University of Virginia Library

XII.
FACETIÆ OF THE CAMP.

SOUVENIRS OF A C. S. OFFICER.

1. I.

Nothing is more tiresome than a “Collection of Anecdotes;”
nothing more wearying than the task of gathering them from
the four winds.

In the memory of every human being, however, linger many
“trifling incidents” which he is loth to have completely disappear
from the sum of things. Unrecorded they are forgotten—recorded
they live. They may not be “important,” but they are
characteristic. They were witnessed by the narrator; hence he
writes or tells them with an interest infinitely greater than he feels
in repeating what he has read, or has heard passing from mouth
to mouth. For him the personages live, the localities exist; the
real surroundings frame the picture, however valueless it may appear.
If therefore, worthy reader, the following trivia seem dull
to you, it is because you did not “know the parties,” as the writer
did. Turn the page if they weary you—but perhaps you will
laugh. They are “trifles,” it is true; but then life is half made
up of trifles—is it not?

General Fitz Lee, one day in the fall of 1863, sent a courier up
from the Lower Rappahannock, to ask General Stuart why General
Pleasanton of the U. S. Army “had been sent to Georgia?”
—a dispatch by signal from corps headquarters having communicated
that intelligence.

Grand tableau when the affair was explained!

General Stuart had signalled: “Meade's Headquarters are at
Wallack's, and Pleasanton's at Cumberland George's”—names or
persons residing near Culpeper Court-house.

The signal flags had said: “Meade's headquarters are at
Wallack's, and Pleasanton's at Cumberland Georgia!”

2. II.

In November, 1863, Lieutenant—was in an old deserted mansion
near Culpeper Court-house, with some prisoners confined in
the upper rooms; the enemy not being far distant. While waiting,
a blaze shot up from a fire which some soldiers had kindled
near, and threw the shadow of the Lieutenant on the wall.
Thinking the shadow was a human being he called out:

“Halt! there!”

No reply from the intruder.

“Answer, or I fire!”

The same silence—when the Lieutenant drew a pistol from his
belt. The shadow did the same. The pistol was levelled: the
opposing weapon performed the same manœuvre. The Lieutenant
thereupon was about to draw trigger, when one of his men
called out:

“Why law! Lieutenant, it ain't nothin' but your own
shadow!”

Immense enjoyment in camp, of this historic occurrence.
Colonel—, our gay visitor, drew a sketch of the scene, appending
to it the words:

3. III.

Captain F—was the best of good fellows, and the most
amiable of signal officers. He was visiting his signal posts near
Culpeper one day, when an infantry-man, clad in a “butternut”
costume lounged up, and looked on with the deepest interest
while the man on duty was “flopping” away right and left with
his flag. Butternut continued to gaze with ardour upon the
movements of the signal-man's flag; then he suddenly drawled
out in a tone of affectionate interest:

“I sa-a-y, str-a-nger! Are the fli-ies a pestering of you?”

4. IV.

In 1863 the enemy caught an old countryman near Madison
Court-house, and informed him that he must do one of two
things—either take the oath of allegiance to the United States
Government or prepare to be buried alive. He declined taking
the oath, when his captors deliberately proceeded in his presence
to dig a grave, and when it was finished they led him to it, and
said:

“Will you take the oath?”

“No!” responded the prisoner.

“You had better!”

“I won't!”

“If you don't take that oath you'll be buried alive in that
grave, in the next five minutes!”

The old fellow approached nearer, looked with attention at
the pit yawning before him, and then turning round with his
hands in his pockets replied calmly:

“Well, go on with your d—d old funeral!”

Laughter from the blue-birds, and release of the prisoner as,
in the fullest acceptation of the phrase, a “hard case.”

5. V.

General Order to Inspector-General V—, from Corps Headquarters:—

“Cry aloud—spare not—show my people their transgressions!”

6. VI.

General—made a true cavalier's speech, one evening at
our camp on the Rapidan. He had ridden to headquarters on his
beautiful mare “Nelly Gray,” whom he had had ever since the
first battle of Manassas, and had thus become warmly attached
to. When he went to mount again, he found the mare wince
under him, and after riding a few yards, discovered she was
lame, and limped painfully.

Thereupon the General dismounted, examined the hoof, rose
erect again, and uttering a deep sigh exclaimed:

“Poor Nelly! I wish they could fix it some way, so as you
could ride me home!”

That ought to find a place in the biography of the brave
officer who uttered it.

7. VII.

While I was in the Valley in 1863, I heard an incident which
was enough to “tickle the ribs of Death,” and for its truth I can
vouch. A body of the enemy's cavalry had advanced to the
vicinity of Millwood, and two or three men left the column to go
and “forage,” that is, take by the strong hand what they wanted
for supper, from the first house. Very soon they came in sight
of a cabin in the woods, and cautiously approaching—for the
Confederate scouts were supposed to be everywhere—knocked
at the low door.

A negro woman came at the summons, exhibiting very great

terror at the sight of the blue coats—and the following colloquy
ensued:

“We want some supper.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But, first, is there anybody here?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh! they ain't nobody here but me—'cept—”

“Except who?”

“Only Colonel Mosby, sir.”

“Colonel Mosby!!!” exclained the speaker, with at least
three exclamation points in his nccent, and getting hastily into
the saddle.

“Are you joking?” he added. “You better not. Is Colonel
Mosby here?”

“Ye—s, sir,” stammered the woman in great terror; and at
the same moment a low noise like that produced by the footstep
of a man was heard within.

No sooner did they hear this than the men turned their horses'
heads, hurried off, and, rejoining their command, reported that
Colonel Mosby, the celebrated partisan and “guerilla,” was
alone in a house in the woods—to which house they could easily
conduct a party for his capture.

The information was promptly conveyed to the officer in command,
and as promptly acted upon. A detachment was immediately
ordered to mount, and, led by the guides, they advanced
straight towards the house, which they soon saw rise before
them.

It was then necessary to act with caution. Colonel Mosby
was well known to be an officer of desperate courage, and it was
certain that before permitting himself to be captured he would
make a resolute resistance. This was to be counted on, both
from the soldierly nerve of the individual and from the fact that
he was regarded by many of his enemies as a “bushwhacker”
and outlaw, and might be hanged to the first tree, if captured,
not treated as a prisoner of war. From this resulted the conviction
that the celebrated partisan would sell his life dearly;

and the party bent upon his capture omitted no precautions in
advancing to attack the wild animal in his lair.

An advance-guard was thrown forward; carbineers were dismounted,
and directed to make a circuit and approach the house,
from front, flanks, and rear; and having thus made his dispositions,
the officer in command pushed up at the head of his men
to the house, at the door of which he gave a thundering knock.

No sooner had the trembling negro woman laid her hand on
the latch to reply to this summons, than the force burst in,
cocked pistols in hand, ready to capture Mosby.

He was not visible. In fact there was no other human being
in the cabin except a negro baby, lying in a cradle, and sucking
its thumb.

“Where is Mosby?” thundered the officer.

“Oh! there he is!” was the trembling reply of the woman.

“Where?”

“There, sir!”

And the woman pointed to the cradle.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, sir! I don't mean—I didn't mean nothin'! I call him
`Mosby,' sir—`Colonel Mosby,' sir—that's his name, sir!”

And awaiting her doom, she stood trembling before the
intruders. Those personages looked from the woman to the
baby, sucking away at his thumb; scowled, growled, took another
look; saw that the woman told the truth; and then a roar
of laughter followed, which continued until they had mounted
and were out of sight.

It is said that this incident was not mentioned by the men
upon their return; they only reported Mosby “not found.”
I have mentioned it, however, and I vouch for it. The mother
of “Colonel Mosby,” Black and Jr., was a servant of the hospitable
mansion in which I tarried; the family declared the incident
exactly true; and the hero of the affair, the black baby,
namely, is still living. Lastly, I know the woman; she is very
worthless, but all are.

8. VIII.

There was down in Stafford, during the war, a youthful negro
of six or eight years of age, who excited the admiration of everybody
by his passionate devotion to the Confederacy, and the
“big words” which he used. In fact, his vocabulary was made
up of what Mr. Thackeray calls “the longest and handsomest
words in the dictionary.”

Still he could be terse, pointed, epigrammatic, and hard-cutting
in speech. Of these statements two illustrations are given.

1. When an artillery fight took place near the mansion which
had the honour of sheltering him, the young African was observed
to pause, assume an attitude of extreme attention, remove his
hat, scratch his head, and listen. Then turning to his master,
he said with dignity, “Hear that artillery, sir. Those are,
beyond a doubt, the guns of Stonewall Jackson.”

2. Second illustration. A Federal officer of high rank and
character, a bitter Democrat and opponent of the negro-loving
party, with an extreme disgust, indeed, for the whole black race;
this gentleman visited the house where the young Crichton lived,
and taking a seat in the parlour, began conversing with the ladies.

While so doing he was startled by a voice at his elbow, and a
vigorous clap upon the back of his splendid uniform. Turning
quickly in extreme wrath at this disprespect, he saw the grinning
face of young ebony behind him; and from the lips of the
youth issued the loud and friendly address:

“Hallo, Yank! Do you belong to Mr. Lincoln? You are
fighting for me—ain't you?”

The officer recoiled in disgust, looked daggers, and brushing
his uniform, as though it had been contaminated, growled to the
lady of the house:

“You taught him this, madam!”

9. IX.

In June, 1863, General Lee was going to set out for Gettysburg.
To mask the movement of his infantry from the Lower
Rappahannock, a cavalry review was ordered, on the plains of
Culpeper.

That gay and gallant commander, General Fitz Lee, thereupon,
sent word to General Hood to “come and see the review,
and bring any of his people”—meaning probably his staff and
headquarters.

On the second day the gray masses of Hood's entire division
emerged, with glittering bayonets, from the woods in the direction
of the Rapidan.

“You invited me and my people,” said Hood, shaking hands
with General Fitz, “and you see I have brought them!”

Laughter followed, and General Fitz Lee said:

“Well, don't let them halloo, `Here's your mule!' at the
review.”

“If they do we will charge you!” interrupted General Wade
Hampton, laughing.

For all that the graybacks of Hood, who duly attended the
review, did not suppress their opinions of the cavalry. As the
horsemen charged by the tall flag under which General R. E.
Lee sat his horse looking at them, a weather-beaten Texas of
Hood's “Old Brigade” turned round to a comrade and muttered:

“Wouldn't we clean them out, if Old Hood would only let us
loose on 'em!”

The infantry never could forgive their cavalry brethren the
possession of horses—while they had to walk.

10. X.

General W—gave me, one day, a good anecdote of Cedar
Run. He was then Colonel of artillery, and when the Confederates'
left wing was thrown into disorder, strenuously exerted

himself to induce the stragglers to return to the fight. This was
not an easy task—the troops were demoralized for the moment
by the suddenness of the attack.

In consequence, the Colonel had small success; and this enraged
him. When enraged the Colonel swore, and when he
swore he did so with extraordinary vehemence and eloquence.
On this occasion he surpassed all his previous performances,
uttering a volley of oaths sufficient to make a good Christian's
hair rise up.

He had just grasped the collar of a straggler, who would not
stop at his order, and was discharging at him a perfect torrent
of curses, when, chancing to turn his head, he saw close behind
him no less a personage than the oath-hating and sternly-pious General Stonewall Jackson.

Jackson's aversion to profanity was proverbial in the army.
It was known to excite his extreme displeasure. Colonel W—
therefore stopped abruptly, hung his head, and awaited in silence
the stern rebuke of his superior.

It came in these words, uttered in the mildest tone:

“That's right, Colonel—get 'em up!”

11. XI.

Another anecdote of Jackson—but this one, I fear, has erept
into print. Some readers, however, may not have seen it.

After Port Republic, the General was riding along the line
when he heard the following colloquy between two soldiers of
the Stonewall Brigade.

“Curse the Yankees! I wish they were in hell, every one of
them!”

“I don't.”

“Why don't you?”

“Because if they were, Old Jack would be following 'em up
close, with the old Stonewall Brigade in front!”

Jackson's face writhed into a grin; from his lips a low laugh
issued; but he rode on in silence, making no comment.

12. XII.

General C—was proverbial for his stubborn courage and
bulldog obstinacy in a fight. In every battle his brigade was
torn to pieces—for he would never leave the ground until he
was hurled back from it, crushed and bleeding.

The views of such a man on the subject of military courage
are worth knowing. He gave them to me briefly one day, on
the battle-field.

Here is the statement of General C—.

“The man who says that he likes to go into an infantry charge,
such as there was at Spotsylvania—is a liar!”