The Recollections of a Drummer-Boy

by Henry Martyn Kieffer

"He says he's in the gopher-hole," said Andy, with a grin.

"Gopher-hole! What's a gopher-hole!"

"Why," said the guard, who was standing near by, and whom we had taken for the customary guard on the spring, "you see, comrades, our colonel has his own way of punishin' the boys. One thing he won't let 'em do—he won't let 'em get drunk. They may drink as much as they want, but they must not get drunk. If they do, they go into the gopher-hole. Jim, there, is in the gopher-hole now. That hole has a spring in the bottom, and the water comes in pretty fast; and if Jim wants to keep dry he's got to keep dippin' all the time, or else stand in the water up to his neck—and Jim isn't so mighty fond o' water neither."

Late in the fall of 1863, while we were lying in camp somewhere among the pine woods along the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, we were one day marched out to witness the execution of a deserter. Instances of desertion to the enemy's lines were extremely rare with us; but whenever they occurred, the unfortunate offenders, if caught, were dealt with in the most summary manner, for the doom of the deserter is death.

The poor fellow who was to suffer the highest penalty of military law on the present occasion was, we were informed, a Maryland boy. Some months previously he had deserted his regiment for some cause or other, and had gone over to the enemy. Unfortunately for him it happened that in one of the numerous skirmishes we were engaged in about that time, he was taken prisoner, in company with a number of Confederate soldiers. Unfortunately, also, for the poor fellow, it chanced that he was captured by the very company from which he had deserted. The disguise of a Confederate uniform, which might have stood him in good stead had he fallen into any other hands, was now of no avail. He was at once recognized by his former comrades in arms, tried by court-martial, found guilty, and sentenced to be shot.

So, one October morning, orders came to the effect that the whole division was to turn out at one o'clock, to witness the execution of the sentence. I need hardly say that this was most unwelcome news. Nobody wished to see so sad a sight. Some of the men begged to be excused from attendance, and others could not be found when our drums beat the "assembly;" for none could well endure, as they said, "to see a man shot down like a dog." It was one thing to shoot a fellow mortal, or to see him shot, in battle; but this was quite a different thing. A squad of men had been detailed to shoot the poor fellow, Elias Foust, of our company, being among the number. But Elias, to his credit be it recorded, begged off, and had some one else appointed in his stead. One could not help but pity the men who were assigned to this most unpleasant duty, for if it be painful only to see a man shot, what must it not be to shoot him with your own hand? However, in condescension to this altogether natural and humane aversion to the shedding of blood, and in order to render the task as endurable as possible, the customary practice was observed:—On the morning of the execution an officer, who had been appointed for the purpose, took a number of rifles, some twelve or fourteen in number, and loaded all of them carefully with powder and ball, except one, this one being loaded with blank cartridge, that is, with powder only. He then mixed the guns so thoroughly that he himself could scarcely tell which guns were loaded with ball and which one was not. Another officer then distributed the guns to the men, not one of whom could be at all certain whether his particular gun contained a ball or not, and all of whom could avail themselves of the full benefit of the doubt in the case.

It was one of those peculiarly impressive autumn days when all that one sees or hears conspires to fill the mind with an indefinable feeling of sadness. There was the chirp of the cricket in the air, and the far-away chorus of the myriads of insects complaining that the year was done. There was all the impressiveness of a dull sky, a dreamy haze over the field, a yellow and brown tinge on the forest, accompanied by that peculiarly mournful wail of the breeze as it sighed and moaned dolefully among the branches of the pines,—all joining in chanting a requiem, it seemed to me, for the poor Maryland boy whose sands were fast running out.

At the appointed hour the division marched out and took position in a large field, or clearing, surrounded on all sides by pine-woods. We were drawn up so as to occupy three sides of a great hollow square, two ranks deep and facing inward, the fourth side of the square (where we could see that a grave had been recently dug) being left open for the execution. Scarcely were we well in position, when there came to our ears, wafted by the sighing autumn wind, the mournful notes of the "Dead March." Looking away in the direction whence the music came, we could see a long procession marching sadly and slowly to the measured stroke of the muffled drum. First came the band, playing the dirge; next, the squad of executioners; then a pine coffin, carried by four men; then the prisoner himself, dressed in black trousers and white shirt, and marching in the midst of four guards; then a number of men under arrest for various offences, who had been brought out for the sake of the moral effect it was hoped this spectacle might have upon them. Last of all came a strong guard.

When the procession had come up to the place where the division was formed, and had reached the open side of the hollow square, it wheeled to the left and marched all along the inside of the line from the right to the left, the band still playing the dirge. The line was long and the step was slow, and it seemed that they never would get to the other end. But at long last, after having solemnly traversed the entire length of the three sides of the hollow square, the procession came to the open side of it, opposite to the point from which it had started. The escort wheeled off. The prisoner was placed before his coffin, which was set down in front of his grave. The squad of twelve or fourteen men who were to shoot the unfortunate man took position some ten or twelve yards from the grave, facing the prisoner, and a chaplain stepped out from the group of division officers near by, and prayed with and for the poor fellow a long, long time. Then the bugle sounded. The prisoner, standing proudly erect before his grave, had his eyes bandaged, and calmly folded his arms across his breast. The bugle sounded again. The officer in charge of the squad stepped forward. Then we heard the command, given as calmly as if on drill,—

"Ready!"