Fooling with supposed empty shells, is sometimes disastrous. The Banner Company of the Regiment were much given to old sledge and poker, and often plied their avocation into the wee small hours of night, contrary to express orders—lights out after taps. But these injunctions were not always heeded, as the sequel will show. Some of the boys had found a shell not exploded. They, as supposed, dug out all the powder, and on the occasion of a night’s occupation of their favorite pastime, used the shell as a candlestick. They inserted their short piece in the fuse hole, and proceeded with the game. The candle burned low; the lighted wick dropped into the shell; a tremendous explosion was the result. It totally demolished the tent, and nearly severed the flag-staff near by—so much so it fell over. But, strange to relate, nobody was hurt. They supposed they had got all the powder out. Moral—do not play cards after taps, nor use a shell for a candlestick, unless you are positive it is not loaded.
INCIDENT NO. 7.
In the spring of 1863, just before the Gettysburg campaign, the 4th Michigan was doing guard duty on the Rappahannock river, at Kelly’s Ford, Virginia. The writer’s company was detached for picket duty. We were stationed at Mountain Run Ford, down the river from Kelly’s Ford, some three miles. The river at this place was shallow. We guarded against cavalry, had to be constantly on the alert. We also patrolled the river some three miles down. At the end of our patrol route, lived an old Rebel cuss. He was bitter in his denunciation of the Yankees. His name was Atkinson,—a cousin to the Atkinson of Bleeding Kansas fame. At his house we met another patrol from lower down, and compared notes. We had to watch the old reprobate closely; also had to keep an eye on his domestics. The first patrol was conducted by the writer, and was quite early in the morning. We followed the bank of the river about a half mile from our reserve. Standing close on the bank of the stream stood a large persimmon tree, well loaded with the luscious fruit. The bank sloped sudden and abrupt from the river. The patrol passed on, and I mounted the tree, crawled out on a big limb, settled myself to scraping in the fruit; I did not even taste the berries, but dumped them into my haversack. The patrol passed on out of my range. Soon a gentle sound was wafted to my ears from across the river. There was no mistaking the ominous sound and its purport. It said, “Yank! come over.” I gazed over the water. There, in plain view, was ten or a dozen rebel cavalrymen, with their carbines pointed at me, and a laughing. They repeated, “Yank, come over.” I could see nothing to laugh at, and told them so. They insisted that I should come to them. I told them, “I could not swim, and the water was too deep to wade.” Well, “that did not make any difference. You must come anyhow.” I said, well, here goes for a try. I slid to the ground. As I struck the earth, one of them fired. The ball went high over my head. I suspect he shot high on purpose to remind me of my obligation.
I waited for no more invitations, but threw myself flat on the ground, and with one tremendous wriggle, slid out of range. This brought a volley from the Rebels. The firing brought my patrol back, double quick. The Rebels skedaddled as fast as their horses could bear them away. The boys were terribly in earnest, but when they knew the situation, they had a big laugh at my expense. The racket also brought our reserve, with a battle in their mind. After learning the cause, the reserve returned, and we, the patrol, went our rounds. The old man Atkinson was the bitterest old devil or Rebel it was my fortune to meet in all my stay in Dixie; and he did not disguise his sentiments. I will say those persimmons were not ripe; their looks were deceiving. I advise all who hanker after persimmons, to wait until they are thoroughly ripe; for unless they are matured, they will pucker up any vacuum that they put their grip upon; but they are delicious when ripe.
INCIDENT NO. 8.
While the regiment lay at Kelly’s Ford, before the Gettysburg campaign, we were paid off. Being in arrear of pay, we received quite a boodle of money. The communication between our army and Washington, by way of Aquia Creek, was temporary and somewhat uncertain. Trains of forage, and ambulances, were sent through attended by a heavy guard. After getting paid, the men were desirous of sending their surplus money home. It would go by Adams’ Express, from Aquia. Our chaplain, (Seage,) a brave, good man, volunteered to carry it to Aquia Creek. An ambulance train was going to make the trip, heavily guarded; the chaplain was to accompany it. The train left very early in the morning without the chaplain. But, nothing daunted, he followed on, expecting soon to overtake it. About four miles out he had to cross a swale with corduroy road. Just across was timber; and on approaching the timber, he saw two men step from behind trees, and at the same time ordered him to approach. He wheeled his horse, and in turning around one of the would-be robbers fired on him, hitting him in one wrist. This did not stop him. They yelled to him to halt, and at the same time fired again, hitting him in the shoulder. But the knowing mare carried her brave rider to the rear, and out of danger. He threw himself on his faithful horse’s neck, and clung there until the faithful animal galloped into camp, weak with loss of blood, but with a brave heart still palpitating. A detail of cavalry was immediately sent out, but with no result. Our brave chaplain was kindly cared for, and eventually recovered, but badly crippled. He risked his life to save the boys’ money. Our money was returned to us, and we had to carry it through the Gettysburg fight. My share of money sent was four hundred dollars. I had it in my pocket when I was wounded, after, at Gettysburg. I was a prisoner for a few minutes, but the noble Sixth Army Corps made it such a necessity to the Johnnies to git, they had no time to scoop us in. Brave old corps, I remember you with gratitude.
A LITTLE WAR EXPERIENCE.
After the battle of Malvern Hill, our column moved on to Harrison Landing. We arrived there after daylight, in the morning. Made coffee, and rested a little. The Rebels followed up in small force, and commenced shelling us. We were moved out and formed in line of battle. In front of us was timber; in our rear was mud, and plenty of it, of a slushy nature. The Rebel guns threw railroad iron at us. They fired high. The missiles went to our rear. As these pieces of iron struck the mud, caused the slush to mount high in air, and in sheets. A New York regiment had just arrived by boat, (a new regiment.) They were moved to our front. I noticed the officers had hand satchels, and had paper collars around their necks. Our fellows cried, “Soft bread,” “Fresh fish,” and other appellations. The poor devils passed on into the woods, but the Rebels were in full retreat. Hooker had gone out with a brigade, and took them in flank. From here a detail from our regiment was sent to our State to recruit, to help fill the depleted ranks. The writer was one of this number.