The most serious thing about this unfortunate culmination of our Christmas festivities was not only the breach of discipline, but the present status of this sergeant. He was an exceptionally good non-commissioned officer, with a splendid record in both battles and in all service, yet he had now committed an offence the punishment for which, in time of war, was death,—viz., striking his superior commissioned officer. The next day Colonel Albright reported the affair to General French, commanding the division, who promptly advised him to prefer charges against the culprit and make an example of him. The matter was generally discussed by both officers and men in camp, and although it was felt that the sergeant had committed a grave offence, yet that the colonel was in a measure responsible for it. The latter was justly popular with all as a brave officer and good man, yet he had been guilty himself of an offence which had brought upon him the blow he had received. He had no right to strike a soldier as he did, even with the flat of his sword. Nor was it the proper thing for him to take the place of his "officer of the guard" or "officer of the day" in enforcing his own orders regulating camp discipline. He should have sent for the latter and required them to do their duty in the matter. As a matter of fact, this was just what the officer of the day was doing when the colonel appeared. The colonel sent for me next morning, on his return from General French's head-quarters, and freely told me of the advice of the latter, and indicated his purpose to proceed.
This splendid man has long since entered into rest. No truer man or braver officer entered the service than he, and it has been one of the greatest satisfactions of my life that I was able to possess his confidence to the fullest degree. He invited my views now and he afterwards thanked me for the service I then rendered him by opposing his contemplated action. He was still suffering very much from his injury and was in a poor mood to brook opposition. Nevertheless I felt that if he subjected this man to the possible results of a court-martial, later on he would never forgive himself, and I so told him. I reminded him of the mistake he had made in assuming the duties of his "officer of the day," and of his graver error, if not offence, in striking the men; that such action would be very likely to produce similar results with almost any of the men upon whom it might be committed; that he had failed to respect the rights of his men even in matters of discipline, and that all this being true, it would be a mistake he would always regret if he failed to treat this affair in as manly and generous a way as discipline would permit. It was an occasion of keen regret that I had to differ with Colonel Albright, for I really loved the man. He dismissed me rather cavalierly with his thanks for my drastic frankness. By his direction a meeting of all the officers of the regiment was summoned to meet at his head-quarters in the afternoon to give their views as to the course to be pursued. The question, as submitted by the colonel being one purely of discipline, seemed to admit of but one treatment,—viz., court-martial; and this was the unanimous sentiment as expressed in this meeting, although outside, I well knew nearly all had expressed themselves differently. Perhaps the way the colonel took to get their views was partly responsible for his failure to get their real feelings. He began with the youngest lieutenant and asked each officer up to the senior captain, what he thought the offence merited. The answer was, "I suppose court-martial." None seemed willing to accuse the colonel of his own error, and to have answered otherwise would have involved that, so they simply replied as above.
The colonel said, after all had given their answers, that the adjutant did not agree with him nor them, and called on me to state my position, saying I was to be excused, as he supposed the sergeant was a personal friend. Whilst it was true that I had known him at home, I disclaimed being influenced by that fact in this matter. The colonel, to my relief, adjourned the meeting without announcing his determination. I felt sure that a little more time would bring him to my way of thinking, and so it turned out. I saw the sergeant over at the provost-guard tent, and found him very anxious about his situation and thoroughly sorry for his hasty conduct towards the colonel, whom he sincerely respected. He said he felt terribly hurt at being so roughly treated. He was not to blame for the noise, but was actually doing his best to quiet the noisy ones and get them into quarters when the first intimation he had of the colonel's presence was the blow from his sword. He said this blow hurt him and roused his anger and he replied sharply, and on getting the second blow he struck without stopping to think of the consequences. I told the colonel of this conversation, and said if he would permit this man to express to him personally his sorrow for his conduct, and, under the circumstances, restore him to duty with no greater punishment than a loss of his rank as sergeant, I felt sure he would win the hearts of all the men and do an act he would always be glad of. Two days later, to my great joy, he ordered me to prepare an order practically embodying my recommendations, the order to be read at dress parade that day, and the prisoner to be publicly released at that time. I think I never performed a more willing or difficult task than reading that order on parade that afternoon. Just before the ceremony, the sergeant had been brought by the provost guard to the colonel's tent and had, in a manly way, expressed his sorrow for his act. The colonel had stated this fact to the regiment, and then directed me to read the order releasing the prisoner and restoring him to duty. The tears blinded my eyes and my emotions almost choked my voice as I tried to read, and I doubt if there was a dry eye in the ranks when I had finished. The outcome of the unfortunate affair was exceedingly satisfactory. The colonel, always popular, had now the hearts of all—officers and men.
CHAPTER XIII
THE WINTER AT FALMOUTH
Our brigade was now commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Marshall, Tenth New York Volunteers, who was the senior officer present for duty, Colonels Kruger, First Delaware, and McGregor, Fourth New York, being absent on account of wounds received at Fredericksburg, and Colonel Wilcox, of our regiment, absent, sick. I mention this to show how the exigencies of the service thrust upon junior officers the duties and responsibilities of much higher grades. Here a lieutenant-colonel was discharging the duties appertaining to a general; sergeants frequently commanded companies, whilst a captain in command of a regiment was not an infrequent thing. These junior officers performing the duties of higher grades got no more compensation than the pay of their actual rank. On the 24th of January, Colonel Wilcox sent in his resignation, and Lieutenant-Colonel Albright was commissioned colonel. Major Shreve was promoted to be lieutenant-colonel, and I had the honor to receive the rare and handsome compliment of an election to the office of major, although, being a staff-officer, I was not in the regular line of promotion. Sergeant-Major Clapp succeeded to my position as adjutant, and Private Frank J. Deemer, Company K, who had been a clerk in my office, was appointed sergeant-major. Just at this time I had a somewhat singular experience. I had received a three-days' leave of absence with permission to visit Washington on business for the officers. This detail I mention because no leaves of absence other than for sickness or disability were obtainable at this time, except on urgent business for the officers of a regiment, and for but one officer to a regiment, and three days was the limit. To get to Washington—only about sixty miles away—I had to start from camp before daylight in the morning, ride three miles to the railroad in a heavy, springless army wagon, across fields and over rutted roadways that were barely passable, the jolting of which was almost enough to shake one's bones loose; then ride twenty miles in a freight car, perched on whatever truck one could get a seat on, thence by boat to Washington. The morning was exceptionally cold and I had to leave without breakfast; the result was I caught a severe cold, and when I reached my destination I was suffering terribly from an attack of dysentery. I was barely able to get to the Ebbitt House, the clerk of which seeing my plight summoned a physician, who had me sent to the Seminary Hospital for Officers at Georgetown. Here I received most excellent care.
This institution was for officers only. There must have been upward of two hundred sick and wounded officers there at that time. It was under strict military rules. The surgeon in charge was its commanding officer, as absolute as though a general commanding a division in the field. When I reached the hospital I was registered, put to bed, and all clothing and personal effects taken from me. A warm bath followed with the assistance of a stalwart nurse and medicines were administered, and I soon found relief in a refreshing sleep. A couple of days later I had a remarkable visit. I was not allowed to sit up yet, but a fine-looking old gentleman, wearing the insignia of a major-general, appeared at my cot and extended his hand. His face was an exceedingly kind one and his voice, if possible, more so. His hair was white and he had the unmistakable appearance of advanced age, though he stood fully six feet high and was still square and unbent in form. He proceeded to say he had learned that a young officer bearing the name of Hitchcock had been taken suddenly very ill and sent to this hospital, and inasmuch as his name was Hitchcock, he was doubly interested to know, first how I was, and second who I was. My visitor was none other than Major-General Hitchcock, military attaché of President Lincoln's cabinet and the first general commissioner for the exchange of prisoners of war. I think he was a retired regular army officer called from his retirement to special service as military adviser of the president and now in charge of the bureau for the exchange of prisoners of war. His call was very pleasant, and I learned from him that all of our name in this country were distantly related. That two brothers came to this country with the Regicides and settled, one in New Hampshire, the other at New Haven. He was of the former stock, whilst I was from the latter. On retiring he bade me call on him when well. I greatly regret I never had the opportunity of returning his gracious visit. On the cot next mine lay an officer convalescing from a wound received at Fredericksburg. I have forgotten his name, but we soon became well acquainted, and he proved a valuable and companionable acquaintance. He was the best posted man in military tactics I ever met, and was thoroughly familiar with all its branches from the school of the soldier to the grand tactics of a division. It was very profitable pastime for me to go over the tactics under his instruction, he illustrating each battalion movement by the use of matches on the coverlets of our cots. In that way I learned the various tactical movements as I had never been able to do before, and it was of immense value to me, having now been promoted to the position of a field-officer. This hospital was no better and in no wise different from those for private soldiers, except that we were charged a per diem for board, whereas there was no charge for the privates. I thought I could return at the end of a week, and asked to be discharged, but was rather curtly informed by the surgeon in charge that when the time came for my discharge he would inform me.
The papers now contained rumors of another movement on foot, and, of course, I was very anxious to return. A few days later, after an examination, the doctor gave me my discharge. It was now ten days since I had left camp on a three-days' leave, but my discharge from the hospital operated as an extension, and I had no difficulty in getting transportation and passes through the lines to rejoin my regiment. I performed my errands for the officers of the regiment, which consisted in getting various articles for their comfort, and in several cases a bottle of something to "keep the cold out." As I write, I have before me, in perfect preservation, all the official papers covering that trip. Here are copies of the papers required to get back to the regiment. They will give an idea of the conditions, getting in and out of Washington at that time, as well as of the load I had to carry back: