The Peck's Bad Boy Megapack

by George W. Peck

  CHAPTER XXV.

  Our Party of Recruits own the Earth—We Live High, Give a Ball, and go to the Guard-House—And are Arrested by Colored Troops.

  Let’s see, I forget whether I have ever told about getting strung up on a bayonet, near New Orleans, when I first went south as a recruit. It was before I had joined my regiment, and I was with a gang of recruits, all looking for the regiments we had enlisted in. We had come down from St. Louis on a steamboat, our regiments being scattered all over the Department of the Gulf. We were not in any particular hurry to find our regiments, as the longer we kept away from them the less duty we would have to do. I do not think, out of the whole forty recruits, there was one who was in the least hurry to find his regiment, and none of them would have known their regiments if they had seen them, unless somebody told them. They had enlisted just as it happened, all of them hoping the war would be over before they found where they belonged. They didn’t know anybody in their respective regiments, hence there were no ties binding them. But they had been together for several months, as recruits, until all had got well acquainted, and if they could have been formed into a company, for service together, they might have done pretty good fighting. The crowd was becoming smaller, as every day or two some recruit would come and bid us all good bye. He had actually stumbled on to his regiment, and when the officers of an old regiment, in examining recruits, found one assigned to his regiment, he never took his eyes off the recruit until he was landed. I have seen some very affecting partings, when one of our gang would find where he belonged and had to leave us, perhaps never to meet again. The gang was rapidly dropping apart, and when we got to New Orleans there were only twenty or so left. We reported to the commanding officer, and he quartered us at Carrollton, near the city, in what had once been a beer-garden and dance-house. We slept on the floor of the dance-house, cooked our meals out in the garden, spread our food on the old beer tables, and imagined we were proprietors of the place, or guests of the government. We always ordered beer or expensive wines with our meals. Not that we ever got any beer or wine, because the beer garden was deserted, but we put on a great deal of style.

  We found a lot of champagne bottles out in the back yard, and I do not think I ever took a meal there without having a champagne bottle sitting beside me on the table, and when any citizens were passing along the street we would take up the bottles, look at the label in a scrutinizing way, as though not exactly certain in our minds whether we were getting as good wine as we were paying for. The old empty bottles gave us a standing in Carrollton society that nothing else could have given us. Some of the boys got so they could imitate the popping of a champagne cork to perfection, by placing one finger in the mouth, prying the cheek around on one side, and letting it fly open suddenly. We would have several of the boys with aprons on, and when anybody was passing on the street, one of us would call, “Waiter open a bottle of that extra dry.” The waiter would say, “Certainly, sah,” take a bottle between his knees, run his finger in his mouth and make it pop, and then pretend to pour out the champagne in glasses, imitating the “fizzing” perfectly. It was the extra dryest champagne that I ever had. But all that foolishness had the desired effect. It convinced the citizens of Carrollton that we were no ordinary soldiers. We were all nicely dressed, had no guards, and apparently no officers, had plenty of money, which we spent freely at the stores, and the impression soon got out that we were on some special service, and there was, of course, much curiosity to know our business. I learned that we were looked upon as secret service men, and I told the boys about it, and advised them not to tell that we were recruits, but to put on an air of mystery, and we would have fun while we remained. One day an oldish gentleman who lived near, and who had a fine orange plantation, or grove, toward which we had cast longing eyes, called at the dance-house where we were quartered. We had just finished our frugal meal, and the empty bottles were being taken away. He addressed me, and said, “Good day, Colonel.” I responded as best I could, and invited him to be seated. I apologized for not offering him a glass of champagne, but told him we had cracked the last bottle, and would not have any more until the next day, as I had only that morning requested my friend, the general commanding at New Orleans, to send me a fresh supply, which he would do at once, I had no doubt. Well, you ought to have seen the boys try to keep from laughing, stuffing handkerchiefs in their mouths, etc. But not a man laughed. The old citizen said it was no matter, as he would drop in the next day, and drink with us. We talked about the war, and it is my impression he was anxious for us to believe he was a loyal man. But after a while he asked me what particular duty I was on, there at Carrollton. I hesitated a moment, and finally told him that I hoped he would excuse me for not telling him, but the fact was it would be as much as my “commission” would be worth to unfold any of my plans. I told him that time alone would reveal the object of our being there, and until such time as my government thought it best to make it public, it was my duty as an officer, to keep silent. He said certainly, that was all right, and he admired me for keeping my own counsel. (I was probably the highest private and rawest recruit in the army.) He said there was a natural curiosity on the part of the people of Carrollton to know who we were, as we lived so high, and seemed such thorough gentlemen. I admitted that we were thorough gentlemen, and thanked him for the high opinion that the cultured people of Carrollton had of us. He wound up by pointing to his orange grove, and said he-would consider it a special favor if we would consider ourselves perfectly free to go there and help ourselves at any time, and particularly that evening, as a number of young people would be at his house for a quiet dance. I told him that a few of us would certainly be present, and thanked him kindly. When he was gone I told the boys, and they wanted to give three cheers, but I got them to keep still, and we talked all the afternoon of the soft snap we had struck, and cleaned up for the party. My intention was to pick out half a dozen of the best dressed, recruits, those that could make a pretty fair showing in society to go with me, but they all wanted to go, and there was no way to prevent it, so all but one Irishman, that we hired to stay and watch our camp, went. Well, we ate oranges fresh from the trees, joined in the dance, ate refreshments, and drank the old gentleman’s wine, and had a good time, made a good impression on the ladies, and went back to camp at midnight. On the way over to the party I told the boys the gentleman was coming to see us the next day, and we should have to get a bottle of champagne some-where, to treat him, as I had told him we expected, some more up from the city. When we came back from the party a German recruit pulled a bottle of champagne out of his pocket, which he had stolen from the man’s house in order to treat him with the next day. The gentleman came over to our quarters the next day, and we opened our bottle, and he drank to our very good health, though I thought he looked at the label on the bottle pretty close. For a week we frequented the gentleman’s orange grove every day, and ate oranges to our heart’s content.

  Several times during the week we were invited to different houses, where we boys became quite interested in the fair girls of Louisiana. It was ten days from the time we settled in the beer garden, and we had kept our secret well. Nobody in Carrollton knew that we were raw recruits that had never seen a day of service, but the impression was still stronger than ever that we were pets of the government. We had an old map of the United States that we had borrowed at a saloon, and during the day we would hang the map up and surround it, while I pointed out imaginary places to attack. This we would do while people were passing. Everything was working splendidly, and we decided to give a party. We hired a band to play in the dance house, ordered refreshments, and invited about forty ladies and gentlemen to attend. The day we were to give the party we sent a recruit down town to draw rations, and he told everybody what a high old time we recruits were having at Carrollton. The commanding officer heard of it, and, probably having forgotten that we were up there waiting to be sent to our regiments he sent a peremptory order for us to report at Ne
w Orleans before noon of that day. How could we report at noon, when we were going to give a party at night? It was simply impossible, and I, as a sort of breast corporal in charge, sent a man down town to tell the commanding officer that we had an engagement that night, and couldn’t come before the next day. I did not know that it was improper to send regrets to a commanding officer when ordered to do anything. The man I sent down to New Orleans came back and I asked him what the general said. The man said he read the note and said, “The hell they can’t come till tomorrow. The impudence of the recruits. They will come tonight!” I did not believe we would. In my freshness I did not believe that any commander of troops would deliberately break up a ball, and humiliate brave soldiers. I thought my explanation to the commander that we had an engagement, would be sufficient, that he would see that it was impossible to hurry matters. We had been to a good deal of expense, and it was our duty, after accepting the hospitalities of those people, to pay our indebtedness in the only way we knew how, and so, as the boys had gathered around me to see what was to be done, I said, “On with the dance. Let joy be unconfined.”

  Our guests arrived on time, and shortly after it became dark, the Dutch band we had hired from, a beer hall down town, struck up some sort of foreign music, and “there was a sound of revelry by night.” We danced half a dozen times, smiled sweetly on our guests, walked around the paths of the old garden, flirted a little perhaps, and talked big with the male guests, and convinced them anew that we were regular old battle-scarred vets, on detached duty of great importance. Near midnight we all set down to lunch, around the beer tables, and everything was going along smooth. The old gentleman who had been first to make our acquaintance, and who had been the means of getting us into society, proposed as a toast, “Our brave and generous hosts,” and the boys called upon me to respond. I got up on a bench and was making a speech that, if I had been allowed to continue, would have been handed down in history as one of the ablest of our time. It was conciliatory in tone, calculated to cement a friendship between the army and the citizens of the south, and show that while we were engaged in war, there was nothing mean about us, and that we loved our neighbors as ourselves. I was just getting warmed up, and our guests had spatted their hands at some of my remarks, when I heard a tramp, tramp, tramp on the sidewalk outside, and before I could breathe a squad of infantry soldiers had filed into the garden, surrounded the dance-house, a dozen had formed in line before the door, and a sergeant had walked in and ordered the citizens to disperse, and said the recruits were under arrest. Well, I have been in some tight places in my life, but that was the closest place I ever struck. The old gentleman, the leader of our guests, turned to me and asked what this all meant, and I told him to be calm, and I would fix everything. I got down off the bench and approached the sergeant, to argue the thing. I found that he was, a colored man, and that his soldiers were also colored troops. This was the unkindest cut of all. I could stand it to be arrested by white soldiers, but the sending of a lot of “negroes” after us white fellows was more than human nature could bear. We had most of us been Democrats before enlisting, and had never looked upon the colored man with that respect that we learned to do, later. I went up to the sergeant, as brave as I could, and said, “Look-a-here, boss, you have made a dreadful mistake. We are gentlemen, enjoying ourselves, and this interruption on your part will cost you dear. Now go away with your men, quietly, and I promise you, on the honor of a gentleman, that I will not report you, and have you punished,” and I looked at him in a tone of voice that I thought would convince him that I was a friend if he should go away, but if he remained it would be at his peril.

  He said he didn’t want any foolishness, or some of us would get hurt, and just then one of the Irish recruits, who had tried to skin out the back way, got jabbed in the pants by a bayonet, and he began to howl and cuss the “negroes.” The sergeant called up half a dozen of his sable guard, and they surrounded me and some of the boys. Our guests were becoming frightened, ladies had put on-their wraps, and there was a good deal of confusion, when I shouted, “Boys, are we going to submit to this insult on the part of a lot of negro field hands? Never! To the rescue!” Well, they didn’t “to the rescue” worth a cent. A colored man with a bayonet had every recruit’s breast at the point of his weapon, three soldiers surrounded me, and one run his bayonet through the breast of my coat and out under my arm, and held me on my tip-toes, and I was powerless, except with my mouth. The old gentleman, our most distinguished guest, came up to me, and I said to him, in confidence, so our guests could hear, however, with a smile, “This may seem to you a singular proceeding. I cannot explain it to you now, as I am pledged to secrecy by my government, but I will say that the duty we are on here is part of a well-laid plan of our commander, and this seeming arrest is a part of the plan. This colored sergeant is innocent. He is simply obeying orders, and is a humble instrument in carrying out our plan. I expected to be arrested before morning, but hoped it would be after our party. However, we soldiers have to go where ordered. We shall be thrown into prison for a time, but when this detective or secret service work on which we are engaged is done, we will take pleasure in calling upon you again, wearing such laurels as we may win. We bid you good-night, and wish you much happiness.” They all shook hands with us, evidently believing what I had said, and even the sergeant seemed to take it in, for, after the crowd had gone, the sergeant said, “You will excuse me, kernel, for what I have done. I didn’t know about any ‘plan.’ All I knew was dat the provost-marshal told me to go up to Carrollton and pull dem recruits dat was camping at de beer garden, and fotch ’em to de guard-house.” I told him he did perfectly right, and then we recruits packed up our things and marched with the colored soldiers to New Orleans, about six miles, and we slept in the guard-house. The next morning the provost-marshal called upon us, damned us a little for not insisting on being sent to our regiments, found out that my regiment was up the river two hundred miles, and seemed mad because I passed it when I come from St. Louis. I told him I was not expected to go hunting around for my regiment, like a lost calf. What I wanted was for my regiment to hunt me up. That afternoon he put me on an up-river boat with a tag on my baggage telling where I belonged, and I bid good-bye to the recruits, after having had three months of fun at the expense of Uncle Sam.

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  I Strike Another Soft-Snap, Which is Harder Than Any Snap Heretofore—I Begin Taking Music Lessons, and Fill Up a Confederate Prisoner With Yankee Food.

  The last two chapters of this stuff has related to early experiences, but now that it is probable the chaplain has got over being mad at my trading him the circus-horse, I will resume the march with the regiment. For a month or more I had been waiting for my commission to arrive, so that I could serve as an officer, but it did not arrive while we were at Montgomery, and we started away from that city towards Vicksburg, Miss., with a fair prospect of having hot work with strolling bands of the enemy. I was much depressed. It had got so they didn’t seem to want me anywhere. It seemed that I was a sort of a Jonah, and wherever I was, something went wrong. The chaplain wouldn’t have me, because he had a suspicion that I was giddy, and full of the devil, and I have thought he had an idea I would sacrifice the whole army to perpetrate a practical joke, and he also maintained that I would lie, if a lie would help me out of a scrape. I never knew how such an impression could have been created. The colonel said he would try and get along without me, the adjutant didn’t want any more of my mathematics in his reports and the brigade commander said he would carry the brigade colors himself rather than have me around, as I would bring headquarters into disgrace some way. So I had to serve as a private in my own company, which was very hard on a man who had tasted the sweets of official position. O, if my commission did not come soon I was lost. After we had marched a couple of days it began to look as though we were liable to have a fight on our hands. Every little while there would be firing in advance, or on the flanks, and things looked bl
ue for one who did not want to have any trouble with anybody. One morning when we were cooking our breakfast beside a pitch pine log, a little Irishman, who was a friend of mine, as I always lent him my tobacco, said: “There will be a fight today, and some wan of the byes will sleep cold tonight.”

  A cold chill came over me, and I wondered which of of the “by’s” would draw the ticket of death. The Irishman noticed that I was not feeling perfectly easy, and he said, “Sorrel top, wud yez take a bit of advice from the loikes of me?” I did not like to be called sorrel top, but if there was any danger I would take advice from anybody, so I told him to fire away. He told me that when we fell in, for the march of the day, to arrange to be No. 4, as in case we were dismounted, to fight on foot, number four would remain on his horse, and hold three other horses, and keep in the rear, behind the trees, while the dismounted men went into the fight. Great heavens, and that had never occurred to me before. Of course number four would hold the horses, in case of a dismounted fight, and I had never thought what a soft thing it was. It can be surmised by the reader of profane history, that when our company formed that morning I was number four. We marched a long for a couple of hours, when there was some firing on the flanks, and a couple of companies were wheeled into line and marched off into the woods for half a mile, and the order was given to “prepare to fight on foot.” It was a momentous occasion for me, and when the three men of our four dismounted and handed the bridle reins to me, I was about the happiest man in the army. I did not want the boys to think I was anxious to keep away from the front, so I said, “Say, cap, don’t I go too?” He said I could if I wanted to, as one of the other boys would hold the horses if I was spoiling to be a corpse, but I told him I guessed, seeing that I was already on the horse, I would stay, and the boys went off laughing, leaving about twenty-five of us “number fours” holding horses. Now, you may talk all you please about safe places in a fight, but sitting on a horse in plain sight, holding three other prancing, kicking, squalling horses, while the rest of the boys are behind trees, or behind logs, popping at the enemy, is no soft thing. The bullets seemed to pass right over our fellows on foot, and came right among the horses, who twisted around and got tangled up, and made things unpleasant. I was trying to get a stallion I was holding to quit biting my legs, when I saw my little Irishman, who had steered me on to the soft snap, dodge down behind his horse’s head, to escape a bullet that killed one of the horses he was holding, and I said, “This is a fine arrangement you have got me into. This is worse than being in front.” He said he believed it was, as he backed his other horses away from the dying horse, but he said as long as they killed horses we had no cause to complain. There was a sergeant in charge of us “number fours,” and he was as cool as any fellow I ever saw. The sergeant was a nice man, but he was no musician. He was an Irishman, also, and when any bugle-call and when any bugle-call sounded he had to ask some one what it was. There was a great deal of uncertainty about bugle-calls, I noticed, among officers as well as men.