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Detailed Minutiae of Soldier Life in the Army of Northern Virginia, 1861-1865

<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> <h3>SOLDIERS TRANSFORMED.</h3> Sunday night, April 16th, the two survivors sat down to a cozy supper at the farmer's house. Plentiful it was, and, to hungry travelers, sweet and satisfying. The presence of the farmer's wife and children, two lady refugees, and an old gentleman, who was also a refugee, added greatly to the novelty and pleasure of the meal. After supper the soldiers were plied with questions till they were almost overcome by fatigue and about to fall asleep in their chairs. At last the farmer, with many apologies, led them kindly to the best room in the house, the parlor, where they spread their blankets on the carpeted floor and were soon sound asleep. In the morning the breakfast was enough to craze a Confederate soldier. Buttermilk-biscuit, fresh butter, eggs, milk, fried bacon, coffee! After the breakfast, business. The farmer proposed to feed and lodge the soldiers, and pay them eleven dollars monthly, for such manual labor as they could perform on his farm. The soldiers, having in remembrance the supper and breakfast, accepted the terms. The new "hands" were now led to the garden, where the farmer had half an acre plowed up, and each was furnished with an old, dull hoe, with crooked, knotty handles. The farmer then, with blushes and stammering, explained that he desired to have each particular clod chopped up fine with the hoe. The soldiers—town men—thought this an almost superhuman task and a great waste of time, but, so that the work procured food, they cared not what the work might be, and at it they went with a will. All that morning, until the dinner hour, those two hoes rose and fell as regularly as the pendulum of a clock swings from side to side, and almost as fast. The negro men and women in the neighborhood, now in the full enjoyment of newly-conferred liberty, and consequently having no thought of doing any work, congregated about the garden, leaned on the fence, gazed sleepily at the toiling soldiers, chuckled now and then, and occasionally explained their presence by remarking to each other, "Come here to see dem dar white folks wuckin." There were onions growing in that garden, which the soldiers were glad to pull up and eat. It was angel's food to men who had fed for months on salt bacon and corn bread without one mouthful of any green thing. When dinner time came the "hands" were, to say the least, very decidedly hungry. <ANTIMG src="images/illus24.jpg" alt="wuckin" /> SEE DEM WHITE FOLKS WUCKIN Buttermilk-biscuit figured prominently again, and the soldiers found great difficulty in exercising any deliberation in the eating of them. It really seemed to them that, were it reasonable behavior, they could devour every morsel provided for the entire family. But when they had devoured about two thirds of all there was to eat, and the host said, "Have another biscuit?" they replied, "No, thank you, plenty—greatest plenty!" all the while as hungry as when they sat down. It was only a question of who was to be hungry—the soldiers or the children. There was not enough for all. After dinner the survivors went again to the garden and chopped those clods of earth until the merry voice of the farmer called them to supper. At supper there was a profusion of flowers which, the kind lady of the house explained, were there to cheer the soldiers. She had noticed they were sad, and hoped that this little attention would cheer them. But the thing the soldiers most needed to enliven them was more to eat. They were not feeling romantic at all. After the supper the whole family adjourned to the parlor and were entertained with some good old-fashioned piano playing and homespun duets and solos. The veterans added their mite to the entertainment in the shape of a tolerably fair tenor and an intolerable bass. Singing in the open air, with a male chorus, is not the best preparation for a parlor mixed quartette. When the war ceased the negroes on the farm had left their quarters and gone out in search of a glorious something which they had heard described as "liberty," freedom, "manhood," and the like. Consequently the "quarters" suggested themselves to the farmer as a good place for the new field hands to occupy for sleeping apartments. They were carried to an out-building and shown their room, ten by fifteen feet, unplastered, greasy, and dusty. The odor of the "man and brother" did cling there still. A bench, a stool, an old rickety bedstead, and a bed of straw, completed the fitting out of the room. Save for the shelter of the roof, anywhere in the fields would have been far preferable. The first night disclosed the presence of fleas in abundance, and other things worse. While it was yet dark the farmer, still somewhat embarrassed by the possession of the new style of laborer, began to call, "Time to get up bo—gentlemen!" "Hallo there!" bang, bang, bang! After a while the new hands appeared outside, and as they looked around noticed that the sun was looking larger and redder than they remembered it and too low down. The morning air was chilling, and grass, bushes, everything, dripping with dew. The farmer led the way to the stable yard, and pointing to a very lively, restless, muscular young bull with handsome horns and glaring eyes, said he was to be yoked and hitched to the cart. If he had asked them to bridle and saddle an untamed African lion they would not have been more unwilling or less competent. So the farmer, telling them the animal was very gentle and harmless, proceeded to yoke and hitch him, hoping, he said, that having once seen the operation, his new hands would know how. The yoke was a sort of collar, and when the hitching was done the bull stood in the shafts of the cart just as a horse would. Instead of a bridle and reins a heavy iron chain with links an inch and a half long was passed around the base of the animal's horns. The driver held the end of the chain and managed the animal by giving it tremendous jerks, which never failed to thrill the bull with agony, if one might judge from the expression of his countenance and the eagerness with which he rammed his horns into pine-trees, or anything near, whenever he felt the shock. The soldiers constantly marveled that his horns did not drop off. But they were not familiar with country life, and especially ignorant of the art of driving an ox-cart. <ANTIMG src="images/illus25.jpg" alt="bull" /> Bull Team After breakfast the younger of the two survivors was told to take the cart, drawn by the animal already described, and go down into the woods after a load of cord-wood for the kitchen fire. The trip to the woods was comparatively easy. The wood was soon loaded on the cart, and the journey home commenced. After going a few yards the animal concluded to stop. His driver, finding that coaxing would not induce him to start, slacked the chain, gave it a quick, strong jerk, and started him. He went off at a fearful rate, with his nose on the ground and his tail flying like a banner in the air. In a moment he managed to hang a sapling which halted him, but summoning all his strength for a great effort, he bent himself to the yoke, the sapling slowly bent forward, and the axle mounted it. In another moment the sapling had righted itself, but the cart was turned over completely, and the wood on the ground. There were a great many mosquitoes, gnats, and flies in those woods, and they were biting furiously. Possibly that may account for the exasperated condition of the driver and his use of strong expressions there. The cart was righted, the wood piled on again, and, strange to say, got out of the woods without further mishap. But in order to reach the house it was necessary to drive up the slope of a hill-side, with here and there a stump. On the way up the driver saw a stump ahead and determined to avoid it. So he gave the chain a shake. But the animal preferred to "straddle" the stump, and would have succeeded but for the fact that it was too high to pass beneath the axle. As soon as he felt the resistance of the stump against the axle, he made splendid exertions to overcome it, and succeeded in walking off with the body of the cart, leaving the axle and wheels behind. He didn't go far, however. The farmer came down and released the weary animal. The survivor then "toted" the wood, stick by stick, to the house, and learned thereby the value of cord-wood ready to hand. People who are raised in the country have simple ways, but they can do some things much better than town-people can. They are useful people. They are not afraid of cattle or horses. The next day this awful animal was yoked to a plow and placed under the care of the elder of the survivors, who was to plow a field near the house. In a few minutes he did something displeasing to the bull, which started him to running at a fearful speed. He dashed away towards the house, the plow flying and flapping about like the arms of a flail; tore through the flower-beds, ripping them to pieces; tore down all the choice young trees about the house; frightened the ladies and children nearly to death, and demoralized the whole farm. He was at last captured and affectionately cared for by the farmer, who, no doubt, felt that it was a pity for any man to be compelled to trust his valuable stock to the management of green hands. In the mean time the "other man" had been furnished with a harrow and a mule and sent to harrow a field. The farmer pointed, carelessly no doubt, to a field and said, "Now you go there and drag that field. You know how, don't you? Well!" So he went and dragged that old harrow up and down, up and down, for many a weary hour. Towards dinner time he heard a voice in the distance, as of some one in distress. "Heigh! Ho-o-o-o! Say there! Stop! Sto-o-o-o-op! Hold on!" There came the farmer running, panting, gesticulating, and screaming. Standing in astonishment the agricultural survivor awaited his arrival and an explanation of his strange conduct. As soon as the farmer had breath to speak he said, "Ah, me! Oh my! Mister, my dear sir! You have gone sir, and sir, you have tore up all my turnip salad!" And he wept there sorely. You see the farmer pointed out the field carelessly, and the "hand" got on the wrong one. He noticed some vegetation shooting up here and there, but supposed it was some weed the farmer wished to eradicate. Town-people don't know everything, and soldiers are so careless. The three refugees before mentioned were an old gentleman, his aged wife, and their widowed daughter. Having lost their home and all their worldly possessions, they had agreed to work for the farmer for food and lodging. The old gentleman was acting somewhat in the character of coachman; his wife was nurse; and the widowed daughter was cook and house-servant. The three were fully the equals if not the superiors of the family in which they were serving. Happily for them they soon got some good news, and drove away in their own carriage. The farmer did the best he could for them while they stayed, and for his survivors; but he was burdened with a large family, a miserably poor farm, deep poverty, and hopeless shiftlessness. One day the farmer made up his mind to cultivate a certain field, in the centre of which he had an extensive cow-pen, inclosed by a ten-rail fence. To prepare the way he wanted that fence taken down, carried rail by rail to the corner of the field, and there piled up. He put one of his new hands to work at this interesting job, and went home, probably to take a nap. The survivor toted rails that day on one shoulder until it was bleeding, and then on the other until that was too sensitive. Then he walked over to see how the other "hand" was getting along with the horse and mule team and the harrow. He found him very warm, very much exasperated, using excited language, beating the animals, and declaring that no man under the sun ever encountered such formidable difficulties in the pursuit of agricultural profit. He explained that the horse was too large and the mule too small; the traces were too old, and would break every few yards; the harness was dropping to pieces; the teeth constantly dropping out of the harrow; and the harrow itself ready to tumble into firewood. In addition to these annoyances, the mule and the horse alternated between going the wrong way and not going at all. The man almost wept as he described the aggravating calmness of the animals. When a trace broke they turned, gazed on the wreck, stood still, groaned (by way of a sigh), and seemed to say, "One more brief respite, thank Providence! Fifteen minutes to tie up that old chain, at least!" After a careful survey of the situation and some tolerably accurate guesses as to the proximity of the dinner hour, the two battered remnants of the glorious old army decided to suspend operations, and slowly wended their way to the house: one carrying his lacerated shoulders, and the other steering the remains of the harrow. It had been agreed—indeed, the "remnants" had insisted—that they were to be directed about their work and made to serve exactly as the negro hands would have been had they remained. But, so novel was the situation, the farmer had constantly to be reminded of his authority. At last a bright idea occurred to the farmer. He would undertake a little extra-fine work for a neighbor, and thus relieve the survivors of the monotony of the hoe, the plow, and the harrow. Some old ladies wanted their household goods moved from one house to another, and we were to undertake the job. The entire force consisted of the mule and the cart thereto belonging, and the bull and his cart. The mule had precedence in the line, and was closely followed by the bull. The farmer walked in front as pioneer, the elder survivor drove the mule, and the hero of the cow-pen held the chain which agonized the bull when necessary. At the brow of a certain long hill, which the humble mule had quietly walked down, the bull halted for meditation. His impatient and less romantic driver thoughtlessly gave the chain a rude jerk. In an instant he felt himself whirled down that hill at breakneck speed. Almost simultaneous with the start was the shock of the stop. Picking himself up, the driver found his cart securely fastened to a pine-tree, which was jammed between the wheel and the body of it. The steed was unhurt, but excited. After a long coaxing the farmer persuaded him to back far enough to disengage the cart, and the progress continued. The furniture was found in a small room, up a crooked and narrow stairs. Nothing was as large as the furniture. How to get it out was a conundrum. One of the survivors suggested to the farmer to knock off the roof of the house, and take it out that way. But he wouldn't hear of it. Finally, the cart was driven under the eaves, and while "those whose past services had endeared them to their countrymen" rolled the furniture out of the window and lowered it "by hand" from the eaves, the farmer stowed it in the cart. The ladies, though greatly agitated by the imminent danger of the furniture, found time to admire the ingenuity and originality of the plan and the intrepid daring of its execution. The farmer, who had several times been in danger of having himself mashed flat, was entirely overlooked. Both the carts being loaded, the train moved off in good order. After a few days the farmer mounted one of the men, "not conquered, but wearied with victory," on the mule, gave him an old meal-bag, and sent him to a neighbor's for meal and bacon. He got, say, a peck of one and a pound or two of the other. This proceeding was repeated at intervals of a day or two, and finally led to the conclusion that the farmer was living from hand to mouth certainly, and in all probability on charity. Besides, the "new hands" felt a growing indisposition, owing to the meagre supplies on the table, to allow themselves any latitude in the matter of eating. So they resolved to try the good old plan of days gone by, and send out a foraging party. The plans were discussed at length, and everything decided. One morning, early, the senior of the "endeared" survivors took the road for Richmond, distant about fourteen miles, intending there to lay in food, tobacco, pipes, information, and any other little thing calculated to brighten life on a farm. During his absence the other forlorn survivor groaned with impatience and doubt, questioning the possibility of a man returning to such a place after seeing the luxurious supplies of good eating on exhibition by the Yankee sutlers in Richmond. But he did return, like a good comrade, bringing his "plunder" with him. He made the round trip of twenty-eight miles on foot, and at midnight reached the "quarters" with cold ham, good bread, pipes, smoking tobacco, chewing tobacco, a few clean clothes, and a good pair of shoes, which one of the party needed. These were the gift of an old friend in town. Sitting on the bedside, as morning approached, they made a hearty meal, and then smoked, smoked, smoked, as only men can smoke who love to smoke and have not had the wherewithal for a week or two. The returned forager told of the strange sights he had seen in town. Some young Confederates, who were smart, were at work in the ruins cleaning bricks at five dollars a day. Others had government work, as clerks, mechanics, and laborers, earning from one to five dollars a day. The government had established commissary stores at different points in the city, where rations were sold, at nominal prices, to those who could buy, and supplied gratis to those who could not. He had seen gray-haired old gentlemen, all their lives used to plenty, standing about these places, waiting "their turn" to "draw." Soldiers marched by twos and fours and by companies, everywhere. Captains and lieutenants, sergeants and corporals, were the masters of the city and a sort of temporary Providence, dictating what sort of clothes the people were to wear, what they might eat, what they might do, what they might say and think; in short, allowing the people to live, as it were, on a "limited" ticket. But among other things the forager brought information to the effect that he had secured employment for both at the cheering rate of five dollars per week. So one day these two "laid down the shovel and the hoe," and made most excellent time for Richmond, arriving there early in the day, and entering at once upon the new work. <ANTIMG src="images/illus26.jpg" alt="buttons" /> C.S. Buttons off During the stay at the farm the survivors felt that they were not yet returned to civil life, but "foraging" on the neutral ground between war and peace,—neither soldiers nor citizens. But now, in regular employment, in a city,—their own city!—with so much per week and the responsibility of "finding themselves," and especially after the provost made them cut the brass buttons off their jackets, and more especially after they were informed that they must take the oath before doing anything else, they began to think that probably the war was nearing its end. But a real good hearty war like that dies hard. No country likes to part with a good earnest war. It likes to talk about the war, write its history, fight its battles over and over again, and build monument after monument to commemorate its glories. A long time after a war, people begin to find out, as they read, that the deadly struggle marked a grand period in their history! <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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