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THE THORNY PATH OF FOREIGN-BORN OFFICERS.

The soldiers who enlisted early had some fun that the boys missed who went out after things were in good shape and the officers had learned the tactics so they did not have to stop in giving an order until they consulted a drill-book. It took some little time, however, for the young volunteer of ’61 to understand that if he was “just as good as them fellers with the shoulder straps,” that the first word in military tactics was “obey.”

I heard of a lieutenant drilling a squad of recruits who had been neighbors and schoolmates. He put them through with various exercises, such as “right and left face,” “right about face,” “right dress,” “mark time,” etc., and after a while the boys got tired of doing the same things over and over. Finally one spoke up to the officer as follows: “I say, Tom, let’s quit this darn foolin’ and go over to the sutler’s.”

The Second New York Artillery began its career under difficulties. It was cursed with some officers in ’61-’62 whose qualifications only fitted them for service with a mule train.

Men with military training and experience were not plentiful when the war began. Any foreigner with the least bit of military knowledge and who had a fierce looking moustache could easily obtain a commission.

Our first commander was a Colonel Burtnett, who was commonly called “three fingered Jack” by the boys. His command was of brief duration. It was understood that he resigned by request. When he was taking his departure somebody proposed “three groans for our late lieutenant colonel” and they were given with a will.

ONE OF KOSSUTH’S OFFICERS.

Early in the spring of 1862 Col. Gustav von Wagner came to our regiment. He was a Hungarian refugee and had seen service with Kossuth. He claimed to have been chief of artillery under Grant at Fort Donelson, and the Second New York regretted that Grant did not keep him.

The colonel awoke one morning and the first thing his eyes looked upon was a mule dressed in uniform standing demurely in his tent. It was said that he swore in several languages but he never found out who perpetrated the huge joke on him.

The officers of our fort arranged to have a little party one evening, the principal in the arrangements being Lieut. Stewart. The colonel had taken a dislike to Stewart in some way and when he learned what was going on he detailed the lieutenant to command the headquarters guard that night. The colonel occupied a fine house that had been used by Gen. McClellan for his headquarters before he left with his army, and Stewart got even with the colonel by firing off a gun after the party was in full blast. This caused a fright among the pickets who commenced firing, which caused a general alarm that resulted in the breaking up of the party and the regiment had to stand by the guns in the forts all night.

The colonel took the regiment on a long march one day in the direction of Fairfax court house. We skirmished through swamps and waded in streams nearly waist deep. The colonel issued orders that there must not be any “shying” at a mud puddle or creek, every man must go straight through them.

One of our captains was quite a fleshy man and as the weather was very hot the march was hard on him. He was greatly beloved by his men, however, and when we came to the first deep creek two of his soldiers carried him across dry. The colonel rode along just in time to witness the act and he ordered the men to carry the officer back and then the captain was told to wade through.

OLD “QUICKER NOR THAT.”

The most unique character of all was Maj. Roach or old “Quicker-nor-that” as he became known. Maj. Roach was a Scotchman and had seen service in the British army and when he was drilling the regiment and wanted them to close up would yell out, “Quicker-nor-that, there.” “Mind your distance; 18 inches,” and soon the boys got to calling him “Maj. Quicker-nor-that.” A witty Irishman by the name of Mike Lanehan composed some verses, the chorus of which ended with:

“Eighteen inches from belly to back,

Quicker nor that, quicker nor that.”

The boys learned the words and used to sing them at night for Roach’s benefit, which made him furious.

One day when Roach was drilling the men in one of the forts he got hurt on a heavy gun carriage. The major’s tent was just outside the fort and a short cut was made for his benefit by running a plank from the top of the parapet across the ditch, and the injured officer was carried across the plank by two of the men.

A soldier by the name of Pitcher saw them carrying the major across the ditch and sang out, “Dump him, boys, dump the old sinner in the ditch.”

Roach recognized the voice and called back, “I know you, Pitcher, and I’ll break your pitcher for you,” and true to his word he caused the offender to suffer by making a “spread eagle” of him on the wheel of a gun.

Roach’s performances on dress parade and battalion drills made him and us the laughing stock of Phil Kearney’s Jersey brigade and other of McClellan’s troops who were encamped about us.

The major used to prowl around nights and try to find out if any of the sentries were shirking their duties. One night he approached the post of one of our own Co. H. boys whose name was Patrick Devereaux. Pat was a typical son of Erin and withal a good soldier, and as he expressed it did not fear “shoulder straps nor the divil.” He halted old “Quicker-nor-that” and demanded the countersign. This was given and then the major thought he would see if the man knew his duties, and he said, “It’s a pleasant evening, sentry; let me see your gun a minute.” Instantly the point of the bayonet on Pat’s musket was pressed against the officer’s breast, and he was told to “mark time.” Roach thought the man fooling, but Patsy says to him, “Oi’m a bigger man on me post than yersilf, and Oi’l learn ye betther than to be playin’ tricks on a gintleman who is doin’ his duty. Mark time, Oi say, and ye betther step off ‘quicker nor that’ or Oi’l be proddin’ ye wid me bay’net.”

The major swore and threatened, but Pat could not be intimidated and he kept Roach marking time until the officer of the guard relieved him.

Strange to say the major took the matter as a good joke and Devereaux escaped punishment.

A QUIET GAME AFTER TAPS.

I recall another instance when the major got the worst of it. The boys had been forbidden to play cards in their tents after “taps,” when all lights had to be extinguished in the company streets. The cooking shanties were quite a little back of the camp and just over the crest of a deep ravine; so when the boys wanted a quiet game of “5-cent ante” with sutler tickets—for money was pretty scarce then—they would betake themselves to the cook houses where a light could not be seen from the officers’ quarters.

Roach got on to their game, however, and one night planned to surprise them from the rear. He had been observed by someone who notified the poker players and they prepared a little surprise for him. When the major was walking up the back steps Sergt. —— emptied a kettle of bean soup all over him.

The sergeant paid the penalty by losing his chevrons; but I will add that after Roach had been dismissed from the service, the man whom he reduced to the ranks, became one of the best line officers of the regiment and at the assault of Petersburg won a captain’s bars for bravery.

Another odd character among the officers was a certain lieutenant whom the boys named “Spider.”

He was over fond of “commissary” and nearly always wore a pair of rubber boots. The men disliked him and never lost a chance to torment him—when it could be done without being detected—by calling out “here comes ‘Spider’ and his rubber boots.”