USA > Connecticut > The story of the Twenty-first Regiment, Connecticut Volunteer Infantry, during the Civil War. 1861-1865 > Part 26
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Then came our introduction to camp life and its new discipline and requirements. How zealously did men enter on the duties of this untried realm! They welcomed its restrictions, rigors, arbitrary distinctions and rules. They sought cagerly to assimilate themselves to veterans, to catch the step and motion of a martinet, to acquire the instinct of discipline, to gain the bearing and the demeanor of an expert in arms. Military title and phraseology were studi- ously observed and martial courtesies insisted on with vigi- lance and care. Old friends assumed a distance and stiffness corresponding to rank, while new companionships were tole- rated which would once have been abhorent. Men whose instincts inclined them to spring aloof, were held firmly together in the tenacious coupling of military restraint, and the social scale received a new and complete readjustment in the arrangement of camp. Revolutionary changes in the hours of rising and retiring, in diet and exercise, in the order- ing of time and convenience, in subjects of study and interest,
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were ushered in with our first day in tent or barracks. The voluntary principle in life was instantly surrendered, and the words of the Gospel centurian aptly described the new order of service.
"I am a man under authority, and I say to this man, go! and he goeth, and to another, come! and he cometh, and to my servant, do this ; and he doeth it." This lesson was some- times hard to learn, but, sugar-coated or not, the pill must be swallowed and kept down below all chance of an upheaval. Yet, from the first night in which we slept under a blanket, in- woven with the letters U. S. there was a kind of fascination in the life, which surely lingers yet in the memory of each soldier. The picturesque arrangements of tents ; the precise detail of duties; the impartial justice of the diurnal round, from roll-call at sun-rise to "taps" at night; the division and subdivision which took account of each individual and reached with unavoidable scrutiny the conduct of every man ; the machine movement which fitted every man to his place, and combined the whole into one compact person, so that a thousand men should move as one man, and have the power to strike one man's blow, with the terrible muscle of a thousand arms. These and myriad other novelties of soldier life, took firm hold of imagination, fancy and will.
Then there was our pride in the new profession of arms and in the special organization under which each was en- rolled. Every enlisted man wore the number of some regi- ment and the letter of some company upon his clothing and acquired therewith an esprit du corps which was novel and stimulating. Within camp limits, the question was con- stantly mooted, as to which of the ten was the best company. Who ever tried harder to stand motionless like a post, than did we at those first dress parades, when, despite all precau- tion, somebody's hand, in the long line of two open ranks, would creep away from close custody on that seam of the trousers? And when the "troops beat off" and stalked solemnly down before the host at "parade rest, " what
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martyr ever suffered equal anguish with those, who longed to brush away that fly, which sportively crawled over the nose and threatened to enter nostril or car, and which no facial contortions could deter or dislodge? Yet, to stand like a statue, was to represent a patriot, and every muscle, there- fore, was drawn tense to fulfil this service.
So, too, of the guard duty, with its mysterious countersign, its series of challenge and reply, its opportunities for quick- ness of wit and rapid rejoinder. With what alertness did we walk our beat at night, patiently enduring the two hours on, and three hours off, amid wind and rain, and all the ingenious tests which our superiors could devise to determine our fidelity ! In the stillness of midnight, how startling was the challenge, as it rang out sharply its demand, and the response with the low-murmured pass-word, or the change-guard, as it tramped its round and brought comfort throughout the cir- cuit of tired watchmen. We all recollect the humors of guard duty, and its fatigues are not uppermost in our mind to-day. " Who comes there? halt!" is the stern outcry from a lonely post. "Grand Rounds," is the instant response. " Oh, hang your Grand Rounds! I thought it was the Second "Relief!" bursts forth the irrepressible sentry in the heat of his disappointment, and so falls into disgrace.
It was always difficult to confine our volunteers to the use of the exact words laid down in the Army Regulations. The American mind dislikes sameness, and goes in for improve- ment in style and delivery. So men would insist on tinker- ing the challenge, and even the countersign, and either in- tentionally or not, would oft make ludicrous work of guard- ing the lines. I well remember the stentorian outcry one night on the Centerville Race Course, near Brooklyn, where a brigade was encamped, awaiting transports for the Banks expedition. Men were in the habit of running guard, after dirk (in order to steal away to the city), trusting their luck to sneak in again to their quarters before daylight. Just after the camp had settled into quiet for the night, a voice was
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heard exclaiming with excited tones, "Corporal of the Guard, Post 10, double-quick, with a lantern-Man gone to York !" It required many months of tuition, ere we learned how un- military it was to volunteer a word, or an act of service, not laid down in our instructions.
But there came a time when no more passes were issued to leave camp, and when we judged from a hundred symptoms, that soon the regiment would be off to the seat of war. Then good-by's in earnest must be said. Then the last stock of good things must be laid in. Then the seriousness of war must be faced and endured. The day that we abandoned camp and departed, out of sight of dear homes, kindred, sweethearts, and all familiar faces. Ah! we never, never, shall forget that time, nor those who followed us, to bid the last good-by .. Under all our bravado, high resolve and eager anticipation, there was a lump of something heavy at the heart, and the most thoughtless looked grave, when he turned his back fairly on the old Nutmeg State. There was too much uncertainty about our return to make us jocular or indifferent to this farewell. Homes never seemed dearer, nor true friends more precious, than when we gave our parting cheers, and the band was doing its best to be cheerful with the music of " The Girl I Left Behind Me," and " When Johnnie Comes Marching Home."
Now it was that the real soldier-life set in, and that we plunged into the stern activities of war. The regimental mail bag grew portly and heavy, and as evening brought leisure, every drum-head was in use for a table, and writing desks were improvised on every hand. The Chaplain entered on what was in most cases his principal duty, the office of Post- Master, and stamps-that-would-stick were in peremptory de- mand.
Speculations were rife as to military movements, and the falsity of newspaper dispatches from the seat of war began to be realized. We read that the army was in fine condition, and anxious to be led against the enemy. We consented that
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our condition was fair, but we never saw the day when we chafed with anxiety for a fight, at least, after we knew what a battle meant, both to winner and loser. We read of cap- tures which had never been made, and of victories that were known only to the " special correspondent," and grew out of his fertile and mendacious brain. It was true of these war- riors of the quill that one could chase a thousand and two put ten thousand to flight, and to us at the front who knew the truth, much of the newspaper was like the reading of Don Quixote's mighty adventures, or the entertainments of the "Arabian Nights " and the "Tales of Munchausen."
But the day at last came when we received our "baptism of blood " and were made familiar with all the terrible details of the field of battle. A new estimate of each officer and man was then introduced. "How did he behave under fire?" was the question asked and answered. Many a showy and
battle of Chapin's Farm,
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pretentious soldier sank in esteem under this test, and the sterling worth of many a modest and unappreciated hero was recognized. Those who did not flinch in battle were not forgotten, and it was remarkable in regard to officers that their men would tolerate in them every other vice save cowardice. If a Colonel or a Captain was cruel or dissolute, his men would forgive him all in a campaign, if he had high courage and led them dauntlessly on. Whereas, an officer might be genial and easy, take good care of his men, and spend much money in their comfort, but all despised him, even for the faintest suspicion of cowardice.
Perhaps of all the pages in our military record, that written in most indelible colors, describes the story of our first battle. Our own feelings as the conflict began and continued, will never fail to be remembered ; we hardly dare to trust our - selves to portray them, so mingled and indescribable were they, so different from what we anticipated and perhaps had feared. When we listen to martial music, we sometimes fight our battles over again. When we are sure that no one will misunderstand us, or think us boastful, we recount some of those ghastly scenes. Once launched on the sea of mar- tial memories, we oft forget to cast our anchor or furl our sail. It is never safe for a civilian to decoy a veteran into the recital of those eventful days, for when once the flood- gates are raised, there is danger that the reservoir will so press on, that no shutting back is possible till it is drained. Suffice it now for us to say, that the battles in which we fought were very unlike the battle pictures which artists paint, poets sing, or Bull Run Russell wrote up for the London Times. We who have seen them, desire to see them no more, and thank God that we survive the need of buckling on the sword to-day.
I once met in mountain travel, an old gentleman who sat with me on the stage coach, and who stated his great desire to see battle. Furthermore, said he, "I expect to see in Heaven, the attractive objects and incidents which have been
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beyond my reach here. . Now, sir," he continued, "you may think it queer in me, but I expect to see the Battle of Water- loo in Heaven. I have studied that great engagement with care, and I have always longed to see it over again, and I expect that I shall beliold it hereafter." "My dear sir," said I, " did you ever witness a battle?" "No, sir," he replied, "it was not quite convenient for me to enlist, and I never could get a pass to the front in war times just before a battle was ex- pected." I assured him in very energetic language that if he had ever joined in a battle under Grant in Virginia, he would not be anxious to see another one, even in Heaven itself.
Some of us have memories of the hospital and of the dead, which no Decoration Day is needed to preserve, and which oft comes to us like a dreadful nightmare in sleep. For my own part, I can never smell the ether of a photographist's studio, without recalling the field hospitals, those sickening tents of mercy behind our contending hosts; those terrible heaps of dismembered limbs, those mangled and lifeless forms, those men in blue overcoats sprinkled thickly over the green grass and the red sands around Richmond; those stretcher-bearers coming in silently with their bleeding freight ; the long files of ambulances jolting over rough roads, and the irrepressible groans ever and anon escaping from the sufferers within ; the surgeons with bared, red-stained arms, with set lips, and dreadful instruments, and in such haste that we could not wait even to pray, before they began their work of painful kindness upon our wounds.
These are part of the legacy which the soldier cannot alienate from memory, when he counts up the education of his three years at the south. Some of us, too, remember those angels of mercy, the Florence Nightingales of the war, who seemed to come out of another world, with heavenly sweetness and love to our relief. Their names were fragrant, like the violets of spring, as they brought peace and home to the bedside of many a poor boy in blue. God be thanked for
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such sweet ministry as the woman's soft hand and sympathic voice, which made it easier for many a hero to die, and rallied to recovery many a patient who through her ministries gained strength to live ..
But at last the cruel war was over, and the perils of camp and field were past. Richmond was ours, Farmville had witnessed Lee, as he gave up his sword to our taciturn Ulysses, Andersonville, Columbia, and Libby Prison had un- clutched their hold on our surviving comrades ; the great re- views have been held at the rebel capital and at Washington, and the magnificent army of a million men is disbanding and en route for home. What emotions then filled the soldier's heart. Homeward bound at last, and soon to be discharged ! The restraints of discipline seem quite intolerable. Officers are at their wits' end to maintain the necessary control over the men for whom they are responsible. All are longing and aching to be free once more, and to get beyond the reach of "general orders."
The supreme movement comes and the impalpable bridge is crossed, which puts us back into the ranks of civil life. Once more after the welcomes are said, the embraces finished and the shock of delight is over, we take off the blue and don the citizen's garb, and as we do so, we begin to love the blue with ten-fold passion. Our hand lingers caressingly over the garments which represent so much of intense and varied ex- perience. We vow a vow, which, as I believe, we have all religiously kept, to love and to cherish the old color under which we fought to save our land.
To a veteran of the war, the old flag signifies far more than it suggests to those of recent years. We have but to close our eyes, and straightway rushes o'er the mind in long pro- cession the series of victory and defeat alternating in des- perate turn from Bull Run to Appomattox Court House. We see our stripes and stars on the crest of every battle wave, at the main of every gallant ship of war, on the ram- parts of every fortress, carried unflinchingly by horseman and
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by footman, who knew they were the mark for death because of their standard, yet, who begged the honor of being color- bearer with all its dangers ; we see the battle flags, many rent with missiles of death, their staff splintered with bullets, their folds stained with patriot's blood, their fabric exposed to storm and shaking out defiant folds in many a tempest till worn to tattered shreds ; we see the wounded color-sergeant, to save his flag from capture, stripping it from its staff and winding it around his own body beneath his blouse, where its silken layers receive his warm heart's blood as he falls in death and is buried with the colors of his shroud ; we see the whole rebellion a struggle to trample on the flag, and at Lee's surrender, we see the rival banners furled and our color once more the flag of our Union, the symbol of peace.
Year by year we cling the more fondly to the memories of our soldier-past. At intervals, we live o'er again those scenes, in our dreams at night, and when we wake, it is with a half regret that our spell was broken. So too, we cherish our dead with a like tender and holy regard for the years in which they fell. Many of us would delight to revisit those battle fields of the South, before time obliterates the record of those old campaigns. On that soil, we would gladly greet those sincere but mistaken men who stood so long and heroically in our path to Richmond. They were a band of heroes whom we never were able to despise, and at last were able only to overwhelm. At present no Americans fraternize more speedily or thoroughly than two veterans, one of whom wore the blue, and one of them the gray, during the great American conflict. Those who did the fighting were not those who did the hating. We know right well that the rebels were brave men and mostly honest in their mistaken loyalty-more brave and more honest than the pestilent demagogues behind them at South or North.
God help all the soldiers of our land to cultivate the art of peace as fully and fearlessly as they fought in war! We do not revive our martial memories, nor decorate the graves
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of our dead in order to rekindle the feuds of the past. Just the contrary. should be our aim, for did not Federal and Rebel learn a lesson of mutual respect on the battle-field of the South ? May we learn to know each other too well ever to quarrel again, and may we have
" A union of hearts, a union of hands, A union that none can sever, A union of lakes, a union of lands, The American Union forever ! "
U
STRAGGLERS.
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CHAPTER XXIII
INCIDENTS AND COINCIDENTS.
THE OLD ARMY SONGS.
One of the pleasantest features of army life, and one which is still a tender memory to the old soldier, were the Army Songs we used to sing in the quiet bivouac, and around the old camp fire. When the great army was resting from its labors; or on the toilsome march, when feet were weary and hearts were faint ; or on the eve of battle, when the mind was busy with thoughts of dear ones, far away in the old home amid the peaceful scenes so dear to the memory. At such times what could be more touching than the "Old Oaken Bucket?" sung as we used to sing it.
" How dear to my heart, are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollections present them to view ;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew."
Craw and Luce, the sweet singers of the regiment, who did so much to cheer the drooping spirits of their comrades by the pathetic songs which they sang, have gone over to the great majority, and their work here has been done, but the sweet niejody of their songs will not soon be forgotten by their survting comrades, and the tender feelings they inspired
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will echo along the memory in the future years, producing thoughts which start,
" When memory plays an old tune on the heart."
Many of their comrades joined with them in singing by the camp fires, in such spirited songs as, " Mother, is the Battle Over?" "Carrie Lec," and "Home, Sweet Home," with tear- dimmed eyes, as they listened to their singing and thought of home and its pleasant memories, of the days gone by ; and many a soldier in the hospital was invigorated and cheered as he gave up his life, by the touching and soothing influence of their music, and sank silently to their last long sleep, far from the scenes of the home they would never more see.
But not alone in the quiet camp were these old Army Songs sung, but on the long and weary marches, they were an inspiration to the tired and way-worn soldier. Who does not remember, on that long march from Harper's Ferry of the whole of that grand Army of the Potomac, how they sang, " John Brown's Body Lies Moldering in the Grave," and .other songs, to enliven the drooping and cheer the weary soldier on his way. How the song would start way back in the rear, and come sweeping with increasing energy along up that line of men, stretching away for miles, until it was taken up and sung as it was never sung before, and the bands joined in the chorus, and " the old woods rang to the anthem of the free." Never before was song sung by so many voices, and amid such a wave of enthusiasm. The inspiration was tre- mendous, and can never be forgotten by the Army of the Potomac.
BEAN SOUP.
I think if there is one thing which, more than another, is the most disagreeably impressed upon my mind, it was that first so-called breakfast of alleged "bean soup," at the barracks in Washington the morning after our arrival, You
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all remember, I know you can never forget that sumptuous banquet in the capital city of the country. I ate only one small spoonful, and my appetite for bean soup-I speak of Washington bean soup-was appeased for time and for eter- nity. It was the most abominable concoction that could pos- sibly be created. The pungent odor which it exhaled is with me still, and I fear will remain with me forever.
" You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of that bean soup will hang around it still."
Quite in contrast to that capital city banquet of bean soup, was our very enthusiastic reception and dinner at the celebrated Cooper refreshment rooms in the city of Philadelphia, where the wealthy Cooper family fed and entertained, largely at their own expense, the troops passing through the city on the way to the seat of war. Some of you will remember that this patriotic and loyal family later lost all their property, and the daughters, of which he had several, had to go out to work in order to obtain the necessities of life. You may also remember that at one time this Regimental Association took up a collection for them amounting to twenty-six dollars-if I remember rightly-and forwarded it to them, with tender expressions of regret for their sad misfortune. Many other regiments did the same. But I have no information that the Government, they loved so well and served so loyally, ever did anything for them.
That detestable bean soup of the capital city, may possibly have suffered somewhat in our appreciation by its strong con- trast to the splendid fare we had received in Philadelphia. I would like to be just to that soup, and would not intent- ionally say anything untruthful about it (if it be possible), but I have no desire to take back anything I have said, or to make any apology for it. Certainly the boys of the Twenty- first Regiment will ever have the kindliest recollections of their brief stay in the "City of Brotherly Love," and the
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splendid ovation given them as they marched through the streets on their way to the train. The sidewalks were fairly lined with fair girls and lovely women, all anxious to say encouraging words, and bid the boys "God speed," and "good-by." I think I must have shaken hands with some hundreds in our hurried passage along the walks, and I know that many a soldier carried away as souvenirs of that brief march, many delicate and highly perfumed handkerchiefs, some of which I hope are still tenderly preserved among other relics of the war.
Grand old city of brotherly love, "thou art still true to thine ancient fame and worthy of thine ancestral honor."
Our stay at Arlington Heights and in the vicinity of Wash- ington was without any interesting or noteworthy incidents others than those pertaining to the tedious routine of com- pany and battalion drills, and if possible the more tedious and weary grand reviews by General Casey-the inventor and patentee of the army tactics. Arlington Heights was at that time a kind of military training school, where the green regi- ments first practiced in the manuel of arms, and where the new officers attempted to instruct the men, with their limited stock of knowledge, by commanding file right, when they meant file left, and vice versa. One officer, it was said, sub- stituted the more familiar words, "haw " and "gee." It should be said, however, that the boys soon learned what was wanted of them, and if a wrong order was given, they had the good sense to go right, and by so doing often saved the command from getting tangled. It was while here that some of the officers became convinced that military life was not to their taste, and so decided to resign, and like John Burns, of Gettysburg, went back to their bees and cows.
Pleasant Valley, in the vicinity of historic Harper's Ferry, and among some of the grandest scenery on this continent, where we spent most of the beautiful month of October, was also devoid of any very particular incidents. Here we joined
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the Second Brigade of the Third Division of the Ninth Army Corps, General Burnside's famous old army corps.
On the 28th of October, the grand Army of the Potomac, which had been concentrated at Pleasant Valley, folded their tents like the Arab and silently stole away, and fording the Potomac at Berlin, begun that long and weary march of one hundred and seventy-five miles to Falmouth, on the Rappa- hannock River, opposite the city of Fredericksburg.
Previous to this time we had only a limited acquaintance with the grayback, or army louse, but from this on our rela- tions were more intimate, and they came to be extremely fond of our society. The grayback, or army louse, is one of the most interesting and lively attaches of the army. They are very familiar on short acquaintance, and have as much cheek as a commercial drummer. They are exceedingly domestic and affectionate in their taste, and never get lost for any length of time. They need no cultivation, but once planted in good soil will increase and multiply like pimples on the nose. They are gregarious, and never travel alone. Whether they are any relation to the common pestiferous little louse so often found in the country school-house, I do not know. I only know that their habits are quite different, and that the grayback is not worn in the hair, as is the product of the country school-house. Nor do I think they are as fond of school-marms. The army louse is more robust and stalwart in his makeup, being much larger, and subsists on the blood of his victims, and are worn in the seams of the clothing next the skin, and seems to be particularly at home in the army clothing, especially in the shirt. They are fond of travel, and are usually at home with an army on the march or in the field, and often make it lively for the " boys." They don't grow up with the country, and as I have never seen a small one, I conclude they are born full size. They are about the size of a full-grown bed-bug, and like them, they do most of their work in the night. They can easily be seen with the aid of a glass, and you can feel them uneasily in the
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