Читать книгу The 125th Regiment, Illinois Volunteer Infantry: Attention Batallion! - Robert M. Rogers - Страница 9

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Sheridan's name is one which will be forever linked with the history of our country. He was a brave officer, a dashing leader, but we used to think the possessor of the most abominable temper that ever man was blessed or cursed with, and whenever he would ride past with his staff, the weary legs of the men would straighten up, and for a while a new life would seem to inspire us. Whether it was that unknown power that causes some men to be more fitted for the duties of leading men, than others, or whether it was a fear that we might receive a broadside of his oaths, we do not know, but at any rate, during the short time he would ride by, things would assume a more soldierly appearance; a little more order. We remember one afternoon, when along with a comrade, we had managed in some way, to drift considerably to the rear. We were plodding along, however, chatting together, until we came to a sutler who had opened up his wagon of sutler's goods, and was doing a good business with the boys as they marched by. We went up and purchased some cheese and crackers, and placing them in our hats, proceeded to a little mound at the foot of a large tree, to eat them. There we sat munching our crackers and cheese, making remarks on the passers by, and occasionally enjoying a bit of chaff with some fellow, until we began to wonder how many men there could be coming, for by this time we had been there quite a while, and still the stream of humanity flowed by, still the same panorama of infantry, cavalry and artillery, passed before us, and we had come to the conclusion to stay there until they all went by, never once thinking of what a time we would have to catch up with our command. Just at this moment, when we had come to the conclusion to see the end of it, up rode General Sheridan with his staff and orderlies pressing on to the front. We were a little fearful he might see us, but we thought that in all that multitude of humanity and life, we surely were of but small moment, and would escape his eye. But we were doomed to disappointment, for suddenly this salutation, short and decidedly to the point, rang upon our ears: "You men of the 125th Ills., what in—— are you doing there. Move on;" and filling the air full of the hottest oaths aimed at our defenseless heads we incontinently gathered up our hats, with the remnants of our lunch and started for our regiment, which by this time was far in advance. But as we walked along, we were thinking how it was that Sheridan knew we were members of the 125th, was it by any peculiarity in our movements, or was it a part of his business, as general, to know the members of each regiment in his division. Our appreciation of his merits as a great commander were rising rapidly, and we had come to the conclusion that he must have a wonderful memory. So on we went wondering to each other how it was. Suddenly my companion stopped short. "Bob," says he, "I know how it was that old Sheridan knew us."

"How," we asked.

"Why, you old fool, he read it on our knapsacks."

True enough, that was the solution of the problem, for before leaving Louisville, the writer had procured a bottle of white paint, and a brush, and had painted in large letters on each fellow's knapsack, his name, company and regiment. This it was that had revealed to the general our proper place, we had forgotten all about it. We laughed heartily over the matter, and agreed to erase from our knapsacks the tell-tale letters as soon as we arrived in camp.

We were by this time getting well down into Kentucky, and every day we marched through villages and towns, which, but a few short weeks before, had been filled with sounds of life and business activity; but now everything was at a stand still; the store houses deserted, and their doors swinging idly on their hinges, revealing to the passer by naught but a collection of empty shelves and bare counters. The houses, even, were, for the most part, deserted of their occupants. War with its black and devastating influence, was abroad in the land. It was on a Sunday afternoon that we reached Bardstown, a place of considerable size, and as it seemed to us, a place where considerable business had been carried on, but now all was changed. We had been marching very slowly that day, halting every few moments and then advancing. Just as we entered Bardstown the bugle sounded the "Halt," and our line was directly in front of a large brick house, the doors of which were wide open, and coming and going through them were many officers, from the general down to lieutenant. We were tired and travel worn, so we proposed to our partner that we would go and see if some good water could be had. Leaving our place in the ranks we started for the house, and boldly marched in. Our aim was for the kitchen, and as we passed down the hall of the house we could not prevent ourself from looking through the doors of the parlors, as we judged them to be, for they were wide open, and there we saw the remains of what had been a grand feast. We dared not enter, but passed on down the hall, until a slight obstruction in the shape of a little second lieutenant came across our path, and the demand from him of what we were doing there. We replied we wanted water, but did not stop to listen to any remark he might have to make. Just as we reached the back door, a colored waiter boy, belonging to the house, came tearing in, bearing in his hands a pitcher of water going to the parlor. We collared this son of Ham, and demanded that he procure for us a canteen of whisky, with the promise that if he did we would pay him for it. His eyes rolled up in astonishment, and perhaps a little fear, for we were rather vigorous in our demand, and with a "Lor! bress you massa, dar hain't a drap of whisky in de house," he essayed to leave us, but we had a good hold on him, and were going to keep it. We knew he was lying to us, for we had caught a whiff of his breath, which gave him away entirely, as it was redolent of the fumes of "bourbon." He saw we were in earnest, and quickly whispering "come dis way sah," he opened a door in the hall and bid us enter, and wait until he returned. We entered what was, to all appearances, a bed-room, neatly fitted up with furniture, and in one corner a bed of huge dimensions, covered with the whitest and daintiest of counterpanes. It was the first bed we had seen for weeks, and regardless of our dusty clothes, and remembering only that we were tired, and in the enemies' land, we flung ourself, knapsack and all, upon its broad and ample surface. There we laid, resting our weary limbs and looking up at the ceiling, wondering how much longer it would be before our sable friend would appear. The moments kept slipping by, and at last, with a tremendous effort, we raised ourself from the bed intending to return to the regiment. We approached the door and essayed to open it, it was—locked. For a moment we were non-plussed; had we come this far from home to be captured by a "nigger" in this way? What a fool we had been to enter there, but directly other thoughts came into our minds, and we again threw ourself upon the bed with the intention that, if we were captured, we would get all the rest we could out of that bed before we were marched off by rebel guards. But imprisonment was not to be our fate at that time, for suddenly the door flew open, and in came our colored friend, bearing in his hand a large pitcher, which proved to contain, to the very top of it, as good whisky as we had ever drank. To empty the contents of the pitcher into our canteen, was but the work of a moment, and giving our friend a green-back dollar, at which he looked with surprise and earnestly enquired "Is dis good money, massa?" We assured him that it was, and hastened out to find the regiment. Luckily it had not moved from where we had left it, and we fell into place alongside of our partner, to whose thirsty lips my canteen was soon applied. The bugle sounded "forward," and we went, but as a truthful chronicler we are bound to state that under the exhilarating and inspiriting contents of my canteen, my partner soon became hilarious, and when we reached camp I was doing double duty, inasmuch as I was carrying his gun and my own also. It was not the length but the breadth of the road that troubled him. But no evil consequences resulted from it, and as it was winked at by the officers, no harm was done, and the next morning found him all right, and ready for the incidents of the day.