XV. — LEE’S “RAGGED REGIMENTS.”
It required a stout heart to laugh and sing, con amore, in the last days of that winter, and the first days of spring, 1864.
Those very figures, “1864,” tell the story, and explain this. Do they not, reader?
Each year of the war has its peculiar physiognomy.
1861—that is mirth, adventure, inexperience, bright faces, wreaths of flowers, “boxes” from home, and “honorable mention” in reports, if you only waved your sword and shouted “Hurrah!” Then you heard the brass bands playing, the drum gayly rolling, the bugles sending their joyous notes across the fields and through the forests—blooming fields, untouched forests!—and that music made the pulses dance. Gayly-clad volunteers marched gallantly through the streets; the crowds cheered; the new flags, shaped by fair hands, fluttered;—not a bullet had torn through them, not a rent was seen in the new uniforms. As the trains swept by with the young heroes on board, bevies of lovely girls cheered, waved handkerchiefs, and threw nosegays. Eyes were sparkling, lips smiling, cheeks glowing in ‘61. The youths had havelocks to ward off the sun; gaiters to keep out the dust; woollen belts to prevent rheumatism; fanciful shirt bosoms, and pretty needle-cases and tobacco pouches of silk and velvet, decked with beads and gay needle-work, by the dearest fingers in the world!
So they went to the wars—those stout and ruddy youths. Every one anxious to have his head taken off by a cannon ball, all for the honor and glory of it. They marched along cheering, as the white handkerchiefs waved; they proudly kept step to the tap of the drum, or moved briskly beside the cannon, or cantered by on their glossy and spirited horses.
The epoch was agitated, but joy coursed in every vein. And when the first successes came, those small affairs were greeted with “thunders of applause.”
General Spoons marched to Bethel; took a look at the gray people; fired a gun or two before retreating—and a thousand Southern journalists shouted “lo, triumphe!—a grand victory!” The brave Del. Kemper fired a shot at the Federal train approaching Vienna, and the journalists cried, “we have driven back the whole Federal army!”
Then some real fighting came, and the applause was again tremendous. When the news of the first Manassas flashed over the wires, the Southern people stood upon their heads, and went wild. The war was ended—the affair was over—the brass bands, and rolling drums, and dazzling uniforms had speedily done the business. The power of the North was broken. She had run upon the breakers. The great hulk was lying stranded, the waves were beating her, and she was about to go to pieces.