1. I.
Sad but pleasing are the memories of the past! Gay and grotesque
as well as sorrowful and sombre, are the recollections of
the “old soldiers” who, in the months of 1861, marched to the
rolling drum of Beauregard!
At that time the present writer was a Sergeant of Artillery, to
which high rank he had been promoted from the position of
private: and the remembrance of those days when he was uniformly
spoken to as “Sergeant” is by no means unpleasing.
The contrary is the fact. In those “callow days” the war was a
mere frolic—the dark hours were yet unborn, when all the sky
was over-shadowed, the land full of desolation—in the radiant
sunshine of the moment it was the amusing and grotesque phase
of the situation that impressed us, not the tragic.
The post of Sergeant may not be regarded as a very lofty one,
compared with that of field or general officers, but it has its advantages
and its dignity. The Sergeant of Artillery is “Chief
of Piece”—that is to say, he commands a gun, and gun-detachment:
and from the peculiar organization of the artillery, his
rank assimilates itself to that of Captain in an infantry regiment.
He supervises his gun, his detachment, his horse picket, and is
responsible for all. He is treated by the officer in command with
due consideration and respect. A horse is supplied to him. He
is, to all intents and purposes, a commissioned officer.
But the purpose of the writer is not to compose an essay upon
military rank. From the Sergeant let us pass to the detachment
which he commanded. They were a gay and jovial set—those
young gentlemen of the “Third Detachment”—for they were for
the most part youths of gentle nurture and liberal education,
who had volunteered at the first note of the bugle. They fought
hard to the end of the war, but in camp they were not energetic.
Guard duty and horse-grooming were abominable in their eyes;
and the only pursuits to which I ever saw them apply themselves
with activity and energy were visiting young ladies, and smoking
pipes. From this it may be understood that they were bad
material for “common soldiers,” in the European acceptation of
the term; and their “Chief” was accustomed to appeal rather to
their sense of propriety than the fear of military punishment.
The appeal was perfectly successful. When off duty, he magnanimously
permitted them to do what they chose; signed all
their passports without looking at them; and found them the
most orderly and manageable of soldiers. They obeyed his orders
when on duty, with energy and precision: were ready with
the gun at any alarm before all the rest, the commanding officer
was once pleased to say; and treated their Chief with a kindness
and consideration mingled, which he still remembers with true
pleasure.
The battery was known as the “Revolutionary Ducks.” This
sobriquet requires explanation, and that explanation is here
given. When John Brown, the celebrated Harper's Ferry
“Martyr,” made his onslaught, everything throughout Virginia
was in commotion. It was said that the “Martyr” and his band
were only the advance guard of an army coming from Ohio. At
this intelligence the battery—then being organized in Richmond
by the brave George W. Randolph, afterwards General, and Secretary
of War—rushed quickly to arms: that is, to some old
muskets in the armory, their artillery armament not having been
obtained as yet. Then commanded by the General to be, they
set out joyously for Harper's Ferry, intent on heading off the
army from Ohio. In due time they landed from the boat in
Washington, were greeted by a curious and laughing crowd,
and from the crowd was heard a voice exclaiming, “Here's your
Revolutionary Ducks!” The person who had uttered this severe
criticism of the ununiformed and somewhat travel-worn
warriors was soon discovered to be an irreverent hackman; but
the nick-name made the youthful soldiers laugh—they accepted
it. They were thenceforth known to all their friends and acquaintances
as the “Revolutionary Ducks.”
The Revolutionnaires marched to Manassas at the end of May,
1861, and a few days after their arrival one of the South Carolinians
camped there, asked me if I had “seen the little General,”
meaning General Beauregard, who had just assumed command.
The little General visited the battery, and soon dispatched it with
his advance-force under Bonham to Fairfax Court-House, where it
remained camped on a grassy slope until the middle of July,
when it came away with unseemly haste. In fact, a column of
about fifty-five thousand blue-coats were after it; and the “Third
Detachment,” with their gun, had a narrow escape. They were
posted, solus, near the village of Germantown, with the trees cut
down, four hundred and thirty yards by measurement, in front
to afford range for the fire. Here they awaited with cheerfulness
the advance of the small Federal force, until a horseman galloped
up with, “Gentlemen! the enemy are upon you,” which was
speedily followed by the appearance of blue uniforms in the wood
in front. The infantry supports were already double-quicking
to the rear. The odds of fifty-five thousand against twenty-five
was too great for the “Third;” and they accordingly limbered
to the rear, retiring with more haste than dignity. A friend had
seen the huge blue column passing from Flint Hill toward Germantown,
and had exclaimed with tragic pathos that the present
historian was “gone.” He was truly “gone” when the enemy
arrived—gone from that redoubt and destined to be hungry and
outflanked at Centreville.
The Revolutionnaires had but an insignificant part in the great
battle of Manassas. The “little General” intended them to bear
the brunt, and placed them in the centre at Mitchell's Ford. From
this position they saw the splendid spectacle of the Federal
Cavalry dividing right and left to unmask the artillery which
speedily opened hotly—but beyond this shelling they were not
assailed. Caissons blew up all around, and trees crashed down;
but the blue infantry did not charge the breastworks. Then
Beauregard resolved to advance himself with the Revolutionnaires
and Bonham straight on Centreville, and sent the order
—but it never arrived. Thus the “Third” was cheated of the
glory which they would have won in this great movement; and
despite the shells which burst for four days in the trenches, they
are not entitled to inscribe “Manassas” on their flag.
Two days after the battle they were ordered to advance with
General Bonham to Vienna. All obeyed but the “Third,” which
being seized with a violent desire to go to Alexandria instead of
Vienna, gave the rest the slip, joined Colonel Jeb Stuart's column
of cavalry and infantry, going toward Fairfax, and never stopped
until they reached that village, wherein they had made a
number of most charming friends. They made their reëntrance
amid waving handkerchiefs from the friends alluded to, and
cheering joyously—but were speedily desired to explain their presence
in the column of Colonel Stuart, who thus found himself in
command of a surplus gun, of which he knew nothing. The present
writer at once repaired to the Colonel's headquarters, which
consisted of a red blanket spread under an oak, explained the
wishes of the “Third,” and begged permission to accompany
him to Washington. The young Colonel smiled: he was evidently
pleased. We should go, he declared—he required artillery,
and would have it. The “Chief” received this reply with extreme
satisfaction; put his gun in battery to rake the approach
from Annandale; and was just retiring to his blanket, with the
luxury of a good conscience, when an order came from General
Bonham to repair with the gun, before morning, to Vienna! The
General ranked the Colonel: more still, the gun was a part of the
General's command. With heavy hearts the “Third” set out
through the darkness for the village to which they were ordered.
As the writer is not composing a log-book of his voyages
through those early seas, he will only say that at Vienna the
Revolutionnaires saw for the first time the enemy's balloons hovering
above the woods; turned out more than once, with ardour,
when Bonham's pickets fired into Stuart's; and smoked their
pipes with an assiduity that was worthy of high commendation.
Soon the order came to move; they hung their knapsacks with
energy upon the guns, for the horses to pull, and thus returned
to Centreville, where they were ordered to join the hard-fighting
Colonel Evans at Leesburg.
At the name of Leesburg, every heart of the “Noble Third”
still beating, will beat faster. Leesburg! Paradise of the youth-full
warrior! dear still to the heart of him who writes, and to all
his brave companions! Land of excellent edibles, and beautiful
maidens! of eggs and romance, of good dinners and lovely
faces! No sooner had the ardent cannoneers reached camp, and
pitched their tents, than they hastened into Leesburg to “spy
out the land.” The reconnoissance was eminently satisfactory.
The report brought back by the scouts thus thrown forward, represented
the place as occupied in force by an enemy of the most
attractive description—and from that time to the period of their
abrupt departure, the brave young artillerists were engaged in
continuous skirmishes with their fair faces, not seldom to their
own discomfiture.
When the “Third” with another detachment went to camp at
Big Spring, in a beautiful grove, they applied themselves to the
military duties above specified with astonishing ardor. The
number of horses which required shoeing at the blacksmith's in
town was incredible; and such was their anxiety to rush to
combat, that the young soldiers surreptitiously knocked shoes
from the horses' feet, to be “ordered to the front,” toward the
foe.
The Revolutionnaires had a little skirmish about this time with
the Federal force at White's Ferry, and the “Third” had the satisfaction
of setting a house or barn on fire with shell, and bursting
others in the midst of a blue regiment. These exploits were
performed with a loss of one man only, wounded by sharpshooters;
the “Third” having dodged the rest of the enemy's bullets
with entire success. They were highly pleased with the result
of the combat, and soon afterwards were called to new fields of
glory. This time the locality was at Loudoun Heights, opposite
Harper's Ferry; and having dragged their gun up the rugged
mountain road with great difficulty, they opened from the summit
at the moment when the brave Ashby charged. The result
was cheering. Ashby sent word that the shells were falling
among his own troops, but directed the fire to proceed—it was
admirable: and thus encouraged, the “Third” continued at their
post until the enemy's batteries on Maryland Heights had gotten
our range, and their rifle shell began to tear the ground near by.
Concluding that the distance was too great to render a reply
necessary, the “Third” came away soon after this—but the order
to retire had been previously given, and the piece did not move
off at a faster gait than a rapid trot—it might have been a gallop.
This little affair was in October, and on our return to Leesburg
the enemy were preparing to cross and attack us. General Evans
put on the road to Edwards' Ferry all the guns, with the exception
of the “Third,” which was sent with the Eighth Virginia
regiment to repel an assault from General McCall, who was approaching
Goose Creek, on our right, with a Division, and twelve
pieces of artillery. The “Third” undertook this with alacrity,
and remained in position at the “Burnt Bridge” with ardour,
hoping that the enemy would have the temerity to approach.
He did not do so, and at mid-day General Evans sent down for
the regiment and the gun, and ordered them at “double-quick”
and “trot-march” to the vicinity of Ball's Bluff. The regiment
—the Eighth Virginia—was ordered to “drive the enemy from
those woods,” and the “Third” was directed to open fire, “when
the Eighth fell back.” Owing to the circumstance that the
Eighth never fell back, this order was not carried out, and the
Revolutionnaires in general had no part in one of the most desperate
and gallant battles of the whole war. For the second
time they were held in reserve, in a great combat, and they
chafed at it: but the enemy in Leesburg remained to be conquered,
and after the battle, they immediately commenced attending
to the deficiency of horseshoes as before.
These raids upon the territory of the foe were now made from
their camp at “Fort Evans,” on the hill. Fort Evans was on
the top of a commanding eminence. Looking northward, you
beheld the winding Potomac, and on the upland beyond, were
seen the tents of the enemy, and their watch-fires at night—their
tattoo and reveille being heard distinctly, and affording an economical
measurement of time to their foes. East, south, and
west, was a beautiful country of field, and forest, and meadow,
and hill—and Leesburg rose with its white houses and spires, in
the midst of it, about a mile away.
Thus the Revolutionnaires had around them all the elements
of comfort. An enemy to reconnoitre through spy-glasses, across
the river, and another enemy in the town to keep up a brisk assault
upon. Many “solitary horsemen” were seen at sunset and
other hours, dotting the road which led to the borough;—and
these returned in various moods, as “the day” had been adverse
or triumphal for them. They delivered battle with astonishing
regularity, and looked after the shoeing of the artillery horses
with an efficiency which reflected the highest credit on the
corps.
In the performance of this duty the “Third” was not behind
its companions—indeed took the lead. To smoke pipes and attack
the enemy in Leesburg were the chosen occupations of the
“Third.” To dress in full costume for battle—with white collar,
and dress uniform—seemed indeed the chief happiness of
these ardent young warriors: and then they lost no time in advancing
upon the foe. When circumstances compelled them to
remain inactive at Fort Evans for a day or days, they grew melancholy
and depressed. Their pipes still sent up white clouds of
smoke—but the ashes were strewed upon their heads.
“Fort Evans” was not an inspiring locality. The view was
superb; but the wind always blowing there, nearly removed the
hair from the head, and the mud was of incredible depth and
tenacity. In addition to this, Fort Evans got all the rain and
snow. But these were provided against. A distinguished trait
of the Revolutionnaires was a strong propensity for making themselves
comfortable; and they soon discovered that, in winter at
least, tents were vanity and vexation of body. From the realization
of the want, there was only a step to the resolution to
supply it. They cut down trees, and hauled the logs; tore
down deserted houses, and brought away the plank; carried off
old stoves, and war-worn tables, and then set to work. A log
hut rose suddenly—the abode of the “Brigand of the Cliff,”
who was a most excellent companion and uncommonly jovial
for a bandit—many plank cabins were grouped near it, stoves
were set up, log chimneys built, and the bold
Revolutionnaires
were in winter quarters.
Fort Evans was in process of construction anew, under the
supervision of General D. H. Hill—and the workmen were encouraged
by the presence and approval of the “Third” and
their companions. They rarely failed to visit it several times a
day; and generously instructed General Hill's engineer how to
lay it out without charge. They did not mind the deep mud,
and perseveringly remained for hours, looking on while the infantry
“detail” worked. Personne, one of the “Third,” superintended
the filling and revetting—and it was whispered around
that the General had assured him that “This work would remain
to speak of him.” At this the worthy Personne is said to have
smiled as only he could smile. He no doubt does so still.
In these virtuous and useful occupations—mingled with much
smoking, and close attention to horsehoes—the hours and days
sped away, there near Leesburg, in the fall and winter of the
good year 1861. Posted on the far Potomac there, to guard the
frontier, the “Third” and their companions had a large amount
of time upon their hands which it was necessary to dispose of.
Sometimes the enemy opposite amused them—as when they ran
a gun down to the river, and in a spirit of careless enjoyment,
knocked a hole with a round shot in the gable end of the abode
of the “Brigand of the Cliff.” But these lively moments were
the exception. The days generally passed by without incident;
and when debarred from visiting Leesburg, the Revolutionnaires
visited each other.
Among gentlemen so well-bred as themselves there was no
neglect of the amenities of life. You never entered a cabin, but
the owner rose and offered you the best seat. You never got
up to depart, but you were feelingly interrogated as to the occasion
of your “hurry,” and exhorted to remain. If boxes came
from home, their contents were magnanimously distributed;
when anybody got leave of absence, which was exceedingly
seldom, his
return was greeted with acclamations—perhaps because
the transaction was a good precedent. Lounging was the
habitual amusement, except when they aroused themselves to
contend with the enemy—at Leesburg. The town was their
favourite arena for combat. They delighted to visit, and early
established a dining acquaintance there—selecting those houses
where, between the courses, they could gaze into fair eyes, and
“tempt their fate.” When they returned after these expeditions
in search of horseshoes, they revelled in descriptions of ham
and turkey and dessert—making ration-beef tougher, and camp
flat-cake more like lead than ever. On the main street of Leesburg,
near Pickett's tavern, the “Third” especially congregated.
They wore the snowiest shirt bosoms, the bluest gray jackets,
and the reddest cuffs imaginable. Thus armed to the teeth, and
clad for war and conquest, they would separate in search of
young ladies, and return at evening with the most glowing accounts
of their adventures.
