The regiment, for several nights in succession, during February, was under arms for what, at the time, were thought to be good causes, but at a later period partook of the ludicrous and provoked a smile. The first alarm was started one night by Lieutenant-Colonel Stedman, for the purpose of testing the guard in a knowledge of its duty. At a distance of about one-quarter of a mile from camp he fired his pistol some three or four times towards the camp and then quickly returned to his headquarters. The officer of the guard aroused the camp at once by causing the long roll to be beaten, and reported the circumstances to the officer of the day, who proceeded to report to Lieutenant-Colonel Stedman, and entered headquarters a moment after his return. The regiment was always in line from five to ten minutes after a call to arms, ready to obey orders.
On the occasion narrated a detachment of thirty men was sent down the road leading toward Fort Macomb, with orders to scour the plantations upon each side and ascertain the cause of firing. Sergeant-Major Bosson was fond of giving his experience on this, his first night on a scout. In detail he gave the peculiar feelings that came over him when prowling around and looking into every nook and corner of a ruined sugar-house, accompanied by two men, expecting to find a body of armed men secreted there; how he afterwards joined the detachment on the road, and then with another detail of two men searched plantations upon the left of the road as far down as the battery, where Lieutenant Burrell with his detachment was stationed, saving the life of a cow one of his companions mistook for a man dodging around among the swamp trees and made ready to fire at.
A number of officers had with them patent-armored vests, that were sold extensively when the nine months troops were enlisting. Those iron-clad arrangements were put on with such alacrity at every night alarm that the officers who unfortunately owned them must have laughed when, at home safe and sound after their term of service expired, they thought over the dangers they passed through in Louisiana, especially at Bayou Gentilly. Some of the officers have slept at night with these iron cases on, and it came to be a fixed custom until the hot weather set in for owners of iron vests to don them when the regiment was under arms for any supposable emergency, more for the purpose of making some use of them, or, as they jocosely remarked, “get their money’s worth out of them at any rate.” Officers who were in the Galveston action also had these iron vests. They were forgotten when trouble was expected and no use made of them.
A private in Company F, a troublesome fellow and great shirk, endeavored to pass a sentinel without giving the countersign on the night of February 14th. He was properly challenged but paid no attention to the call, “Who goes there!” repeated a number of times, when the sentry, also a private of Company F, aimed his musket and fired at him for his temerity. The ball whistled by his head and passed through the hospital without damage. The fellow did not receive any sympathy, nor did he deserve any, and the fright given him was deemed sufficient punishment and warning not to repeat the blunder.[9]
[9] Adjutant Davis had a similar adventure at this camp. A sentry challenged him without receiving a reply, made ready and levelled his gun at him. The click of the trigger woke Davis from a reverie to instantly comprehend his situation and answer the challenge. This sentry acknowledged he recognized the adjutant, and yet maintained he should have fired at him in a moment after taking aim. As Davis was inside the camp on official business, such action on the sentinel’s part would not have been humane or proper, while it might have been justified. As he recognized his officer and thought, as he admits, that his challenge was not heard, to have stopped the adjutant at the point of his bayonet was sufficient.
Quite a number of men in Company F were sick. Two of the cases baffled the surgeon’s skill until it was decided, after an inspection of company quarters, that in these two cases signs and symptoms of scurvy was manifested, and fresh meat in place of “salt horse” ought to be provided. The brigade quartermaster was unable to fill a requisition for fresh meat, while the camp was serenaded night and day by constant tinkling of a hundred cow-bells, attached to as many cows. The idea of going without fresh meat when it was needed, with a herd of cattle within reach, was more than the officers could stand, and a council was held at regimental headquarters. The result was, Captain Cogswell received authority to take some of his men, who understood how to slaughter and dress cattle, and go to work that night.
The party consisted of Major Stiles, Captain Cogswell, Sergeant-Major Bosson, Sergeant B. A. Bottomley, Corporal Sylvander Bothwell, Privates Harvey Allen (company cook), George Mann and Charles Sanderson, of Company F. They selected a fine animal, placed a rope around her horns with difficulty, and dragged the cow towards a grove of trees, selected as a proper place to dress her. Everything was done in a workmanlike manner, as the butchers knew their business, and after the fresh beef was carried upon a confiscated ladder to the regimental quartermaster’s depot all hands returned to Company F’s quarters, to partake of broiled steak and liver, cooked by Harvey Allen about one o’clock in the morning.
Not satisfied with this supply of beef, Lieutenant Harding and men from his company (Company K) again made a raid on the herd of cattle shortly after and slaughtered cow number two, without authority. In this case the hide and entrails were buried in the swamp, while Captain Cogswell’s butchers threw the head, hide and entrails into a well of water used by the cattle, near the paroled camp. No one supposed these cows would be missed, until the owner appeared and made inquiries about them. He was not satisfied with his reception in the camp, proceeding to prowl around to ascertain where they were. His attention was attracted to the well of water, where all that remained of cow number one had been placed, by the moaning of several head of cattle that stood near smelling of the water and tearing up the turf with their feet, when a hundred men of the regiment, who had been watching him with curiosity from the camp line, saw the owner fish out the head and hide with a long pole.
He then made complaint to the provost-marshal in New Orleans, who invited the regimental officers to explain. In order to prevent an unpleasant inquiry the affair was settled by the officers making up a purse of about three hundred dollars to pay the owner’s claim; this fresh meat costing them dear in the end. No cattle were molested afterwards.
Before Assistant-Surgeon Smith, Twenty-Sixth Massachusetts, was relieved from charge of the hospital a curious case came under his care, ending in a manner discreditable to him. Private Francis N. Prouty, Company F, was sick in hospital with malarial fever. No one thought the case serious until, one morning, Surgeon Smith came into the headquarters office excited and breathless, reporting Prouty as dying. Word was sent to Captain Cogswell and his company officers, who at once repaired to the sick-room, accompanied by Chaplain Sanger and several others, to witness the dying scene. There Prouty lay upon his cot, with head and shoulders bolstered up by pillows, breathing short and quick, no sign of death in his face, that had an intelligent look, and his eyes their natural appearance. The other patients in the room were resting upon elbows on their cots watching Prouty with wondering eyes, as the solemn procession filed in and took positions near the supposed dying man. While the surgeon kept one hand upon the patient’s pulse, Chaplain Sanger offered a fervent prayer in his behalf that only served to produce a look of wonder in Prouty’s eyes, that appeared to say, what in the devil is this all about? He did not die, and afterwards said, had no intention of doing so, to please any one. The whole scene ended, after waiting about half an hour, in the solemn procession retiring from his side, pleased to find that the end was not to come, and somewhat mad with the surgeon for his opinion on the case. Smith had not been considered a surgeon of any skill before this event, and this case served to deepen the distrust of his ability.