CHAPTER XXIX.
Ludicrous effect of fear—A Corporal outflanks a Captain—A good Union man—A touching appeal—A scene among the wounded—An old Secesh discovers his mistake—Suggestions from experience—Concluding thoughts.
In looking back over my experience, I can recall to mind many little incidents not included in the preceding narratives. It is sometimes amusing to witness the effect of fear upon persons of different habits and constitutions. I often think of my own ludicrous sensations in my first engagement—that of Fort Donelson.
Being naturally a hearty eater, and not overly brave, I have a peculiar regard for all that concerns my appetite, and I fancied that if I was to be hit at all it would be in my "bread-basket."
When our Colonel had formed us in line of battle and brought us to an "order arms," he said: "My brave soldiers, I am pleased with the coolness and courage that I see depicted upon every face. [I was glad he didn't see mine, for my knees were smiting each other, and I was pressing my 'bread-basket' with both hands.] We are not going to have a skirmish, nor an engagement, nor a fight, but a battle! [I was done for then, sure, and my hands pressed the "bread-basket" harder than before.] Draw your cartridge-boxes well to the front, [I tell you, the command suited me, and I got mine round in a hurry!] and act yourselves like men!" I can't say that I acted like a man, but I would have given considerable to have got my "bread-basket" away from there! I am happy to add that when the battle was over the "bread-basket" was all right, and has given me but very little trouble since.
I once came near getting into difficulty by not properly doing my duty while on picket. It was at Shiloh Church, a few weeks after the battle, and while the main part of the army was engaged in besieging Corinth. The entire regiment was more or less troubled with that terrible scourge of the army, camp diarrhea, and the men were constantly contriving some way to get through the picket line in search of chickens and fresh vegetables.
One morning, soon after I had taken my post on picket duty, for the first time in my life—I was a corporal of the guard—a squad of men from my own company came down to my post, without passes, and said that they wanted to go out and get some vegetables, and, if I would pass them, they would divide with me when they came in, to which I assented.
Toward night they came back to my post, and left, as my share of the proceeds of the trip, two very fat chickens, and a nice lot of onions, lettuce, and radishes. It so happened that just after the men left the post for camp, Captain R——s, of my regiment, who was in command of the guard, made his appearance to inspect the condition of his men, and, discovering the party who had just left, mistrusted that I had passed them in, and, of course, took me to task about it.
"Did those men come through the lines here?" inquired the Captain.
"Yes, sir," I answered.
"Did they have passes?"
"I don't know whether they did or not. I did not ask them."
"Did they go out here this morning?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did you allow them to go out without passes?"
"I didn't ask them for passes. I didn't know they needed them. They said that they were going after vegetables, and I know that they needed them bad enough, so I supposed it was all right."
"What were you placed here for?"
"To watch the enemy, I suppose. I did not know that I had to watch my friends."
"Well, sir, if you don't know your duty better than that, you are not fit to be a Corporal. I'll report you to the Colonel, sir, and have you reduced."
The Captain then went on and left me to my own reflections. I cared very little about being an eighth Corporal, and yet I disliked the idea of becoming disgraced by being reduced. I dressed my chickens nicely, and laid them away where they would be safe until morning. As soon as the relief came out, I started across the woods to camp. Taking my nicest chicken and some of my nicest vegetables in my hands, I repaired to the Colonel's tent. I knew that he had been unwell, and unable to procure what vegetables he needed. On entering, I saluted him as politely as I knew how, and then said: "Colonel, I knew that you was not very well, and I thought you would relish some chicken and fresh vegetables. Will you accept them?"
"Thank you, thank you, Corporal," said he, taking them, and looking very much pleased. "They are just what I wanted exactly. Were you on picket yesterday?"
"Yes, sir, and I expect that I have incurred your displeasure."
"Why so?"
"Well, Colonel, I'll tell you. It's the first time that I was ever on picket, and I did not know what the duty of a Corporal was. There were some men from the regiment came down and wanted to go out, and I let them go without passes, and the Captain says that he is going to report me for it. I am very sorry, Colonel, that I did it, and if you will forgive me this time I won't do so again."
"Picket duty, Corporal, is one of the most responsible duties of the soldier. It should always be faithfully discharged. Since this is the first offense, I'll overlook it, if you will do better in the future."
"Thank you, Colonel; I will certainly do better the next time."
Just as I came out the Captain entered; so I remained where I could hear the conversation that followed. After the usual salutation, he said: "I am sorry, Colonel, that I am under the necessity of reporting to you one of the Corporals under my command yesterday for a non-performance of duty."
"Was it Corporal Ruggles," inquired the Colonel.
"Yes, sir; he—"
"Never mind, Captain; he reported himself this morning and promised to do better, and I forgave him this offense."
When the Captain came out, I noticed that he felt considerably worked up at being outflanked by a Corporal.
While encamped at Shiloh, I became acquainted with an old man, whose age was nearly three-score and ten, then a refugee from home on account of his loyalty to the Government. He had spent several weeks secreted in a swamp, to keep out of the hands of his neighbors, and on the arrival of the Union army had come into our lines for protection.
The old man was plain and outspoken in his views, and when the subject of secession was being agitated in that part of Tennessee where he lived, he boldly declared his determination to adhere to the Union. The neighbors, unwilling to give the old man up, appointed a secession meeting on a certain evening, and procured one of their ablest speakers to discuss the question at issue, and invited him over. The time appointed came, and with it the speaker. The house was crowded with anxious listeners, but the old man was not among them. Before proceeding with the exercises, a delegation was appointed to wait upon the old man and get him out to the meeting. He at first refused to attend, but at last yielded to their importunities and went over. A chair was brought in and a seat given him close by the speaker's stand, and the speaker commenced. The old man listened very attentively to the entire harangue, and his friends felt sure that the arguments were having the desired effect.
When the speaker had finished and sat down, one of the delegates arose and asked the old man if he had learned any thing new.
"Yes, I think I have," he replied.
"Well, what is it?"
"I have learned that you are a d—d sight bigger fools than I had thought you were. Your arguments amount to nothing. As for me, I was born a Union man, I have lived a Union man, and I mean to die a Union man!"
It was then hinted that he might get hung if he continued to give utterance to such language. He replied:
"Gentlemen, you may hang and be d—d! I want you to understand that I am a Union man. Every thing about me is Union. You may hang me on a gallows higher than Haman, and then cut me down and make mince-meat of my body and feed it to the dogs, and the dogs will be good Union dogs!"
Having thus pointedly expressed himself, he left the house and returned home, leaving his neighbors in an angry mood over his obstinacy. Half an hour later a son-in-law informed him that the meeting had determined that he should either renounce his sentiments or be hung. A rapid flight to the swamp saved his life.
Thus you see that treason has neither respect for the silver hairs of old age nor the strongest ties of blood.
It is oftentimes affecting to witness the heroic manner in which soldiers endure their sufferings, whether from sickness or wounds.
There was in my company a man by the name of Frank R——d, who, for several months, had been careless about writing to his mother, who was a widow. At last the poor widow's heart could stand the suspense no longer, and she wrote to a daughter, then living in the State of Indiana, to assist her in her efforts to find out what had become of Frank. The sister immediately wrote to the Captain of the company to learn the fate of her brother. The neglect on the part of Frank to write was not for lack of affection, but simply because of a careless habit. At last Frank was taken sick with a fever, and rapidly grew worse. The regiment was preparing to move from Paducah, Ky., up the Tennessee River, and it became necessary to leave Frank in the hospital. Just a few moments before he was to be carried off from the boat, his Captain received the letter from his sister, inquiring what had become of Frank. The Captain carried the letter to him and read it, and then said, "Frank, what shall I write to your sister?"
He thought a moment, and then, his eyes filling with tears, he said: "Oh, for God's sake, Captain, don't tell sister how sick I am!"
It was affecting indeed to see the heroism with which that dear boy suffered, and his affectionate and tender regard for his sister; was unwilling that she should know the extent of his sufferings lest she should worry about him.
"Brave boy! he has gone at his country's call."
The first mail after we left him brought the sad intelligence that Frank was dead.
Wounded soldiers generally manifest a cheerful resignation to their lot that is astonishing to those who have never witnessed it. Sometimes, however, exceptions occur. I often think of an incident that I witnessed in which two extremes met.
After the battle of Matamora, where General Hurlbut's command routed General Price's army, on its retreat after having been repulsed in its assault upon Corinth, I assisted in taking care of the wounded as they were brought in. Among the sufferers on that day was a Captain, with a flesh wound in the arm, and a private, with a leg dreadfully shattered below the knee. The Captain—though his wound was not of a serious nature—gave way to his feelings, and took on dreadfully, and frequently called upon the doctor to come and dress his wound or he should die. The private, then on the table, preparatory to an amputation of his limb, was heroically cool, and scarce a groan escaped his lips. At length his nerves could no longer stand the ridiculous clamor of the Captain, and he called out, "Captain, if you don't hush your gab until the doctor gets my leg off I'll throw it at you."
The soldier endured the operation manfully, and the Captain took the hint and "dried up" his noise. It is not hard to tell which of the two was the bravest man.
I was once very much amused by the mistake of a very old man. It happened in this way. I had been sent out on a scout, and was returning to camp, when I called at a plantation-house to get breakfast for myself and squad. Sitting upon the porch in front of the house was a very old man—a secesh—engaged in twisting up tobacco. He had a large pile of it before him already twisted. He had never seen any soldiers from either army. As we came up to the porch he kept on at his work, without being in the least alarmed at our appearance. We procured what breakfast we wanted, and was about to leave, when, addressing the old man, I said: "How do you do, daddy?"
"Speak a little louder," said the old man; "I'm hard of hearing."
"How do you do, daddy?" said I again, louder than before.
"Oh, I'm pretty well, I thank you. I'm a little tired now. I've got five or six little grandsons down in General Villipigue's army, and I heard that they were out of tobacco, and I thought I'd twist up some and take down to 'em."
"Boys," said I to the squad, "if you had rather the rebs would have that tobacco than to have it yourselves, let it alone."
At that the boys made a spring for the tobacco.
"Hut, tut, tut!" said the old man, looking wonderfully surprised; "I guess I was mistaken. I thought you were our soldiers; but I guess, from your actions, you are Yankees."
On leaving a service that has been fraught with as much danger as that of mine has been, it is not improper, perhaps, for me to leave on record the conclusions suggested by that experience.
Few, if any, of my contemporaries who started in the business as early as I did are now living. I know of none that are living who operated in the departments where I did, and who commenced when I did and continued as late as I did. Of eighteen (including myself) that commenced when I did, I am the only one that continued through the war. Fifteen of that number were killed in less than two years, and two were disgraced for bad conduct.
When I look back upon what I have experienced, it seems a wonder to me that my life has been spared. Others, whom I thought were my superiors in all the necessary qualifications, have sacrificed their lives in their line of duty.
It may be thought by some that a scout is of necessity of that hardened, reckless character that is insensible to the dangers that surround him; but that is a mistake. It is true that war is hardening to the finer sensibilities, but, nevertheless, if a man is unconscious of the danger of his undertaking, he is not apt to exercise the necessary precautionary measures to insure his safety, and, consequently, fails in his mission.
I can now look back and see how I might have done better. I commenced the business without having had experience, and, consequently, I had all to learn as I went along. At first I only ventured a short distance out, and thought I had done extremely well if I reached camp unharmed. I increased gradually the extent of my expeditions, until I succeeded in making trips of several hundred miles in length.
An adaptation of means to the end to be accomplished is of as much importance in scouting and spying, as in any other branch of business. The very business itself is an evasion of what you really are, or assuming to be what you are not; consequently, an evasion of the truth is often necessary to accomplish the purpose. To be successful as a spy, it is absolutely necessary to be able to act an assumed character.
The disguise of the individual and his plan of operations must be adapted to the particular time and place, and his success must depend greatly upon his address. Generals have frequently told me, before going out, how to address myself to the undertaking; but, as it is impossible to know beforehand the circumstances under which one will be placed, it is necessary that a man be of ready address, in order to adapt himself to any unexpected state of affairs that he might find.
Presence of mind, when suddenly and unexpectedly confronted, is very essential. When a man in that situation is thrown off his guard, his condition can rarely be retrieved.
A man should never lose confidence in his own case, nor despair of escape if captured; if he does, his case becomes hopeless. Never but once was I in a situation where hope entirely left me, and that was when I was about to be shot as a spy by a Colonel of Bragg's cavalry; and even then I did not despair until the deadly weapon was being leveled at my heart.
A spy should have as little superfluous or unnecessary conversation as possible. His information should mainly be derived by observation. I once came across a spy that General Grant had sent out, who was an inveterate talker. I was alarmed for his safety, and, as soon as an opportunity occurred, I said to him, "You talk too much. General Grant pays me for seeing, and not for talking." The fellow made fun of my advice. What became of him I do not know; he never returned to our lines.
Scouts sometimes get frightened; I have been. So do commanding officers and enlisted men. I have known a Major-General to dodge at the whiz of a bullet, and a whole regiment to become stampeded by a runaway mule! The best of men are sometimes the victims of fear. It should, however, be guarded against.
I made a practice of getting all the information that I could, without exposing myself to a danger of recognition, concerning the different regiments in the Confederate service. It was often of great service to me to know where such regiments were raised, and who commanded them, and also what brigades, divisions, and departments they were in. The names and residence of prominent individuals were also of great service to me. A knowledge of the language and habits of the people, anywhere a spy travels, is of great advantage. I have no idea that I would have succeeded as I did if I had not lived in the South before the war commenced.
I have been very successful in managing scouting and forage parties. I attribute it to the fact that I always watched for myself and my men. I have known several officers and their details to get captured because of depending entirely on the men to do the watching. Men become careless in such duties, and a surprise is often the consequence.
In my travels in the enemy's country, I was very particular to observe the features of the country through which I passed—whether wooded, cultivated, level, or hilly; the condition of the roads—whether hard, sandy, or wet; the condition of the streams and their location—whether fordable or not, and the manner of crossing and the nature of their banks. Also, the location of springs and wells, and the supply of water that they afford. Such information is of great value to a commanding officer.
There is great responsibility resting upon a scout and spy. If his reports are reliable, the commanding officer knows how to execute his movements successfully; but if his reports are false, and the commanding officer relies upon them as truth, his movements will, as likely as not, end in disaster, with a sacrifice of hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of lives.
It is far better for a scout, if he fails to accomplish his mission, to report it a failure, for, sooner or later, it will be found out. It is mortifying to fail in one's mission, but that is of little consequence compared with jeopardizing a whole army. I have several times failed to accomplish my missions, but my reporting of such failures has always tended to increase the confidence of my employers in my reliability.
Having finished my services for the Government, I am once more a citizen, engaged in the pursuits of civil life. I have "beaten my sword into a plowshare, and my bayonet into a pruning-hook," and have become a resident of the "far West;" and though I "became a changed man," and did not take for a better-half "Miss Annie," nevertheless I am married and settled in life, and can look back with proud satisfaction upon the result of my labors.
Now, reader, you have followed me in my humble career from the commencement of the war to its close, and you are able to judge whether the part that I have played is of consequence or not. I do not claim that I have always acted wisely; and if I have erred, remember the surrounding circumstances, and then judge indulgently. If I have assisted the return of peace, by bearing faithfully my part in the burden of the war, I have accomplished the purpose for which I enlisted.
The war is now over. The flag of our country again proudly floats over the entire domain. Peace, prosperity, and the pursuit of happiness have taken the place of deadly strife. In place of cultivating the art of war, we are now cultivating commerce and friendly intercourse. In a few years the blackened track of contending armies will smile with luxuriant harvests.
We have the satisfaction of knowing that American liberty still exists; that the institutions inaugurated by the hardships and sufferings of our fathers, baptized with their blood, and consecrated by their prayers, are renewed and perpetuated. The principles that they struggled to maintain still live.
The fires of patriotism that were kindled in the bosoms and burned in flames of heroic valor at Lexington, Bunker Hill, Saratoga, and Yorktown still burn in the bosoms of their children's children, and, have burst forth in glorious illuminations of valor upon such fields as Donelson, Vicksburg, Antietam, Atlanta, and Richmond.
The heroes of this war have proved themselves worthy of their ancestry, and have baptized and consecrated anew their precious inheritance by giving of their best blood for its maintenance.
Never were prayers more devoutly and fervently uttered, never was blood more freely spilled, never was treasure more extensively lavished, or individual sacrifice more cheerfully borne, than in the war from which we have just emerged.
Our children's children will look back upon our deeds of valor and sacrifice with the same feelings of respect that we cherish for the fathers of the Revolution, and the institutions which we have perpetuated will be doubly dear to them for the second sacrifice that they have cost.
Let us then watch carefully the treasures of liberty, and so use them as to invoke the smiles of Almighty God upon our sacred trust. Let us acknowledge his directing hand, and, by strict integrity and adherence to the principles of truth, prove ourselves worthy of the trust that we have received. Then will millions yet unborn rise up and thank the God of their fathers that by us our country has been saved.