Civil War Experiences
CHAPTER I
On the day Fort Sumter surrendered I was seventeen years old, having been born April 14, 1844. Like other boys, I proposed enlisting, but my father refused consent; and at that time youths under eighteen years would not be accepted without the consent of parents. In July of the following year, when the news of McClellan's retreat on the Peninsula was published, I was satisfied that the Government would need more men, and having carefully considered the matter, and being then eighteen years of age, I decided to go without my father's consent. Seeing a newspaper item to the effect that Captain Mallory, of the Harris Light Cavalry, had arrived in New York, and proposed to enlist some men for that regiment, I called upon him at the Metropolitan Hotel and made known my desire. He informed me that his recruiting office was not then arranged, though he had engaged a room a little farther up Broadway, and his sergeant was preparing to open it. He seemed reluctant to take me, and talked to me as though I were too young to go, and as if I did not realize what I was about to undertake. I assured him that I had considered the matter well, and that I was physically strong; and that if he would not accept me I would try to enlist in Duryea's Zouaves, who were, at that time, enlisting men. He then told me to go up and see his sergeant and that he would come up later. I found the room, but the sergeant, however, had not yet unpacked the papers. On getting them opened he said he was unable to make them out, whereupon I asked him to let me examine them, and proceeded to make out my own enlistment papers, the sergeant watching me. While I was thus engaged, a man with his arm off came in. He had just that day been discharged from the hospital, and inquired what steps he should take to get a pension, having been attracted by the flag hanging out of the office window. I noticed the sergeant was particularly anxious to get him out of the room, evidently not considering him a desirable acquisition to facilitate recruiting. I explained to the man what he should do. The sergeant, when he saw me make out my enlistment papers, remarked, "They won't keep you long in the ranks, because they can get better work for you to do," or words to that effect. I did not then comprehend what he meant, but my subsequent experience explained it. I was then sent to the examining physician, examined, passed, and sworn in for three years' service.
That night I went to my home, at Dobb's Ferry, on the Hudson River, and reported what I had done, intending to leave for Washington the next morning, when I was promised transportation. This interview with my parents was quite unpleasant, as my father was very angry and my mother in great distress. At that time both my father and his friends regarded my action as worse than foolish and almost as bad as though I had done something disreputable. Indeed, as I was afterwards informed, one gentleman remarked, "Well, that is too bad; that boy has gone to the devil, too."
The following morning I bade my parents good-bye, feeling that if I were wounded or crippled I should not care to return home for them to take care of me. Subsequent letters from home, however, removed that feeling. The following night, having received transportation, I sailed as the only passenger on a freight transport from a pier near the Battery to South Amboy. I well remember my feelings as I watched New York receding in the distance, there being no excitement or hand-shaking or waving of flags such as accompanied the departure of the first troops that left New York for thirty days' service the year before. From Amboy I went on a coal train to Philadelphia.
On landing at Walnut Street wharf I went into the soldiers' refreshment room, maintained by the citizens of Philadelphia, which was open night and day, and at which all soldiers passing through the city were fed free of charge. It was about two o'clock in the morning, very hot, and I was tired and depressed. Hence, when invited to partake of some refreshments, I was unable to do so but contented myself with eating a few pickles.
I then walked across the city to the Baltimore depot, which was then at the corner of Broad and Pine Streets, and took a passenger train for Baltimore, which I reached about seven o'clock in the morning, sitting up, as there were no sleeping-cars in those days. On arriving in Baltimore I walked to another part of the city to take the train for Washington. Meanwhile I wanted some breakfast. Going into a place which I supposed was a restaurant, I found that the only thing they could offer me was ice-cream. I thereupon ate some, and soon after took the train for Washington. In a few moments the Philadelphia pickles, the hot night, and the Baltimore ice-cream produced most severe cramps, and I was in a very distressed state of mind, fearing that I would never be able to reach the front, but would have to submit to the mortification of being returned home.
Arriving in Washington, I went to Willard's Hotel, and, after a good sleep, was able to take my dinner that evening. I had on citizen's clothes and was not recognized as a private soldier in the United States Army, so the head-waiter assigned me to a seat at a table where General Halleck, the Commander-in-Chief of the Army, sat opposite.