Co. Aytch, or a Side Show of the Big Show

by Sam Watkins

  THEN COMES THE FARCE

  From this time forward until the close of the war, everything was a farce as to generalship. The tragedy had been played, the glory of war had departed. We all loved Hood; he was such a clever fellow, and a good man.

  Well, Yank, why don't you come on and take us? We are ready to play quits now. We have not anything to let you have, you know; but you can parole us, you know; and we'll go home and be good boys, you know;—good Union boys, you know; and we'll be sorry for the war, you know; and we wouldn't have the Negroes in any way, shape, form, or fashion, you know; and the American continent has no north, no south, no east, no west—boohoo, boohoo, boohoo.

  Tut, tut, Johnny; all that sounds tolerable nice, but then you might want some favor from Uncle Sam, and the teat is too full of milk at the present time for us to turn loose. It's a sugar teat, Johnny, and just begins to taste sweet; and, besides, Johnny, once or twice you have put us to a little trouble; we haven't forgot that; and we've got you down now—our foot is on your neck, and you must feel our boot heel. We want to stamp you a little—“that's what's the matter with Hannah.”6 And, Johnny, you've fought us hard. You are a brave boy; you are proud and aristocratic, Johnny, and we are going to crush your cursed pride and spirit.

  And now, Johnny, come here; I've something to whisper in your ear. Hold your ear close down here, so that no one can hear: “We want big fat offices when the war is over. Some of us want to be presidents, some governors, some go to congress, and be big ministers to ‘Urup,’ and all those kind of things, Johnny, you know. Just go back to your camp, Johnny, chase round, put on a bold front, flourish your trumpets, blow your horns. And, Johnny, we don't want to be hard on you, and we'll tell you what we'll do for you. Away back in your territory, between Columbia and Nashville, is the most beautiful country, and the most fertile, and we have lots of rations up there, too. Now, you just go up there, Johnny, and stay until we want you. We ain't done with you yet, my boy—O, no, Johnny. And, another thing, Johnny; you will find there between Mt. Pleasant and Columbia, the most beautiful country that the sun of heaven ever shone upon; and half way between the two places is St. John's Church. Its tower is all covered over with a beautiful vine of ivy; and, Johnny, you know that in olden times it was the custom to entwine a wreath of ivy around the brows of victorious generals. We have no doubt that many of your brave generals will express a wish, when they pass by, to be buried beneath the ivy vine that shades so gracefully and beautifully the wall of this grand old church. And, Johnny, you will find a land of beauty and plenty, and when you get there, just put on as much style as you like; just pretend, for our sake, you know, that you are a bully boy with a glass eye, and that you are the victorious army that has returned to free an oppressed people. We will allow you this, Johnny, so that we will be the greater when we want you, Johnny.7

  And now, Johnny, we did not want to tell you what we are going to say to you now, but will, so that you'll feel bad. Sherman wants to ‘march to the sea, while the world looks on and wonders.’ He wants to desolate the land and burn up your towns, to show what a coward he is, and how dastardly, and one of our boys wants to write a piece of poetry about it. But that ain't all, Johnny. You know that you fellows have got a great deal of cotton at Augusta, Savannah, Charleston, Mobile, and other places, and cotton is worth two dollars a pound in gold, and as Christmas is coming, we want to go down there for some of that cotton to make a Christmas gift to old Abe and old Clo, don't you see? O, no, Johnny, we don't want to end the war just yet awhile. The sugar is mighty sweet in the teat, and we want to suck a while longer. Why, sir, we want to rob and then burn every house in Georgia and South Carolina. We will get millions of dollars by robbery alone, don't you see?”

  PALMETTO

  “Hark from the tomb that doleful sound,

  My ears attend the cry.”8

  General J. B. Hood established his headquarters at Palmetto, Georgia, and here is where we were visited by his honor, the Honorable Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederate States of America, and the Right Honorable Robert Toombs, secretary of state under the said Davis. Now, kind reader, don't ask me to write history. I know nothing of history. See the histories for grand movements and military maneuvers. I can only tell of what I saw and how I felt. I can remember now General Robert Toombs' and Hon. Jeff Davis' speeches. I remember how funny Toombs' speech was. He kept us all laughing, by telling us how quick we were going to whip the Yankees, and how they would skedaddle back across the Ohio River like a dog with a tin oyster can tied to his tail. Captain Joe P. Lee and I laughed until our sides hurt us. I can remember today how I felt. I felt that Davis and Toombs had come there to bring us glad tidings of great joy, and to proclaim to us that the ratification of a treaty of peace had been declared between the Confederate States of America and the United States. I remember how good and happy I felt when these two leading statesmen told of when grim visaged war would smooth her wrinkled front, and when the dark clouds that had so long lowered o'er our own loved South would be in the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

  I do not know how others felt, but I can say never before or since did I feel so grand. (I came very near saying gloomy and peculiar). I felt that I and every other soldier who had stood the storms of battle for nearly four long years, were now about to be discharged from hard marches, and scant rations, and ragged clothes, and standing guard, etc. In fact, the black cloud of war had indeed drifted away, and the beautiful stars that gemmed the blue ether above, smiling, said, “Peace, peace, peace.” I felt bully, I tell you. I remember what I thought—that the emblem of our cause was the Palmetto and the Texas Star, and the town of Palmetto, were symbolical of our ultimate triumph, and that we had unconsciously, nay, I should say, prophetically, fallen upon Palmetto as the most appropriate place to declare peace between the two sections.

  I was sure Jeff Davis and Bob Toombs had come there for the purpose of receiving the capitulation of and to make terms with our conquered foes. I knew that in every battle we had fought, except Missionary Ridge, we had whipped the Yankees, and I knew that we had no cavalry, and but little artillery, and only two corps of infantry at Missionary Ridge, and from the way Jeff and Bob talked, it was enough to make us old private soldiers feel that swelling of the heart we ne'er should feel again. I remember that other high dignitaries and big bugs, then the controlling spirits of the government at Richmond, visited us, and most all of these high dignitaries shook hands with the boys. It was all hands round, swing the corner, and balance your partner. I shook hands with Hon. Jeff Davis, and he said howdy, captain; I shook hands with Toombs, and he said howdy, major; and every big bug that I shook hands with put another star on my collar and chicken guts on my sleeve.

  My pen is inadequate to describe the ecstasy and patriotic feeling that permeated every vein and fiber of my animated being. It was Paradise regained. All the long struggles we had followed the Palmetto flag9 through victory and defeat, through storms and rains, and snows and tempest, along the dusty roads, and on the weary marches, we had been true to our country, our cause, and our people; and there was a conscious pride within us that when we would return to our homes, we would go back as conquerors, and that we would receive the plaudits of our people—well done, good and faithful servants; you have been true and faithful even to the end.

  JEFF DAVIS MAKES A SPEECH

  “Sinner come view the ground

  Where you shall shortly lie.”

  I remember that Hon. Jeff Davis visited the army at this place, and our regiment, the First Tennessee, serenaded him. After playing several airs, he came out of General Hood's marquee, and spoke substantially as follows, as near as I can remember:

  Soldiers of the First Tennessee Regiment:—I should have said captains, for every man among you is fit to be a captain. I have heard of your acts of bravery on every battlefield during the whole war, and ‘captains,’ so far as my wishes are concerned, I today make every man of you a captain, and I say honestly today, we
re I a private soldier, I would have no higher ambition on earth than to belong to the First Tennessee Regiment. You have been loyal and brave; your ranks have never yet, in the whole history of the war, been broken, even though the army was routed; yet, my brave soldiers, Tennesseans all, you have ever remained in your places in the ranks of the regiment, ever subject to the command of your gallant Colonel Feild in every battle, march, skirmish, in an advance or a retreat.

  There are on the books of the war department at Richmond, the names of a quarter of a million deserters, yet, you, my brave soldiers, captains all, have remained true and steadfast. I have heard that some have been dissatisfied with the removal of General Joe E. Johnston and the appointment of General Hood; but, my brave and gallant heroes, I say, I have done what I thought best for your good. Soon we commence our march to Kentucky and Tennessee. Be of good cheer, for within a short while your faces will be turned homeward, and your feet will press Tennessee soil, and you will tread your native heath, amid the blue-grass regions and pastures green of your native homes. We will flank General Sherman out of Atlanta, tear up the railroad and cut off his supplies, and make Atlanta a perfect Moscow of defeat10 to the Federal army. Situated as he is in an enemy's country, with his communications all cut off, and our army in the rear, he will be powerless, and being fully posted and cognizant of our position, and of the Federal army, this movement will be the ultima thule11 the grand crowning stroke for our independence, and the conclusion of the war.”12

  ARMISTICE IN NAME ONLY

  About this time the Yankees sent us a flag of truce, asking an armistice to move every citizen of Atlanta south of their lines. It was granted. They wanted to live in fine houses awhile, and then rob and burn them, and issued orders for all the citizens of Atlanta to immediately abandon the city. They wanted Atlanta for themselves, you see.13

  For weeks and months the roads were filled with loaded wagons of old and decrepit people, who had been hunted and hounded from their homes with a relentless cruelty worse, yea, much worse, than ever blackened the pages of barbaric or savage history. I remember assisting in unloading our wagons that General Hood, poor fellow, had kindly sent in to bring out the citizens of Atlanta to a little place called Rough-and-Ready about half way between Palmetto and Atlanta. Every day I would look on at the suffering of delicate ladies, old men, and mothers with little children clinging to them, crying, “O, mamma, mamma,” and old women, and tottering old men, whose gray hairs should have protected them from the savage acts of Yankee hate and Puritan barbarity; and I wondered how on earth our generals, including those who had resigned—that is where the shoe pinches—could quietly look on at this dark, black, and damning insult to our people, and not use at least one effort to rescue them from such terrible and unmitigated cruelty, barbarity, and outrage. General Hood remonstrated with Sherman against the insult, stating that it “transcended in studied and ingenious cruelty, all acts ever before brought to my attention in the dark history of war.”

  In the great crisis of the war, Hardee, Kirby-Smith, Breckinridge, and many brigadiers, resigned, thus throwing all the responsibility upon poor Hood.14

  [Author's note: In the Southern army the question was, who ranked? Not who was the best general, or colonel, or captain—but “who ranked?” The article of rank finally got down to corporals; and rank finally burst the government.]

  I desire to state that they left the army on account of rank. O, this thing of rank!15

  Many other generals resigned, and left us privates in the lurch. But the gallant Cheatham, Cleburne, Granberry, Gist, Strahl, Adams, John C. Brown, William B. Bate, Stewart, Lowery, and others, stuck to us to the last. The sinews of war were strained to their utmost tension.

  A SCOUT

  At this place I was detailed as a regular scout, which position I continued to hold during our stay at Palmetto. It was a good thing. It beat camp guard all hollow. I had answered “hear” at roll-call ten thousand times in these nearly four years. But I had sorter got used to the darn thing.

  Now, reader, I will give you a few chapters on the kind of fun I had for awhile. Our instructions were simply to try and find out all we could about the Yankees, and report all movements.

  One dark, rainy evening, while out as a scout, and, after traveling all day, I was returning from the Yankee outposts at Atlanta, and had captured a Yankee prisoner, who I then had under my charge, and whom I afterwards carried and delivered to General Hood. He was a considerable muggins, and a great coward, in fact, a Yankee deserter. I soon found out that there was no harm in him, as he was tired of war anyhow, and was anxious to go to prison. We went into an old log cabin near the road until the rain would be over. I was standing in the cabin door looking at the rain drops fall off the house and make little bubbles in the drip, and listening to the pattering on the clapboard roof, when happening to look up, not fifty yards off, I discovered a regiment of Yankee cavalry approaching.

  I knew it would be utterly impossible for me to get away unseen, and I did not know what to do. The Yankee prisoner was scared almost to death. I said, “Look, look!” I turned in the room, and found the planks of the floor were loose. I raised two of them, and Yank and I slipped through. I replaced the planks, and could peep out beneath the sill of the house, and see the legs of the horses. They passed on and did not come to the old house. They were at least a half hour in passing. At last the main regiment had all passed, and I saw the rear guard about to pass, when I heard the captain say, “Go and look in that old house.” Three fellows detached themselves from the command and came dashing up to the old house. I thought, “Gone up, sure,” as I was afraid the Yankee prisoner would make his presence known. When the three men came up, they pushed open the door and looked around, and one fellow said “Booh!” They then rode off. But that “Booh!” I was sure I was caught, but I was not.

  “WHAT’S THIS REBEL DOING HERE?”

  I would go up to the Yankee outpost, and if some popinjay of a tacky officer didn't come along, we would have a good time. One morning I was sitting down to eat a good breakfast with the Yankee outpost. They were cavalry, and they were mighty clever and pleasant fellows. I looked down the road toward Atlanta, and not fifty yards from the outpost, I saw a body of infantry approaching. I don't know why I didn't run. I ought to have done so, but didn't. I stayed there until this body of infantry came up. They had come to relieve the cavalry. It was a detail of Negro soldiers, headed by the meanest looking white man as their captain, I ever saw.

  In very abrupt words he told the cavalry that he had come to take their place, and they were ordered to report back to their command. Happening to catch sight of me, he asked, “What is this Rebel doing here?”

  One of the men spoke up and tried to say something in my favor, but the more he said the more the captain of the blacks would get mad. He started toward me two or three times. He was starting, I could see by the flush of his face, to take hold of me, anyhow. The cavalrymen tried to protest, and said a few cuss words. The captain of the blacks looks back very mad at the cavalry. Here was my opportunity, now or never. Uncle Negro looked on, not seeming to care for the cavalry, captain, or for me. I took up my gun very gently and cocked it. I had the gentleman. I had made up my mind if he advanced one step further, that he was a dead man. When he turned to look again, it was a look of surprise. His face was as red as a scalded beet, but in a moment was as white as a sheet. He was afraid to turn his head to give a command. The cavalry motioned their hands at me, as much as to say, “Run, Johnny, run.” The captain of the blacks fell upon his face, and I broke and ran like a quarter-horse. I never saw or heard any more of the captain of the blacks or his guard afterward.

  “LOOK OUT, BOYS”

  One night, five of us scouts, I thought all strangers to me, put up at an old gentleman's house. I took him for a Catholic priest. His head was shaved and he had on a loose gown like a lady's dress, and a large cord and tassel tied around his waist, from which dangled a large bunch of keys. He trea
ted us very kindly and hospitably, so far as words and politeness went, but we had to eat our own rations and sleep on our own blankets.

  At bedtime, he invited us to sleep in a shed in front of his double log cabin. We all went in, lay down, and slept. A little while before day, the old priest came in and woke us up, and said he thought he saw in the moonlight a detachment of cavalry coming down the road from toward the Rebel lines. One of our party jumped up and said there was a company of cavalry coming that way, and then all four broke toward the old priest's room.

  I jumped up, put on one boot, and holding the other in my hand, I stepped out in the yard, with my hat and coat off—both being left in the room. A Yankee captain stepped up to me and said, “Are you No. 200?” I answered very huskily, “No, sir, I am not.” He then went on in the house, and on looking at the fence, I saw there was at least two hundred Yankee cavalry right at me. I did not know what to do. My hat, coat, gun, cartridge-box, and knapsack were all in the room. I was afraid to stay there, and I was afraid to give the alarm. I soon saw almost every one of the Yankees dismount, and then I determined to give the alarm and run. I hallooed out as loud as I could, “Look out, boys,” and broke and run. I had to jump over a garden picket fence, and as I lit on the other side, bang! bang! bang! was fired right after me. They stayed there but a short time, and I went back and got my gun and other accouterments.

  AM CAPTURED

  When I left the old priest's house, it was then good day—nearly sun up—and I had started back toward our lines, and had walked on about half a mile, not thinking of danger, when four Yankees jumped out in the middle of the road and said, “Halt, there! O, yes, we've got you at last.” I was in for it. What could I do? Their guns were cocked and leveled at me, and if I started to run, I would be shot, so I surrendered. In a very short time the regiment of Yankee cavalry came up, and the first greeting I had was, “Hello, you ain't No. 200, are you?” I was taken prisoner.