During the summer of 1881, I stopped for a few weeks at a
popular hotel in the White Mountains. Among the two hundred or more
guests who were enjoying its good cheer were about twenty lads,
varying in age from ten to fifteen years. When tea had been disposed
of, and darkness had put an end to their daily romp, they sat down
with a gentleman from Chicago, formerly a gallant soldier in the Army
of the Cumberland, and in a quiet corner of the spacious hotel parlor,
or a remote part of the piazza, would listen with eager attentiion as
he related chapters of his personal experience in the Civil War.
Less than two days elapsed before they pried out of this
writer the acknowledgment that he too had served Uncle Sam; and
immediately followed up this bit of information by requesting me to
alternate evenings with the veteran from the West in entertaining them
with stories of the war as I saw it. I assented to the plan readily
enough, and a more interested or interesting audience of its size
could not be desired than that knot of boys who clustered around us on
alternate nights, while we related to them in an offhand way many
facts regarded as too commonplace for the general histories of the
war.
This trifling piece of personal experience led to the
preparation of these sketches, and will largely account for the
instructive manner in which they are written. It is believed that
what is herein described will appeal largely to a common experience am
ong soldiers. In full faith that such is the case, they are now
presented to veterans, their children, and the public as an important
contribution to the history of the Great Civil War already written.
That history, to date, is a history of battles, of campaigns and of
generals. This is the first attempt to record compresensively army
life in detail.
How the Soldiers Were Sheltered
Of the many kinds of tents in which soldiers were housed,
the most interesting of all, and the one used exclusively in the
field, was the Dog or Shelter Tent. Just why it was called
the
shelter tent I cannot say, unless it is the same reason that the pond
on Boston Common is called a Frog Pond, that is, because there are no
frogs there. And I can imagine no other reason for calling it a dog
tent than this, that when one is pitched it would only comfortably
accomodate a dog, and a small one at that.
This tent was invented late in 1861 or early in 1862,
and I never saw one made of anything heavier than cotton fabric.
This
was the tent of the rank and file. Each man was provided with
a
half-shelter, as a single piece was called, which he was expected to
carry on the march if he wanted a tent to sleep under. By means of
buttons and button holes two or more of these half-shelters could be
buttoned together making a very complete roofing. Every soldier was
expected to join his half-shelter with some other fellow.
This operation was performed by the infantry in the
following simple way: two muskets with bayonets fixed were stuck
into
the ground the width of a half-shelter apart. A rope which went with
every half-shelter was stretched between the trigger-guards of the
muskets, and over these "ridge-poles" the tent was pitched in a
twinkling. Sometimes fence-rails, or saplings were used for ridge
poles. There were hundreds of men who came from different sections
of
the same state, or from different states, who joined their resources
in this manner, and today through this accidental association they are
the warmest of personal friends, and will continue so while they live.
It was not usual to pitch these tents every night when
the army was on the march. The soldiers did not waste their time
and
strength much in that way. If the night was clear and pleasant, they
lay down without roof-shelter of any kind. But if it was stormy or
a
storm was threatening when the order came to go into camp for the
night, the shelters were then quite generally pitched.
When cold weather came on, these tents were stockaded.
That is, they were set upon short logs laid close together. The
chinks between the logs usually were filled with mud. The walls of
these structures were raised from two to five feet, according to the
taste of the intended occupants. Oftentimes an excavation was made
one or two feet deep. When such was the case, the walls were not
built so high. The half-shelters were then stretched over a framework
of light rafters raised on the walls of the stockade, with longer logs
used for ridge-poles. A chimney was built outside, after the
southern fashion. It stood sometimes at the end and sometimes in
the
middle of one side of the stockade. The fireplaces were built of
brick, of stone, or of wood. If there was a deserted house in the
neighborhood of the camp which boasted brick chimneys, they were sure
to be knockd down to serve the Union cause, unless the house was used
by some general officer as headquarters. When built of wood, the
chimneys were lined with a very thick coating of mud. Very frequently
pork and beef barrels were secured to serve this purpose, being put
one above another, and now and then a lively hurrah would run through
the camp when one of these was discovered on fire. Not all these
chimneys were monuments of success. Too often the draft was down
instead of up, and the inside of some stackades resembled smokehouses.
Still, it was all the same to the average soldier, who rarely saw fit
to tear down and build anew more scientifically.
The average stockaded tent, or log hut, as they were
sometimes called, contained two bunks. The construction of these
bunks was varied in character. Some were built of boards from
hardtack boxes; some of barrel-staves laid crosswise on two poles.
All soldiers were provided with a woollen and a rubber blanket. When
they retired, after tattoo roll-call, they did not strip to the skin
and put on night-dresses as they would at home. They were satisfied,
ordinarily, with taking off coat and boots, and perhaps the vest.
Some, however, stripped to their flannels, and, donning a smoking-cap,
would turn in, and pass a very comfortable night. There were a few
in
each regiment who never took off anything, night or day, unless
compelled to, and these turned in at night in full uniform, with all
the covering they could muster. In the daytime the men lay in their
bunks and slept, or read a great deal, or sat on them and wrote their
letters.
Unless otherwise forbidden, callers felt at liberty to
perch on the bunks, but there was such a wide difference in the habits
of cleanliness of the soldiers that some proprietors of huts had, as
they thought, sufficient reasons why no one else shold occupy their
berths but themselves. This remark naturally leads me to say somthing
of the insect life which seemed to have enlisted with the soldiers for
"three years or the duration". I refer now, especially, to Pediculus
Vestimenti -- otherwise known as lice. They preyed alike on
the just
and the unjust, the major-general and the lowest private. I once
heard the orderly of a company officer relate that he had picked
fifty-two "graybacks" from the shirt of his chief at one sitting.
Aristocrat or plebian it mattered not. Every soldier seemed
preordained to encounter this pest at close quarters.
The secretiveness which a man suddenly developed when he
found himself inhabited for the first time was very entertaining.
He
would cuddle all knowledge of it as closely as the old Forty-Niners
did the hiding-place of their bag of gold dust. Perhaps he would
find
only one of the vermin. This he would secretly murder, keeping all
kn
owledge of it from his tent-mates, while he nourished the hope that it
was the Robinson Crusoe of its race cast away on a strange shore with
none of its kind at hand to cheer its lonliness. Alas, vain delusion!
In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred this solitary pediculus would
prove to be the advance guard of generations yet to come.
The feeling of intense disgust aroused by the first
contact with these creepers soon gave way to hardened indifference, as
a soldier realized the utter impossibility of keeping free from them,
and the privacy with which he carried on his first 'skirmishing', as
this "search for happiness" came to be called, was soon abandoned, and
the warfare carried on more openly. In fact, it was the mark of a
clean soldier to be seen engaged at it, for there was no disguising
the fact that everybody needed to do it.
In cool weather "skirmishing" was carried on in quarters,
but in warmer weather the men preferred to go outside of camp for this
purpose. And the woods usually found near camps were full of them
sprinkled about singly or in social parties of two or three slaying
their victims by the thousands. Now and then a man could be seen
just
fresh from the quartermaster with an entire new suit on his arm, bent
on starting anew. He would hang the suit on a bush, strip off every
piece of the old, and set fire to the same, and then don the new suit
of blue. But he was a lucky man if he did not share his new clothes
with other hungry pediculi inside of a week.
"Skirmishing", however, furnished only slight relief from
the oppressive attentions of the grayback, and furthermore took much
time. Hot water was the sovereign remedy, for it penetrated every
mesh and seam, and cooked the millions yet unborn. So tenacious of
life were these creatures that some veterans affirmed they had seen
them still creeping on garments taken out of boiling water, and that
only by putting salt in the water were they sure of destroying them.
From all this it can readily be seen why no good soldier
wanted his bunk to be regarded as common property. I may add in
passing that no other variety of insect life caused any material
annoyance to the soldier.
At the head of each bunk were the knapsacks or bundles
which contained what each soldier boasted of personal effects. These
were likely to be underclothes, socks, thread, needles, buttons,
letters, stationery, photographs, etc. The number of such articles
was fewer among infantry than among artillerymen, who, on the march,
had their effects carried for them on the gun-carriages and caissons.
But in winter quarters both accululated a large assortment of
conveniences from home, sent on in the boxes which so gladdened the
soldier's heart.
Haversacks, canteens, and equipment usually hung on pegs
inserted in the logs. The muskets had no regular abiding-place.
Some
stood them in a corner, some hung them on pegs by the slings.
A soldier's table-furnishings were his tin dipper, tin
plate, knife, fork, and spoon. when he had finished his meal, he
did
not in many cases stand on ceremony, and his dishes were tossed under
the bunk to await the next meal. Or, if he condescended to do a
little dish cleaning, he was satisfied to scrape his plate out with
his knife, and let it go at that. Another time he would take a wisp of
straw or a handful of leaves from his bunk, and wipe it out. When
the
soft bread was abundant, a piece of that made a convenient and
serviceable dishcloth and towel. Now and then a man would pour a
little of his hot coffee into his plate to clen it. While here
and
there one, with neither pride, nor shame, nor squeamishness would take
his plate out just as he last used it, to get his ration, offering no
other remark to the comment of the cook than this, that he guessed the
plate was a fit receptacle for the ration. As to the knife and fork,
when they got too black to be tolerated -- and they had to be of a
very sable hue, it should be said -- there was no cleaning process so
inexpensive, simple, available, and efficient as running them
vigorously into the earth a few times.
For lighting these huts the government furnished candles
in limited quantities; at first long ones, which had to be cut for
distribution; but later they provided short ones. As to candlesticks,
the government provided the troops with these by the thousands. They
were steel, and very durable, but were supplied only to the infantry,
who had simply to unfix bayonets, stick the points of the same in the
ground, and their candlesticks were ready for service. In fact, the
bayonet shank was the candlestick of the rank and file.
Whenever candles failed, slush lamps were brought into
use. These I have seen made by filling a sardine box with cookhouse
grease, and inserting a piece of rag in one corner for a wick. The
whole was then suspended from the ridgepole of the hut by a wire.
This wire came to camp around bales of hay brought to the horses and
mules.
The manner in which the time was spent in all tents varied
with the disposition of the inmates. Of course, all wrote letters
more or less. Especially was this so in the earlier part of a man's
war experience. In the early months of the war silver money
disappeared, as it commanded a premium, so that, change being scarce,
postage stamps were used instead. This was before scrip was issued
by
they government to take the place of silver; and although the use of
stamps as change was not authorized by the national government, yet
everybody took them.
Besides letter-writing, various games of cards were freely
engaged in. Many men played for money. Cribbage and eucre were
favorite games. Reading was a pastime quite generally indulged in,
and there was no novel so dull, trashy, or sensational as not to find
some one so bored with nothing to do that he would wade through it.
I, certainly, never read so many such before or since. Checkers was
a
popular game among the soldiers, backgammon less so, and it was only
rarely that the statelier and less familiar game of chess was to be
observed.
Two branches of domestic industry that occupied a
considerable time were washing and mending. Some of the men were
just
as particular about changing their underclothing at least once a week
as they would be at home; while others would do so only under the
severest pressure. It is disgusting to remember, even at this late
day, how little care hundreds of the men bestowed on bodily
cleanliness. The story, quite familiar to old soldiers, about the
man
who was so negligent in this respect that when he finally took a bath
he found a number of shirts and socks which he supposed he had lost,
was only slightly exaggerated.
How was this washing done? Well, if the troops were
camping near a brook, that simplified the matter somewhat; but even
then the clothes had to be boiled, and for this purpose there was but
one resource -- the mess kettles. In regard to using our mess kettles
to boil clothes in, it might be asked "Why not"? Were they not used
to boil our meat and potatoes in, to make our bean, pea, and meat
soups in, to boil our coffee in, to make our apple and peach sauce
in? Why not use them as wash-boilers? Well, gentle reader,
while it
might at first interfere somewhat with your appetite to have your food
cooked in the wash-boiler, you would soon get used to it; and so this
complex use of the mess kettles soon ceased to affect the appetite, or
to shock the sense of propriety of the average soldier as to the
eternal fitness of things, for he was often compelled by circumstances
to endure much greater improprieties.
Flannels were the order of the the day. If a man had the
courage to face the ridicule of his comrades by wearing a white
collar, it was of the paper variety, and white cuffs were unknown in
camp.
In the department of mending garments each man did his own
work, or left it undone, just as he thought best; but no one hired it
done. Every man had a "housewife" or its equivalent, containing the
necessary needles, yarn, thimble, etc., furnished him by some mother,
sister, sweetheart, or Soldier's Aid Society, and from this came his
materials to mend or darn with.
Now, the average soldier was not so susceptible to the
charms and allurements of sock-darning as he should have been. For
this reason he always put off the direful day until both heels "looked
boldly out the back door", while his ten toes ranged themselves au
naturale in front. The speediest and most unique, if not the
most
artistic, way of once more restricting the toes to quarters was simply
to tie a string around the hole.
There was little attempt made to repair the socks drawn
from the government supplies, for they were generally of the shoddiest
description, and not worth it. In symmetry, they were like an elbow
of stove pipe; nor did the likeness end there, for, while the stove
pipe is open at both ends, so were the socks within forty-eight hours
after putting them on.
Evenings were the time of sociability and reminiscence.
There is not the slightest doubt that home, its inmates, and
surroundings were more thought of and talked of then than in all the
rest of the twenty-four hours.
In some tents, vocal or instrumental music was a feature
of the evening. There was probably not a regiment in the service
that
did not boast at least one violinist, one banjoist, and a bone player
in its ranks -- not to mention other instruments generally found
assoicated with these -- and one or all of them could be heard in
operation, either inside or in a company street, most any pleasant
evening. However unskilful the artists, they were sure to be the
center of an interested audience. The usual medley of comic songs
and
Negro melodies comprised the greater part of the entertainment.
Sometimes a real Negro was brought in to enliven the occasion by
patting and dancing or singing his quaint music. There were always
plenty of them in or near camp ready to fill any gap. But the men
played tricks of all descriptions on them descending at times to most
shameful abuse until someone interfered. There were a few of the
soldiers who were not satisfied to play a reasonable practical joke,
but must bear down with all that the good-natured Ethiopians could
stand, and, having the fullest confidence in the friendship of the
soldiers, these poor fellows stood much more than human nature should
be called to endure without a murmur.
Army Rations
I have been asked a great many times whether I always got
enough to eat in the army, and have surprised inquirers by answering
in the affirmative. Now as to the quality of the food, the case is
not quite so clear.
As I remember them, a complete list of the rations served
out to the rank and file were salt pork, fresh beef, salt beef, ham or
bacon, hard bread, soft bread, potatoes, an occasional onion, flour,
beans, split peas, rice, dried apples, dried peaches, desiccated
vegetables, coffee, tea, sugar, molasses, vinegar, candles, soap,
pepper, and salt.
It is scarcely necessary to state that these were not all
served out at one time. There was but one kind of meat served at
once, and this was usually pork. When it was hard bread, it wasn't
soft bread or flour, and when it was peas or beans it wasn't rice.
I will speak of the rations more in detail, beginning with
the hard bread, or, to use the name by which it was known in the Army
of the Potomac, Hardtack. Hardtack was a plain flour-and-water
biscuit measuring about three inches by three inches and nearly half
an inch thick. They were dealt out to the men by number, nine
constituting a ration in some regiments, and ten in others; but there
were usually enough for those who wanted more, as some men would not
draw them. This was because they were often of poor quality and fit
only for a soldier's wrath. This was due usually to one of three
condittions. First, they may have been so hard that they could not
be
bitten. It then required a very strong blow of the fist to break
them. They could not be soaked soft, but after a time took
on the
elasticity of rubber.
The second condtion was when they were moldy or wet. I
think this condition was frequently due to exposure to the weather.
It was no uncommon sight to see thousands of boxes of hard bread piled
up at some railway station or other place used as a base of supplies,
where they were only imperfectly sheltered from the weather, and too
often not sheltered at all. The failure of inspectors to do their
full duty was one reason that so many of this sort reached the rank
and file of the service.
The third condition was when from storage they had become
infested with maggots and weevils. These weevils were, in my
experience, more abundant than the maggots. They were a little, slim,
brown bug an eighth of an inch in length, and were great bores on a
small scale, having the ability to completely riddle the hardtack.
I
believe they never interfered with the hardest variety, however.
When the bread was moldy or moist, it was thrown away and
made good at the next drawing, so that the men were not the losers.
But in the case of its being infested with weevils, they had to stand
it as a rule; for the biscuits had to be pretty thoroughly alive, and
well covered with the webs which these creatures left, to insure
condemnation.
But hardtack was not so bad an article of food, even when
traversed by insects, as may be supposed. Eaten in the dark, no one
could tell the difference between it and hardtack that was untenanted.
It was no uncommon occurrence for a man to find the surface of his pot
of coffee swimming with weevils, after breaking up hardtack in it,
which had come out of the fragments only to drown; but they were
easily skimmed off, and left no distinctive flavor behind. If a
soldier cared to do so, he could expel the weevils by heating the
bread at the fire. The maggots did not budge in that way.
Most of the hardtack was eaten just as it was received --
hardtack plain. Then I have already spoken of their being crumbed
in
coffee, giving the "hardtack and coffee". Probably more were eaten
in
this way than in any other, for they thus frequently furnished the
soldier his breakfast and supper.
Some men crumbed them in soups for want of other
thickening. Some crumbed them in cold water, then fried the crumbs
in
pork fat. Some liked them toasted over the fire from the end of a
split stick. If they happened to drop into the fire, and were recov
ered quickly enough to prevent them from getting pretty well charred,
they were not thrown away but were thought good for weak bowels.
Whatever words of condemnation or criticism may have been
bestowed on other government rations, there was but one opinion of the
coffee which was served out, and that was of unqualified approval.
The rations may have been small, the commissary or
quartermaster may have given us a short allowance, but what we got was
good. And what a perfect Godsend it seemed to us at times!
How
often, after being completely jaded by a night march, have I had a w
ash, if there was water to be had, made and drunk my pint or so of
coffee, and felt as fresh and invigorated as if just arisen from a
night's sound sleep!
The coffee was usually brought to camp in an oatsack.
Then the orderly-sergeant of a company devoted himself to dividing it.
One method of accomplishing this purpose was to spread a rubber
blanket on the ground, and upon it were put as many piles of the
coffee as there were men to receive rations; and the care taken to
make the piles of the same size to the eye. The sugar which always
accompanied the coffee was spooned out at the same time on another
blanket. When both were ready, they were given out, each man taking
a
pile, or, in some companies, to prevent any charge of unfairness or
injustice, the sergeant would turn his back on the rations, and take
out his roll of the company. Then, by request, some one else would
point to a pile and ask, "Who shall have this?" and the sergeant,
without turning, would call a name from his list of the company or
detachment, and the person thus called would appropriate the pile
specified. This process would be continued until the last pile was
disposed of.
Every soldier of a month's experience in campaigning was
provided with some sort of bag into which he spooned his coffee.
Your
plain, straightforward old veteran took out an oblong plain cloth bag,
which looked as immaculate as the everyday shirt of a coal-heaver, and
into it scooped without ceremony both his sugar and coffee, and
stirred them thoroughly together.
Milk was a luxury in the army. It was a new experience
for all soldiers to drink coffee without milk. But they soon learned
to make a virtue of a necessity, and I doubt whether one man in ten,
before the war closed, would have used the lactic fluid in his coffee
from choice.
When company cooks prepared the food, the soldiers, at the
bugle signal, formed single file at the cook-house door, in winter, or
the cook's open fire, in summer, where, with a long-handled dipper, he
filled each man's tin with coffee from the mess kettles, and dispensed
to him such other food as was to be given out at that meal.
For various reasons, the coffee made by these cooks was of
a very inferior quality and unpleasant to taste at times. It was
not
to be compared in excellence with what the men made for themselves.
Most commonly this was done with a pint or quart preserve can held on
the end of a stick over the campfire. His can soon became as black
as
the blackest, inside and out. This was the typical coffee-boiler
of
the private soldier, and had the advantage of being easily replaced
when lost, as canned goods were in very general use by commissioned
officers and hospitals.
Tea was served so rarely that it does not merit any
particular description. It was coffee at meals and between meals.
Men going on guard or coming off guard drank it al all hours of the
night. Today, the old soldiers are the hardest coffee drinkers in
the
community, through the schooling they received in the service.
I will now speak of the manner in which the fresh meat
ration was cooked. If it fell into the hands of the company cooks,
it
was fated to be boiled twenty-four times out of twenty-five. When
the
meat ration was served out raw to the men, it was generally impaled on
a ramrod or forked stick, then salted and peppered and broiled in the
flames; or it may have been thrown on the coals. This broiling was,
I
think, the favorite style with the oldest campaigners. It certainly
was more healthful and palatable cooked in this way, and was the most
convenient in active service, for any of the men could prepare it thus
at short notice.
The 'salt horse' or salt beef, of fragrant memory, was the
vilest ration distributed to the soldiers. It was thoroughly
penetrated with saltpeter, was often yellow-green with rust from
having lain in brine, and, when boiled, was a stench in the nostrils.
Even in camp the men quite generally rejected it.
Salt port was the principal meat ration -- the mainstay as
it were. Company cooks boiled it. When raw pork was given out
to the
men on the march, it was usually broiled, as I have already described.
Much of it was eaten raw, however, sandwiched between two pieces of
hardtack. Much of it was musty and rancid, like the salt horse, and
much more was flabby, stringy 'sow-belly', as the men called it, and
does not seem nearly as appetizing now as it did at that time.
Occasionally, a ration of what was known as desiccated
vegetables was dealt out. This consisted of a small piece per man,
an
ounce in weight and two or three inches cube of a sheet or block of
vegetables, which had been prepared, and apparently kiln-dried. In
composition it looked not unlike the large cheeses of beefscraps that
are seen in the markets. When soaked for a time, so perfectly had
it
been dried and so firmly pressed that it swelled to an amazing extent,
attaining several times its dried proportions. In this pulpy state
it
seemed to show cabbage leaves and turnip tops stratified with layers
of sliced carrots, turnips, parships, and a bare suggestion of onions
-- being too valuable to waste in this compound --with a large residue
of insoluble and unknown material which held the rest together, but
which defied the powers of the analyst to give it a name. An
inspector found in one lot which he examined powdered glass thickly
sprinkled through it, apparently the work of a Confederate emissary.
But, if not, it showed how little care was exercised in preparing this
diet for the soldier. In brief, this coarse vegetable compound could
with much more propriety have been put before Southern swine than
Northern soldiers. "Desecrated vegetables" was the more appropriate
name which the men quite generally applied to this preparation of
husks.
I presume that no discussion of army rations would be
considered complete if did not at least make mention of the whiskey
ration so called. This was not a ration, properly speaking.
The
government supplied it to the army only on rare occasions, and then by
order of the medical department. I think it was never served out
to
my company more than three or four times, and then during a cold
rainstorm or after unusually hard service. There was, however,
considerable whiskey drunk by the men "unofficially", that is, which
was obtained otherwise than on the order of the medical department.
The officers who did not drink were scarce in the service.
They had only to send to the commissary to obtain as much as they
pleased, whenever they pleased, by paying for it. But the private
soldier could only obtain it by an order signed by a commissioned
officer. Doesn't it seem strange that the enforcement of the rules
of
war was so lax as to allow the lives of a hundred, a thousand, or pe
rhaps fifty or a hundred thousand sober men to be jeopardized, as they
so often were, by holding them rigidly obedient to the orders of a man
whose head at a critical moment might be crazed with commissary
whiskey? Hundreds if not thousands of lives were sacrificed by such
leadership.
Return
to Study Guide #12
Revised
November 25, 2004
by Tom Gallup, e-mail address: tom_gallup@westvalley.edu
West Valley College
http://www.westvalley.edu/wvc/ss/gallup/gallup.html