Part 26 (1/2)
”Well, you will have to stay in ninety days after your term expires.
Will that make you eighteen?”
”No, it wouldn't; and if it did they would be careful not to say so.”
”Then I don't see what reason you have to get huffy over a thing that can't be helped,” continued the officer. ”We must have men, and if they will not come in willingly, they must be dragged in. We can't be subdued; we never will consent to be slaves. But you two will get out all right.”
”We knew it all the while; at least I thought of it,” replied d.i.c.k, ”but I didn't want to mention it while the rest of the boys were around. They are mad already, and it might make them worse to know that we two are better off than they are.”
”But I want to tell you that you will make a big mistake if you accept your discharges,” the captain went on to say. ”You ought by all means to stay in until this thing is settled and the invaders driven from our soil. You'll wish you had when you see the boys come home covered with glory. And then think of the possibilities before you! You are bound to be promoted, and that rapidly. If I had your military education I would not be satisfied with anything short of a colonelcy.”
”Well, you may have it, and since you want it, I hope you will get it; but I wouldn't accept it if it were offered to me,” answered d.i.c.k, turning on his heel. ”I'll not serve under such a fraud of a government as this has turned out to be a day longer than I can help. I'll take my discharge as soon as they will condescend to give it to me, and then they can hunt somebody to fill my place. I'll never volunteer again, and sooner than be conscripted I'll take to the woods.”
”Now, sergeant, you know you wouldn't do any such thing,” said the captain.
”Yes, I would,” d.i.c.k insisted. ”There is a principle at the bottom of this whole thing that is most contemptible; but what more could you expect of men who induced us to enlist by holding out the promise of an easy victory? 'The North won't fight!' This looks like it. We're whipped already.”
These were the sentiments of thousands of men who wore gray jackets in the beginning of 1862, but it wasn't every one who dared express them as boldly as d.i.c.k Graham did, nor was it every officer who would have listened as quietly as did Captain Jones. Everything went to show that the officers had been drilled in the parts they were expected to perform long before the men dreamed that such a thing as a Conscription Act was thought of; for, as a rule, all discussion regarding the policy of the Richmond government was ”choked off” with a strong hand. In some armies, Bragg's especially, the men were treated ”worse than their n.i.g.g.e.rs ever were.” They dared not speak above a whisper for fear of being shoved into the guard-house; and ”when some regiments hesitated to avail themselves of this permission (to volunteer) they were treated as seditious, and the most refractory soldiers, on the point of being shot, only saved their lives by the prompt signature of their comrades to the compact of a new enlistment.” Things were not quite as bad as this in Price's army, but still Captain Jones thought it best to tell his men, especially the out-spoken d.i.c.k Graham, that they had better be a little more guarded in their language, unless they were well acquainted with those to whom they were talking. They went to Memphis, as the captain said they would, marching over a horrible road and leaving some of their artillery stuck in the mud at Desarc on White River, and from Memphis they went to Corinth forty miles farther on, packed in box cars like sheep, and on top like so much useless rubbish. Their train was rushed through at such a rate of speed that the men on top shouted to the engineer:
”Go it. Let out two or three more sections of that throttle. Run us off into the ditch and kill us if you want to. There are plenty more men where we came from.”
Rodney Gray afterward declared that he had never seen a grander sight than Beauregard's camp presented when the troops from the West marched through it, greeted everywhere by the most vociferous cheering, to take their positions on the right. Their arrival brought the strength of the army up to more than a hundred thousand men, and, somewhat to their surprise, they were introduced to their new comrades as ”Invincibles.” At any rate that was what General Bragg called them in an address which he issued to his soldiers a few days afterward:
”The slight reverses we have met on the sea-board have worked us good as well as evil,” was what he said in the vain hope of blinding his troops to the real magnitude of the disaster that had recently befallen the Confederacy. ”The brave troops so long retained there have hastened to swell your numbers, while the gallant Van Dorn and invincible Price, with the ever-successful Army of the West, are now in your midst, with numbers almost equaling the Army of s.h.i.+loh.”
The ”slight reverses” to which the general so gingerly referred were the pa.s.sage of Forts Jackson and St. Philip by Farragut's fleet, the annihilation of the Confederate gunboats and the capture of New Orleans; and these ”slight reverses” were almost immediately followed by the defeat of the gunboats that had been building at Memphis, and of which the Confederates expected such great things. But the rank and file of the army were not so easily deceived. They knew well enough that the accounts that came to them through the papers were ”doctored” on purpose for them, and were fully sensible of the fact that the loss of these important points, Memphis and New Orleans, were disasters most discouraging. When they were in the presence of those to whom they knew they could speak freely, they sneered at the efforts made by their superiors to belittle the Union victories, and laughed to scorn Mayor Monroe and the ”city fathers” for the att.i.tude they had seen fit to a.s.sume while Farragut's powerful fleet held the Crescent city under its guns. If the pompous little mayor, by folding his arms and standing in front of that loaded howitzer when the marines came ash.o.r.e to hoist the Stars and Stripes over the Custom House, desired to show the people of New Orleans and the country at large what a brave man he was, he failed of his object, for the men who had faced cannon on the field of battle had nothing but contempt for him and his antics.
”He has made himself a laughing-stock for all time to come,” was what Rodney Gray thought about it. ”That was all done for effect, for there was not the slightest danger that the Yankees would fire that howitzer at him while he was going through his monkey-s.h.i.+nes. If he is such an awful brave man, why didn't he follow that naval officer to the roof of the Custom House and jerk the Union flag down the minute it was hauled up?”
”Or why doesn't he shoulder a musket and fall in with us?” chimed in d.i.c.k. ”One short campaign through Missouri mud would take some of that nonsense out of him.”
There were a good many in the army who thought that the constant maneuvering and skirmis.h.i.+ng that followed during the next few weeks were not kept up because a great battle was expected, but for the purpose of giving the men so much to do that they could not get together and talk over the discouraging news they had recently heard. There was one engagement fought, that of Farmington, which resulted in a victory for the Confederates, and taught them at the same time that they were mistaken in supposing that our troops would not venture so far into the country that they would be out of the reach of help from the gunboats, which had rendered them such important service at the battle of Pittsburg Landing. Of course Rodney and d.i.c.k marched and skirmished and fought with the rest, but they didn't care much whether they whipped or got whipped, for the feelings that took them away from home and friends and into the army, had long since given place to others of an entirely different character. They didn't care as much for State Rights and Southern independence as they did once, and if they ever got home again the Richmond government might go to smash for all they could do to save it. Two questions engrossed their minds, and formed the princ.i.p.al subjects of their conversation: Would they be permitted to leave the service when the year for which they enlisted expired; and if so, how was d.i.c.k Graham going to get across the river into Missouri now that Memphis had fallen, and the Mississippi as far down as Vicksburg was in possession of the Federals?
In regard to the first question-there was one thing which the boys were afraid would work against them. While nearly all the line officers of the regiment remained with them, the field officers who had come with them from the West had disappeared, some being promoted, some discharged and others being sent to the hospital, new ones had taken their places and a new staff had been appointed.
”And a lovely staff it is,” said d.i.c.k, expressing the sentiments of every man in his company. ”I can see now why that Conscription Act was pa.s.sed. It was to make room for a lot of government pets, who are too fine to go into the ranks, but who are allowed to come here and shove out veterans when they cannot tell the difference between 'countermarch by file right' and 'right by twos.' Our new colonel doesn't know who we are or what we have done, and cares less; and when we go to him for our discharges, he will throw so much red-tape in our way that we can't get out. That's what I am afraid of.”
As to the other question-how d.i.c.k Graham was to get over the river-that was something that could be settled when they had their discharges in their pockets. First and foremost d.i.c.k would go home with Rodney; and after he had taken a good long rest, and learned all about the means of communication between the two sh.o.r.es (they were positive there must be some regular means of communication, because d.i.c.k had received two letters from home since he had joined the Army of the Center), Rodney would take his chances of seeing him safely across the river. But their discharges must be their first care, and they came much easier than they dared hope for. One day Rodney was detailed to act as guard at brigade headquarters, and the first officer to whom he presented arms was one whose face was strangely familiar to him. It was his new brigade commander, and a wild hope sprung up in Rodney's breast. The energetic, soldier-like manner in which he handled his piece attracted the notice of the general, who seemed to be in good humor, and who unbent from his dignity long enough to remark:
”You have been well drilled, sentry.”
”Yes, sir; at Barrington Military Academy,” replied Rodney, with a good deal of emphasis on the last words.
This had just the effect the boy meant it should have. The general stopped and looked curiously at him, and Rodney, instead of keeping his eyes ”straight to the front and striking the ground at the distance of fifteen paces,” returned his superior's gaze with interest.
”Haven't I seen you before?” the latter asked at length.
”Yes, sir; aboard the steamer Mollie Able, going up the river a year ago,” answered Rodney. ”You were Captain Howard then.”
The boy had no business to say all this, and no one in the army knew it better than he did. It was his place to wait and be questioned; but he couldn't do it. There was too much at stake-his discharge and d.i.c.k's. The general did riot appear to notice this breach of military etiquette. On the contrary he smiled and said, pleasantly: