USA > New Hampshire > History of the Twelfth regiment, New Hampshire volunteers in the war of the rebellion > Part 51
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Crack ! crack ! crack ! went the rifles; curse! curse! curse! went their mouths; hiss! hiss! hiss! went their bullets. They made me almost deaf. Not a bullet, however, hit me. I never knew how I got over the fences. I didn't see any as I remember ; but suffice it to say that in a few minutes I was back with General Wistar, to find that the Twelfth had been moved to the rear by a division staff officer in a hurry, for fear it would be captured, from that open space to its left up to which I went in the search ; and I found I had been entirely beyond all our troops, alone. I was out of breath and had some bush scratches, but there was no time for rest, for Butler was scared and again on the retreat.
APPEARANCES ARE DECEITFUL.
It is not always that the trimmest soldier is the best fighter, but quite frequently the reverse. Bandbox soldiers are well enough for dress parade and review or headquarters etiquette, but style does not last long
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on the march, and is of still less account on the battlefield. In military no less than civil life, the rule pertains that it is unsafe to judge from appearances.
One of the best officers in the regiment, who went out a private and returned a captain, and who was gifted by nature with superior intellectual endowments, was so careless and indifferent about his dress as to often excite the jests and ridicule of his comrades ; and his peculiar manner and expression of countenance corresponded so well with the laxity of his toilet that a stranger, at first sight, would naturally think that his place in the mental scale of human existence must be very near the bottom. Yet when duty called he was always there, ready and willing to do his full share; and after the war he became honorably known through the press and upon the platform.
As a further illustration of the truth of the subject title hereof, we are reminded of an anecdote about one of the best fighters in Company D.
Hle always wore his pants about six inches too low, turning up the legs that much at the bottom to keep them from dragging under his feet.
At the battle of Drury's Bluff a piece of shell passed between his legs just high enough to tear away the seat of his pants without severely injuring him. Quick as thought he whirled and started for the rear, holding on with both hands as he run as if to save the pieces. But he was only unmanned for a moment, for, finding no loss or friction of parts as he halted to examine, he uttered an exclamation of disgust at his own laughable mistake, and returned as good and as brave as ever to the battle-line of his regiment.
" A SLIGHT CLIP" OF DRY WIT.
While our forces were advancing against the outer works of Fort Darling, the rebel artillerists would entertain us, now and then, with full-shotted salutes of broken rails and such other pieces and chunks of iron as they could pick up, which would shriek and screech through the air like demon spirits let loose to terrify and destroy.
On the morning of the battle at Drury's Bluff there was a volcanic blast from the enemy's batteries of railroad iron. solid shot, and shells that blew up one of our caissons. killing several men and horses and creating considerable excitement.
John Bent, of Company B, a recruit, but a good soldier and comical genius who stuttered badly, was severely wounded at this time by a piece of scrap iron or shell. Captain Barker. commanding the regiment, seeing him coming to the rear in a crippled condition, asked him if he was seriously hurt. "N-n-n-no- not very. I guess, Captain. O-o-o-on-only a slight clip. The d-d-damned rebels fired a whole b-b-ber-blacksmith shop o-over here just now, b-b-but nothing happened to hit me except the ha-ha-han-hanvil!""
* Captain Bohonon.
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"Two HORSES AND A NIGGER."
Abraham Jackson was the name of a colored refugee, who came into our lines at Point Lookout and acted as waiter for Doctor Fowler until drowned in the James river at the battle of Fort Harrison.
When the enemy sent a flock of 10 and 12-pounders over to wake us up early in the morning of the 16th at Drury's Bluff, quite a number of these swift-winged messengers of destruction alighted near by the hospital quarters of the Eighteenth Corps. It was not yet hardly light, and for a time there was quite a commotion among the disciples of Esculapius, where confusion and diffusion were both sudden and rapid, and all for the very natural, if not laudable, desire to save an effusion of (their own) blood. But " Abe" was as cool as a morning-picked cucumber, and bringing up the rear in centre, with a horse on either side of him, he exclaimed: "Goddy mighty, massah; thought one while you's out two horses and a nigger, suah !"
" ANOTHER CAN OF STRAWBERRIES."
In addition to the incidents of Cold Harbor related in the account of that battle in a former chapter, two or three will be here given in con- nection with the following :
After the charging column of the brigade had been hurled back, and while the enemy's fire was sweeping every foot of his front occupied by our troops, cutting down trees and men who were seeking protection behind them, the irrepressible wit and heedless daring of John Emerson, of Company F, made him an object of attention to friend and foe. Standing up, entirely exposed, he made mocking and insulting gestures at the Johnnies until from a rebel battery directly opposite there came a terrific discharge of grape and canister, as if sent purposely to sweep the Yankee tantalizer from the face of the earth. But untouched and undisturbed, he stepped up and stood out even higher and bolder than before, and beckoning toward the battery, shouted out : "Good enough, Johnny ! Send us over another can of strawberries !"
His wit and apparent absence of all fear attracted special attention from those around him, and a general, standing behind a tree near by, took pains to inquire about his name, regiment, etc.
PICKED UP THE WRONG CHAP.
This from the pen of Sergeant Clarke, of Company G, is both charac- teristic of the Sergeant, and illustrative of that official pomposity, too common in the army.
In the afternoon after the charge, as we lay in front of the enemy's works, I was standing behind a tree and Lieutenant Ileath behind another near me. An officer came along and ordered me to step up to my regiment. I told him I was
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already up with my regiment, and that the one in front was not mine. He said he did not care whether it was or not, I must take my place with it. I said I should not do it. Ile drew his revolver and threatened to blow me through if I did not immediately obey him. I brought my gun to a " ready," and was getting earnestly ready for him too, when Lieutenant Heath told him that if he knew his business he had better be about it, and upon this he left.
IlIs ORDNANCE RETURN.
"Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death,"
Captain Bedee was always very particular about having all his military papers made out and forwarded in proper shape and time ; and especially his ordnance returns.
While in the trenches at Cold Harbor he was struck by a minie in the head, and rendered senseless for a while. As soon as he recovered sufficiently to know where he was, he looked up to one of the officers standing over him and said : " If anything should happen to me see that my ordnance return is all right."
A few days after this, as he lay in the hospital, when shown the ball that struck him, he remarked : "Didn't the fools know better than waste their pow- der on my pate, when they had tried it in vain with 20-pound shells?" referring to a similar wound received at the battle of Chancellorsville from a shell that Sergeant Tibbetts, of his company, who was looking right at him at the time, was always ready to swear " struck him right square in the head and stove the shell all to pieces !"
A TIMELY PROTEST.
Another instance of sleeping on the field of battle is here related :
In bringing off the dead and wounded at Cold Harbor a night or two after the terrible charge, Sergeant Gordon and Benjamin Thompson run their poles under a fellow to carry him to the rear and bury him, who proved to be a live picket, stretched at full length upon the ground, fast asleep. Entirely exhausted, he could not keep awake, even when right in the face of the enemy. Although he could sleep well enough among the dead, he did not care to be buried with them.
He was not reported, for he deserved more pity than blame, and those who found him knew too well how to sympathize with him.
"GOT MY BAIT WITH ME."
For pluck and luck - good pluck to fight, and bad luck to get hit - " Captain Shack," as some of the officers used to call him, was second to none, perhaps, in the whole regiment.
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Riddled with minies at Cold Harbor he rode twelve miles to White House Landing with his grit and wit as good and ready as ever ; and the first recog- nized voice that Doctor Fowler heard after getting his hospital ready, and wait- ing for the wounded to come in, was that of the little commander of Company E. calling out as gleeful and jocose as ever : "Doctor Fowler here ? I'm going a fishing - got my bait, all cut. with me."
.. TWO BALLS AND A RAMROD."
One of the boys of Company H. while in front of Petersburg, found one day a ramrod in the trenches. And. thinking that all fight and no fun was getting to be a little too monotonous, he resolved to double his charge. top out with the ramrod and give the " Johnnies," for once. as good as they sent.
So ramming down two cartridges into the barrel of his gun already foul from previous service, and putting the ramrod on top, he waited until a fresh puff of smoke betrayed the cover of a rebel sharpshooter. and then. taking good aim. let him have it. Whether the " reb " had reason to laugh or cry is not recorded ; but though mortally wounded. he would have laughed until he died. could he have seen our comrade turn summersaults backward, while his gun seemed to imitate his motions in the air above him. The fun was at the wrong end of the gun to be best relished by the holder. who for a long time could not say anything in reply to the jokes of his comrades about . two balls and a ramrod." because he had the mumps in his right jaw and - shoulder.
It was a picture realistic. But more comical than artistic.
FORAGING BETWEEN THE LINES.
In the late Summer and early Fall of '64, while Grant's line confronted Lee's from north of the James to nearly the South Side Railroad, there was much amusement. not unmixed. however, with danger. in the night foraging excursions of the boys in search of potatoes. corn. onions, mel- ons. etc .. that happened to be growing between the lines. It must be remembered that at this time the lines were closely drawn, only a few rods apart in many places. and a sight by day. or a sound by night, on one side. was sure to invite a bullet from the other. But what was a piece of rebel lead. compared with a mess of sweet potatoes or corn to roast. onions for a soup. or a nice watermelon for dessert, after a dry breakfast of "salt horse" and "hard-tack "? Certainly nothing: for was n't one a tempting rarity. while the other was altogether too common to be hardly respected ?
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Many a " vet " in reading this will smile as memory recalls his own or a comrade's experience in search of some palatable anti-scorbutic grown in the " sacred soil" of Virginia. and one of the " Dirty Dozen "* will recognize himself as the hero of the following story:
It was just about dark enough to see but not be seen, and the melon patch was but a few rods in front of our line, as carefully located by one of Company F boys before night. So he quickly but noiselessly creeps over the breastwork and crawling along " on all fours," soon finds himself among the vines, where he feels and squints for the luscious fruit. But finding only some small green speci- mens left, he ventures a little farther out, but still finding none worthy of capture. and not wishing to return to be laughed at for so much danger and pains with nothing to show for it all, he concludes, after holding a council of war with him- self, that he will reinforce with new courage, crawl beyond the middle line and prove
· That he, alone. is sure of luck Who shows himself most full of pluck."
Scarcely has he commenced to put this resolution into motion when, as if already proving the truth of the couplet. he espies dimly through the darkness. but a few feet ahead of him. a large melon. But now he halts, stretches and flattens like a toad, for he thinks he hears the click of a gun lock. In breathless silence he lies and listens, and gazes into the darkness. He hears nothing now but the beating of his own heart, and sees nothing but a dark spot on the ground which he now fully believes must be nothing more or less than a big watermelon. What else can it be? No longer willing to borrow fears of his imagination he draws himself up into creeping posture again, and commences to advance ; when. all at once, out of a vedette hole (that our young hero had mistaken for the big melon) springs a full grown and well armed . Johnny reb," exclaiming : " Now I've got ye, you d -n . Yank,'" as he thought he had, and was intending, doubt- less, to take him prisoner, but the game was too quick for him and he only had the satisfaction of sending a bullet after the retreating form of the melon hunter, who, having thus opened the ball of a regular fusillade for some distance up and down the lines, contented himself to remain quiet behind the works the rest of the night, wondering how one poor soldier could be the innocent cause of so much trouble. and congratulating himself in being able to balance the account so far in his favor; for if his pluck did not get him the melon, it was certainly his good luck that the melon did not get him.
A RIGHT-EYED SQUINT.
Who is there much better remembered by the surviving members of Company F, than the jolly-hearted youth, scarcely half way through his teens, who used to act as " marker" at Falmouth in the formation and evolution of the regimental line on parade and drill.
* Name given to the regiment by one of its witty members after the Gettysburg campaign. See page 143.
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He was too full of frolic and fun to ever have a sober face, unless when sleep- ing, but always greeted you with a roguish grin suggestive of the joke or prank that was pretty sure to follow; and then he would run away with an explosive laugh that would sound something like the bursting of a coehorn mortar shell. Notwithstanding his years, he never cried baby; but with good pluck and luck was always " present or accounted for" until the end of the war. One day, during the siege of Petersburg in the Summer of '64, while some of the best marksmen of the regiment were exchanging shots with the rebel sharpshooters, our young friend, wanting to give them a right-eyed squint, himself, begged the privilege of doing so of one of his company, who had been for some time busy swapping minies with a keen-sighted " Johnny," through nearly opposite port- holes. With a caution to " keep his cye peeled" the rifle is loaded and given to him. With a contemptuous nonchalance he thrusts the barrel through the hole in the earthworks, draws back the hammer, and puts his cheek to the stock for a death-aiming sight. But the swift leaden messenger was coming instead of going, and before the hammer fell upon the cap on his gun tube, it went whiz- zing in broken pieces through the cap upon his head, while splinters of stock and lock played tear and scare with his face and hair. For once, Fred (there, you've got his name at last) looked sober; and though the boys used to laugh at and joke him a good deal about getting instead of keeping his eye pceled, and of its being a case of jump instead of love at first sight, etc., it was some time before he could more than half appreciate it all, because "he could n't see it" with only one eye.
DUTY AND DANGER.
" I do perceive here a divided duty."
A prominent New Hampshire man, who had been sent out by the State to visit and attend to the wants of her soldiers, started one morning, with Chaplain Ambrose as guide, to find the Twelfth Regiment, then in front of Petersburg. He was acquainted with many of the regiment and seemed very anxious to see them. As they approached Fort Steadman an artillery duel, on a small scale, opened between the lines as was almost the daily occurrence during the siege.
The Chaplain, taking no notice of it, rode unconcernedly along toward the scene of action ; but the state dignitary fell behind, and so lagged, both in pace and conversation, that the Chaplain sought to encourage him by remarking in a humorous way, that it was nothing but a little game of base ball by the battery boys, and that there was no danger to be apprehended until within range of the enemy's guns. The faint-hearted civilian still kept in the rear, but slowly and silently followed after, until a stray shot, reaching a little farther than the others, dropped down and exploded fifty or seventy-five rods in front of them. This was a cautionary signal that our tyro of war felt duty bound to heed, and reining up his horse so quickly as almost to unseat himself, he told the Chaplain that he could not possibly consent to go any farther. "Not that I'm any afraid," he continued, " nor anything of that kind, I would n't have you think ; but duty to
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my family and to my office forbid that I needlessly expose myself. It is different, you know, with you, Chaplain, for you have got no family to provide for, or to mourn for you, and you cannot appreciate my feelings. I think I had better go back to City Point." The Chaplain thought so too, and so they separated ; one to the rear in duty to his family and his office, and the other to the front in duty to his country and his God.
When words assert and acts deny, 'T is plain to see which tell the lie.
THE DEATH OF POOR CLIPPER.
". Let not him that girdeth on his harness boast himself, as he that putteth it off."
One day when the regiment was in the reserve camp in the ravine in front of Petersburg, and the enemy were unusually liberal with conical-percussion and spherical-fuse. Colonel Barker and Adjutant Heath thought they would take a short tour of observation on the left, to see how General Grant was progressing in that direction .*
Their horses had been saddled and brought to their tents, that stood side by side, ready for mounting. Colonel Barker had passed out of his tent and stood by his horse's head, talking with the Adjutant about the superior merits of his charger, and jokingly asked him if he didn't wish he had as good a one, etc.
Scarcely were the words spoken, and before the Adjutant could reply, there was a whuzz and a thud and the horse lay dead at the Colonel's feet, with a 12-pounder hole through his body.
This equine war veteran, whose strange history as well as death deserves mention, was bought in New Hampshire by Adjutant Bedee, as his war steed, before the regiment went to the front; and when, after the battle of Chancellors- ville, that officer ended his military career, he sold him to Captain Langley, then in command of the regiment; and when he, also, left the service he was bought by Captain Barker.
He was named " Clipper," because it turned out to the sorrow of the thief, who was afterward apprehended, and his purchaser, who had to pay for him twice, that he had been stolen from a man in the State of Maine, and his hair clipped off', so that he could not be so easily followed or identified. And when he fell, so many miles away from the quiet, green pastures of his early home, the miser- able thief, who had thus been guilty of indirectly bringing him to his sad end, was serving out a five years' sentence in the State's prison.
SIGNAL CONFAB WITH GENERAL BUTLER.
The writer of this, who was then a signal officer, stationed at " Dutch Gap," had the pleasure of transmitting through the lines the first news of the fall of Fort Morgan, connected with which is the following rather amusing anecdote :
28
· See page 222.
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One afternoon in the last of August, 1864, he succeeded in getting from a rebel picket a copy of the "Richmond Whig," containing the news of the cap- ture of Fort Morgan, and the possession of Mobile bay by our forces.
He immediately signaled the important item to General Butler. In a few moments came back the interrogatory response: "By whose authority is this message sent ? "
Answer: "Upon the authority of the " Richmond Daily Whig," of this date, and with the compliments of - -, signal officer at Dutch Gap, who alone is responsible for sending it."
A short pause, and then comes the reply : " I have the paper, but there is no such news in it."
After a hasty glance at the paper and its date, to be sure he was right, the officer sent back : " I, also, have the paper, and it contains the news, verbatim, as I have sent it."
A longer pause, during which the writer was wondering what the matter could be and what would come next, and then he reads through his glass a positive reiteration ending with a significant inquiry like this : "I have looked the paper through again, and there is no such item to be found anywhere in it. What do you mean ? "
By this time things were getting seriously mixed, but remembering David Crockett's common-sense maxim, he takes another careful look to reassure him- self that there is no squint in his own eye, and then ventures a surrebutter, to wit :
"I beg pardon, but I have looked at the paper again myself, and, if I can read plain English printed on poor brown paper, correctly, there is such news, viz. : the capture of Fort Morgan, etc., to be found in it."
Quick as the signal flag could switch, comes back the order : "Send a man with that paper to my headquarters at once."
The order was promptly obeyed, and the carrier instructed not to return until he found out the mystery, if he had to stay there a weck. It was now nearly dark, and the man coming very near being drowned in crossing the river, the paper was thoroughly soaked when handed in for the General's inspection. The sequel is, there was a morning and evening issue of the " Daily Whig," which was just then interesting news to the officer.
"WHAT'S IN A NAME?"
Well, a good deal sometimes, especially if it happens to be of Polish origin, as the signal officer, referred to in the last anecdote, thought one day when communicating with one of Kosciusko's liberty-loving descendants.
He had been trying in vain for some time to make out what kind of an ending that a new officer, with whom he had never interchanged signals before, was try- ing quite as earnestly to give to a message that the latter had been sending him, when losing all his patience, after several calls to " repeat," he inquired : " What in the name of common sense are you trying to give us, anyway? Cannot make anything out of the last part of your message but a crazy jumble of letters."
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To the great but amusing surprise of the puzzled inquirer came back the response : " Oh! I finished my message long ago, and am simply trying to sign my name, but you don't give me a chance ! "
" Spell it out slowly once more then, and I wont interrupt you again until you get through."
The flagman was now requested to write it down while the officer took it, let- ter for letter, through his glass as follows: J-C-K-R-Z-Y-W-O-S-Z-Y-N- S-K-1! It took all but two of these fifteen letters to spell his last or family name : the first two were for Julius Cæsar.
ONE SHOT WAS ENOUGH !.
It was strangely true as has been often proved, and as every old soldier well knows, that he who feels the bravest when safe from harm is usually the greatest coward when danger comes ; and that the exact converse of this is equally true.
Men, as a rule, do not boast of their courage and prowess so much to deceive others as because they are deceived themselves. They feel to have what nature has never given them ; while many a war-scarred vet- eran. on the other hand, seriously feared, all the time from his enlistment to his first battle, that he could never face the bullets of the enemy. Of the former class are the two following anecdotes :
One afternoon in the Summer of '64, two " Christian Commission " fellows, just from the North, had found their way, unchallenged, to the top of Cobb Hill signal station, on the Appomattox, which was then in charge of an officer for- merly from the Twelfth New Hampshire.
In answer to their apologies for intrusion, they were reminded by the officer that it was not a very safe place just then to take a view from, as the enemy, every fifteen or twenty minutes, was sending over spiteful notices for him to vacate, in the shape of Whitworth projectiles.
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