The recollections of a drummer-boy

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Preface To The Revised Edition

The generous words of praise awarded by the press of the country to these Recollections, and the widespread favor with which they have been received throughout tlie hind — by none more so than by the veteransthemselves, and their chiklren— together with the fact that the book has been long out of print, though much inquired for, warrants the publication of a new and enlarged edition in a different and, it is believed, a greatly improved dress. With the exception of the addition of some recently remembered incidents, whicli it is thought the reader will enjoy, the narrative remains unchanged. It is hoped that it may continue to give as great pleasure to many readers to peruse tliese pages as it was to the author to write them.

E ASTON, Pa., August 1, 1SS8.

Preface

As some apology would seem to be necessary for the effort, herewith made, to add yet one more volume to the already overcrowded shelf containing the Nation's literature of the great Civil War, it may be well to say a few words in explanation of the following pages.

Several years ago the writer prepared a brief series of papers for the columns of St. Nicholas., under the title of " liecollections of a' Drummer-Boy." It was thought that these sketches of army life, as seen by a boy, would prove enjoyable and profitable to children in general, and especially to the children of the men who participated in the great Civil War, on one side or the other ; while the belief was entertained that they might at the same time serve to revive in the minds of the veterans themselves long-forgotten or but imperfectly remembered scenes and experiences in camp and field. In the outstart it was not the author's design to write a connected story, but rather simply to prepare a few brief and hasty sketches of army life, drawn from his own personal experience and suitable for magazine purposes. But these, though prepared in such intervals as could with difficulty be spared from the exacting duties of a bus}^ professional life, having been so kindly received by the editors of St. liicJiolas, as well as by the very large circle of readers of that excellent magazine, and the writer having been urgently pressed on all sides for more of the same kind, it was thought well to revise and enlarge the " Recollections of a Drummer-Boy," and to present them to the publii) in permanent book form. In the shape of a more or less connected story of army life, covering the whole period of a soldier's experience from

12 P KEF ACE.

enlistment to muster-out, and carried forward through all the stirring scenes of camp and field, it was believed that these " Recollections," in the revised form, would commend themselves not only to the children of the soldiers of the late war, but to the surviving soldiers themselves ; while at the same time they would possess a reasonable interest for the general reader as well.

From first to last it has been the author's design, v/hile endeavoring faithfully to reflect the spirit of the army to which he belonged, to avoid all needless references of a sectional nature, and to present to the public a story of army life which shoukl breathe in every page of it the noble sentiment of "malice towards none, and charity for all."

In all essential regards, the following pages are what they profess to be, — the author's personal recollections of three years of army life in active service in the field. In a few instances, it is true, certain incidents have been introduced which did not properly fall within the range of the writer's personal experience ; but these have been admitted merely as by the way, or for the sake of being true to the spirit rather than to the letter. Facts and dates have been given as accurately as the author's memory, aided by a carefully kept army journal, would permit; while the names of officers and men mentioned in the narrative are given as they appear in the published muster-rolls, with the exception of several instances, easily recognized by the intelligent reader, in which, for evident reasons, it seemed best to conceal the actors beneath fictitious names. While speaking of the matter of names, an affectionate esteem for a faithful boj-hood's friend and subsequent army messmate constrains the writer to mention that, as " Andy " was the name by which Fisher Gutelius, " high private in the rear rank," was commonly known while wearing the blue, it has been deemed well to allow him to appear in the narrative under cover of this, his army sobriquet.

PREFACE. 13

As no full and complete history of the One Hundred and Fiftieth Kegimeut Pennsylvania Volunteers has ever yet been written, it is hoped that these Recollections of one of its humblest members may serve the purpose of recalling to the minds of surviving comrades the stirrino- scenes through which they passed, as well as of keeping alive in eomino- time the name and memory of an organization which deserved well of its country during the ever-memorable days of now more than twenty years ago.

The author herewith acknowledges his indebtedness for certain facts to a brief sketch of the One Hundred and Fiftieth Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers by Thomas Chamberlain, late Major of the same ; and to John C. Kensill, late sergeant of Company F., for valuable information : and to the editors of *S'^ Nicholas for their uniform courtesy and encouragement.

• It cannot fail to interest the reader to know that the illustrations signed A. C. R. were drawn by Allen C. Redwood, who served in the Confederate army, and witnessed, albeit from the other side of the fence, many of the scenes which his graphic pencil has so admirably depicted.

With these few words of apology and explanation, the author

herewith places The Recollections of a Drummer-Boy in the

hands of a patient and ever-indulgent public.

H. M. K.

jSToRRiSTOAVN, Pa., March, 1, 1883.

Contents

PAGK

CHAPTER ^^

II. First Days in Camp '^'^

Chapter I. Off To The "war

"It is no use, Andy, I cannot study any more. I have struggled against this feeling, and have again and again resolved to shut myself up to my books and stop thinking about the war; but when news comes of one great battle after another, and I look around in the schoolroom and see the many vacant seats once occupied by the older boys, and think of where they are, and what they may be doing away down in Dixie, I fall to day-dreaming and wool-gathering over my books, and it is just no use. I cannot study any more. I might as well leave school, and go home and get at something else."

But my companion was apparently too deeply interested in unravelling the intricacies of a sentence in Caesar to pay much attention to what I had been saying. For Andy was a studious boy, and the sentence with which he had been wrestling when the bell rang for recess could not at once be given up. He had therefore carried his book with him on our walk as we strolled leisurely up the green lane which led past the " Old Academy," and, with his copy of Csesar spread out before him, lay stretched out at full length on the greensward, in the shade of a large cherry-tree, whose fruit was already turning red under the warm spring sun. It was a beautiful, dreamy day in May, early in the summer of 1862, tiie second year of the great Civil Wear.

The air was laden with the s.weet scent of the young clover, and vocal with the song of the robin and the bluebird. The sky was cloudless overhead, and the soft spring breeze blew balmily up from the south. Behind us were the hills, covered with orchards, and beneath us lay

the quiet little village of M , with its one thousand inhabitants,

and beyond it the valley, renowned far and wide for its beauty, while in the farther background, deep blue mountains rose towering toward

the sky.

My companion, apparently quite indifferent to the languid influence of the season, resolutely persevered at his task until he had triumphantly mastered it. Then, closing the book and clasping his hands behind his head as he rolled around on his back, he looked at me with a smile and said, —

" Oh ! you only have the spring fever, Harry."

" No, I haven't, Andy ; it was the same last winter. And don't you remember how excited you were when tlie news came about Fort Sumter last spring? You would liave enlisted right off, had your father consented. Or, may be, you had the spring fever then ? "

"I'm all over that now, and for good and all. I want to study, and as I cannot study and keep on thinking of the war all the time, why I just stop thinking about the war as well as I can."

"Well," said I, "I cannot. Look at our school: why, there are scarcely any large boys left in it any more, only little fellows and the girls. For my part, I ought to get at something else."

"What would you get at? You would feel the same anywhere else. There is Ike Zellers, the blacksmith, for example. When I came past his shop this morning, on my way to school, instead of being busy with hammer and tongs, as he should have been, there he was, sitting on an old harrow outside his shop door whittling a stick, while Elias Foust was reading an account of the last battle from some newspaper. I shouldn't wonder if Elias and Ike both would be enlisting some one of these days. It is the same everywhere. All people feel the excitement of the war — storekeepers, tradesmen, farmers, and even the women ; and we schoolboys are no exception.

"Would you enlist, Andy, if your father would consent? You are old enough."

" I don't think I should, Harry. I want to stick to study. But there is no telling what a person may do when he is once taken down with this war fever. But you are too young to enlist ; they wouldn't take you. And you had therefore better make up your mind to stick to school, and help me at my Caesar. If you want war, there's enough of it in old Julius here to satisfy the most bloodthirsty, I should think."

" You will find more about war, and of a more romantic kind too, in Virgil and Homer, when you get on so far in your studies, Andy. But the warS of Ctesar and the siege of Troy, what are they when compared with the great war now being waged in our own time and country ? The nodding plumes of Hector, and the shining armor of all old Homer's heroes, do not seem to me half so interesting or magnificent as the brave uniforms in which some of our older schoolfellows occasionally come home on furlough."

"Up there on the hillside," said Andy, suddenly rising from his reclining posture, " is cousin Joe Gutelius, hoeing corn in his father's lot. Let's go up and see what he has to say about the war."

We found Joe busy, and hard at work with the young corn. He was a fine young fellow, perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three j-ears of age, tall, well built, of a fine, manly bearing, and looked a likely subject for a recruiting officer, as, in response to our loud " Hello, Joe ! " he left his unfinished row, and came down to the fence ff)r a talk.

"Rather a warm day for work in a coi-nfield, isn't it Joe?"

"Well, yes," said Joe, as he tlu'ew down his hoe and mounted the top rail, wiping away the perspiration, wliich stood in great beads on his brow. "But I believe I'd rather hoe corn than go to school such beautiful weather. Nearly kill me to be penned up in the old academy such a day as this."

" That's what's the matter with Harry, here," said Andy. "He's got the spring fever, I tell him ; but he thinks he's got the war fever. I told him we'd come up here and see what you had to say about it."

"About what? About the spring fever, or about the war?"

" Why, about the Avar, of course, Joe," said Andy, with a smile.

" Well, boys, I know what the war fever is like. I had a touch of it last winter, when the Fifty -first boys went off; and I came very near going along with them, too. But my brothers, Charlie and Sam, both wanted to go, and I declared that if they went I'd go too ; and mother took it so much to heart that we all had to give it up. Charlie and Sam came near joining a cavalry company some months ago, and I shouldn't wonder much if they did get off one of these days ; but, as for myself, I guess I'll have to stay at home and take care of the old folks."

"And I tell Harry, here," said Andy, "that he had better stick to books, and help me with my Caesar."

" Or he might get a hoe, and come and help me with my corn," said Joe, with a smile ; " that would take both the spring fever and the war fever out of him in a jiffy. But there is your bell, calling you to your books. Poor fellows, how I pity you ! "

That my companion would persevere in his purpose of " sticking to books," as he called it, I had no doubt. For, besides being naturally possessed of a resolute will, he was several years my senior, and therefore presumably less liable to be carried away by the prevailing restlessness of the times. But for myself, study continued to grow more and more irksome as the summer drew on apace, so that when, before tlie close of the term, a former schoolmate began to "raise a company," as it was called, for the nine months' service, unable any longer to endure my restless longing for a change, I sat down at my desk one day in the schoolroom, and wrote the following letter liome, —

'^ Deae Papa, — I write to ask whether I ma}^ have your permission to enlist. I find the school is fast breaking up ; most of the boys are gone. I can't study any more. Wont you let me go ? "

Poor father ! In the anguish of his heart it must have been that he sat down and wrote : " You may go I " Without the loss of a moment I was off to the recruiting-office, showed my father's letter, and asked to be sworn in. But alas ! I was only sixteen, and lacked two years of being old enough, and the}' would not take me unless I could swear I was eighteen, which, of course, I could not and would not do.

So, then, back again to the school when the fall term opened, early in August, 1862, there to dream over Horace and Homer, and that one poor little old siege of Troy, for a few days more, while Andy at my side toiled manfully at his Csesar. The term had scarcely well opened, when, unfortunately for my peace of mind, a gentleman who had been my school-teacher some years previously, began to raise a company for the war, and the village at once went into another whirl of excitement, which carried me utterly away ; for they said I could enlist as a drummer-boy, no matter how young I might be, provided I had my father's consent. But this, most unfortunately, had been meanwhile revoked. For, to say nothing of certain remonstrances on the part of my father during the vacation, there had recently come a letter, saying, —

" My deak Boy, — If you have not yet enlisted, do not do so ; for I think you are quite too young and delicate, and I gave my permission perhaps too hastily, and without due consideration."

But alas, dear father, it was too late then, for I had set my veryheart on going. The company was nearly full, and would leave in a few days, and everybody in the village knew that Harry was going for a drummer-boy. Besides, the very evening on which the above letter reached me we had a grand procession, which marched all through the village street, from end to end, and this was followed by an immense mass meeting, and our future captain, Henry W. Crotzer, made a stirring speech, and the band played, and the people cheered and cheered again, as man after man stepped up and put his name down on the list. Albert Foster and Joe Ruhl and Sam Ruhl signed their names, and then Jimmy Lucas and Elias Foust and Ike Zellers and several others followed ; and when Charlie Gutelius and his brother Sam stepped up, with Joe at their heels, declaring that " if they went he'd go too," the meeting fairly went wild with excitement, and the people cheered and cheered again, and the band played " Hail Columbia ! " and the "Star Spangled Banner," and "Away Down South, in Dixie," and — in short, what in the world was a poor boy to do ?

There was an immense crowd of people at the depot that midsummer morning, more than twenty years ago, when our company started off to the war. It seemed as if the whole county had suspended work and voted itself a holiday, for a continuous stream

of people, old and young, poured out of the little village of L ,

and made its way through the bridge across the river, and over the dusty road beyond, to the station where we were to take the train.

The thirteen of us who had come down from the village of M to

join the larger body of the company at L , had enjoyed something

of a triumphal progress on the way. We had a brass band to start with, besides no inconsiderable escort of vehicles and mounted horsemen, the number of which was steadily swelled to quite a procession as

OFF TO THE WAR.

we advanced. The band played, and the flags waved, and the boys cheered, and the people at work in the fields cheered back, and the young farmers rode down the lanes on their horses, or brought their

THE CUMI'AXY STARTS FUR THE WAR.

sweethearts in their carriages, and fell in line with the dusty procession. Even the old gatekeeper, who could not leave his post, became much excited as we passed, gave " three cheers for the Union forever," and stood waving his hat after us till we were hid from sight behind the hills.

Reaching L about nine in the morning, we found the village

all ablaze with bunting, and so wrought up with the excitement that all thought of work had evidently been given up for that day. As we formed in line, and marched down the main street toward the river, the sidewalks were everywhere crowded with people, — with boys who wore red-white-and-blue neckties, and boys who wore fatigue-caps ; with girls who carried flags, and girls who carried flowers ; with women who waved their kerchiefs, and old men who waved their walkingsticks ; while here and there, as we passed along, at windows and doorways, were faces red with long weeping, for Johnny was off to the war, and maybe mother and sisters and sweetheart would never, never see him again.

Drawn up in line before the station, we awaited the train. There was scarcely a man, woman or child in that great crowd around us but had to press up for a last shake of the hand, a last good by, and a last " God bless you, boys ! " And so, amid cheering, and hand-shaking, and flag-waving, and band-playing, the train at last came thundering in, and we were off, with the " Star-Spangled Banner " sounding fainter, and farther away, until it was drowned and lost to the ear in the noise of the swiftly rushing train.

For myself, however, the last good by had not yet been said, for I had been away from home at school, and was to leave the train at a way station some miles down the road, and walk out to my home in the country, and say good by to the folks at home ; and that was the hardest part of it all, for good by then might be good by forever.

If anybody at home had been looking out of door or window that hot August afternoon, more than twenty years ago, he would have seen, coming down the dusty road, a slender lad, with a bundle slung over his shoulder, and — but nobody ivaa looking down the road, nobody was in sight. Even Rollo, the dog, my old playfellow, was asleep somewhere in the shade, and all was sultry, hot, and still.

Leaping lightly over the fence by tlie S2)ring at the foot of the hill, I took a cool draught of water, and looked up at the great red farmhouse above with a throbbing heart, for that was home, and many a sad good by had there to be said, and said again, before I could get off to the war !

Long years have passed since then, but never have I forgotten how pale the faces of mother and sisters became when, entering the room where they were at work, and throwing off my bundle, in reply to their question, " Why, Harry ! where did you come from ? " I answered, " I come from school, and Fm off for the war ! " You may well believe there was an exciting time of it in the dining-room of that old red farmhouse then. In the midst of that excitement, father came in from the field and greeted me with, " Why, my boy, where did you come from ? " to which there was but the one answer, " Come from school, and off for the war ! "

" Nonsense ! I can't let you go ! I thought you had given up all idea of that. What would they do with a mere boy like you ? Why, you'd be only a bill of expense to the Government. Dreadful thing to make me all this trouble ! "

But I began to reason full stoutly with poor father. 1 reminded him, first of all, that I would not go without his consent ; that in two years, and perhaps in less, I might be drafted and sent amongst men iinknown to me, while here was a company commanded by my own school-teacher, and composed of acquaintances who would look after me ; that I was unfit for study or work while this fever was on me, and so on ; till I saw his resolution begin to give way, as he lit his pipe and walked down to the spring to think the matter over.

"If Harry is to go, father," mother says, "hadn't I better run up to the store and get some woolens, and we'll make the- boy an outfit of shirts to-night, yet?"

" Well — yes ; I guess you had better do so."

But when lie sees mother stepping past the gate on her way, he halts her with, —

" Stop ! That boy can't go ! I cant give him up ! "

And shortly after, he tells her that she " had better be after getting that woollen stuff for shirts ; " and again he stops her at the gate with, —

" Dreadful boy ! Why ivill he make me all this trouble ? I can not let my boy go ! "

But at last, and somehow, mother gets off. The sewing-machine is going most of the night, and my thoughts are as busy as it is, until far into the morning, with all that is before me that I have never seen, and all that is behind me that I may never see again.

Let me pass over the trying good by the next morning, for Joe is ready with the carriage to take father and me to the station, and we are soon on the cars, steaming away toward the great camp, whither the company already has gone.

" See, Harry, there is your camp ! " And looking out of the carwindow, across the river, I catch, through the tall tree tops, as we rush along, glimpses of my tirst camp, — acres and acres of canvas, stretching away into the dim and dusty distance, occupied, as I shall soon find, by some ten or twenty thousand soldiers, coming and going continually, marching and countermarching, until they have ground the soil into the driest and deepest dust I ever saw.

I shall never forget my first impressions of camp life as father and I passed the sentry at the gate. They were anything but pleasant ; and I could not but agree with the remark of my father, that, '' the life of a soldier must be a hard life indeed." For as we entered that great camp, I looked into an A tent, the front flap of which was thrown back, and saw enough to make me sick of the housekeeping of a soldier. There was nothing in that tent but dirt and disorder, pans and kettles, tin cups and cracker-boxes, forks and bayonet-scabbards,

OFF TO THF WAB. ' 31

greasy pork and broken hard-tack in utter confusion, and over all and everywhere that insufferable dust. Afterward, when we got into the field, our camps in summer-time were models of cleanliness, and in winter models of comfort, as far, at least, as axe and broom could make them so ; but this, the first camp I ever saw, was so abominable, that I have often wondered it did not frighten the fever out of me.

But once among the men of the company, all this was soon forgotten. We had supper, — hard-tack and soft bread, boiled pork, and strong roffe(! (in tin cups), — fare that father thought "one could live on right well, I guess ; " and then the boys came around and begged fatlier to let me go ; " they would take care of Harry ; never you fear for that;" and so helped on my cause that that night, about eleven o'clock, when we Avere in the railroad station together, on the way home, father said, —

" Now, Harry, my boy, you are not enlisted yet. I am going home on this train ; you can go home with me now, or go with the boys- Which will you do ! "

To which the answer came quickly enough, — too quickly and too eagerly, I have often since thought, for a father's heart to bear it well, —

" Papa, ni go with the boys ! "

" Well, then, good-by, my boy ! And may God bless you, and bring you safely back to me again ! "

The whistle blew " Off brakes ! " the car door closed on father, and I did not see him again for three long, long years.

Often and often, as I have thought over these things since, I have never been able to come to any other conclusion than this : that it was tlie " war fever " that carried me off, and that made poor father let me go. For that "war fever" was a terrible malady in those days. Once you were taken with it, you had a very fire in the bones until your name was down on the enlistment roll. There was Andy, for example, my schoolfellow, and afterward my messmate for three ever-memorable years. I have had no time to tell you how Andy came to be with us ; but with us he surely was, notwithstanding he had so stoutly asserted his determination to quit thinking about the war, and stick to his books.

He was on his way to school the very morning the company was leaving the village, with no idea of going along ; but seeing this, that, and the other acquaintance in line, what did he do but run across the street to an undertaker's shop, cram his schooibooks through the broken window, take his place in line, and march off with the boys without so much as saying good by to the folks at home ! And he did not see his Caesar and Greek grammar again for three years.

Chapter II. First Days In Camp

OiTR first camp was located on the outskirts of Harrisburg, Penn., and was called " Camp Curtin." It was so named in honor of Governor Andrew G. Curtin, the " war governor " of the state of Pennsylvania, who was regarded by the soldiers of his state with a patriotic enthusiasm second only to that with which they, in common with all the troops of the Northern states, greeted the name of Abraham Lincoln.

Camp Curtin was not, properly, a camp of instruction. It was, rather, a mere rendezvous for the different companies which had been recruited in various parts of the state. Hither the volunteers came by hundreds and thousands, for the purpose of being mustered into the service, uniformed and equipped, assigned to regiments, and shipped to the front as rapidly as possible. Only they who witnessed it can form any idea of the patriotic ardor, amounting often to a wild enthusiasm,' with which volunteering went on in those days. Companies were often formed, and their muster rolls filled, in a week, sometimes in a few days. The contagion of enlisting and "• going to the war " was in the very atmosphere. You could scarcely accompany a friend to a way station on any of the main lines of travel without seeing the future wearers of blue coats at the car windows, and on the platforms. Very frequently, whole trains were filled with them, speeding away to the state capital as swift as steam could carry them. They poured into Harrisburg, company by company, usually in citizens' clothes, and marched out of the town a week or so later, regiment by regiment, all glorious in bright new uniforms and glistening bayonets, transformed in a few days from citizens into soldiers, and destined for deeds of high endeavor on many a bloody field.