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CHAPTER V
General Grant as Commander-in-chief with the Army of the Potomac – How Grant Fought His Men – Not a Retreating ‘Man – The Overland Campaign – The Grand Finale – After the War – The Old Commander in Troy – En Route to MacGregor – Mustered Out.
WHEN U. S. Grant was promoted to lieutenant-general, and assigned to command all the armies of the United States, the announcement was received by the Army of the Potomac without any marked evidence of approval or disapproval. There was no enthusiasm whatever among the troops in winter quarters around Warrenton.
A few expressed the opinion that the “Western importation” would not come up to the country’s expectations when brought face to face with the great rebel chief, who was personally acquainted with every inch of the ground on which the battles of Virginia must be fought. Then there was a feeling, though not outspoken to any great extent, that the new-comer, being a stranger to Lee’s tactics, and unacquainted with the Eastern troops, would be placed at such a disadvantage, that the Confederate leader would be enabled to “play all around” Grant, and demoralize the Union army. The veterans of the grand old Army of the Potomac were prepared to fight – to the death, if need be – no matter who received the three stars of a lieutenant-general. They were loyal to their flag, and that carried with it loyalty to the new commander.
Probably it did not occur to a dozen soldiers in the Army of the Potomac that Grant would adopt tactics of his own, instead of following in the beaten paths of former commanders. No one suspected that the lieutenant-general would be able to knock the bottom out of the Southern Confederacy inside of twelve months after his first order for the advance of the army had been promulgated. We all believed that the Union cause would triumph. But when? Three years had rolled round since the rebels fired on Sumter. And “Uncle Robert,” with his veterans in butternut, still flaunted the stars and bars as defiantly as ever, within a few miles of the national capital.
Company I, First Massachusetts cavalry, received the news at first in the same spirit that other companies in our locality received it. The new commander’s qualifications were discussed in the light of what had been heard of his career in the West. How much light we had received may be inferred from a discussion around the reserve picket fire on Water Mountain, a detachment of the Sixth Ohio and First Pennsylvania cavalry being on duty with our regimental detail:
“Who’s this Grant that’s made lieutenant-general?”
“He’s the hero of Vicksburg.”
“Well, Vicksburg wasn’t much of a fight. The rebs were out of rations, and they had to surrender or starve. They had nothing but dead mules and dogs to eat, as I understand it.”
“Yes; but it required a good deal of strategy to keep Pemberton’s army cooped up in Vicksburg till they were so weak for want of grub that they couldn’t skedaddle even if they had found a hole to crawl out of.”
“I don’t believe Grant could have penned any of Lee’s generals up after that fashion. Early, or Long-street, or Jeb Stuart would have broken out some way and foraged around for supplies.”
“Maybe so.”
“Pemberton couldn’t hold a candle to Lee.”
“Of course not.”
“What else has Grant done?”
“He has whipped the Johnnies every time they have faced him, all the way from Fort Donelson to Chattanooga.”
“He’s a fighter, then?”
“That’s what they call him.”
“Bully for Grant!”
“Where does he hail from?”
“Galena, Ill. He was clerking in a leather store when the war broke out.”
“I don’t care if he was in Illinois when the war began, he was born in Ohio, graduated at West Point, and served in Mexico and out West.”
“Hurrah for Ohio!” (chorus of the Sixth Ohio cavalry). “Hurrah for Grant!”
“Hurrah!”
“Hurrah!”
“Hurrah!”
“Tiger!”
I do not know but what the “Ohio idee” was inaugurated on our picket line away back there in 1864. At any rate the Sixth Ohio boys insisted, when they were assured that the lieutenant-general was a native of that State, that “Bob Lee’s goose was as good as cooked already.” It was rather a crude way of expressing a prophecy that proved as true as Holy Writ. The Ohio Volunteers were ready to cross sabers with the enemy without more ado. Grant was from Ohio, and that settled it.
The Bay State boys indorsed Grant after his record had been established. To be sure there was our own Gen. Butler, the hero of New Orleans. Butler was then in command of the Army of the James, with Fortress Monroe as his base of supplies. Somehow we had come to associate Butler with naval expeditions, and never thought of him in connection with a campaign on land beyond the support of the gunboats. It is probable that our estimates of military men were influenced by what we read in the newspapers. One of the boys declared that in a description of the capture of New Orleans he had read, mention was made of Butler being “lashed to the maintop,” while the fleet under Farragut was fighting its way up the Mississippi under fire from the guns of Forts Jackson and St. Philip. Said an Ohio trooper:
“I don’t believe that story.”
“Neither do I. I’m only telling you what I read.”
“I think Butler had better stay in the navy.”
“But he isn’t a sailor; he’s a major-general of volunteers.”
“Well, there’s no telling how he might cut up on dry land. He’d better keep his sea legs on and stay where if he gets whipped he can’t run.”
The veterans from the Keystone State had not lost faith in “Little Mac.” They contended that McClellan had been handicapped just at a moment when he was “about to execute a coup de main that would prove a coup de grâce to the Southern Confederacy!” Meade was the second choice of the Pennsylvanians. His splendid victory over Lee at Gettysburg had brought him into the front rank. He had won the gratitude of the whole North, Copperheads excepted. Checking Lee’s advance Northward, whipping the rebel army and compelling the defeated Confederacy to “about face” and put for home, gave Gen. Meade a big place in the hearts of the soldiers and the loyal people of the Keystone State. Surely the patriots of the North had good cause to rejoice on the eighty-seventh anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. On that day Grant’s victorious army raised the stars and stripes over the rebel fortifications at Vicksburg, and the Mississippi was opened to the sea; and Lee’s army of Northern Virginia was retreating from the scene of its unsuccessful attack on Meade’s army at Gettysburg.
Within forty-eight hours after the Union troops had crossed the Rapidan under the direction of Gen. Grant, there was not a soldier in the Army of the Potomac but what felt that the lieutenant-general meant business. The official records on file at Washington show that during that two days’ terrible struggle in the Wilderness – May 5 and 6, 1864 – the loss sustained by the Army of the Potomac was 13,948, of which 2,261 were killed, 8,785 wounded and 2,902 taken prisoners or missing. Then came Spottsylvania, with an aggregate Union loss of 13,601. The total loss sustained by the Army of the Potomac, the Army of the James and by Sheridan’s operations in the valley, from May 1, 1864, to the surrender of Lee at Appomattox, April 9, 1865, is given in official compilations at 99,772 – 14,601 killed, 61,452 wounded and 23,719 missing. In the meantime the Federal forces operating in Virginia captured 81,112 Confederates, and Lee’s killed and wounded are believed to have been equal to Grant’s, but the “scattering” of the rebels after Richmond fell, and the destruction of Confederate records, made it impossible to arrive at the exact figures.
As already stated, the veterans of the Army of the Potomac were satisfied that Grant was a fighting man. During the period beginning with the opening skirmish in the Wilderness, and continuing down to the end of the conflict at Appomattox, there was not wanting evidence of Grant’s determination to “fight his men” for all they were worth whenever opportunity presented for hammering the rebels. There was no going back this time. It was “On to Richmond” in earnest. The Army of the Potomac was ready to be led against the enemy. There was general rejoicing all along the line when the command was given, “By the left flank, forward!” and the Federals moved toward Spottsylvania instead of retreating across the Rapidan, as President Lincoln said any previous commander of the Army of the Potomac would have done at the close of such a battle as that fought in the Wilderness.
In Richardson’s “Personal History of U. S. Grant,” it is stated that in the rebel lines it was believed that our army was falling back at the close of the conflict in the Wilderness. The account continues:
Gordon said to Lee: “I think there is no doubt but that Grant is retreating.”
“You are mistaken,” replied the Confederate chief earnestly, “quite mistaken. Grant is not retreating; he is not a retreating man.”
Lee was right. The Army of the Potomac was never again marched back across the Rapidan until after the backbone of the Confederacy had been broken, and the gallant Union soldiers were en route to Washington to be mustered out.
I first saw Gen. Grant while the battle of the Wilderness was going on. In changing position during the fight, our regiment was marched around by Meade’s headquarters. There were a dozen or more officers grouped about Gen. Grant and Gen. Meade. The latter wore the full uniform of a major-general, including sword and sash. He was somewhat fussy in giving directions, and a stickler for red tape. But Meade was a soldier “from heels up.” Grant was plainly dressed, and wore no sword. His coat was unbuttoned, and not until he was pointed out as the commander-in-chief was he recognized by the troopers who were riding across the field.
“There’s Gen. Grant.”
“Where?”
“On the left of Gen. Meade.”
“That officer with his coat open?”
“Yes; that’s Grant.”
Off went our caps, and the commander acknowledged our cheer by raising his hat.
Just then there was a terrific firing along Hancock’s front, and Grant galloped over in that direction after a moment’s conversation with Meade. We took up the trot, and in a few minutes found plenty to do out on the road leading to Todd’s tavern. When a breathing spell came, the boys had their say about the lieutenant-general.
“I expected to see him all covered with gold lace and other fixin’s,” said one.
“He looks as if he would stay with ‘em till somebody cried enough.”
“He’s got good qualities, anyway,” remarked Taylor.
“How can you tell?”
“Because he smokes fine cigars, and rides a good hoss. I got a smell of that cigar as he cantered by to see what was going on in front of the second corps. I think – ”
The discussion was cut short by another attempt of the Johnnies to hustle us back from the position held by our brigade. We protested so vigorously that the rebels retreated after making three or four dashes against our advance squadrons. It was warm work in the Wilderness. One of our boys exclaimed:
“If any of us get out of this Wilderness alive, our chances will be good to see the end of the Southern Confederacy.”
“Yea, verily,” groaned a corporal who had been shot in the arm.
That Grant had no suspicion of being in a tight box, as the rebel sympathizers at the North declared he was, is shown by the fact that at the very moment when his defamers asserted he was so badly crippled that had Lee attacked the Union army Grant’s forces would have been destroyed, the lieutenant-general was so much on the aggressive that he was marching to renew the battle at Spottsylvania, and felt able to spare Sheridan and his splendid cavalry corps for a raid on Lee’s communications.
We saw Grant again when we rejoined the army; at Cold Harbor, on the march to the south side of the James several times, and during the assaults in front of Petersburg. While in winter quarters we saw the lieutenant-general often at City Point and along the line, and the more we saw of him the higher he rose in our estimation. Then came the campaign of 1865, ending with the surrender of the rebel army at Appomattox. Grant was a modest officer, not given to display, but when the Army of the Potomac awoke to the fact that Lee’s army was in the “last ditch,” then, and not till then, did the soldiers begin to appreciate the true greatness of the commander-in-chief.
The downfall of Richmond and the capture of Lee’s army silenced even the assistant Confederates at the North. It was a grand victory – a magnificent triumph of superior generalship combined with a patriotism that had never wavered in the face of armed rebellion.
After the surrender I next saw Grant in Washington on the grand review in May, 1865. He was on the stand in front of the White House with a large crowd of dignitaries, including President Johnson.
I saw the old commander but three times after the war closed. The first time was on the occasion of his visit to Troy, N. Y., several years ago. He attended and spoke at a public installation of Post Willard, Grand Army of the Republic, at Music Hall. He was accompanied to the city by Governor Cornell, and a grand parade was had in which all the local military organizations and veterans participated. The general and the governor occupied a carriage with Gen. J. B. Carr and Honorable John M. Francis, and dined with Mr. Francis at his residence. I was glad of the opportunity to grasp the old commander’s hand.
I had the pleasure, as a representative of the Troy Daily Times, to accompany the Grant family from Albany to Saratoga about the middle of June, 1885. It was, indeed, a pleasure to meet the hero of Appomattox again, but the heart of the soldier who had served under Grant from the Wilderness to Appomattox and had been present when the surrender took place, was saddened to find the old warrior only a shadow of his former self. Only once on the trip to Mount MacGregor did the general display any of that martial spirit that twenty years before had animated the commander-in-chief and inspired his gallant army. It was at Saratoga Springs during his transfer from the palace coach on which he traveled from New York to Saratoga to the car that was to convey him up the mountain to MacGregor. The Grand Army veterans and the local national guard company gave the distinguished visitor a military salute. The general raised himself on his crutches, took in the situation at a glance, and as he acknowledged the salute with his hand, the old-time light came into the eye, and the foremost general of modern times was recognized in the person of the almost helpless invalid.
Thursday, July 23, 1885, the news of the brave general and honored ex-President’s death was flashed over the wires from the top of Mount MacGregor, and a whole nation was in mourning. Old soldiers met in the streets and grasped each other by the hand. “The old commander’s dead,” was about all they could say; their sorrow was too deep for words. From all sections of the Union, and from across the ocean messages of condolence and sympathy were sent to the bereaved family at MacGregor.
I attended the funeral of the dead hero at Mount MacGregor, Tuesday, August 4, 1885. Of the pallbearers two, Buckner and Joe Johnston, had fought under the stars and bars, while Sherman and Sheridan had been the deceased commander’s most trusted lieutenants. Never before had a funeral taken place under such circumstances. The exercises were remarkably impressive. The closing verse of the beautiful hymn which was sung before the Rev. Dr. J. P. Newman began his memorial sermon seemed particularly appropriate:
“When ends life’s transient dream;
When death’s cold, sullen stream
Shall o’er me roll;
Blest Saviour, then in love,
Fear and distress remove;
O bear me safe above
A ransom’d soul.”
After Dr. Newman’s glowing tribute came the closing hymn, led by Mrs. Whitney, soprano, of Boston, and in which the congregation joined:
“Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
E’en though it be a cross
That raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be —
Nearer, my God, to Thee!
Nearer to Thee!”
As the echoes of the general’s favorite hymn rang through the tall trees that surmounted the mountain top, the benediction was pronounced, and the remains of the old commander were borne to the funeral train. Gen. Hancock was in charge. Down the mountain to Saratoga the train proceeded. At the village the casket was transferred to the funeral car in which the remains were taken to Albany and subsequently to New York. The gallant Sherman, Sheridan, Hancock and other noble heroes have since answered their last roll-call on earth – gone to swell the ranks of the great majority beyond the river. In a few years the veterans who fought under Grant will all pass over, but their deeds of valor will ever live in song and story. The name of Grant is inscribed on the nation’s roll of patriots side by side with that of the martyred Lincoln. Of the hero of Appomattox it can be truly said that he was —
“Our greatest, yet with least pretense,
Great in council and great in war,
Foremost captain of his time,
Rich in saving common sense,
And, as the greatest only are,
In his simplicity sublime.”
Note – This chapter was published in the Troy Daily Times at the time of Gen. Grant’s death, and it is deemed best to insert it without change, although the events are not presented in chronological order with the other chapters. – S. P. A.
CHAPTER VI
The Company Cook and the Soldiers’ Rations – Soap in the Soup – A Stag Dance – The Army Sutler – A Whiskey Barrel Tapped at Both Ends – The Long Roll – Breaking up – Tinter Quarters – Good Things from Home – Stripped for the Fight.
IN winter quarters kitchens were erected and men were detailed from each company to act as cooks. It was easy enough to find soldiers who would sing out “here!” when the first sergeant inquired if there was a good cook in the ranks. Thoughts of extra food and “every night in bed” sometimes prompted men who had never even fried a slice of pork to step to the front and announce themselves as experts in the culinary art. These pretenders, however, were not permitted to spoil more than one day’s rations. As soon as the soldiers had sampled the mystery into which their allowance of food had been transformed by the greenhorn kettle slingers, there was trouble in the camp until a change was made in the cook house.
One day a company I boy found a piece of soap in his soup. The discovery was not made until he had stowed away nearly all the contents of his quart cup. He had felt the lump in the bottom with his spoon, and had congratulated himself on the supposed mistake of the cook in leaving a piece of beef in the broth. He raised it out of the cup and held it up on his spoon to exhibit it to less fortunate comrades, saying:
“Nothing like being on the right side of the cook, boys. How’s that for beef?”
“It’s rather light-colored for Government ox – let me see! If it isn’t soap I’m a marine.”,
“Soap?”
“Yes, soap!”
“And in my soup! Boys, that cook’s time has come. Who’ll stand by me till I make him eat this piece of soap?”
“You’ll have to go it alone; you’re on the right side of the cook, you know. We’ve got nothing to do with it. He knows better than to give us soup with soap in it.”
“But, hold on a minute; all the soup came out of the same kettle.”
“Sure enough; he’s soap-souped us all. Go ahead; we’re with you.”
The cook would have been roughly handled had he not called on the officer of the day for protection. The cook protested that the soap had not been in the soup kettle, but must have fallen off the shelf over the window as the soldier held his tin cup through the opening to receive his soup. This theory was gladly accepted by all but the trooper who had found the soap in his cup. By this time he was too sick to be aggressive.
“Boys, send my body home,” he moaned.
“Soap suds,” chorused the troopers who had been relieved from the terrible suspicion that they had been fed on soap also. The poor victim was given a drink of hospital brandy as soon as he could retain anything on his stomach. He was on the sick report for four or five days.
Paragraph 1,190 of the Revised Regulations for the Army (1863), fixed the soldier’s daily ration as follows:
Twelve ounces of pork or bacon, or one pound and four ounces of salt or fresh beef; one pound and six ounces of soft bread or flour, or one pound of hard bread, or one pound and four ounces of corn meal; and to every one hundred rations, fifteen pounds of peas or beans, and ten pounds of rice or hominy; ten pounds of green coffee, or eight pounds of roasted (or roasted and ground) coffee, or one pound and eight ounces of tea; fifteen pounds of sugar; four quarts of vinegar; one pound and four ounces of adamantine or star candles; four pounds of soap; three pounds and twelve ounces of salt; four ounces of pepper; thirty pounds of potatoes, when practicable, and one quart of molasses.
I have quoted the exact language of the regulations for the information of civilians who every now and then inquire of the veterans: “What did the Government feed you fellows on down in Dixie?” Hard-tack, salt pork and coffee were the soldier’s mainstay. The sweetest meal I ever ate consisted of crumbs of hardtack picked up out of the dirt, where the boxes had been opened to issue crackers to the troops, and a piece of salt pork that had been thrown away by an infantry soldier. I still cherish the memory of that feast.
There were two or three violinists in our battalion, and the boys occasionally induced these musicians to fiddle for a “stag dance,” as they called the old-fashioned quadrille in which troopers with their caps off went through “ladies’ chain” and other figures prescribed for the fair partners in the regulation dance. The dances took place by the light of the camp fires between retreat and tattoo. The boys managed to get a good deal of enjoyment out of these gatherings.
During the war a great many men made fortunes by selling goods of various kinds, including provisions, to the soldiers. The army traders took big chances after the spring campaign opened, unless they packed up and moved to the rear as the troops marched to the front. Yet there were sutlers who followed the army even on dangerous expeditions into the enemy s country. The boys contended that if a trader could sell one wagon load of goods at sutler’s prices – and get his pay – he could afford to retire or to lose five or six wagon loads. There was much truth in the statement.
Among many stories current in the Army of the Potomac about “euchring the sutler,” as the soldiers called any trick by which they could secure goods without coming down with the cash, was the following:
The troops were in bivouac on the James River. The boys received four months’ pay, and there was no place to buy anything except at the sutler’s. The trader took advantage of the situation and marked his goods up fifty per cent. He had just received a barrel of whiskey, which he was retailing at fifty cents a glass. The sutler’s glass held a little more than a thimbleful. There was a run on the whiskey for a time. Then trade slacked up, and the sutler was at a loss to account for it, as it was contrary to all precedent, the rule being that the more liquor the boys got the more they wanted. Finally the call for whiskey ceased.
“What’s the matter with the men?” the sutler asked one of his clerks.
“I don’t know – they never acted like this before.”
“They’re not buying our whiskey.”
“No.”
“And many of them seem to be getting drunk.”
“That’s so.”
“Must be somebody else’s selling in camp. I thought we had a corner on whiskey.”
“So did I.”
“Well, you go out and see what you can find.”
The clerk was gone about five minutes.
“Have we competition?” inquired the sutler, as the clerk returned to the tent.
“Well, I should say so.”
“What are they selling at?”
“Twenty-five cents a drink.”
“Just half our price?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they located?”
“Right outside our tent.”
“Where do they keep their liquor?”
“Take hold of the barrel with me and I’ll show you.” The sutler was surprised to find a faucet in the rear end of the barrel as well as in the front end from which he had been drawing.
“Somebody tapped this barrel from the outside,” he exclaimed.
“Yes, and retailed your liquor at twenty-five cents a drink while you asked fifty. It’s no wonder they drew all the customers,” said the clerk.
“There’s but a little whiskey left in the barrel – not more’n a gallon. Don’t sell another drop for less than two dollars a glass.”
A Down East Yankee had made the discovery that the sutler’s whiskey barrel was so placed that one end of it, as it was resting on boxes, touched the canvas. He went around behind the tent, cut a hole through the canvas, and after borrowing a brace and bit from an extra-duty man in the quartermaster’s department and a faucet from another comrade in the commissary department.
Union men, enlisted to put down the rebellion, had a way of thinking for themselves, and of making observations of what transpired around them, that was exasperatingly fatal to the regular red-tape idea that a soldier was a machine and nothing more. When it became necessary to perform daring deeds in the very jaws of death, the intelligent Yankee volunteers were capable of understanding, he tapped the sutler’s whiskey barrel and did a thriving business, the enterprise being advertised by word of mouth through the camp.
It never failed to be noised about that something was in the wind several days before the receipt of orders for any movement of importance. The great multitudes of citizens who bore arms under the flag of the that sacrifice was demanded. And they made it, bravely and without complaint.
Whenever a big thing was on the programme it was next to impossible to keep it quiet. The old soldiers seemed to grasp the situation intuitively, and the recruits generally knew more about it, or thought they did, than the generals themselves.
There were certain signs in our military existence that came to be accepted as reliable. Orders from brigade headquarters to have the horses well shod at once, meant a cavalry expedition into the enemy’s country. Extra ammunition for the light batteries that belonged to the cavalry corps meant that the movement was to be a reconnaissance in force. The assembling of a division or two of infantry in battle trim near the cavalry outposts, with several days’ commissary stores in transit, showed that an attempt was to be made to gobble up another slice of the Confederacy or make a break in the communications of the rebels. The issuing of dog tents, extra ammunition and commissary supplies as a rule preceded the starting of an expedition against the enemy. A sudden dashing out of camp, light saddle, and unencumbered with anything but arms and ammunition, in response to a signal from the outposts, always gave rise to the suspicion, frequently confirmed in the heat of battle, that the Johnnies were making an expedition against us.
The rumors of a general advance came thicker and faster the last week in April, and May the third the long roll was sounded by the brigade buglers. The breaking up of winter quarters was always attended with scenes that were excruciatingly funny. What a lot of worthless old plunder the soldiers would accumulate! It always required sorting over a dozen times before the boys could really determine just what to leave behind. And then it invariably happened that after the very last thing that they could spare or think of abandoning had been cast out the inspecting officers would poke around and order us to throw out the articles we prized most highly.
Railroad communication with Washington and the North had made it comparatively easy for us to secure creature comforts, and many delicacies from the homes of the boys in blue reached our camp. Waterman had received a large-sized packing box full of good things to eat, from his parents. The goodies were shared among “our four” – Waterman, Taylor, Hom and myself.
The first feed we had after the cover of Waterman’s box was taken off brought tears to our eyes – tears of joy, of course – but somehow the taste of the home-made pies and cake produced a longing for home and mother which was made all the more intense as the contents of the box disappeared and we came face to face with the stern reality that a return to “mule beef and hard-tack” was inevitable.
Waterman’s parents resided only a short distance from where my father and mother lived in Berlin, and when his box was sent my family helped to fill and pack the box. Then when the dear people at home thought our food must be getting low another box was packed by my parents, and Waterman’s family contributed some of the good things. It was sent by express, but owing to the increased demand upon the railroads and trains to forward munitions of war to the Army of the Potomac, my box did not reach Warrenton until the morning that we started for the Wilderness. The company was drawn up in line waiting to move forward when a Government wagon arrived loaded with boxes and packages for the troopers. My long-expected box was thrown out of the wagon, and I obtained permission to interview it.
I pried off the cover, and as I caught a glimpse of the good things from home, I felt like annihilating the quartermaster’s department that had held back my box while extra supplies of ammunition and commissary stores had been dispatched to the front. Just then the bugler at brigade headquarters sounded “forward.” There was no time to waste. I did the best I could under the circumstances – filled my haversack, and invited the boys in the company to help themselves, after “our four” had stowed away all we could. The second platoon swept down on that box, and in less than a minute the boys were eating home-made pies and cookies all along the line. A picture or two, a pair of knit socks and a few souvenirs were secured by Waterman and myself.
