Ah! those were lovely days; that short rest amid such delightful environments. We were soon to change it, plunge into the forests of Georgia and Tennessee, and fight in the former one of the fiercest, bloodiest battles on record. But meanwhile time went merrily and there was enjoyment throughout the army. The soldiers were in high spirits and ready any day for the enemy.
Supplies of clothing and shoes had come down from Richmond and the ranks looked decidedly better.
Harrison, our scout, had been with us since Gettysburg. His report, all important as to the results of that campaign, was not forgotten. With no immediate duties assigned him, he trotted along from day to day, but he was sure of something to come, and it came. He asked permission to go to Richmond for a few days. As there was nothing to keep him, leave was given.
"Colonel," said this dark character, "if by any chance you should be in Richmond next week, I hope you will take in the theater one evening." (There was then not the slightest expectation of my being in Richmond at that time.) "What is the attraction?" I asked. "Myself," said Harrison. "I have made a bet of $50 greenbacks that I play Cassio and play him successfully." "Are you an actor?" I asked. "No, but I can play." The matter was dismissed as so much nonsense, but he was not a man for nonsense. It so happened that I was in Richmond the next week with Longstreet and the staff on the way to Georgia to strike our great strategic coup, and did happen into a friend's box at the theater. "Othello" was on the boards with all the splendor the times could muster, and my Harrison and "Cassio," one and the same, were before me. He had lied in part. His acting was as if he had regularly strutted the boards for a stock company. But the play was rather lively at times. "Othello" was in drink, "Cassius" was really quite far gone, and even "Desdemona" was under more than one suspicion that evening.
The occurrence induced me next day to set on foot some minute inquiries about Harrison's life. I learned that he was drinking and gambling. On reporting it to General Longstreet he thought it better to let him go and so directed me; accordingly I had him paid off, with an order to report to the Secretary of War, from whom he had originally come.
This is the last I saw of the mysterious fellow. Longstreet missed him afterwards while we were in East Tennessee, and I made a careful effort to find him and bring him out to us.
While writing I hear from Latrobe that the man is alive and in Baltimore, seeking some small assistance from the Confederate veterans. I should like to see his last days made comfortable.
The organization of our First Army Corps had suffered no material damage. The ranks were kept fairly well filled by constant recruiting, and the feeling of confidence and pride of this splendid force of infantry and artillery could not be surpassed, from the Lieutenant-General down to the teamster. It was a very remarkable body, inspired by great sacrifices and victories in its history, and with a cohesive strength and belief in itself that spoke nobly for the future. This is said on the eve of a separation of many months, by which the larger part of the corps was sent to strange fields and new sacrifices and laurels.
There was, however, an ugly flaw in one of the divisions, that long uncured was eventually to lead to disaster. When Hood was borne wounded from the Gettysburg field his division of five brigades—Alabama, Texas, Georgia, and South Carolina—fell under the command of the senior brigadier, Mr. Jenkins, of South Carolina. Between this officer and General E. M. Law, of Alabama, there was the most intense rivalry. They were both from South Carolina, and it was but a continuation, it was said, of what stirred them at school together, at college, at military exercises, and finally in Longstreet's corps. They had been made colonels about the same time—Law of an Alabama regiment—and had advanced almost contemporaneously to be brigadier-generals. Longstreet had recommended them both for promotion to major-general, and they were both unquestionably officers of high attainments and the greatest promise. Here we had a situation that made it useless to think of one of these men serving under the other in the same division. A major-general must be assigned to command, or else one of the aspiring brigadiers transferred to another place. Neither was immediately done and Longstreet had considerable trouble. Both officers were highly valued by him and he wanted full justice done to each, but the situation grew no better with time and service, and Longstreet's efforts at the Department commanded apparently no attention.