CHAPTER VI.
I Capture "Jeff"--I Get Back at the Chaplain--The Chaplain Arrested--Off on a Raid--I Meet the Relatives of the Dead Confederate--My Powers of Lying are Brought into Play.
The winding up of the last chapter of this history, with its sadincidents, deaths and burials, was unavoidable, but it shall not occuragain. The true historian has got to get in all the particulars. I thinkI never felt quite as downhearted as I did the day or two after theskirmish, when our boys were killed. It had seemed as though therewas no danger of anybody getting hurt, as long as they looked out forthemselves, but now there was a feeling that anybody was liable to bekilled, any time, and why not me? Of course the old veterans of theregiment were the ones who would naturally be expected to take the bruntof the battle, but there was a habit of sending raw recruits into placesof danger that struck me as being mighty careless, as well as very badjudgment. Then there were great preparations being made for an advancemovement, or a retreat, or something, and my mind was constantly occupiedin trying to find out whether it was to be an advance or a retreat. Ifit was an advance, I wanted to arrange to be in the rear, and if it wasa retreat, it seemed to me as as though the proper place for a man whowanted to live to go home, was in front. And yet what chance was therefor a common private soldier to find out whether it was an advance ora retreat. Finally I decided that when the regiment _did_ start out, Iwould manage to be about the middle, so it wouldn't make much differencewhich way we went. When that idea occurred to me I pondered over ita good deal and told the chaplain, and he said it was a piece of asbrilliant strategy as he had ever heard of, and he was willing to adoptit, only being a staff officer it was necessary for him and me to ridewith the colonel, and the colonel most always rode at the head, thoughhis place was about the middle. He said he would speak to the colonelabout it. It made my hair stand to see the preparations that were beingmade for carnage. Ammunition enough was issued to kill a million men,and the doctors were packing bandages and plasters, and physic, andsplints and probes, until it made me sick to look at them. When Ithought of actual war, my mind reverted to my mule, the kicking brutethat was no good, and I decided to get a horse. I had got so, actually,that I could hear bullets whistle without turning pale and having coldchills run over me, and it seemed as though a horse was none too goodfor me, so I went to the colonel and told him that a soldier couldn'tmake no show on a kicking mule and I wanted a horse. I told him Isupposed, as chaplain's clerk. I should have to ride with him and hisstaff on the march, and he didn't want to see as nice a looking fellowas I was riding a kicking mule that would kick the ribs of the officershorses, and break the officers legs. The colonel said he had not thoughtof that contingency. He had enjoyed seeing me ride the mule, because Iwas so patient when the mule kicked. He said they used that mule in theregiment to teach recruits to ride. A man who could stay on that mulecould ride any horse in the regiment, and as I had been successful,and had displayed splendid mulemanship, I should be promoted to ride ahorse, and he told the quartermaster to exchange with me and give me thechestnut-sorrel horse that the Confederate was shot off of. I went withthe quartermaster to the corral, turned out my mule, and cornered thebeautiful horse that had been rode so proudly a few days before by myfriend, the rebel. It took six of us to catch the horse, and bridle andsaddle him, and the men about the corral said the horse was no good. Hehadn't eaten anything since being captured, and his eyes looked bad,and he wanted to kick and bite everybody. I told them the poor horse washomesick, that was all that ailed him. The horse was a Confederate atheart, and he naturally had no particular love for Yankees. I rememberedthat once or twice when I was riding with the rebels, after theycaptured me, the young fellow on this horse patted him on the neck andcalled him "Jeff", so I knew that was his name, so I led him out of thecorral away from the other fellows, where there was some grass growing,and made up my mind I would "mash" him. After he had eaten grass alittle while, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes as though hedidn't know whether to kick my head on, or walk on me, as I sat undera tree, I got up and patted him on the neck and said, "Well, Jeff, oldboy, how does the grass fit your stomach?"
You may talk about brute intelligence, but that horse was human. Hestopped eating, with his mouth full of grass, looked astonished at beingaddressed by a stranger without an introduction, and turned a pair ofeyes as beautiful and soft as a woman's upon me, and then began to chewslowly, as though thinking. I rubbed his sleek coat with, my bare hands,and did not say much, desiring to have Jeff make the first advances. Helooked me over, and finally put his nose on my sleeve, and rubbed me,and looked in my face, and acted as though he would say, "Well, ofcourse this red-headed fellow is no comparison to my dead master, butevidently he's no slouch, and if I have got to be bossed around by aYankee, as he is the only one that has spoken a kind word to me since Iwas captured, and he seems to know my name, I guess I will tie to him,"and the intelligent animal rubbed his nose all over me, and licked myhand. I rubbed the horse all over, petted him, took up his feet andlooked at them, and spoke his name, and pretty soon we were the best offriends. I mounted him and rode around and it was just like a rockingchair. That poor, dead Confederate had probably rode Jeff since he wasa kid and Jeff was a colt, and had broken him well, and I was awfullysorry that the original owner was not alive, riding his horse home safeand sound, to be greeted by his family with loving embraces. But he wasdead and buried, and his horse belonged to me, by all the laws of war.And yet I had not become a hardened warrior to such an extent that Icould forget the hearts that would ache at his home, and I made upmind that horse would be treated as tenderly as though he was one of myfamily. I rode Jeff around for an hour or two, found that he was trainedto jump fences, stand on his hind feet, trot, pace, rack, and that hecould run like a scared wolf, and everything the horse did he would sortof look around at me with one eye as much as to say, "Boss, you willfind I have got all the modern improvements, and you needn't be afraidthat I will disgrace you in any society." I was fairly in love with mynew horse, and, except for a feeling that I was an interloper with thehorse, and sorry for the poor boy that had been shot off him, I shouldhave been perfectly happy.
The chaplain had got in the habit of wearing a nice, blue broadclothblouse which I had brought from home, which had two rows of brassbuttons on it. I had paid about twenty dollars of my bounty for theblouse, and had found that the private soldiers did not wear suchelaborate uniforms in active duty, so I kept it in the chaplain's tent.I thought if I was killed and my body was sent home, the blouse wouldcome handy. The chaplain wore it occasionally, and he said any time Iwanted to wear any of his clothes to just help myself. An order had beenissued to move the following day, with ten days' rations, and some ofthe boys asked for passes to go down town and have a little blow-outbefore we started. They wanted me to go along, and so I got a pass, too.We were to go down town in the afternoon and stay till nine o clock atnight, when we had to be in camp. I saddled up Jeff and looked formy blouse, but it was gone, the chaplain having worn it to visit thechaplain of some other regiment, so I took his coat and put it on, ashe had told me to. The coat had the chaplain's shoulder-straps on, butI thought there would be no harm in wearing it, so about a dozen ofus privates started for town to have a good time, and I withchaplain's-straps on. It was customary, when soldiers went to town ona pass, to partake of intoxicating beverages more or less, as that wasabout the only form of enjoyment, and I blush now, twenty-two yearsafterward, to write the fact that we all got pretty full. It seemedso like home to be able to go into a saloon and drink beer, good oldnorthern beer, and who knew but tomorrow we would be killed. So we ate,drank, and were merry. One of the boys said when the officers got on atear, they would ride right into billiard saloons, and sometime shoot atdecanters of red liquor behind the bar, and he said a private was justas good as an officer any day, and suggested that we mount our horsesand paint the town. We mounted, and rode about town, racing up and downthe streets, and finally we came to a billi
ard saloon, and half adozen of us rode right in, took cues out of the rack, and tried to playbilliards on horse-back. It was a grand picnic then, though it seemsfoolish now. My horse Jeff would do anything I asked him, and when Irode up to the bar and told him to rear up, he put both fore feet on thebar, and looked at the bartender as much as to say, "set up the best youhave got."
The chaplain's shoulder-straps gave the crowd a sort of confidence thateverything was all right, and after exhibiting in a saloon for a time,there was something said about horse-racing, and I said my horse couldbeat anything on four legs, so we adjourned to the outskirts of town fora race, followed by half the people in town. We had a horse-race,and Jeff beat them all, and wherever I went the crowd would cheer thechaplain. They said they liked to see a man in that position who couldunbend himself and mix up with the boys. There never was a chaplain morepopular than the "Wisconsin preacher" was. It did not occur to me thatI was placing the chaplain in an unfavorable position before the public,by wearing his coat. _Nothing_ occurred to me, that day, except that wewere having a high old time. Finally, after dark, one of our boys gotinto a row with a loafer in a saloon, and picked the loafer up andtossed him through the window, to the sidewalk. This was very wrong, butit couldn't be helped. There was a great noise, cries for the provostguard, and we knew that the only way to get out of the scrape honorably,would be to get out real quick, so we mounted and rode to our camp. Myhorse was the fastest and I got home first, unsaddled my horse and wentto the tent, took off the chaplain's coat and hung it up carefully, andwas at work writing a letter, and thinking how my horse acted as thoughhe had been on sprees before, he enjoyed it so, when I heard a noiseoutside, and it was evident that the provost guard had followed us tocamp, and were making complaint to the colonel about our conduct downtown. Finally the guard went away, and shortly the colonel and theadjutant called at our tent and inquired for the chaplain. I told themthe chaplain had been away most of the day, and had not returned. Thecolonel and the adjutant winked at each other, and asked me if he wasn taway a good deal. I told them that he was away some. They asked me if Inever noticed that his breath had a peculiar smell. I told them that itwas occasionally a little loud. They went away thoughtfully. Now thatI think of it I ought to have explained that the peculiarity of thechaplain's breath was caused from eating pickled onions of the sanitarystores, but it did not occur to me at the time. After a while thechaplain came back, asked me if anybody had died during the day, took adrink of blackberry brandy for what ailed him, and we retired. The nextmorning there was a circus. The little town boasted, a daily paper, andit contained the following:
"The community is prepared to overlook an occasional scene of hilarity among the Federal soldiers stationed in this vicinity, but when a gang of roysterers is led by a chaplain, as was the case yesterday, all right-minded people will be indignant. It is said by our informant that the chaplain of a certain cavalry regiment was the liveliest one of the crowd, that he rode into a billiard room, caused his horse to place its forefeet on the bar, and that he played a better game of billiards on horseback than many worldly men can play on foot. It is the duty of the commanding officer to discipline his chaplain. The chaplain also beat the boys several horse races while in town, and they say he is a perfect horseman, and has one of the finest horses ever seen here, which he probably stole."
I had a boy bring me a paper every morning, and I read the articlebefore the chaplain awoke, and destroyed the paper. Early the nextmorning the colonel sent for the chaplain, placed him under arrest, andthe good man came back to the tent feeling pretty bad. I asked him whatwas wrong, and he said he was under arrest for conduct unbecoming anofficer and a gentleman. He said charges were preferred against him fordrunkenness and disorderly conduct, horse-racing, playing billiards onhorse-back, riding his horse into a saloon and trying to jump him overthe bar, and lots of things too numerous to mention. I felt sorry forhim, and told him I had been fearful all along that he would getinto trouble by going away from me so much, and associating with thechaplains of the other regiments, but I had never supposed it would cometo this.
"Wine is a mocker," said I, becoming warmed up, "and none of us canafford to tamper with it. With me, it does not make so much difference,as I have no reputation but that which is already lost, but you, my dearsir, think of your position. Go to the colonel and confess all, and askhim to forgive you," and I wiped my eyes on my coat sleeve.
"But I was not drunk," said the chaplain, indignantly. "I was not in asaloon, and never saw a game of billiards in my life. I was over tothe New Jersey regiment, talking with their chaplain about getting up arevival, among the soldiers," and the good man groaned as he said, "itis a case of mistaken identity."
"Bully, elder," said I. "If you can make the court-martial believe you,you will be all right, and you will not be cashiered. But it looks dark,very dark, for you. May heaven help you."
The chaplain was worried all the morning, and the officers and men jokedhim unmercifully. At noon the chaplain was released from arrest, as wewere to move at four p. m., and he begged so to be allowed to accompanythe regiment. The colonel told him he could be tried when we got back,and he was happy. There was a great commotion as the regiment broke upits camp and got ready to move. There was the usual crowd of negresseswho had been doing washing for the soldiers, to be paid on pay day, andwe were going away, no one knew where, and no one knew when we wouldmeet pay day. There were saloon-keepers with bills against officers, andstanding-off creditors was just about as hard in the army as at home.I couldn't see much difference. But finally everything was ready, theammunition wagons, wagon train of stores, and a battery of little guns,about three pounders, had been added. I didn't like the battery. Itseemed to me hard enough to kill our fellow citizens with revolverballs, without shooting them with cannon. At 4 p.m. the bugle sounded"forward," and with the clanking of sabers, rattling of hoofs andwagons, we marched outside the picket line, past the cemetery wheremy deceased friends were buried, and were going towards the enemy. Thechaplain and myself were riding behind the colonel, when the colonelasked the good man to ride up to a log that was beside the road, andmake his horse put his forefeet upon it, as he did on the bar in thesaloon. I felt sorry for the chaplain, and I rode up to the log, and hadJeff put his feet up on it. Then I rode back and saluted the coloneland told him it was I who had done the wicked things the chaplain wasaccused of, and I told him how the chaplain was using my coat, so I puton his, with the shoulder straps on, and all about it. He laughed atfirst and then said, "Then you are under arrest. You may dismount andwalk and lead your horse until further orders." I dismounted, like alittle man, and for five miles I walked, keeping up with the regiment.Finally the colonel sung out, "gallop, march," and I got on my horse.I reasoned that the order to gallop was "further orders," and that as heknew I couldn't very well gallop on foot he must have meant for me toget on. We galloped for about ten miles, and were ordered to halt, whenI dismounted and led my horse up to the colonel, and saluted him. "Well,you must have had a hard time keeping up with us on foot," said he. Itold him it rested me to go on foot. We were just going into camp forthe night, and the colonel said, "Well, as you are rested so much fromyour walk, you may go out with the foraging party and get some feed foryour horse and the chaplain's." I was willing to do anything for a quietlife, so I fell in with a party of about forty, under a lieutenant, andwe rode off into the country to steal forage from a plantation, keepinga sharp lookout for Confederates who might object. I guess we rode awayfrom camp two or three miles, when we came to a magnificent plantationhouse, and outhouses, negro quarters, etc. The house was on a hill, in agrove of live oaks, and had immense white pillars, or columns infront. As we rode up to the plantation the boys scattered all over thepremises. This was the first foraging expedition I had ever been with,and I thought all we went for was to get forage for our horses, so Iwent to a shock of corn fodder and took all that I could strap on mysaddle, and w
as ready to go, when I passed a smoke house and found someof the boys taking smoked hams and sides of bacon. I asked one of theboys if they had permission to take hams and things, and he laughed andsaid, "everything goes," and he handed me a ham which I hung on to mysaddle. Then the lieutenant told me to go up in front of the house andstand guard, and prevent any soldier from entering the house. I rode upto the house, where there was an old lady and a young married womanwith a little girl by her side. They were evidently much annoyed andfrightened, though too proud to show it, and I told them they need haveno fear, as the men were only after a little forage for their horses.The old lady looked at the ham on my saddle and asked me if the horseseat meat, and I said, "No, but sometimes the men eat horses." I thoughtthat was funny. The young woman was beautiful, and the child wasperfectly enchanting. They were on the opposite side of the railing fromme, and my horse kept working up towards them, rubbing his nose on thepickets, and finally his nose touched the clasped hands of the motherand child. The little girl laughed and patted the horse on the nose,while the mother drew back. It was almost dark and the horse was almostcovered with corn fodder, but the little girl screamed and said:
"Mamma, that is Jeff, papa's horse!"
The mamma looked at me with a wild, hunted look, then at the horse,rushed down the steps and threw her arms around the neck of the horseand sobbed in a despairing manner:
"O, where is my husband? Where is he? Is he dead?
"My son, my son!" cried the old lady.
"Bring me my papa, you bad man!" said the little child, and I wassurrounded by the three.
Gentle reader, I have been through many scenes in my life, and have beenmany times where it was not the toss of a copper whether death or lifewas my portion, and I had some nerve to help me through, but I neverwas in a place that tried me like that one. I had been captured by thefather of this little child, the husband of this beautiful, proud woman,the son of this charming old lady. I had seen him brought in, dead, hadseen him buried, and had thrown a bunch of roses in his grave. Now I wassurrounded by these mourners, mourners when they should know the worst.Cold chills run all over me, and cold perspiration was on my brow.
"Is he dead?" they all shouted together.
I hate a liar, on general principles, and yet there are times when a lieis so much easier to tell than truth. I did not want to be a murderer,and I knew, by the dreadful light in the eyes of that lovely wife, asshe looked up at me from the neck of the horse, her face as white assnow, that if I told the truth she would fall dead right where she was.If I told the truth that blessed old lady's heart would be broken, andthat little child's face would not have any more smiles, during the war,for mamma and grandma, and, with a hoarse voice, and choking, and tryingto swallow something that seemed as big as a baseball in my throat, Ideliberately lied to them. I told them the young man who rode this horsehad been captured, after a gallant fight, unharmed, and sent north.That he was so brave that our boys fell in love with him, and there wasnothing too good for him in our army, and that he would be well takencare of, and exchanged soon, I had no doubt, and bade them not to worry,but to look at the discomforts and annoyances of war as leniently aspossible, and all would be well soon.
"Thank heaven! Take all we have got in welcome," said the old lady, as aheavenly smile came over her face. "My boy is safe."
"O, thank you, sir," said the little mother, as a lovely smile chased adimple all around her mouth, and corraled it in her left cheek, while apair of navy-blue eyes looked up at me as though she would hug me ifI was not a Yankee, eyes that I have seen a thousand times since, indreams, often with tears in them.
You are a darling good man 103]
"You are a darling good man," said the little girl, dancing on thegravel path. The mother blushed and said,
"Why, Maudie, don't be so rude;" and there was a shout:
"Fall in!"
The lieutenant rode up to me and asked, as he noticed the glad smiles onthe faces of the ladies, if this was a family reunion, and, apologizingfor being compelled to raid the plantation, we rode away. I was afraidthey would mention the news I had brought them, and the lieutenant wouldtell the truth, so I was glad to move. I was glad to go, for if I hadremained longer I would have cried like a baby, and given them back thehorse, and walked to camp. As we moved away, I took out my knife andcut the string that held the smoked ham on my saddle, and had thesatisfaction of hearing it drop on the path before the house. I couldnot give back the husband of the blue-eyed woman, the son of the saintlySouthern mother, the father of the sweet child, but I _could_ leave thatham. As we rode back to camp that beautiful moonlight night, I did notjoin in the singing of the boys, or the jokes. I just thought of thathappy home I had left, and how it would be stricken, later, when thenews was brought them, and wondered if that fearful lie I had beentelling, them was justifiable, under the circumstances, and it it wouldbe laid up against me, charged up in the book above. That night I slepton the ground on some corn fodder and dreamed of nothing but blue-eyedmamma's and golden-haired Maudie's and white-haired angel grandmothers.
How Private George W. Peck Put Down the Rebellion Page 6