Read Ebook: Reminiscences of a Private Company G First Arkansas Regiment Infantry: May 1861 to 1865 by Bevens William E

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Ebook has 335 lines and 31672 words, and 7 pages

A small yacht with two on board ran the blockade. Our batteries opened up on them. The balls exploded above and around them, sometimes splashing the water so that we could not see them for the spray. For awhile it seemed as if we had them, but they got through. The yacht was so small that we could not hit it. When they got by, the men waved their hats, as much as to say, "Goodbye", but they never tried to repeat the performance.

One night the enemy ran up a creek by the upper battery, where we had a schooner out and away from the river. In the darkness they passed our guards and burned the schooner. The guards were new recruits and very green. They sent to headquarters to ask what they could do. Of course the Yanks had plenty of time to get back to the Potomac. We built huts out of logs, placing them in the side of the hill and roofing them with a foot and a half of earth to keep out the rain. A few of the boys had tents, but I think our log huts were more comfortable, for we covered the floors over with straw. We passed most of the winter here. Our Maryland boys used to cross the river in skiffs at night to visit their homes, and return before daylight.

The Second Tennessee, commanded by Colonel Bates, camped along with us that winter. One day Colonel Bates ordered some work done which did not agree with the dignity of his men. They refused to do it, saying they "were gentle," and asking him to resign. He at once wrote out his resignation and gave it to them. He told them he would as soon be a private as be an officer. That a private must obey, and he was as willing to obey any officer over him as they should be to obey an officer over them. He was a great man, and a fine speaker. At the close of his speech they tore up his resignation and re-elected him colonel.

Colonel Fagin once ordered some boys of our company to set up his tent but they refused. They came back to the company and told us about it, also informed Captain Pickett who went to Colonel Fagin and got them out of it.

So much for raw undisciplined troops.

Christmas was at hand. Our first Christmas in a soldier's camp! How homesick we were as we thought of the people at home and wondered how they were spending Christmas. Here were their boys fifteen hundred miles from them, living in dark huts, wading snow a foot and a half deep. We did not know that the time would come when these dark, rude huts would seem luxurious quarters.

I did not touch the egg-nog, therefore did not enjoy their hilarity. I left the hut, found Sam Shoup in his hut, and we went out and sat by the fire thinking we were away from the crowd. But the boys did not intend to let us off so easily. When we came back into the hut we could not see very well. The cabin was dark, as the only light came from the doorway, and the snow had blinded us. The boys made a rush for us. I got into a dark corner, and after they were all in we both ran out. They caught Sam, but failed to get me.

Clay Lowe, followed by about twenty-five of the boys, went down to the middle of the company grounds and commenced to make a speech, which he could do so well. Some of the boys, not wishing Clay to have all the glory, put John Loftin on the stump to make an address and he began: "My friends, I am not as eloquent as Clay, but I speak more to the point."

That evening at dress parade, Sam Shoup as corporal had to march out and present arms, reporting two commissioned officers, four non-commissioned officers, and twenty-seven privates drunk. The rest of the regiment was there, and to our consternation, we were ordered to cook three days' rations and be ready to march at daylight. The order read that any private who straggled or failed to keep up with the command would be court martialed.

When we stopped late next evening on the march, Clay was nearly dead and could hardly walk, from the effect of the Christmas spree. Colonel Fagin rode along by our company and seeing how Clay was said, "Hello, Fifth Sergeant of Company G, how do you feel?" Clay replied, "Colonel, I am damned dry; how are you?"

December 26, 1861, we reached Aquia Creek and went into winter quarters in log huts and tents. Here we had "Sunday Soldiering." We were close to Fredericksburg, and could order what we wanted to eat. Confederate money was good and we could grab things cheap with it. Fifty cents a gallon for shelled oysters; twenty-five cents a pound for butter; pies and cakes every day. Think of such grub for a soldier! But, ah, to stay in the snow, eighteen inches deep, and guard the Potomac river all night! No shelter, but a corn stalk house; no fire, but a driftwood blaze, not very bright either, as it would be a signal for the enemy to cannonade. That was like war and soldier duty.

We had three points to guard on the river, one on the island with battery, and one at the lower end of the line. It required a whole company for all points at night, since the guard had to be relieved every twenty minutes. Otherwise he would have been frozen by the snow and sleet which swept across the Potomac.

One night a squad from our company under a sergeant was ordered to the island, which was only guarded at night. We had to cross over in a flat boat. The evening before supplies had been sent to the island for the use of the Battery Company and they had failed to haul them. The squad on the lower part of the guard line found them, all unused, in a pile on the landing. The night was bitter cold, the snow was deep, the wind blowing a gale, no wood was in sight. The supplies were bacon. It was good to eat, and in this emergency it was good to burn, so the boys proceeded to burn it. Dawn revealed other things besides bacon. They discovered two jugs of red liquor, which they immediately confiscated. At daylight they were ordered to camp two miles away and proceeded to march--and drink on empty stomachs until the whole squad was drunk. We, on the upper part of the guard line, had to wait in the snow and wind until they came up, for all must report in camp together. We did not know what caused their delay, but we were in no pious frame of mind when we saw them coming, wabbling from side to side, yelling like Commanches. The officers with us were red-headed and said things to that squad that "were bad".

Sometimes a company would buy a barrel of oysters, take it to their hut and open it, and find in the center a five gallon jug of red rye. It was so concealed to pass the provost guard on train. But the boys did even worse. Seven of them from other commands, went to Fredericksburg, bought a coffin and filled it with jugs. With sad faces and measured steps they carried it solemnly to the train. But the joke was too good to keep. The boys unscrewed the lid and yelled at the guard. Of course, when the train returned no one could name the offenders.

But our "Sunday Soldiering" did not last long. The regiment was composed of one year troops, who now re-enlisted for three years, or for the war. The re-enlisted men were ordered to rendezvous at Memphis, to reorganize the regiment, but later were ordered to Corinth, Mississippi.

The Virginia people had been good to us, and had tried to make us feel at home. Some of the boys had gone into society at Fredericksburg, and found it hard to part from their new friends. George "had it mighty bad." He said to me, "Bill, I must go to Fredericksburg to see my girl. Will you cook my three days' rations? I'll meet you at the train tomorrow." "But Pard, how will you get off?" "I'll ask Col. Fellows." He went to Colonel Fellows, who was in charge that day and told his tale of woe. The colonel was in deep sympathy with the boy and agreed to help him. George went to Fredericksburg, and the next day I saw him there with his girl. Our train pulled out, I yelled at him, but still he lingered. They gazed and gazed at each other, and it seemed that George did not have the nerve to tear himself away. Finally they parted and by hard running he caught the train and stood waving to her until we were out of sight. The mails were kept hot after that. Poor George was killed at Atlanta. He was the bravest man I ever knew, and if he had lived, would have made that girl a noble husband.

March 17, 1862, at Corinth, Mississippi, the re-organization of the regiment took place. The newly elected officers of Company G were:

Samuel Shoup, Captain. A. T. Watchell, First Lieutenant. Clay Lowe, Second Lieutenant. John R. Loftin, Third Lieutenant. W. B. Densford, First Sergeant. Henry Clements, Second Sergeant. W. H. Reid, Third Sergeant. George Spaulder, Fourth Sergeant. Thomas Davis, First Corporal. John W. Baird, Second Corporal. T. S. Logan, Third Corporal. Forrest Dillard, Fourth Corporal.

We camped at Corinth, Mississippi, and the army was under General Beauregard until General Albert Sydney Johnston arrived. April 4th we marched to Shiloh, arriving there April 5th. The constant rains had made the roads so bad that we had to pull the cannon by hand as the horses mired in the mud. But by this time we were used to hardships, and nothing discouraged that superb commander, General Albert Sydney Johnston. Every soldier loved him and was ready to follow him to the death. At the battle of Shiloh we were placed in the Gibson Brigade, Braggs' Division. On the night before the battle the Medical Department ordered six men from each company to report to headquarters for instructions. I was one of the six to report from our company. The Surgeon General ordered us to leave our guns in camp and follow behind the company at six paces, as an infirmary corps to take care of the wounded. We reported our instructions to Captain Shoup, telling him we would not leave our guns, as we intended to fight. After hard pleading Captain Shoup consented. We took our guns and also looked after the wounded.

At four o'clock in the morning we began the march on the enemy. Each man had forty cartridges, all moving accoutrements and three days' rations. General Johnston was cheered as he rode by our command and I remember his words as well as if they had been today, "Shoot low boys; it takes two to carry one off the field."

Before we started Captain Scales of the Camden Company, begged his negro servant to stay in camp at Corinth, but the old negro would not leave his master. When we were in line of battle the captain again begged the negro to return to camp, but he refused to go. Just after the last appeal the fight began. A cannon ball whizzed through the air and exploded, tearing limbs from trees, wounding the soldiers. One man fell dead in front of the old negro. Then there was a yell, and old Sam shouted, "Golly, Marster, I can't stand this," and set out in a run for Corinth.

We moved forward with shot and shell, sweeping everything before us. We drove the officers from their hot coffee and out of the tents, capturing their camp and tents. Captain Shoup and John Loftin and Clay Lowe each got a sword. In the quartermaster's tent we found thousands of dollars in crisp, new bills, for they had been paying off the Yankee soldiers.

Thad Kinman of the 7th Arkansas, who was under Ellenburg, quartermaster department, had loaded a chest into a wagon when he was ordered to "throw that stuff away." He told us afterwards, "That was one time that I was sick," but Ellenburg would not let him keep it.

Our command moved steadily forward for a mile or more. The Yankees had time to halt the fleeing ones, form a line of infantry and make a stand in an old road in a thicket. We were to the left of the thicket, fighting all the time in this part of the field. I saw Jim Stimson fall, and being on the Infirmary Corps, I went to him. I cut his knapsack loose and placed it under his head, tied my handkerchief about his neck, and then saw that he was dead. I took up my gun again, when in front I saw a line of Yankees two thousand strong, marching on the flank. I could see the buttons on their coats. I thought I would get revenge for my dead comrade, so I leveled beside a tree, took good aim at a Yankee, and fired. About that time the Yankees fronted and fired. Hail was nothing to that rain of lead. I looked around and found only four of our company. One was dead, two were wounded and I was as good as dead I thought, for I had no idea I could ever get away. To be shot in the back was no soldier's way, so I stepped backward at a lively pace until I got over the ridge and out of range, assisting the wounded boys at the same time. I had not heard the command to oblique to the right and close up a gap, and that was how we four happened to be alone in the wood. But I did some running then, found my regiment at the right of the thicket and fell into rank. When I got there the company was in a little confusion through not understanding a command, whether they were to move forward or oblique to right. Captain Shoup thought his men were wavering, so he stepped in front of the company, unsheathed his new sword and told the boys to follow him. He had scarcely finished with the words when a bullet struck his sword and went through wood and steel. The boys were red-headed. They told him he did not have to lead them. They were ready to go anywhere. So we went forward into the hottest of the battle where the roar of musketry was incessant, and the cannonading fairly shook the ground. Men fell around us as leaves from the trees. Our regiment lost two hundred and seventy, killed, wounded and captured. The battle raged all day and when night came the enemy had been pushed back to the verge of the Tennessee river. But our victory had been won at a great price, in the loss of our beloved General, Albert Sydney Johnston, who was killed early in the action.

General Beauregard, next in command, succeeded Johnston, and the battle opened again at daylight the next morning. During the night the enemy had been strongly re-inforced, and our men were steadily pressed back.

John Cathey, John R. Loftin, Waddell and I were among the wounded. We were sent to the field hospital several miles back in the wood. When the Surgeon General went to work on me he gave me a glass of whiskey, saying it would help me bear the pain. I told him I would not drink it. He then handed me a dose of morphine. I refused that. He looked me squarely in the face, saying, "Are you a damned fool?"

Our men, fighting stubbornly all the while, were pushed back by superior force through and beyond the Yankee camps we had captured so easily the day before, and at last retreated to Corinth, amidst a terrible storm of rain and sleet. We had lost about ten thousand men. That was the beginning of our real soldiering and the greatest battle we had been in. About thirty thousand men were killed, wounded and captured in those two days, the loss on each side being fifteen thousand.

At Corinth we awaited re-inforcements and prepared to renew the struggle. The Yankee forces advanced to Farmington, and we had a little more fighting. They captured one of our outposts, then we drove them back to their lines. Colonel Fellows was always on the front line. At this battle he plunged after some cavalry, following them he struck low, boggy ground. He got stuck in the mud and lost his hat, but succeeded in capturing the enemy.

We kept heavy guards at night. One night eighteen of our company were put on out-post, but our cavalry was still further out. George Thomas and I were stationed inside a fence row. We were told not to fire, and we were to be relieved before daybreak. We were not relieved however, and when day came we found ourselves only a short distance from the Yankee breastworks. We could have kept concealed by the grass and bushes, but George, who knew not the meaning of fear, stood in his corner of the fence-row. As he watched the Yankees walking their beats on the breastworks he thought it a good opportunity, and before I knew it, he had shot his man. Oh, then three cannon and two thousand infantry turned loose on us! The fence was knocked to smithereens. The rails, filled with bullets, crashed over us. Limbs falling from trees, covered us, and we were buried beneath the debris like ground hogs. We could not get out until darkness fell again. Then we found some of our cavalry, and tried to get back to our regiment, but the Yanks were between us and our command. The cavalry said we could fight our way through their lines, and we did. The cavalry soon left us behind. Yankees were shooting all around us and yelling for us to surrender, but we ran into a ravine, where we were hidden by the thick undergrowth, and so we got away.

On May 29, 1862, General Beauregard evacuated Corinth. We retreated on a dark night through a densely wooded bottom road. About two o'clock we halted. As soon as we stopped we dropped in the road anywhere, anyhow, and were fast asleep. Some devilish boy got two trace chains and came running over the sleeping men, rattling the chains, yelling "Whoa! Whoa!" at the top of his voice. Of course all the commotion--we had it then. Soldiers grasped the guns at their sides, officers called, "Fall in, fall in men." When the joke was discovered it would have been death to that man, but no one ever knew "who struck Billy Patterson."

We marched forty miles and camped at Twenty Mile Creek on the Mobile and Ohio railroad. On June 5th we reached Tupelo. We were put in Anderson's Division of General Walker's Brigade and camped at Tupelo until August 4th, when we were ordered to Montgomery, Ala.

We went on the train to Mobile. Here I went up into the city with Colonel Snyder and two of his friends, I being the only private among them. It seemed ages since we had enjoyed a square meal. We went into a fine restaurant near the Hotel Battle House, four half-starved Confederate soldiers. Just at the smell of oyster stew I collapsed. But we ordered everything--oysters raw, fried, stewed, fresh red snapper; just everything. We ate. I hope we ate! I think that proprietor was astounded, but it was only our pocketbooks that suffered. At last when we could eat no more, we had fine cigars, and as Dr. Scott said later, "This was good enough for a dog."

We went from Mobile to the railroad station on the bay, where the water flows under the platform. The train was two hours late, so the boys shed their clothes, and in ten minutes there were a thousand men in the bay. They swam about splashing, kicking, diving, having fun until some of the boys went in where the palm flags were growing and espied a large alligator with his mouth wide open. In less time than it takes to tell it there was not a soldier in the bay. Strange! Men, who had stood firm in battle, had faced cannon, had endured shot and shell, now fled from one alligator!

We went by rail to Montgomery, where we arrived August 7th. We went into camp near the river and had a chance to swim without fear of alligators.

Montgomery, as the first capital of the Confederacy, was a noted place and many celebrated people lived there. Dr. Arnold and I had bought ourselves "boiled" white shirts, thinking we might be invited into society, but we seemed to have been forgotten by the "haut ton." But it was a beautiful city and we inspected it thoroughly. We were too many for the police, so they "gave us rope to hang ourselves."

We went on next day to Atlanta. When we got there we hoped to eat a big Georgia watermelon, but to our consternation, found the provost guard destroying every watermelon in the city. They were fresh, red and juicy and made our mouths water, but discipline had improved and we touched not, tasted not, handled not the unclean watermelons. The doctor said they would make us sick. Citizens and negroes might eat them. For soldiers they were sure poison.

"Bill, I can't go any further, don't you see I go to sleep walking? I can't stand it any longer."

"You're no good," I replied, "you can stand it as well as I can, besides if you leave the road you will be captured and will have to eat rats."

"Goodbye, old friend, I am gone," was his answer. He ran into the wood twenty or thirty feet from the road, dropped down and was asleep by the time he hit the ground.

He said when he awoke he heard sabres clashing and cavalry passing. He thought he "was a goner", but he soon heard the familiar voice of General Hardee. He was calling to get up and go on. He said even a soldier's endurance had a limit, and that limit was now reached. We would not go much further without a rest. Then he ordered his body guard to charge the sleeping men. Dr. Arnold had to run for his command or be court martialed. Panting for breath, he joined us after we had gone into camp, and exclaimed, "Bill, I wish I had come on, for I am nearly dead, and old General Hardee is after me hot and heavy."

On September 17th we left Case City at daybreak, and marched fifteen miles to Mumfordsville, which we surrounded, placing a battery on every hill and knoll that commanded the town. We had eighty cannon ready to open fire, and then demanded the surrender of the garrison, and on September 18th six thousand men marched out, laying down six thousand guns. While Will Reid of our company was loading guns into a wagon, one went off accidentally and shot off his arm. General Hardee was riding over the battlefield, and seeing Reid with his arm dangling at his side asked his staff surgeon, Dave Yandell, "Who is that man's surgeon?" Yandell pointed out Dr. Young. Dr. Young had gone out in our company a graduate surgeon. He was young and up to that time he had made no operation of note. He begged the staff-surgeon to help him, but Yandell refused, saying he had no time. He stayed, however, to look on, and embarrassed the young surgeon still more. When Dr. Young took the knife his hand shook like a leaf, but he performed the operation successfully and according to all the laws of surgery. After the war he returned to his home at Corinth, Mississippi, where he stood high in his profession. He died in 1892.

At Mumfordsville while in line of battle, marching slowly and stopping often, we passed through an orchard. Nice juicy apples were lying all over the ground and one of the boys of a Louisiana Regiment, stooped down and picked up two or three. His colonel happened to be looking in his direction, and he had that boy gagged and buckled every time the line stopped. After that every soldier thought hell was too good for that colonel.

On the 20th we marched all night and camped at daylight at New Haven. On the 21st we marched seventeen miles, and camped at Haginsville. On the 22nd we passed fine orchards. My partner, Dr. Arnold said to me, "If you will carry my surplus luggage, I will take the risk and get some of those apples." "Now Pard, you are in for more trouble." But he would not listen, and taking his blanket to hold the apples he started off.

He was not the only soldier under the trees, and while on a limb getting his share of the apples, lo and behold, the provost guard came to arrest them! He fairly fell from the tree, broke through the high corn and ran for his life, the guard calling after, "Halt, or I shoot."

He got back to us with the fruit but said the apples had cost him so much labor and so much fright that they did not taste good. Because we laughed at him, running with his load, he would not give us any until the next day.

We marched fifteen miles and camped at Bardstown until October 4th, when we marched seventeen miles. We marched twelve miles and camped at Springfield. The heat was terrible on those long sunny pikes, with never a sign to mark the grave of a hero, noble sacrifice to their cause.

One day an assistant surgeon carrying an umbrella was marching along the pike in the rear of his regiment when General Hardee came along. The General had nothing to shield him from the sun but a little cap. He rode up to the surgeon and said, "What is your name?"

The man told him his name, rank and regiment.

"Well sir," said General Hardee, "just imagine this whole army with umbrellas."

The doctor shut up his umbrella and pitched it over into the field.

General Hardee was always joking his men on the march, but when the fight was on no one did his part better than he.

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