A lieutenant of our regiment who was captured at the second Bull Run, was returned to us some months later. We were then doing garrison duty near Arlington. Our company was at a fort named “Haggerty,” which had been built on a little hill on the road leading from the Georgetown bridge to Arlington.
The roadway had been dug through the hill leaving the banks for a long distance on each side, from 10 to 40 feet above the road.
An old dry canal ran parallel with the road from the bridge to Alexandria.
The next day after the lieutenant had been returned to the regiment he obtained leave to go over to Washington for the purpose of supplying himself with a new uniform, and it is more than likely that he celebrated his release from captivity by visiting numerous places where liquid as well as other refreshments were dispensed. He did not return to camp until evening, and the night being dark and the officer not being familiar with the lay of the land he started up the bed of the old canal instead of the road. When opposite the fort he heard the drummers beating the tattoo and he made a sharp turn to the right and headed in the direction of the sounds.
After going a few rods he walked off the bank and dropped about 30 feet into 15 inches of soft Virginia mud. We heard cries of help interspersed with oaths and other remarks that would have done credit to a pirate captain. A light was procured, a crowd gathered and one of the men asked what was the matter. The voice was recognized and out of the depth came the response: “Its me sergeant and for God’s sake come and help me out of this hole.” Three or four of the men went to his rescue and when the party came up the pathway they were greeted by a large crowd headed by the captain, who inquired of the officer how it happened that he was down there in the road.
The lieutenant presented a ludicrous appearance, bare-headed and in his mud bedraggled uniform as he saluted and explained: “You see Cap’n,” said he “I lost me latitude and longitude when I left the bridge.” The captain laughed. The men shouted and ever after that he was known as “old latitude and longitude.”
FAKING DISABILITY.
In a regiment of 1,000 men it is not to be wondered at that there are some few who are deficient in the qualities that make good soldiers.
Perhaps they had enrolled their names because they had been carried away by the enthusiasm of a “war meeting” where it was always pictured out as being an act of heroism to volunteer. Then the chances of promotion and the opportunities to see the country were always depicted in their most glowing colors by speakers who in most cases were very careful to not put their own names down. After the recruit has become an atom of a thousand he realizes that he is not of as much consequence as he expected to be, and it is not strange that now and then there was one who had not the “sand” to stand up like a man and be just as good a soldier as he could. In that case he resorted to all sorts of ingenious devices to procure his discharge from the army.
In the summer of 1862 our surgeon—we used to call him “Old Symptoms”—was puzzled by the numerous cases of fever sores that he had to treat; finally he “got onto” their game by the accidental discovery of a man wearing a copper penny bound on his leg for the purpose of producing one. “Weak heart” was frequently feigned by a candidate for discharge and all sorts of deceptions were attempted on the surgeons, who had to be pretty good judges of human nature in order to detect the true from the false.