Avery was a hero. In the presence of danger he knew no fear. The more imminent the peril, the more cool he was. He would grasp the situation as if by intuition and I often wondered why fate did not make him colonel instead of myself, and honestly believe that he would have filled the position admirably, though he reached no higher rank than that of sergeant. He had, however, made of himself the trusted assistant and adviser of the commanding officer of his regiment and would have received a commission, had he lived but a few days longer. From the day of his enlistment to the day of his death he was not off duty for a single day; and the command to which he belonged, was in no battle when he was not at the front, in the place of greatest risk and responsibility, from the beginning to the end. He was killed by a shell which struck him in the head, in the battle of Trevillian Station, June 12, 1864. A braver or a truer soldier never fell on the field of battle.
Another excellent soldier was Solon H. Finney, who entered service as sergeant. He rose to be second lieutenant and was killed at Beaver Mills, Virginia, April 4, 1865, just five days before Lee surrendered. Finney was a modest, earnest, faithful man, attentive to his duties, not self-seeking, but contented with his lot and ambitious only to do a man's part. It seemed hard for him to go through so near to the end only to be stricken just as the haven of peace was in sight; but his friends have the satisfaction of knowing that Solon Finney never failed to do that which was right and, though he gave his life, it was surrendered cheerfully in the cause of his country and its flag. He was one of those who would have given a hundred lives rather than have his country destroyed—a genuine patriot and a noble man.
With the Washtenaw contingent of troop "F" came Aaron C. Jewett, of Ann Arbor. Jewett was a leading spirit in University circles. His parents were wealthy, he an only son to whom nothing was denied that a doting father could supply. Reared in luxury, he was handsome as a girl and as lovable in disposition. It was current rumor that one of the most amiable young women in the college town—a daughter of one of the professors—was his betrothed. He was graduated with the senior class of that year and immediately enlisted. Notwithstanding his antecedents and his station in life he performed his humble duties in the ranks without a murmur, thus furnishing one more illustration of the patriotism that animated the best type of young men of that day. Ah! He was a comely soldier, with his round, ruddy face, his fresh complexion, his bright black eyes, and curling hair the color of the raven—his uniform brushed and boots polished to the pink of neatness.
These things together with his modest mien and close attention to his duties made of him a marked man and, in a short time, regimental headquarters had need of him. He was detailed as clerk, then as acting sergeant major and, when early in the year 1863, it was announced that Hiram F. Hale was to be appointed army paymaster, Jewett was chosen to succeed him as adjutant, but had not received his commission when death overtook him at Williamsport, Maryland, July 6. There was grief in the Sixth of Michigan on that fateful night when it was known that Aaron Jewett lay within the enemy's lines smitten by a fragment of a shell while faithfully delivering the orders of his colonel to the troops of the regiment as they successively came into line under a heavy fire of artillery. Weber and myself with our men tried to recover the body, but were unable to do so, a force of confederates having gained possession of the ground. In a week from that time, Weber himself lay cold in death, only five miles distant, with a bullet through his brain. That was in Maryland, however, north of the Potomac and, after we had crossed into Virginia, Jewett's father succeeded in finding the body of his son and performed the sad duty of giving it proper sepulture.
All the members of the field and staff of the regiment have been mentioned, except Quartermaster Charles H. Patten and Commissary Jacob Chapman. The latter soon resigned. Patten stuck to it till there was no more clothing to issue. He was a good quartermaster, honest, energetic and capable, and that is saying a good deal for him. There has been much uncalled for satirical comment at the expense of the quartermasters. They were really among the most useful of officers—indispensable in fact. The man who handled the transportation for a cavalry command had a position requiring tact, nerve, energy, endurance and ability of a high order. Mr. Patten was such a man. His wagon trains never failed to reach the front with needed supplies when it was possible to get them there. The white canvas of the army wagon was a pleasant sight to the soldier worn out with marching and fighting; and the quartermaster could always count on a cordial welcome when he appeared.
October 11, 1862, the regiment was mustered into the United States service. The mustering officer was General J.R. Smith of the regular army, a veteran of the Mexican war, in which he received a wound in one arm, disabling it. He had a slit in his sleeve tied with ribbons—a way he had, it was thought, of calling attention to his disability, and sort of a standing apology for being back in Michigan while his associates of the army were fighting at the front. It was an amiable and pardonable weakness, if such it may be called, and everybody had a liking for the old Mexican war officer.
One of my first acts after reaching the rendezvous had been to call on Colonel Kellogg, who was in his room, up to his eyes in papers and correspondence. He greeted me cordially, congratulated me on my success, and assured me that he was my friend, which he proved to be.
"Order your uniform at once," said he, "and go to work without delay."
The result of this interview was that a tailor took my measure for a suit and, in due time, I was arrayed in Union blue, with shining brass buttons, bright yellow facings, and the shoulder straps of a captain of cavalry. No boy in his first trousers ever felt happier or prouder.
Before the brasses had become tarnished or the trimmings soiled I took a run to Ann Arbor to say good-by to the boys. They were glad to see me, and the welcome I had was something to remember. They were like a band of brothers and showed the same interest as if we had been of one family.