Continental Monthly , Vol. 5, No. 6, June, 1864

To one familiar with the gradual progress in the organization of our armies, it is interesting to recur to the time when the first levies of volunteers were raised. Regiments were hurried into Washington half accoutred and indifferently armed. Officers and men were for the most part equally ignorant of the details, a knowledge of which enables a soldier to take care of himself in all circumstances. Staff officers knew nothing of the various departments and the methods of obtaining supplies. The Government had not been able to provide barrack accommodations for the immense irruption of 'Northern barbarians,' and the men were stowed like sheep in any unoccupied buildings that could be obtained. These were generally storehouses, without any cooking arrangements, so that when provisions were procured, no one knew what to do with them. Hundreds of men, who previously scarcely knew but that beef-steaks and potatoes grew already cooked and seasoned, could be seen every day sitting disconsolately on the curbstones cooking their pork on ramrods over little fires made with twigs gathered from the trees. Those who happened to be the lucky possessors of a few spare dimes, straggled off to restaurants. Washington, in those days, was only a great country-town, and not the immense city which the war has made it. The vague and laughable attempts of officers to assume military dignity and enforce discipline, with the careless insubordination of the men, furnished many amusing scenes. It was not easy for officer and man, who had gone to the same school, worked in the same shop, sung in the same choir, and belonged to the same base-ball club, to assume their new relations.

Privates would address their officer, 'I say, Bill, have you got any tobacco?' Officers would reply, 'Do you not know, sir, the proper method of addressing me?' Private would exclaim, 'Well, I guess now you're puttin' on airs, a'n't you?' Pompous colonels strutted about in a blaze of new uniforms, and even line officers then considered themselves of some consequence; while a brigadier-general was a sort of a demigod—a man to be revered as something infallible. Now-a-days old veterans care very little for even the two stars of a major-general, unless they know that the wearer has some other claims to respect than his shoulder straps.

As matters gradually became arranged, the troops were provided with tents, and encamped in the vicinity. Never was guard duty more vigilantly performed than in those camps around Washington. Every one of us came to the capital with the expectation of being immediately despatched to Virginia, and ordered to pitch into a miscellaneous fight with the rebels. Rebel guerillas and spies were supposed to be lurking in the surroundings of the capital, and 'taking notes' in all the camps. Woe betide the unsuspicious stranger who might loiter curiously around the encampments. With half a dozen bayonets at his breast he was hurried off in utter amazement to the guard house. At night the sentinels saw 'in every bush' a lurking rebel. Shots were pattering all night in every direction. Unfortunate straggling cows were frequently reduced to beeves by the bullets of the wary guardians. The colonel's horse broke loose one night, and, while browsing around, his long, flowing tail, the colonel's pride, was reduced to an ignominious 'bob' by a bullet, which neatly severed it near the root. Many was the trigger pulled at me, many the bullet sent whizzing at my head, as I returned to camp after an evening in the city. Fortunately, the person fired at was usually safe—any one within the circle of a hundred feet diameter was likely to receive the ball. One evening, about dusk, going into camp, I took a running jump over a ditch, and this rapid motion so frightened an honest German sentinel—probably a little muddled with lager—that he actually forgot to fire, and came at me in a more natural way with his musket clubbed. I escaped a broken head at the expense of a severely bruised arm. The rule for challenging, it used to be said, was to 'fire three times, and then cry 'halt!' instead of the reverse, as prescribed in the regulations.

When the order—long anticipated—for actually invading Virginia arrived, then was there excitement. Every man felt the premonition of battle, and nerved himself for conflict. As we marched down to Long Bridge, at midnight, perfect silence prevailed. Breaths were suspended, footfalls were as light as snowflakes, orders were given in hollow whispers. We placed our feet on the 'sacred soil' with more emotion than the Normans felt when landing in England, or the Pilgrims at Plymouth. This was war—the real, genuine thing. But our expectations were not realized. As the 'grand army' advanced, the scattered rebel pickets withdrew. The only fatality of the campaign was the death of the gallant but indiscreet Ellsworth. We had our first experience of lying out doors in our blankets. How vainglorious we felt over it! Many a poor fellow complained jocosely of the hardship and exposure, whom since I have seen perfectly content to obtain a few pine boughs to keep him from being submerged in an abyss of mud. Many, alas! have gone to a couch where their sleep will be no more broken by the reveille of drum and fife and bugle—in the trenches of Yorktown, in the thickets of Williamsburg, in the morasses of the Chickahominy, on the banks of the Antietam, at the foot of those fatal heights at Fredericksburg, in the wilderness of Chancellorsville, on the glorious ridge of Gettysburg. Comrades of the bivouac and the mess! ye are not forgotten in that sleep upon the fields where swept the infernal tide of battle, obliterating so much glorious life, leaving so much desolation! Even amid the roar of cannon, exulting in their might for destruction, amid the shrieking of the merciless shells, amid the blaze of the deadly musketry, memories of you occur to us. We resolve that your lives shall not have been sacrificed in vain. And in these long, dreary, monotonous days of winter, as the sleet rattles on our frail canvas covering, and the wind roars in our rude log chimneys, while the jests go around and the song arises, thoughts of the battle fields of the past cross our minds—we recall the incidents of fierce conflicts—we say, there and there fell–, no nobler fellows ever lived! A blunt and hasty epitaph, but the desultory vicissitudes of a soldier's life permit no other—we expect no other for ourselves when our turn to follow you shall come. So we break out into our favorite chorus:

'Then we'll stand by our glasses steady,And we'll drink to our ladies' eyes.Three cheers for the dead already,And huzza for the next man that dies.

Though your graves are unmarked, save by the simple broad slab from which storms have already effaced the pencilled legend, or perhaps only by the murderous fragment of iron, which lies half imbedded on the spot where you fell and where you lie, yet you live in the memory of your comrades, you live in the hearts of those who were desolated by your death, you live in that eternal record of heaven where are written the names of those who have given their lives to promote the truth and the freedom which God has guaranteed to humanity in the great charters of Nature and Revelation. For we are fighting in a holy cause. No crusade to redeem Eastern shrines from infidels, no struggle for the privilege of religious freedom, no insurrection for civil independence, has been more holy than this strife against the great curse and its abettors, who seek to make a land of freedom a land of bondage to substitute for a Union of freemen, miserable oligarchies controlled by breeders of slaves. If we die in this cause, we have lived a full life. An anomalous state of things had existed between the time of the attack on Sumter and the 'invasion' of Virginia. Although the war had in reality commenced, communication was not suspended between Washington and Alexandria. On the day following the march over the Potomac, we found the plans of intrenchments marked out by wooden forms on the spots which subsequently became Fort Corcoran, opposite Georgetown, Fort Runyon, opposite Washington, and Fort Ellsworth, in front of Alexandria. How this had so speedily been done by the engineers I did not learn until many months afterward, when one of the party who planned the works described the modus operandi. They went over to Virginia in a very rustic dress, and professed to the rebel pickets to be from 'down country,' come up to take a look at 'them durned Yankees.' So they walked around unmolested, selected the sites for the intrenchments, formed the plans in their minds, made some stealthy notes and sketches, and, returning to Washington, plotted the works on paper, gave directions to the carpenters about the frames, which were constructed; and, after the army crossed, these were put in their proper positions, tools were placed conveniently, and, soon after the crossing was made, the men commenced to work.

In raising these intrenchments, drilling and organizing, the army passed about a month—varied only by alarms two or three times a week at night that the rebels were coming, whereupon the troops turned out and stood in line till daylight. It was shrewdly suspected that these alarms were purposely propagated from headquarters to accustom the men to form themselves quickly at night without panic. In after times, in front of Richmond, we had such duty to perform, without any factitious reasons. It was a matter of necessary precaution to stand to our arms nightly for two or three hours before daybreak.

Until just previous to the disastrous Bull Run campaign, no higher organization than that of brigades was adopted; but a day or two before the march commenced, General McDowell organized the brigades into divisions. These were reorganized by General McClellan as the two and three years volunteers joined the army. The organization of corps was made in the spring of 1862, just before the commencement of the Peninsula campaign, and is now the organization of the army.

The complete organization is now as follows:

Regiments, generally of ten companies.

Brigades, of four or more regiments.

Divisions, generally of three brigades.

Corps, generally of three divisions.

The various staffs have gradually been organized, until they now stand (in the Army of the Potomac) as follows:

At the headquarters of the army:

A Chief of Staff.

An Assistant Adjutant-General.

A Chief Quartermaster.

A Chief Commissary.

A Chief of Artillery.

An Assistant Inspector-General.

A Medical Director.

A Judge Advocate-General.

An Ordnance Officer.

A Provost Marshal-General.

A Chief Engineer.

A Signal Officer.

Aides-de-Camp.

The rank of these officers, as the staff is now composed, is as follows: The chief of staff, a major-general; the assistant adjutant-general, chief of artillery, and provost marshal, brigadier-generals; assistant inspector-general, a colonel; medical director, chief engineer, judge advocate-general, majors; the signal officer, chief commissary, and ordnance officer, captains; the aides, of various ranks, lieutenants, captains, and majors. Most of these officers do not derive their rank from their position on the staff, but it has been given them in the volunteer organization, or pertains to them in the line of the regular or volunteer army. All the department officers (meaning all except aides) have a number of assistants, and the general officers have staffs and aides of their own, to which they are entitled by law. The total number of officers on duty at the headquarters may amount to fifty or more, and there is plenty of work for all of them during a campaign. Besides the regular staff, constituted as above related, there are the officers of an infantry regiment which furnishes guards and escorts, and officers of cavalry squadrons detailed to furnish orderlies. The headquarters of the army is therefore a town of considerable population.

At the headquarters of the different corps the staffs are as follows:

An Assistant Adjutant-General—Lieutenant-colonel.

A Chief Quartermaster—Lieutenant-colonel.

A Chief Commissary—Lieutenant-colonel.

An Assistant Inspector-General—Lieutenant-colonel.

[These officers derive their rank from their position, under a law of Congress.]

A Medical Director—being detailed from

the senior surgeons of the regular or

Volunteer army, and ranking as a

major.

A Commissary of Musters.

A Provost Marshal.

A Signal Officer.

[These officers are detailed from the line, and have the ranks which there belongs to them. The signal corps is, however, now being organized, with ranks prescribed by law.]

Aides-de-Camp—one with the rank of major, and two with the rank of captain. Besides these, additional aides are sent to the corps from those created under an act of Congress of 1861—now repealed—and are detailed from the line.

The quartermaster, commissary, and medical director generally have assistant officers. There is a squadron of cavalry and usually a company of infantry at each corps headquarters.

The staffs of divisions and brigades resemble those of the corps, except that the regular staff officers usually rank only as captains, except in cases where a major-general commands; he is entitled to an assistant adjutant-general with the rank of major. Officers detailed from the line to act on any staff in any capacity, bring with them the rank they hold in the line. They are not entitled, except the authorized aides and in some other particular cases, when ordered by the War Department, to additional allowances; but if they are foot officers, and are properly detailed for mounted duty, the quartermaster of the staff on which they serve is obligated to furnish them a horse and equipments. Divisions usually have an ordnance officer, whose duty it is to take charge of the ammunition of the division, keep the quantity ordered, and supply the troops in time of battle. By law the chief of artillery at corps headquarters is the chief ordnance officer for the corps, but this arrangement has been found impracticable. In the Army of the Potomac the chief of artillery does not remain at corps headquarters, but is assigned directly to the command of the artillery, where he also has a staff, including an ordnance officer, who supplies ammunition and other articles pertaining to his department, exclusively to the artillery.

The staff, it must be recollected, is to an army what the masons, carpenters, ironworkers, and upholsterers are to a building. As the latter are the agents for executing the designs of the architect, so the staff are the medium by which the commander of an army effects his purposes. Without competent staff officers in all the various grades of organization constituting an army, the most judicious plans of the ablest commander will entirely fail. If a campaign is to be made, the commanding general, having formed his general strategical plan, needs the advice of his chief of staff as to the condition of his troops, and his assistance in devising the details. His adjutant-general's office must contain full records of the numbers of the troops—effective and non-effective—armed and unarmed—sick and well—present and absent, with all reports and communications relative to the state of the army. His quartermaster must have been diligent to provide animals, wagons, clothing, tents, forage, and other supplies in his department; his commissary and ordnance officer, the same in relation to subsistence and munitions—all having made their arrangements to establish depots at the most accessible points on the proposed route of march. His chief of artillery must have bestowed proper attention to keeping the hundred batteries of the army in the most effective condition. His chief engineer must have informed himself of all the routes and the general topography of the country to be traversed; he must know at what points rivers can be best crossed, and where positions for battle can be best obtained; his pontoon trains and intrenching implements must be complete and ready for service; his maps prepared for distribution to subordinate commanders. His inspector must have seen that the orders for discipline and equipment have been complied with. His medical director must have procured a supply of hospital stores, and organized the ambulance and hospital departments. His provost marshal must have made adequate arrangements to prevent straggling, plundering, and other disorders. His aides must have informed themselves of the positions of the various commands, and become acquainted with the principal officers, so as to take orders through night and storm with unerring accuracy. They must be cool-headed, daring fellows, alert, and well posted, good riders, and have good horses under them.

All this work cannot be accomplished in a day, a week, or a month. The full preparations required to render a campaign successful must have been the result of long, patient, thoughtful consideration and organization. It is no time to teach sailors seamanship in a hurricane. They must know where to find the ropes and what to do with them, with the spray dashing in their eyes and the black clouds scurrying across the sky. It is no time for staff officers to begin their duties when a great army is to be moved. Then it is needed that every harness strap, every gun-carriage wheel, every knapsack, every soldier's shoe should have been provided and should be in serviceable order; that the men should have had their regular fare, and have been kept in the healthiest condition; that clear and explicit information be ready on all details. Prepared by the assiduous, intelligent labor of a vigilant and faithful staff, an army becomes a compact, homogeneous mass—without individuality, but pervaded by one animating will—cohesive by discipline, but pliant in all its parts—impetuous with enthusiasm, but controlled easily in the most minute operations.

These remarks, relative to the requirements for an effective staff, pertain to all grades of organization. The staff officers at the headquarters of the army organize general arrangements and supervise the operations of subordinate officers of their department at the headquarters of corps; these have more detailed duties, and, in their turn, supervise the staffs of the divisions; the duties of these again are still more detailed, and they supervise the staffs of brigades; these finally are charged with the specific details pertaining to their commands, supervising the staffs of the regiments, who are in direct communication with the officers of companies.

Prepared for service by the unremitting labors of the staff officers, it is seldom that the army cannot move in complete order at six hours' notice. Think what preparation is required for a family of half a dozen to get ready to spend a month in the country—how tailors and milliners and dressmakers are put in requisition—how business arrangements must be made—how a thousand little vexing details constantly suggest themselves which need attention. Think of a thousand families—ten thousand—making these preparations! What a vast hurly burly! What an ocean of confusion! How many delays and disappointments! During the fortnight or month which has elapsed while these families have been getting ready, an army of fifty or a hundred thousand men has marched a hundred miles, fought a battle, been reëquipped, reclothed, reorganized, and, perhaps, the order of a nation's history has experienced an entire change.

Our next paper will describe in detail the operations of the staff departments.

SLEEPING

The purple light sleeps on the hills,The shadowed valleys sleep between,Down through the shadows slide the rills,The drooping hazels o'er them lean.The clouds lie sleeping in the sky—The crimson beds of sleeping airs;The broad sun shuts his lazy eyeOn all the long day's weary cares.The far, low meadows sleep in light,The river sleeps, a molten tide;I dream reclined, with half-shut sight—My dog sleeps, couching at my side.The branches droop above my head,The motes sleep in the slanting beam,Yon hawk sails through the sunset red—Adieu thought, sailing through a dream!And here upon this bank I lie,Beneath the drooping, airless leaves,And watch the long, low sunset die,On silent, dreamy summer eves.The slant light creeps the boughs among,And drops upon the sleeping sod—She lies below, in slumber long,Asleep till the great morn of God!

DR. FOX'S PRESCRIPTION

'None but bigots will in vainAdore a heaven they cannot gain.'—Sheridan.

There is a story, familiar to most people of extensive reading, and quite frequently alluded to, of a fox that, after endeavoring in vain to possess himself of some luscious grapes which grew beyond his reach, walked composedly away, solemnly assuring himself and Mr Æsop, who overheard him, that as yet the grapes were unripe. The story, or any allusion to it, seldom fails to excite a smile. I, too, laugh when I hear it; but not so much at Reynard's inconsistency as at his wit. The faculty of discovering grave defects in that which we have failed to obtain is one for which we cannot be too thankful. It is a source of infinite comfort in this comfortless world—a principle which enables both parties in every contest to be victorious—an important article in the great law of compensation. It is as old as the human race. The great fabulist no more invented it than Lord Bacon invented inductive reasoning. Like that philosopher, he simply enunciated a principle which had been unconsciously recognized and constantly used ever since the machinery of the human mind was first set in motion. I have no doubt that when Adam found himself outside of Eden he wondered how he could have been contented to remain so long in that little garden, assorting pinks and training honeysuckles, when here lay a vast farm, well watered and fertile, needing only to be cleared, fenced, and cultivated to yield a handsome income.

It is well that pride should sometimes have a fall. But you and I, dear reader, have often seen envious people gloating over that fall in any but a Christian spirit. At such times have we not rejoiced at any circumstance which could break the force of the fall and disappoint the gratification of such malicious hopes? And what has accomplished that object so often and so effectually as Reynard's great principle?

Once or twice in my life I have seen a smile on a female face under circumstances which made it impossible to doubt that the smile was gotten up for my especial benefit. On such occasions my sense of gratitude (which is quite large) and my vanity (which is very small) have conspired to exalt women in my estimation to perhaps an undue elevation. They have seemed to me to be angels visiting poor, weak, degraded man from pure motives of love and sympathy. And I have felt a sort of chagrin that we have only such a dirty, ill-constructed world to ask them into. But let us suppose that a short time afterward I see on the same face a decided frown or a look of chilling disdain (I do not say that I ever did), under circumstances which indicate that this also is displayed with reference to, and out of a kind regard for, myself. Here, it should seem, the premises are established which compel me to admit a very disagreeable conclusion. This I cannot think of doing. How shall I escape? Why, deny one of the premises, of course. But the frown—I saw it plainly, alas, too plainly! I cannot dispute the evidence of my senses. For a moment I falter; and again that ghastly conclusion stares me in the face. But now I remember that a shrewd debater sometimes gains a point by denying the premise which he is expected to concede. Can it be done in this case? Certainly! Human judgment, you know, is fallible. Not that mine can be at fault now; but it may have been so heretofore. All men have erred; but no man errs. There is the point! I was in error when I said women were angels. They are, they must be, mortal. There are unmistakable signs that they are but human—indeed, some of them might almost be called inhuman. The world is plenty good enough for them—a little too good for some I could name. The Mussulman is quite right in excluding them from heaven. What should we want of them when we get there? Won't there be plenty of houris there, with all their beauty and virtue, but without their extravagance and wilfulness? To say the least, they are the weaker vessels, though they carry the most sail. Am I, then, to drop my lip and hang my head and put my finger in my eye, because one of them, for some cause or no cause, chooses to turn up her nose at me? The proposition is absurd.—Thus, thus only, I save my self-respect without sacrificing my logic. Am I inconsistent? Nay, verily. For what is the highest consistency but correspondence with truth? And have I not at length hit upon the exact truth? Before, I was deceived; then, I was inconsistent. But now—now I am thoroughly, beautifully consistent. But all this is simply Dr. Fox's method of treating half the ills which flesh is heir to, reduced to logical forms and written out in plain English.