The Peck's Bad Boy Megapack

by George W. Peck

  “How is it, Colonel? Can an officer be detailed to go and shovel dirt? I have been detailed by the orderly, with a lot of privates, to report to the engineer, to throw up fortifications. That does not strike me as proper work for a commissioned officer.”

  “You will have to go,” said the colonel, as he stood on one leg while he tried to lasso his other foot with a pants leg. “It may be three months before your commission will arrive, and then you will have to go to New Orleans 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 commissioned for, until the commission got here,” said I, and I went back and finished cooking breakfast for myself and Jim.

  Our detail went down to the river, at the left of the line, and reported to the engineer, and were set to work cutting down trees, throwing up dirt, and doing about the dirtiest and hardest work that I had ever done. 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 glad I was that I did not buy that gilt-edged saber of the chaplain. We had to wear our side arms while at work, fearing an attack at any minute, and I thought how ridiculous I would have looked with that silver-mounted saber hanging to me, while I was handling a shovel like a railroad laborer. If that detail was made to humiliate me, and reduce my proud flesh, that had appeared on me by my sudden promotion, it had the desired effect, for before night I was as humble an amateur officer as ever lived. I had chopped down trees until my hands were blistered, and had shoveled dirt until my back was broke, and at night returned to my tent too tired to eat supper, and went to bed too weary and disgusted to sleep. And that was my first day as a commissioned officer.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  My Sickness and Hospital Experiences Have Spoiled Me for a Soldier—I Am Full of Charity, and Hope the War Will Cease— We Have a Grand Attack—The Battle Lasted Ten Minutes—The Rebel Angel’s Brother is Captured.

  I became satisfied, more each day, that my sickness, and experience in the hospital, had spoiled me for a soldier. Being attended to so kindly by a rebel girl and getting acquainted with her people, and hearing her mother pray earnestly that the bloodshed might cease, sort of knocked what little fight there was in me, out, and I didn’t hanker any more for blood. It seemed to me as though I could meet any rebel on top of earth, and shake hands with him, and ask him to share my tent, and help eat my rations.

  The fact of being promoted to a commissioned office, didn’t make me feel half as good as I thought it was going to, and I found myself wishing I could be a he sister of charity, or something that did not have to shoot a gun, or go into any fight. I got so I didn’t care whether my commission ever arrived or not. The idea of respectable men going out to hunt each other, like game, became ridiculous to me, and I wondered why the statesmen of the North and South did not get together and agree on some sort of a compromise, and have the fighting stop. I would have agreed to anything, only, of course, whatever arrangement was made, it must be understood that the South had no right to secede. Then I would think, Why, that is all the South is fighting for, and if they concede that they are wrong it is the same as though they were whipped, and of course they could not agree to that. I tried to think out lots of ways to wind the business up without fighting any more, but all the plans I made, maintained that our side was right, and I concluded to give up worrying about it. But I made up my mind that I would not fight any more. I was still weak from sickness, and there was no fight in me. I thought this over a good deal, and concluded that if I was called upon to go into another fight, where there was any chance of anybody being killed, I would just have a relapse, and go to the hospital again till it was over. I had heard of fellows being taken suddenly ill when a fight was in prospect, and I knew they were always laughed at, but I made up my mind that I had rather be laughed at than to hurt anybody. There was no thought of sneaking out of a fight because of the danger of being killed myself, but I just didn’t want to shoot any friends of that girl who had nursed me when I was sick. These thoughts kept coming to me for a week or more, and one evening it was rumored around that we were liable to be attacked the next day. Some of our regiments had been out all day, and they reported the enemy marching on our position, in force. The rebels that lived in town could not conceal their joy at the idea that we were to be cleaned out. They would hint that there were enough Confederates concentrating at that point to drive every Yankee into the river, and they were actually preparing bandages and lint, to take care of the Confederates who might be wounded. If we had taken their word for it there wouldn’t be a Yankee left in town, when the Confederate boys begun to get in their work. I went to bed that night resolved that I should not be so well in the morning, and would go to surgeon’s call, and be sent to the hospital. But I didn’t like the way those rebels talked about the coming fight. Egad, if they were so sure our fellows were going to be whipped, may be I would stay and see about it. If they thought any of our fellows were going to slink out, when they made their brags about whipping us, they would find their mistake. However, if I didn’t feel very well in the morning, I would go to surgeon’s call, but I wouldn’t go to the hospital. In the meantime, I would just see if I had cartridges enough for much of a row, and rub up the old carbine a little, for luck. Not that. I wanted to shoot anybody dead, but I could shoot their horses, and make the blasted rebels walk, anyway. And so all that evening I was part of the time trying to see my way clear to get out of a regular fight, where anybody would be liable to get hurt, and again I was wondering if my sickness had injured my eyesight so I couldn’t take good aim at the buttons on a rebel’s coat. I was about half and half. If the rebels would let us alone, and not bring on a disturbance, I was for peace at any price, but gol-blast them, if they come fooling around trying to scare anybody, I wouldn’t go to a hospital, not much. I talked with Jim about it, and he felt about as I did. He didn’t want any more fighting, and while he couldn’t go to the hospital, he was going to try and get detailed to drive a six mule team for the quartermaster, but he cleaned up his gun all the same, and looked over his cartridges to see if they were all right. We got up next morning, got our breakfast, and Jim asked me if I was going to the hospital and I told him I would wait till afternoon. I asked him if he was going to drive mules, and he said not a condemned mule, not until the fight was over. There was a good deal of riding around, orderlies, staff officers, etc. Artillery was moving around, and about eight o clock some of our boys who had been on picket all night, came in looking tired and nervous, saying they had been shot at all night, and that the rebels had got artillery and infantry till you couldn’t rest, and they would make it mighty warm for us before night. Orders come to each company, that no soldier was to leave camp under any circumstances, to go to town or anywhere. I told Jim if he was going to drive mules, he better be seeing the quartermaster sergeant, but he said he never was much gone on mule driving, anyhow. But he said if he looked as sick as I did he would go to the hospital too quick. I told him there wasn’t anything the matter with me. Pretty soon, over to the right, near the river, there was a cannon discharged. It was not long before another went off around to the left, and then a dozen, twenty, a hundred, all along the line. They were rebel cannon, and pretty soon they were answered by our batteries. Then there was a rattling of infantry, and the noise was deafening. I expected at the first fire that our bugler would come out in front of headquarters and blow for heaven’s sake, for us to saddle up, but for three hours we loafed around camp and no move was made. It was tiresome. We started to play cards several times, but nobody could remember what was trumps, and we gave that up. Some of our boys would sneak up on to a hill for a few minutes, against orders, and come back and say that they could see the fight, and it was which and tother. Then a few more would sneak off, and after awhile the whole regiment was up on the
hill, looking off to the hills and valleys, watching rebel shells strike our earth works and throw up the dust, and watching our shells go over to the woods where the rebels were. Then I found myself hoping our shells were just paralyzing the Johnnies. Presently the ambulances began to come by us, loaded with wounded, and that settled it. When there was no fighting, and I was half sick, and felt under obligations to a Confederate girl for taking care of me, I didn’t want any of her friends hurt, but when her friends forgot them-selves, and come to a peaceable place, and began to kill off our boys, friendship ceased, and I wondered why we didn’t get orders to saddle up and go in. We were all on the hill watching things, when the colonel, who had been riding off somewhere, came along. We thought he would order us all under arrest for disobeying orders, but he rode up to us, and pointing to a place off to the right a mile or so, where there was a sharp infantry fight, he said, “Boys, we shall probably go in right there about 3 p.m., unless the rebels are reinforced,” and he rode down to his tent. Well, after about twenty ambulances had gone by us with wounded soldiers, we didn’t care how soon we went in there. We watched the infantry and artillery for another hour, as pretty a sight as one often sees. It was so far away we could not see men fall, and it was more like a celebration, until one got near enough to see the dead. Presently the regimental bugle sounded “Boots and saddles,” and in a minute every man on the hill had rushed down to his tent, even before the notes had died away from the bugle. Nothing was out of place. Every soldier had known that the bugle would sound sooner or later, and we had everything ready. It did not seem five minutes before every company was mounted, in its street, waiting for orders. Jim leaned over towards me and said, “Hospital?” and I answered, “Not if I know myself,” and I patted my carbine on the stock. I said to him, “Six mule team?” and he whispered back, “Nary six mule team for the old man.” Then the bugle sounded the “Assembly,” and each company rode up on to the hill and formed in regimental front facing the battle. Every eye was on the place where the colonel had said we would probably “go in.” There never was a more beautiful sight, and every man in the cavalry regiment looked at it till his eyes ached. Then came an order to dismount and every man was ordered to tighten up his saddle girth as tight as the horse would bear it, and be sure his stirrup straps were too short rather than too long. To a cavalry man these orders mean business.

  Then we mounted again, and a few noticed a flag off to the right signaling. The colonel noticed it and coolly gave the order, “fours right, march.” We went off towards the fighting, then right down by our own cannon and formed in line behind the infantry, that was at work with the enemy, the artillery firing over our heads at the confederates in the woods. The noise was so loud that one could not hear his neighbor speak; but above it all came a buggle note, and glancing to the left, another cavalry regiment, and another, formed on our left. Another bugle note, and to the right another cavalry regiment formed, and for half a mile there was a line of horsemen, deafened by the waiting the command of some man, through a bugle. If the rebels had time to notice those four regiments of cavalry, fresh and ready for a gallop, they must have known that it was a good time to get away. Finally, our artillery ceased firing and it seemed still as death, except for the rattling of infantry in front of us. The rebel artillery had ceased firing also, and a great dust beyond the woods showed that they were getting away. The bugle sounded “forward” and that line of cavalry started on a walk. The infantry in front ceased firing, and went to the right of us at a double-quick, and the field was clear of our men. While our cavalry was walking, they kept a pretty good line, each man glancing to the right for a guide. As we neared the place where our infantry had been stationed, it was necessary to break up a little to pass dead and wounded without riding over them, and when falling back to keep from hurting a wounded comrade, a look at the line up and down showed that it was almost a mob, with no shape, but after get-ing forty rods, we passed the field where men had fallen, and the order to “close up, guide right,” was given, and in an instant the line was perfect. Then came the order to trot, and we went a short distance, until the rebels could be plainly seen behind trees, logs, and in line, firing. We halted and fired a few rounds from carbines, and then dropped the carbines, on orders. For a moment nothing was done, when officers ordered every man to draw his revolver, and when the six charges had been fired, after near-ing the enemy, to drop the revolver in the holster, and draw sabers, and every man for himself, but to rally on the colors, at the sound of the bugle, and not to go too far. Talk about being sick, and going to the hospital, or driving mules! Coward as I was, and I knew it, there was something about the air that made me feel that I wouldn’t be in the hospital that day for all the money in the world. All idea of being sorry for the enemy, all charity, all hope that the war might close before any more men were killed, was gone. After looking in the upturned faces of our dead and wounded on the field, the more of the enemy that were killed the better. It is thus that war makes men brutal, while in active service. They think of things and do things that they regret immediately after the firing ceases. The next ten minutes was the nearest thing to hell that I ever experienced, and it seemed as though my face must look like that of a fiend. I felt like one. The bugle sounded “forward,” and then there was an order to trot, and the revolver firing began, with the enemy so near that you could see their countenances, their eyes. Some of them were mounted, others were on foot, some on artillery caissons, and all full of fight. It did not take long to exhaust the revolvers, and then the sabers began to come out, and the horrible word “charge,” came from a thousand throats, and every soldier yelled like a Comanche Indian, the line spread out like a fan, and every soldier on his own hook. Sabers whacked, horses run, everybody yelled. Men said “I surrender,” “What you jabbing at me for when I ain’t fighting no moah,” “Drop that gun, you Johnnie, and go to the rear.” Ones of pain and anguish, and awful sounds that a man ought never to hear but once. The business was all done in ten minutes.

  Many of our men were killed and wounded, and many of theirs were treated the same way. Those who could get away, got, and those we passed without happening to hit them, were prisoners, because the infantry followed and took them back to the rear. Jim and me stayed as near together as possible, and we noticed one young Confederate on a mule. His left arm was hanging limp by his side, and as Jim passed on one side of him and I on the other, he said, as he held up his right hand, “I dun got enough, and I surrender.” The thing was about over, the bugle having sounded the “recall,” and we turned and went back with this Confederate. He was as handsome a boy as ever fired a gun, and while he was pale from his shattered left arm, and weak, he said, “You gentlemen are all fine riders, sir. You fought as well as Southern men, sir.” That was a compliment that Jim and me acknowledged on behalf of the northern army. He couldn’t have paid our regiment a higher compliment if he had studied a week. Then he said: “I was a fool to be in this fight. I was a prisoner and was only exchanged last week. I might have remained at home on a furlough, but when our army came along yesterday, and the boys said there was going to be a fight, I took my sisters mule, the only animal on the place, and came along, and now I am a cripple.” I looked at the mule, and I said to Jim, in a whisper, “I hope to die if it isn’t the angel’s mule. That must be her brother.” Jim was going to ask him what his name was, when we neared the place, where our regiment was forming and the surgeon of our regiment came along, and I said, “Doc, I wish you would take this young fellow and fix up his arm nice. He is a friend of mine. Take him to our regimental hospital.” Then we went back to the regiment, the prisoners were taken away, and after marching around through the woods for an hour we rode back to our camp, and the battle was over. Two or three hours later I went over to the regimental hospital and found the black-eyed confederate with his arm dressed, and he was talking with our boys as though he belonged there. Some one asked how he happened to be there, and the old doctor said he believed he was
a relative of one of our officers. Anyway he was going to stay there. I gave him a bunch of sutler cigars, and left him, and an hour later the “angel” showed up, pale as death, and wanted some one to go with her to the battle held to help find the body of her dead brother. She said he had arrived home from the North the morning before, and had gone into the fight, and when the Confederates came back, defeated, past their plantation, her brother was not among them, and she knew he was dead. I have done a great many things in my life that have given me pleasure, but no one that I remember of that made me quite so happy as I was to escort the girl who had been so kind to me, to the hospital where her brother was. His wound was not serious, and he sat on a box, smoking a cigar, telling the boys the news from Wisconsin. He had just come from there, where he was a prisoner, and he couldn’t talk enough about the kindness of the “people of the nowth.” His sister almost fainted when she found him alive, then hugged him until I was afraid she would disturb his arm, and then she sat by him and heard him tell of his visit to Wisconsin. Before night he was allowed to go home with his sister on parole, and Jim and I were detailed to go and help bury the dead of the regiment.