[CHAPTER XXV.]
The army in motion to the south—Character and scenes of the first day's march—A picture of the old soldier in bivouac, and a glance at his domestic arrangements—The march of Nov. 29.—Bivouac at Holly Springs—Marching through the city—An earthquake—The cavalry division and the enemy's rear guard—Cannonading—Camp at Lumkin's Mills—A storm—Movement of Sherman, retreat of the enemy and advance of troops—Our division left behind—Things to the front—We advance—Rebel works on the Tallahatchie—Scenes and scenery of the day's march—Camp at Hurricane Creek—Oxford—Join the main army at Yockona Creek—The 33d Wisconsin—The situation and movements—Raid of Van Dorn—Movements to open the communications.
Reveille sounded at 4 o'clock. We cooked breakfast, packed knapsacks and haversacks, filled canteens, loaded wagons and fell into line. Major Brown was in the saddle. It was cheering to the members of Company F, to see their former esteemed Captain at the head of the regiment. The field music struck up the old familiar marching tune, "The Girl I left behind me," and the regiment marched out and took its position in the column on the bluffs of the river. Here we waited for the 2d and 3d Brigades to pass, watching in the meantime their column of dark infantry mixed with white covered wagons, as it extended to the south. It was a grand spectacle to see the right wing of the army stretching over those broad and open fields further into the land of the enemy. And when each soldier thought, "I am a part of this grand movement; little as I am, I am helping to make history," he felt an exultation known only to men in the hour of great enterprises or of great success.
The left wing was also in motion on the road south from Grand Junction. Where that road unites with the one on which we were marching, six miles south of Wolf River, the right wing halted, and the left wing assumed the advance.
The roads were most favorable for marching, but the sky was overcast with leaden clouds, and the wind blew cold and raw from the northwest. During the frequent halts occasioned by the great length of the trains, the men would tear down the fences and build fires, around which to warm themselves. So frequent were the halts, and so great the length of the column, that before night the way was almost a continuous line of fire. These fires extended through the dry leaves and stubble, and communicated themselves to the fences, till at length we seemed to be marching through a perpetual bonfire. The sun went down, and darkness began to gather around, when, all at once through a sudden rift in the gloomy clouds, the red twilight broke gloriously, while to the east whither the wind was blowing, the flames of burning fences, fields and buildings, lit up the sky, which glared vengefully upon us as we marched along. It was a scene worthy a poet or painter. It was the splendor of desolation. A vast invading army marching through a blaze of the ruin it had made! Whether it were intentional or accidental, we could not but deplore such a destruction of property. We knew that the world would consider such doings intentional, and that they would be a lasting stigma upon our name. There were some among us that rejoiced at it; but many shuddered instinctively at seeing ourselves re-enacting the deeds which have made the name of vandal the execration of all ages.
The advance infantry camped for the night at Cold Water. But our division, though it marched two hours after night, camped near the familiar brick church south of Lamar. Here there was no water for the animals, and scarcely enough for the men. The wagons parked as they traveled, by brigades. On account of the weight of our knapsacks, the slowness of the march, and the frequent halts, we were excessively fatigued, and when the order was given to file to the right, we had scarcely patience enough left to go through the remaining movement of halt!—close up—front! center dress! front! fix-bayonets! shoulder-arms! stack-arms! break ranks—march!
And here a stranger could have observed in all its reality the habits of the old soldier on the march. His knapsack is packed, not according to regulations, but to suit his own convenience. His haversack contains three days rations of bread, sugar and coffee, and a sure supply of salt. For his meat he trusts chiefly to fortune and to the enemy's pig-pens and henroosts. Outside his haversack hangs all that is left of some merry oyster supper,—a small tin can with a wire bail—his coffee pot. His canteen is never empty when water can be procured, unless it contains something sweeter or stronger than water. When the regiment halts for the night and breaks ranks, his first purpose is to explore the near neighborhood, and espy and seize whatever he can of fresh meat, which having brought in, he divides liberally among his comrades, after reserving the best piece to himself. He then proceeds to improvise a fire, if his comrades have not a place for him by the side of theirs. And here let me say to all uninitiated soldiers, that whatever may be said in favor of green hickory, or dry oak tops, experience has taught me that well-seasoned rails make decidedly the best camp-fire in Secession Land. When he has built his fire, by chance he draws his gun from the stack, and brings his knapsack close to the welcome blaze, and sits down upon it, with his canteen, haversack and cartridge-box at hand. He fills his "coffee kettle" and puts it on the coals. He cuts a piece of meat, salts it, sticks his ramrod into it, and commences broiling it in the blaze. And then, should the Orderly Sergeant be heard calling him to go on guard or fatigue,—well, no one will blame me for not rehearsing word for word the strict manner in which he complains of the Fates. If he is so fortunate as to escape this, when his supper is over (relished no where so well), he gathers a heap of dry leaves, or it may be, breaks a bundle of broom sedge, upon which he spreads his blankets, and soon, his feet to the fire and his head in the land of cool air and pleasant dreams, till the morning drum or the night alarm, he is oblivious to the weary world.
Ranging among the fires, the stranger will perceive that the manner of this soldier varies greatly among the others. Some, like him, find it good to be alone. Others, like geese, choose their mates and go in pairs. Others, gregarious, go in herds of six or eight. These variations in the size of families, cause as many modifications in the mode of life, which in all cases has reference to the general principle of acquiring the most comfort with the least possible labor.