The cart was righted, the wood piled on again, and, strange to say, got out of the woods without further mishap. But in order to reach the house it was necessary to drive up the slope of a hill-side, with here and there a stump. On the way up the driver saw a stump ahead and determined to avoid it. So he gave the chain a shake. But the animal preferred to "straddle" the stump, and would have succeeded but for the fact that it was too high to pa.s.s beneath the axle. As soon as he felt the resistance of the stump against the axle, he made splendid exertions to overcome it, and succeeded in walking off with the body of the cart, leaving the axle and wheels behind. He didn"t go far, however. The farmer came down and released the weary animal. The survivor then "toted" the wood, stick by stick, to the house, and learned thereby the value of cord-wood ready to hand. People who are raised in the country have simple ways, but they can do some things much better than town-people can. They are useful people. They are not afraid of cattle or horses. The next day this awful animal was yoked to a plow and placed under the care of the elder of the survivors, who was to plow a field near the house. In a few minutes he did something displeasing to the bull, which started him to running at a fearful speed. He dashed away towards the house, the plow flying and flapping about like the arms of a flail; tore through the flower-beds, ripping them to pieces; tore down all the choice young trees about the house; frightened the ladies and children nearly to death, and demoralized the whole farm. He was at last captured and affectionately cared for by the farmer, who, no doubt, felt that it was a pity for any man to be compelled to trust his valuable stock to the management of green hands.
In the mean time the "other man" had been furnished with a harrow and a mule and sent to harrow a field. The farmer pointed, carelessly no doubt, to a field and said, "Now you go there and drag that field. You know how, don"t you? Well!" So he went and dragged that old harrow up and down, up and down, for many a weary hour. Towards dinner time he heard a voice in the distance, as of some one in distress. "Heigh!
Ho-o-o-o! Say there! Stop! Sto-o-o-o-op! Hold on!"
There came the farmer running, panting, gesticulating, and screaming.
Standing in astonishment the agricultural survivor awaited his arrival and an explanation of his strange conduct. As soon as the farmer had breath to speak he said, "Ah, me! Oh my! Mister, my dear sir! You have gone sir, and sir, you have tore up _all my turnip salad_!" And he wept there sorely. You see the farmer pointed out the field carelessly, and the "hand" got on the _wrong_ one. He noticed some vegetation shooting up here and there, but supposed it was some weed the farmer wished to eradicate. Town-people don"t know everything, and soldiers _are so careless_.
The three refugees before mentioned were an old gentleman, his aged wife, and their widowed daughter. Having lost their home and all their worldly possessions, they had agreed to work for the farmer for food and lodging. The old gentleman was acting somewhat in the character of coachman; his wife was nurse; and the widowed daughter was cook and house-servant. The three were fully the equals if not the superiors of the family in which they were serving. Happily for them they soon got some good news, and drove away in their own carriage. The farmer did the best he could for them while they stayed, and for his survivors; but he was burdened with a large family, a miserably poor farm, deep poverty, and hopeless shiftlessness.
One day the farmer made up his mind to cultivate a certain field, in the centre of which he had an extensive cow-pen, inclosed by a ten-rail fence. To prepare the way he wanted that fence taken down, carried rail by rail to the corner of the field, and there piled up. He put one of his new hands to work at this interesting job, and went home, probably to take a nap. The survivor toted rails that day on one shoulder until it was bleeding, and then on the other until that was too sensitive.
Then he walked over to see how the other "hand" was getting along with the horse and mule team and the harrow.
He found him very warm, very much exasperated, using excited language, beating the animals, and declaring that no man under the sun ever encountered such formidable difficulties in the pursuit of agricultural profit. He explained that the horse was too large and the mule too small; the traces were too old, and would break every few yards; the harness was dropping to pieces; the teeth constantly dropping out of the harrow; and the harrow itself ready to tumble into firewood. In addition to these annoyances, the mule and the horse alternated between going the wrong way and not going at all. The man almost wept as he described the aggravating calmness of the animals. When a trace broke they turned, gazed on the wreck, stood still, groaned (by way of a sigh), and seemed to say, "One more brief respite, thank Providence! Fifteen minutes to tie up that old chain, _at least_!" After a careful survey of the situation and some tolerably accurate guesses as to the proximity of the dinner hour, the two battered remnants of the glorious old army decided to suspend operations, and slowly wended their way to the house: one carrying his lacerated shoulders, and the other steering the remains of the harrow.
It had been agreed--indeed, the "remnants" had insisted--that they were to be directed about their work and made to serve exactly as the negro hands would have been had they remained. But, so novel was the situation, the farmer had constantly to be reminded of his authority. At last a bright idea occurred to the farmer. He would undertake a little extra-fine work for a neighbor, and thus relieve the survivors of the monotony of the hoe, the plow, and the harrow. Some old ladies wanted their household goods moved from one house to another, and we were to undertake the job.
The entire force consisted of the mule and the cart thereto belonging, and the bull and his cart. The mule had precedence in the line, and was closely followed by the bull. The farmer walked in front as pioneer, the elder survivor drove the mule, and the hero of the cow-pen held the chain which agonized the bull when necessary.
At the brow of a certain long hill, which the humble mule had quietly walked down, the bull halted for meditation. His impatient and less romantic driver thoughtlessly gave the chain a rude jerk. In an instant he felt himself whirled down that hill at breakneck speed. Almost simultaneous with the start was the shock of the stop. Picking himself up, the driver found his cart securely fastened to a pine-tree, which was jammed between the wheel and the body of it. The steed was unhurt, but excited. After a long coaxing the farmer persuaded him to back far enough to disengage the cart, and the progress continued.
The furniture was found in a small room, up a crooked and narrow stairs.
Nothing was as large as the furniture. How to get it out was a conundrum. One of the survivors suggested to the farmer to knock off the roof of the house, and take it out that way. But he wouldn"t hear of it.
Finally, the cart was driven under the eaves, and while "those whose past services had endeared them to their countrymen" rolled the furniture out of the window and lowered it "by hand" from the eaves, the farmer stowed it in the cart. The ladies, though greatly agitated by the imminent danger of the furniture, found time to admire the ingenuity and originality of the plan and the intrepid daring of its execution. The farmer, who had several times been in danger of having himself mashed flat, was entirely overlooked. Both the carts being loaded, the train moved off in good order.
After a few days the farmer mounted one of the men, "not conquered, but wearied with victory," on the mule, gave him an old meal-bag, and sent him to a neighbor"s for meal and bacon. He got, say, a peck of one and a pound or two of the other. This proceeding was repeated at intervals of a day or two, and finally led to the conclusion that the farmer was living from hand to mouth certainly, and in all probability on charity.
Besides, the "new hands" felt a growing indisposition, owing to the meagre supplies on the table, to allow themselves any lat.i.tude in the matter of eating. So they resolved to try the good old plan of days gone by, and send out a foraging party. The plans were discussed at length, and everything decided.
One morning, early, the senior of the "endeared" survivors took the road for Richmond, distant about fourteen miles, intending there to lay in food, tobacco, pipes, information, and any other little thing calculated to brighten life on a farm. During his absence the other forlorn survivor groaned with impatience and doubt, questioning the possibility of a man returning to such a place after seeing the luxurious supplies of good eating on exhibition by the Yankee sutlers in Richmond.
But he did return, like a good comrade, bringing his "plunder" with him.
He made the round trip of twenty-eight miles on foot, and at midnight reached the "quarters" with cold ham, good bread, pipes, smoking tobacco, chewing tobacco, a few clean clothes, and a good pair of shoes, which one of the party needed. These were the gift of an old friend in town. Sitting on the bedside, as morning approached, they made a hearty meal, and then smoked, smoked, smoked, as only men can smoke who love to smoke and have not had the wherewithal for a week or two.
The returned forager told of the strange sights he had seen in town.
Some young Confederates, who were smart, were at work in the ruins cleaning bricks at five dollars a day. Others had government work, as clerks, mechanics, and laborers, earning from one to five dollars a day.
The government had established commissary stores at different points in the city, where rations were sold, at nominal prices, to those who could buy, and supplied gratis to those who could not. He had seen gray-haired old gentlemen, all their lives used to plenty, standing about these places, waiting "their turn" to "draw." Soldiers marched by twos and fours and by companies, everywhere. Captains and lieutenants, sergeants and corporals, were the masters of the city and a sort of temporary Providence, dictating what sort of clothes the people were to wear, what they might eat, what they might do, what they might say and think; in short, allowing the people to live, as it were, on a "limited" ticket.
But among other things the forager brought information to the effect that he had secured employment for both at the cheering rate of five dollars per week.
So one day these two "laid down the shovel and the hoe," and made most excellent time for Richmond, arriving there early in the day, and entering at once upon the new work.
[Ill.u.s.tration: C.S. b.u.t.tons off]
During the stay at the farm the survivors felt that they were not yet returned to civil life, but "foraging" on the neutral ground between war and peace,--neither soldiers nor citizens. But now, in regular employment, in a city,--_their own city_!--with so much per week and the responsibility of "finding themselves," and especially after the provost made them cut the bra.s.s b.u.t.tons off their jackets, and more especially after they were informed that they must take the oath before doing anything else, they began to think that probably the war was nearing its end. But a real good hearty war like that dies hard. No country likes to part with a good earnest war. It likes to talk about the war, write its history, fight its battles over and over again, and build monument after monument to commemorate its glories.
A long time after a war, people begin to find out, as they read, that the deadly struggle marked a grand period in their history!
CHAPTER XI.
CAMP-FIRES OF THE BOYS IN GRAY.
The soldier may forget the long, weary march, with its dust, heat, and thirst, and he may forget the horrors and blood of the battle-field, or he may recall them sadly, as he thinks of the loved dead; but the cheerful, happy scenes of the camp-fire he will never forget. How willingly he closes his eyes to the present to dream of those happy, careless days and nights! Around the fire crystallize the memories of the soldier"s life. It was his home, his place of rest, where he met with good companionship. _Who kindled the fire?_ n.o.body had matches, there was no fire in sight, and yet scarcely was the camp determined when the bright blaze of the camp-fire was seen. _He_ was a shadowy fellow who kindled the fire. n.o.body knows who he was; but no matter how wet the leaves, how sobby the twigs, no matter if there was no fire in a mile of the camp, that fellow could start one. Some men might get down on hands and knees, and blow it and fan it, rear and charge, and fume and fret, and yet "she wouldn"t burn." But this fellow would come, kick it all around, scatter it, rake it together again, shake it up a little, and oh, _how it burned_! The little flames would bite the twigs and snap at the branches, embrace the logs, and leap and dance and laugh, at the touch of the master"s hand, and soon lay at his feet a bed of glowing coals.
As soon as the fire is kindled all hands want water. Who can find it?
Where is it? Never mind; we have a man who knows where to go. He says, "Where"s our bucket?" and then we hear the rattle of the old tin cup as it drops to the bottom of it, and away he goes, n.o.body knows where. But _he_ knows, and he doesn"t stop to think, but without the slightest hesitation or doubt strikes out in the darkness. From the camp-fire as a centre, draw 500 radii, and start an ordinary man on any of them, and let him walk a mile on each, and he will miss the water. But that fellow in the mess with the water instinct never failed. He would go as straight for the spring, or well, or creek, or river, as though he had lived in that immediate neighborhood all his life and never got water anywhere else. What a valuable man he was! A modest fellow, who never knew his own greatness. But others remember and honor him. May he never want for any good thing!
Having a roaring fire and a bucket of good water, we settle down. A man cannot be comfortable "_anywhere_;" so each man and his "chum" picks out a tree, and that particular tree becomes the homestead of the two. They hang their canteens on it, lay their haversacks and spread their blankets at the foot of it, and sit down and lean their weary backs against it, and feel that they are at home. How gloomy the woods are beyond the glow of our fire! How cozy and comfortable we are who stand around it and inhale the aroma of the coffee-boiler and skillet!
The man squatting by the fire is a person of importance. He doesn"t talk, not he; his whole mind is concentrated on that skillet. He is our cook,--volunteer, natural and talented cook. Not in a vulgar sense. He doesn"t mix, but simply bakes, the biscuit. Every faculty, all the energy, of the man is employed in that great work. Don"t suggest anything to him if you value his friendship. Don"t attempt to put on or take off from the top of that skillet one single coal, and don"t be in a hurry for the biscuit. You need not say you "like yours half done," etc.
Simply wait. When he thinks they are ready, and not before, you get them. _He_ may raise the lid cautiously now and then and look in, but don"t _you_ look in. Don"t say you think they are done, because it"s useless. Ah! his face relaxes; he raises the lid, turns it upside down to throw off the coals, and says, _All right, boys_! And now, with the air of a wealthy philanthropist, he distributes the solid and weighty product of his skill to, as it were, the humble dependents around him.
The "General" of the mess, having satisfied the cravings of the inner man, now proceeds to enlighten the ordinary members of it as to when, how, and why, and where, the campaign will open, and what will be the result. He arranges for every possible and impossible contingency, and brings the war to a favorable and early termination. The greatest mistake General Lee ever made was that he failed to consult this man.
Who can tell what "might have been" if he had?
Now, to the consternation of all hands, our old friend "the Bore,"
familiarly known as "the old Auger," opens his mouth to tell us of a little incident ill.u.s.trative of his personal prowess, and, by way of preface, commences at Eden, and goes laboriously through the patriarchal age, on through the Mosaic dispensation, to the Christian era, takes in Grecian and Roman history by the way, then Spain and Germany and England and colonial times, and the early history of our grand republic, the causes of and necessity for our war, and a complete history up to date, and then slowly unfolds the little matter. We always loved to hear this man, and prided ourselves on being the only mess in the army having such treasure _all our own_.
The "Auger," having been detailed for guard-duty, walks off; his voice grows fainter and fainter in the distance, and we call forth our poet.
One eye is bandaged with a dirty cotton rag. He is bareheaded, and his hair resembles a dismantled straw stack. His elbows and knees are out, and his pants, from the knee down, have a brown-toasted tinge imparted by the genial heat of many a fire. His toes protrude themselves prominently from his shoes. You would say, "What a dirty, ignorant fellow." But listen to his rich, well-modulated voice. How perfect his memory! What graceful gestures! How his single eye glows! See the color on his cheek! See the strained and still attention of the little group around him as he steps into the light of the fire! Hear him!
"I am dying, Egypt, dying!
Ebbs the crimson life-tide fast, And the dark Plutonian shadows Gather on the evening blast.
Let thine arms, O Queen, support me, Hush thy sobs and bow thine ear; Listen to the great heart secrets-- Thou, and thou alone, must hear.
"I am dying, Egypt, dying!
Hark! the insulting foeman"s cry.
They are coming! quick! my falchion!!
Let me front them ere I die.
Ah! no more amid the battle Shall my heart exulting swell-- Isis and Osiris guard thee-- Cleopatra! Rome! Farewell!"
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE POET OF OUR MESS.]
"Good!" "Bully!" "Go ahead, Jack!" "Give us some more, old fellow!" And he generally did, much to everybody"s satisfaction. We all loved Jack, _the Poet_ of our mess. He sleeps, his battles o"er, in Hollywood.
The _Singing_ man generally put in towards the last, and sung us to bed.
He was generally a diminutive man, with a sweet voice and a sweetheart at home. His songs had in them rosy lips, blue eyes, golden hair, pearly teeth, and all that sort of thing. Of course he would sing some good rollicking songs, in order to give all a chance. And so, with hearty chorus, "Three times around went she," "Virginia, Virginia, the Land of the Free," "No surrender," "Lula, Lula, Lula is gone," "John Brown"s Body," with many variations, "Dixie," "The Bonny Blue Flag," "Farewell to the Star-Spangled Banner," "Hail Columbia," with immense variations, and "Maryland, My Maryland," till about the third year of the war, when we began to think Maryland had "breathed and burned" long enough, and ought to "come." What part of her did come was _first-cla.s.s_. How the woods did ring with song! There were patriotic songs, romantic and love songs, sarcastic, comic, and war songs, pirates" glees, plantation melodies, lullabies, good old hymn tunes, anthems, Sunday-school songs, and everything but vulgar and obscene songs; these were scarcely ever heard, and were nowhere in the army well received or encouraged.
The recruit--our latest acquisition--was _so_ interesting. His nice clean clothes, new hat, new shoes, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g on his shirt front, letters and cross-guns on his hat, new knife for all the fellows to borrow, nice comb for general use, nice little gla.s.s to shave by, good smoking tobacco, money in his pocket to lend out, oh, what a great convenience he was! How _many_ things he had that a fellow could borrow, and how willing he was to go on guard, and get wet, and give away his rations, and bring water, and cut wood, and ride horses to water! And he was so clean and sweet, and his cheeks so rosy, all the fellows wanted to bunk with him under his nice new blanket, and impart to him some of their numerous and energetic "tormentors."
And then it was so _interesting_ to hear him talk. He knew _so much_ about war, arms, tents, knapsacks, ammunition, marching, fighting, camping, cooking, shooting, and everything a soldier is and does. It is remarkable how much a recruit and how little an old soldier knows about such things. After a while the recruit forgets all, and is as ignorant as any veteran. How good the fellows were to a really gentlemanly boy!
How they loved him!
The _Scribe_ was a wonderful fellow and very useful. He could write a two-hours" pa.s.s, sign the captain"s name better than the captain himself, and endorse it "respectfully forwarded approved," sign the colonel"s name after "respectfully forwarded approved," and then on up to the commanding officer. And do it so well! n.o.body wanted anything better. The boys had great veneration for the scribe, and used him constantly.
The _Mischievous_ man was very useful. He made fun. He knew how to volunteer to shave a fellow with a big beard and moustache. He wouldn"t lend his razor, but he"d shave him very well. He shaves one cheek, one half the chin, one side of the upper lip, puts his razor in his pocket, walks off, and leaves his customer the most one-sided chap in the army.