How Private George W. Peck Put Down the Rebellion

by George W. Peck

  CHAPTER IV.

  I Yearn for a Furlough--I Interview the General--I am Detailed to Carry a Rail--I Make a Horse-trade With the Chaplain--I am Put in Charge of a Funeral.

  I had now been fighting the battles of my country for two weeks, andfelt that I needed rest, and one day I became so homesick that it _did_seem as though it would kill me. Including the week it had taken meto get from home to my regiment, three weeks had elapsed since I bidgood-bye to my friends, and I wanted to go home. I would lay awakenights and think of people at home and wonder what they were doing, andif they were laying awake nights thinking of me, or caring whether I wasalive, or buried in the swamps of the South. It was about the time ofyear when at home we always went off shooting, and I thought how muchbetter it was to go off shooting ducks and geese, and chickens, thatcould not shoot back, than to be hunting bloodthirsty Confederates thatwere just as liable to hunt us, and who could kill, with great ease. Ithought of a pup I had at home that was just the right age to train, andthat he would be spoiled if he was not trained that season. O, how Idid want to train that pup. The news that one of my comrades had beengranted a furlough, after three years' service, and that he was goinghome, made me desperate, and I dreamed that I had waylaid and murderedthe fortunate soldier, and gone home on his furlough. The idea ofgetting a furlough was the one idea in my mind, and the next morning asI took my horse to the veterinary surgeon for treatment,{*} I had a talkwith the horse doctor about the possibilities of getting a furlough.I had known him before the war, when he kept a livery stable, and as Iowed him a small livery bill, I thought he would give it to me straight.The horse doctor had his sleeves rolled up, and was holding a horse'stongue in one hand while he poured some medicine down the animal'sthroat out of a bottle with the other hand, which made me sorry for thehorse, as I remembered my experience at surgeon's call, in drinking adose of castor oil out of a bottle, and I was mean-enough to be gladthey played it on horses as well as the soldiers. The horse doctorreturned the horse's tongue to it's mouth, kicked the animal in theribs, turned and wiped his hands on a bale of hay, and said:

  "Well, George, to get a furlough a man has got to have plenty of gall,especially a man who has only been to the front a couple of weeks. Thereis no use making an application in the regular way, to your captain,have him endorse it and send it to regimental headquarters, and so on tobrigade headquarters, because you would never hear of it again. My ideawould be for you to go right to the general commanding the division, andtell him you have got to go home. But you mustn't go crawling to him,and whining. He is a quick-tempered man, and he hates a coward. Goto him and talk familiar with him, and act as though you had alwaysassociated with him, and slap him on the shoulder, and make yourself athome. Just make up a good, plausible story, and give it to him, and ifhe seems irritated, give him to understand that he can t frighten you,and just as likely as not he will give you a furlough. I don't say hewill, mind you, but it would be just like him. But he does like to betreated familiar like, by the boys."

  * I neglected to say, in my account of the battle at the race-track, that when firing with my revolver, at my friend the rebel, I put one bullet-hole through the right ear of my horse. I was so excited at the time that I did not know it, and only discovered it a week later when currying off my horse, which I made a practice of doing once a week, with a piece of barrel-stave, when I noticed the horse's ear was swelled up about as big as a canvas ham. I took him to the horse doctor, who reduced the swelling so we could find the hole through the horse's ear, and the horse doctor tied a blue ribbon in the hole. He said the blue ribbon would help heal the sore, but later I found that he had put the ribbon in the ear to call attention to my poor marksmanship, and the boys got so they made comments and laughed at me every time I appeared with the horse.

  I thanked the horse doctor and went away with my horse, resolved to havea furlough or know the reason why. The general's headquarters were abouthalf a mile from our camp, and after drill that morning I went to seehim. I had seen him several times, at the colonel's headquarters, andhe always seemed mad about something, and I had thought he was about thecrossest looking man I ever saw, but if there was any truth in what thehorse doctor had told me, he was easily reached if a man went at himright, and I resolved that if pure, unadulterated cheek and monumentalgall would accomplish anything, I would have a furlough before night,for a homesicker man never lived than I was. I went up to the general'stent and a guard halted me and asked me what I wanted, and I said Iwanted to see "his nibs," and I walked right by the guard, who seemedstunned by my cheek. I saw the general in his tent, with his coatoff, writing, and he _did_ look savage. Without taking off my hat, orsaluting him, I went right up to him and sat down on the end of a trunkthat was in the tent, and with a tremendous effort to look familiar, Isaid:

  "Hello, Boss, writing to your girl?"

  I have seen a good many men in my time who were pretty mad, but I havenever seen a man who appeared to be as mad as the general did. He wasa regular army officer, I found afterwards, and hated a volunteer as hedid poison. He turned red in the face and pale, and I thought he frothedat the mouth, but may be he didn't. He seemed to try to control himself,and said through his clenched teeth, in a sarcastic manner, I thought,in imitation of a ring master in a circus:

  "What will the little lady have next?"

  I had been in circuses myself, and when the general said that I answeredthe same as a clown always does, and I said:

  "The banners, my lord."

  I thought he would be pleased at my joking with him, but he lookedaround as though he was seeking a revolver or a saber with which to killme finnally he said:

  "What do you want, man?"

  It was a little tough to be called plain "man," but I swallowed it. Imade up my mind it was time to act, so I stood up, put my hand on theshoulder of the general familiarly, and said:

  "The fact is, old man, I want a furlough to go home. I have got businessthat demands my attention; I am sick of this inactivity in camp, andbesides the shooting season is just coming on at home, and I have got asetter pup that will be spoiled if he is not trained this season. I camedown here two weeks ago, to help put down the rebellion; but all wehave done since I got here is to monkey around drilling and cleaning offhorses, while the officers play poker for red chips. Let me go hometill the poker season is over, and I will be back in time for the fallfighting. What do you say, old apoplexy. Can I go?"

  Never did know, how I got out of the general's tent 059]

  I do not now, and never did know, how I got out of the general's tent,whether he kicked me out, or threw his trunk at me, or whether there wasan explosion, but when I got outside there were two soldiers trying tountangle me from the guy ropes of the general's tent, his wash basin andpail of water were tipped over, and a cord that was strung outsidewith a lot of uniforms, shirts, sabers, etc., had fallen down, and thegeneral was walking up and down his tent in an excited manner, callingme an escaped lunatic, and telling the guards to tie me up bythe thumbs, and buck and gag me. They led me away, and from theirconversation I concluded I had committed an unpardonable offense, andwould probably be hung, though I couldn't see as I had done much morethan the horse doctor told me to. Finally the officer of the day camealong and told the guards to get a rail and make me carry it. So theygot a rail and put it on my shoulder, and I carried it up and down thecamp, as a punishment for insulting the general. I thought they pickedout a pretty heavy rail, but I carried it the best I could for an hour,when I threw it down and told the guards I didn't enlist to carry rails.If the putting down of this rebellion depended on carrying fence railsaround the Southern Confederacy, and I had to carry the rails, theaforesaid rebellion never would be put down. I said I would fight if Ihad to, and be a hostler, and cook my own food, and sleep on the ground,and try to earn my thirteen dollars a month, but there must be a linedrawn somewhere, and I drew it at transporting fences around the sunn
ySouth. The guards were inclined to laugh at my determination, but theysaid I could carry the rail or be tied up by the thumbs; and I saidthey could go ahead, but if they hurt me I would bring suit againstthe government. They were fixing to tie me up when the colonel of myregiment rode up to see the general, and he got the guards to let upon me till he could see the general. The general sent for me after thecolonel had talked with him, and they called me in and asked me howI happened to be so fresh with the general; and I told them about thehorse doctors' advice as to how to get a furlough; and then they bothlaughed, and said I owed the horse doctor one, and I must get even withhim. The colonel told the general who I was, that he had known me beforethe war, and that I was all right only a little green, and that the boyswere having fun with me. The colonel told the general about my firstfight the first day of my service, and how I had, single-handed, put toflight a large number of rebels, and the general got up and shook handswith me, and said he forgave me for my impertinence, and gave me someadvice about letting the boys play it on me, and said I might go backto my company. He was all smiles, and insisted on my taking a drink withhimself and the colonel. When I was about leaving his tent, I turnedto him and said: "Then I don't get any furlough?" "Not till the cruelwar is over," said the general, with a laugh, and I went away.

  The guards treated me like a gentleman when they saw me taking a drinkwith the general, and I went back to my regiment, resolved not to gohome, and to get even with the horse doctor for causing me to make afool of myself. However, I was glad I visited the general, for, aftergetting acquainted with him, he seemed a real nice man, and he kept abetter article of liquor than the chaplain.

  For several days nothing occurred that was worthy of note, except thatthe chaplain took a liking to my horse, and wanted to trade a mule forhim. I never did like a mule, and didn't really want to trade, but thechaplain argued his case so eloquently that I was half persuaded. Hesaid the horse I rode, from its friskiness, and natural desire to "getthere, Eli!" would eventually get me killed, for if I ever got in sightof the enemy the horse would rush to the front, and I couldn't hold him.He said he didn't want to have me killed, and with the mule there wouldbe no danger, as the mule knew enough to keep away from a fight. Thechaplain said he had always rode a mule, because he thought the naturalsolemnity of a mule was in better keeping with a pious man, but latelyhe had begun to go into society some, in the town near where we werecamped, and sometimes had to preach to different regiments, so hethought he ought to have a horse that put on a little more style, andas he knew I wanted an animal that would keep as far from the foe aspossible, and not lose its head and go chasing around after rebels, andrunning me into danger, as my spiritual adviser he would recommend themule to me. He warranted the mule sound in every particular, and as amule was worth more than a horse he would trade with me for ten dollarsto boot. He said there was not another man in the regiment he wouldtrade with on such terms, but he had taken a liking to me, and wouldpart with his mule to me, though it broke his heart. At home there wasa sentiment against trading horses with a minister, as men who did soalways got beat, but I thought it would be an insult to the chaplainto refuse to trade, when he seemed to be working for my interests, toprevent me from being killed in a fight by the actions of my horse, so Iconcluded to trade, though it seemed to me that if I couldn't shoot offa horse without hitting its ears, I would fill a mule's ears full ofbullets. I spoke to the chaplain about that, and he said there was nodanger, because whenever fighting commenced the mule always wore hisears lopped down below the line of fire. He said the mule had beentrained to that, and I would find him a great comfort in time of trial,and a sympathizing companion always, one that I would become attachedto. I told him there was one thing I wanted to know, and that was if themule would kick. I had always been prejudiced against mules becausethey kicked. He said he knew mules had been traduced, and that theirreputations were not good, but he believed this mule was as free fromthe habit of kicking as any mule he had ever met. He said he would notdeny that this mule could kick, and in fact he had kicked a little, buthe would warrant the mule not to kick unless something unusual happened.He said I wouldn't want a mule that had no individuality at all, onethat hadn't sand enough to protect itself. What I wanted, the chaplainsaid, was a mule that would treat everybody right, but that would, ifimposed upon, stand up for its rights and kick. I told the chaplain thatwas about the kind of mule I wanted, if I had any mule at all, and wetraded. The chaplain rode off to town on my horse, on a canter, as proudas a peacock, while I climbed on to the solemn, lop-eared mule and wentout to drill with my company. I do not know what it was that went wrongwith the mule while we were drilling, but as we were wheeling in companyfront, the mule began to "assert his individuality," as the chaplainsaid he probably would, and he whirled around sideways and kicked threesoldiers off their horses; then he backed up the other way and brokeup the second platoon, kicked four horses in the ribs, stampeded thecompany, and stood there alone kicking at the air. The major rode downto where I was and began to swear at me, but I told him I couldn'thelp it. He told me to dismount and lead the mule away, but I couldn'tdismount until the mule stopped kicking, and he seemed to be wound upfor all day. The major got too near and the mule kicked him on theshin, and then started for the company again, which had got into ranks,kicking all the way, and the company broke ranks and started for camp,the mule following, kicking and braying all the way. I never was sohelpless in all my life. The more I spurred the mule, the more itkicked, and if I stopped spurring it, it kicked worse. When we got tocamp, I fell off some way, and rushed into the chaplain's tent, and themule kicked the tent down, and some boys drove the mule away, and whileI was fixing up the tent the chaplain came back looking happy, and askedme how I liked the mule. I never was a hypocrite, anyway, and I was mad,so I said: "Oh, dam that mule!"

  Of course it is wrong to use such language, especially in the presenceof a minister, but I couldn't help it. I could see it hurt the chaplain,for he sighed and said he was sorry to hear such words from me, inasmuchas he had just got me detailed as his clerk, where I would have a softthing, and no drilling or fighting. He said he had wanted a clerk, onewho was a good-hearted, true man, and he had picked me out, but if Iused such language, that settled it. He said he didn't expect to find aprivate soldier that was as pious as he was, but he did think I wouldbe the best man he could find. I wanted a soft job, with no fighting, asbad as any man ever did, and I told the chaplain that he need not fearas to my swearing again, as it was foreign to my nature, but I told himif he had been on the hurricane deck of a kicking mule for an hour, andseen comrades fall one by one, and bite the dust, and be carried on withmarks of mule shoes all over their persons, he would swear, and I wouldbet on it. So it was arranged that I was to be the chaplain's clerk, andI moved my outfit over to his tent, and for the first time since I hadbeen a soldier, I was perfectly happy. There was no danger of beingdetached for guard duty, police duty, drilling, or fighting, and theonly boss I had was the chaplain. The chaplain and myself sat thatevening in his tent, and ate sanitary stores, drank wine for sickess,and smoked pipes, and didn't care whether school kept or not, and thatnight I slept on a cot, and had the first good night's rest, and in themorning I awoke refreshed, and with no fear of orderly sergeants, oranybody. I had a soft snap.

  The next morning I asked the chaplain what my duties were to be, andhe said I was to take care of the tent, write letters for him, issuesanitary stores to deserving soldiers who might need them, ride with himsometimes when he went to town, or to preach, go to funerals with himoccasionally, set a good example to the other soldiers, and make myselfgenerally useful. He said I would have to attend to the burial of thecolored people who died, and any such little simple details. He went outand left me pondering over my duties. I liked it all except the niggerfunerals. I had always been a Democrat, at home, and not very muchmashed on our colored brothers, and one thing that prevented me fromenlisting before I did was the idea of making the colored men free.
Ihad nothing against a colored man, and got to think a great deal of themafterwards, but the idea of acting as an undertaker for the coloredrace never occurred to me. I made up my mind to kick on that part of theduties, when the chaplain came in and said the colored cook of one ofthe companies was dead, and would be buried that afternoon, and as hehad to go to a meeting of chaplains down town, I would have to go andconduct the services, and I better prepare myself with a little speech.I was in a fix. I told the chaplain that it might not have occurredto him, but honestly, I couldn't pray. He said that didn't make anydifference. I told him I couldn't preach hardly at all. He said I didn'tneed to. All I had to do was to go and find out something about the lifeof the deceased, what kind of a man he was, and say a few words at thegrave complimentary of him, console the mourners, if there were any, andcounsel them to try to lead a different life, that they might eventuallyenter into the glory of the New Jerusalem, or words to that effect.Well, this made me perspire. This was a tighter place than I was in whenI met the rebel. The idea of my conducting the funeral exercises ofsuch a black-burying party, made me tired. The chaplain said a good dealdepended on how I got through this first case, as if I succeeded well,it would be a great feather in my cap. His idea, he said, was to try mefirst on a nigger, and if I was up to snuff, and carried myself like athoroughbred, there would be nothing too good for me in that regiment.

  I went to the orderly sergeant of the company where the man died, toget some points as to his career, in order to work in a few remarksappropriate to the occasion, and I said to the orderly:

  "I understand your company cook has gone to that bourne from whence notraveler returns. I thought that was pretty good for a green hand, for astarter."

  "Yes," said the orderly, as he looked solemn, "The old son-of-a-gun haspassed in his chips, and is now walking in green pastures, beside stillwaters, but he will not drink any of the aforesaid still waters, if hecan steal any whisky to drink."

  "You astonish, me," said I to the orderly. "The fact is, the chaplainhas sawed off on to me the duty of seeing to the burial of our deceasedfriend, and I called to gather some few facts as to his characteristicsas a man and a brother. Can you tell me of anything that would interestthose who may attend?"

  "O, I don't know," said the orderly. "The deceased was a liar, a thief,and a drunkard. He would steal anything that was not chained down. Hewould murder a man for a dollar. He was the worst nigger that ever was.If there was a medical college here that wanted bodies, it would be awaste of money to bury him. But when he was sober he could bake beansfor all that was out, and there was no man that could boil corned muleso as to take the taste of the saltpetre out, as he could."

  This was not a very good send off for my first funeral, but I clung tothe good qualities possessed by the late lamented. Though he might havebeen a bad man, all was not lost if he could bake beans well, and boilthe salt horse or corned mule that soldiers had to eat, so they wereappetizing. Many truly good men of national reputation, could not haveexcelled him in his chosen specialties, and I made a memorandum of thatfor future use. I made further inquiries in the company, and found thatthe deceased had a bad reputation, owed everybody, had five wives livingthat he had deserted, and was suspected of having murdered two or threecolored men for their money. His death was caused by delirium tremens.He had stole a jug of whisky from the major's tent, laid drunk a week,and when the whisky was gone he had tremens, and had gone to the horsedoctor for something to quiet his nerves, and the horse doctor had givenhim a condition powder to take, to be followed with a swallow of mustangliniment, and the man died.

  This was the information I got to use in my remarks at the grave of thedeceased, and I went back to my tent to think it over. I thought perhapsI had better work in the horse doctor for mal-practice, in my discourse,and thus get even with him for sending me to the general after afurlough. While I was thinking over the things I would say, and tryingto forget the bad things about the man, the orderly sent word that thefuneral cortege was ready to proceed to the bone yard. I looked down thecompany street and saw the remains being lifted into a cart, and I wentout and put the saddle on my mule, and with a mental prayer that theconfounded mule wouldn't get to kicking till the funeral was over,started to do the honors at the grave of the late company cook.