Part 4 (1/2)

Another excellent soldier was Solon H. Finney, who entered service as sergeant. He rose to be second lieutenant and was killed at Beaver Mills, Virginia, April 4, 1865, just five days before Lee surrendered.

Finney was a modest, earnest, faithful man, attentive to his duties, not self-seeking, but contented with his lot and ambitious only to do a man's part. It seemed hard for him to go through so near to the end only to be stricken just as the haven of peace was in sight; but his friends have the satisfaction of knowing that Solon Finney never failed to do that which was right and, though he gave his life, it was surrendered cheerfully in the cause of his country and its flag. He was one of those who would have given a hundred lives rather than have his country destroyed--a genuine patriot and a n.o.ble man.

With the Washtenaw contingent of troop ”F” came Aaron C. Jewett, of Ann Arbor. Jewett was a leading spirit in University circles. His parents were wealthy, he an only son to whom nothing was denied that a doting father could supply. Reared in luxury, he was handsome as a girl and as lovable in disposition. It was current rumor that one of the most amiable young women in the college town--a daughter of one of the professors--was his betrothed. He was graduated with the senior cla.s.s of that year and immediately enlisted. Notwithstanding his antecedents and his station in life he performed his humble duties in the ranks without a murmur, thus furnis.h.i.+ng one more ill.u.s.tration of the patriotism that animated the best type of young men of that day. Ah! He was a comely soldier, with his round, ruddy face, his fresh complexion, his bright black eyes, and curling hair the color of the raven--his uniform brushed and boots polished to the pink of neatness.

These things together with his modest mien and close attention to his duties made of him a marked man and, in a short time, regimental headquarters had need of him. He was detailed as clerk, then as acting sergeant major and, when early in the year 1863, it was announced that Hiram F. Hale was to be appointed army paymaster, Jewett was chosen to succeed him as adjutant, but had not received his commission when death overtook him at Williamsport, Maryland, July 6. There was grief in the Sixth of Michigan on that fateful night when it was known that Aaron Jewett lay within the enemy's lines smitten by a fragment of a sh.e.l.l while faithfully delivering the orders of his colonel to the troops of the regiment as they successively came into line under a heavy fire of artillery. Weber and myself with our men tried to recover the body, but were unable to do so, a force of confederates having gained possession of the ground. In a week from that time, Weber himself lay cold in death, only five miles distant, with a bullet through his brain. That was in Maryland, however, north of the Potomac and, after we had crossed into Virginia, Jewett's father succeeded in finding the body of his son and performed the sad duty of giving it proper sepulture.

All the members of the field and staff of the regiment have been mentioned, except Quartermaster Charles H. Patten and Commissary Jacob Chapman. The latter soon resigned. Patten stuck to it till there was no more clothing to issue. He was a good quartermaster, honest, energetic and capable, and that is saying a good deal for him. There has been much uncalled for satirical comment at the expense of the quartermasters.

They were really among the most useful of officers--indispensable in fact. The man who handled the transportation for a cavalry command had a position requiring tact, nerve, energy, endurance and ability of a high order. Mr. Patten was such a man. His wagon trains never failed to reach the front with needed supplies when it was possible to get them there.

The white canvas of the army wagon was a pleasant sight to the soldier worn out with marching and fighting; and the quartermaster could always count on a cordial welcome when he appeared.

October 11, 1862, the regiment was mustered into the United States service. The mustering officer was General J.R. Smith of the regular army, a veteran of the Mexican war, in which he received a wound in one arm, disabling it. He had a slit in his sleeve tied with ribbons--a way he had, it was thought, of calling attention to his disability, and sort of a standing apology for being back in Michigan while his a.s.sociates of the army were fighting at the front. It was an amiable and pardonable weakness, if such it may be called, and everybody had a liking for the old Mexican war officer.

One of my first acts after reaching the rendezvous had been to call on Colonel Kellogg, who was in his room, up to his eyes in papers and correspondence. He greeted me cordially, congratulated me on my success, and a.s.sured me that he was my friend, which he proved to be.

”Order your uniform at once,” said he, ”and go to work without delay.”

The result of this interview was that a tailor took my measure for a suit and, in due time, I was arrayed in Union blue, with s.h.i.+ning bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, bright yellow facings, and the shoulder straps of a captain of cavalry. No boy in his first trousers ever felt happier or prouder.

Before the bra.s.ses had become tarnished or the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs soiled I took a run to Ann Arbor to say good-by to the boys. They were glad to see me, and the welcome I had was something to remember. They were like a band of brothers and showed the same interest as if we had been of one family.

I think the students felt a sort of clannish pride when one of their number enlisted and thought that the alma mater was doing the correct and patriotic thing in sending her sons into the army. It was plainly to be seen that many of them were holding back unwillingly. Indeed, it was not long till some of them dropped their studies abruptly and followed the example of those who had already gone. Everybody gave me an affectionate G.o.dspeed and I was surprised at the number of my friends.

CHAPTER VII

THE DEPARTURE FOR WAs.h.i.+NGTON

It was on a bright moonlight night in December, 1862, that the Sixth cavalry of Michigan left its rendezvous in Grand Rapids and marched to the station to take the cars for Was.h.i.+ngton. It was like tearing asunder the ties of years, for those whose lines had been cast even for a brief time only, in the ”Valley City.”[3] The hospitality of the people had been unbounded. Many of the officers and men had their homes there.

Those who had not, took short leaves and made flying visits to their families to say good-by and arrange their affairs for what might be a final farewell. The scenes of our sojourn for a few months, where we had engaged in daily drills and parades, in the pomp and circ.u.mstance of mimic warfare, were to know us no longer. The time for rehearsal had pa.s.sed. We were about to enter upon the real stage of action, and do our part in the mighty tragedy then enacting.

The camp was broken. Tents were struck. Preparations for departure were made. Adieus were said. Horses were sent away in charge of a detail.

The quartermaster took possession of the equipments. The regiment was not yet armed, but was to be supplied with all the needed munitions on arrival in the Capital City.

For some reason, it was deemed best to make a night march to the station. No notice of this was given to the citizens. The result was that when we left camp, at 2 a.m., the streets were deserted. The town was wrapped in slumber. No sound was heard, except the tramp, tramp of the soldiers, and the roar of the river as it plunged over the dam, which only served to intensify the stillness.

Through Michigan was a memorable trip. The same scenes with but slight variation, were enacted at each station. Officers and men alike, were warmed by the hearty and affectionate greetings, the memory of which followed them through all the days, and months, and years of their service.

On to Detroit, Toledo, Pittsburg, Harrisburg, Baltimore, quickly whirled. Flowers, music, words of cheer, everywhere. ”G.o.d bless you, boys,” was the common form of salutation. ”Three cheers for the old flag,” and ”Three cheers for 'Abe Lincoln,'” were sentiments offered amidst the wildest enthusiasm, to which the twelve hundred Michigan throats responded with an energy that bespoke their sincerity. Baltimore was reached in the night, and when marching through the streets, from one station to the other, the strains of ”John Brown's body lies mouldering in the ground,” awoke the echoes in the city that had mobbed a Ma.s.sachusetts regiment, and through which Abraham Lincoln on the way to his inauguration had to pa.s.s in disguise to escape a.s.sa.s.sination.

”We'll hang Jeff. Davis on a sour apple tree,” was a refrain in which all joined, and there was a heartiness about it that none can understand who did not pa.s.s through those troublous times.

But Baltimore was as peaceful as Pittsburg, and no mob gathered to contest the right of Michigan men to invade southern soil. It was quiet.

There was no demonstration of any kind. The pa.s.sage of troops had become a familiar story to the citizens of the Monumental city.

It was the thunder of Burnside's guns at Fredericksburg that welcomed us to the army of the east. The same sun that saw us bivouac beneath the dome of the Capitol, shone down upon the Army of the Potomac, lying once again beaten and dispirited, on the plains of Falmouth. Burnside had run his course, and ”Fighting 'Joe' Hooker” was in command.