From School to Battle-field: A Story of the War Days

by Charles King

  CHAPTER XV.

  It was a starlit summer night following a day of moist, debilitatingheat. It had rained at dawn, and then, as the clouds of heaven brokeaway and went sailing off towards the distant heights on the westernhorizon, the sun had poured hotly down on open fields and sodden redroads and long rows of wet, white tentage, veiling the landscape withminiature clouds from the teeming earth. All day long soldiersinnumerable lolled about the camps and thronged the sentry-posts thatlined the roadway, chaffing the passers-by or dickering with darkyvendors of fruit, cakes, and pies,--amateur soldiers were these, as anyveteran could tell at a glance, some in gayly trimmed regimentals, somein antiquated tail-coats, more in fancy jackets, few in serviceablegarb, and nearly all with their hands in their pockets. A bored, jaded,time-killing lot they looked. The ground was too wet and muddy fordrill. The first flush of patriotic fervor had worn away. They hadrushed to the front at the earliest call, expectant of tremendousdoings, and, except the street-fight of the Sixth Massachusetts inBaltimore and a few shots heard at the picket-posts, there had been notaste of battle. They were the three-months men, mainly State militia,hurried down to hold Washington against attack, while the volunteers,the "three-years men" of the war, were organizing and drilling behindthem. Their three months had nearly expired, and most of them were eagerto go home so long as there was nothing going on at the front. Some,indeed, were ready to go anyhow, many with the promise of commissions inthe volunteers, many with the resolve to re-enlist for the war, but allanxious to visit home and friends and families and get a more deliberatestart than that initial impulse which sent them forward the latter partof April, burdened with knapsacks they knew not how to pack or wear andguns that they had never shot.

  And here, along the main pike to Fairfax and Centreville, one on eachside of the way, a New York and a New England regiment of militia hadbeen swapping comments and criticisms most of the afternoon, badgeringeach other when there came no one else to bear the brunt of theirshafts, and mischievously turning with one accord on passers-by whoselack of rank or escort suggested improbability of effective resentment.

  But as the day wore on and the mud thickened in the middle of the road,and staff-officers, orderlies, and ambulances passing by began to veerout to right and left and encroach on the sentry-posts and the grinninggroups that lay just back of them, "the boys" waxed more savage andsarcastic. They had occupied those camps full six weeks, and thoughtthey owned the neighborhood. Back towards Washington, on every risingground, the red embankments showed where earthworks had been thrown upto defend the front. Along the beautifully wooded slopes to the northand west the fair contours were scarred and defaced with freshly spadedparapets, and through gaping embrasures here and there frowned the blackmuzzles of the Union guns. Over a rounded knoll half a mile to thenorthwest of the camp of the New-Yorkers the stars and stripes hunglazily from a white staff, and there were the quarters of a divisioncommander, whose aides and orderlies had been oddly busy all day long,responding, according to rank, with a frown of annoyance or a grin ofamusement, to the hail of comment or question from the loungers alongthe line. But at four in the afternoon a whole squadron of regularcavalry, with high-collared, yellow-trimmed jackets and jauntyforage-caps, came silently squashing by, taking the mud and the middleof the road as a matter of course, and the chaff and comment as of noconsequence whatever. Hardly had their flapping silken guidonsdisappeared around a bend of the pike three hundred yards farther to thewest than there came jogging into view from the rear a long column ofhorses, gun-carriages, and caissons, the cannoneers sitting motionlesson the chests, the drivers carefully guiding their powerful teams. Awiry captain, followed by his bugler, came trotting forward, surveyedthe mud that interposed along the defile between the two camps, noddedcheerily to the "Going out ahead, Cap?" sung out to him by the nearestNew-Yorkers, and signalled with gauntleted hand to the leading chief ofsection to incline to the right and take the turf at the roadside; andso they, too, went clinking steadily by, twelve long teams of six horseseach, hauling six bronze "Napoleon" guns, heavy fellows, and six loadedcaissons. Behind them came their forge and battery wagon, a mule-drawnbaggage-wagon or two, and one of the famous light batteries of theregular army had passed through the thronging lines of the Statemilitia, who emptied their tents to see the procession and to hurlquestion after question as to the meaning of it all. And this was only abeginning, for right behind it came the flaunting red silk guidon ofanother battery, differing from the first only in that the men worered-trimmed jackets instead of dark-blue blouses, and that thecannoneers were skipping along the roadside or squashing through themud, their captain holding sternly, even on a short march, to one of therules of the light artillery, that the horses should have to pull aslittle weight as possible. And no sooner was he fairly by and his menwell within the lane of the militia camps than the storm of fun andchaff rose to uproar, silenced only when the tail of the column hadpassed beyond. By this time, too, the officers were coming out to take alook. Then there rose a burst of martial music and a sound of cheeringup the roadway, and, preceded by a band, there rode into sight somemounted officers, behind whom gleamed the sloping barrels of the arms ofa battalion of infantry; and now New York and New England dropped cards,checkers, or chat, and the last laggards of both regiments comestreaming to line the roadway and scan these bold invaders. Even thecolonels mount their horses and ride in among their men, and as themusic ceases and the regiment picks its way gingerly through the mud,the cry goes up from the eastward skirts of camp, "The Fire Zouaves!"and that cry is taken up and passed from lip to lip, and order anddiscipline, even of these primitive war days, all are forgotten, and asthe long column comes winding down the gentle slope in the afternoonsunshine, and bright bits of scarlet glow through the sombre tone ofgray, and the old familiar fire shirts are recognized, as one man theNew-Yorkers set up the welcoming fireman chorus of the streets ofGotham, and the welkin rings with shouts of "Hi, hi, hi!" mingled withrapturous cheers. Prompt comes the answer from a thousand lusty throats.Caps and hats are tossed in air, ay, and, as the column and the colorsmingle, canteens, tossed from bystanders to marchers, are pressed tothirsty lips and passed from hand to hand. Officers and men alike,militia and volunteers, the soldiers of Manhattan are shouting greetingand rejoicing, and the next moment, despite all efforts of the seniorofficers to stop it, the Zouaves are forcibly seized and dragged fromthe marching ranks, hugged and hauled and slapped on arm and chest andleg and shoulder, wherever knapsack, blanket, and cartridge-box do notinterpose below the neck, and men come running with more canteens, andZouaves are lugged bodily away to the neighboring sutler's tent, andwhen, finally, the last unmolested files of the Fire Zouaves have gone,cap-waving and cheering, on in the trail of the batteries, the camp oftheir fellow-townsmen is filled with stragglers who are only recoveredan hour later through the medium of strong patrols.

  But meantime the batteries have "gone into park," unhitched andunharnessed back of the Virginia farm-house just beyond the bend. TheZouaves have trailed off into an open field between them and the tentsof the New-Yorkers. Staff-officers have conducted the commanders to thedesignated spots for their bivouac. Two other regiments of the newvolunteers have followed, marching somewhat wearily past the nowthoroughly roused camps of the militia, and as the sun sinks to the westand heavy knapsacks are unslung and arms stacked in the fields andsentry-posts established, everybody begins to realize among the tents ofthe earlier comers that a move to the front is in contemplation, justwhen they were counting on a homeward move to the rear.

  And now as the tattoo drums are bracing up, a score of officers aregathered about the tents of the New York colonel, chatting over theprobabilities. With them are two of the New England officers, one agrave, taciturn captain who has listened for half an hour without aword. By several officers the idea has been advanced that if a forwardmove is intended in response to the "on to Richmond" cry of the press,many of the men will demur. They were called into service in mid-April;it is now
mid-July. Many of them are clerks who will lose theirpositions, married men who have made no provision for their families,staid citizens who from sense of duty sprang to the front at the firstsummons, so as to help hold the fort until the nation could organize itsarmy of volunteers. Of regulars at the time there were less than tenthousand, scattered from Maine to Oregon, from Mackinaw to the Gulf ofMexico. Now the first levies of the volunteers were pouring in. Herealready in front of Washington were regiments from New York, New Jersey,Michigan, Ohio, even far away Wisconsin. Why should the governmentrequire of the State militia, rallied at the capital solely to defend,that it should march away southward to attack an enemy in position?Similar views were being expressed in other militia camps, said thespeaker, and the colonel looked worried.

  At last he turned to the stalwart, silent captain from the regiment overthe way.

  "What do your people say, Captain Stark?" he asks.

  "Nothing," is the answer, as the tall, bearded man puffs meditatively atthe brier-root pipe, his head resting on his hand, his elbow on hisknee.

  "Well, you were mustered in about the same date we were. Don't some ofyour boys talk of going home, and wanting to?"

  "Not--audibly," says Stark.

  "Well, they must be thinking a lot. They are fixed pretty much as oursare," hazards a field-officer.

  "Possibly," says Stark, tapping out the ashes on the leg of thecamp-stool. "But we made no stipulation as to the duty to be required ofus. We tendered our services and expect to take our chances."

  "Do you mean your boys would all go, no matter how far south they wereordered?" asks a young officer who has already had much to say about hisown.

  "My men will go wherever they're ordered," answers Stark, briefly. "Ihaven't any boys, except one, and he's so much of a man I never foundhim out till we got here."

  "That brown-eyed young fellow I've seen round your tent?" queries thecolonel, deeming it wise to change the tenor of the talk.

  "The very one."

  "How'd you come to take him? He's too light built for heavy work. He'soutgrown his strength and he don't look eighteen," says the major, gladenough to shift implied criticism to the rival regiment.

  "Well, his employers said he was worth three men around the shop, and hewas bound to go. The inspectors passed him, and there he was in mycompany."

  "Looks all legs," hazards the colonel.

  "And is all head," says Stark. "That's why he's always studying tacticsand regulations round my tent instead of fooling away time with thecompany. There goes tattoo. Good-night, gentlemen," and theNew-Englander rises and presently strides away.

  Over within the lines of his own regiment Stark passes line after lineof company streets where the men are skylarking or chatting, waiting forthe "fall in" signal at the close of the sounding of tattoo. The drumsand fifes are hammering noisily down along the color line as he reacheshis own company and his first sergeant comes forward and, saluting,says, "Did young Lawton find you, sir?"

  "No. What did he want?"

  "Permission to go out of camp, sir. Said he knew an officer in the FireZouaves. The lieutenant signed a pass, and he took it to the colonel,but he wished the captain should know."

  "Very well. Form your company," says the captain.

  The long wailing notes of the tattoo and the roll of the drums cameabruptly to an end. The silent, shadowy double rank stood to attention,and, lantern in hand, the sergeant called his roll. Two names met withno response besides those of men on guard. Two men were reported absent.One of them came on the run as the company broke ranks.

  "I was with Lawton, sir," said he, to his soldierly commander. "They letus into the Zouave camp all right, but didn't want to let us out. Lawtoncouldn't get away at all. As many as twenty of those red-shirted fellowsnabbed him, and there he is a prisoner."

  "In fun, I suppose?"

  "Why, yes. They seem to know him well and be mighty glad to see him. Itold my brother, who is in one of their companies, that Lawton must comehome with me or he'd get into trouble, but the crowd just laughed."

  "Very well. Go to your tent," said Stark, and went to his own. There onthe little camp-desk was a note which he tore open and read. Briefly itsaid that Lawton had recognized some old friends among the Fire Zouaves,and had sought the captain to get permission to go and see them early inthe evening. Even though the lieutenant took the responsibility andsigned the pass, and the colonel too, he wanted his captain to knowwhither he had gone and that he would be back at tattoo.

  But he wasn't back at tattoo, nor at taps. Not until eleven o'clock didStark hear the sound of the young soldier's voice. Lawton wasscratching at the tent-flap.

  "What is it?" shouted the captain.

  "It's Lawton, sir,--come to report return. I was held by those men,quite a lot of them, and simply couldn't make them understand about ourdiscipline."

  "Never mind," interposed Stark. "Go to bed now and get all the sleep youcan. You may need it;" and the captain rolled over on his cot, anxiousto try his own prescription.

  But the late comer hesitated. For a moment he stood irresolute. Plainlythere was something which he wanted to say to his commander. The officerof the day, lantern in hand, came along at the moment, his red sashcrossed upon his broad chest. He raised the lantern and peered at thetall young soldier, whose coat and trousers looked as though they hadbeen made for a shorter lad, and the face that was revealed seemed whiteand full of trouble.

  "I was just speaking to my captain, sir," explained the young soldier,and the officer of the day went briskly one way, the soldier,dejectedly, another.

  "Homesick, and wants to go and see his mother," said the officer of theday to himself. "Well, he needn't waste time pleading with Stark. Mightas well talk to a stone."