In May last, the 124th Ohio was near Franklin, Tenn., a part of General Granger's division, and belonging to Gilbert's brigade. Friend "Esperance," in writing about the regiment, says: "We are encamped near Franklin, in a beautiful situation as regards the view of the country; and in a military point of view it is excellent, being surrounded with sufficient elevations of land to enable our fortifications to sweep the whole country in every direction. The brigade is composed of the 113th, 124th, 125th, and the 121st Ohio Volunteers, and the 78th Illinois. The 124th Ohio was organized in Cleveland, but contains two companies from Cincinnati—company G, under the command of William A. Powell, of your city, and company I, under the command of Captain J. H. Frost, also of Cincinnati. Captain Powell has been in the service ever since the commencement of the war; he has served in Virginia and Maryland, also in Missouri, in General Fremont's Body-guard. He was again in Maryland last summer, at Cumberland, in command of a company in the 84th Ohio Volunteer Infantry, and is, in all respects, strictly a military man, very generally liked by his company, and respected by his superior officers. Captain Frost has also been in the service before, and is much liked by his men, and esteemed by all who know him here. The health of the regiment is good, and of the two companies from Cincinnati especially so.
"With regard to the army of General Rosecrans, it is by us considered invincible. General Rosecrans is looked upon as a host in himself. Every soldier appears anxious to meet the enemy; the idea of a defeat never seems to enter into their imagination, but all are enthusiastic in their expectation of being able to restore the South and South-west of our common country to subjection to the Constitution, and obedience to the laws."
A chaplain of an Indiana regiment recently married one of the Hoosier boys to a Tennessee girl, and concluded the ceremony by remarking, the oath was binding for three years, or during the war![Back to Contents]
Confessions of a Fat Man — Home-guard — The Negro on the Fence — A Camp Letter of Early Times — "Sweethearts" Against the War.
The fat volunteer.
The moment the flag was threatened, large bodies of men were called upon to rally to its defense. Being large and able-bodied, I enrolled with the home-guard. The drill was very severe in hot weather, and I wanted an attendant, a fan, and pitcher of ice-water.
I am constantly reminded that one of the first requirements of a soldier is to throw out his chest and draw in his stomach. Having been burned out several times, while occupying an attic, I have had considerable practice in throwing out my chest; but by what system of practice could I ever hope to draw in my stomach? I can't "dress up;" it's no use of my trying. If my vest buttons are in a line, I am far in the rear. If I toe the mark, a fearful bulge indicates my position. Once we had a new drill-sergeant, who was near-sighted. Running his eye along the line, he exclaimed sharply:
"What is that man doing in the ranks with a base drum?"
He pointed at me; but I hadn't any drum; it was the surplus stomach, that I couldn't, for the life of me, draw in. I am the butt of numberless jokes, as you may well suppose. They have got a story in the Guards, that, when I first heard the command "order arms," I dropped my musket, and, taking out my notebook, began drawing an order on the Governor for what arms I needed. They say I ordered a Winans steam-gun, with a pair of Dahlgren howitzers for side arms! Base fabrication! My ambition never extended beyond a rifled cannon, and they know it!
Although, in respect to size, I belong to the "heavies," my preference is for the light infantry service. My knapsack is marked "Light Infantry!" One evening the spectators seemed convulsed about something, and my comrades tittered by platoons, whenever my back was turned. It was a mystery to me till I laid off my knapsack. Some wretch had erased the two final letters, and I had been parading, all the evening, labeled, "Light Infant!"
The above is one of the thousand annoyances to which I am subjected, and nothing but my consuming patriotism could ever induce me to submit to it. I overheard a spectator inquire of the drill-sergeant one day:
"Do you drill that fat man all at once?"
"No," he returned, in an awful whisper; "I drill him by squads!"
I could have drilled him, if I had had a bayonet.
Specifications have been published in regard to my uniform, and contractors advertised for; the making will be let out to the lowest bidder. In case the Guards are ordered to take the field, a special commissary will be detailed to draw my rations.
That reminds me of a harrowing incident. On last night's drill an old farmer, who dropped in to see us drill, took me aside, and said he wanted to sell me a yoke of powerful oxen.
"My ancient agriculturist," said I, smiling at his simplicity, "I have no use for oxen."
"Perhaps not at present," quoth he, "but if you go to war you will want them."
"For what?" said I, considerably annoyed.
"Want 'em to draw your rations!"
The Guards paid me a delicate compliment at their last meeting: elected me Child of the Regiment, with the rank of a First Corpulent. I was about to return thanks in a neat speech, when they told me it was no use; that a reporter, who was present, had got the whole thing in type—speech and all—and I could read it in the evening paper. I got his views, and held my own.
Yours for the Union, including the Stars, also the Stripes.
Fat Contributor.
"What are you going to do, you bad woman's boy?" said Mrs. Wiggles, as her youngest son passed through the kitchen into the garden.
"Down with the Seceshers!" he shouted; and she looked out just in time to see the top of a rose-bush fall before the artillery-sword of her son, that the youngster held in his hand.
"You had better go to Molasses Jugtion, if you want to do that," she said, restraining his hand as 't was lifted against a favorite fuschia, that she had trained with so much care.
"Dear me!" she murmured, half to herself; "what a terrible thing war is, when children show signs of such terrible consanguinity!"
"Hearken to what I now relate,
And on its moral meditate."
A Wagoner, with grist for mill,
Was stalled at bottom of a hill.
A brawny negro passed that way,
So stout he might a lion slay.
"I'll put my shoulder to the wheels,
If you'll bestir your horse's heels."
So said the African, and made
As if to render timely aid.
"No," cried the wagoner, "stand back!
I'll take no help from one that's black;"
And, to the negro's great surprise,
Flourished his whip before his eyes.
Our "darkey" quick "skedaddled" thence,
And sat upon the wayside fence.
Then went the wagoner to work,
And lashed his horses to a jerk;
But all his efforts were in vain;
With shout, and oath, and whip, and rein,
The wheels budged not a single inch,
And tighter grow the wagoner's pinch.
Directly there came by a child,
With toiling step, and vision wild,
"Father," said she, with hunger dread,
"We famish for the want of bread."
Then spake the negro: "If you will,
I'll help your horses to the mill."
The wagoner, in grievous plight,
Now swore and raved with all his might,
Because the negro wasn't white;
And plainly ordered him to go
To a certain place, that's down below;
Then, rushing, came the wagoner's wife,
To save her own and infant's life;
By robbers was their homestead sacked,
And smoke and blood their pillage tracked.
Here stops our tale. When last observed,
The wagoner was still "conserved"
In mud, at bottom of the hill,
But bent on getting to the mill;
And hard by, not a rod from thence,
The negro sat upon the fence.
Our camp is alive; our camp is exuberant; our camp is in a furore. "Who's that man with 'Secesh' clothes?" says one; and "Who's that big-faced, genial, good-natured looking feller?" says another. "Are they prisoners?" "Maybe it's the paymaster; and that short, chunky man is here to watch the other feller, and see that the money is paid all on the square." "No, it aint one nor t' other—'tis Cons Millar, the ever-vigilant and hard-working Cons, of the Commercial; and the good-natured looking feller is Invisible Green, or, as he is familiarly called, Bill Crippen, of the Times." They have brought sunshine into camp, for a merrier set of soldiers the sun never shone on than are the Guthrie Grays to-night. Cons has just had supper, and Bill is "spreading devastation" over the table of Captain Andrews. They have both been up inspecting intrenchments, which are in statu quo, the brave Lee having retreated some sixteen miles, or, more politely speaking, "fallen back." So I suppose we will soon have to creep up on the gallant gentleman once more, and see if he can not be induced to fall still further back.
The news of the gallant conduct of our Cincinnati boys at the late fight under Rosecrans sent a thrill of pleasure to the hearts of all our men, and a feeling of envy that we were not with them to share the glory of that day. Colonel Lytle, Stephen McGroarty, and the other brave fellows' names, are on the lips of all, and a fervent "God bless them" is frequently uttered. Our encampment now may be said to extend over four miles, a brigade of twelve thousand; and I can assure you they make a formidable appearance. Three splendid batteries, three or four fine cavalry companies, and any quantity of men, are yet on the way.
One of the best Secesh tricks I have heard of was attempted, a short time since, by a rebel telegrapher. When Lee was about to advance upon this point, wishing to ascertain the number of troops here, he sent out this operator, with pocket implements, to attach to our wires. So, carefully picking his way through the woods, Mr. Operator came upon a secluded part of the road; climbing the pole, he attached his battery, and "click, click, click," he inquires of our operator at head-quarters, "How many troops have you altogether, that can, at any pressing event, be sent to aid us if we attack Lee?" Just as he concluded the query, one of the ever-vigilant pickets of the Indiana regiments, who infest the woods and roads in every direction, espied the gentleman, and brought him into camp with his non-confiscated horse. A minute more and the fellow, doubtless, would have been fully informed, as he had guarded against cipher-telegraphing by telegraphing that the cipher-operator was out, and the general wanted an immediate answer.
Our boys continue to scour the woods, and constantly are finding Secesh documents. The following beautiful poem is from the pen of Miss M. H. Cantrell, of Jonesboro, Tennessee, and was found in the pocket of a "Secesher," who had invaliantly fled, dropping his overcoat and love-epistles. It is entitled:
O Dear! its shameful I declare
To make the men all go
And leive so manny sweetharts here
Wit out a single bough.
We like to see them leave 'tis true,
And wold not urge them stay;
But what are we poor girls to do
When you are all away?
We told you we cold spare you here
Before you had to go,
But Bless your Harts, wernt aware
That we would miss you sow.
We miss you all in manny ways,
But troth will ware out;
The gratest things we miss you for
Joy going withe out.
On Sunday when we go to church,
We look in vane for sum
To mete us smilin on the porch,
And ask to see us home.
And then we dont enjoy a walk
Since all the bows have gone;
For what the good to us plain talk
If we must trip alone?
But what the use talkin thus
We will try to beecontent
And if you cannot come to us
A message may bee cent.
And that one comfort any way
Although we are Apart,
There is no reason why we may
Not open hart to hart.
We trust it may not ever come
To any War like test,
We want to see our Southern home
Secured in peaceful rest.
But if the blood of those we love
In freedoms cause must floo,
With fervent trust in Lov Above
We bid them onward go.
Written By your friend,
M. H. Cantrell.
I inclose you the original document. I suppose the aforesaid lovyer did "onward go," and, no doubt, is still going, if he has not already reached the town of Jonesboro, and met his gal upon "the porch" as she returned from church.
Snake-hunting has given way to trout-fishing. As a matter of course, the noise of camp has driven all trout four miles from our present abode; but scarcely a day passes but our men return with a nice string of these delicious denizens of the brooks hereabouts.
I have often, heretofore, thought I would like much to be a cavalry soldier, but I'll swear I wouldn't like to be a cavalry horse; for, of all the hay-forsaken, fleshless-looking animals eyes ever gazed upon, the horses out here take the premium. Well, 'pon my word, I took Captain Bracken's horse (the roan I once rode) a quart of oats, sent from Beverly; well, the horse wouldn't eat them; he didn't know what they were! and I had to break or smash some of them so that he might smell the "aroma," to facilitate his knowledge, and he was too weak to inhale air enough to inflate his nostrils, so that he could smell the dainty meal I had in my kindness brought him. Captain Bracken promised to have them parched and made into a tea for the animal.
September 30.—What a jump of time! Well, I'll tell you the cause. The morning I intended to post this letter the entire regiment was ordered to make an advance upon Mingo Flats, a Secession hole fifteen miles from this place. They were accompanied by Howe's battery and an Indiana regiment. The boys were not more than fairly started when a terrific rain-storm set in. O! what a pitiless, deluging rain! The very thought of that sprinkle of twenty hours of unceasing torrent makes me, even now, feel as if I should forever have an antipathy against drinking water. Onward the boys trudged, seemingly not caring a cuss if school kept or not. The Elkwater soon assumed a rather formidable appearance; night came on, and with it an increase of the flood. We stood up against trees to rest; some crawled in fence-corners; a few, more lucky, found an old log stable and a smoke-house; these were quickly filled from "pit to dome," as Fred Hunt would say, for some slept on rafters, cross-beams, etc. Still it poured down; still the fountains of heaven gushed forth, fifth, tenth, or twentieth; anyhow, it continued to rain, and at daybreak it rained yet, and the regiment moved on to Mingo Flats; drove in the rebel pickets; heard the Secesh varmints beat the long roll; knew they were scared; and still it rained! Colonel Sullivan, of the Indiana regiment, was in, command: sent out a big gun; boys went on a big hill; found the enemy were eight or ten thousand strong; big gun ordered back, and as we only had two thousand men, remembered the axiom about "discretion being the better part of valor;" obeyed the aforesaid axiom. Still, recollect, it kept raining in torrents; dripping down Quarter-master Shoemaker's pants into his boots; running over Colonel Anderson's back. Major Christopher looked dry, in order to get a drink: but that was a failure. Captain Westcott looked sad; in fact he said it was the wettest time he ever knew or heard tell of—wondered if old Noah ever explored these big hills.
Captain Russell picked out a fine hill to locate upon, if this really intended to be another deluge. Captain Clark observed he was fond of heavy wet. Jules Montagnier said it was due time to dry up. Still it rained. The regiments were ordered to fall back. Well, the mud was so infernal slippery it was very easily done; some fell forward in the vain endeavor to fall back. After killing seven or eight poor, pauper-looking, "Secesh varmints," the boys set fire to Marshall's store, the enterprising proprietor being away from his business—a very notorious Secessionist, having donated $25,000 to the C. S. A. The building made a beautiful fire, and our boys brought away a fine lot of saws, augers, and various other articles of dry goods. The loss of the augers, Colonel Anderson says, will be a great bore to Marshall. Please don't forget how infernal hard it was raining all this time.
Well, they reached the first ford on their return trip; a sad misnomer now, for it was an unfordable ford. The water of old Elkwater was rearing and plunging, and furiously wild. Every mountain (and there are myriads) was sending out its wet aid to swell the raging torrent; the regiment, at this time, only three miles from the Secessionists. A bold front had to be put on, as it was a sure thing, if the rebels found out the weakness of our force, we were goners. There was no doubt, however, but that they were terribly frightened, as they had heard we were twenty thousand strong. Anxiously the boys waited the falling of the mighty waters. It had now rained twenty-six hours. Large trees came whistling by with lightning speed; the river seemed wild with delight, and the waves clapped their hands, leaping higher and higher; but, as you know, (no reflection meant,) Mr. Editor, a drunken man will get sober if not supplied with more liquor, so the river will subside if not furnished with the "aqueous fluid."
Colonel Anderson was the first to cross the stream. His horse plunged in boldly, but was within an ace of being carried away by the still almost resistless current. There goes "Shoemaker," the easy, good-natured "Ned," as he is called. Yes, sure enough, there he does go, for his horse has plunged, and the torrent is too wild, for they are both beyond their depth, and the horse is going down, down. Every eye is bent upon "Shoe." He is carried further and further. He grasps a tree and pulls himself up, looking the picture of despair. The major says, "H-o-l-d, b-o-y-s! d-o-n't b-e i-n t-o-o m-u-c-h h-u-r-r-y;" but they, eager to get back, walked a foot-bridge of rough timber and old logs, very narrow. Several crossed upon this, Captain Russell making a very narrow escape with his life. Colonel Anderson, perceiving the danger, ordered that no more should cross, threatening to shoot the first man who should disobey the order. This, as a matter of course, was done to deter the men from hazarding their lives needlessly. Colonel Anderson had but just given the order, when Frank Guhra, a private in Captain Clark's company, made the attempt, reached the middle of the stream, lost his balance, fell, and in a moment was whirled out of sight, the current running at the rate of twenty miles an hour. Several lost their guns. It was three or four hours before they succeeded in crossing.
Upon their return to camp an unwelcome sight was presented; the water had swept nearly every thing away. The tents had been, many of them, three and four feet in water; some had to take to trees to save life. The water had subsided, leaving a nasty slime, a foot thick, all over the camp-ground. Camp-kettles, knapsacks haversacks, and numerous floatable, light articles, had passed down stream—Captain Wilmington losing every thing. I saw the Captain trying to borrow a pair of pantaloons, he running around in his drawers. An old resident of this locality (Mr. Stonnicker) says this is the biggest flood ever known in this region. By the by, Mr. Stonnicker has a beautiful daughter, Miss Delilah, who seems to be fairly "the child of the regiment," especially of the officers. I will not mention names, as the wives at home would be jealous.
I see you talk of sending out a gentleman to take money home to the families of the volunteers. But cuss the paymaster, "or any other man." Why don't the paymaster come? Send me some papers. I can't get any without a peck of trouble.[Back to Contents]
The Winter Campaign in Virginia — Didn't Know of the Rebellion — General W. H. Litle — Drilling — A Black Nightingale's Song.
Your correspondent has been sick. Your correspondent has been in bed; has had the rheumatism in his back, neck, arms, legs, toes; is down with the mountain-fever; tries in vain to sleep; howling dog, belonging to Captain Russell's "brigade," keeps up such an infernal howling it makes me mad: wish Russell had to eat him, hair and all. It was raining when I last wrote; think we had just been flooded out. Well, the very next day we were again ordered over that Godforsaken road, when the clouds again blackened up, and five hundred men tramped it. What have the Sixth done that the heavens should open their floodgates? All I wonder is, how the boys stand it. But they do bear up under it nobly, remembering the Shakspearian passage, slightly altered:
"The same clouds that lower upon the house of Abe Lincoln
Look frowningly upon Jeff Davis."
The boys are truly "ragged and sassy;" very many are shoeless, and with a flag of truce protruding from the rear. The service in these woods wears out more clothing than ordinary service should. Some of the boys are careless, but many are, helplessly, nearly naked. Our officers have used every exertion to get apparel, but the apparel is, like a paymaster, "hard to get hold of." Our men have been sorely tantalized by seeing regiment after regiment of the Indiana troops paid off, before their very eyes. In fact, they have been running round camp, with five, ten, and twenty-dollar gold pieces, shaking them in our faces. Add Colwell—Corporal Add—paid an Indiana boy of the 17th Regiment three slices of bacon and half a pound of coffee just for the privilege of hefting and rubbing his eye with an eagle. Colwell is a good printer; Colwell is a good writer; and, last and best of all, he can eat more gingerbread than any other one man in the army: he wants Wash Armstrong to send him a box of the article.
Since the accidental shooting of Lieutenant Moses Bidwell, by Adams, of the 17th Indiana, we have had another accident. Mr. Hopkins has had his collar-bone broken, and his shoulder-blade thrown completely out of place, by the falling of a tree.
We are having jovial times out here, rain or shine. A convocation of good fellows met at Captain Abbott's quarters, 3d Ohio. Captain Abbott is from Zanesville. Captain McDougal of Newark, Captain Dana of Athens, Captain Rossman of Hamilton, Lieutenants House and Swasey of Columbus, Lieutenants Bell and Dale of Newark, not forgetting Miles—the smiling, good-natured Miles—of the 17th Indiana, Quarter-master Shoemaker, Andy Hall, J. W. Slanker, W. B. Sheridan, and Self, all of the 6th Ohio, made up the party. The landlord filled his flowing bowl, and stories, songs, and recitations were the order of the evening, and the
"Glow-worm 'began' to show the matin to be near"
ere we started to separate.
Miles invited those who would, to go over to his palace, and promised us a sardine supper; accordingly, but few refused the invitation. Now, Miles had a jug of oil, just from the Thurston House, Paris, Bourbon County, Ky. This oil was put to good use; and soon a box of herring was opened, and the oil again distributed, and then some speeches were made.
The meeting was called to order by the fat Quarter-master, Shoemaker.
A motion was made that we adjourn and go to Cincinnati. This was voted down. Motions were continually made to take a drink. These were carried, every pop, by Sherry, your correspondent being the only one having the moral courage to vote in the negative.
Now, Miles is from Columbus; a jolly, good fellow, and, when the time for retiring arrived, proffered me his bed, provided I would notice him in my next letter. This I promised, and accepted his hospitality. The party dispersed, and Miles was soon in the arms of Morpheus; he had fallen asleep making an eloquent appeal to the chair. I had just got into a nice doze, when I was aroused by the sound of a voice.
"Gen'l'men, you're all my frens, every one of you. But, gen'l'men, I invite you, freely, to my sardines. You, 'specially, Ned Shoemaker; 'specially you, Andy Hall, and all of you.
"The country is a momentous question,"——
Here I ventured to inquire of him as to whom he was addressing his conversation?
"Why, my frens," replied he. "Isn't that Ned Shoemaker?" pointing to a barrel, upon the top of which was my hat; "and are not those my companions," pointing to a pile of cheese-boxes, herring-kegs, etc., that were strewn around.
He was much astonished when I assured him his friends had departed an hour since, at least.
Going out with a party of scouts, one day, in Virginia, we espied, away up a little ravine, a log-house, completely isolated. Anticipating a good, substantial meal, we rode up to the domicile, where an old woman, with a face with all the intelligence of a pig beaming from it, came to the door, looking the very picture of consternation. We dismounted, and asked for something to eat.
"What! wittles?" exclaimed the horrible-looking creature. "Whar did you come from? And what be sogers doin' on here?"
"Well, I came from Indianapolis," said Captain Bracken, "and am after something to eat. Are there any Secesh in these parts?"
"Any what?"
"Secesh."
"Why, gracious, what's them?"
"Are you and your folks for the Union?"
"Why, sartain; thar's the old man neow."
Just at this moment there came a gaunt-eyed, slim-livered, carnivorous, yellow-skinned, mountain Virginian—no doubt belonging to one of the first families, as his name was Rhett.
"Look-a-hear," continued the old woman; "this ere soger wants to know if you be for Union?"
The old man looked, if any thing, more astonished than the old woman at the soldier. In the course of conversation we asked the man, "What he thought of the war?"
"What war?" exclaimed the old fellow; "the Revolution?"
"Yes. The rebellion, we call it."
"Ah! we gin the Britishers fits, didn't we?"
It was evident the man knew nothing of the rebellion going on.
When asked if he heard the fight, the other day, only six miles from his house, he opened his eyes widely, and said he "heard it 'thunderin'' mighty loud, but couldn't see no clouds, and didn't know what to make on it."
The fact was, these people live up in this place; raise what little will keep them from year to year; never read a paper, ('cause why, they can't); and they scarcely ever visit anybody.
There are many cases of this kind within a few miles of this place, where as much pent-up ignorance is displayed. If North Carolina is any worse, in Heaven's name send no more money to distant heathen, but attend to those at home.
Of whom our city has cause to be justly proud, has won for himself a name, engraven on the scroll of honor, as one of our country's heroes. A brief mention of his military career may be summed up as follows:
He was, during the Mexican campaign, on General Scott's line, and, although but a mere youth, he commanded an independent company of volunteer infantry, from Cincinnati, that was afterward attached to the 2d Ohio, on Scott's line, and commanded by Colonel William Irwin, of Lancaster, Ohio. They were stationed most of the time at the "Rio Frio," keeping open the line of communication between the cities of Puebla and Mexico. Brigadier-General Robert Mitchell, of Kansas, and Brigadier-General McGinnis, of Iowa, were captains in the same regiment. At the termination of that war General Lytle studied and entered into the practice of the law.
In 1857 he was elected Major-General of the First District of Ohio Volunteers. On the 19th of April, 1861, he was ordered by the Governor of Ohio to organize a camp for four regiments of infantry, and the day after receiving this order General Lytle took into Camp Harrison the 5th and 6th Ohio Infantry, and shortly after the 9th and 10th Ohio. The latter regiment tendered him the colonelcy, which was accepted; and he led it through the Virginia campaign, under McClellan and Rosecrans, up to the date of Carnifex Ferry, where he was wounded, September 10, 1861. Recovering from his wounds, he reported for duty in January, 1862, and was placed by General Buell in command of the Camp of Instruction at Bardstown, Ky., relieving General Wood. In March he was relieved, and reporting at Nashville, was placed in command of Dumont's brigade, Major-General O. M. Mitchel's division, at Murfreesboro, and made, with General Mitchel, the campaign in Northern Alabama, and conducted the evacuation of Huntsville, August 31, 1862, under orders from Major-General Buell. He commanded the Seventeenth Brigade up to the battle of Chaplin Hills, where he was again wounded, October 8, 1862. During the following winter he was promoted to Brigadier-General, dating from November 29, 1862, and reported for duty to the Army of the Cumberland in the spring of 1863, and was assigned to the command of the First Brigade, Third Division, of the Twentieth Army Corps.
When Colonel Mulligan was in Cincinnati, he and the noble William H. Lytle were invited to the dedication of the Catholic Institute. It was the 22d of November, 1861. Lytle had just recovered from his Carnifex Ferry wound. The Colonel was called upon for a speech. He said:
"When I go back and tell my men how, for their sakes, you have received me to-night, they will feel very proud. They often think of you, my fellow-citizens; and the brother, mother, wife, or sister, among you, in spirit visits the soldier as he rests in his chill tent at night.
"It does not become me to speak of my own regiment, for I know that he who putteth his armor on can not boast as he that puts it off. But, as it is distant, and can not hear my words, I may say this much: the Tenth has been ever true to the motto inscribed upon its flag—'God and the Union.'"
The Colonel paid a feeling tribute to John Fitzgibbons, the dead color-bearer of the Tenth, and hoped that the memory of his deeds, of Kavanagh, and others, who fell on the field in defense of their country, might inspire their countrymen to rise and avenge them.
Sweet Amy asked, with pleading eyes,
"Dear Charley, teach me, will you,
The words I've heard your captain say?
I should so like to drill you!"
"What! little one, you take command!
Well, Amy, I'm quite willing;
In such a company as yours,
I can't have too much drilling.
"Stand over, then, and sing out clear,
Like this: 'Squad! stand at ease!'"
"O, Charles! you'll wake papa, up stairs;
Don't shout like that, love, please."
"Now, stand at ease, like this, you see!
And then, I need scarce mention,
The next command you have to give,
Is this one: 'Squad! attention!'
"Now, Amy, smartly after me;
(You're sure, dear, it won't bore you?)
'Forward, march! Halt! Front! Right dress!'
There, now, I'm close before you.
"'Present arms!'" "Well, it does look odd."
"You don't believe I'd trifle!
We hold our arms out, just like this,
In drill without the rifle.
"Now say, 'Salute your officer!'"
"O, Charles! for shame! how can you?
I thought you were at some such trick,
You horrid, naughty man you."
Charles "ordered arms" without command;
She smoothed her ruffled hair,
And pouted, frowned, and blushed, and then
Said softly, "As you were!"
Shortly after our troops occupied one of the towns in Virginia, a squad occupying a tent near a dwelling heard delightful music. The unknown vocalist sang in such sweet, tremulous, thrilling notes, that the boys strained their ears to drink in every note uttered.
On the following day they made some excuse to visit the house, but no one was there. Once they observed a sylph-like form, but she was not the person; and so they lived on, each night hearing the same divine music.
One night, when they were gathered together, the voice was again heard. "By Jove!" said one, "I'm bound to find out who that is; she must be discovered." A dozen voices took up the remark, and a certain nervous youth was delegated to reconnoiter the place. He crept on tiptoe toward the dwelling, leaped the garden-wall, and finally, undiscovered, but pallid and remorseful, gained the casement. Softly raising his head, he peeped within. The room was full of music; he seemed to grow blind for a moment, when lo! upon the kitchen-table sat the mysterious songster, an ebony-hued negress, scouring the tinware, and singing away. Just as he was peering through the window, the ebony songster discovered him. The soldier's limbs sank beneath him, and the black specimen of humanity shouted:
"Go 'way dar, you soger-man, or I'll let fly de fryin' pan at your head! You musn't stan' dar peekin' at dis chile."
The soldier left, his romantic vision dispelled.
From East to West your camp-fires blaze,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
On Vicksburg's hights our flag you raise,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
And on Virginia's trait'rous soil,
In answer to your country's call,
The echoes of your footsteps fall,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
While Southern suns upon you beat,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
You sternly march the foe to meet,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
Two winters, numbered with the past,
Have o'er you swept with stormy blast,
Since home's dear walls inclosed you last;
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
By Richmond's fields, baptized with blood,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
By precious dust 'neath Shiloh's sod,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
By every martyred hero's grave,
By sacred rights they died to save.
We'll cherish in our hearts the brave
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
While yet a vacant place is here,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
From hearts and homes will rise the prayer,
Hoosier boys! our Hoosier boys!
"God bless our gallant men and true,
And let foul treason meet its due!"
That faithful hearts may welcome you
Home again, our Hoosier boys![Back to Contents]
Old Stonnicker and Colonel Marrow, of 3d Ohio — General Garnett and his Dogs — "Are You the Col-o-nel of This Post?" — Profanity in the Army — High Price of Beans in Camp — A Little Game of "draw."
A Peculiar specimen of the "genus Virginia" had a great deal of trouble while our army was encamped at Elkwater. Stonnicker's fences and sugar-camp were used for fire-wood, corn-field for fodder, apple-trees stripped.
Stonnicker's family were sick. One of his oldest gals had the "soger's fever." He "guessed she must o' cotched it from either the 3d Ohio or 17th Ingeeana Regiment, as the officers kept a comin' there so much."
One day he sent for Colonel Marrow, and the Colonel obeying the summons, Stonnicker said:
"Colonel, one of my children is dead, and I haven't any thing to bury the child in."
The Colonel, a kind-hearted gentleman, had a neat coffin made; lent the old man horses and an ambulance, and attended personally to the burial, at which the old man took on "amazingly."
An hour or two after the funeral, old Stonnicker strolled up to the Colonel's quarters.
"Colonel," said he, as the tears rolled down his cheeks; "Colonel, what shall I do?"
The Colonel, thinking he was mourning over the loss of his lately-buried child, replied:
"O, bear up under such trials like a man."
"Wal, I know I orto; but, Colonel, can't you do something for me? It is too bad! I feel so miserable! Boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!"
"O, come, be a man," said the Colonel; "any thing I can do for you shall be done, willingly."
"O, Colonel! I knowed it; I knowed it. My old woman allers said you was a fust-rate feller; and, Colonel, ef you'll only pay me for them two stacks of hay your men took from my field, I shall be mighty glad, for I want the money."
It is needless to say that the Colonel's sympathies instantly ceased, and, turning on his heel, he might have been heard to say, "O, d——n you and your hay."
It was said by the boys that at the battle in which General Garnett was killed, a favorite dog of his was with him on the field. During the three months following I saw not less than fifty dogs, each one said, positively, to be the identical dog belonging to the rebel general.
I was seated one day in the telegraph office at Beverly. Prince was the telegrapher, and he was communicating with some female at Buckhannon, telling her to come over on the next train. While enjoying a lump of white sugar dissolved in hot water, sent by Uncle Peter Thomson, especially to cure my cold, a big, brawny Irishman entered the office, and, as I was rigged out in the Secession uniform of Captain Ezzard, of the Gate City Guards, Atlanta, Georgia, I was mistaken for a general by the said Irishman, who accosted me much after this style:
"Good mornin' to ye, sur. And how are yees dis mornin'?"
"Good morning, sir," said I.
"Sure, sir," said he; "are you the Col-o-nel of this post? for it was him I was towld to ax for—for a pass to get to see my wife, who lives five miles away from here, adjoining the white church, forninst the first woods to the right as you go to Huttonsville."
As soon as he finished his speech I informed him I was not the Col-o-nel, but that Colonel William Bosley was the gentleman he must see. I told him, moreover, that "the Colonel was a very cross man; very strict in his discipline: if he didn't approach him "just so," he would very likely refuse any pass, and kick him into the bargain."
"Thank you, sur; thank you, sur. O, but I'll approach him right. Never fear me!"
I pointed him to the marquee, in front of which was a large stake, or post, for hitching horses.
"There," said I, "you see; that's the post."
"Well, sur; plaise to tell me what I must do?"
"You must go three times round the post; make your bow; place your hands behind you; walk to the entrance of his tent, and inquire, 'If he commands that post?' Tell him you want to see your wife, and the pass, no doubt, will be given you."
The Irishman did as requested. Colonel Bosley said he knew there was a joke up, and humored it; and after putting all sorts of grotesque questions to the man, he was allowed to go on his way, rejoicing.
Beans were excessively high, one season, in our army. I have seen Charley Brutton and Lieutenant Southgate and Captain Frank Ehrman, and other officers, pay as high as five cents apiece for them. Brutton said he intended to make bean-soup of his. Often, while I stood looking at parties around a table, I heard remarks like these:
"Ten beans better than you."
I suppose he meant that his ten beans were better than his opponent's ten beans. Then some one of the party, seated at the end of the table, would say:
"I see them ten beans."
Well, so did I, and everybody else about there. We couldn't help but see them. Why, therefore, need he make so superfluous a remark? Then the other would say:
"I call you."
But I didn't hear him call. All he would do was, to lay his beans on the pile in the middle of the table, and soon they all spread out some pictures and dots that were printed on white pasteboard. Then one man reaches out his hand and draws over the beans to his side; and he smiles complacently, and all the others look beat and crabbed. And this they call a little game of draw.
Charley Clark and Captain Westcott say 'tis a bad practice; and they ought to know.
It is astonishing how rapidly men in the service become profane. I never before appreciated the oft-quoted phrase, "He swears like a trooper." Young men whom I have noticed, in times gone by, for their urbanity and quiet demeanor, now use language unbecoming gentlemen upon any occasion. But here it is overlooked, because "everybody does it;" but, to my mind,
"'Tis a custom more honored in the breach than the observance."
Gambling, too! O, how they take to it! "O, it's just for pastime," says one. Yes; but it is a pastime that will grow and grow, and drag many a one to ruin. Among the many ways that the boys have of evading the law against it in camp is, going off into the woods and taking a "quiet game," as they term it. Chuck-a-luck, sweat-cloth, and every species of device for swindling are resorted to by the baser sort.[Back to Contents]
Hard on the Sutler: Spiritualism Tried — A Specimen of Southern Poetry — Singular — March to Nashville — General Steadman Challenged by a Woman — Nigger Question — "Rebels Returning."
The officers of some regiments will drink—that is, they can be induced.
There was a sutler, a great devotee to the modern science—if science it can be called—of spiritualism. The officers found this out, and determined to play upon his credulity. The quarter-master was quite a wag, and lent himself to the proposed fun. His large tent was prepared: holes were made in it, and long black threads attached to various articles in the apartment, and one or two persons stationed to play upon these strings.
The party met as per agreement; every thing was arranged; the credulous sutler present. While enjoying the evening, the crowd were surprised to see things jumping around; a tumbler was jerked off a table, no one near it; clothing lifted up from the line running through the length of the tent. Some one suggested "spirits." All acknowledged the mystery, while some would, and others would not, accept the spiritual hypothesis as a correct solution. The matter must be tested, and the sutler was appointed chief interrogator.
"If," said he, "there are really spirits, why can they not prove it, by knocking this candlestick from my hand?"
"Why can't they?" echoed others.
And, sure enough, no sooner said than done, and done so quickly that no one but the performer was the wiser, whose knuckles, he said, pained him for a week afterward. Another of the party said to the spirit, "Fire a pistol."
Bang! was the reply.
The sutler became terrified. Again it was agreed that they should try questioning by the rapping process. The sutler proceeded:
"Are there any spirits present?"
Rap! rap! rap!
"Is it the spirit of a deceased relative?"
Rap! rap! rap!
"Whose relative is it? The Quarter-master's?"
Rap.
"The Adjutant's?"
Rap.
"Mine?"
Rap! rap! rap!
Here the sutler was requested to ask if there was anybody in the room who had committed any crime. The question was asked, and
Rap! rap! rap! was the reply.
"Is it the Quarter-master?"
Rap.
Rap!
"Is it the Adjutant?"
Rap!
"Is it the Surgeon?"
Rap!
"Is it m-m-e?"
Rap! rap! rap!
"O yes; I know it!" exclaimed the conscience-stricken sutler. (The first case of the kind I ever knew.) "O yes; I confess I was a Methodist class-leader, and now, here I am, drinking whisky, and selling it, and getting three prices from the boys for every thing I sell. O! I'll go and pray!" And he accordingly departed. The sutler reported, in the morning, that he had prayed, and felt much relieved. It so wrought upon his mind that the joke had to be explained to him, to prevent his being driven to distraction.
From the appended exquisite gem of "Southern poetry," it will be seen that they wish to raise the black flag. Well, why don't they raise it? Let us hope that for every black flag they raise, Uncle Abraham will raise a black regiment. It is from the Chattanooga Rebel, and is entitled
Raise now the sable flag! high let it wave
O'er all Secessia's hills and flowery vales,
And on its sable folds the motto trace,
"For victory or death!" The hated foe
Have gathered in our lovely land, and trod,
With desecrating steps, our State's proud Capital.
They've pillaged in our cities, burned our homes,
Exiled our stanch, true-hearted patriots,
Arrested loyal citizens, and sent
Them to those hungry bastiles of the North,
The ignominious "Chase" and "Johnson's Isle."
Our clergy—God's anointed—who refused
To take a black, obnoxious oath, to perjure
Their own souls, they placed in "durance vile."
The noble daughters of the "sunny South,"
Whose hearts were with their country's cause, they forced
To yield obedience to their hated laws,
Nor heeded cries of pity; whether from
Matron staid, beseeching them to leave her,
For her little ones, her own meat and bread;
Or from the bright-eyed boy, with manly grace,
Who brooks, with sorrowing looks, the insults she
Is forced to bear, and dares not to resent;
Or from the gray-haired sire, whose cord of life
Is nearly loosed, who, in enfeebled tones,
Prays them to cease their vexing raids, and let
An old man die in peace. Nor will they list
To maiden fair, whose virtue is their goal.
They've desolated every home where once
Abundance bloomed, and with the weapons of
A warrior (?)—fire and theft—have laid our homes
In ashes, plundered their effects, and sworn
Th' extermination of Secessia's sons.
Then raise the ebon flag! with Spring's warm breath
Let it unfurl its night-like folds, and wave
Where noble "Freeman" fills a martyr's grave.
Then strike! but not for booty, soldiers brave;
Fight to defend your liberties and homes—
The joy it gives to see the Vandals fall,
And catch the music of their dying groans.
Go! burn their cities, scourge their fertile lands;
Teach them retaliation; plow their fields,
And slay by thousands with your iron hail;
Scorn every treaty, every Yankee clan.
Defy with Spartan courage. Vengeance stamp
Upon your bayonets; and let the hills and
Vales resound with Blood—your battle-cry.
Civilians are often puzzled, in reading reports of battles, to understand how it is that a thousand troops in a body can "stand the galling fire of the enemy" for an hour or more, and come out with but two or three killed and half a dozen wounded; or how they can "mow down the enemy at every shot" for a long time, and yet not kill over a dozen or so of them. Every thing that is done now-a-days is a complete "rout;" all the enemy's camp equipage, guns, ammunition, etc., are taken. Will somebody wiser than I am please explain?
Gaily the bully boy smoked his cigar,
As he was hastening off for the war;
Singing—"To Secesh land, thither I go:
Rebuels! rebuels! fight all you know!"
'Lize for the bully boy gave nary weep,
Knowing full well he'd his promise keep,
And make her his little wife; so this was her song—
"Bully boy! bully boy! come right along!"
In Camp, Near Tennessee Line,
October 7, 1862.
At five o'clock this morning struck tents at camp, a few miles this side of Bowling Green, and were on the march for "any place where ordered." I am thus indefinite, because the publication of the "ultimate destination" is contraband news. Yesterday we were encamped in a wildly picturesque part of Kentucky—intensely rocky—abounding in caverns and subterranean streams; to-day we marched through what has been a delightful country, beautifully rolling land, and highly-cultivated farms; but now, what a sad picture is presented! Scarce a fence standing; no evidences of industry; all is desolation, and the demon of devastation seems to have stalked through the entire State with unchecked speed—houses burned, roads neglected, farms destroyed, in fact, nothing but desolation staring you in the face, turn which way you will.
Early this morning the road was very dusty, but by nine o'clock we had a splendid representation of "Bonaparte crossing the Alps," minus the Alps, and nothing but active marching kept the boys from feeling the extra keenness of old Winter's breath. Still, the boys trudged merrily on, feeling confident the present march is not to be fruitless in its results, as preceding ones have been. This campaign now presents an active appearance, every thing indicating a head to conceive and the will to do.
At three o'clock to-day we passed through the neat-looking town of Franklin. It looks very new, most of the houses being substantial bricks. Here we met General Fry, the man who slewed Zollicoffer. The General is of plain, unostentatious appearance, a keen eye, lips compressed, the whole countenance denoting determination and quickness of perception.
Riding along to-day with General Steadman, who, in his province as commander of this brigade, had called at the dwellings on the road-side, to see about the sick soldiers left in the houses, the General knocked at a door, and a voice within yelled "Come in." Obeying the injunction, he opened the door, and inquired how many men were there, and, also, if they had the requisite attention shown them. After a few minutes' talk with the soldiers, General Steadman entered into conversation with Mr. Reynolds, the owner of the property, who, among other things, asked the General when he thought the war would end; to which the General replied:
"Not till the rebels lay down their arms, or the Secessionists get perfectly tired of having their country devastated."
This reply brought in a third party—old Mrs. Reynolds, a regular spitfire, a she-Secessionist of the most rabid, cantankerous species—a tiger-cat in petticoats. This she specimen of the "Spirit of the South," of the demon of desolation, had bottled up her venom during the conversation of her son, but could hold in no longer; her vial of wrath "busted," the cork flew out, and the way she came at the General was a caution to the wayfarers over this road, at any rate.
"O, yes! and that's all you nasty Yankees come here for, is, to destroy our property, invade our sile, deserlatin' our homes. This 'ere whole war is nothing but a Yankee speculation, gotten up by the North, so that they can steal niggers and drive us from our homes."
"Well, madam, as it is not my province to quarrel with a woman, I shall not talk to you. You get excited, and don't know what you're talking about."
"O! but I'll talk to you as much as I please. You're all a sneaking set of thieves. You can just take yourself out of my house, you dirty pup. You're drunk."
The General very placidly listened to the old termagant, and merely remarked, "It was too cold to go out of the house just then; he guessed he'd warm himself first."
"Get out, quick," said she, opening the door. "I'll let you know I'm a Harney. Yes, I'm a grand-daughter of General Harney, of Revolutionary fame."
"Well, madam, I have before told you I don't want to quarrel with a woman, but if you have any of the male Harneys about the house, who will give me the tenth part of the insolence that I have listened to from the lips of 'one old enough to know better,' I will soon show him of what mettle I'm made."
"Jeemes, give me your six-shooter," fairly shrieked the old woman; "I'll soon show him. I'll fight you at ten paces, sir!"
The General laughed at her last remark; seeing which, she became perfectly furious. Her sons and daughters begged her to desist from such talk; but the more they cried "Don't," the less she "don'ted."
The family, by this time, had been made aware that it was a real General at whom this insolence of tongue was being hurled, and the tribulation of the son was great. The General, after thoroughly warming himself, quietly walked out with his staff. The son followed to the door, making all sorts of apologies for his mother—that she had been sick, was peevish, and, at times, out of her head. I suggested to him, that I didn't think she would be so apt to go out of her head if John Morgan had come along, instead of a Union man.
Lucky for that house and its inmates that the 9th Ohio, or any of General Steadman's command, were not apprised of the proceedings. The General, in the kindness of his heart, and for the sake of the soldiers quartered there, placed a guard around her house, to prevent her being troubled in the least while the regiments were passing.[Back to Contents]