Incidents of the War: Humorous, Pathetic, and Descriptive Part 17

Here the sutler was requested to ask if there was anybody in the room who had committed any crime. The question was asked, and

Rap! rap! rap! was the reply.

"Is it the Quarter-master?"

Rap.

"Is it the Colonel?"

Rap!

"Is it the Adjutant?"

Rap!

"Is it the Surgeon?"

Rap!

"Is it m-m-e?"

Rap! rap! rap!

"O yes; I know it!" exclaimed the conscience-stricken sutler. (The first case of the kind I ever knew.) "O yes; I confess I was a Methodist cla.s.s-leader, and now, here I am, drinking whisky, and selling it, and getting three prices from the boys for every thing I sell. O! I'll go and pray!" And he accordingly departed. The sutler reported, in the morning, that he had prayed, and felt much relieved. It so wrought upon his mind that the joke had to be explained to him, to prevent his being driven to distraction.

A Specimen of Southern Poetry.

From the appended exquisite gem of "Southern poetry," it will be seen that they wish to raise the black flag. Well, why don't they raise it? Let us hope that for every black flag they raise, Uncle Abraham will raise a black regiment. It is from the Chattanooga Rebel, and is ent.i.tled

The Black Flag.

Raise now the sable flag! high let it wave O'er all Secessia's hills and flowery vales, And on its sable folds the motto trace, "For victory or death!" The hated foe Have gathered in our lovely land, and trod, With desecrating steps, our State's proud Capital.

They've pillaged in our cities, burned our homes, Exiled our stanch, true-hearted patriots, Arrested loyal citizens, and sent Them to those hungry bastiles of the North, The ignominious "Chase" and "Johnson's Isle."

Our clergy-G.o.d's anointed-who refused To take a black, obnoxious oath, to perjure Their own souls, they placed in "durance vile."

The n.o.ble daughters of the "sunny South,"

Whose hearts were with their country's cause, they forced To yield obedience to their hated laws, Nor heeded cries of pity; whether from Matron staid, beseeching them to leave her, For her little ones, her own meat and bread; Or from the bright-eyed boy, with manly grace, Who brooks, with sorrowing looks, the insults she Is forced to bear, and dares not to resent; Or from the gray-haired sire, whose cord of life Is nearly loosed, who, in enfeebled tones, Prays them to cease their vexing raids, and let An old man die in peace. Nor will they list To maiden fair, whose virtue is their goal.

They've desolated every home where once Abundance bloomed, and with the weapons of A warrior (?)-fire and theft-have laid our homes In ashes, plundered their effects, and sworn Th' extermination of Secessia's sons.

Then raise the ebon flag! with Spring's warm breath Let it unfurl its night-like folds, and wave Where n.o.ble "Freeman" fills a martyr's grave.

Then strike! but not for booty, soldiers brave; Fight to defend your liberties and homes- The joy it gives to see the Vandals fall, And catch the music of their dying groans.

Go! burn their cities, scourge their fertile lands; Teach them retaliation; plow their fields, And slay by thousands with your iron hail; Scorn every treaty, every Yankee clan.

Defy with Spartan courage. Vengeance stamp Upon your bayonets; and let the hills and Vales resound with Blood-your battle-cry.

Singular.

Civilians are often puzzled, in reading reports of battles, to understand how it is that a thousand troops in a body can "stand the galling fire of the enemy" for an hour or more, and come out with but two or three killed and half a dozen wounded; or how they can "mow down the enemy at every shot" for a long time, and yet not kill over a dozen or so of them. Every thing that is done now-a-days is a complete "rout;" all the enemy's camp equipage, guns, ammunition, etc., are taken. Will somebody wiser than I am please explain?

The Modern Troubadour.

A Camp Song.

Gaily the bully boy smoked his cigar, As he was hastening off for the war; Singing-"To Secesh land, thither I go: Rebuels! rebuels! fight all you know!"

'Lize for the bully boy gave nary weep, Knowing full well he'd his promise keep, And make her his little wife; so this was her song- "Bully boy! bully boy! come right along!"

In Camp, Near Tennessee Line, October 7, 1862.

At five o'clock this morning struck tents at camp, a few miles this side of Bowling Green, and were on the march for "any place where ordered." I am thus indefinite, because the publication of the "ultimate destination" is contraband news. Yesterday we were encamped in a wildly picturesque part of Kentucky-intensely rocky-abounding in caverns and subterranean streams; to-day we marched through what has been a delightful country, beautifully rolling land, and highly-cultivated farms; but now, what a sad picture is presented! Scarce a fence standing; no evidences of industry; all is desolation, and the demon of devastation seems to have stalked through the entire State with unchecked speed-houses burned, roads neglected, farms destroyed, in fact, nothing but desolation staring you in the face, turn which way you will.

Early this morning the road was very dusty, but by nine o'clock we had a splendid representation of "Bonaparte crossing the Alps," minus the Alps, and nothing but active marching kept the boys from feeling the extra keenness of old Winter's breath. Still, the boys trudged merrily on, feeling confident the present march is not to be fruitless in its results, as preceding ones have been. This campaign now presents an active appearance, every thing indicating a head to conceive and the will to do.

At three o'clock to-day we pa.s.sed through the neat-looking town of Franklin. It looks very new, most of the houses being substantial bricks. Here we met General Fry, the man who slewed Zollicoffer. The General is of plain, unostentatious appearance, a keen eye, lips compressed, the whole countenance denoting determination and quickness of perception.

General Steadman Challenged by a Woman.

Riding along to-day with General Steadman, who, in his province as commander of this brigade, had called at the dwellings on the road-side, to see about the sick soldiers left in the houses, the General knocked at a door, and a voice within yelled "Come in." Obeying the injunction, he opened the door, and inquired how many men were there, and, also, if they had the requisite attention shown them. After a few minutes' talk with the soldiers, General Steadman entered into conversation with Mr. Reynolds, the owner of the property, who, among other things, asked the General when he thought the war would end; to which the General replied:

"Not till the rebels lay down their arms, or the Secessionists get perfectly tired of having their country devastated."

This reply brought in a third party-old Mrs. Reynolds, a regular spitfire, a she-Secessionist of the most rabid, cantankerous species-a tiger-cat in petticoats. This she specimen of the "Spirit of the South," of the demon of desolation, had bottled up her venom during the conversation of her son, but could hold in no longer; her vial of wrath "busted," the cork flew out, and the way she came at the General was a caution to the wayfarers over this road, at any rate.

"O, yes! and that's all you nasty Yankees come here for, is, to destroy our property, invade our sile, deserlatin' our homes. This 'ere whole war is nothing but a Yankee speculation, gotten up by the North, so that they can steal n.i.g.g.e.rs and drive us from our homes."

"Well, madam, as it is not my province to quarrel with a woman, I shall not talk to you. You get excited, and don't know what you're talking about."

"O! but I'll talk to you as much as I please. You're all a sneaking set of thieves. You can just take yourself out of my house, you dirty pup. You're drunk."

The General very placidly listened to the old termagant, and merely remarked, "It was too cold to go out of the house just then; he guessed he'd warm himself first."

"Get out, quick," said she, opening the door. "I'll let you know I'm a Harney. Yes, I'm a grand-daughter of General Harney, of Revolutionary fame."

"Well, madam, I have before told you I don't want to quarrel with a woman, but if you have any of the male Harneys about the house, who will give me the tenth part of the insolence that I have listened to from the lips of 'one old enough to know better,' I will soon show him of what mettle I'm made."

"Jeemes, give me your six-shooter," fairly shrieked the old woman; "I'll soon show him. I'll fight you at ten paces, sir!"

The General laughed at her last remark; seeing which, she became perfectly furious. Her sons and daughters begged her to desist from such talk; but the more they cried "Don't," the less she "don'ted."

The family, by this time, had been made aware that it was a real General at whom this insolence of tongue was being hurled, and the tribulation of the son was great. The General, after thoroughly warming himself, quietly walked out with his staff. The son followed to the door, making all sorts of apologies for his mother-that she had been sick, was peevish, and, at times, out of her head. I suggested to him, that I didn't think she would be so apt to go out of her head if John Morgan had come along, instead of a Union man.

Lucky for that house and its inmates that the 9th Ohio, or any of General Steadman's command, were not apprised of the proceedings. The General, in the kindness of his heart, and for the sake of the soldiers quartered there, placed a guard around her house, to prevent her being troubled in the least while the regiments were pa.s.sing.[]

CHAPTER XVIII.

Going into Battle - Letter to the Secesh - General Garfield, Major-General Rosecrans's Chief of Staff - General Lew Wallace - The Siege of Cincinnati - Parson Brownlow - Colonel Charles Anderson.

Going into Battle.

Many wonder if men wear their coats and knapsacks, and carry blankets, when going into battle. That depends upon circ.u.mstances. Sometimes, when marching, they find themselves in battle when they least expect it. Upon such occasions, soldiers drop every thing that is likely to incommode them, and trust to luck for the future.

Many wonder if regiments fire regularly, in volleys, or whether each man loads and fires as fast as he can. That, also, depends upon circ.u.mstances. Except when the enemy is near, the regiments fire only at the command of their officers.