Rensselaer Republican, Volume 19, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 September 1886 — REMINISCENCES. [ARTICLE]

REMINISCENCES.

Old Soldiers Rehearsing the Stirring Scenes Through Which They Passed. Anecdotes of the Battle-Field, the Camp-Fire, and the Merry March.

Spy-Glass Sharpshooting. “The narrowest escape I ever had,” said a well-known Lieutenant of police in Baltimore, “was in front of Petersburg. ” “My regiment was in Pickett's Division of Longstreet's Corps, and another fellow and I were in a trench together. We were at the front of the line. The other fellow’s name was Dick. The trench was about six feet deep, and there was a groove cut in the top of the front, through which we did our snooting at the Yankees. When v® wanted to pop away we’d lay the gun-bar-rel along that groove, get quick sight on the enemy, pull the trigger, and then jump down. Dick was a pig-headed sort of a chap. I told him a dozen times he didn't jiave sense enough to hold his head on his shoulders. r “There was a lot of Y r ankee sharpshooters in front of us, and I cautioned Dick to look out how he exposed himself. I tell you it was dangerous for even so much as a man’s ear to get in sight of those fellows. I heard the bullets whistling lively over our trench, and I knew by the sound that they •were forced balls. A forced ball, you know, is a bullet from a breech-loader. It is a little bigger than the diameter of the gunbarrel, and consequently it goes out with greater force than the ball from a muzzleloader. The way we could distinguish between the two kinds of guns was, that if it was a breech-loader the bullet got to you before the report; but if it was* a muzzleloader the report got to you before the ball. Most all of the Yanks used the breechloaders, and you can just bet your boots we were mighty careful how we got in their way. “As I was saying, the bullets were whistling pretty lively over our trench. I was loaded, and was about to put my gun in the groove and pick off a blue-coat. Dick was standing in front of the groove putting in a charge. He had his eye at the breech of his gun examining it, and the side of his head was turned toward the groove. While he was standing there —it was not more than half a minute altogether—one of the ‘forced’ balls came singing through the groove and bored a hole clear through his head as big as a walnut. He fell dead. I stepped across to him, and in doing so passed in front of the groove. Just as I got on the other side of the trench another bullet passed through the groove and buried itself in the rear wall of the trench. Two other balls followed it, and buried themselves in the identical hole made by the first bullet. The sharpshooter who did that neat job was a h ilf-mile away.” 7 “Pretty good shooting,” suggested one of the listeners. “I should say so,” said the with an expressive shrug of the shoulders. “Some of those Yankee sharpshooters were marvelous. They had little telescopes on their rifles that would fetch a man up close until he seemed to be about only one hundred yards away from the muzzle. I’ve seen them pick a man off who was a mile away. They could hit so far you couldn’t hear the report of the gun. You wouldn’t have any idea that anybody was in sight of you, and all of a sudden, with everything as silent as the grave and not a sound of a gun, herg would come skipping along one of those ‘forced’ balls and cut a hole “ clear thiuugh you. —?- ■ “How we used to lay for these sharpshooters, though,” he said, chuckling at the rememberance. “We’d keep a lookout for every little puff of smoke. The sharpshooters, you know, mo tly climbed trees and hid themselves in the branches. So, every time they'd shoot there’d be a telltale puff of smoke come out of the tree. Just as soon as we’d see one of those little puffs of smoke the entire battery would rain shot and shell into that tree* and we’d make it so hot for the ’sharpshooter that he’d either tumble or crawl out, dead or alive. The best shooters were in the Union army. Most of them came from the West, and many of them had been scouts in the Indian count rarely missed a man at the distafice of‘ v a mile, .Indeed, they could hit any object as big as a pievdate that far away.” \ i \

Wouldn’t Surrender. The following story is too good to be lost. No wonder the Alabama crew was made happy by a little fight. It was becoming monotonous: I was one of the first men who signed papers with the much-vaunted Confederate cruiser, the Alabama, and my service in her did not end until she sailed into an English port with the Confederate flag flying. You will thus realize that I participated in the capture of several dozen Federal merchantmen and whalers. There Was a sameness about our manner of making captures which we were glad to have broken now and then. It was but rarely that a vessel was overhauled during the night. If we were in chase of her we simply kept her in sight, or tried to. until daylight came. While we could not anticipate any stubborn resistance, the right sort of a skipper might fire a volley into a boat’s crew, or go to some other uncomfortable extreme. As a rule we had only to close in on our victim, Are a solid .shot across his course, and he would heave to and pnt the best face possible on a bad matter. The First Lieutenant would be sent off to him with a boat and a halfdozen marines, and in the course of half an hour his fate would be decided. If it was thought best to bond him the papers were made out and signed and he was permitted to go his way. If his craft was to be destroyed, the men were allo ived to bring up their clothing and knick-knacks, the officers to pack up their personal effects, and inside of an hour the craft would be ablaze, and we would be sailing away in search of another victim. When we ran around in search of whalers we came upon a Yankee skipper who didn’t know what surrender meant. We were just well to the west of the stormy cape when, one morning after breakfast, we raised a whaler. He headed up the coast, and about noon we overhauled him. He paid no attention to the first shot, and it was only when the "second one hulled him that he came into the wind. It was then seen that he had fifteen or sixteen aboard, and that allwere armed with muskets, and meant to defend (he ship. The Lieutenant was sent off with his boat, but no sooner was he within fair musket range than the-whaler opened on him,killing one man and wounding two at the first voliey. The officer pushed and demanded a surrender, but he got another volley and the reply that the whaler “would go to the bottom before he would surrender to a d—— rebel!” The boat was recalled and our gunners were instructed to hull the whaler with solid shot. We approached him withinrifle range and opened fire. Every one of the balls plumped through his side and above the water-line, and’ he answered with his muskets, severely wounding two men. He was repeatedly hailed to surrender, but in reply he encouraged his men to maintain their Are. We soon had the sea pburing into his starboad'eide through a dozen holes,

and when it won seen that he would go down we ceased firing md again demanded his surrender. I remember just how he looked aa ho sprang on the rail—tall, gaunt, hair flying and eyes biasing, and shouted in reply: “The Ben Scott don’t surrender! Come and take ue—-if you can." Five minutes later his craft settled down, bow first. We lowered the boats to save his crew, and strange enough not a man was lost. When we brought them aboard the Yankee skipper walked up to Semtnes, bareheaded, barefooted, and coatless, and said: “If I'd only have had one old cannon aboard we’d licked you out of; your bates! Here we art, and what are you going to do with us?” He was voted a jolly good fellow; and the crew were better treated than any othea ever forced aboard. In order to give them their liberty, the very next capture we made was bonded and they were put aboard to sail for home — Chicago Ledger.

Individual Army Experience*. I was a corporal in Company F, Seventysevpnth New York Volunteer Infantry. In mentioning our army experiences, I hardly know where to begin. L As on incident causing considerable excitement at the time, I mention the following: We were marching in the spring of 1862 through the abandoned works of the Confederates near Yorktown, when a sharp explosion like that of a pistol was heard at the feet of the center of the column and directly under the colors of our regiment. The men scattered. A piece of old cloth was lying on the ground, and Colonel McKean lifted it with the point of his sword, disclosing a torpedo, carefully buried in the ground, except the nipple, which had been filled with fulminating powder and had caused the noise we had heard; by good luck failing to explode the torpedo below. It would have caused sad havoc had it exploded, as it was in the center of our column. I was in the Army of the Potomac during its great retreat down the peninsula in the summer of 1862. Our march was by night, from nine until morning. Brigades, regiments, and divisions were mixed, broken, and disorganized. I was so weary and sleepy many times that it was with difficulty that I could put one foot before the other. It took us several nights to accomplish that retreat. Toward the end of the march the men would, along toward morning, lie down anywhere out of the way, and go to sleep with their knapsack for a pillow. We finally got under cover of our gunboats, where we breathed free. In the great battle of the Wilderness nearly two years after the retreat above mentioned, I was wounded. I had just loaded my gun and was putting on the cap when a minie ball struck my arm near the shoulder. I tried to get in another shot, but I had to give if up. ’ This was May 10, 1864. I shall never forget the charge we made that day, before I was wounded. Several regiments were picked from our corps, two from our brigade. We charged right into their works, capturing over 1,000 prisoners. We went over three lines of their works, coming upon their artillery, which we could have spiked had we been provided with the necessary files. One has peculiar sensations in thus charging upon works filled with hostile guns. I kept hearing the noise of bullets passing, sounding like water dropping fast upon a hot stove, zip-zip-zip. Besides our fire in front we were also exposed to an oblique or cross-fire. I was also conscious that our ranks werg being coustantly thinned, but it was our business, in the face of that fire, to run as long as our running gears kept in “tune,!’ and we ran and ran until wejjot there. v-* Before closing I must again mention my wound. My arin became very painful after I was sent to the hospital at Washington. I could not sleep. A nurse syringed the wound with water until there came out a piece of my woolen blouse an inch square, carried in by the minie ball. Albert Snydeb. West Oswego, N. Y.

Consecrated Soda. In 1863 the Thirteenth Vermont was camped at Camp Carusi, Virginia. It was a glorious place for foraging, and was improved by the boys. Fish from the ferry, rowl from across the ferry, veal and young pig this side of the ferry, was the fare up to the time we started on our long, quick march to Gettysburg. We became fat and full of tricks; one of these, which has just been brought to my memory, may do to tell. Pat Donovan belonged to the “Bully Company —, last in field and first out.” He was a tall fellow with a dark face, and where he shaved it looked blue. Donovan thought he knew more than any other persofa in the regiment, consequently Charles Estes and Ad Stone, Company H, resolved to come a “Yankee trick” on him. One Sunday Stone was at the river doing his laundry work, using “concentrated lye,” then a new and almost unheard-of article. Estes and Donovan happened to come down. Estes at once stripped and went into action on his underwear, then upon his body, talking all the time to Donovan as to the excellence of “concentrated soda,” etc. “Will it kill these haythin graybacks, Challus?” .„“-Qf_course. Put; jse&jme -use - it,” and Estes, who had some white soap, proceeded to lather himself. “Faith, thin,” said Donovan, convinced, “I will try u myself.” “Better put your clothes to soak in it, and wash them after you scrub yourself,” said Stone, with a wink. “So I will,” replied Pat. Well, to make a long story short, those jokers prevailed upon the uninitiated Donovan to lather his body and hair with strong suds of soap and “concentrated Ive” and wash his woolens in the same. The effect and result you all know. The woolen cloth washed in the strong lye had all the life and strength shrunk out of it. : His garments fitted nim like “paper on de wall;” they split and tore at every step, and when camp was reached Pat was in rags and howling with smarting pain, for the warm wool shirt had heated the eating lye and blistered his body.' Estes became alarmed and explained Pat’s condition and came to Captain Slayton, who visited Donovan and asked how he felt. “How I felt, is it?” yelled Donovan, whose face looked like raw beef, and head almost bald from loss of hair. “Howly Moses! I’m dying; send for the priest.” The surgeon came and greased Pat, remarking he used the “concentrated soda too strong.” “Yes,” howled Donovan; “consecrated be d—d; it was twice consecrated, or the divil wud ’a had me.” Stories and tricks always get out; so with this. Donovan’s brag and blaster melted into a soft whine when the concentrated lye trick was wh spered to him. W. A. Phee. The Little Zouave. The following incident was given by Major Magoffin, of the Fifth Michigan Cavalry. On Thursday afternoon the regiment was engaged in a severe fight three miles east of Gettysburg, Captain Magoffin commanding. They had dismounted, every fifth man to the rear with five a fence, the Captain had ordered the men to lie close to the ground. They

were armed with a new kind of carbine which was doing deadly work among the advancing Confederates. In the midst of the fight a little zouave, in hi* brilliant uniform, appeared at hie side. His first words were,' “Captain, I want a share in this fight. I’m tost from my company, but must have a hand in it somewhere.” He was told to fall in. “But where is something to fight with?” he said. The Captain pointed to the carbine of a fallen man, saying that be should take it. Finding it to be a different shooter from anything he had ever seen, he called out. “Cap, show me how to use this.” Quickly seeing the working of it. he sang out, “That’s glorious; won’t that fetch ’em; now I’ll pick my man.” Then deliberately taking aim, he would exclaim with great satisfaction, as one after another of the victims of his unerring aim fell over, “Look at that, Cap; did you see how quickly that fellow dropped?” He kept talking all the time, the Captain begging him to lie down under the shadow of the fence and not show himself. The Zouave’s bright uniform was a shining mark, and the Captain felt that the Zouave added to his own danger by standing at his side. But lie down he would not. At every sljot he told the result, talking as if to his victims. "When his ammunition gave out he said, “Now, Cap, I’ll leave you, as I can be of no more use,” and he walked away, in full view of the assaulting line, and scores of bullets that were sent after him whistling as he went. The commanding officer afterward tried to ascertain bis name and regiment, but was unsuccessful, and he is known to those who witnessed his skill and coolness only as “the little Zouave.” — Chicago Ledger. ______

Sailors Take a Hand. During the campaign on the peninsula in 1863, the following laughable incident occurred: A detachment of tars to the number of seventy-five landed on the left bank of the Nansemond, with a little howitzer and a mule-cart load of ammunition, and proceeded toward the village of Chuckatuck, a short distance from the river. As they approached the place they found it in possession of a squad of rebel cavalry’, that appeared to be the rear-guard of a retreating force. Firing immediately commenced, whereat the mule attached to the ammunition cart became greatly “demoralized,” as the rebels call being afraid, and he broke and ran for the enemy. Seeing that they were in great danger of losing all their ammunition, our nautical allies, regardless of rebel shots, went on the double-quick after the supplies, meanwhile peppering away at the enemy. This movement was a new one to the rebels, and in a short time nothing could be seen but the tails of their horses. The tart caught their refractory animal, and found a rebel captain and three soldiers killed, and captured three horses, and last but not least, the “town” of Chuckatuck. The end of the adventure corresponded with the beginning. One of the sailors attempted to ride one of the captured horses home, and the animal,' not used to marine methods of steering, ran away with his rider, who shouted, “Avast!” “Belay!” - and all the terms he could think .of, in vain. Not liking his position, he drew his revolver and plunked a ball through the head of his horse, and literally brought him to.

Stonewall Jackson’s Courtesy, When Harper’s Ferry surrendered to “Stonewall” Jackson, in September, 1862, General Jackson halted his horse in front of the Ninth Vermont, and, taking off his hat, solemnly said: “Boys, don’t feel bad; you could not help it; it was just as God willed it.” One of Jackson’s staff asked Colonel Stannard, of the Ninth Vermont, if he “had anything to drink.” Stannard courteously handed hie flask, and the arrogant young Confederate Captain poured out a horn and mockinglv said:. “Colonel, here’s to the health of the Confederacy.” Stannard answered, “To ask and accept a courtesy of a prisoner and then insult him is an act that an honorable soldier would scorn.” Jackson turned on his staff officer and gave him a severe scolding, saying the repetition of such an insult to a prisoner would cost him his place. Then turning to Colonel Stannard, General Jackson apologized for the conduct of his officer, saying that it wasan exceptional act of insolence on the part of a young and reckless man, and bowing gravely the famous Confederate captain rode away. The fatalism of Jackson seemed eccentric, but it was a part of hi* religion to treat a captive soldier with high-minded courtesy.” -

The Darky’s Melons. I enlisted at the age of sixteen in the Twenty-ninth Michigan, and while lying at Murfreesboro, Tenn., in camp one day, 1 heard a great uproar among the men outside. I was reading at the time, and laying down my book I ran out to see thoughts enacted rather than reading them and employing the mind in producing them. Well, when I got out there I discovered a darky with a big load of watermelons, and, the boys beginning to help themselves without paying for them, he undertook to drive along. But they caught and held his wheels, and held his team so they could not stir the wagon. Discovering that he was captured, he mounted the front end of his wagon, and stood there with a broad grin on his face, while we captured and made off with the entire load. I secured a bouncer, which I hid in my bunk for another day. I presume the darky got as much for his melons as if he had peddled them, and it was more fun for the boys, and he seemed to enjoy it himself. Perry E. Newman. Lake View, Mich.

Saved His Ration*. In the fall of 1864 we were in West Tennessee on short rations. Our regiment had been fighting hard. One day Captain G and myself sat eating—only beans and coffee—when a shell lit close to our tentdoor. We could see the blue smoke curling from its fuse. The Captain at once Clapped his hat over our coffee and beans, and went down under the table, while I went under our bunk. With a fearful report that shell buret, covering everything about us with sand. Jumping up, the Captain took the hat off from over the beans, put it on his head, sat down, and finished his eating, remarking, “Ration* are too scarce to lose any by foolishness.” 7i.; Corporal P——. Pomeroy, lowa. t ~7>

Buying the Battery. Judge Fish told the following while looking at the Atlanta panorama. He said to a friend at his side: “That scene makes me think of a little incident at Kenesaw. There was a rebel- battery to be taken, and the order was sent to one brigade: ‘Get that battery the first thing in the morning.' It meant death for a good many; and, sitting around the camp-tires that night, there was a deal of anxious talk. One said, drearily, 'I reckon the oqly way to get those guns is to take ’em,’ and every one was gloomy when the stutterer of the camp spoke up: ‘I s-s-say, boys, can’t we c-c-chip in ’nuff to b-b-b-buy the old things for spot c-c-cash?’ The grim humor of the thing tickled the boys, and many a one went to sleep that night with a smile on his lips that never smiled again.”