Miss Ravenel's conversion from secession to loyalty

by John William De Forest

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  CAPTAIN COLBURNE DESCRIBES CAMP AND FIELD LIFE.

  A perusal of the letters of Colburne has decided me to sketch some ofthe smaller incidents of his experience in field service. The masculinehardness of the subject will perhaps be an agreeable relief to thereader after the scenes of domestic felicity, not very comprehensible orinteresting to bachelors, which are depicted in the preceding chapter.

  The many minor hardships of a soldier are, I presume, hardly suspectedby a civilian. As an instance of what an officer may be called on toendure, even under favorable circumstances, when for instance he is notin Libby Prison, nor in the starvation camp at Andersonville, I cite thefollowing passage from the Captain's correspondence:

  "I think that the severest trial I ever had was on a transport. Thesoldiers were on half rations; and officers, you know, must feedthemselves. We had not been paid for four months, and I commenced thevoyage, which was to last three days, with seventy-five cents in mypocket. The boat charged a quarter of a dollar a meal. Such were theprospects, and I considered them solemnly. I said to myself, 'Dinnerwill furnish the greatest amount of nourishment, and I will eat onlydinner.' The first day I went without breakfast and supper. On themorning of the second day I awoke fearfully hungry, and could notresist the folly of breakfast. I had character enough to refuse dinner,but by night I was starving again. Possibly you do not know what it isto be ravening after food. I ate supper. That was my last possible mealon board the steamer. I had no chance of borrowing, for every one wasabout as poor as myself; and to add to my sufferings, the weather wassuperb and I had a seafaring appetite. I was truly miserable with thedegrading misery of hunger, thinking like a dog of nothing but food,when a brother officer produced a watermelon which he had saved for thissupreme moment of destitution. He was charitable enough to divide itamong four follow paupers; and on that quarter of a watermelon I livedtwenty-six hours, very wretchedly. When we landed I was in command ofthe regiment, but could hardly give an order loud enough to be heard bythe shrunken battalion. Two hours afterwards Henry brought me a smallplate of stewed onions, without meat or bread, not enough to feed aWethersfield baby. I ate them all, too starved to ask Henry whether hehad anything for himself or not. Shameful, but natural. Ridiculous as itmay seem, I think I can point to this day as the only thoroughly unhappyone in two years of service. It was not severe suffering; but it was socontemptible, so animal; there was no heroic relief to it. I felt like astarved cur, and growled at the Government, and thought I wanted toresign. Hunger, like sickness, has a depressing effect on the morale,and changes a young man into his grandmother."

  It appears that these little starvation episodes were of frequentrecurrence. In one letter he speaks of having marched all day on asingle biscuit, and in another, written during his Virginia campaign, ofhaving lived for eighteen hours on green apples. He often alluded withpride to the hardihood of soul which privations and dangers had given tothe soldiers.

  "Our men are not heroes in battle alone," he writes. "Three monthswithout shelter, drenched by rain or scorched by the sun, tormented bymosquitoes, tainted with fever, shaking with the ague, they appearstoically indifferent to all hardships but their lack of tobacco. Out ofthe four hundred men whom we brought to this poisonous hole [BrashearCity], forty are dead and one hundred and sixty are in hospital. We canhear their screams a mile away as they go into the other world in theirchariots of delirium. The remainder, half sick themselves, thin andyellow ghosts in ragged uniforms, crawl out of their diminutive shantiesand go calmly to their duties without murmuring, without a desertion.What a scattering there would be in a New England village, in which onetenth of the inhabitants should die in six weeks of some local disease!Yet these men are New Englanders, only tempered to steel by hardships,by discipline, by a profound sense of duty. How I have seen them marchwith blistered and bleeding feet! march all night after having foughtall day! march when every step was a crucifixion! Oh, these noblemen ofnature, our American common soldiers! In the face of suffering and ofdeath they are my equals; and while I exact their obedience, I accordthem my respect."

  The mud of Louisiana appears to have been as troublesome a footing, asthe famous sacred soil of Virginia.

  "It is the most abominable, sticky, doughy stuff that ever was used inany country for earth," he says. "It 'balls up' on your feet like dampsnow on a horse's hoofs. I have repeatedly seen a man stop and lookbehind him, under the belief that he had lost off his shoe, when it wasmerely the dropping of the immense mud-pie which had formed around hisfoot. It is like travelling over a land of suet saturated with puddingsauce.

  "Just now the rain is coming down as in the days of Noah. I am under atent, for an unusual mercy; but the drops are driven through the rottencanvass by the wind. The ditch outside my dwelling is not deep enough tocarry off all the water which runs into it, and a small stream isstealing under my bedding and forming a puddle in the centre of myfloor. But I don't care for this;--I know that my rubber-blanket is agood one: the main nuisance is that my interior will be muddy. By nightI expect to be in a new tent, enlarged and elevated by a siding ofplanks, so that I shall have a promenade of eight feet in lengthsheltered from the weather. I only fear that the odor will not beagreeable; for the planks were plundered from the molasses-vats of asugar-mill and are saturated with treacle; not sticky, you understand,but quite too saccharinely fragrant."

  It appears that the army, even in field service, is not altogetherbarren of convivialities. In the letter following the one, quoted abovehe says, "My new dwelling has been warmed. I had scarcely takenpossession of it when a brother officer, half seas over, and with aninscrutable smile on his lips, stalks in and insists upon treating theoccasion. I cannot prevent it without offending him, and there is nostrong reason why I should prevent it. He sends to the sutler for twobottles of claret, and then for two more, and finishes them, or seesthat they are finished. It is soon evident that he is crowded full andcan't carry any more for love or politeness. At dress parade I do notsee him out, and learn that he is in his tent, with a prospect ofremaining there for the next twelve hours. Yet he is a brave, faithfulofficer, this now groggiest of sleepers, and generally a very temperateone, so that everybody is wondering, and, I am sorry to say, giggling,over his unusual obfuscation."

  In another letter he describes a "jollification by division" on theanniversary of the little victory of Georgia Landing.

  "All the officers, not only of the old brigade but of the entiredivision, were invited to headquarters. Being a long way from our base,the eatables were limited to dried beef, pickles and hard-tack, and theonly refreshments to be had in profusion were commissary whiskey andmartial music. Such a roaring time as there was by midnight in andaround the hollow square formed by the headquarter tents. By dint ofvociferations the General was driven to make the first speech of alife-time. He confined himself chiefly to reminiscences of our battles,and made a very pleasant, rambling kind of talk, most of it, however,inaudible to me, who stood on the outside of the circle. When he closed,Tom Perkins, our brave and bossy band-drummer, roared out, 'General, Icouldn't hear much of what you said, but I believe what you said wasright'."

  "This soldierly profession of faith was followed by three-times-threefor our commander, everybody joining in without regard to grade ofcommission. Then Captain Jones of our regiment shouted, 'TenthBarataria! three cheers for our old comrades at Georgia Landing andeverywhere else, the Seventy-Fifth New York!' and the cheers were given.Then Captain Brown of the Seventy Fifth replied, 'There are not many ofus Seventy-Fifth left; but what there are, we can meet the occasion;three cheers for the Tenth Barataria!' Then one excited officer roaredfor Colonel Smith, and another howled for Colonel Robinson, and anotherscreamed for Colonel Jackson, in consequence of which those gentlemenresponded with speeches. Nobody seemed to care for what they said, butall hands yelled as if it was a bayonet charge. As the fun got fast andfurious public attention settled on a gigantic, dark-complexionedofficer, stupendously d
runk and volcanically uproarious; and twentyvoices united in shouting, 'Van Zandt! Van Zandt!'--The great Van Zandt,smiling like an intoxicated hyaena, plunged uncertainly at the crowd, andwas assisted to the centre of it. There, as if he were about to make anoration of an hour or so, he dragged off his overcoat, after a struggleworthy of Weller Senior in his pursiest days; then, held up by twofriends, in a manner which reminded me obscurely of Aaron and Hursustaining Moses, he stretched out both hands, and delivered himself asfollows. 'G'way from th' front thar! G'way from the front thar! An' whensay g'way from th' front--thar----'

  "He probably intended to disperse some musicians and contrabands whowere grinning at him; but before he could explain himself anotherdrunken gentleman reeled against him, vociferating for Colonel Robinson.Van Zandt gave way with a gigantic lurch, like that of an overbalancediceberg, which carried him clean out of the circle. Somebody brought himhis overcoat and held him up while he surged into it. Then he fell overa tent rope and lay across it for five minutes, struggling to regain hisfeet and smiling in a manner incomprehensible to the beholder. He madeno effort to resume his speech, and evidently thought that he hadfinished it to public satisfaction; but he subsequently addressed theGeneral in his tent, requesting, so far as could be understood, that theTenth might be mounted as cavalry. Tom Perkins also staggered into thepresence of our commander, and made him a pathetic address, weepingplentifully over his own maudlin, and shaking hands repeatedly, with theremark, 'General, allow me to take you by the hand.'

  "It was an All Fools' evening. For once distinctions of rank wereabolished. This morning we are subordinates again, and the General isour dignified superior officer."

  One of the few amusements of field service seems to consist in listeningto the facetiae of the common soldiers, more particularly theirrepressible Hibernians.

  "These Irishmen," he says, "are certainly a droll race when you get usedto their way of looking at things. My twenty-five Paddies have jabberedand joked more since they entered the service than my seventy Americansbacked up by my ten Germans. To give you an idea of how they prattle Iwill try to set down a conversation which I overheard while we werebivouacking on the field of our first battle. The dead are buried; thewounded have been carried to a temporary hospital; the pickets are out,watchful, we may be sure, because half-frozen in the keen October wind;the men who remain with the colors are sitting up around camp fires,their knapsacks, blankets and overcoats three miles to the rear. Thisseems hard measure for fellows who have made a twenty-mile march, andgained a victory since morning. But my Irishmen are as jolly as ever,blathering and chaffing each other after their usual fashion. The buttof the company is Sweeney, a withered little animal who walks as if hehad not yet thoroughly learned to go on his hind legs, a most curiousmixture of simplicity and humor, an actual Handy Andy.

  'Sweeney,' says one, 'you ought to do the biggest part of the fightin'.You ate more'n your share of the rashins.'

  'I don't ate no more rashins than I get,' retorts Sweeney, indignant atthis stale calumny. 'I'd like to see the man as did.'

  'Oh, you didn't blather so much whin thim shells was a-flying about yourhead.'

  Here Sweeney falls back upon his old and sometimes successful dodge oftrying to turn the current of ridicule upon some one else:

  'Wasn't Mickey Emmett perlite a-comin' across the lot?' he demands. 'Isee him bowin' like a monkey on horseback. He was makin' faces as 'udcharrm the head off a whalebarry. Mickey, you dodged beautiful.'

  _Mickey._ Thim shells 'ud make a wooden man dodge. Sweeney's the bye fordodgin'. He was a runnin' about like a dry pea in a hot shovel.

  _Sweeney._ That's what me legs was made for.

  _Sullivan._ Are ye dead, Sweeney? (An old joke which I do notunderstand.)

  _Sweeney._ An I wud be if I was yer father, for thinkin' of the drrunkenson I had.

  _Sullivan._ Did ye see that dead rebel with his oye out?

  _Sweeney._ The leftenant ate up all his corn cake while he wasn'tnoticin'.

  _Sullivan._ It was lookin' at Sweeney put his oye out.

  _Sweeney._ It's lucky for him he didn't see the pair av us.

  _Jonathan._ Stop your yawping, you Paddies, and let a fellow sleep if hecan. You're worse than an acre of tomcats.

  _Sullivan._ To the divil wid ye! It's a pity this isn't all an Oirishcompany, for the credit of the Captin.

  _Touhey._ Byes, it's mighty cowld slapin' with niver a blanket, nor awife to one's back.

  _Sweeney._ I wish a man 'ud ask me to lisht for three years more.Wouldn't I knock his head off?

  _Sullivan._ Ye couldn't raich the head av a man, Sweeney. Ye hav'n't gotthe hoight for it.

  _Sweeney._ I'd throw him down. Thin I'd be tall enough.

  "And so they go on till one or two in the morning, when I fall asleep,leaving them still talking."

  Even the characteristics of a brute afford matter of comment amid theSahara-like flatness of ordinary camp life.

  "I have nothing more of importance to communicate," he says in oneletter, "except that I have been adopted by a tailless dog, who,probably for the lack of other following, persists in laying claim to myfealty. If I leave my tent door open when I go out, I find him under mybunk when I come in. As he has nothing to wag, he is put to it toexpress his approval of my ways and character. When I speak to him helies down on his back with a meekness of expression which I am sure hasnot been rivalled since Moses. He is the most abnormally bobbed dog thatever excited my amazement. I think I do not exaggerate when I declarethat his tail appears to have been amputated in the small of his back.How he can draw his breath is a wonder. In fact, he seems to have losthis voice by the operation, as though the docking had injured hisbronchial tubes, for he never barks, nor growls, nor whines. I oftenlose myself in speculation over his absent appendage, questioningwhether it was shot away in battle, or left behind in a rapid march, orbitten off, or pulled out. Perhaps it is on detached service as awaggin-master, or has got a promotion and become a brevet lion's tail.Perhaps it has gone to the dog heaven, and is wagging somewhere inglory. Venturing again on a pun I observed that it is very proper thatan army dog should be detailed. I wish I could find his master;--I havejust one observation to make to that gentleman;--I would say to him,'There is your dog.--I don't want the beast, and I don't see why hewants me; but I can't get rid of him, any more than I can of Henry, whois equally useless.' I sometimes try to estimate the infinitessimal losswhich the world would experience if the two should disappear together,but always give up the problem in despair, not having any knowledge offractions small enough to figure it."

  "In a general way," says Colburne, "we are sadly off for amusements.Fowling is not allowed because the noise of the guns alarms the pickets.Even alligators I have only shot at once, when I garrisoned a littlepost four miles from camp, and, being left without rations, was obligedto subsist my company for a day on boiled Saurian. The meat was eatable,but not recommendable to persons of delicate appetite, being of anancient and musky flavor, as though it had been put up in its horny casea thousand years ago. By the way, a minie ball knocks a hole in thesefellows' celebrated jackets without the slightest difficulty. As forriding after hounds or on steeple chases, or boxing, or making uprunning or rowing matches, after the gymnastic fashion of Englishofficers, we never think of it. Now and then there is a horse-race, butfor the most part we play euchre. Drill is no longer an amusement as atfirst, but an inexpressibly wearisome monotony. Conversation isprofitless and dull, except when it is professional or larkish. With thecitizens we have no dealings at all, and I have not spoken to a ladysince I left New Orleans. Books are few because we cannot carry themabout, being limited in our baggage to a carpet-sack; and moreover Ihave lost my taste for reading, and even for all kinds of thinkingexcept on military matters. My brother officers, you know, are brave,sensible and useful men, but would not answer to fill the professorialchairs of Winslow University. They represent the plain people whosecause is being fought out in this war against an ari
stocracy. When Ifirst went into camp with the regiment they humorously recognized myvery slight fashionable elevation by styling my company, which thennumbered eighteen men, 'The Upper Ten Thousand.' Now all suchdistinctions are rubbed out; it is, who can fight best, march best,command best; each one stands on the base of his individual manhood. Inthe army a man cannot remain long on a social pedestal which will enablehim to overlook the top of his own head. He can obtain no respect whichis not accorded to rank or merit; and very little merit is acknowledgedexcept what is of a professional character."

  With true _esprit du corps_ he frequently expatiates on the excellenciesof his regiment.

  "The discipline in the Tenth is good," he declares, "and consequentlythere are no mutinies, no desertions and not much growling. Ask thesoldiers if they are satisfied with the service, and they might answer,'No;' but you cannot always judge of a man by what he says, even in hisimpulsive moments; you must also consider what he does. Look at an oldman-of-war's man: he growls on the forecastle, but is as meek as Moseson the quarter-deck; and, notwithstanding all his mutterings, he isalways at his post and does his duty with a will. Just so our soldiersfrequently say that they only want to get out of the service, but neverrun away and rarely manoeuvre for a discharge."

  This, it will be observed, was before the days of substitutes andbounty-jumpers, and while the regiments were still composed of the noblefellows who enlisted during the first and second years of the war.

  From all that I can learn of Captain Colburne I judge that he was amodel officer, at least so far as a volunteer knew how to be one. Whilehis men feared him on account of his reserve and his severe discipline,they loved him for the gallantry and cheerful fortitude with which heshared their dangers and hardships. The same respect which he exacted ofthem he accorded, at least outwardly, to all superior officers, evenincluding the contemptible Gazaway. He did this from principle, for thegood of the service, believing that authority ought not to be questionedlightly in an army. By the way, the Major did not like him: he wouldhave preferred to have the Captain jolly and familiar and vulgar; thenhe would have felt at ease in his presence. This gentlemanly bearing,this dignified respect, kept him, the superior, at a distance. The truthis that, although Gazaway was, in the emphatic language of LieutenantVan Zandt, "an inferior cuss," he nevertheless had intelligence enoughto suspect the profound contempt which lay behind Colburne's salute.Only in the Captain's letters to his intimate friend, Ravenel, does hespeak unbecomingly of the Major.

  "He is," says one of these epistles, "a low-bred, conceited,unreasonable, domineering ass, who by instinct detests a gentleman and aman of education. He will issue an order contrary to the Regulations,and fly into a rage if a captain represents its illegality. I have gothis ill-will in this way, I presume, as well perhaps as by knowing howto spell correctly. His orders, circulars, etc., are perfect curiositiesof literature until they are corrected by his clerk, who is a privatesoldier. Sometimes I am almost tired of obeying and respecting myinferiors; and I certainly shall not continue to serve a day after thewar is over."

  However, these matters are now by-gones, Gazaway being out of theregiment. I mention them chiefly to show the manliness of characterwhich this intelligent and educated young officer exhibited in remainingin the service notwithstanding moral annoyances more painful to bearthan marches and battles. He is still enthusiastic; has not by anymeans had fighting enough; wants to go to Virginia in order to be in thethickest of it. He is disappointed at not receiving promotion; but bearsit bravely and uncomplainingly, for the sake of the nation; bears it ashe does sickness, starvation, blistered feet and wounds.