A woman's war record, 1861-1865 - Septima M. Collis

DEDICATION.

TO HER WHOSE TEACHINGS AND EXAMPLE MOULDED MY
CHILDHOOD, WHOSE BLESSINGS AND WHOSE PRAYERS
FOLLOWED AND SUSTAINED ME IN MATURE LIFE,
AND WHOM GOD I HOPE WILL SPARE FOR
MANY AND MANY A YEAR THAT I MAY
HAVE TIME TO PAY HER A TITHE OF
THE GRATITUDE AND LOVE I OWE
HER,—MY DEAR SWEET MOTHER,—I
DEDICATE THESE
FEW BRIEF INCIDENTS
OF MY ARMY LIFE.
July, 1889. Septima M. Collis.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

	PAGE
Septima M. Collis	[Frontispiece]
A Few of our Zouaves in Camp. Taken in the field, 1863	[17]
Camp of 114th Penna. Vols. (Collis Zouaves) near Culpeper, Va., 1863-4	[29]
An Officers’ Mess, Cook, and Chambermaid—Collis Zouaves, 1863-4	[33]
Genl George G. Meade, Commanding Army of the Potomac. Taken in the field, 1863-4	[39]
Genl Grant and Staff—City Point, 1864-5. Taken in the field	[49]
The Field Line and Staff of our Regiment. Taken in front of Petersburg, Va.—Before the fight	[53]
After the Battle of Petersburg, Va., April, 1865	[57]

A WOMAN’S WAR RECORD.

By Mrs. General Charles H. T. Collis.

I have no hesitation in calling what I am about to write a “war record,” for my life was “twice in jeopardy,” as will be seen later on, and I served faithfully as a volunteer, though without compensation, during the entire war of the Rebellion. It is true I was not in the ranks, but I was at the front, and perhaps had a more continuous experience of army life during those four terribly eventful years than any other woman of the North. Born in Charleston, S. C., my sympathies were naturally with the South, but on December 9, 1861, I became a Union woman by marrying a Northern soldier in Philadelphia. The romance which resulted in this desertion to the enemy would perhaps interest the reader, yet I do not propose to tell it; for I am sure the very realistic life which it enabled me to experience for three winters in camp at army head-quarters will interest him more. My first commander was Gen. Nathaniel P. Banks, to whom I reported on December 11, 1861, at Frederick, Md., where my bridegroom was then a captain of an independent company, which he named and equipped as “Zouaves d’Afrique.” The army being in winter quarters, a general disposition prevailed among officers and men to make the season pass merrily. Though the war had by this time assumed serious proportions and the battle of Bull Run had been fought, yet there were many who still believed that the counsels of peace and forbearance would prevail and that the conflict would be of short duration; and this I remember was the daily theme of discussion. Frederick had become a garrisoned town, every train bringing troops and supplies; army wagons and their four-mule teams had possession of the streets, while the sidewalks and shop windows were monopolized by the volunteer officers in their bright buttons and gold lace, who permitted themselves to be disturbed only by the appearance of a pretty face, or by the steady tread of the patrol with their white gloves and polished rifles. My apartments in Frederick consisted of two very modest third-story rooms, sparsely furnished, with the use of a kitchen, at a cheap rent, for we neither of us had any money; yet we indulged in the luxury of the best cook in the army, no other than Nunzio Finelli (one of our zouaves), who was afterwards the steward of the Union League of Philadelphia, and a renowned restaurateur in the same city. Finelli was then a very young man, with a face as handsome as the famous “Neapolitan boy” in the picture, and a voice as sweet and sympathetic as Brignoli’s. A most obliging disposition and a fondness for operatic music made him therefore a great acquisition to our little household,—and many an omelette soufflé was first beaten into snowflakes, while the dulcet and plaintive notes of “Ah che la morte” or “Spirito gentil,” reaching the street, detained the spellbound passers-by; and sometimes when his friend and compatriot, Constantino Calarisi (another zouave), joined him in the kitchen, we were treated to a duet which even Patti would have applauded, for they were both very remarkable singers. Poor Finelli! a few months later a bullet at the battle of Cedar Mountain terribly disfigured him, and when I next saw him the shape of his injured nose reminded me of the inhabitants of the Ghetto.

That winter of 1861-2 will be remembered in Frederick till those who enjoyed its “spirit-stirring drum and piercing fife” by day and its “sound of revelry by night” have passed away. There were the swell Bostonians of the Second Massachusetts Regiment, the Hortons, Shaw, Quincy, Choate, and others whose names but not their handsome faces now escape me, and whose waltzing was as gallant then as was their fighting afterwards; and there were the jovial roysterers of “the Twelfth,” who from Colonel Fletcher Webster (Daniel’s son) down to the humblest subaltern could find in every deed of mischief “a hand to resolve,” “a hand to contrive,” and a “hand to execute”; and, above all, giving license and encouragement to the playful side of the soldier’s life, but presiding over it with a dignity which would brook no violation of discipline or decorum, was the urbane and genial General Banks. Among the ladies who spent the winter with us were Mrs. Banks, Mrs. Holabird, Mrs. Abercrombie, Mrs. Copeland, and Mrs. Scheffler, the wife of one of those German staff officers who had come over to teach our officers the art of war, but who went back home with improved educations. Mrs. Scheffler was a charming woman, thoroughly naïve, but could not speak a word of English, and depended much upon me as her interpreter. Upon one occasion, in General Banks’ presence, she was fluently expressing to me her views in very complimentary terms regarding his personal appearance, when, to her horror, the General, laughing heartily, thanked her in a very excellent specimen of her native tongue, and we then learned for the first time, and to our discomfiture, that the General was, besides his other accomplishments, an excellent German scholar. Of those ladies who were residents of Frederick and contributed to the general joy, I remember the names of Cooper, Maltby, Schley, McPherson, Goldsborough, and Shriver. There were dress parades of regiments and imposing reviews of brigades and divisions whenever the weather would permit, and to these we women cantered in the saddle, and stood beside the generals while the troops marched by in their picturesque uniforms to splendid music, for at this time every regiment had its special uniform and a brass band, all of which had changed when I witnessed the grand review in Washington at the close of the war, where all were dressed in blue, regiments had been thinned down to companies, and bands of music were few and far between. It seems to me that every Union citizen of Frederick gave a ball or some other entertainment that winter, and many of the regiments returned the courtesy by such improvised hospitality as the scanty accommodations of the camp would afford.

Even thus early in the campaign I came near losing my life. While crossing a ford of the Monocacy River in a light wagon which my husband was driving, we suddenly became aware that the heavy rains had raised the stream to a torrent, and, it being almost dark, we lost our way in mid stream. If you have never been in a wagon in a river when the water became so deep that your horse commenced to swim, you can have no proper appreciation of my sensations. To this day I hardly know how we escaped, but I remember the soldiers on the far-off bank of the stream shouting to us and preparing to leap in to our rescue when our wagon should overturn, which seemed inevitable. It kept its equilibrium, however, and our horse was wheeled around and found a footing, where we remained until the gallant boys in blue waded waist high to our relief.