CHAPTER VII.
Sheridan's name is one which will be forever linked with the history of our country. He was a brave officer, a dashing leader, but we used to think the possessor of the most abominable temper that ever man was blessed or cursed with, and whenever he would ride past with his staff, the weary legs of the men would straighten up, and for a while a new life would seem to inspire us. Whether it was that unknown power that causes some men to be more fitted for the duties of leading men, than others, or whether it was a fear that we might receive a broadside of his oaths, we do not know, but at any rate, during the short time he would ride by, things would assume a more soldierly appearance; a little more order. We remember one afternoon, when along with a comrade, we had managed in some way, to drift considerably to the rear. We were plodding along, however, chatting together, until we came to a sutler who had opened up his wagon of sutler's goods, and was doing a good business with the boys as they marched by. We went up and purchased some cheese and crackers, and placing them in our hats, proceeded to a little mound at the foot of a large tree, to eat them. There we sat munching our crackers and cheese, making remarks on the passers by, and occasionally enjoying a bit of chaff with some fellow, until we began to wonder how many men there could be coming, for by this time we had been there quite a while, and still the stream of humanity flowed by, still the same panorama of infantry, cavalry and artillery, passed before us, and we had come to the conclusion to stay there until they all went by, never once thinking of what a time we would have to catch up with our command. Just at this moment, when we had come to the conclusion to see the end of it, up rode General Sheridan with his staff and orderlies pressing on to the front. We were a little fearful he might see us, but we thought that in all that multitude of humanity and life, we surely were of but small moment, and would escape his eye. But we were doomed to disappointment, for suddenly this salutation, short and decidedly to the point, rang upon our ears: "You men of the 125th Ills., what in —— are you doing there. Move on;" and filling the air full of the hottest oaths aimed at our defenseless heads we incontinently gathered up our hats, with the remnants of our lunch and started for our regiment, which by this time was far in advance. But as we walked along, we were thinking how it was that Sheridan knew we were members of the 125th, was it by any peculiarity in our movements, or was it a part of his business, as general, to know the members of each regiment in his division. Our appreciation of his merits as a great commander were rising rapidly, and we had come to the conclusion that he must have a wonderful memory. So on we went wondering to each other how it was. Suddenly my companion stopped short. "Bob," says he, "I know how it was that old Sheridan knew us."
"How," we asked.
"Why, you old fool, he read it on our knapsacks."
True enough, that was the solution of the problem, for before leaving Louisville, the writer had procured a bottle of white paint, and a brush, and had painted in large letters on each fellow's knapsack, his name, company and regiment. This it was that had revealed to the general our proper place, we had forgotten all about it. We laughed heartily over the matter, and agreed to erase from our knapsacks the tell-tale letters as soon as we arrived in camp.
We were by this time getting well down into Kentucky, and every day we marched through villages and towns, which, but a few short weeks before, had been filled with sounds of life and business activity; but now everything was at a stand still; the store houses deserted, and their doors swinging idly on their hinges, revealing to the passer by naught but a collection of empty shelves and bare counters. The houses, even, were, for the most part, deserted of their occupants. War with its black and devastating influence, was abroad in the land. It was on a Sunday afternoon that we reached Bardstown, a place of considerable size, and as it seemed to us, a place where considerable business had been carried on, but now all was changed. We had been marching very slowly that day, halting every few moments and then advancing. Just as we entered Bardstown the bugle sounded the "Halt," and our line was directly in front of a large brick house, the doors of which were wide open, and coming and going through them were many officers, from the general down to lieutenant. We were tired and travel worn, so we proposed to our partner that we would go and see if some good water could be had. Leaving our place in the ranks we started for the house, and boldly marched in. Our aim was for the kitchen, and as we passed down the hall of the house we could not prevent ourself from looking through the doors of the parlors, as we judged them to be, for they were wide open, and there we saw the remains of what had been a grand feast. We dared not enter, but passed on down the hall, until a slight obstruction in the shape of a little second lieutenant came across our path, and the demand from him of what we were doing there. We replied we wanted water, but did not stop to listen to any remark he might have to make. Just as we reached the back door, a colored waiter boy, belonging to the house, came tearing in, bearing in his hands a pitcher of water going to the parlor. We collared this son of Ham, and demanded that he procure for us a canteen of whisky, with the promise that if he did we would pay him for it. His eyes rolled up in astonishment, and perhaps a little fear, for we were rather vigorous in our demand, and with a "Lor! bress you massa, dar hain't a drap of whisky in de house," he essayed to leave us, but we had a good hold on him, and were going to keep it. We knew he was lying to us, for we had caught a whiff of his breath, which gave him away entirely, as it was redolent of the fumes of "bourbon." He saw we were in earnest, and quickly whispering "come dis way sah," he opened a door in the hall and bid us enter, and wait until he returned. We entered what was, to all appearances, a bed-room, neatly fitted up with furniture, and in one corner a bed of huge dimensions, covered with the whitest and daintiest of counterpanes. It was the first bed we had seen for weeks, and regardless of our dusty clothes, and remembering only that we were tired, and in the enemies' land, we flung ourself, knapsack and all, upon its broad and ample surface. There we laid, resting our weary limbs and looking up at the ceiling, wondering how much longer it would be before our sable friend would appear. The moments kept slipping by, and at last, with a tremendous effort, we raised ourself from the bed intending to return to the regiment. We approached the door and essayed to open it, it was—locked. For a moment we were non-plussed; had we come this far from home to be captured by a "nigger" in this way? What a fool we had been to enter there, but directly other thoughts came into our minds, and we again threw ourself upon the bed with the intention that, if we were captured, we would get all the rest we could out of that bed before we were marched off by rebel guards. But imprisonment was not to be our fate at that time, for suddenly the door flew open, and in came our colored friend, bearing in his hand a large pitcher, which proved to contain, to the very top of it, as good whisky as we had ever drank. To empty the contents of the pitcher into our canteen, was but the work of a moment, and giving our friend a green-back dollar, at which he looked with surprise and earnestly enquired "Is dis good money, massa?" We assured him that it was, and hastened out to find the regiment. Luckily it had not moved from where we had left it, and we fell into place alongside of our partner, to whose thirsty lips my canteen was soon applied. The bugle sounded "forward," and we went, but as a truthful chronicler we are bound to state that under the exhilarating and inspiriting contents of my canteen, my partner soon became hilarious, and when we reached camp I was doing double duty, inasmuch as I was carrying his gun and my own also. It was not the length but the breadth of the road that troubled him. But no evil consequences resulted from it, and as it was winked at by the officers, no harm was done, and the next morning found him all right, and ready for the incidents of the day.
CHAPTER VIII.
The days passed by, and we, with the blissful ignorance of new soldiers, could not see the omens which filled the air, indicating that the battle was not far off; omens which the old soldier can so easily interpret, and which, as we became used to army life, were also easily interpreted by us. But the time was near when we should meet the foe, and as we plodded along one afternoon, tired and almost smothered with the dust, two staff officers came riding back from the direction of the front, and as they passed the writer caught the words, "throwing up breastworks on Chaplin Hills." Still at the time they made no impression on my mind, but before that time the next day, I recalled them and then understood what was meant. The dust was terrible, and about the middle of the afternoon a division of cavalry came riding by pressing on to the front. They rode in column of two's, and it seemed to us that they never would get by. The dust raised by their horses was fearful, and we were not in the best of humor, so as they rode along we very foolishly got angry at them, and curses flew at their heads in a pitiless storm. Some of the boys actually pricked the horses with their bayonets. But at length they passed us, and glad enough we were to get rid of them. We soon went into camp in an old corn-field, and between two corn rows the writer laid his tired body and was soon in the land of dreams. We never knew exactly what time it was when we felt a shake and heard a summons to wake up. The moon was shining brightly and quiet reigned all around us. But there was something in the wind more than common, as we could judge by the subdued voices in which commands were given, and when we were ordered to pile our knapsacks and leave a guard sufficient to protect them, it became apparent that there was business on hand which needed our attention. But we well remember what our first impressions were, when the order to pile knapsacks was given. We thought in our innocence that the commanding powers had taken pity on us, and were going to haul our knapsacks for us in the wagons, that they had concluded to save us the fatigue of carrying them ourselves; so laboring under this impression we silently fell into line and marched away in the moonlight back to the pike from which we had moved the night before. We well remember as we silently marched along that our file leader, a comrade by the name of Ross, had swinging to him the half of an old knapsack filled with honey. We intimated to him that we were particularly fond of honey, and if he had no objection we would like to help him eat what he had, but Ross was not in a honied humor that morning and our request was denied. I never knew what he did with it, but am strongly inclined to the belief that comrade Ross found other matters too weighty to attend to that morning besides eating honey, and that he cast it from him. We were now on the pike, when the order to "halt!" was given. There was an old barn on the side of the pike, and behind it the head of the regiment had stopped. "Front Face," "Right Dress," "Load and Cap," were the orders in quick succession, and then the colonel riding down the line informed us that the hour for battle had arrived, and he hoped every man in the 125th would do his duty. We had come out to fight, that was what we were there for, that was our business, but we will confess for ourself our heart beat a trifle faster, and our gun had a colder touch than common, or at least it seemed so. But history was to be made that day, and as it was proven latter in the day, the 125th were willing to make their part of it. And now the day commenced to break, and presently "bang," "bang," went the guns, not by volley, but ever and anon, a desultory shot from the direction of our skirmish line, showing that our skirmishers had run against some obstacle which bore the resemblance of a man. The daylight grows brighter, and the guns crack oftener; occasionally a volley is heard, and our brigade commander, Col. Dan McCook, comes tearing down the pike on his war horse, and orders our colonel to march the regiment to the top of a hill to our left; away we went, and arriving there found our battery "I" of the 2nd Ills. artillery in position. We were to support it from any and all attacks of the rebels. There we stood in line as if on dress parade, but directly bullets came whizzing over us, with now and then a shell. Dodging was the order of the day, and heads were ducking in all directions; still we stood, until Col. McCook came riding up, and calling to our colonel told him to order us to lie down. We quickly responded to the command, but not before some of our number had been hit. And now our battery, tired of being set up as a mark, began to return the compliments of our rebel friends, and the air was filled with the sharp reports of the guns and the explosion of shells, while as a sort of an accompaniment to the noise the ping of the bullet was heard all around us. The battle had indeed opened. We lay in this position nearly all the forenoon, when at last there came an order for the right wing of the regiment to move across the pike into some woods. This we did, and took position in the rear of the 73rd Ills. to relieve them when their ammunition should give out, and which to judge by the way they were shooting would not be long. So there we lay expecting every moment to go into action, but as the time passed away and the 73rd slackened its firing somewhat, we became used to our position, and the crash of lead and iron ceased to inspire us with the blood curdling sensation which we had experienced at the commencement of the battle. A few only of our boys got hit as we lay there, but the tops of the trees suffered considerably by the solid shot, shells, and grape and canister that the rebel-guns hurled at us, and we were quite willing they should be the victims instead of us.
Battle is always a serious affair, and there never was, nor ever will be a battle fought without its bringing sorrow and grief to many homes, but it also has its ludicrous aspects, and I will relate one that happened here. As we have said before, the 73rd Ills. was directly in front of us, and when the firing was at its height, forth from its ranks came a man in the wildest manner, headlong over us fellows who were laying on the ground, shouting at the top of his voice: "Where's the doctor? Where's the doctor? I'm shot in the head! I'm killed! I'm killed!" and away he went as fast as he could go. We looked after him in surprise, thinking he was the liveliest corpse we had ever seen. That night after the battle was over, we again saw this man, recognizing him by the peculiar color of his hat.