Читать книгу The 125th Regiment, Illinois Volunteer Infantry: Attention Batallion! - Robert M. Rogers - Страница 13

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Well, Bragg had left us, and we were all alone. So one fine morning the bugle sounded the call to fall in to ranks, and we marched out of camp, back on the road we had come. But not with the same feelings, we were getting tired of this interminable marching, as it seemed to us for no purpose, for the private soldier is generally in blissful ignorance of the movements to be made on the board. Then again many of our comrades were not with us, and we missed their faces and their forms. Sickness had thinned our ranks, death had removed many, and the question rang out, "When are we going to stop?" but the days passed away slowly; the march, march, march, the scarcity of water, and the dust, and our clothing was now beginning to show the marks of hard usage. But we buckled to it and put on as good a face as possible. There was always some fellow who said something whenever he opened his mouth, which would provoke laughter at the most trying time, and the one who could get up a laugh was the hero of the moment, until some one else would say something that beat him, and then he would assume that honor. Once in a while the drum and fife would start up, and that would infuse new life into us, and we would rattle off the miles at a good pace while it lasted; we used to wish they would play all the time, but the fifer's lungs were not made of leather, and the drummer's arms would get tired; so, as the music ceased, we would soon drop back into the old step again. Many a time we thought, and exclaimed like Richard "a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse." Then some fellow would yell out: "you couldn't ride him if you had one, you don't know how," or would make the enquiry if a good mule would not answer as well. And so we passed the time away until one afternoon, tired and thirsty, we found ourselves marching by the side of Green River. The road was at quite an elevation from the water, and as we marched along and looked down upon its green, cool looking surface, choked with dust as we were, we thought it the most beautiful sheet of water that we had ever seen, and would only have been too glad to have plunged into it and drank our fill. But we were nearing Bowling Green, and shortly went into camp. Bowling Green still contained evidences that an army had occupied it recently, for on all sides of us we could see the earth works which had been thrown up by the rebel army, under the command of General Sydney Johnston, before they evacuated the place, after the fall of Fort Donelson.

On the 30th of October, Buell relinquished the command of our army, and turned it over to Major General Rosecrans. Buell had failed to cut off and compel the surrender of Bragg, and was sharply censured for his want of activity in following up the enemy. We were glad to hear of his removal, for we were not much inspired with faith in the generalship of Buell; and the fact was, the escape of Bragg, when it was so evident to the most ignorant soldier that he could have been destroyed, had cast a feeling of depression over us, but now we hoped for better things. We were now about 113 miles from Louisville. Here we received supplies, clothing and ammunition, and one fine morning broke camp for Nashville, Tenn. Here at Bowling Green we had issued to us, for the first time, the regular regulation army hat. It was a decidedly high toned affair, and about as convenient an article for a soldier in the field as the regular out and out "stove pipe" hat would have been. They had enormous tops to them, and a very moderate sized brim and to see a little man don one of these head pieces, and start off with it, was ludicrous. The day after receiving them we were ordered to march, and the journey that day was enlivened by jokes and witty sayings about those new hats. A little fellow would be plodding along when some fellow would yell out: "Say, Sam, get out of that hat, I know you're there for I see your legs." This, and many other like it, were passed around, and received with roars of laughter. But we managed, by denting in the top, to reduce their towering height somewhat, and consequently us short fellows were not noticed so much afterwards. But those hats caused many a hearty laugh. There ought to have been, according to the regulations, a brass front piece to them, and a feather, but these we never got, and it was so much the better, for it was all we could do, that is, some of us, to manage them as it was. Here at Bowling Green, also, our transportation was cut down. Heretofore we had been allowed one wagon and team to a company, now only one wagon and team was allowed to a regiment, besides the quartermaster's teams, and the consequence was that company officers found themselves in a quandary. There had been many of our number left behind us, and their arms and accoutrements they had turned over to their company officers, who were responsible to the government for them. The officers had thrown them into the company wagons, and had brought them along in that way. Now, however, what were they to do with them? There was a mighty flying around to the colonel's headquarters for instructions, and he ordered them to have the arms taken to the quartermaster, and for him to see to it that they were carried forward. They did so, only too glad to be rid of them, and quartermaster Ayres found himself in possession of a most abundant supply of warlike implements for as peaceful a man as he was. How he managed to get them along we do not know; but Ayres was a man equal to any emergency, and brought them in triumph to Nashville.

We were all getting in much better spirits, the weather was cooler and the health of the regiment had improved somewhat. Water was still scarce though, and the roads very dusty. But we had a new general in the person of Rosecrans, or "old Rosy," as we used to call him, and confidence in our new leader inspired our hearts. His past record had been a good one and at any rate we did not have any fear of his loyalty as we had had of Buell's after the battle of Perryville.

One afternoon as we were marching along a fellow came marching by us going to the front, who was crying and swearing in dutch at a fearful rate. We thought at first that he was crazy, but we soon got to talking with him and wanted to know what was the matter. He was a heavy, stout looking man, and belonged to the Second Missouri, who were ahead of us, but in the same division. The tears were streaming down his cheeks, and as we inquired what was the matter, he broke out between his sobs: "Dem tam rebels, dey kill mine brudder at Perryville, tam em! Tam em! Tam em!" This was all we could get out of him in regard to it. But it seems he had remained behind in spite of everything, to see that his dearly loved brother received christian burial at least, and was just catching up with his regiment. We felt very sorry for him, but still, although sympathizing with him in his sorrow, we could not but smile at his actions. He was terribly wrought up, and his tears had formed, with the dust of the road which had settled on his face, a mixture, which, as he wiped his eyes with his hand, had been smeared all over his countenance, and with his loud sobs and his broken English not spoken in soft accents, but bawled out as loud as he could bawl, and his oaths and curses at the rebels who had killed his "brudder," he made altogether a curious looking specimen of the "greenhorn." He was very, very mad about it, and he would, in his present state of mind, have been willing to fight the whole southern confederacy, if opportunity had offered, single handed. He passed on and left us. What became of him I do not know, whether on some other bloody field his spirit went to join the loved brother, who had gone before, or whether he lived to get home in safety, I never could ascertain. But such was army life, we would laugh and joke at the most trivial, and very often at the most solemn things. We would remember a good joke on any body for days, but a solemn, serious matter would soon pass out of our minds.