How Private George W. Peck Put Down the Rebellion

by George W. Peck

  CHAPTER XVII.

  Thanksgiving Dinner with the "Rebel Angel"--She Gives Me a World of Good Advice--Can an Officer be Detailed To Go And Shovel Dirt?--My First Day As A Commissioned Officer.

  The last chapter of this history wound up in my interview with thecolonel, in which he told me that what the boys had said was true, andthat I had a right to to be called "Lieutenant." He said there was avacancy in the commissioned officers of my company, caused, by somediscrepancy in regard to the ownership of a horse which an officer hadsold as belonging to him, when investigation showed that there was"U. S." branded on the horse. The colonel said he had looked over thecompany pretty thoroughly, and while I was not all that he could desirein an officer, there were less objections to me than to many others, andhe had recommended the governor of our state to commission me. He saidhe didn't want me to run away with the idea that my promotion fromprivate to a commissioned office was for any particular gallantry, orthat I was particularly entitled to promotion, but I seemed the mostavailable. It was true, he said, that I had done everything I had beentold to do, in a cheerful manner, and had not displayed any cowardice,that he knew of, though I had often admitted to him that I was a coward.He said he thought few men knew whether they were cowards or not, untilthey got in a tight place, and that most men honestly believed they werecowards, but they didn't want others to know it, and they took pains toconceal the fact. He said he had rather be considered a coward than adare-devil of bravery, for if he flunked when a chance come to show hismetal, it wouldn't be thought much of, and if he pulled through, andmade a decent record for bravery, he would get a heap of credit. Hesaid he believed it took a man with more nerve to do some things hehad ordered me to do, than it did to get behind a tree and shoot at theenemy, and he was willing to take his chances on me. He congratulatedme, and some of the other officers did the same.

  I was invited to sit into a game of draw poker with some of theofficers. I pleaded that I was not sufficiently recovered from mysickness to play poker, and I went back to my tent to talk with Jim. Iwas thinking over the new responsibilities that were about to come tome, and figuring on the salary. A hundred and fifty dollars a month!It is cruel to raise the salary of a poor devil from thirteen dollars amonth to a hundred and fifty. I wondered how in the world the governmentwas ever going to get that much out of me. Certainly I couldn't do anymore than I had been doing towards crushing the rebellion for thirteendollars. And what would I do with so much money? In my wildest dreams ofpromotion I had never hoped to be a commissioned officer. I had thoughtsometimes, a week or two after I enlisted, that if I was a general Icould put down the rebellion so quick the government would have lots ofnations left on its hands to spoil, but a few months active service hadtaken all that sort of nonsense out of me, and I had been contented asa private. But here I was jumped over everybody, and made an officerunbeknown to me, It made me dizzy. I was not very strong anyway, andthis thing had come upon me suddenly I was thinking of the magnificentuniform I would have, and the fancy saddle and bridle, and the regularofficer's tent, with bottles of whiskey and glasses, when Jim asked meif I wouldn't just hold that frying-pan of bacon over the fire, whilehe cooked some coffee. He said we would just eat a little to settle ourstomachs, and then go out to Thanksgiving dinner.

  "Thanksgiving dinner," I said. "What are you talking about?"

  "Don't you know," said Jim, "to-day is Thanksgiving? The 'angel' toldme last night to bring you out to the plantation to-day, and I was goingafter you at the hospital if you hadn't showed up. She has received aletter from her brother, who is a rebel prisoner at Madison, and he saysa Yankee hotel-keeper at Madison, that you had written to, had calledat the pen where they were kept, and had brought him a lot of turkey andfixings, and offered to send him a lot for Thanksgiving, so the rebelboys could have a big feed, and he says he is well and happy, and goingto be exchanged soon. And she wants us to come out and eat turkey and'possum. I had rather eat gray tom-cat than possum, but I told her wewould come. So we will eat a little bacon and bread, and ride out."

  "Well, all right Jim," I said. "We will go, but in my weak state I can'tbe expected to eat possum. If there is anything of that kind to be eat,Jim, you will have to eat it. However, I will do anything the rebelangel asks me to do," I added, remembering her kindness to me when I wassick.

  The ride to the plantation, after several weeks confinement, was betterthan medicine, and I enjoyed every step my proud horse took. The animalacted as though he had been told of my promotion, but it was plain to methat he acted proud, because he had been resting during my sickness. Itwas all I could do to keep Jim alongside of me. He would fall back everylittle while and try to act like an orderly riding behind an officer.I had to discipline him before he would come up alongside like a"partner." I mention this Thanksgiving dinner in the army, in order tobring in a little advice the rebel girl gave me, which I shall alwaysremember. We arrived at the old plantation house where the girl and hermother and some servants were living, waiting for the war to close, sothe men folks could come back. The old lady welcomed us cordially, thegirl warmly and the servants effusively. The dinner was good, thoughnot elaborate, except the possum. That was elaborate, and next to gumbosoup, the finest dish I ever tasted. After we had got seated at thetable, the old lady asked a blessing, and it was more like a prayer.She asked for a blessing upon all of the men in both armies, and made usfeel as though there was no bitterness in her heart towards the enemiesof her people. During the dinner Jim told of my promotion, and thecircumstance was commented on by all, and after dinner the rebel angeltook me one side, and said she had got a few words of advice to give me.She commenced by saying:

  "Now that you are to be a commissioned officer, don't get the big head.During this war, we have had soldiers near us all the time, and I haveseen some splendid soldiers spoiled by being commsssioned. Nine outof ten men that have received commissions in this locality, have beenspoiled. I am a few years older than you, and have seen much of theworld. You are a kind hearted man, and desire to treat everybody well,whether rich or poor, yankee or confederate. If you let this commissionspoil you, you are not worthy of it. You will naturally feel as thoughyou should associate with officers entirely, but you will find in themno better companions than you have found in the private soldiers, and Idoubt if you will find as true friends. Do not, under any circumstances,draw away from your old friends, and let a barrier raise up between youand them. My observation teaches me that the only difference between theofficers and men in the Union army, is that officers get more pay fordoing less duty; they become dissipated and fast because they can betterafford it, they drink more, put on style, play cards for money, andthink the world revolves around them, and that they are indispensibleto success, and yet when they die, or are discharged for cause, privatesoldiers take their place and become better officers than they did,until they in turn become spoiled. I can think of no position bettercalculated to ruin a young man than to commission him in a cavalryregiment. Now take my advice. Do not run in debt for a new uniform anda silver mounted sword, and don't put a stock of whisky and cigars intoyour tent, and keep open house, because when your whisky and cigars aregone, those who drank and smoked them will not think as much of you asbefore, and you will have formed habits that will illy prepare you foryour work. You will not make any friends among good officers, and youwill lose the respect of the men who have known you when you were one ofthem, but who will laugh at you for getting the big head and going backon those who are just as good as you are, but who have not yet attainedthe dignity of wearing shoulder straps. I meet officers every day, whowere good soldiers before they were raised from privates, and they showsigns of dissipation, and have a hard look, leering at women, and tryingto look _blase_. They try to act as near like foreign noblemen who areofficers, as they can, from reading of their antics, but Americansjust from farms, workshops, commercial pursuits, and the back woodsand country villages of the north, are not of the material that foreignofficials are
made of, and in trying to imitate them they only showtheir shallowness. Do not, I beg of you, change one particle from whatyou have been as a private soldier, unless it is to have your pants fitbetter, and wear a collar. Of course, you will be thrown among officersmore than you have before. Imitate their better qualities, and do notcompete with them in vices. Always remember that when a volunteer armyis mustered out, all are alike. The private, who has business ability,will become rich and respected, after the war, while the officer, whohas been promoted through favoritism, and who acquires bad habits, willkeep going down hill, and will be glad to drive a delivery wagon for thesuccessful private, whom he commanded and snubbed when he held a proudposition and got the big head. Now, my convalescent red-headed yankee,you have the best advice, I know how to give a young man who has strucka streak of luck. Go back to your friends, and may God bless you."

  Well, I had never had any such advice as that before, and as Jim and merode back to camp that Thanksgiving evening, her words seemed to burninto my alleged brain. I could see how easy it would be for a fellow tomake a spectacle of himself. What did a commission amount to, anyway,that a fellow should feel above anybody. When we arrived in camp, andwent into our tent to have a smoke, the chaplain came in. I had notseen much of him lately. When I was sick I felt the need of a chaplainconsiderably. Not that I cared particularly to have him come and setup a howl over me, as though I was going to die, and he was expectedto steer me the right way. But I felt as though it was his duty to lookafter the boys when they were sick, and talk to them about somethingcheerful. But he did not show up when I needed him, and when he calledat our tent after I was well, there wasn't that cordiality on my partthat there ought to have been. He had a package which he unrolled, aftercongratulating me on my recovery, and it proved to be a new saber, withsilver mounted scabbard and gold sword handle. The chaplain said he hadheard that I was to be commissioned, and he had found that saber at astore down town, and thought I might want to buy it. He said of courseI would not want to wear a common government saber, as it would look toorude..He said he could get that saber for forty dollars, dirt cheap, andI could pay for it when I got my first pay as an officer. I could seethrough the chaplain in a minute. He had thought I would jump at thechance to put on style, and that he could make ten or fifteen dollarsselling me a gilt-edged saber. I thanked him warmly, and a littlesarcastically, for his great interest in the welfare of my soul, insickness and in health, but told him that I was going to try and pullthrough with a common private's saber. I told him that the few people Ishould kill with a saber, would enjoy it just as well to be run throughwith a common saber. My only object was to help put down the rebellion,and I could do it with ordinary plain cutlery, as well as silver-mountedtrappings. I said that to smear a silver-mounted saber all over withgore, would spoil the looks of it. The chaplain went out, when a drummerfor a tailor shop came in with some samples, and wanted to make up a newuniform for me, regardless of expense. I stood him off, and went to bed,tired, and thought I had rather be a private than a general. The nextmorning it was my turn to cook our breakfast, and I turned out and builta fire, cut off some salt pork, and was frying it, when the orderlysergeant came along and detailed Jim and me, with ten or a dozen othersto go to work on the fortifications. The rebels-were preparing to attackour position, and the commanding officer had deemed it advisable tothrow up some earthworks. I told the orderly that he couldn't detail meto work with a shovel, digging trenches, when I was an officer, but hesaid he could, until I received my commission and was mustered in. Ileft my cooking and went to the colonel's tent. He was just rolling outof his bunk, and I said:

  "How is it, Colonel? Can an officer be detailed to go and shovel dirt? Ihave been detailed by the orderly, with a lot of privates, to reportto the engineer, to throw up fortifications. That does not strike me asproper work for a commissioned officer."

  "You will have to go," said the colonel, as he stood on one leg while hetried to lasso his other foot with a pants leg. "It may be three monthsbefore your commission will arrive, and then you will have to go to NewOrleans to be mustered out as a private and mustered in as an officer.Until that time you will have to do duty as a private."

  "Then what the devil did you say anything about my being commissionedfor, until the commission got here," said I, and I went back andfinished cooking breakfast for myself and Jim.

  Our detail went down to the river, at the left of the line, and reportedto the engineer, and were set to work cutting down trees, throwing updirt, and doing about the dirtiest and hardest work that I had everdone. As a private I could have done anything that was asked of me,but the thought of doing such work, while all the boys were calling me"Lieutenant," was too much. I never was so crushed in my life. How gladI was that I did not buy that gilt-edged saber of the chaplain. We hadto wear our side arms while at work, fearing an attack at anyminute, and I thought how ridiculous I would have looked with thatsilver-mounted saber hanging to me, while I was handling a shovel like arailroad laborer. If that detail was made to humiliate me, and reduce myproud flesh, that had appeared on me by my sudden promotion, it had thedesired effect, for before night I was as humble an amateur officer asever lived. I had chopped down trees until my hands were blistered, andhad shoveled dirt until my back was broke, and at night returned to mytent too tired to eat supper, and went to bed too weary and disgusted tosleep. And that was my first day as a commissioned officer.