How Private George W. Peck Put Down the Rebellion

by George W. Peck

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  A Short Story About a Pair of Boots, Showing the Monumental Gall of their Owner.

  When I enlisted in the cavalry I bought a pair of top boots, of theWellington pattern, stitched with silk up and down the legs, which wereof shiny morocco. They came clear above my knees, and from the picturesI had seen of cavalry soldiers, it struck me those boots would bea pass-port to any society in the army. The first few months of myservice, it seemed to me, the boots gave me more tone than any onething. I learned afterwards that all new recruits came to the regimentwith such boots, and that they were the laughing stock of all the oldveterans. I did not know that I was being guyed by the boys, and Iloved those boots above all things I had. To be sure, when we struck anunusually muddy country, some idiot of an officer seemed to be inspiredto order us to dismount. The boys who had common army boots woulddismount anywhere, in mud or water, but it seemed to me cruel forofficers to order a dismount, when they knew I would have to step in themud half way up to my knees, with those morocco boots on. Several timeswhen ordered to dismount in the mud, I have ridden out of the road,where it was not muddy, to dismount, but the boys would laugh so loud,and the officers would swear so wickedly, that I got so I would dismountwherever they told me, suppress my emotions, as I felt my beautiful,shiny boots sink into the red clay, and when we got into camp I wouldspend half the night cleaning my boots. The captain said if I wouldspend half the time cleaning my carbine and saber that I did cleaning myboots, I would have been a model soldier.

  I think that for the first year of my service I had as elegant a pair ofboots as could be found in the army. But it was the hardest work to keeptrack of them. The first three months it was all I could do to keepthe chaplain from trading me a pair of old army shoes for my boots. Thearguments he used to convince me that mo-. rocco boots were far above mystation, and that they were intended for a chaplain, were labored. If hehad used the same number of words in the right direction, he could haveconverted the whole army. I had to sleep with my boots under my headevery night, to prevent them from being stolen and twice they werestolen from my tent, but in each case recovered at the sutler's, wherethey had been pawned for a bottle of brandy peaches, which I had to payfor to redeem the boots. The boots had become almost a burden to me,in keeping them, but I enjoyed them so much that money could not havebought them. When we were in a town for a few days, and I rode around,it did not make any difference whether I had any other clothes on, ofany account, the morocco boots captured the town. The natives couldnot see how a man who wore such boots could be anything but a high-upthoroughbred. The last time I lost my boots will always be remembered bythose who were in the same command. We were on the march with a Michiganand a New Jersey regiment, through the dustiest country that ever was.The dust was eight inches deep in the road, and just like fine ashes.Every time a horse put his foot down the dust would raise above thetrees, and as there were two thousand horses, with four feet apiece, andeach foot in constant motion, it can be imagined that the troops weredusty. And it was so hot that the perspiration oozed out of us, but thedust covered it.

  The three regiments took turns in acting as rear guard, to pick upstragglers, and on this hot and dusty day the New Jersey regiment was inthe rear. It was composed of Germans entirely, with a German colonel,a man who had seen service in Europe, and he looked upon a soldier as amachine, with no soul, fit only to obey orders. That was not the kind ofa soldier I was. During the day's march the boys stripped offeverything they could. I know all I had on was a shirt and pants, anda handkerchief around my head. I took off my boots and coat and let thecolored cook of the company strap them on to his saddle with the campkettles. He usually rode right behind the company, and I thought I couldget my things any time if I wanted to dress up. It was the hardest day'smarch that I ever experienced, lungs full of dust, and every man socovered with dust that you could not recognize your nearest neighbor.Afternoon the command halted beside a stream, and it was announced thatwe would go into camp for the night. The colored cook came along soonafter, and he was perfectly pale, whether from dust or fright I couldnot tell, but he announced to me, in a manner that showed that heappreciated the calamity which had befallen the command, that he hadlost my boots. I was going to kill him, but my carbine was full of dust,and I made it a point never to kill a man with a dirty gun, so I let himexplain. He said:

  "I fell back to de rear, by dat plantation where de cotton gin wasburning, to see if I couldn't get a canteen of buttermilk to wash dedust outen my froat, when dat Dutch Noo Jersey gang come along, and deboss he said, 'nicker, you got back ahead fere you pelong, or I gick youin de pack mit a saber, aind't it,' and when I get on my mule to comealong he grab de boots and he say, 'nicker, dot boots is better for me,'and when I was going to take dem away from him he stick me in de pantswid a saber. Den I come away."

  I could have stood up under having an arm shot off, but to lose my bootswas more than I could bear. It never did take me long to decide on anyimportant matter, and in a moment I decided to invade the camp ofthat New Jersey regiment, recapture my boots or annihilate every lastforeigner on our soil, so I started off, barefooted, without a coat, andcovered with dust, for the headquarters of the New Jersey fellows. Theyhad been in camp but a few minutes, but every last one of them had takena bath in the river, brushed the dust off his clothes, and looked readyfor dress parade. That was one fault of those foreigners, they werealways clean, if they had half a chance. I went right to the colonel'stent, and he was surrounded with officers, and they were opening bottlesof beer, and how cool it looked. There was something peculiar aboutthose foreigners, no matter if they were doing duty in the mostinaccessible place in the south, and were short of transportation, youcould always find beer at their headquarters. I walked right in, and thecolonel was just blowing the foam off a glass of beer. He looked at mein astonishment, and I said in a voice husky from dust down my neck:

  "Colonel this is an important epoch in the history of our belovedcountry. Events have transpired within the past hour, which leaves it anopen question whether, as a nation, we are afoot or on horseback."

  "Great hefens," said the colonel, stopping with his glass of beer halfdrank, "you vrighten me. Vot has habbened. But vait, und dake a glass ofbeer, as you seem exhausted, und proke up. Captain Ouskaspiel, hand theshendleman some peer. Mine Gott, bud you look hard, strancher."

  I do not believe that I ever drank anything that seemed to go right tothe spot, the way that beer did. It seemed to start a freshet of dustdown my neck, clear my throat, and brace me up. While I was drinking itI noticed that the German colonel and his officers eyed me closely, mybare feet, my flannel shirt full of dust, and my hair that lookedas though I had stood on my head in the road. They waited for me tocontinue, and after draining the last drop in the glass, I said:

  "Colonel, it was no ordinary circumstance that induced you braveforeigners, holding allegiance to European sovereigns, to fly to arms todefend this new nation from an internecine foe. While we natives, andto the manor born, left our plows in the furrow, to spring to-arms, youleft your shoemaker shops, the spigots of your beer saloons, the martsof commerce in which you were engaged, and stood shoulder to shoulder.Where the bullets of the enemy whistled, there could be found the braveDutchmen of New Jersey. It brings tears to eyes unused to weeping, tothink of the German fathers and mothers of our land, who are waiting andwatching for the return of sons who will never come back, and this is,indeed, harder for them to bear, when we reflect that these boys werenot obliged to fight for our country, holding allegiance, as I saidbefore to----"

  "Waid a minute, of you blease," said the colonel. "Dake von more drink,and dell me, of you please, vot de hell you vos drying to get at. Capt.Hemrech, gif der shendleman a glass of beer."

  A second glass of beer was given me, and I drank it. There was evidentlya suspicion on the part of the New Jersey officers that the importanceof my visit had been over-rated by them, and they seemed anxious to haveme come to the poi
nt.

  "On the march today," said I, wiping the foam off my moustache on myshirt-sleeve, "one of your thieving soldiers stole my boots from ournigger cook, who was conveying them for me. A cavalry soldier withoutboots, is no good. I came after my boots, and I will have them or blood.Return my boots, or by the eternal, the Wisconsin cavalry regimentwill come over here and everlastingly gallop over your fellows. Theconstitution of the United States and the Declaration of Independence,are on my side. In civil life a man's house is his castle. In the armya man's boots is his castle. Give me my boots, sir, or the blood of theslain will rest on your heads."

  The colonel was half mad and half pleased. He tapped his forehead withhis fore-finger, and looked at his officers in a manner that showed hebelieved my head was wrong, but he said kindly:

  "My man, you go oud and sit under a tree, in the shade, and I vill hafeyour poots found if they are in my rechiment," and I went out. I heardthe colonel say to one of his officers, "It vas too pad dot two goodglasses of beer should be spoiled, giving them to dot grazy solcher. Vemust be more careful mit de beer."

  Pretty soon an officer came out and asked me how the boots were taken,and I gave him all the information I had, and he sent men all around theregiment, and in an hour or so the boots were brought to me, the man whostole them was arrested, the officers apologized to me, and I went backto my regiment in triumph, with my boots under my arms. The incident gotnoised around among the other regiments, and for months after that, whenthe colonel of the New Jersey cavalry rode by another regiment, the boyswould yell out, "Boots, boots," or when a company or squad of the NewJersey fellows would pass along, it was "Look out for your boots! Theshoemakers are coming." For stealing that one pair of boots, by one man,a whole regiment got a reputation for stealing that hung to it a longtime. Ten years afterward I was connected with a New York daily paper,and one evening I was detailed to go to a New Jersey city to report thecommencement exercises of a college. In the programme of exercises Inoticed that a man of the same name of that of the New Jersey colonel,was one of the college professors, and I wondered if he was the sameman. During the evening he put in an appearance on the stage, and Icould see that he was the colonel who had given me the beer, and causedmy boots to be returned to me. After the exercises of the evening, theNew York newspaper men were invited to partake of a collation in theapartments of the college officials, and the professors were introducedto the newspaper men. When my turn came to be introduced, and the oldcolonel stood before me, I said:

  "General, you were in the army, were you not?"

  "Yezzer!" said the old man. "I am broud to say dot I fought for myadopted country. But vy do you ask?"

  "We have met before. I, too, was a soldier. I was at your headquartersonce, on a very important mission. I was entertained, sir, in your tent,permitted, to partake of the good, things you had, and sent away happy.

  "Vell, you dond't say so," said the old man, as he pressed my handwarmly. "Vere vas dis dat you were my guest, and vot vas de importantmessage?" and he smiled all over his face at the prospect of hearingsomething about old times.

  "It was in Mississippi, between Montgomery, Ala., and Vicksburg. Do youremember the hottest and dustiest day that ever was, when we camped on alittle stream?" said I.

  "O, yah!" said the colonel; "very well. It vas an awful time."

  "I went to your headquarters with information of vital importance. Oneof your soldiers _had stolen my boots_."

  "Gott in himmel!" said the old colonel, now a college professor, as helooked at me to see if there was any resemblance between the New Yorkreporter and the dusty, bare-footed soldier of ten years before. "VillI never hear de last of dem dam boots? And you are de same veller, eh. Ihave often thought, since dat day, vot an awful gall you had. But itis all ofer now. You vatch your poots vile you are in New Chersey, forplenty of dose cavalry-men are all around here. But do me a favor now,and don't ever again say poots to me, dot's a good fellow," and then weall sat down to lunch, and the old colonel told the newspaper boys fromNew York about how I called at his tent on the march, looking for a pairof boots that had eloped with one of his New Chersey dutchmen.