the shoulder is the insignia of the officer of the day. Several times that winter, as I was riding along our line, a rebel sentry yelled, "Turn out the guard, officer of the day," and a sergeant paraded his guard, faced towards me across the river, and presented arms. Of course, I lifted my cap in acknowledgment of the compliment, even though it was a bit of deviltry on their part. This indicated a grave want of discipline on the part of their troops. I am sure such an act would not have been thought of by our men.
General Burnside was relieved from command of the army on the 26th of January, 1863, and was succeeded by Major-General Joseph Hooker. "Fighting Joe," as he was familiarly called, was justly popular with the army, nevertheless there was general regret at the retirement of Burnside, notwithstanding his ill success. That there was more than the "fates" against him was felt by many, and whether under existing conditions "Fighting Joe" or any one else was likely to achieve any better success was a serious question. However, all felt that the new commander had lots of fight in him, and the old Army of the Potomac was never known to "go back" on such a man. His advent as commander was signalized by a modest order announcing the fact, and matters moved on without a ripple upon the surface. Routine work, drills, and picket duty occupied all our time. Some of our men were required to go on picket duty every other day, so many were off duty from sickness and other causes. Twenty-four hours on picket duty, with only twenty-four hours off between, was certainly very severe duty, yet the men did it without a murmur. When it is understood that this duty required being that whole time out in the most trying weather, usually either rain, sleet, slush, or mud, and constantly awake and alert against a possible attack, one can form an idea of the strain upon physical endurance it involved.
The chief event preceding the Chancellorsville movement was the grand review of the army by President Lincoln and staff. The exact date of this review I do not remember, but it occurred a short time before the movement upon Chancellorsville. Owing to the absence of Colonel Albright and the illness of Lieutenant-Colonel Shreve, the command of the regiment devolved upon me, and I had a funny experience getting ready for it. As a sort of preliminary drill, I concluded I would put the regiment through a practice review on our drill grounds. To do this properly, I had to imagine the presence of a reviewing officer standing before our line at the proper distance of thirty to forty yards. The ceremony involved opening the ranks, which brought the officers to the front of the line, the presenting arms, and dipping the colors, which the reviewing officer, usually a general, acknowledged by lifting his hat and gracefully bowing. I had reached the point in my practice drill where the "present arms" had been executed, and the colors lowered, and had turned to the front myself to complete the ceremony by presenting sword to my imaginary general, when lo! there rose up in front of me, in the proper position, a real reviewing officer in the shape of one of the worst looking army "bums" I ever saw. He assumed the position and dignified carriage of a major-general, lifted his dirty old "cabbage-leaf" cap, and bowed up and down the line with the grace and air of a Wellington, and then he promptly skedaddled. The "boys" caught the situation instantly and were bursting with laughter. Of course I didn't notice the performance, but the effort not to notice it almost used me up. This will illustrate how the army "bummer" never let an opportunity slip for a practical joke, cost what it might. This fellow was a specimen of this genus that was ubiquitous in the army. Every regiment had one or more. They were always dirty and lousy, a sort of tramp, but always on hand at the wrong time and in the wrong place. A little indifferent sort of service could be occasionally worked out of them, but they generally skulked whenever there was business on hand, and then they were so fertile of excuses that somehow they escaped the penalty and turned up again when the "business" was over. Their one specialty was foraging. They were born foragers. What they could not steal was not to be had, and this probably accounts in a measure for their being endured. Their normal occupation was foraging and, incidentally, Sancho Panza like, looking for adventure. They knew more of our movements, and also of those of the enemy, than the commanding general of either. One of the most typical of this class that I knew was a young fellow I had known very well before the war. He was a shining light in society, occupying a high and responsible business position. His one fault was his good-fellowship and disposition to be convivial when off duty. He enlisted among the first, when the war broke out in 1861, and I did not see him again until one day one of this genus "bummer" strayed into our camp. He stuck his head into my tent and wanted to know how "Fred Hitchcock was." I had to take a long second look to dig out from this bunch of rags and filth my one-time Beau Brummel acquaintance at home. His eyes were bleared, and told all too surely the cause of the transformation. His brag was that he had skipped every fight since he enlisted. "It's lots more fun," he said, "to climb a tree well in the rear and see the show. It's perfectly safe, you know, and then you don't get yourself killed and planted. What is the use," he argued, "of getting killed and have a fine monument erected over you, when you can't see it nor make any use of it after it is done? Let the other fellows do that if they want to. I've no use for monuments." Poor fellow, his cynical ideas were his ruin. Better a thousand times had he been "planted" at the front, manfully doing his duty, than to save a worthless life and return with the record of a poltroon, despised by himself and everybody else.
This review by President Lincoln and the new commander-in-chief, General Hooker, was, from a military, spectacular point of view, the chief event of our army experience. It included the whole of the great Army of the Potomac, now numbering upward of one hundred and thirty thousand men, probably its greatest numerical strength of the whole war. Deducting picket details, there were present on this review, it is safe to say, from ninety thousand to one hundred thousand men. It was a remarkable event historically, because so far as I can learn it was the only time this great army was ever paraded in line so that it could be seen all together. In this respect it was the most magnificent military pageant ever witnessed on this continent, far exceeding in its impressive grandeur what has passed into history as the "great review," which preceded the final "muster out" at the close of the war in the city of Washington. At the latter not more than ten thousand men could have been seen at one time, probably not nearly so many, for the eye could take in only the column which filled Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol to the Treasury Building. Whereas, upon our review the army was first drawn up in what is known as three lines of "masses," and one glance of the eye could take in the whole army. Think of it! One hundred thousand men in one sweep of vision! If the word "Selah" in the Psalm means "stop! think! consider!" it would be particularly appropriate here.
A word now about the formation in "lines of masses." Each regiment was formed in column of divisions. To those unfamiliar with military terms, I must explain that this very common formation with large bodies of troops consists in putting two companies together as a division under the command of the senior officer, thus making of a regiment of ten companies a column of five divisions, each two-company front. This was known as "massing" the troops. When so placed in line they were called a line of "masses;" when marching, a column of "masses." It will be seen that the actual frontage of each regiment so formed was the width of two companies only, the other eight companies being formed in like manner in their rear. Now imagine four regiments so formed and placed side by side, fronting on the same line and separated from each other by say fifty feet, and you have a brigade line of masses. The actual frontage of a brigade so formed would be considerably less than that of a single regiment on dress parade. Now take three such brigades, separated from each other by say fifty feet, and you have a division line of masses. Three divisions made up an army corps. The army was formed in three lines of masses, of two corps each, on the large open plain opposite Fredericksburg, to the south and east of where the railroad crossed the river. Each of these lines of masses contained from seventy to eighty regiments of infantry, besides the artillery, which was paraded on the several lines at different intervals. I do not remember seeing any cavalry, and my impression is that this branch of the service was not represented. Some idea may be formed of the magnificence of this spectacle when I state that each of these lines of masses was more than a mile in length, and the depth of the three lines from front to rear, including the spaces between, was not less than four hundred yards, or about one-fifth of a mile. Each of the regiments displayed its two stands of silk colors, one the blue flag representing the State from which it came, the other the national colors. There were here and there a brace of these flags, very conspicuous in their brilliant newness, indicating a fresh accession to the army, but most of them were tattered and torn by shot and shell, whilst a closer look revealed the less conspicuous but more deadly slits and punctures of the minie-balls.
Now place yourself on the right of this army paraded for review and look down the long lines. Try to count the standards as the favoring wind lifts their sacred folds and caressingly shows you their battle scars. You will need to look very closely, lest those miniature penants, far away, whose staffs appear no larger than parlor matches protruding above lines of men, whose forms in the distance have long since merged into a mere bluish gray line, escape your eye. Your numbering will crowd the five hundred mark ere you finish, and you should remember that each of these units represented a thousand men when in the vigor and enthusiasm of patriotic manhood they bravely marched to the front. Only a fifth of them left? you say. And the others? Ah! the battle, the hospital, the prison-pen, the h-ll of war, must be the answer.
How can words describe the scene? This is that magnificent old battered Army of the Potomac. Look upon it; you shall never behold its like again. There have been and may yet be many armies greater in numbers, and possibly, in all the paraphernalia of war, more showy. There can never be another Army of the Potomac, with such a history. As I gazed up and down those massive lines of living men, felt that I was one of them, and saw those battle-scarred flags kissed by the loving breeze, my blood tingled to my very finger-tips, my hair seemed almost to raise straight up, and I said a thousand Confederacies can't whip us. And here I think I grasped the main purpose of this review. It was not simply to give the President a sight of his "strong right arm," as he fondly called the Army of the Potomac, nor General Hooker, its new commander, an opportunity to see his men and them a chance to see their new chief,—though both of these were included,—but it was to give the army a square look at its mighty self, see how large and how strong it really was, that every man might thereby get the same enthusiasm and inspiration that I did, and know that it simply could not be beaten. The enemy, it is not strange to say, were intensely interested spectators of this whole scene, for the review was held in full view of the whole of their army. No place could have been chosen that would better have accommodated their enjoyment of the picture, if such it was, than that open plain, exactly in their front. And we could see them swarming over Marye's Heights and the lines to the south of it, intently gazing upon us. A scene more resplendent with military pageantry and the soul-stirring accessories of war they will never see again. But did it stir their blood? Yes; but with bitterness only, for they must have seen that the task before them of successfully resisting the onslaughts of this army was impossible. Here was disclosed, undoubtedly, another purpose of this grand review, viz., to let the enemy see with their own eyes how powerful the army was with which they had to contend.
A remarkable feature of this review was the marvellous celerity of its formation. The various corps and subdivisions of the army were started on the march for the reviewing ground so as to reach it at about the same time. It should be remembered that most of them were encamped from four to eight miles away. Aides-de-camp with markers by the score were already in position on the plain when the troops arrived, so that there was almost no delay in getting into position. As our column debouched upon the field, there seemed an inextricable mass of marching columns as far as the eye could see. Could order ever be gotten out of it? Yet, presto! the right of the line fell into position, a series of blue blocks, and then on down to the far left, block after block, came upon the line with unerring order and precision, as though it were a long curling whiplash straightening itself out to the tension of a giant hand. And so with each of the other two lines. All were formed simultaneously. Here was not only perfection of military evolution, but the poetry of rhythmic movement. The three lines were all formed within twenty minutes, ready for the reviewing officers.
Almost immediately the blare of the trumpets announced the approach of the latter, and the tall form of the President was seen, accompanied by a large retinue, galloping down the first line. Our division was formed, as I recollect, in the first line, about three hundred yards from the right. The President was mounted on a large, handsome horse, and as he drew near I saw that immediately on his right rode his son, Robert Lincoln, then a bright-looking lad of fourteen to fifteen years, and little "Tad" Lincoln, the idol of his father, was on his left. The latter could not have been more than seven or eight years old. He was mounted on a large horse, and his little feet seemed to stick almost straight out from the saddle. He was round and pudgy, and his jolly little body bobbed up and down like a ball under the stiff canter of his horse. I wondered how he maintained his seat, but he was really a better horseman than his father, for just before reaching our regiment there was a little summer stream ravine, probably a couple of yards wide, that had to be jumped. The horses took it all right, but the President landed on the other side with a terrific jounce, being almost unseated. The boys went over flying, little "Tad" in high glee, like a monkey on a mustang.
Of course, a mighty cheer greeted the President as he galloped down the long line. There was something indescribably weird about that huzzah from the throats of these thousands of men, first full, sonorous, and thrilling, and then as it rolled down that attenuated line gradually fading into a minor strain until it was lost in the distance, only to reappear as the cavalcade returned in front of the second line, first the faintest note of a violin, then rapidly swelling into the full volume, to again die away and for the third time reappear and die away as the third line was reviewed. The President was followed by a large staff dressed in full uniform, which contrasted strongly with his own severely plain black. He wore a high silk hat and a plain frock coat. His face wore that peculiar sombre expression we see in all his photographs, but it lighted up into a half-smile as he occasionally lifted his hat in acknowledgment of the cheering of the men.
About one hundred yards in rear of the President's staff came the new commanding general, "Fighting Joe." He was dressed in the full uniform of a major-general, and was accompanied by his chief of staff, Seth Williams—he who had held this position under every commander of the Army of the Potomac thus far—and a large and brilliant staff. There must have been fully twenty officers of various ranks, from his chief of staff, a general, down through all grades to a lieutenant, in this corps of staff officers. It was the first time I had seen General Hooker to know him. His personal appearance did not belie his reputation. He had a singularly strong, handsome face, sat his superb horse like a king, broad-shouldered and elegantly proportioned in form, with a large, fine head, well covered with rather long hair, now as white as the driven snow and flowing in the wind as he galloped down the line, chapeau in hand; he was a striking and picturesque figure. It was evident the head of the army had lost nothing in personal appearance by its recent change. The same cheering marked the appearance of "Fighting Joe" which had greeted the President, as he and staff galloped down and up and down through the three long lines.
Both reviewing cavalcades moved at a brisk gallop, and occupied only about twenty minutes covering the three miles of lines; and then the President and staff took position, for the marching review, some distance in front and about midway of the lines. Instantly the scene was transformed. The first line wheeled into column by brigades successively and, headed by General Hooker and staff, moved rapidly forward. There were but few bands, and the drum corps had been consolidated into division corps. On passing the President, General Hooker took position by his side and remained throughout the remainder of the ceremony. The troops marched in columns of masses, in the same formation they had stood in line; that is, in column of two companies front and only six yards between divisions. This made a very compact mass of troops, quite unusual in reviews, but was necessary in order to avoid the great length of time that in the usual formation would have been required for the passing of this vast body of men. Yet in this close formation the balance of the day was nearly consumed in marching past the President.
It must have been a trying ordeal to him, as he had to lift his hat as each stand of colors successively dipped in passing. Immediately on passing the President, the several brigades were wheeled out of the column and ordered to quarters. I remember that we returned to our camp, over a mile distant, dismissed the men, and then several of us officers rode back to see the continuation of the pageant. When we got back the second line was only well on its way, which meant that only about half the army had passed in review. We could see from fifteen to twenty thousand men in column—that is to say, about one army corps—at a time. The quick, vigorous step, in rhythmical cadence to the music, the fife and drum, the massive swing, as though every man was actually a part of every other man; the glistening of bayonets like a long ribbon of polished steel, interspersed with the stirring effects of those historic flags, in countless numbers, made a picture impressive beyond the power of description. A picture of the ages. How glad I am to have looked upon it. I could not remain to see the end. When finally I was compelled to leave the third line was marching. I can still see that soul-thrilling column, that massive swing, those flaunting colors, that sheen of burnished steel! Majestic! Incomparable!! Glorious!!!
THE BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE
Aninteresting item in the experience that winter at Falmouth was the celebration of St. Patrick's day by the Irish brigade and their multitude of friends. They were encamped about a mile to the south of our brigade upon a beautiful, broad, open plain between the surrounding hills, which gave them a superb parade and drill-ground. Upon this they had laid out a mile race track in excellent shape, and they had provided almost every conceivable sort of amusement that was possible to army life—matches in running, jumping, boxing, climbing the greased pole, sack races, etc. But the usual pig performance had to be omitted owing to the enforced absence of the pig. The appearance of a live porker would have stampeded the army in a wild chase for fresh meat.