A Boy Trooper With Sheridan

“That’s the last of poor Giles,” I exclaimed, as the sound of the shot reverberated through the ravine.

Then I rode toward Taylor’s post as cautiously as I could. I was pleasantly startled by the challenge in his well-known voice:

“Who comes there?”

The reserve came galloping down the hill. After the usual challenges and answers had been given, the lieutenant inquired:

“Who fired that shot?”

“‘Twas me,” replied Tavlor.

“What did you fire at?”

“A bushwhacker.”

“Where?”

“Over by the wall.”

“Did you see him?”

“Of course I did; you don’t suppose I’d fire at the moon, do you?”

The reserve rode forward to the wall and a few hundred yards beyond. It was decided that it would be useless to follow the guerrillas in the darkness. The pickets were doubled, two men on a post, for the rest of the night. I was put on the same post with Taylor, and after the reserve had returned to the rendezvous I questioned him about the alarm:

“Are you sure you saw a live bushwhacker, Giles?”

“If I hadn’t seen him I’d be dead now.”

“You didn’t challenge him?”

“Well, I should say not. I saw him raise his head over the wall, just as the moon broke through a cloud. I first saw the glisten of his gun. Then I fired, and I believe I singed his hair, for I took good aim. If the moon had staid behind the clouds three seconds longer, the gorilla would ‘a’ had me sure. After I fired I heard him run, and then there were voices, followed by the noise of horses’ hoofs as the bushwhackers galloped away. It was a close call for Taylor, but I tell you I sat with my carbine cocked and pointed at that wall all the time till the gorilla appeared. If my horse hadn’t shied a little, that fellow would never have gone back to tell the story of his failure to murder another picket.”

The next day arrangements were made to surprise the guerrillas in the event of another visit. Two dismounted troopers were stationed behind the stone wall, within easy range of the opening down the road toward the rebel lines. But the bushwhackers did not return during our tour of picket.

It was never clearly explained why the post at the old tree had been used, when the picket could be so much more safely stationed up behind the wall. There were a good many things that seemed strange to privates, but whenever an enlisted man made an effort to suggest that the plan of operations of his superiors be revised or corrected, it did not take him long to discover that he had made “one big shackass of mineself,” as a recruit from Faderland expressed it when he was booted out of a sergeant’s tent at Warrenton for simply informing the wearer of chevrons that in “Shermany the sergeants somedimes set up der lager mit de boys.”

The experiences of the First Massachusetts cavalry at Warrenton during the winter were similar to those of other regiments in camp at that station. Some of us would have been fearfully homesick if we had found any spare time between calls. We scarcely had opportunity to answer letters from home, so thick and fast came the bugle blasts. One of our boys received a letter from his sweetheart, and she wondered what the soldiers could find to occupy their time – “no balls, no parties, no corn-huskings,” as she expressed it. Her soldier boy inclosed a copy of the list of calls for our every-day existence in camp, and when we were not on picket duty.

I have no doubt the dear girl was satisfied that her boy in blue would suffer little, if any, for the want of something to keep his mind occupied. As near as I can remember, the list of calls for each day’s programme – except Sunday, when we had general inspection and were kept in line an hour or two extra – was as follows:

The roll was called at reveille, drill, retreat and tattoo. The boys had “words set to music” for nearly all the calls. The breakfast call was rather inelegantly expressed when infantry and cavalry troops were camped close together. The foot soldiers, not having horses to groom and feed, had their breakfast the first thing after reveille. Then they would stand around, and as the cavalry bugler-boys would sound the breakfast call after stables, the heroes of the knapsack would chorus:

     “Go and get your breakfast,     Breakfast without meat.”

But a cavalry poet tried his hand, and after that whenever the infantry fellows shouted the above at us to the tune of breakfast call, we all joined in the refrain:

     “Dirty, dirty doughboy,     Dirty, dirty feet.”

That settled it. The doughboys soon fell back. If they had not, there might have been a riot, for our poet was at work on another verse that he said would settle their hash. Judging from the result of his first effort, I can readily see that the infantry had a narrow escape.

We had inspection every Sunday morning after stables. Each company was looked over by its first sergeant. Then the captains would appear and take charge. If it were to be a regimental inspection, all the companies would be marched to the parade-ground, and the colonel or regimental commander would be the inspecting officer. Every now and then a brigade review would follow the inspection. It was fun for the brigadier, or inspector, but after the rear rank privates had been in the saddle two hours or more, sitting bolt upright, with eyes fixed square to the front while waiting to have the inspector come round to them, and go through the motions of examining their carbines, revolvers, sabers and equipments, the affair became tedious.

But our regiment was blessed with an excellent band. The members rode white horses, and on all grand reviews and parades they took position on the right of the regiment. Whenever the inspection was particularly protracted and severe, the band would play inspiring selections, and many a poor fellow who was on the point of asking permission to fall out of the ranks, would cheer up as the strains of “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” or some other popular air, would reach his ear. Survivors of the Army of the Potomac – and all other armies – will recall that the playing of a single tune as the comrades rushed forward into the heat of battle, was worth more than the spread-eagle speeches of scores of generals. The soldier that could muster backbone enough to turn tail and run when his comrades were presenting a solid front to the enemy, and the bands were playing national airs, was made of queer material, indeed.

On one of these Sunday morning inspections, Taylor remarked to me in a low tone of voice:

“I’d like to know how they expect us to diligently attend divine worship when they keep us harnessed up all day after this fashion?”

“Keep still, Giles; if the sergeant hears you he’ll tie you up by the thumbs.”

Yet Taylor’s inquiry was to the point. The articles of war had been read to us only the day before that inspection. Here is what we were given along the line referred to by Taylor:

“Article 2. – It is earnestly recommended to all officers and soldiers, diligently to attend divine service; and all officers who shall behave indecently or irreverently at any place of divine worship, shall, if commissioned officers, be brought before a general court-martial, there to be publicly and severely reprimanded by the President; if non-commissioned officers or soldiers, every person so offending shall, for his first offense, forfeit one sixth of a dollar, to be deducted out of his next pay; for the second offense he shall not only forfeit a like sum, but be confined twenty-four hours; and for every like offense, shall suffer and pay in like manner; which money, so forfeited, shall be applied by the captain or senior officer of the troop or company, to the use of the sick soldiers of the company or troop to which the offender belongs.”

The boys called the regulations the army Bible. Of course, many of the articles were intended for troops in garrison.

When in active service, on the march and on the battle field, divine services were impracticable until there was at least a temporary cessation of hostilities. Regimental chaplains exhibited remarkable fortitude, courage and self-sacrifice in administering spiritual consolation to the wounded and dying at the front, even under heavy fire from the enemy. There were services in camp in such organizations as had ministers of the gospel with them, but many regiments were without chaplains, and had to forage for religious food, if they had any.

I do not remember attending divine service in the army, except once in the Wilderness campaign. It was at night, and the congregation stood around a blazing camp-fire. The good old chaplain exhorted the boys to prepare the way, and buckle on the whole armor. It was a striking scene. Some of the boys wept as the minister alluded to the loved ones at home, who were looking to the Army of the Potomac for a victory that would crush out the rebellion. There were few dry eyes when the benediction was pronounced, after the chaplain had urged his hearers to “be prepared to stand an inspection before the King of kings.”

It was the last religious service that many who were present that night ever attended. The next day rebel bullets mowed them down by scores. They died in defense of the right – that the Union might be preserved. Of those who fell as they fell a poet has written:

     “No more the bugle calls the weary one,     Rest, noble spirit, in your grave unknown;     We will find you and know you,     Among the good and true,     When the robe of white is given     For the faded coat of blue.”

I may have had many opportunities to hear the Gospel preached during the war, but I do not recall the circumstances now. Yet I am sure that if I had diligently reconnoitered the camps, I could have found faithful disciples preaching the Word of Life to such as had ears to hear. And I believe that when the general roll shall be called on the shores of eternity, the noble Christian soldiers who held aloft the banner of their Master on the battle fields of the great Civil War, will not only hear the welcome, “Well done,” but they will be crowned with diadems bedecked with many stars.

The third commandment laid down in the regulations was probably violated more frequently than any of the one hundred and one articles of war. It read:

“Article 3. – Any non-commissioned officer or soldier who shall use any profane oath or execration, shall incur the penalties expressed in the foregoing article; and a commissioned officer shall forfeit and pay, for each and every such offense, one dollar, to be applied as in the preceding article.”

Had this article been lived up to, the “sick soldiers” referred to would have been provided for for life, as would their children and children’s children. There would have been no call for the sanitary and Christian commissions to raise money to alleviate the sufferings of the sick. All that money could have supplied would have been provided. I do not mean to convey the idea that the Union soldiers were particularly profane, but something like a half-million of men were under arms at one time, about the close of the war. Some of them swore. Even generals blasphemed before their men. The general-in-chief, however, was an exception. No soldier in the Army of the Potomac ever heard Gen. Grant utter an oath. There were officers and soldiers in all regiments who did not swear. But they were in the minority. Had the penalty for using profane oaths been enforced, seventy-five per cent, of the soldiers would have been in the guard house all the time, and at the end of a week they would have been indebted to the Government more than their three years’ salary would have footed up, and the guard house would have had a mortgage on them for years to come.

The third article of war was read to one company in our regiment by a first sergeant, who gave such an emphasis to the reading of the penalty for swearing that the boys began to feel that they must “swear off” on profanity. Said the sergeant:

“I want you men to understand that in this company the articles of war will be strictly lived up to. If I hear any man use profane language, be he non-commissioned officer or soldier, I’ll bring him up for punishment as prescribed.”

Then the sergeant swore a “blue streak” for a minute or two before he gave the order to “break ranks.” Yet he did it unconsciously, as he said when his attention was called to it by a corporal, and only intended to emphasize the interdiction.

Quite a number of the articles of war enumerated offenses for which the penalty provided that the offender “shall suffer death, or such other punishment as by a court-martial shall be inflicted.” In the reading the officers always emphasized the penalty “shall suffer death,” and then dropped their voices till the “or such other punishment” could scarcely be heard by the soldiers standing the nearest to the reader. The death penalty was sandwiched all through the articles of war, and at the close of the reading the average recruit felt condemned, and could remember nothing but “shall suffer death,” and expected to hear the captain order out a detail to execute the sentence. But the death penalty was inflicted, except in rare instances, only upon spies or men who had deserted to the enemy and been recaptured.

CHAPTER V

General Grant as Commander-in-chief with the Army of the Potomac – How Grant Fought His Men – Not a Retreating ‘Man – The Overland Campaign – The Grand Finale – After the War – The Old Commander in Troy – En Route to MacGregor – Mustered Out.

WHEN U. S. Grant was promoted to lieutenant-general, and assigned to command all the armies of the United States, the announcement was received by the Army of the Potomac without any marked evidence of approval or disapproval. There was no enthusiasm whatever among the troops in winter quarters around Warrenton.

A few expressed the opinion that the “Western importation” would not come up to the country’s expectations when brought face to face with the great rebel chief, who was personally acquainted with every inch of the ground on which the battles of Virginia must be fought. Then there was a feeling, though not outspoken to any great extent, that the new-comer, being a stranger to Lee’s tactics, and unacquainted with the Eastern troops, would be placed at such a disadvantage, that the Confederate leader would be enabled to “play all around” Grant, and demoralize the Union army. The veterans of the grand old Army of the Potomac were prepared to fight – to the death, if need be – no matter who received the three stars of a lieutenant-general. They were loyal to their flag, and that carried with it loyalty to the new commander.

Probably it did not occur to a dozen soldiers in the Army of the Potomac that Grant would adopt tactics of his own, instead of following in the beaten paths of former commanders. No one suspected that the lieutenant-general would be able to knock the bottom out of the Southern Confederacy inside of twelve months after his first order for the advance of the army had been promulgated. We all believed that the Union cause would triumph. But when? Three years had rolled round since the rebels fired on Sumter. And “Uncle Robert,” with his veterans in butternut, still flaunted the stars and bars as defiantly as ever, within a few miles of the national capital.

Company I, First Massachusetts cavalry, received the news at first in the same spirit that other companies in our locality received it. The new commander’s qualifications were discussed in the light of what had been heard of his career in the West. How much light we had received may be inferred from a discussion around the reserve picket fire on Water Mountain, a detachment of the Sixth Ohio and First Pennsylvania cavalry being on duty with our regimental detail:

“Who’s this Grant that’s made lieutenant-general?”

“He’s the hero of Vicksburg.”

“Well, Vicksburg wasn’t much of a fight. The rebs were out of rations, and they had to surrender or starve. They had nothing but dead mules and dogs to eat, as I understand it.”

“Yes; but it required a good deal of strategy to keep Pemberton’s army cooped up in Vicksburg till they were so weak for want of grub that they couldn’t skedaddle even if they had found a hole to crawl out of.”

“I don’t believe Grant could have penned any of Lee’s generals up after that fashion. Early, or Long-street, or Jeb Stuart would have broken out some way and foraged around for supplies.”

“Maybe so.”

“Pemberton couldn’t hold a candle to Lee.”

“Of course not.”

“What else has Grant done?”

“He has whipped the Johnnies every time they have faced him, all the way from Fort Donelson to Chattanooga.”

“He’s a fighter, then?”

“That’s what they call him.”

“Bully for Grant!”

“Where does he hail from?”

“Galena, Ill. He was clerking in a leather store when the war broke out.”

“I don’t care if he was in Illinois when the war began, he was born in Ohio, graduated at West Point, and served in Mexico and out West.”

“Hurrah for Ohio!” (chorus of the Sixth Ohio cavalry). “Hurrah for Grant!”

“Hurrah!”

“Hurrah!”

“Hurrah!”

“Tiger!”

I do not know but what the “Ohio idee” was inaugurated on our picket line away back there in 1864. At any rate the Sixth Ohio boys insisted, when they were assured that the lieutenant-general was a native of that State, that “Bob Lee’s goose was as good as cooked already.” It was rather a crude way of expressing a prophecy that proved as true as Holy Writ. The Ohio Volunteers were ready to cross sabers with the enemy without more ado. Grant was from Ohio, and that settled it.

The Bay State boys indorsed Grant after his record had been established. To be sure there was our own Gen. Butler, the hero of New Orleans. Butler was then in command of the Army of the James, with Fortress Monroe as his base of supplies. Somehow we had come to associate Butler with naval expeditions, and never thought of him in connection with a campaign on land beyond the support of the gunboats. It is probable that our estimates of military men were influenced by what we read in the newspapers. One of the boys declared that in a description of the capture of New Orleans he had read, mention was made of Butler being “lashed to the maintop,” while the fleet under Farragut was fighting its way up the Mississippi under fire from the guns of Forts Jackson and St. Philip. Said an Ohio trooper:

“I don’t believe that story.”

“Neither do I. I’m only telling you what I read.”

“I think Butler had better stay in the navy.”

“But he isn’t a sailor; he’s a major-general of volunteers.”

“Well, there’s no telling how he might cut up on dry land. He’d better keep his sea legs on and stay where if he gets whipped he can’t run.”

The veterans from the Keystone State had not lost faith in “Little Mac.” They contended that McClellan had been handicapped just at a moment when he was “about to execute a coup de main that would prove a coup de grâce to the Southern Confederacy!” Meade was the second choice of the Pennsylvanians. His splendid victory over Lee at Gettysburg had brought him into the front rank. He had won the gratitude of the whole North, Copperheads excepted. Checking Lee’s advance Northward, whipping the rebel army and compelling the defeated Confederacy to “about face” and put for home, gave Gen. Meade a big place in the hearts of the soldiers and the loyal people of the Keystone State. Surely the patriots of the North had good cause to rejoice on the eighty-seventh anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. On that day Grant’s victorious army raised the stars and stripes over the rebel fortifications at Vicksburg, and the Mississippi was opened to the sea; and Lee’s army of Northern Virginia was retreating from the scene of its unsuccessful attack on Meade’s army at Gettysburg.

Within forty-eight hours after the Union troops had crossed the Rapidan under the direction of Gen. Grant, there was not a soldier in the Army of the Potomac but what felt that the lieutenant-general meant business. The official records on file at Washington show that during that two days’ terrible struggle in the Wilderness – May 5 and 6, 1864 – the loss sustained by the Army of the Potomac was 13,948, of which 2,261 were killed, 8,785 wounded and 2,902 taken prisoners or missing. Then came Spottsylvania, with an aggregate Union loss of 13,601. The total loss sustained by the Army of the Potomac, the Army of the James and by Sheridan’s operations in the valley, from May 1, 1864, to the surrender of Lee at Appomattox, April 9, 1865, is given in official compilations at 99,772 – 14,601 killed, 61,452 wounded and 23,719 missing. In the meantime the Federal forces operating in Virginia captured 81,112 Confederates, and Lee’s killed and wounded are believed to have been equal to Grant’s, but the “scattering” of the rebels after Richmond fell, and the destruction of Confederate records, made it impossible to arrive at the exact figures.

As already stated, the veterans of the Army of the Potomac were satisfied that Grant was a fighting man. During the period beginning with the opening skirmish in the Wilderness, and continuing down to the end of the conflict at Appomattox, there was not wanting evidence of Grant’s determination to “fight his men” for all they were worth whenever opportunity presented for hammering the rebels. There was no going back this time. It was “On to Richmond” in earnest. The Army of the Potomac was ready to be led against the enemy. There was general rejoicing all along the line when the command was given, “By the left flank, forward!” and the Federals moved toward Spottsylvania instead of retreating across the Rapidan, as President Lincoln said any previous commander of the Army of the Potomac would have done at the close of such a battle as that fought in the Wilderness.

In Richardson’s “Personal History of U. S. Grant,” it is stated that in the rebel lines it was believed that our army was falling back at the close of the conflict in the Wilderness. The account continues:

Gordon said to Lee: “I think there is no doubt but that Grant is retreating.”

“You are mistaken,” replied the Confederate chief earnestly, “quite mistaken. Grant is not retreating; he is not a retreating man.”

Lee was right. The Army of the Potomac was never again marched back across the Rapidan until after the backbone of the Confederacy had been broken, and the gallant Union soldiers were en route to Washington to be mustered out.

I first saw Gen. Grant while the battle of the Wilderness was going on. In changing position during the fight, our regiment was marched around by Meade’s headquarters. There were a dozen or more officers grouped about Gen. Grant and Gen. Meade. The latter wore the full uniform of a major-general, including sword and sash. He was somewhat fussy in giving directions, and a stickler for red tape. But Meade was a soldier “from heels up.” Grant was plainly dressed, and wore no sword. His coat was unbuttoned, and not until he was pointed out as the commander-in-chief was he recognized by the troopers who were riding across the field.

“There’s Gen. Grant.”

“Where?”

“On the left of Gen. Meade.”

“That officer with his coat open?”

“Yes; that’s Grant.”

Off went our caps, and the commander acknowledged our cheer by raising his hat.

Just then there was a terrific firing along Hancock’s front, and Grant galloped over in that direction after a moment’s conversation with Meade. We took up the trot, and in a few minutes found plenty to do out on the road leading to Todd’s tavern. When a breathing spell came, the boys had their say about the lieutenant-general.

“I expected to see him all covered with gold lace and other fixin’s,” said one.

“He looks as if he would stay with ‘em till somebody cried enough.”

“He’s got good qualities, anyway,” remarked Taylor.

“How can you tell?”

“Because he smokes fine cigars, and rides a good hoss. I got a smell of that cigar as he cantered by to see what was going on in front of the second corps. I think – ”

The discussion was cut short by another attempt of the Johnnies to hustle us back from the position held by our brigade. We protested so vigorously that the rebels retreated after making three or four dashes against our advance squadrons. It was warm work in the Wilderness. One of our boys exclaimed: