USA > Ohio > Four years in the saddle. History of the First Regiment, Ohio Volunteer Cavalry. War of the Rebellion, 1861-1865 > Part 32
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"Up went the Jew And the mourners were few."
"Requiscat in pace." 1
An Interesting Relic.
J. W. Johnston, First Sergeant of Company C, accidentally shot himself about thirty miles from Charleston, S. C., near the Cooper River, and died July 7, 1865. He was buried near the village called "The Barrons," and one of his comrades carved very skillfully, out of yellow pine, a neat headboard, and placed it at the head of his grave.
In 1866 an ex-Confederate soldier by the name of Ernest H. Rowell, of Oakley, S. C., wrote a letter to the National Tribune regarding the grave of Johnston. Sergeant John W. Chapin, who was then a clerk in the Adjutant-General's office, had his attention called to the letter published in the Tribune, and wrote a letter to the department at Washington, asking that the remains be removed to one of the National Cemeteries, and at his request the Quartermaster-General of the U. S. Army had the remains moved to the Florence National Cemetery, Grave No. 3998, Section A, and the headboard was forwarded to Chapin by the superintendent of the cemetery at Florence, S. C., and it is now in the Relic Room at the State House, Colum- bus, O., in a good state of preservation.
The letters in the National Tribune, giving account of this matter, discovered two brothers of Johnston, and they were much pleased to learn of the disposition of his body, as it seems they had never learned the particulars regarding his death and burial. No doubt, surviving members of Company C will recall the circumstance connected with the accident and Johnston's death.
Reunions of the Regiment.
Soon after the close of the war two or three informal re- unions of the regiment were held in Columbus, O. But few members of the regiment were in attendance, and no record was kept of these meetings. The first minutes kept was at the
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reunion held at Columbus, O., August 10, 1880, and below is given the date and place of all reunions since 1880, with names of the President and Secretary elected each year.
Columbus, Ohio, August 10, 1880.
J. W. Chapin, Secretary, W. L. Curry, President. Columbus, Ohio, September 2, 1881.
J. W. Chapin, Secretary, W. L. Curry, President.
Columbus, Ohio, September 20, 1882.
J. W. Chapin, Secretary, George R. Carr, President .. Columbus, Ohio, July 25, 1SS3.
W. L. Curry, Secretary,
J. W. Kirkendall, President.
Marysville, Ohio, September 17, 1884.
W. L. Curry, Secretary, J. W. Kirkendall, President. Washington C. H., Ohio, August 10, 1885.
T. D. McElwaine, Secretary, C. M. Riggs, President.
Dayton, Ohio, September 23, 1886.
William Rhoads, Secretary,
J. W. Chapin, President.
Columbus, Ohio, August 17, 1887.
William Rhoads, Secretary, L. F. Knoderer, President.
Columbus, Ohio, September 11, 1888.
.William Rhoads, Secretary, R. Wirth, President.
Covington, Ohio, October 8, 1889.
W. L. Curry, Secretary, N. B. Teeter, President. Columbus, Ohio, September 16, 1890.
W. L. Curry, Secretary,
M. T. Vanpelt, President.
Newark, Ohio, September 15, 1891.
W. L. Curry, Secretary, J. W. Kirkendall, President. Galloway, Ohio, September 13, 1892.
W. L. Curry, Secretary,
D. B. Peters, President.
Columbus, Ohio, August 29, 1893.
W. L. Curry, Secretary, J. W. Chapin, President. Basil, Ohio, September 4, 1894.
W. L. Curry, Secretary, Adam Roley, President. National Military Park, Chickamauga, Ga., September 19, 1895. L. F. Knoderer, Secretary, D. B. Peters, President. Millersport, Ohio, September 16, 1896.
W. L. Curry, Secretary, C. W. Click, President.
, Columbus, Ohio, September 22, 1897.
- W. L. Curry, Secretary, Matthew Williams, President.
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The Army Mule.
"You may sing of your beans and hardtack Of bad water you drank from the pool ; Of tincup, canteen and haversack ; But you must not forget the old mule."
CHORUS :- " Good old mule, army mule, Both your ears were so graceful and long. You were true to our flag, So we'll praise you in story and song."
The much-abused, patient and long-enduring mule was a very important factor during the war and he deserves the sin- cere thanks of every boy who wore the blue for his long, faith- ful and loyal service. The old saying, that a mule will live quietly and peaceably with his owner for twenty years just to get to kick him once when opportunity offers, is a base slander, and if it were true, the owner has no good reason for making a kick, if the mule did kick, for a service of so many years - a part of the time, no doubt, feeding on weeds and wagon-tongues, should entitle him to some privileges and a little pleasure as he is about to wind up his useful career.
The mule is a generous animal, which is abundantly dem- onstrated by his acts of kindness and charity, of which we have many examples, where he divided up his rations with the boys.
When General Thomas' army was in and about Chattanooga in the fall of 1863 and the cracker line was cut off down as far as Bridgeport, Ala., and all supplies had to be wagoned over the mountains, rations were pretty short. Many animals starved, and during a part of the time the soldiers lived on parched corn, and that was issued out very sparingly. One morning a good- looking, waggish soldier went up to General Thomas' head- quarters, and finding "Pap Thomas" out in front of his tent, saluted and then requested the General to give him an order on the Quartermaster for a quart of shelled corn. The General, who always looked very carefully after his soldiers, enquired if he had not received his ration of corn from the Quartermaster the day before. Yes, said the wag, I did; but last night I was on guard, and, getting very hungry, I borrowed a quart of corn of a mule and promised to pay him back this morning. I went down to the Quartermaster this morning and asked him about it, but he said he had just enough corn to go around and not an extra grain. You see, General, I am up a stump, and the whole mule brigade will be kicking, if I don't pay up, and I won't be able to borrow any more corn. The General smiled, took in the situation, and the soldier got his order for the extra quart of corn.
Another good story is told about General Wilson and some
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cavalrymen down at Gravelly Springs, Ala. After the battle of Nashville, in December, 1864, General Wilson with his cav- alry corps followed up Hood's retreating army to the Tennessee River and went into camp at Gravelly Springs. For some rea- son rations were very short and corn was issued and parched by the soldiers. Many of the soldiers were very indignant and the commanding officer came in for his share of abuse. When General Wilson and staff would ride through the camp, the soldiers would shout: Hard tack! Hard tack! One day a clown of a fellow got a piece of picket rope and pressed four of his comrades into the service and made pretense of hitching them up like mules. He then got a long whip and commenced driv- ing his team up toward General Wilson's headquarters, swear- ing and urging his refractory team along in the most approved mule-whackers style. A staff officer out in front of Wilson's headquarters yelled at the driver rather gruffly and wished to know what he was doing. "Doing?" said the trooper. "Can't you see? Why, I have just fed my mules and now I am driving 'em down to water. Get up there, Jack!" and on they went,. the mules giving the familiar Ah, he! as they started off.
The mule was just as much a part of the necessary equip- ments of an army as the musket or saber. An army cannot march or fight unless they are fed, and in a mountainous and rough country, in which the theater of war was largely located during the rebellion, rations, ammunition and supplies could only be transported by mules either in wagons or by the pack saddle.
The mule is a headstrong, independent and stubborn creat- ure and requires a certain amount of drill and discipline before he is ready for army service. It is a mistaken idea generally that people have about mules being hard to break. While he will kick and has an inclination to either pull back or lie down when his education is commenced, still in a few days he is subdued, and his driver has but little trouble with him there- after, excepting now and then he will kick or balk. He does not scare like a horse, but when there is anything like a general stampede, which would happen sometimes when a wagon train was attacked, then look out; for when a mule starts, he never- knows when to stop, but goes on until he is compelled to halt by reason of running up against a fence, a tree or something stronger than a mule team, or stops from sheer exhaustion. Then, as if to show his utter contempt for the stampede, and to convince his driver that he was not scared half as bad as the driver himself, he will go to nibbling grass as serene and com- posed as if he had just been turned out to graze.
The morning after the battle of Perryville, a mule was found eating grass upon the field with a hole through his neck, made by a four or six-pound cannon ball. By examination it was
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found that the ball had passed entirely through the neck, leav. ing a gaping wound through which you could see; still the mule was enjoying his morning meal.
The mules, delivered by the boat-load and train-load at Louisville, Kentucky, and Nashville, Tennesse - the main depots of supplies for the Army of the Cumberland - were young and unbroken, and the large majority of them had never been hal- tered. They were run into dirty and unusually muddy corrals, hundreds of them together, and in a few days were issued out to the Quartermasters, and in a short time were doing duty for Uncle Sam, either hauling rations or ammunition to the front.
The mule did not submit gracefully and without protest. No, indeed; he had to be "broken in" just like the tenderfoot soldier who joined a veteran regiment at the front, as both mule and recruit generally made a vigorous kick.
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All around these corrals were funnel-shaped shoots, with wide end running toward the center of the corral and getting narrower until it was just wide enough for one mule to squeeze in, and this narrow part was sufficiently long to take in perhaps twenty-five mules. When a quartermaster required a certain number of mules, he would make his requisition, and when all was in readiness he would report at the corral with just twice the number of men as the mules he was to draw. The fun would then begin, as the soldiers would drive a large number of mules into the shoot, and keep crowding and urging them forward until the narrow part of the shoot was full, and then strong bars were run across in rear of the last mule and the whole twenty-five were safely corralled, as they could neither move forward, backward or sideways. When a sufficient number were run into the shoots, the men mounted the platforms, erected along the outside, and commenced the work of haltering or bridling. When this was finished the front bars were taken out and the front mule would make a lunge for liberty, but find himself checked somewhat by a pull on the strong halter by two earnest, reckless, swearing mule drivers, who would curb his vigorous spirit for a moment. But after a brief pause he eyes his captors with a tired, disdainful look, and then com- mences opcrations earnestly by another rapid run and jump, carrying the two trainers off their feet and dragging them through the mud, which is a perfect lake, half boot-top deep, several rods and then comes another halt, which the boys im- prove by wrapping the rope halter around a friendly tree. By this time there are perhaps fifty mules out, with mules and men all cutting about the same kind of gymnastics, but varied a little according to the size and activity of the mule and the grit of the soldiers. After duly considering the situation, mule No. 1 will likely open up the play again by making an attempt
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to pull down the tree around which his cruel captors have tightly wrapped the strong rope halter. He gives a hard pull, then a vigorous lunge and proceeds to settle down to a long, hard , pull, but the tree is too strong and he is choked down, but not conquered, as he commences kicking and pawing the mud as he lies down with a rapidity that would shame a drummer beating the "long roll." The boys are now splattered from head to foot and look like they had taken an up-to-date mud bath. The mule now lays quietly in his soft mud bed, but a few sharp kicks in the back and jerking of the rope brings him to his feet, ready for a grand-stand play. The boys chuckle and say "he is broke," and one of them proceeds in a moment of thought- lessness or absent-mindedness to venture up and pat him on the head, but a moment afterwards, as he picked himself up out of the mud, having run against the mule's hind foot, he took it all back and declared he was honestly mistaken. The halters were long, and at times the mules and men would be mixed up in a general melee as they jumped, kicked and ran around each other; and the mule, heeding the admonition of the Irishman in the fight, when he said, "Whenever you see a head, hit it," would let loose with both heels, and was not particular whether he hit a mule or a man.
Finally the mules would all be worked out through the gates and to the camp after many pulls, licks and kicks, and after getting out on the pike it was absolutely necessary to take a little stimulant to keep off the malaria, and the Quartermaster usually "set 'em up" by producing a few canteens full of bourbon or Robinson County.
But the trouble was not all over when the mules were all safely landed at the camp, for they must be harnessed, hitched up to a big government wagon and made to pull a load, for that is what they entered the service for. The wagons were new, the harness was new and strong, some of the collars were large enough to go around the mule's body, and now the picnic begins. A mule would be jammed back into fence-corner per- haps by four or five men to be bridled and harnessed, and before the harnessing was completed he would likely be lying down, and when after a long, hard fight all was ready, the wagon wheels were locked with six mad, stubborn mules in front of it and a resolute young soldier at the head of each mule, and when the word "go" was given, perhaps the first move would be into the ditch or against the fence. This would be kept up all day, and perhaps there would be a runaway or two, but the boys did not care for that, for it was all in the business. With the first day the hard work was over, and while the driver would have a man or two to help him for a few days, yet within a week he would be riding the wheel mule and driving the leader of a six-mule team with a single line.
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Every Quartermaster, Wagonmaster and mule driver knows that this account of breaking mule-teams is not overdrawn in the least. It was most ridiculous and amusing to witness the antics of the mules in the process of breaking-in.
This kind of work could only be done by a lot of reckless, resolute young soldiers, who seemed to enjoy the whole busi- ness, although at times some of them would get pretty badly banged up; but he would laugh it off by consoling himself that some other fellow got used as bad as he did.
The mule, unlike the horse, is subdued in a few days and goes to work as faithfully as if he were drawing a good salary from the government. But he would kiek now and then, balk and lie down for a rest, and was more liable to halt in the mud than on dry ground. When a mule makes up his mind to lie down, no amount of persuasion can convince him that he is wrong, and down he goes. The mule driver's "black snake" often only seemed to amuse him as the driver applied it with the regulation cussing.
Lieutenant Cole, of the Third O. V. C., Quartermaster of the Second Brigade, was the champion convincer and never failed, but his methods were rather severe. When a mule laid down in the mud, Cole would have the balance of the team unhitched and would then fasten a picket rope around the mule's body, just behind the fore legs; to this picket rope he would hitch a mule team and drag the recalcitrant animal out of the mud and over the dry ground until he began to scramble to his feet. And it was a sure cure, as the mule would resume work with great earnestness and solemn promise that he would never lie down in the mud again as long as Cole was in com- mand of the wagon train.
Mules make the best teams for army service, and in fact they are the only animal that can be depended upon for trans- portation of army supplies in a mountainous country as Vir- ginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama and the Caro- linas, the great theater of the war of the rebellion. They can live and travel much longer without water than the horse; they can subsist on much less grain, but they must have coarse for- age, as the mule would often leave grain untasted in the feed trough for dead weeds.
Thousands of wagon-tongues and wagon-beds were literally . eaten up by mules, when they were short of hay, straw or other coarse forage. With great loads of ammunition or army sup- plies they would ascend or descend steep and dangerous moun- tain passes, where a cavalryman was compelled to dismount and lead his horse, picking his steps carefully, momentarily in danger of making a misstep and toppling over some precipice.
In addition to the mule-teams the pack-mule was indis- pensable in the cavalry service. In raids where the movements
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were very rapid, the pack-teams were the only means of trans portation for rations and ammunition. The pack-saddle consists of a wooden tree with cantel and pommel running up high, and on either side of the saddle are great pockets, made of tarpaulin or wicker baskets, holding from two to three bushels each. In these paniers were packed rations, ammunition, picks, shovels and cooking utensils. Little mules would carry enormous loads, and if the load was not packed equally on either side, in ascend- ing steep mountain roads, the pack-mule would often fall, and then the load had to be unpacked, or three or four soldiers, by dint of hard lifting, would raise him to his feet, then off he would go as nimble as ever. In the night, pack-mules would frequently fall over the ledges and down the mountain side; and wagons with a six-mule team attached would often topple over, taking mules and drivers down among the brush and trees, In many places the mountain passes would be so steep that the wagon had to be let down by ropes and manned by perhaps twenty-five stalwart soldiers to keep the loads from running over and crushing the teams. During the last two years of the war the soldiers carried everything, including their "dog tents," with perhaps one wall tent to the regiment for the Col- onel's headquarters, one Quartermaster's tent and one or two hospital tents. Where we had ten wagons the first two years of the war, we had one the last two years. Each company had about six pack-mules, and on the march, if we were not anticipating a fight, the pack-train of each company marched in the rear of the company to which they belonged; but if we struck the enemy, all pack-trains soon dropped back to the rear and were put in charge of the Quartermaster-Sergeant or Commissary.
A long train of pack-mules winding up a mountain road was a grotesque and interesting picture that is indelibly im- pressed on the memory of every soldier of the regiment.
The "Cavalier."
While stationed at Fayetteville the First Ohio published a newspaper called the Cavalier, which was edited by William . Davis, of Company M, and A. Thompson, of Company D, with T. C. Stevenson and Joe Devreux, of Company D, publishers. The motto at the heading read: "We Go Where Rebs Await Us." As will be remembered, it was a spicy sheet, and some poetic cavalryman wrote a parody on Morgan's mule, which ran thus:
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"Turchin's Got Your Mule."
A planter came to camp one day, His niggers for to find, His Mules had also gone astray, And stock of every kind. The planter tried to get them back, And thus was made a fool,
For every one he met in camp Cried "Mister here's your Mule."
CHO .:- Go back, go back, go back, old scamp, And don't be made a fool, Your niggers they are all in camp And Turchin's got your Mule.
His corn and horses all were gone Within a day or two,
Again he went to Col. Long, To see what he could do. I cannot change what I have done, I wont be made a fool,
Was all the answer he could get, The owner of the mule.
And thus from place to place we go, The song is e'er the same,
T'is not as once it used to be, For Morgan's lost his name. He went up North and there ne stays, With stricken face, the fool ;
In Cincinnati now he cries, "My Kingdom for a Mule."
An Incident of the Tullahoma Campaign.
An Unwritten Chapter in the History of the War.
On the morning of the first of July, 1863, the Second Cav- alry Division, having passed through Manchester, closed up with the army and took position directly east and some three miles distant from Tullahoma.
The First Ohio Cavalry having the advance, Company K was immediately detailed for picket duty and was posted on the direct road to Tullahoma. The position chosen for the reserve picket was closely flanked on either side of the road by a thick growth of low, scrubby timber and thickets of brushwood, while the videttes were thrown well forward to a turn in the road, in such position that they could observe any advance by the enemy two or three hundred yards to the front. We were sup- ported by a grand guard of a regiment of infantry. Scarcely was there time to make a disposition of the guard, when a sharp
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picket fire began in our front, and was kept up with but little cessation for an hour or two. Just about sunset the enemy's cavalry made a dash on our picket post and were warmly re- ceived by the videttes, the ever vigilant Tom Gregg and Ned Garner, who emptied their carbines and fell back to the reserve in good order. This little skirmish was followed by a compar- atively quiet night.
The videttes were relieved on the morning of the second . and fell back to the reserve, tired and sleepy, and reported "all quiet in front." By eight o'clock the sun was coming down hot, with 100º Fahrenheit in the shade, and the reserves were glad to seek the inviting shade of the thick woods which skirted the road.
Everything seemed unusually still; not a sound was heard save now and then a stray picket shot at the front. About ten o'clock a shot was heard near the road, on the advance line, and in a few moments a shout came from the thick woods, as if from some one in distress. Riding out to the videttes to learn if any of our men were wounded, it was found that the shot had been fired by one of our pickets, and it was thought that one of the enemy's pickets had been wounded, or that it was a ruse, often practiced by both armies, to induce the pickets to make a reconnoissance in front in order to get a fair shot. The shouting still continuing, we became satisfied that it was no ruse, and, riding back to the grand guard, asked the officer in command to send a company forward and reconnoiter the front, as the men of our company were all on duty, but he declined to do so. Two troopers of our company were then dismounted and moved down into the thick woods and soon reached a wounded man, who was stretched out on his back and seemed to be suffering intense pain. The boys raised him up and, form- ing a stretcher by locking their hands together, carried him hastily back to the reserve and laid him down beside the road.
He was an old man, dressed in the usual Confederate gray, but was not armed, and had nothing about his person to indicate that he was a soldier, except that an old haversack hung over his shoulders. He was shot through the body near the lungs, and was pale and weak from loss of blood.
We immediately began interrogating him in regard to the Confederate army at Tullahoma, and he declared emphatically that the place had been evacuated at daybreak that morning, and that there was not a soldier within the works. We doubted his word and so told him, as we knew it was usual for a good soldier, when taken prisoner by the enemy, to evade giving any information in regard to the army to which he belonged. But I shall never forget the pale face of that old man, as he looked up, trembling with fear and pain, and said, in low and measured tones: "There is no reason why I should tell you a
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falsehood now. I am not long for this world." His voice was so earnest, his pale face so impressive, that we could not doubt his statement. Questioned as to his name, command and resi- dence, he said that he was not a soldier, but had been at Tulla. homa, and in trying to make his way through our lines to his home at Manchester, twelve miles to the east, had been taken for a rebel soldier and shot by one of our pickets, and that his name was Duncan.
Immediately on receiving the information that Bragg had evacuated Tullahoma, which, if true, I knew to be very important to the commanding General, I mounted my horse and galloped rapidly back to the lines and encampments. The first headquar- ters reached were General George Crook's, who, with one of his staff, sat in front of his tent playing chess, to whom I rapidly related Duncan's story. "Why in the d-1," said he, "didn't you take your company, make a dash and capture the works and put a big feather in your cap?" But I replied that as "dis- cretion" was considered "the better part of valor," I had not been anxious to distinguish myself and company by making a dash against Bragg's fortifications. He then directed me to ride rapidly to General Thomas' headquarters and deliver the information, a command I lost no time in obeying.
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